Please don't have extremely BRIGHT/FAST flashing lights in your bio/pin, I have epilepsy and it's quite dangerous for me to see something bright as the sun flashing before my eyes. Which is the sole cause I have to lower the screen light for anything with bright flashing lights. Thank you.
đ«AI, do not repost, translate my works or feed them into AI
Not spoiler free about anything (just add a warning when discussing them so others can see it and avoid it if they don't want to see any)
NAVIGATION:
General Rules
Dni + byf
Ao3
Rules for requesting/what I will and will not write
Possible to do list
Fandom List â UNDER CONSTRUCTION
Gen Master list (all over the place and some are missing as tumblr won't show them)
Kinktober list
POSSIBLE kinktober list 2025
Requests CLOSED
MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS IF YOU INTERACT WITH ME AT ALL YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.
Tags: âïž. marie - any asks i get and answer. Sometimes I forgot to add that tag though...
marie talks - just me talking about whatever in general.
@ananeuvii, I'm tagging you directly since you have a history of ignoring things that require accountability.
I'm not someone who makes posts like this. I think callout posts can easily come across as dramatic or performative, and I've always avoided them for that reason. But this isn't drama. I'm going to lay everything out with receipts, and people can form their own opinions.
cw: mentions of self-harm/suicide, harassment, predatory behavior toward minors
There are more than 30 Ana's.
Ana runs multiple accounts and uses them in ways that range from embarrassing to genuinely harmful.
One that I do feel is a mix of both is the @lyneyhatersdni blog. Ana claims this is her ('ex') boyfriend⊠she's the boyfriend.
Someone told me that before the account was fully set up, the following list and recently liked posts were publicly visible (which is just a default setting Tumblr uses).
Every liked post was content from Ana, Lilac, and Karma.
The account types exactly like Ana's; she tries to switch her typing style on it, but she slips⊠a lot.
I always thought it was weird when I first found that account, that it's rarely active.
That only Ana responds/likes my comments if I interact with them??
And what made my assumption feel far too true is this post she made:
This is a self-report if I've ever seen one. And why does this matter beyond just being weird??
This account was used for publicly 'dating' Ana, complimenting her, calling her pet names, having entire conversations with her in the comments of her post. She is having a relationship with herself in front of everyone.
And here's the infamous conversation she had with herself when she posted "im gonna kms" on her main, where lyneyhatersdni shows up in the comments to comfort her. She is roleplaying emotional support from a person who does not exist.
He is only online when she needs him to be (like making that "ana won't be online" post or interacting with herself). He never used it outside of using it for ana. They always happen to be online at the same time, and now she's active on his account bc shes "going to be offline for a long while" and is addicted, so that's what she uses right now.
But it gets worse than just beyond fake dating.
'lyneyhatersdni' was the account behind the anonymous hate messages that Lilac received on her old blog. Lilac's old account (scaraobsession) is now deactivated, so those specific asks are gone, but they were horrible nonetheless.
Lilac had to turn off anonymous asks entirely because of the harassment, and Ana had the audacity to reblog Lilac's post about it, acting like she was defending her.
Ana sent anonymous hate to her own (ex) close friend. And then publicly positioned herself as the one protecting her from it.
That's fucked up.
What's more fucked up? If this 'boyfriend' is real, dating your friend's bully is fucked up.
She also very, very likely sends herself anonymous requests. Some requests are for engagement on her blog; others are hate-directed at her(self). She literally discovered the feature publicly on her blog, as seen in the image with the anonymous hate at the top. The proof is all there.
The vent account(s).
Ana has had multiple vent accounts in the past; her newest was leaked recently. What was on it was absolutely disturbing.
One of the very disgusting things that stood out on this account was the posts written as conversations between herself and what she frames as an internal 'voice,' using brackets to distinguish it. In these posts, "the voice" says things like 'i hope they die', 'i hope one of them dies', and other⊠odd things you'll see below.
Ana responds back to "the voice" as herself, pushing back mildly, but she's the one writing all of it. She typed every word, fantasizing about (ex) friends' deaths.
And in the tags? She writes things like "these r kinda just like the thoughts I don't agree with, but r still there" and "pls know that's not actually me." She tagged her own death wishes toward her friends with a disclaimer. As if that makes it fine. As if hitting post and putting it on the internet is somehow not a choice she made.
These are all directed towards both Karma and Lilac. Ana's always been jealous of Karma, hated them. When they were all a trio, Ana would constantly leave Karma out on purpose; she tried to kick Karma out of the friend group, but ended up kicking herself out instead.
She crashed out on Lilac once, called her a slutty b*tch, over Lilac saying "plsplspls" to Karma. This is exactly what this post is about, and this is on one of Ana's yapping side blogs' accounts.
She treats her own spiraling as a performance and then demands that other people warn her before they vent.
Both Lilac and Karma found her recent vent account and reblogged it. This also isn't the first time Ana's vent account got leaked; you'll see in the image below.
After being caught, Ana deactivated her recent vent account (belovedofbarbatos), and ranted on her main before deleting and then making an announcement post saying she'd be offline for a very long time. Her ass is too chronically online for that, and she's still active on her @windspokenwhispers sideblog.
She only cares that she got caught.
Ana and minors.
This is the part that made me decide I needed to post this.
Someone sent Ana an anonymous ask saying: "Am I allowed to join in on the flirting if I'm 16?" Her response: "YUHP!! Just clarify that at first and make sure it's nothing tooooo suggestive, ur still underage! however in some countries that's legal, and I don't mind harmless stuff."
When someone called her out for flirting with a minor while being almost 21, she defended herself by saying she's only ever said things like "IMMA KISS YOU" and "I WANNA CUDDLE" and that those are platonic. The tag's on the post don't help the accusations.
