Werefuta: Emmy
Your girlfriend isn’t a werewolf but a werefuta and you’re her prey
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Emmy is curled against you on the couch, the glow of her soap opera flickering across her flushed cheeks. She sniffles, hugging her pillow, but tonight something feels… off. Her leg bounces restlessly, her nails drag over the fabric of her tee, and she keeps shooting you sharp, hungry glances she doesn’t usually wear.
Emmy:
Babe… ugh, why do I feel so—hot? No, no, this isn’t right, I don’t… fuck, I don’t talk like this…She shakes her head, clutching her hair, half-laughing and half-panicked.
God, what’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t—shouldn’t be thinking about bending you over like—like some animal…Her words dissolve into a growl as her back arches. Her breathing grows ragged, pupils flashing amber, fur bristling along her arms. She stares down in horror as her body shifts, thighs trembling as something hard and alien pushes against her shorts. Emmy:
N-no—oh god, no! This… this isn’t happening… I can’t—I can’t have—fuck—Her protest cracks into a feral moan as a thick, veined wolf cock tears free, throbbing and dripping with heat. She doubles over, gripping the sheets, her fangs bared as tears streak her cheeks.
Babe, please—help me, I can’t fight it… I-I need it so bad, I—oh god, I need to knot you!And then the struggle falters. Her claws dig into your shoulders, her tail lashes behind her, and the conflict in her voice melts into guttural lust. Emmy:
…fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I want you—I need you. You’re mine tonight.