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changbinniescurlyhair · 2 months ago

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𝓐 𝓓𝓾𝓴𝓮'𝓼 𝓢𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓵 - Bang Chan (A Bridgerton Au)

Synopsis. As the respected Duke of Blackwood, Bang Chan is expected to uphold tradition and marry for power. But when he falls for a woman of lower status, he must choose between his duty to society and the love that could destroy both their reputations. Pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader Warnings: Sexual content (Minors DNI), multiple sex scenes, assault (creep grabs reader by arm, but stops at that), implied infertility, verbal abuse(not towards reader), let me know if I'm missing anything... A/N: This was inspired by Simon and Daphne from Bridgerton, so it will be very angsty I hate how much I love you kinda thing. Second part here. Enjoy :) Series Masterlist

~ London, 1813 ~

The carriage rattled as it turned onto Grosvenor Street, the wheels cracking against the cobblestones like distant thunder. You held your breath, your gloved hands folded tightly in your lap, the lace of your gown itching at your wrists. You'd been told London was like nothing else—the seat of elegance, power, and judgment. You were about to be thrown into it like a lamb into a den of wolves.

But you would not be devoured so easily.

The townhouse ahead loomed like a fortress, belonging to your distant aunt—Lady Everly—a widow of considerable wealth and, perhaps more importantly, even more considerable opinions. It was she, albeit reluctantly, who had agreed to sponsor your debut into society.

“It is rare,” she had written, “for one of your… lineage to be presented, but let us hope your face compensates for your birth.”

You hadn’t known whether to be flattered or offended.

The door creaked open, and a footman extended his hand to help you down. The cold London air hit you immediately, its scent a mixture of horse and rain, yet tinged with promise. You glanced up at the rows of townhomes, the polished carriages rolling past, the gentlemen tipping their hats, and the ladies sweeping by in silks and jewels.

You had tried not to dwell too much on what it meant to be sent to live with Lady Everly. Your father’s death had left an unhealable wound, and your mother’s fragile health had only deepened the silence in your life. When she passed, you had no choice but to turn to your aunt—a woman of sharp opinions, just as sharp as her taste in lace and pearls. You hadn’t been sure whether you were nervous or resigned. Afraid, perhaps, of the rigid, unspoken expectations of a life you’d never chosen, but there was something in the air here—something that whispered of new beginnings, of possibilities. Yet, that thought was quickly replaced by a jolt of anxiety. Living under your aunt’s roof would hardly offer you the freedom to breathe.

The maid who had led you up to your room was gone before you could gather your thoughts. You stood still for a moment, taking in the heavy silence of the room. The space was grand, but it felt like a cage—every inch of it designed to make you aware of your place. A four-poster bed dominated the center, draped with thick curtains, and the furniture was an eclectic mix of fine antiques, some gleaming with polish and others weathered with time. The walls, a soft shade of gray, were adorned with tapestries that looked as though they had been passed down through generations.

With a sigh, you turned to your trunk and began unpacking. The familiar act of unfolding your things brought some comfort, even if it was only fleeting. The soft rustle of your dresses and the faint scent of your mother’s lavender sachets in your linen gave you a fleeting sense of home—though you knew it wouldn’t last. You hung your clothes in the armoire, stacking your books neatly by the bedside, and placed a small framed portrait of your family on the dresser.

As you straightened the room, you began to adjust to the silence of the house. The faint murmur of the servants’ voices reached you from downstairs, but the house itself felt cold, as if it held its breath, waiting. The idea of living here, under Lady Everly’s watchful eye, pressed heavily on your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder what this next chapter of your life would look like—and if you were ready to step into it.

“Stand straighter,” Lady Everly sniffed the next morning as she examined you like a hawk eyeing its prey. “And for the love of God, do not smile so freely. You’ll look like a common barmaid.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to laugh.

The gown she’d selected was beautiful, if suffocating. Pale lavender with delicate silver embroidery, and a neckline that made you feel as though any wrong move might reveal too much. You hated how much you loved it.

That evening was to be your first public appearance: a private ball hosted by the Marchioness of Pembroke, a known gossip and an even more powerful matchmaker. It was said that many a noble match had been sealed beneath the glittering chandeliers of her ballroom—and many a scandal born in the gardens beyond.

Your heart raced as you stepped out of the carriage.

The Marchioness’s estate was an opulent display of grandeur. The ballroom, a cavernous room with walls of gleaming marble and towering windows, shimmered in the light of hundreds of crystal chandeliers. The scent of lilac and rosewater lingered in the air, mixing with the soft sound of harpsichords playing a gentle tune. Guests in their finest attire floated across the polished floor like colorful fish in a pool, laughter and conversation rising and falling like the tide.

You barely had time to adjust to the surroundings before you felt the weight of the expectations placed upon you. Lady Everly had made it clear: this debut was not just a chance for you to step into society. It was your ticket to a good match, to securing your future. You were, after all, a lady of some lineage, even if it was hardly the sort that would make you an obvious choice for the highest-ranking suitors. Your aunt had made sure you understood that, without ever needing to say the words out loud.

A match was the only thing that mattered now. A suitable match. One that would keep you secure, but also elevate your standing. Marriage was not about love in this world—it was about position, influence, and wealth.

As you walked into the room, you caught snippets of conversations—faint whispers of names, of estates, of families that could offer the right alliances. The eyes that met yours were assessing, calculating. You could feel them weighing your every movement, considering whether you were worthy of their attention, of their affections, or—more likely—of their potential as a bride.

You couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever truly belong in this world. Would you be just another pawn in a game of politics and propriety, or could you carve out your own space, your own path? But for now, all you could do was smile and dance, like the others, and hope that somehow, you would find a way to navigate the maze of expectations without losing yourself in the process.

And then everything changed.

He was standing at the top of the stairs, speaking with another gentleman, when you saw him for the first time.

The Duke of Blackwood.

Bang Chan.

You had heard whispers of him long before this night—a war hero, a landowner, a noble of fierce principle and quiet strength. A man too serious, too respected, and far too desirable to ever entertain anyone of your standing.

And yet, as your eyes met his across the crowd, time slowed. He had the kind of presence that stole the air from the room. Broad-shouldered, his frame commanding and solid, he stood like a pillar of strength among the guests. His dark hair, neatly styled and slightly tousled, caught the light, adding a subtle warmth to his otherwise imposing presence. The sharp angles of his jawline and the masculine curve of his nose gave him a striking, almost regal look, while his dimples—though rarely seen—hinted at a softer side beneath the stern exterior. Dressed in black with a silver cravat, he looked every bit the untouchable figure you had heard about. His tailored coat clung to his frame with a precision that seemed to suggest both wealth and power, the kind of man who wasn’t accustomed to being denied.

And yet something in his gaze made your breath catch.

There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, a hint of both calculation and curiosity that struck you more deeply than you expected. His stare was unwavering, assessing you with the same quiet strength he carried. The faintest flicker of recognition passed between you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he saw you, or if you were simply one of the many faces in the crowd.

He held your stare for only a moment, but it was enough to set something ablaze. A heat you hadn’t expected—perhaps not in a man like him, not here, not now. You swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. What had he seen in you that made him pause? Had you imagined the connection? Or was it real, fleeting as it may have been?

A quiet murmur passed through the room, and though his attention seemed to shift, you were still caught in the aftershock of that fleeting encounter.

Lady Everly tugged your arm. “Come. Do not gawk like a country girl.”

You were introduced to ladies and lords, to other young debutantes with practiced smiles and practiced envy. Among them: Viscount Hwang Hyunjin, tall and dashing with a dangerous grin; Earl Seo Changbin, always glancing over his shoulder; and a quiet, mysterious painter named Han Jisung who said little but whose eyes missed nothing.

But none of them made your chest twist quite like him.

Bang Chan, Duke of Blackwood.

You weren’t introduced. Why would you be? He was well above your station. A friend of the royal family. Practically royalty himself. And you—well, you were merely trying not to be a disappointment.