On her recently deactivated vent account, she interacted with an anonymous person who said they were 15. Ana's response? She doesn't mind.
She doesn't fucking mind that a 15-year-old is looking at a vent blog that talks about serious topics, including self-harm.
When she started getting called out for this, she posted: "no becuz why am i getting pedo allegations" with tags about how she's just showing "platonic affection."
Ana is nearing 21, and she posts content not safe for minors while actively seeking new mutuals with anyone of any age (unless they're under 11, because that's her minimum apparently).
Why am I posting this?? It's a community concern.
Because Ana is an extrovert. She's outgoing and chatty, and she comes across as friendly and fun at first. She reaches out to people in the Genshin writing community, and if you're new to the community or shy, that attention feels good. That's exactly why it's dangerous.
The people who chose to interact with her deserve to know that the person behind the friendly posts has a vent account where she wishes death on her once closest friends. That she sent her own ex-best friend anonymous hate and then pretended to protect her from it. That she tells minors she doesn't care about their age.
I also want to make something very clear: Lilac and Karma are the victims in this situation. Both of them are people Ana called her best friends, while privately writing about wanting them dead. Lilac was harassed by Ana's alt account. Both of them were targeted on the vent account. They've already dealt with enough, leave them alone.
If Ana wants to respond to this publicly, she's welcome to.
While re-reading the Tapas version, I'm reminded of all the small mentions of Lari regarding marriage.
Even with the topic of "marriage", Lari's views go a drastic change throughout the series.
In the YM world, it's a very traditional, patriarchal, misogynist world.
Women have no rights and are treated as property of either the father, brother (if she is unmarried) or the husband. They are not allowed higher education, and their only use is to look pretty as the lady of the home. All the decision making goes to the men. ALL the women in the series suffer some sort of sexist discrimination.
Amanda Belois - Has no say in House Belois decisions (eventually leaves the Count)
Riche/Tris Gorten - married off to unhappy marriage
Amelia Belois - tried to marry into power, died for her ambitions
Eva - became a slave to the Emperor
In TL1, Lari was any normal noble girl. She loved reading poetry and romantic stories, and dreamed of a marriage of happiness and love. However, she knew that such stories were unrealistic; as a noble she would have to marry for the prestige and prosperity of the House.
However, even that bare minimum wasn't fulfilled: unbeknownst to her, she was the hidden Princess of the former Emperor, and was intentionally hidden away in the Southern Territory of the Belois manor. Count Belois intentionally blocked ANY suitors from approaching her. After she turned 15, she awaited letters from suitors but they never came. She was upset that Lehan was getting PLENTY of letters when he turned 15, and at age 18, she all had lost hope.
At age 16/17, House Belois intentionally sabotaged her with a pathetic debutante to ensure no one would be interested in her. no one in the Belois manor wanted to help her with it, so she sought the help of Amelia Belois who also gave the bare minimum - as a result, Lari was shunned, mocked, ridiculed for being so plain at the most important event of her life thus far. Recall, the debunte ball is the event to introduce a young lady into society as a new young adult - but she received no attention at all. She only got the courtesy greeting from Rupert, who only cared about her as a "Belois" and not as "Lari".
By the time she was 18, she lost all hope of ANY romance. After YEARS of mulling it over, she concluded she had a terrible personality, she was plain and unremarkable, and no one would ever want her. She had held hoped at age 16 that even if she was deficient, then some other noble would want her - but guess not.
Lari NEVER imagined that her own family was sabotaging her self esteem, because they had planned for her to marry her own BROTHER of all people. They never considered her their own daughter, just "someone who would become their daughter in law in the future." She may have learned perfect etiquette and all the skills required for a noble lady, but what was the point if she never married?
In the beginning, Lari pretends to not be bothered by the prospects of marriage - as she gave up already a long time ago - but she is still very much bothered by the concept. She often reminds herself she doesn't want it, doesn't need it, and unfortunately for Rupert, Lari is coping HARD regarding marriage.
At the end of the Belois vacation arc, she mentions again that she hopes for a marriage of love; but he reminds her how unrealistic it is, and she agrees. It's a nice thought, but utterly unrealistic and she knows that very well.
Years later, Lari's view on love literally breaks her: the 17yo Lari of TL2 is utterly uncapable of accepting Rupert's feelings. She spent almost 8 total years convincing herself no one will ever love her, no one wants her, no one wants her in their future, Rupert, the cold-hearted murderer would NEVER consider her a partner... yet here he is telling her point blank he loves her.
Throughout the series, Lari isn't an idiot, she notices his feelings, but she is in HARDCORE DENIAL about it. She makes every excuse under the sun to convince herself he doesn't like her in that way, that it's just because he's a nice, considerate guy.
Some readers may say it's because Lari's a cruel person, but I see it differently: Lari is so utterly broken and traumatized from the past, to her, the idea that "no one will love her" is her [truth].
To protect herself and her [truth], she pretended not to know, because she couldn't accept Rupert's feelings. She can't cope with it. For someone to be alone this whole time, to suddenly have someone tell her they loved her so much? it's too much for her. She can't suddenly undo 8 years of a belief just like that.
It takes her over a year during the separation, and a few months after they reunite, but eventually through patience and positive encouragement, Rupert does manage to change her thinking, and Lari does understand she's a person who is worthy of someone's love, someone does want to marry her and be with her forever, someone wants to protect and care for her.. :)
The look of "F u c k" on her face is honestly both funny and sad. Funny because I just find it so. Sad because she's so unsure of how she should go about telling him of her pregnancy.
