Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, suggestive, fluff, oh yeah he's not human so also werewolf!au? Cause I'm a slut for AU's
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"I can explain..." The timber of his voice is a shout into the pale void of your small living room, your figure looming by the open window, arms wrapped around yourself protectively.
As though you aren't about to see what you're like ninenty nine percent positive you are about to see.
He steps out from the shadows just enough for you to see the state he's in, the light grey shirt you'd gotten him last weekend that he proclaimed as his favorite, practically a shade below maroon.
Your first reaction is to grasp whatever is nearby, and launch it at him. You're not angry enough to sacrifice the new lamp, so a soft throw pillow hits him in the abdomen instead, and he chuckles, though you don't miss the way he winces.
"Was that supposed to hurt?"
You huff, expecting his reaction, thus your lack of trepidation when it comes to throwing stuff at him.
However, your bare feet prepare to bound forward and approach his hunched figure, only to hear his shoes scuff against the hardwood floor as he backs away from you.
His black boots, he only wears those to work in because of the grip on the bottom, the sound is one you'd recognize anywhere, and the only other time he used to wear them....no, it can't be. He wouldn't.
No.No.No.
Your throat begins to swell with anxiety as you realize he's hiding himself on purpose, too afraid to watch your reaction to the wounds that are no doubt covering the surface of his skin. The skin you kiss everyday as if it might be your very last.
Because he's a colossal dumbass.
"Come here, now."
Your voice quivers, as you speak with solemnity. He doesn't argue, and instead reaches a long, tired limb out towards you, your warm hand clasping around the heavy one he holds up with half of his strength.
His fingertips are calloused, knuckles bruised and smeared with blood. You're not sure if it's his or his opponents, both are equally as horrifying, and your stomach turns at the thought.
He promised to never do this again.
You step closer and he finally lets you, not harboring the will to resist or hide anymore. You trace the busted blue vein that travels up his thick forearm and he shivers as you reach up to cup his blistering cheeks.
"Come here."
Your voice is as soft as your touch as you drag him to the creaky leather couch in your shared livingroom, his feet dragging along with his wilting posture.
This has happened so many times that you find the supplies with nearly no trouble, last drawer to the right near the fridge, before settling beside him, a distance of only a few inches separating you two.
The distance is too far. He can feel you shaking and he wishes he could just wrap his arms around you and take all of your fear away, he can see the terror in your eyes. And not because of him, but for him.
It's silent while you clean his hour old wounds, some still bleeding and other dried but still irritated. His brow bone is pretty beat up, and you wish you had more than just antibiotic ointment.
His warm hands find your body, and he squeezes your hips tenderly every time he winces, a hiss passing his bruised lips as peroxide stings his cuts and scrapes.
"Why?"
You ask, tossing the bloody tissue to the side, not wanting to leave him even for a second as you softly, and tentatively cup his jaw.
He sighs in defeat, the crease between his brows proving his sincerity, as he pulls you closer to him with the last bit of strength he can muster.
"I didn't want things to get bad again, we needed the money."
You feel everything inside of you twist into an uncomfortable ball, your chest aching as you run your fingers through his damp hair. He looks so young yet years older in this moment, eyes iridescent under the moons unearthly glow.
"You know that this shouldn't even be an option, you- fuck, you can't!"
He can hear the anger and sadness in your voice as you hold him close to your rapidly beating heart, your body temperature rising by the second.
He can feel the thunderous battering of your heart inside your chest as if it were in his own, your usual eighty seven beats per minute, rising to one hundred and twenty.
"You might be part wolf, but dammit you are not fucking invincible,"
He pulls you onto his lap and you know he isn't in any pain right now, not anymore. Now that you're here, he just wants you close, he needs to know you don't hate him.
"Those people, those men, the ones who fight- they're notthere for the same reason youare. They're evil, they go there to watch light disappear from peoples eyes."
He shudders, and for a moment he wants to completely encapsulate you in his hold, he wants to kiss you until you're unable to walk 'cause your knees are so wobbly.
You've been the only person that's ever understood his kind, that's been able to see the worst of the worst, and the good in the worst. He's not sure he can ever live without you. He wants to take care of you, always.
"I know, I know," He smells of blood and dirt and of teeth ripping through his wolves skin for the reward of paper and of claws that never knew mercy in any raw form.
"I love you like the moon loves the night, you know that? I never mean to hurtyou, ever."
You lift your head from the crook of his neck, his eyes filled with the thoughts in the back of his mind that he can never seem to articulate outloud, but that seem to always reside within the depth of his irises.
His arms are wrapped around your middle and you can feel the heat burning through his shirt as your closeness becomes all consuming.
His lips are warm and taste of copper, but it doesn't phase you like it should. Maybe you should dwell on that, but you don't. Because he's here, and he's in your arms and he feels whole and you feel at home.
His fingers, sore but gentle, cup the softness of your cheeks as the tips of your noses meet for just a moment as you seperate to take a breath.
He feels it in his bones, a buzz of euphoric exhilaration, and he kisses you again, with fervency and a hum of urgency in the back of his throat, his teeth only very slightly nibbling your bottom lip.
"Baby?"
He half groans, and your blood burns beneath the surface of your skin as you tangle your fingers into the muss of chocolate hair atop his head.
"Yes?" You reply, smiling as you feel his long, pliant fingers begin to curl gently around the back of your neck, a symbol of needing a closeness that only you can gift him, the only closeness he ever wants.
You sense it all over him, and not just because of how his body is reacting to you, but because of the way he nuzzles your neck, pink tongue darting out to taste you, to have some part of you to enthrall him further.