But later, as you slipped out into the garden for a moment of air, you found him there.

Alone.

Moonlight scattered across the path like scattered silver coins, casting a soft glow over the stone walkway and the hedges that lined the garden. The air was cool, the scent of damp earth and blooming roses filling the space, and the wind stirred the leaves around your feet, making them dance in the gentle breeze. The sounds of the ball faded behind you, leaving only the quiet rustle of nature to fill the night.

He didn’t look at you at first. Just stood there, near the fountain, his tall frame leaning casually against the stone, one arm resting on the edge of the structure, his other hand tucked behind his back. His eyes were lifted toward the sky, as if lost in thought, the cool moonlight bathing his face, casting long shadows across his sharp features. His broad shoulders, usually so rigid with authority, seemed to relax in the solitude of the night, and the lines of tension around his jaw softened, if only slightly.

Bang Chan’s presence, though quiet, was overwhelming in its stillness. He looked almost untouchable, as though the very night itself was his to command. His blond hair, slightly tousled from the evening’s events, glowed faintly in the moonlight, giving him an almost ethereal quality, despite his very real, grounded masculinity.

You should have turned back.

You knew it was ill-advised, that you should keep your distance, that any conversation with him could be nothing but a fleeting encounter. After all, he was everything society had told you to avoid—too distant, too strong, too involved in his own world to ever notice someone like you.

But you didn’t turn back.

Something in the air, something in the way he held himself so effortlessly aloof, drew you closer. Without thinking, you stepped forward, the crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound breaking the silence between you. The moment you did, his gaze shifted, catching yours with that same quiet intensity, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though he hadn’t expected you to approach.

He spoke without looking. “You are far too brave to walk out here alone, Miss…?”

You swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spread across your face. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

Now he turned, fully. Those dark eyes found yours again, more intense up close. There was something in them that made you feel like you were being studied—not as prey, but as a mystery.

He nodded. “Miss L/N.” A pause. “This is your first season.”

It wasn’t a question. “Is it that obvious?” you asked, attempting a smile, but it faltered as he didn’t return it.

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

“Only to those who’ve endured many.” Another pause. “You should be careful.”

You raised your chin, not backing down. “Of the men?”

He stepped closer, his presence drawing you in even as you wanted to take a step back. “Of everyone.”

You felt your pulse quicken, not from fear—but from annoyance. Of course, you thought, he’s the Duke. He must think he knows everything about what’s best for me.

You couldn’t help it. You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. “I’ll be careful, Your Grace,” you said, your voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. “Thank you for your unsolicited advice. I’m sure I can handle myself.”

His expression didn’t change. It was still unreadable, almost distant. But his gaze lingered on you, as if he was trying to decide whether to say something more or let the silence hang between you.

“I did not mean to offend,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm, almost like a command. “It is not concern,” he added quietly, his eyes searching yours in a way that felt too intimate. “It is a warning.”

A warning? The nerve of him. You felt your lips tighten in irritation, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

“Well, Your Grace,” you said, your words sharp and cutting, “It seems your warnings are far too frequent, and your company rather uninviting. Perhaps I would be better off without either.”

His brows furrowed for a moment—just a flicker of something there, but before he could respond, you turned on your heel, your skirt swishing angrily behind you as you made your way back down the garden path.

You could feel his eyes on your back as you made your way back to the ballroom.

I shouldn’t have come out here, you thought, and I should never have let him get under my skin.