Especially after the man said "I hate kids, they're noisy"
I love how... Quickly he folded once he acknowledged and accepted his feelings for her. I also like how he cried about her failed suicide attempt, her tearing herself away from him because had she stayed, it would have only dragged the both of them down. Especially her. Because of her state of mind.
And I also like how she was indecisive about her own feelings towards him for a while. While it's true [he's] not the one who killed her family, he still did the first timeline. That's not something that's going to leave her mind anytime soon, and it only makes sense she would be nervous when he finally became emperor.
Because he was emperor when he executed her entire family AND her in the 1st tl. How would she not get flashbacks?
I would be the same.
I like how she was unable to actually let go of her family name, even her father, until she finally snapped and only then did she realize, there was no hope for him.
Why should she care about him as a daughter when he never considered himself as her father?
The part when she finally told Rupert to do what he must, that he shouldn't worry about her when he finally imprisoned her dad.
But. I am. Confused.
Didn't he care about her in the beginning? Idk, maybe my reading compensation is ass.
I think Eva should be held accountable for what she did to Tori. In the comment section of this website, no one really did that.
But. At the same time, her entire existence was just.... She didn't deserve that. She deserved so much better... I'm sorry Eva...
At least Tori got a happy ending.
I haven't read the novel, but in the manhwa I wish Rupert cried while apologizing for what he did in tl 1. On the verge of a break down.
But that doesn't mean I dislike how it went in the manhwa.
Anyway, do you guys have any recommendations for any webtoons similar to this?
synopsis: Dion is hungry and he is tempted, but patient. Desire pools hot, your scent invades, and his instincts call for a hunt. Itâs unfortunate for you that Dion is, in fact, quite the hunter.
Content. mdni afab + f! reader, modern au (they work in the office and dion is the ceoâs son) + hybrid au, dion is a wolf hybrid, reader is a sheep hybrid, slight dubcon bc itâs dion, dacryphilia (obvi itâs dion), biting, fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), vaginal penetration, knotting, breeding, reader gets harassed in one scene but not by dion, no aftercare bc itâs dion.
a/n: for the enablers @snailsgoingdowntown and @cjafjatkstke
Dion Agriche thinks you're an odd little thing the first time he sees you.
A sheep hybridâall fluff and sweet-scentedâwho had just been hired into his father's company. A company that consists mainly of predator hybrids, that is. It's an unexpected thing that registers in the back of his mind, but he doesn't think much of it.
At least, he doesn't think he thinks much of it. But as the days pass by, he finds himself memorizing your schedule, the coworkers you stay around, and begins frequenting the places you usually are, from the break rooms to the canteen, just to occasionally catch your figure throughout the building. To catch your smell, specifically. It's a soft fragrance, much different from the heavy stench of the other predators, easy on his sensitive nose as it begins to linger in the elevators, wafting by him when you pass with arms full of files, constantly running to and fro like a scurried mess.
And somehow, between those days, Dion doesn't mind looking forward to work.
â â â
His routine of seeing you here and there stops one day when he makes his way past an empty meeting room, sensitive nose catching a whiff of your scent and⊠another, stronger, fouler one. It puts him on edge immediately. Not because it's a new scent around youâand he knows who you typically hang aroundâbut because your smell is⊠different. Not soft or soothing like it normally is, but sour and sharp. Like something or someone has tainted your mood and twisted it foully.
"Come on⊠I don't bite, y'know." Dion's ears pick up the voice through the door, unfamiliar and unwelcome as they continue, "Pretty lambs like you need a big, strong predator like me to protect you, don't you think? Just a small date, that's all 'm askin' for."
The words, said too arrogantly and teasingly, make his ears pin back in displeasure, and he can't help the emotions stirring alive in his chest. It's odd, really; he's never felt like this before. This sudden, strong, and instant hate for someone he doesn't even know. Yet, distantly, it feels like something tugging at his mindâa faraway cry to possessive instinct he's left behind long ago.
But then he hears your voice, quivering and feeble, but trying so hard to be stern. And for a second, he wishes he were the one to make you feel that wayâthe one to make you feel a myriad of emotions far beyond what he should.
"I don't want to," you say, barely audible, "I already said no."
The coyote hybrid in front of you sneers in his response, and Dion can practically hear it. His hand twitches at his side, itching to do something dangerous.
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you? Seems like you don't know what's good for you." The hybrid's voice is grating now, stripped clear of its arrogance and teasing. It makes your stomach twist with fear, whirling into knots as you avert your gaze, looking for a way out, anything but the man in front of you. "Look at me, dumb lamb." He spits, hand darting out to yank roughly at your ear. "Stupid thing."
The sharp pain makes you bleat out a distressed sound, eyes shutting, and the next scene is a rapid blur. You barely register the door lurching open, a low and foreign snarl echoing in the room before the coyote hybrid is ripped off you with a sickening punch, the sound of cracking bones reaching your ears before your assaulter tumbles over in a mess of spewing blood and hurling rapid-fire curses at the interrupter.
It surprises you, makes you flinch and crumple against the wall, but with the weight pining you gone, it also feels like you can breathe again. But you dare to open your eyes, and who you find isn't who you expect; either way, you know well who he is.
"M-Mr. Agriche." You tremble out, your words sighed out in relief. "Thankâ"
"Quiet." The command cuts sharply through your words, ironing not only you, but the other person in the room into silence. Only, Dion doesn't turn to look at you; he doesn't even acknowledge your presence. Instead, he keeps his cold glare on the coyote hybrid writhing on the floor, and he looks almost⊠amused. Like a predator toying with its preyâand in this situation, Dion is very clearly the hunter.
But then his sharp eyes turn from the coyote to you, and it suddenly feels like you're the huntedâshone in the spotlight when he steps closer, long legs eating up the space between you two just a few strides. He comes up right in front of you, bearing you beneath his gaze, and you have to crane your head all the way up to make eye contact, a difficult task with the brevity of his oppressive atmosphere that doesn't wane the tension.
