If you were around in the roleplaying or literotica community a decade ago, you may remember the werewolf/lycan/Omegaverse trope that was endlessly available in every forum and romance book across the internet. Dominant shape shifting muscle bound alpha males, sniffing after plain-but-beautiful Omega females who were powerless and submissive. Packs of fanged shirtless dudes fighting it out over a swooning woman who “never wanted this”. It may have been cheesy, but we ate that shit up back then, and for many of us it awakened our Dom or submissive side, and introduced us to kinks like bondage, manhandling, rough sex, pain play, size play, “Knotting”, biting, choking, breeding, and damsels in distress among other things.

I’d love to build out a deliciously tropey lycan-based roleplay, focused heavily on the story as much as the smut. Nothing excites me more than playing a petite woman with immortality on her side, but not much else other than stubbornness and a bit of sass, dominated by a stronger man with a weakness for pretty females with a certain scent.

I actually prefer a slightly more reedy or lithe build in a man, more Andrew Scott or Dev Patel rather than Joe Manganiello or Jason Momoa, but of course your character is up to you. I am hoping for a strong stoic type, driven over the edge when another alpha threatens his property. That said, tell me what kind of shifter Alpha creature you’d prefer to play, and I’ll be happy to build our story around him.

My limits are scat, animal (half-shifted werewolves are one thing, actual wolves are a no-go pls), scat, and birth play. You can fill me with your pup, but I don’t want to involve a fetus in any erotic RP. (We can discuss this further in detail if you want!)

I’ve written a bit of a character intro/backstory below. We can run with this story line or start from scratch, but I’m sure some general discussion will be required.

Andi swept up the broken glass that littered the floor of her family’s bar, grumbling to herself as she cleaned up the mess from the night before. The pack had been getting rowdy in the wake of last month’s announcement. The former Alpha, a man who had ruled the pack for the better part of a century, had died. It wasn’t unheard of, most Alpha’s reins were short and bloody relative to their natural lifespans, but the news still caught most of them off guard. They were one of the largest, and oldest, in North America, their territory spanning the south-east from West texas into North Carolina. They’d arrived with the French, anchoring themselves in New Orleans, a city that became a haven for all sorts of supernatural creatures since before it had been colonized and the first brick laid. Andi’s smaller set of lycans occupied a bayou between Thibidaux and Houma. They were a surly bunch, not as sophisticated as their cousins that ran the more prominent regions, but still held their own against the other packs that occasionally dared spar with them. The pack wars had evolved since the old days of course, more organized crime and subterfuge than bloody battles that left entire towns of humans torn limb from limb a few hundred years before. Still, it was in their nature to be territorial, and then there was the population issue. There were fewer of them year by year, the ability to turn human recruits becoming rare among their kind. Where once a single bite to any human could add another to their ranks, now only a certain few could make the change without dying in the process. Their females had struggled with fertility as well, meaning fewer pups born between mates. It had caused quite a lot of tension among the leaders, and now with an open Alpha position hanging over their heads, things were getting messy. The usual routine was well under way. Those who had the potential to take over had gathered, debated, and now were traveling from region to region within the territory, campaigning and seeking counsel from the elders, the few remaining from the old country, who had seen dozens of Alphas rise and fall and knew more than most. Andi’s grandfather, the owner of the bar she now cleaned, was one of them.

The girl bent to collect the shards, dumping them into a lined bucket she slid around the floor with her foot. It was hot, the summer humidity oppressive even indoors. She wore a pair of denim shorts and a tank top that clung to her form, her slender limbs exposed to as much air as possible. Her dark curls were semi-contained in a messy bun at the top of her head, keeping as much as possible off her sweaty neck. She paused leaning against the broom to catch her breath and wipe her brow, as she heard the bell that hung above the door ring. “We’re closed!” She hollered without looking up. “Gotta clean up the mess ya’ll made.” She added under her breath.