But as you walked away, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder: What was it about him that made you want to stay?

~~~~

Dearest readers, The affairs of the ton are rarely dull, but every so often, something occurs that demands our undivided attention—and this, my friends, is one such occasion. Whispers have begun to swirl, and they all seem to center around one figure, whose presence in our society remains as mysterious as the moonlight itself. Miss Y/N L/N. Ah, yes, the young lady who has seemingly appeared from the shadows. Until recently, Miss L/N’s name had passed under the radar of London’s finest—an unremarkable debutante with neither title nor fortune. But suddenly, she is the subject of every conversation, her name on the lips of even the most scandalous members of society. How curious it is, my dear readers, that such a lady has captured the attention of so many. And one must wonder—what exactly has caused this most elusive of figures to captivate the ton? Could it be her wit? Her charm? Or is it something more? Though she has neither a grand lineage nor a fortune to boast of, there is something undeniably intriguing about her—a quiet beauty, an unassuming demeanor, and a manner that seems to disarm even the most jaded among us. Perhaps there is more to Miss L/N than meets the eye—though one can hardly say for certain. Few details of her background have surfaced, and even fewer are willing to speak of her family. There are no whispers of an illustrious past, no tales of a notable heritage. The more I inquire, the less I learn. It is almost as if she appeared in London from thin air, with no explanation, no history. Is it possible that Miss L/N is hiding a secret? Perhaps a family connection, a legacy that she wishes to keep under wraps? Or could she, simply, be more than she appears—someone who, despite her humble origins, holds the power to captivate the hearts of the most powerful men in London? The ton may never know the truth. But mark my words, readers: this is a story that will only grow more intriguing as it unfolds. Yours Truly, Lady Whistledown

You scoffed, tossing the paper onto your bed, unable to believe that anyone would actually read such nonsense.

The whispers from last night’s ball still buzzed through Mayfair’s parlors like a swarm of bees. Yet, as you sat by the window of Lady Everly’s townhouse, watching the carriages bustle past, only one whisper lingered in your mind.

The Duke of Blackwood.

You tried not to think of the way his eyes had met yours in the garden—the way your name had sounded on his lips, rich and low and entirely too memorable. It irritated you how easily it had slipped from him, how effortlessly he’d made it sound like a command, like a privilege to hear him say it. As if he had any right to make your name linger in his voice, to make you feel… something.

But even as Lady Everly chattered about gowns and gloves, you felt him—still there in your mind, like a song stuck between heartbeats.

"Miss L/N," Lady Everly snapped, breaking you from your reverie. Her voice was sharp, filled with the unmistakable tone of someone accustomed to having their opinions heard. "What in the world have you gotten yourself into now?"

She waved the latest edition of Lady Whistledown's Society Papers in front of you, her eyes practically spitting fire. "I warned you about making waves in this society, but to have your name plastered across this ridiculous column is beyond me!"

You glanced at the paper she was holding up with a sense of resignation. There it was, as bold as ever—your name, tied to the whispers of the ton in a way that felt dangerous. Lady Everly’s eyes were wide with fury.

"You’ve gone and caught the eye of Lady Whistledown herself now," she continued, pacing the floor in exasperation. "Do you have any idea what this will mean for your reputation? The gossip, the rumors—there's no going back now!"

You simply stared at her, heart pounding in your chest. What had you done to deserve such a fate? It seemed like one moment, you were a quiet debutante, unnoticed and unremarkable, and the next, you were the subject of the most scandalous publication in London.

"Do you understand," Lady Everly hissed, her face growing even redder, "the kinds of women who make it into this rag? And now, you—you, of all people—are right there alongside them!"

Her words stung, but it was the image of his gaze—Bang Chan's irritating gaze—that lingered, more potent than any reprimand. And despite Lady Everly’s tirade, you couldn’t help but wonder: why was he looking at you like that?

“You’ve been cooped up for far too long, Miss L/N,” Lady Everly declared a few days later, her tone as sharp as ever as she tugged you away from the window. “I’ve had enough of your moping. We’re going to Hyde Park for a proper walk, and you will join me—whether you like it or not.”

Before you could protest, she was already ordering the maids to gather your things, pushing you out the door with no more room for argument. You had barely managed to straighten your gown before she pulled you into the carriage, the heavy scent of London’s smog mingling with the crisp morning air.

As you arrived in Hyde Park, the green space before you was bustling with activity—gentlemen strolling with their hats tipped low, ladies in fine silks and parasols, and children running beneath the trees. It seemed like a picturesque scene, one Lady Everly was intent on turning into a proper outing for you.

“Keep up now, Miss L/N,” Lady Everly commanded as she led the way, her maids following in tow like silent shadows. “We’ll make the rounds. You need to be seen. Let’s not waste such a fine opportunity.”

You could only nod as she walked briskly, eyes scanning the crowds as if trying to find the next suitor who might suit her tastes for you. But you had no intention of making the day enjoyable. In fact, you were already contemplating how soon you could escape to the nearest bench and pretend to enjoy the fresh air.

But Lady Everly, in her eternal pursuit of match-making, had other plans. As you rounded a corner of the path, she spotted Mr. Allingham, a middle aged man who had been lingering around her estate for the past week with increasing persistence.

“There!” Lady Everly exclaimed, her voice suddenly bright with approval. “Mr. Allingham. Now, Miss L/N, be a good girl and walk with him. You’ve been so quiet lately, and I’m sure a pleasant chat will help.”

Before you could protest, she was already waving Mr. Allingham over, her voice too loud for comfort. “Mr. Allingham, you must join us! Miss L/N would love to accompany you on this lovely walk.”

You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips. You’d known this moment would come, but it didn’t make it any easier. Mr. Allingham approached, his smile wide and eager, and your heart sank. You managed a small nod in greeting as Lady Everly pushed you into his company.

“Miss L/N,” he said with a bow, his voice warm and courteous. “I would be honored to have your company.”

You offered him a smile, though it felt forced. “Of course, Mr. Allingham.”

As you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but notice the way he leaned just a little too close, his voice too eager as he spoke of matters that didn’t interest you in the slightest. But it wasn’t Mr. Allingham that caught your attention. No, it was the sudden, unmistakable presence that you felt from a few paces away.

A group of young women appeared, all fluttering fans and light chatter, moving as if by instinct toward the tall, commanding figure of Bang Chan. His profile was impossible to miss—handsome in a way that stopped you mid-breath. And yet, as the women surrounded him, laughing and attempting to charm, he seemed to barely notice them. His gaze, however, didn’t miss you.

There, just a glance in your direction. Long enough for you to feel it—a weight. A flicker of something in his eyes that sent a jolt of unexpected heat through you.

You turned away quickly, flustered, but there was no mistaking the tension in the air. The women around him were still eager to gain his favor, all fluttering like moths, but he didn’t seem to pay them any mind. His eyes lingered only on you, sharp and unreadable.

“Are you quite well, Miss L/N?” Mr. Allingham’s voice broke your focus, though you were hardly aware of his words.

You barely nodded, the air thick with confusion and curiosity. Lady Everly, sensing the shift, continued her chatter with Mr. Allingham, oblivious to the unspoken pull between you and the Duke of Blackwood. But you couldn’t ignore it. His gaze had left a mark, one you didn’t quite understand.

And as Mr. Allingham continued talking, you couldn’t shake the thought—Bang Chan’s eyes were still on you, even as the group of girls continued their desperate attempts at his attention.

~ Lady Bridgerton’s Estate, Edge of London ~

Masquerades were a curious thing.

A room full of familiar strangers—faces hidden behind velvet and lace, identities obscured by whispers and wine. The chandeliers dripped crystal and golden light, casting shadows that danced just as boldly as the guests. Music floated from the quartet tucked in the corner, weaving through laughter, secrets, and the occasional gasp.

You stood at the edge of the ballroom, fingers lightly brushing the edge of your mask. Deep emerald silk matched the gown Lady Everly had chosen for you, the color making your eyes shine just enough to draw more glances than you knew what to do with.

You shouldn’t have felt so exposed in disguise. And yet, you did.

Every moment stretched thin with anticipation—because you hadn’t seen him.

Not yet.

Not since Hyde Park.

Not since that moment where he’d left the air thick with something unspoken.

You tried to tell yourself it was foolish to wonder whether the Duke of Blackwood would attend the Masquerades. He was known for avoiding such things unless duty demanded it.

So what would bring him here?

You turned just as the music swelled again, the waltz starting anew—and the crowd parted just slightly as he entered.

You knew it was him before you even saw his face.

His presence moved through the room like a shift in the tide. The whisper of fabric, the soft hush of intrigue. He wore a black mask trimmed in gold, tailored to the shape of his cheekbones. His dark coat, crisp and regal, was accented with the Blackwood family crest near his heart.

Bang Chan.

Your heart thudded—then picked up again with a traitorous rhythm.

He didn’t look at you right away. He greeted a few nobles with brief nods, exchanged a few words with Lord Lee, who stood beside a tall, ethereal lady in lavender. There was no tension between them—only familiarity, perhaps even camaraderie. They were men who had fought the same battles and learned not to draw blood unless it truly mattered.

And then his gaze shifted—and found you.

From across the room.

You froze.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t move. But for a few seconds, you were the only one he saw. The only one he looked at like that—like something he wasn’t supposed to want.

But wanted anyway.