You're unsure of what to do. Does he expect you to leave? Does he want you to apologize? Each option you come up with feels wrong in the moment, and all you can do is shuffle awkwardly, flitting your eyes to and from the crumpled body to the large torso taking up your vision. Somehow, you've found yourself between a rock and a hard place.
You try again, "Sirâ"
"Come." Is all Dion says before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.
"Waitâ butâŠ" Once again, you're taken aback. With an exasperated sigh, you glance over at the other man, who clutches his bleeding nose and jaw; you're almost sure it's broken, but you can't find any sympathy in yourself before looking at Dion's fading form. A thought goes through your mind, stay with the man crumpled in pain or go with Dion.
You follow him.
Your shorter strides aren't nearly large enough to keep up with his brisk pace, but you manage to reach the elevator with him before it shuts, locking you in the metal box with your boss's son with a quiet thud.
Tempered silence follows, and it gives you the time to really look at Dion. This is the first time you've seen him so close, and his description matches everything you've heard about him. A perfect mirror of his father with sleek black hair, sharp ears protruding, and keen red eyes that seem to hold an abyss. Tall, intimidating, and stoic.
But his scent is different from everyone else you work with. Dion's scent is overwhelming, almost invading, but it doesn't throw you off kilter. It's musky and heady, envelopes you fully, and⊠comforting. Or maybe it's the events of today that make you desperate for any solace as you slump against the cool steel.
"M-Mr. AgricheâŠ" You croak out, words cracking, glued to your throat. You're not even sure what to say; it just feels like you need to bridge across the canyon of silence or you'll break.
But that title makes something in his chest twist horribly; he decides immediately that he hates hearing you say it.
"Dion." He says instead.
You blink in surprise, ears twitching like you heard him wrong. "Huh?"
He stares blankly at you, leaning casually against the wall. "Call me Dion."
"Then⊠Mr. Dionâ"
"Dion." His voice is firmer, more of an order than anything else.
It catches you off guard, makes you blink owlishly before you mumble, trying the name on your tongue, "DionâŠ"
You say it so softly, a delicate whisper of his name, that Dion underestimates the effect it has on him. It shouldn't have any effect, really. But there's something about the tender, hesitant way it rolls of your tongue, paired with the residual fear and anxiety in your normally clean fragrance, that makes it tick something off in his brain. It gnaws at himâdangerous, he thinks.
"Dion." You mumble once more, and he replies with a monotonous hum that blends with the elevator's whirring.
Now, when it's quiet and the adrenaline has seeped out of your body, do you finally realize what happened. The coyote hybrid, the potential harm you could've been in, and where it's brought you now. It feels like everything crashes down all at once, blundering you beneath its weight in suffocating exhaustion.
You try, you really do try, to bite back the tears. But they're upon you and rolling down your cheeks in rivulets before you can escape the stress. Itâs a dooming kind of feeling that seizes your heart, and you feel patheticâyou feel more like prey than human as you cry and cry and cry in front of the predator who watches you intently. And you canât help it when you cry out his name, apologizing even though thereâs nothing to apologize for. For prey like you, itâs instinctâa merciless kind thatâs never left you.
However, Dion doesnât say anything as you shed your tears and say your wordsâthey fall on deaf ears anyway. Since all he can seem to focus on is the way the dim elevator lights illuminate the fallen orbs of your sorrow, how each tear slips from the corners of your eyes before it rolls down the apples of your cheeks, and then drips tantalizingly down your chinâitâs a seductive movement that captivates him impossibly and makes the air thicker in his lungs.
He etches the way your cheeks wet and lashes clump into his mind, plump lips moving in mindless words he couldnât care less about, and the desire that rears its head is so sudden that it puzzles him, though it doesnât show on his features. For one, Dion has never been a creature to be controlled by instinctâthe idea of giving in to such temptation is a foreign idea to him.
But now, in this metal box and you merely an arm's reach away, crying a sweet, prey-like symphony that threatens the tether of his sanity, Dion canât help the biting allure in his mind. You smell good, and you look even better as the drying streaks of tears begin to settle on your cheeks. His hands flex at his side, the tips of his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and touch you before he curls them tight, blunt nails digging into the flesh of his palm. It does nothing to sate the sudden emptiness settling in his stomach.
'Is this⊠hunger?' Itâs different, heâs aware. Feels like it stems from the hollows of his ribs instead of the pit of his stomach, causes blood to rush through his ears, and all he can think about is how you would taste on his tongue or the texture of your flesh squashed between his teethâsaliva builds in his mouth. It is a far different kind of hunger than he has ever experienced, but it is hunger nonethelessâa powerful little parasite that eats away at him and curls intoxicating heat in his gut.
And Dion has never felt so gluttonous.
Instinct guides his bones to reach out for you, claws bared, and the looming shadow reminds you of moments priorâyou flinch. It makes him stop. You flinch. Just centimeters from his hand like a mouse beneath a cat, and the shiver that rolls through him like a thundering storm is nothing short of unnaturalâor perhaps, it is the most natural thing that has come to him.
âI-Iâm sorry,â you sniffle out, backed against the wall, âI didnât mean toâmmph!â
One large hand of Dionâs swipes unceremoniously across your face, collecting tears, smearing them across your cheeks in one smooth motion before he settles on the space between your collar and jaw. The touch is heavy-handed as expected, but not violent like the coyote, and it easily blankets your neck. His fingers measure the motion of your rabbiting pulse. For a second, he thinks about squeezing.
Thinks about it.
