ellie. 𑁤

gn reader, mild nsfw 𐂯 ‧₊˚

Recently, I’ve been loving the idea of a doting, middle-aged weredog partner who’s loyal to a fault.

He doesn’t have quite the same energy he did in his youth, however. His knees are sore and his back aches when the weather shifts, but he still loves spending time with you. Specifically, he loves curling around you on the bed or couch for a cozy night in.

Imagine the soft, sleepy, cuddly sex where you’re lying on top of him, knees comfortably bracketing his broad hips, your bare front pressed against his fuzzy belly. His large, clawed hands easily engulf you, the calloused pads of each finger deliciously rough against your smooth skin. You moan softly into the thick fur on his chest and he places a few small, loving licks against your cheek.

He hugs you close beneath the covers as you press little, soft kisses against his graying muzzle. You fall asleep to the warmth of his embrace, the gentle beating of his heart beneath your palm, and the quiet, but unmistakable, thumping of his tail against the mattress.

gn reader, mild nsfw ⏾ ‧₊˚

You’ve been experiencing more frequent episodes of sleep paralysis recently.

The first time, you had been having an exceedingly stressful day—the kind that zapped all energy from your body, leaving you longing for your bed well before the sun set. That night, the warmth of your comforter draped over your weary body was enough to beckon you into what promised to be a deep, dreamless sleep.

You awoke to find your room still shrouded in the shadows of the night. Instinctively you tried to tug your blankets over your head, determined to take advantage of the precious few hours you had left before the sun rose, but quickly realized you couldn’t move. Your breath hitched in your throat. Why couldn’t you grip the sheets closer—wiggle your fingers, your toes, anything?

Then, you saw it. At first, it appeared as a tall shadow in the corner of your room—a trick of the light cast by your bookshelf. Over the course of your next several episodes, however, the figure began to take shape. Tall and broad, with wide shoulders and long legs. Its skin, strung taut against sinewy muscles, was the deep color of ink. Its humanoid teeth and sunken, beady eyes were the only outliers, both being of a fluorescent white that shone when captured by the moonlight.

It was something undeniable now, a creature of a distinctly different dimension than that of the shadows that crawled along your walls in the dead of night. 

The gradual realization that it was getting closer each night was one that made your stomach turn to ice, despite knowing it was all in your head. Meters became mere inches of space between you and it, and you dreaded what would happen if it managed to get close enough to touch you.

Now, its breath—deep, hot, wavering—stirs your hair as it stands over you. Its teeth gleam under a ray of silver moonlight, muscles rippling under its skin with each inhale and exhale. You whimper deep in your throat, already knowing that no sound will come out, as its sunken eyes blink slowly with a calculating humanity that sends an electric chill down your spine.

One large, clawed hand plants itself sturdily on the mattress beside your face, and if you didn’t feel like a prey animal being hunted before, you sure as hell do now. You watch in paralyzed terror, wanting nothing more than to screw your eyes shut in fear, as it ducks its head toward your neck.

You imagine the otherworldly pain about to envelop you, the feeling of cold, flat teeth closing around your delicate throat and tearing your flesh away. A hot river of blood spilling over your sheets, your teary eyes glazing over. Damn it, wake up! Wake up!

Your panicking mind is stunned into silence when, instead of maiming you, the creature gently presses its face into your neck. A strange warbling noise, almost a growl, rumbles deep in its throat as it begins to nose at the junction between your shoulder and neck with noticeably less hesitation than before. You will your body to move—to shake, to twitch, to do anything—but your muscles refuse to yield to your mind’s frightened pleas. 

The monster eagerly laps at your exposed neck with a long, wet tongue, its cheek pressed against your own in its determination to catch the sweat beading on your nape. It liked doing that, tasting you. Your sweat, your mouth, the slick between your legs—all of you was addicting to it, and now that it had finally gotten a taste, it knew it would never let you go.

afab reader, mild nsfw ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A creature of unfathomable horror masquerading as an angel, except it’s doing it all wrong.

For one, the form it chose is an intimidating one. Its tall, vaguely humanoid frame is made even larger by the thickly feathered wings that sprout from its spine. Its head alone sports several fluttering sets of swan-like wings, two of which overlap to cover its face entirely. The wide, onyx-colored eyes on each appendage blink at you owlishly, studying you with an intensity that makes you sweat.

It sought to become something you could find comfort in; an omen of protection. It learned what humans feared and what they revered. What could be more bewitching than a being thought to be of perfect benevolence, of safety—something that it most certainly is not?

Its true form would surely drive you mad, so why not take the form of something familiar, something good, to gain your trust? Humans aren’t fond of deception, it knows this much, but what you don’t know won’t hurt you.

Those heavy, plumed wings are soft against your bare skin, the powerful muscles underneath flexing against your back as the creature holds you to its broad, masculine chest. Soft, downy feathers gently graze your shoulders, waist, hips—anywhere its multiple clawed hands aren’t digging into your flesh with a bruising strength. 

At some point, something warm and wet drips onto your sternum between your breasts, and before your hazed mind even registers it as saliva, a long, hot tongue unfurls to slather it across your collarbone and up your neck. It lingers there, licking long, wet stripes along the underside of your jaw and leaving goosebumps in its wake. The moonlight filtering through your fluttering curtains catches in the abyssal depths of its many eyes, making them gleam with a wordless hunger that leaves you breathless.

In truth, you don’t know what the creature truly is. You’d be remiss to not wonder what lies beyond its less than heavenly facade, but you just can’t bring yourself to care. Why should you, when you find yourself being lulled to sleep by the warmth of its body pressed snugly against your own, its wings enveloping you entirely in a tight, protective embrace? You drift asleep to the content rumbling of its chest beneath your fingertips and the pleasant sensation of claws reverently ghosting over your skin.