You looked away first. Barely.

“Is it true?” a voice purred beside you. “That you’ve already captured the attention of the Duke?”

You turned to find Lady Marianne, a fluttering bird of a woman with a voice like sugar and sarcasm. Her mask was more feather than fabric, and her lips curved with the promise of gossip.

“I don’t believe I’ve captured anything,” you replied coolly.

“Oh, my darling, the ton is already spinning tales. He hasn’t danced in years. Not once. Not since his father passed.” Her eyes gleamed. “But I’ve heard he might tonight.”

You sipped your wine to avoid answering.

Because the idea was too dangerous. And too tempting.

The music swirled around the grand ballroom, a lively waltz that seemed to carry everyone on a cloud of elegance. The chandeliers overhead sparkled like a constellation, casting golden light across the sea of well-dressed couples twirling and laughing, lost in the rhythm of the night.

You, however, felt the weight of every step as you moved across the floor.

Mr. Allingham, middle-aged with graying hair and a slightly paunchy figure, was your latest (and only) partner of the night. His hand was firm—almost too firm—against the small of your back, his other hand clasped with yours in a way that felt more like an obligation than a dance. He guided you through the movements with a practiced, but clumsy, efficiency. His face, a few years past its prime, was lined with wrinkles that matched the arrogance in his smile. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance—no handsomeness, no charm. Only the stiffened air of a man who believed his age and wealth gave him every right to hold you in his arms.

"I must say, Miss L/N," he said, his voice low and syrupy as he led you through the steps, "you dance exquisitely. Surely, you’ve been taught by the finest instructors. Your grace could be the talk of society."

You forced a smile, trying not to let the exhaustion seep into your expression. "You flatter me, Mr. Allingham. But I assure you, I’m only a humble debutante."

He laughed, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes, too loud to be genuine. "Humble? Ah, Miss L/N, you are being modest. With your beauty and pedigree, I’d imagine many would beg for a dance with you."

You nodded along, not trusting yourself to speak. His words felt like a performance, as if he had rehearsed them countless times before, in hopes of winning the approval of women who no longer saw him as desirable.

But the truth was, Mr. Allingham wasn’t attractive. Not in the way the young men in the ballroom were—there was no fire in his eyes, no magnetic pull in his presence. He was simply… there, an aging gentleman with an unremarkable face and a boastful air.

“Surely there are many men vying for your attention in London,” he continued, spinning you once with a flourish, though you barely noticed. His grip on you was too tight, his fingers pressing into your waist with possessiveness you hadn’t asked for. “But I, of course, see more than just your beauty. I see your potential, Miss L/N. A woman like you—well, a match with someone like me would be most advantageous.”

You couldn’t help but bite your lip, the words sticking in your throat as he maneuvered you with stiff precision. You hated this. The dance, the way he saw you as nothing more than a prize to be claimed. Every moment you spent in his arms felt like you were a puppet on strings, following the motions for the sake of keeping up appearances.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Allingham,” you said, your voice quieter now, a faint hint of unease creeping into your tone.

“Ah, Miss L/N, let me not be coy. I’m a man of some influence, and you, with your grace and lineage, would make a fine match for me,” he said, his eyes gleaming in a way that made you feel small, insignificant. “Together, we could—”

Before he could finish, the waltz ended, and you nearly sighed in relief. The music slowed to a stop, but Mr. Allingham’s grip lingered a moment too long, his hand still holding yours with an unsettling firmness.

“Shall we talk after the dance?” he suggested, his voice almost too intimate as his gaze lingered a little too long on your lips.

You managed a tight smile. “Perhaps,” you said quickly, stepping back, eager to break free.

But Mr. Allingham, clearly unwilling to let go, held onto your hand for just a fraction longer. His fingers brushed your wrist, and you felt a chill run down your spine. The feeling was not one of desire, but of something far more predatory.

You barely managed to keep the disgust from your face as you stepped away, offering a polite nod. “I think I’ll get some air,” you murmured, desperate for the opportunity to escape the suffocating air of the ballroom.

As Mr. Allingham moved off, you exhaled, the weight of the moment lifting from your chest, but only slightly. He had left you with a taste of something you didn’t want—his intention clear in his eyes and his hands. And yet, there was no escaping the fact that you were just another name on his list, another young lady to be courted, another prize to be won.

With a forced smile, you made your way toward the garden, hoping for a breath of fresh air to clear your thoughts.

~ The Bridgerton Gardens, just past midnight ~

The night air was cool against your flushed cheeks, a welcome contrast to the heat and music still pulsing from the ballroom behind you. Laughter and strings spilled faintly through the open terrace doors, but you had needed a moment—just a breath away from the swirling gowns, clinking glasses, and the dizzying weight of too many eyes. You weren’t supposed to be out here—not alone, and certainly not during the height of the evening. But the mask had pressed too tightly to your skin, and the air inside had grown too thick.

Your slippers crunched softly against the gravel as you wandered deeper into the garden, the maze of hedges and blooming lavender guiding you further into the shadows, where moonlight brushed the petals and the night whispered its quiet secrets.

Something had drawn you out here. Or perhaps… someone.

The wind was gentle, the sky shimmered with stars, as if the universe itself were holding its breath.

You turned a corner—and stopped.

There, in the clearing beneath the marble gazebo, was a figure.

Mr. Allingham.

You hadn’t expected him here. The night had already worn on, and you hadn’t seen him in the ballroom for some time. But there he was, standing by the gazebo, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Something about his posture made the air feel thick—like he was waiting for something, or someone.

You froze, unsure whether to retreat or approach.

“Miss L/N,” he called, voice low and silky, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “You’ve been hiding from me.”

You swallowed, stepping back instinctively. “Mr. Allingham, I—I was just walking. I shouldn’t be out here alone.”

He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. “Nonsense. The night is still young, and you deserve to enjoy it. After all, you’ve been far too quiet at the ball, too distant. A man’s attention is a rare thing.”

You felt a chill run through you. Something was off about his tone, the way his eyes lingered on you like a predator watching its prey.

“I think it’s time for you to come with me,” he said, his voice thick with unspoken intentions.

You stepped back, but he moved forward with surprising speed, blocking your path. “Mr. Allingham, please—” you started, trying to keep your voice steady.

But he ignored you, his hands reaching for your arm, grabbing you far too tightly. “Don’t play coy with me, Miss L/N. I know you’ve felt the same pull I have. You can’t pretend you don’t want this.”

Your heart raced as you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, dragging you closer. His breath was hot against your neck, his words like poison in the night. “You’re a beautiful woman, Miss L/N. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I want.”

In that moment, the weight of his touch felt suffocating, like the air was being stolen from your lungs.

“Let go of me!” you managed to gasp, your voice shaky but desperate.

He only laughed softly, low and mocking. “You’ll get used to it, soon enough.”

Just as his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, something—someone—shifted in the darkness.

Without warning, a shadow moved swiftly toward you, and Mr. Allingham’s hand was yanked away. A voice, low and commanding, cut through the tension.

“Touch her again,” the voice warned, “and I will make you regret it.”

You barely had time to turn before you saw him—Bang Chan, standing there, without his mask, a silent force. His presence alone made the air crackle with energy, a stark contrast to the cold, suffocating atmosphere Mr. Allingham had created.

Mr. Allingham’s expression shifted, eyes narrowing as he looked between you and Bang Chan. “And who might you be?” he sneered.

“Someone who knows how to protect a lady,” Bang Chan replied coldly. His eyes were locked on Mr. Allingham with a look that could freeze the blood in your veins. He was calm, collected, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable.

“Do you think you can intimidate me?” Mr. Allingham scoffed, stepping back. “You’re just another lord playing at heroism. She’s mine now.”

Bang Chan took a step forward, his posture unwavering. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

The tension between them was palpable, a silent battle of wills that seemed to stretch on forever. You could feel the panic rising in your chest, but Bang Chan remained steady, unyielding. He moved between you and Mr. Allingham, an immovable shield.

“You don’t want to test me, Mr. Allingham,” Bang Chan said, his voice laced with cold steel. “You’re out of your depth.”

For a long moment, Mr. Allingham stood still, his gaze flickering between you and the Duke, his smirk slowly fading. With one last, threatening glance, he turned and stalked off into the shadows, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

You were left there, breathless, heart pounding. Bang Chan didn’t immediately move. His presence was still a quiet force, the weight of his protection lingering in the air between you.

You blinked, still shaken by the suddenness of it all. “Your Grace… I—”

He turned to you, his expression softening, though there was still a storm in his eyes. “Are you all right, Miss L/N?” he asked, his voice suddenly far less commanding. The intensity was replaced with concern, and for a moment, you could almost forget he was the Duke of Blackwood.

“I… yes, I’m fine.” Your voice trembled slightly, but you managed to steady yourself. “Thank you.”

He nodded but didn’t step away. Instead, he stood there, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “You shouldn’t have to deal with men like him, Miss L/N”

You swallowed, unable to find the right words. “I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted any of it.”