Instead, he settles on words, speaks in a hushed tone that he isnât so accustomed to using. But it feels right to lull and lure a lamb like you. âWhy are you crying?â
The question registers, barely. You mostly focus just on his cold touch; it anchors you, brings you back to now as you sniffle the rest of your tears away.
âI⊠Iâm just overwhelmed.â
Dion tilts his head, and you miss the mirth in his eyes. âYou cry when youâre overwhelmed, then?â
Itâs blunt, blatantly so. You've never been asked that, makes you waver in your response. âYeah⊠I guess I do.â
Noted.
He hums once more, pressing his thumb against your wet cheek. Your muscle divots beneath the light pressure,, shadows falling over your skin, and the hunger sinks its teeth into his belly. What a morsel youâve made yourself into. What sheepish expression you show to a wolf.
The elevator dings the next moment. It snaps both of you back to reality.
âOh, uhâŠâ You stammer over yourself, threading your fingers together as you step out of the elevator into the empty lobby. Dion follows.
And for a few long seconds, Dion stares at you. Takes in the way your lashes quiver and lets your scent conquer his space. Meek, soothing, sweet. A stark contrast from the sourness earlierâyouâre comfortable with him. The thought is⊠absurd.
âThank you.â Is what you settle on, shuffling in place. Tears have dried on your face, and youâre sure you look like a mess in front of himâmore of a meek lamb than ever.
Dion doesnât respond. Silence follows. Awkwardness ensues. Then again, anything is better than what you went through today.
âWell, Iâll get going first then.â And with a tilt of your head, youâre turning away on your heels.
Again, thereâs no response from him as he watches you goâonly the weight of what's transpired and the planted seed of instinct. But thereâs reluctance tugging at him when your figure disappears behind revolving doors.
You leave him alone in the pristine lobby, and he turns his attention to his hand. Phantom warmth lingers; it tickles the lines of his palm, still damp from your tears. And after thoughts tread into his mind, Dion brings his thumb to his mouth and runs it over his tongue.
Salty, saccharine. Scantly, it sates his hunger. Dion Agriche has never been this glutinous.
His meal has run, and he has allowed it. Dion is a man who gets what he wants; now, the primal hum in his body calls for the chase.
âââ
The next day, you find out that the coyote hybrid has disappeared. You assume he was fired, and you donât think much of it. No one in the company thinks much of it.
Dion notices that you grow closer to him after the incident, finds out different things that he already knew about you, too.
Sometimes, youâll buy donuts for your floor, and youâll bring him a few despite the fact that he works levels much above yours. You begin to brew him coffee in the morning, wave politely in that quiet way you always do, and smile when he passes in the hallsâhe wants to bite it off your lips, inhale you deep and slow.
Do you not know that he is wolf and you are sheep? Do you not notice the ways his crimson eyes drink you in wholly? Do you not know that it is his innate response to reach out and claw into your flesh, have your bones crack beneath his teeth as you gasp and wither, all while he feasts upon you?
Do you accept his presence because he happened upon you and the coyote? Is he your savior? Or are you simply so naive that you turn a blind eye?
It would appear so to him, because, months later, you invite the wolf into your humble apartment one evening. You let him in with a wide spread of your lips and gentle acceptanceâso trusting, so tempting.
âPlease donât mind the mess, I wasnât really expecting guests, but I canât just let you go in the storm after you dropped me off.â A little laugh leaves your lips, cutting through whatever tension simmers. Youâre good at that, Dion thinks, relieving tension and garnering sympathy. He has none for you, thoughâheâs hungry after all. Has been for months now.
He notes how at ease you seem, moving with fluidity in the comfort of your home. Your pheromones are gentle, belies how calm you are as the particles curl around him. But crossing the threshold of your doorway is a different experience in itself. Itâs warm, like you. And your scentâgod, your damn smell. Assaults him tenfold when he steps in, writhes into his senses without mercy, and conquers the unraveling space between his humanity and instinct to devour.
And youâve just invited him into your denâwolf to sheep.
You make your way into the kitchen, gesturing to the couch, âHave a seat. Are you thirsty or hungry? Make yourself comfortable."
âIâm fine.â Dion considers telling you that he is hungryâfamished, truly. And that you look like a delectable little luxury, so giving and tender. Perfectly at home while the wolf settles into your space.
And you can feel his gaze as you fumble around in the kitchen.
Dion apparently takes well to your space, fills up the cozy scene unnaturally. He scopes out the living space, the slight angles your furniture takes, and his scent meshes with you while he finds your figure.
You feel it immediately. Heavy and intense, tracking your every move carefully like a poised predator. But where fear should be, you find none. After all, youâve grown closer to him after the incident with the coyote hybrid. You think itâs for the better. Others at the office think itâs for the worse. You think they're silly for judging Dion so quickly.
Heâs not that bad.
And you do like him, sort of. Dion is easy on the eyes and much different from other predators. He doesnât snarl or glare at you, nor does he give you a hard time. He isnât like his loud and boisterous brothers, always making a fuss around the building. Dion simply⊠watches, tracks, and observes. Heâs patient.
It doesnât cross your mind that that, in itself, may make him the most dangerous of all. That, possibly, he's more in touch with the wolfish parts of him than not.
So you donât expect anything when you settle beside him on the couch, pushing over a warm cup of tea. It goes untouched, unlooked. His attention focuses solely on your form. And then Dion's suddenly invading your space, pressing close against you, cornering you against the armrest of your couch.
âD-Dion? What-what are you doing?â Your voice stutters into a quiet whisper of surprise. Dion thinks you still sound as innocent as ever, even when your eyes widen like trapped prey. In this case, you are.
A trapped sheep with a starving wolf. Youâve pulled the last thread of his restraint loose. Running and running and running, smelling like sin and temptationâDion won't hold back anymore.
âDo you really not know?â His voice is low, dangerous. Unfamiliar. And it sends a trembling fear down your spine; he smells it. Sweeter than anything heâs smelt before. âAre you that naive? A sheep and a wolf, what else would happen when you let me into your home?"
Itâs then that you realize that youâre a fool. Dumb little lamb. You should have stayed with a herd, safety within numbers, but youâve invited the big bad wolf into your house and now reaping the consequences.
Maybe, deep down, you've always known the truth. Still, you clung to hope, to the idea that the rumors and instincts might be wrong, or that you were different, protected by kindness or gratitude. Perhaps it's easier to ignore the danger that stands before you, to brush off the sharpness in his gaze and the way his presence makes you tremble. Or maybe, despite every warning, you simply wanted to believe in something softerâeven if it meant pretending not to see the wolf for what he is.
âDion,â your voice cracks hopelessly, heart rabbiting furiously, âwe-we can talk about this!â
The wolf only tilts his head, peering down at you. You see your reflection in his blank eyes, and it dawns upon you like a sick joke. Have you seen it all wrong this entire time? Is it because you've never done this with anyone that you've been so blind? The desire is gutted clean open now, greed and gluttony simmering in his abyssal irisesâit really is so clear. So deep and profoundâit makes your stomach twist over itself. Yet, the fear swimming through your body now is different from the fear months ago with the other man.
But Dion sighs, watching you carefully in that way he always seems to do well. You're so small against him, tiny and softâheâs always liked that about you. You smell nice too, ripe with fear. Are you that afraid? He feels a mirthful smile tug at his lips, and he mumbles, âI want to eat you.â
Your expression contorts, he analyzes it carefully. Observes how it goes from fear to surprise, then back. But your body betrays you, he can smell it; even if he couldn't, the dusking warmth of your cheeks tells him all he needs to know. For a second, he wonders if you'll run, or thrash, push back against the couch and scream even though you won't get anywhere. But you know better, turning your meek gaze down and fumbling with your fingers while you rattle your mind with a response. You find none.
You don't know what response you could possibly give him. Dion is wolf and you are sheep. He is effortlessly stronger, faster, better. And it's difficult to think when he's pressed so close. The scent of him makes your mind swim. Itâs suffocatingâthick, rich metallic odor and something sterile but musky clouding your mind as you breathe him in. It brings you back all to those months ago. And yet, wetness grows between your legs, the tacky stickiness building heat through your body.
You really have been so blindâto both him and yourself.
"Should I?" He continues lowly, raising himself above you. His hand comes to splay over your vulnerable belly, feeling up the soft flesh before traveling southward. You're sensitive, he can tell. Twitching here and there, but you don't deny him of it. You shouldâyou know you should kick and scratch and fight. But your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and no protest leaves you. It almost pleases him. Maybe deep down, you know it is your fate to be consumed by a monster like him. And then his fingers are suddenly pressing against your sensitive heat, searing you alive with his predatory gaze. "Should I eat you⊠here?"
Your little whimper, whether a plea to stop or an urge for more, is his answer. The small sound makes his ears swivel, standing at attention like the tightness in his pants. It's a quiet cry that makes him preen with mirth, patting your cheeks lightly with a condescending smile. You realize that you've never seen Dion smile beforeâsuch a sight makes you feel like your fate is truly sealed. Even worse when he presses your thighs against his hips, the action makes your pencil skirt ride up, and you feel the raging heat of his clothed cock kiss the soaked fabric of your panties.
This is reward of patience, months upon months of stalking his prey has brought him his trophy. And he intends to savor it thoroughly.
Dion begins with your neck. Noses at it, gorging himself on your scent, and his sleek, black ears swivel to the drumming of your pulse. Do all prey tremble this violently, he wonders. The way you shiver is addicting, gnaws at his insatiable appetite. And the desire flares again, hotter than ever, with the need to gut and devour you down to bone. He needs to taste you.
So he laves his long tongue along the salty expanse of your neck, letting your pulse dance on his salivating muscle, a groan tearing through him at the first taste. It's just a sample of what he'll wrench out from you. But it makes you whine, bleat out a pathetic cry, and breathes life into the animal in him. You taste just as he's always imaginedâcandied, honeyed with fear, ripe for the taking.
And there's so much more to uncover.
A ghost of a touch grazes you, followed by a light nick into your flesh when Dion hastily slides a sharp claw along the front of your shirt. The pain makes you yelp, fabric parting for him easily, and bares your tits to his hungry watch. For a moment, Dion just stares. Looks down at the way your chest heaves and how little slits of red carve onto your skin, following down where his claw pricks down your body. He rumbles a moan at the sight.
Warm, large palms come to cover where the cups were, dragging against the shallow cuts, and you bleat weakly at the pain that trails after. He's heavy-handed when he fondles your tits in his handsâit's what you expect, but it doesn't stop the way your nipples harden, rubbing deliciously against his skin as his wet muscle runs over the sensitive peaks.
Youâve never felt sensation like this beforeâa mix of want and anxiety as the predator tastes youâso you squirm helplessly beneath him. The motion drags your clothed cunt along his cock, spreading your wetness over the seam of his pants. Even through the fabric, warmth bleeds through, and he canât help but buck into you, driving your hips to meet his humps. Your fingers bury into his coarse hair, drawing a low growl from Dion that rumbles through your breast, vibrating into your heart.
Instinct wars with rationality. The ever-looming knowledge that you shouldnât be doing this, especially not with a wolf that came onto you so unexpectedly and roughly, despite the fact that you invited him into your home. Because you don't want this, you shouldn't.