“I know,” he said softly, stepping even closer, his presence surrounding you. “And yet… it’s the game we play, isn’t it?”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken understanding. The pressure of the ballroom, of being the center of attention, was nothing compared to the quiet storm that was brewing between you two.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I don’t know how to avoid them.”

Bang Chan tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to. Not if you have someone else to protect you.”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant, but his next words made it clear.

“What if we made it known? That we’re—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "That we’re courting, for now, at least. The rumors will spread, and the unwanted attention will cease. You won’t have to worry about men like Mr. Allingham, and I won’t have to deal with anxious mothers trying to marry off their daughters to me.”

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Are you suggesting we pretend to be courting?”

His gaze never wavered. “Yes. Let's make it clear that there’s something between us. The ton will believe it. And no one will dare approach either of us."

The idea seemed absurd, and yet, as you looked at him—strong, resolute, unwavering—you realized it might be the best solution to the chaos that had been your life for the past few days.

“And what about when the charade is over?” you asked softly, the weight of the situation slowly sinking in.

Chan stepped even closer, his voice low, as if sharing a secret meant only for you. “Then we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

You nodded, heart thumping, fear coursing through your veins. “Very well."

He nodded. “Then let’s go back inside,” he said. “And when we do, let them all think what they will."

And with that, the two of you walked back toward the ballroom, the weight of the moment between you heavy with the unspoken promise of what was to come.

As you stepped back into the ballroom, your heart thumped in your chest, the night’s events still swirling around you. Chan stood beside you, his presence unwavering and solid. You were no longer the woman slipping unnoticed through the crowd; now, you were walking into the very heart of the ton, side by side with the Duke of Blackwood.

The moment you entered, the music seemed to quiet just a fraction, the eyes of every guest turning toward you. Murmurs rippled through the crowd like waves against a ship’s hull, as the people took in the unexpected pairing of you and Chan, entering the room as if you belonged together, as if the rumors had already started.

Your aunt was the first to spot you, her eyes widening in shock as she saw you walking proudly beside the Duke. Her gaze flicked between you and Chan, her mouth opening in protest before she quickly closed it again. You could almost hear her thoughts: What is she doing? The idea that you would enter the ballroom arm-in-arm with the most sought-after bachelor in London was unthinkable in her world of carefully crafted appearances.

Chan leaned in slightly, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Shall we give them something to talk about?”

A mischievous grin tugged at your lips, and before you could answer, he swept you into the middle of the dance floor, leading you into the waltz with a grace that left no room for doubt. The music swelled around you, and the crowd parted, watching in stunned silence as you and Chan danced effortlessly. His hand rested at the small of your back, the other holding yours, guiding you across the floor with a confidence that was contagious.

All around you, the ton whispered. Eyes darted, conversations stilled, and those who had once avoided your gaze now looked upon you with a mixture of curiosity and envy. You could feel the weight of their gaze, but it was as though it didn’t matter anymore. You were with Chan, and for once, you didn’t feel like a subject of their gossip. You felt like you were the one in control.

Your aunt’s expression was a mixture of shock and disbelief, but she said nothing. She simply watched, frozen in place as the Duke spun you effortlessly around the floor. The music was a blur of violins and strings, but you could feel the rhythm of it in your chest, matching the beat of your heart. It was as if, for that moment, time slowed, and the world outside of the ballroom no longer existed.

Whispers of your dance together spread quickly through the room. “Did you see that?” “Is Miss L/N courting the Duke?” “I heard they were in the garden together.” The whispers only grew louder as the waltz continued, and the energy between you and Bang Chan seemed to captivate the entire room.

As the dance came to an end, Chan slowed to a graceful stop, bowing deeply before you. The crowd watched, rapt, waiting for your next move. But you were not about to give them anything more. You smiled, curtseyed gracefully, and then, as though nothing had changed, you walked away from the dance floor, Bang Chan at your side.

The two of you made your way back to the sidelines, where the whispers didn’t stop, but the attention had shifted. The night had taken a turn that no one expected—and not just for you, but for Chan too. The women who had been fluttering around him earlier had disappeared, suddenly uninterested. The ton had noticed that you, of all people, had caught the Duke’s attention.

As you stood near the wall, catching your breath, you felt his gaze on you, warm and steady. There was a quiet understanding between you now, something unspoken but deeply felt.

“You’ve made quite the impression tonight,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough for you to hear.

You glanced up at him, your breath still slightly uneven. “So have you.”

Before you could say another word, the night came to a close, and the crowd slowly began to disperse, but the rumors were already flying. The gossip would follow you, for better or worse.

The next morning, as you sipped your tea in the quiet of your sitting room, the previous night’s whirlwind of events still lingered in the air. But rather than the sting of your aunt’s disapproval, you now found her reaction a curious one. She had been surprised, certainly, but her reaction wasn’t one of anger. Instead, there had been something almost… triumphant in her eyes.

After all, the Duke of Blackwood, of all people, had danced with you in front of the entire ton. The attention, the whispers—they would only serve to elevate your status, and with it, the possibility of a marriage proposal. Your aunt, ever calculating, had already begun to spin her plans.

Her voice echoed through your mind: “Do you realize what this means? You have caught the Duke’s eye, my dear. It’s all but settled now. Why, by the end of the season, you’ll be secured!”

She’d practically danced around the room, a giddy energy overtaking her, as she spoke of betrothal announcements and all the riches that would come with such an alliance. She was already picturing the lavish wedding, the high society approval, the match made in heaven. And in the midst of it all, you had felt nothing but exhaustion, the weight of her hopes hanging heavily on your shoulders.

The door to your sitting room opened, pulling you from your thoughts, and the maid entered, holding the morning papers in her hands. She passed you The London Gazette, and your fingers hesitated over the paper. You knew exactly what you would find inside.

You felt a flutter of anticipation in your chest as you turned to the gossip column. It took only a moment before you found the familiar lines of ink that made your heart race:

Dearest Readers, It seems that our fair city is never short of intrigue, and last night’s ball was no exception. As the glittering lights of the ballroom shone down upon the ton, one particular event eclipsed all others—a most curious and unexpected pairing. Yes, dear readers, the whispers have started, and they all lead to one singular, undeniable conclusion. It was none other than Miss Y/N L/N and the Duke of Blackwood. The two, long known to move in very different circles, were seen together last evening in what can only be described as a most startling display of partnership. For the first time in many years, the Duke, who has long kept his affections under lock and key, was seen dancing with none other than the unassuming Miss L/N, whose presence in society has, until now, been rather discreet. It began innocuously enough, a quiet entrance to the ballroom—a brief moment of hesitation, and then, a dance. What happened next sent ripples through the crowd, as the Duke of Blackwood, that most eligible of bachelors, led Miss L/N in a waltz so perfectly in sync that one might have thought they had practiced together for years. But what is most curious, dear readers, is not the dance itself—though one must admit it was a performance worthy of any royal court—but the aftermath. As the evening wore on, it became clear that the whispers were not mere gossip. The Duke and Miss L/N were no longer just two figures in the background; they were now the center of every conversation in the room.

Could it be that the Duke has finally found a match worthy of his affections? Has Miss L/N, with her quiet grace and her lack of fortune, captured the heart of the most sought-after gentleman in London? Or is this, perhaps, just another moment of fleeting fancy—a brief dalliance before the Duke returns to the endless parade of women who clamour for his attention? But there is one more thing that cannot be ignored. The sudden alliance between the Duke and Miss L/N is not merely a social curiosity—it is a strategic move. The Ton, dear readers, has long been a place of whispers and power plays. And what better way for both Miss L/N and the Duke to shield themselves from unwanted attention than by presenting themselves as an item? For Miss L/N, this means less pressure from the eager suitors who have been circling her like vultures. After all, if she is seen with the Duke, what other man would dare make his advances known? And for the Duke, this offer of courtship provides a much-needed respite from the insistent young ladies who have been at his heels all season. But let us not be fooled into thinking this is a mere charade. No, dear readers, there is more at play here. The Duke and Miss L/N may have agreed to pretend to court for now, but the truth of their intentions may soon become far clearer. One cannot simply play at courtship without stirring the heart. And who can say whether the gentle stirrings of affection have not already taken root in both of them? For the Duke’s eyes, when they lingered upon Miss L/N, spoke volumes—volumes that words cannot capture. The question remains, though: What will this do to the dynamics of London society? How will this “pretended” courtship affect the rest of the Ton? Will others begin to follow suit, creating a new wave of alliances and whispers, or will the Duke and Miss L/N’s calculated performance bring them closer than either might have anticipated?

Of course, there is still much to be seen. For now, dear readers, we can only watch as the Duke and Miss L/N move through the social season with eyes upon them—eyes that will undoubtedly follow their every step. After all, where there is smoke, there is often fire, and what began as an innocent dance may very well become the talk of London. Time will tell. But one thing is certain: Miss L/N’s place in the Ton is now assured, and whether it is by design or by fate, the Duke of Blackwood has made her the center of attention. Until next time, dear readers, keep your eyes open, and your secrets closer. For the game is never over, and the whispers are always louder than you think. Yours Truly, Lady Whistledown

~ The Duke of Blackwood’s London Residence ~

The night had fallen silent as Bang Chan wandered through the grand halls of his estate, the echo of the music from the ballroom still faintly drifting in the air. He had left the company of his guests behind, seeking solace in the solitude of his thoughts. The decision to enter into this charade with Miss L/N weighed heavily on his mind.

He leaned against the cold marble pillar, staring into the darkness of the garden beyond the windows, his fingers tightening on the glass as he watched the moonlight flicker over the flowers. For a moment, everything felt still. But beneath that stillness, a storm churned within him.

Why had he agreed to this?

A flash of memory broke through the calm—a memory he had tried, for years, to bury deep inside him.

He was a boy again, no older than eight or nine, standing in the cold, dimly lit hallway of his childhood home. His mother’s voice echoed from the parlor, soft and broken, as she pleaded with his father to stop. Bang Chan’s young hands trembled against the walls, hearing the way his father’s sharp words cut through the silence, laced with cruelty.

His father’s voice had always been harsh, a constant presence of cold command in their household. But it was his mother who suffered most under the weight of that presence. He’d watched her face fall with each passing day, her joy slowly crushed beneath his father’s disregard, her every attempt at kindness met with indifference or disdain. He had seen her try, over and over, to make things work—always failing. And Bang Chan, as a child, had been helpless to stop it.

His mother had loved him with a devotion so pure, so unshakable, but she had never received the same in return. Not from his father, at least. He had been too young to understand the complexities of love then, but he had felt the distance growing between his parents. His father’s coldness had infected him, too, a fear of vulnerability, of attachment.

Now, as he stood there in the quiet of his empty estate, the ghosts of his past whispered in the back of his mind. Could he ever truly allow himself to love again? Could he even allow someone to love him without the fear of turning into his father?

Bang Chan ran a hand through his hair, his heart heavy with doubt.

When he had agreed to this “courtship” with Miss L/N—an arrangement, at first, to ward off the clamor of women who sought his favor—he had believed it would be simple. A mere ruse to protect both their reputations, a mutual understanding that neither would be asked to endure the torment of unwanted attention. But as time passed, and as he danced with her, spoke with her, and shared moments that were far more genuine than he had anticipated, he realized he was tangled in something far more complicated than he had ever bargained for.

His heart thundered against his chest, a beat that felt too loud in the silence of the night.

Could he pretend long enough to keep the ton at bay? Or would this all spiral into something he couldn’t control—something he wasn’t ready for?

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, a harsh reminder of the man he had sworn never to become.

"You are nothing but a tool, a means to an end. Don't think for a moment you have the luxury of choice. Love does not exist, only duty."

The bitterness of those words gnawed at his soul. Duty. It was always duty that had come before everything else. Duty to the title. Duty to the estate. Duty to the family. But Bang Chan knew better than anyone that duty had a cold, unforgiving face.

His mother had borne the brunt of that, and Bang Chan couldn’t bring himself to repeat that cycle. He couldn't imagine a life where he stood at the altar, pledging vows he didn’t believe in, or raising children under the same harsh, sterile conditions that had suffocated him. What if he couldn’t love them the way they deserved? What if he became the very thing he had feared growing up?

His gaze shifted toward the moonlit garden once more, the stillness of the night reflecting the turmoil within him. He could feel the weight of the world pushing down on his shoulders, the weight of legacy and expectation. The title, the power—it all meant little when compared to the suffocating fear that seemed to rise in his chest every time he thought about marriage, about children.

And yet, here he was, pretending. Pretending for the sake of Miss L/N’s reputation, for the sake of his own. He was doing it to escape the relentless pursuit of women, to avoid the prying eyes of the ton—but somewhere, deep down, he knew it was more than that. His eyes had lingered on her more than he cared to admit. He had seen something in her—a softness, a quiet strength—that had drawn him in against his will.

And now, he was caught in a web of his own making.

“Why did I get myself involved in this?” he murmured to the empty room.

Bang Chan closed his eyes, trying to push away the image of his father’s cruel face, the memory of his mother’s resigned smile.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep up this pretense. But there was one thing he did know: he couldn’t let himself get too close. Not to her. Not to anyone. Not until he figured out how to heal the wounds that ran deeper than he’d ever let anyone see.

But, for now, he would continue the charade. And with each passing moment, he would try to ignore the ache in his chest—the one that told him, maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to care more than he had planned.

~The Featherington Estate~

The grand ballroom was alive with the sound of music and laughter, the shimmering chandeliers casting their golden glow over the sea of noble faces. But amidst the hustle and bustle of conversation, one sight commanded the attention of everyone present.

You, standing with Chan—the Duke of Blackwood—both of you perfectly poised in the midst of the dance floor, twirling gracefully in time with the orchestra’s melody. The entire ton seemed to hold its breath, eyes fixed on the two of you, gossip swirling like an invisible current around the room.

You could feel their eyes on you, some curious, some envious, others intrigued. The whispers were unmistakable. The newly-declared courtship between you and the Duke was the topic of every conversation, and no one seemed to be able to stop staring at the pair of you.

“Miss L/N, Your Grace,” someone murmured as you passed by, their voices full of speculation.

As the dance ended and you stepped away from Chan, your eyes met his briefly. There was a flicker of something unspoken between you, but it was immediately masked as you both smiled, ever the perfect couple. You had to, for the sake of appearances.

You made your way towards the edge of the ballroom, seeking a breath of fresh air from the scrutiny. But before you could take your first step, Chan was at your side, his presence looming behind you as always. His hand was placed just at your elbow, an unmistakable gesture meant to keep the ruse alive.

“Miss L/N,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear it amidst the noise. “Shall we continue the charade?”

You nodded, a polite smile on your lips as you turned toward him. “I suppose we must,” you said, trying to ignore the feeling of frustration bubbling within. "But Your Grace, perhaps you should send flowers to my room tomorrow. And—"

"And?" Chan raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with something between amusement and hesitation.

"Perhaps take a walk with me tomorrow morning, just for a moment," you added, keeping your tone light, though you were still conscious of the eyes that followed your every move. "You know, for appearances."

Chan's jaw tightened slightly, his expression carefully neutral, but the flicker of frustration in his eyes was unmistakable. “You want me to keep up this farce even when no one’s watching?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I think we have no choice,” you said softly, feeling the weight of all those watching you, waiting for any slip-up. “For both of us.”

He exhaled sharply but gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. I’ll send the flowers and walk with you tomorrow. But only because we must.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound genuine but tinged with irony. “Of course. We’ll keep up appearances.”

“Indeed,” Chan said with a curt nod. “Just… don’t expect more from me than what’s necessary. We both have our reasons for this.”

The two of you exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between you, though the frustration you both felt at this situation lingered like an unsaid word in the air.

But when you looked around, you saw the gazes of the ton following your every move. The whispers, the speculation, the scrutiny—it was all part of the game now, and there was no turning back.

You exchanged a polite smile with him, and the mask of the perfect, courting couple remained firmly in place. The moment the gaze of others turned away, however, the mask would fall, and the reality of your private frustration would return.

For now, though, you both played your parts. Because it was expected.

But in the quiet moments when no one was looking, neither of you would forget the uneasy truce you’d struck—one based on necessity, not affection.

The next morning, you found yourself facing the daunting task of keeping up appearances. The flowers from Chan had arrived, their fragrance filling the entire drawing room. Your aunt, positively beaming, hovered nearby as the bouquets were placed carefully in vases. Her eyes sparkled with delight, clearly thrilled at the gesture.

“You see, Y/N,” she said, clasping her hands together, “this is exactly what you need. A man of his stature, sending flowers… This could be the beginning of something wonderful. You mustn’t squander this opportunity.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement, but your mind was far from the delight of your aunt. You had already arranged a meeting with Chan in the park to continue the charade. He had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accompany you, and the two of you had been keeping up the act of a budding courtship for the ton’s sake.

Later that afternoon, your aunt insisted on accompanying you as a chaperone, of course, to ensure nothing untoward occurred during your “walk.” The sun was just beginning to dip low in the sky, casting the park in a warm, golden light. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and you could feel the stares of onlookers as you walked side by side, with your aunt keeping a careful distance behind you.