But when the attention of Dionâs mouth leaves your breast, redirected between your legs instead, all that notion flies out the window along with the will to fight back. Dion has won; he has brought the lamb to the slaughter, and now the instinct to mate and breed wires itself where reason should exist.
His head disappears beneath your skirt, and then you feel dull pain branded into your inner thigh that makes you squeal and gasp his name when he prints more into tender flesh. A brandish ache blooms between your thighs when he swipes his tongue over the canvas of red and purple.
"Hu-hurts!" You cry weakly, tugging at his hair. "It hurts!"
"Keep saying that, but you're soaked. Is prey like you meant to be so desperate?" Dion mumbles against your inner thigh, lips curling.
For a moment, he pulls back, bunching your skirt around your hips so he can see his handiwork. Your skin blooms with indents of his canine teeth, hues of bruises blooms where his lips had beenâthe sight makes his mouth dry. Then, he presses his nose against your clothed cunt next and simply breathes deep against your core.
Your scent is numbingly strong, he simply can't get enough of it. He can practically taste you, drools over your already sopping panties as your legs sling over his shoulders, palms trembling where theyâre holding onto your thighs as he draws in the smell of you here. Moaning softly, he nudges deeper, pressing his mouth into the swollen nub of your clit. It makes you twitch, in turn, making him growl, ears pinning flat against his head.
Under his claw, your panties fall apart just as easily as your shirt. And at the glimpse of your bare, glistening cunt, Dion pounces on you immediately.
"FuckâŠ" Dion laps at your cunt with starving ache. No technique to his devouringânothing but instinctual, animalistic hunger. Nose stimulating and brushing your clit with every wet lick of his flat tongue, from your clenching hole to your pulsing clit, swallowing down as much of your slick as possible. He's completely voracious, lost in your taste.
Dion is no stranger to delicacies, but he finds that the meal in front of him is perhaps the finest luxury of allâa culmination of his patience and skill as a hunter.
Your nectar simmers on his tongue, better than anything he could have imagined, makes his knot ache with need to breed and claim. Little moans of ecstasy sear into his sensitive ears, he etches the chords into memory, every pitch that changes with the whirls of his tongue swirling around your clit. Prodding and testing without mind to the mess of you dripping down his chin. He feasts like a starved wolf.
And you push back on it, desperate ruts against the plane of his tongue, dragging over your clit and diving into your twitching hole. Your fingers tunnel into his hair, tugging or pulling, you can't quite tell. But the syrupy warmth pooling in your belly distracts you from it all. Twists and curls a throbbing knot in your stomach, for a second, you think you want nothing more than a knot filling you up, pumping you full. This euphoric ache is akin to the orgasms you give yourself during your lonely heats.
No, it's stronger. More sensitive, as if pleasure sparks a burning fire, eating you alive.
Your thighs tremble around Dion, threatening to clamp around his head, but it takes little strength to force you open. It's as though he can feel your climbing orgasm through your taste. Savors the way heat builds and builds and builds before he's pressing a finger into you. One, then two, gliding them in with ease and a filthy slosh.
"F-fuck," you cry, blinking back tears, âDion, fuckâ"
The blunt pressure makes you cum at once, creeping on you until your body bursts with tension, throwing your head back while torrents of ecstasy ripple aggressively through you.
You sob. You sob and thrash, and Dion pins you down through it all, unrelenting with his fingers as he fucks you into another orgasm, more sensitive than the last. Feels like he won't stop at all because he's a starved wolfâhe'll lick everything off your bones, and only lets up when he's satisfied, and you're limp from the onslaught of overstimulation.
This is how he first begins.
The reprieve when he pulls away is a welcome one. The sight when he comes face to face with you is not.
Dionâs lower face is smeared with your essence, sticky and tacky against his skin. Like blood coats his chin, sinking into his pores, but he pays no mind as he swipes his tongue along his lips, collecting the last bits of you down his throat. It might as well have been your bloodâit's equally as tender. And filling, certainly. But Dion is a large wolf with an appetite to match.
Youâre certainly a sight like this, Dion thinks when he takes in your ruined form. Ravaged and slaughtered, it's how he's wanted to see you from the start.
He's almost endeared by your tears, leaning in to nuzzle his slicked face against your cheeks. "Overwhelmed?" He whispers, laving his tongue along the salty trail, "Will you apologize like you always do?"
He wants to hear you say it. It's so prey-like, sends a thrill down his bones every time he hears the little words fall from your lips. Before, he didn't care much for your useless apologies, but it's different now. A meek little thing, always begging for mercy you won't receive, groveling for a chance because it's all you can do. It's all a lamb like you can afford in the jaws of a wolf.
And he smiles when you sniffle, your voice a quiet mumble. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry for crying, 'm sorry for doing this to y-youâ"
Your apologies continue profusely until Dion tires of it, humming monotonously before he tugs you onto your belly.
His heat is upon your back, melting against your skin that, briefly, you don't grasp the searing, girthy pressure sliding against your slick pussy as he mounts you. But then you feel the weight of his shaft, squished between folds of your cunt, the heft as it stretches but doesnât penetrate. Before you think twice, knees bracket your thighs, large hands pinning your hips in place while he ruts his cock to soak himself, muted groans rumbling from the wolf.
âYouâre drenched.â He comments, and it makes you burn. You can hear the way your body sobs for him, for anything to fill you up now. Itâs innate, instinctively crying to be bred, even by Dion. âIâm sure you could take my knot now.â
The words donât register as heat pierces you. Blinding. Jolting. Painfulâthe fat press of his cock pushes into your cunt.
Dion, as he is with many things, sets a brutal pace. Fucks you in hard, heavy thrustsâconquers your body effortlessly as you pant and moan, drugged on instinct, mind syrupy and feverish with the lust that culls any over thought.