The laughter and chatter of other parkgoers faded into the background, but the tense silence between you and Chan was impossible to ignore.

He kept his hands folded behind his back, his jaw tight, while you walked just slightly ahead of him, your steps deliberate, as though the entire world was watching.

“We’re doing this because we have to, not because we want to,” you muttered, glancing over at him, careful to ensure your aunt couldn’t hear.

Chan’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression unreadable for a moment, before his gaze shifted back to the path ahead. His brow furrowed, as though he were contemplating something more than the walk. He didn’t speak, choosing instead to let the silence linger, his tension palpable.

“Keep up the appearance,” he finally said in a low voice, “and try not to make it so obvious you’re annoyed with me.”

You snorted softly, not bothering to hide the irritation in your tone. “Oh, I’m sure they already know. I don’t exactly look thrilled to be walking with the Duke of Blackwood, do I?”

The subtle sound of a giggle echoed from a nearby group of young women, and you couldn’t help but glance at them. Their eyes narrowed as they watched the two of you—barely a step apart but worlds apart in spirit. They were too polite to stare outright, but the judgment was palpable. You bit back a sigh and tried to focus on the walk ahead, resisting the urge to glance back at your aunt, who was smiling serenely as if everything were perfectly normal.

“You should be flattered,” you added, “The ton’s been eating up our every move.”

Chan glanced sideways at you, the tension in his posture still unmistakable. “Flattered? Hardly. I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Well,” you said with a touch of sarcasm, “It’s a good thing we’re not actually courting then, isn’t it?”

That earned a sharp glance from him. “You can stop pretending, Miss L/N,” he muttered under his breath. “I think everyone already knows the truth. We’re merely playing a part.”

You couldn’t argue with that. The act you both were putting on was becoming more difficult to sustain, but the alternative was worse. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were starting to wonder how long this charade would last—how long you’d both be able to tolerate it.

At that moment, a carriage rolled by, the occupants inside staring curiously at the two of you as they passed. You couldn’t help but notice the disapproving glares of the young women, whispering amongst themselves about the Duke of Blackwood’s recent attention to someone of your status. Their looks were loaded with silent judgment, their jealousy unmistakable.

“They’re watching us,” you said under your breath.

“You don’t have to remind me,” Chan responded with a sharp sigh.

Your aunt, who had been walking a few paces behind, chose that exact moment to speak up, her voice sugary sweet. “What a lovely sight you two make. The whole park must be admiring your companionship.”

You swallowed your frustration, plastering a smile on your face. “Yes, Aunt. How fortunate we are to be the center of attention.”

Another few moments of silence passed before you spoke again, your voice softer, more contemplative. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Chan. This—” you gestured between the two of you, “—is exhausting.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled either, Miss L/N,” he responded, his tone tight, though not entirely unkind. “But if we stop now, we’ll only give the ton more ammunition to gossip about.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the situation. “I know. I know,” you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice. “But how long do we have to keep this up?”

He glanced at you, his expression conflicted. “As long as it takes, I suppose.”

You looked away, your frustration turning into something deeper, something complicated. There was no easy way out of this, no graceful way to exit.

And as your aunt continued to gush about the seemingly perfect image you were presenting, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Would you ever be able to escape this? Would you ever find a way out of the role you’d been forced into?

~Lady Everly Fairchild's London Estate~

From the moment he arrived at your aunt's estate for the formal dinner, Chan didn’t look away from you.

Not even once.

Not during the formal greetings, not while your aunt fluttered over the seating arrangements, not when the soup was served in delicate porcelain bowls trimmed with gold. He sat beside you like a picture of aristocratic perfection—coat tailored to his lean frame, gloves off and fingers tapping once against the linen tablecloth.

But his eyes?

His eyes were the only impolite thing about him.

They dragged over your features like a man studying every weakness, every soft edge. Like he was starving. And worse—you knew he wanted to be caught in the act of it.

You lifted your glass, sipping to distract yourself, but you could feel him watching the way your lips wrapped around the rim.

He hadn’t spoken to you yet. Not a single word. But it didn’t matter. His silence was louder than anything.

When you glanced at him, trying to catch him off guard, he didn’t look away.

His gaze dropped—slowly—to your mouth, then your throat, then the line where your dress dipped just enough to hint, never reveal. You swallowed, suddenly far too aware of your own body. Of the quick fluttering in your chest.

He smiled.

Not charming.

Not sweet.

Dangerous.

“Is it warm in here, dear?” your aunt asked sweetly, fanning herself. “You’re flushed.”

“I’m fine,” you replied, barely managing to keep your voice steady. “Just… the wine.”

Chan leaned slightly closer, voice low enough only for you to hear. “It’s not the wine.”

You stiffened.

He continued, tone soft and cruel. “You’ve worn that perfume again. The one you had on the night we danced.”

“I didn’t wear it for you.”

“Liar.”

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck. Your aunt was still speaking, oblivious. The guests were laughing at some joke you didn’t hear.

But all you could feel was him.

The way his knee brushed yours under the table and stayed there.

The way his fingers moved—idly—to trace the rim of his wine glass, and your mind betrayed you with the image of that same hand gripping your waist instead.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” you said through gritted teeth, pretending to butter a roll.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to ruin me.”

He paused, lifting his glass to his lips, watching you over the rim. “I do.”

Your hand slipped slightly on the knife.

He caught it—barely—and set it down for you, fingers brushing your wrist.

You looked up sharply, mouth parting to say something, anything—

But the words dissolved when you saw the look in his eyes.

He wasn’t playing anymore.

He was choosing.

You.

And that terrified you more than anything.

You escaped the dining room like a woman fleeing a battlefield—corset too tight, skin too hot, his gaze still burning into the back of your neck.

The moment your slippers hit the gravel path of the garden, you inhaled like you’d been underwater all night. Cool evening air rushed into your lungs, the scent of roses sharp in the dark.

But peace never came.

Because he followed you.

You didn’t need to look back. You could feel him. The heavy, charged presence of him.

“I thought you’d had your fill of staring,” you said softly, stopping beneath the hedge arch, moonlight casting silver over the gravel.

Chan’s voice came from behind you, low and unrushed. “I didn’t get dessert.”

You turned then, ready to spit something scathing—anything to gain control of this thing between you.

But the moment you met his eyes, the words disintegrated.

He looked at you like he already had you. Like your corset might as well be undone, your throat already marked.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” you whispered, not trusting the air between you.

He stepped closer. “Like what?”

“Like you want to ruin me.”

“I do.”

And then—finally—his hands were on you.

One slid around your waist, firm and possessive. The other tilted your chin up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. And he kissed you.

Not gentle.

Not soft.

Devouring.

You gasped into his mouth, and he took that, too—his tongue sweeping in, lips urgent, demanding. His hand splayed wide over your back, pressing you closer until there was no space between your chest and his.

Your fingers curled in the fine wool of his coat as his mouth left yours and trailed lower—to your jaw, to your throat.

“Say it again,” he murmured against your neck.

You were trembling. “Say what?”

“My name.”

“Chan,” you breathed. “Chan—please—”

He groaned softly, like the sound of his name on your lips undid him.

He kissed your neck, then again, harder—biting, not enough to break skin but enough to leave no doubt.

His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your waist, then gripping your hip like he was anchoring himself.

You should’ve stopped this.

You should’ve.

But you didn’t.

You wanted it.

You wanted him.

And that was when you heard it.

A sharp inhale. A tray clattering.

You both froze.

A maid stood several steps away, eyes wide in the dark, hand over her mouth.

“I—I’m sorry, Your Grace, Miss—I didn’t know anyone—”

She turned and fled, skirts whipping behind her.

“Wait—” you tried to call, stepping forward.

Chan caught your wrist. “Don’t.”

“She saw—”

“She’s a servant. She won’t—”

“Yes, she will, Chan,” you hissed, yanking away from him. “All it takes is one word. One laugh in the kitchen and by morning, I’m finished.”

You turned to face him fully, chest heaving.

“You’re a Duke. They’ll forgive you. But me? I’ll be the girl who let herself be mauled in the garden like a common courtesan!”

His jaw clenched. “Then we’ll say it was nothing.”

“No one will believe that!”

He didn’t answer. And that silence—that pause—was worse than anything he could’ve said.

Because you knew.

He didn’t want to marry you.

And you were already ruined.

Your heart thundered in your chest as your throat tightened, panic twisting into something that felt an awful lot like betrayal.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Back inside. Through the drawing room. Into the parlor where the guests still lingered, oblivious.

Your aunt beamed as you reentered. “Ah, there you are! We were just speaking of—”

You cut her off.

“I have an announcement,” you said, loud enough to command the room.

Every head turned.

Chan stepped in behind you. Silent. Watching.

“We’re engaged,” you said. Clear. Calm. Final.

A beat of silence. Then gasps.

Your aunt shrieked in delight. “Oh, finally! I knew it!”

You turned, facing Chan. You saw the shock flash behind his eyes. The fire. The fury. The disbelief.

He moved toward you, slow, steady.

And when he stopped at your side, he didn’t speak at first.

But his hand found yours.

And he said, with a voice laced in velvet and steel: “Yes. We are.”