The sound of it is lewd. Makes heat thrum between the two of you when your couch squeaks and scrapes against the flooring in protest, and the sound where the two of you are joined is filthâanimalistic ritual erased of whatever shred of humanity is left. Sloppy and dripping, his cock forcing slick from your sex with every snap of his hip.
He groans from above you, too. Barely heard over the slap of skin. Guttural, heady, and throaty things that rasp out with every squelch, growls rumbling deep from his chest, and the only thought that flares through Dionâs mind is to breed. Breed and pump you full of his knot.
The thought of it hurls you to the edge.
"O-oh⊠Dion, f-fuckâ"
This time, it hurts. Feels like death casted upon you. So pleasurably tender, ruining that spot that makes you cry out for denied mercy. Youâve never taken cock before, never been so thoroughly gorged on until youâre nothing but desolated bones and blood, voided open for Dion to feast.
He takes it eagerly. Folds himself over your form, turns your chin to him, and laps into your mouth. It's less of a kiss and more of tasting your mutilation. His tongue crowds against yours, curves over your flat molars, and his canines press roughly on your lips with the same weight and intention of his hips. As ready as he is to press his knot into you.
And it's a simple thing to Dionâthis pleasure, this instinct that he lets overcome him. It's instinct that guides him to fuck you through your orgasm, cunt pressed warm around him. He wonders if it's instinct for you to give in so easily, allow yourself to be festered upon and devoured because, at the end of it all, itâs baser need that overpowers human rationality.
He's no better than you in that matter. Letting the squeeze of your pussy milk his cock until he lurches into you, cock spitting cum deep into your womb. Even through that, he doesn't falter.
"F-fuckâ" Dion huffs into the slope of your shoulder, lost in the void of his mind, and then heâs shoving you down so hard you can barely breathe. Stamps his hips against yours, hands on your waist, keeping you pinned as he buries himself even deeper.
Ribbons of cum pools so intimately within you, thick and gooey, squelching with every grind he forces in. And with it, you clamp around him like a trap to prey, a hunger that needs to be satiated too.
But it's the sudden throbbing pressure at the base of his cock that fills and swells so thickly that has you gasping, choking on tears, mind blanking at the unnatural fill expanding tight in your cunt. It stretches you far beyond what you should take. It hurts. More than when you took his cock for the first time. More than anything else pulsing through your body. You sob more, clawing at the couch for the effort to run from the stretch, but with his hands locked on your waist, there's nothing you can do but breathe heavy, groaning through the strain as he knots himself deep in you. Locking himself in as he cums in heavy ropes of sticky spend deep into your sex.
You whimper against the cushions, dazed, when his knot seems to expand even more; the squelch of your filled cunt is evidence of it. Little pulses of your sex around his knot like it tries to push out the intrusion.
Youâre gone deep to instinct, like this. Blood too thick and hot in your veins to battle with any other thoughts. All there is is you and him. Your bodies gliding in the void, breathing rushed and fast, and dizzy to the pleasure taking to your mind.
âDion,â You plead again, throaty and wrecked. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock where it twitches inside you.
"It's not wise," Dion rumbles low against you, hardly breathless, "To leave a wolf hungry."
A feeling comes over Dion then. The same empty feeling in his stomach that he's always had with you. The hunger in his stomach is still gnawing. Dion still feels like heâs starving, a bottomless pit in his body that wants you all. Even doing this is only a halfway relief to his urge. His voracity is as inhuman as the rest of him.
He continues to want more.
More of youâtouch, flesh, bone. Something to fill the hollow in his stomach, to stick between the crevices of his teeth and fill him up so this biting hunger simmers away.
His lips ghost across the slope of your shoulder again, lips pressed against the rapid pulse. Your blood must be rushing, he thinks, crimson that swims, pumping through your heart and throughout your body. Sticky and tacky with the taste that'll certainly linger on his tongue.
Maybe it'll be enough.
Pinned beneath him, unaware of his thoughts, you shudder with every lingering jerk of his hips. And the distance between you disappears in a breath as his mouth finds your neck, deceptively sympatheticâmapping, searching, tracking the delicate veins of red and blue for the best place to fill his mouth with the break of your skin. It's instinct to go for the neck at this point.
âDionââ
He bites.
You wail.
Warm, syrupy iron floods his mouth at once. Oozes onto his tongue in heavy gushes while teeth are still clamped over the juncture of your neck and shoulder. And he holds you there by his fangs as your body locks up, bright pain igniting in your body like wildfire, and then you quake as if your body had been doused with ice water, voice caught in a choke until you go boneless against him, faintly aware of the twitching in his rousing cock.
Your mind swims in endorphins from the throbbing on your neck. Pain hasnât faded. In fact, it feels brighter. The excruciationâdizzying, blinding, and tenderâsparks again when his lips close around the wound, suckling gently as trying to savor every drop escaping you, staining his pearly whites a deep red.
"Please, no... no more..." You gasp, hoarse through tears.
"Stay like this then," Dion murmurs to your bloodied shoulder. You couldn't move if you tried anyway, pinned and knotted beneath him with no escape.
Still, you don't understand. You can't. This must be what it feels like, you wonder, to be defeated and drowned and killed. That alone might've been better than having pleasure and innocence wrenched out of you. Deceived and effortlessly caught.
From behind you, Dion watches, smiles, and tilts your head so he's able to look at you properly. Your cheeks are puffy, eyes red with stray tears. This look best suits you, he thinks.
Then, alongside a quiet murmur of something indiscernible, he bends down and presses his lips to yours, sharing your blood between tonguesâdevastatingly gentle.
With the kiss, his appetite is sated.
idk Iâm embarrassed bc this took me ridiculously long to write do not perceive me but ty for reading