~~~~

The drawing room door slammed shut behind you, the sound echoing through the quiet study like the crack of a whip.

Chan didn’t speak at first.

He stood just inside the doorway, shoulders tense, breath slow and controlled—but barely. You could feel the weight of his fury pressing down on the room like a storm about to break.

“You had no right,” he said finally, voice like ice.

You turned to face him, chin high. “I had no choice.”

He laughed. Just once. Dry and humorless. “There’s always a choice, Miss L/N.”

“You were going to let that maid ruin me.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You hesitated.”

“I was thinking.”

You stepped toward him, fire in your chest. “And how long should I have waited, Chan? Until the scandal was printed in the Lady Whistledown column? Until I was whispered about in every drawing room across London?”

He met your eyes, jaw tight. “You should have spoken to me. Not trapped me.”

“Trapped you?” you repeated, stunned. “You kissed me. You touched me. You made it very clear what you wanted—”

“That was a mistake.”

The words hit like a slap.

Silence swelled between you, thick with hurt.

You swallowed, forcing the lump in your throat back down. “So now I’m a mistake.”

He looked away. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean.”

His hands curled into fists. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I’m asking for the truth.”

He hesitated. And then, flatly: “I can’t have children.”

You froze.

His eyes flicked back to yours, unreadable. “That’s the truth.”

You waited for more—for anything. An explanation. A reason. Something to soften the blow. But nothing came.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Yes, I do—”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped, stepping forward suddenly, voice sharp with heat. “You made the announcement. You made the decision for both of us. So don’t stand there and demand my vulnerability like you deserve it.”

The words cut deeper than you expected.

“I never meant to hurt you,” you said, quieter now. “I was trying to protect myself.”

“I know.”

“Then why does it feel like you hate me?”

He sighed through his nose, turning away from you, one hand braced against the edge of the fireplace mantle. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then what is this?”

He didn’t answer.

You stared at his back, heart cracking open in your chest.

“I still want to marry you,” you said.

His shoulders stiffened.

“I don’t care about children. I just want—”

“Stop,” he said, so softly it made your voice die in your throat. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

You blinked against the sudden sting in your eyes. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

And still, he wouldn’t look at you.

You stood in silence for a long moment before turning for the door.

“I’ll leave you alone now, Your Grace,” you said, voice trembling despite your best effort. “You seem to prefer it that way.”

And then you left him there, alone in the dark.

~Lady Everly's Country Estate~

The wedding was quiet. Intentionally so.

Only a small number of guests had been invited—mostly the Duke’s inner circle. Lord Minho, poised and immaculately dressed, stood beside Chan as his witness, alongside Lee Felix and Lord Hyunjin. In the pews sat nobles of lesser note, their presence more symbolic than significant, murmuring softly among themselves as they observed the hurried ceremony.

Your aunt had arrived in a gust of perfume and pearls, draped in lace and false affection, flanked by her usual entourage of gossip-hungry ladies. They buzzed with excitement over the scandalous swiftness of the union, already speculating about what prompted it.

But you didn’t hear a word of it.

Your eyes were fixed on him.

Chan stood at the altar, stiff and noble, his dark hair swept back in perfect form. His jaw tight, expression unreadable. Regal. Remote. He looked every inch the Duke—untouchable, unreachable. And not once did he meet your eyes.

The vows blurred.

“I do,” you whispered, the words sticking in your throat.

And just like that—it was done.

You were his. A Duchess.

The drawing room hosted a modest celebration: soft chamber music floating through the air, polished crystal clinking with champagne, voices raised in polite toasts. You floated through it all, smiling where required, nodding through compliments that felt far away.

It wasn’t until Lord Hyunjin approached that you were jolted back to the present.

“You look radiant, Your Grace,” he said with a warm bow. “Or shall I say… Duchess?”

You mustered a faint smile. “Thank you, Lord Hyunjin.”

He leaned in, voice dropping. “I thought you might want to know—Chan refused your dowry.”

Your smile faltered. “He… what?”

“He told your aunt he wouldn’t take a single coin from her. Said it wasn’t needed. Not even for the estate.” Hyunjin tilted his head subtly in Chan’s direction. “Said he’d rather earn everything for you himself.”

Your breath caught.

Hyunjin’s smile softened. “Perhaps he’s looking toward the future. A family, maybe. When the time is right. That dowry could help—”

But he never finished.

Because you had already gone pale.

You barely whispered a goodbye before you turned, skirts sweeping behind you as you fled the room.

You made it to the guest chamber just in time for the first sob to break from your chest.

Shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it for a moment, willing yourself not to fall apart. But it was no use. Your legs buckled, and you collapsed into the velvet chair near the hearth, hands trembling in your lap.

A family.

Hyunjin had meant it kindly, you were sure. But the word hit like a dagger.

You could still hear Chan’s voice echoing from days ago. “I can’t have children.” “You don’t need to understand.”

You buried your face in your hands, tears coming harder now, hot and aching.

A soft knock came at the door. You froze.

Then the familiar scent of lilacs drifted in as your aunt let herself in with practiced ease. “There you are,” she said, her voice light and falsely sweet. “You nearly caused a scene.”

You swiped at your cheeks, but she saw the red in your eyes. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Honestly, darling. You’ve just secured your place in the peerage. There’s no need for tears now.”

“I just needed a moment,” you managed hoarsely.

She approached with a rustle of silk, perching beside you as though you were a child in need of grooming. She fussed with your veil, adjusted your skirts. “I’ll admit, I never thought you had it in you,” she said. “But you did it. A Duke. You’ve made the family proud again.”

You stiffened. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Oh, I know.” She waved a hand. “But it certainly doesn’t hurt that we’re respectable now. Speaking of which—has anyone properly told you what happens tonight?”

You went still.

She took that as a yes.

“No need to be afraid. Men are simple. He’ll want you in bed—he’ll take what’s his, and you’ll let him. It’s the natural order of things. Might hurt at first, but it’s your duty now. To produce an heir. That’s what all this has been for.”

Your breath hitched.

An heir.

You stared down at your trembling hands, voice barely a whisper. “But… if he can’t give me children…”

She paused.

“…will he still want to do it?” you asked, your voice breaking at the edges, gaze locked on the firelight.

She raised a brow. “Men always want to do it. Whether it bears fruit or not.”

You said nothing.

Silence settled, thick and suffocating.

Your aunt stood, brushing nonexistent dust from her skirts. “Pull yourself together,” she said. “You’re a Duchess now. That alone is worth the sacrifice.”

She left the door open behind her.

You sat there, staring into the fire, your wedding band cool against your finger.

You wondered—if marriage wasn’t about love… or family…

Then what was it about?

~~~~

The journey from London to Blackwood Manor was long—days by carriage, even under the most favorable conditions. And with the wedding arranged in such haste, there had been no time for a proper honeymoon, no elaborate send-off. Only hurried goodbyes, shallow toasts, and whispered expectations.

By the time the sun dipped below the rolling hills, casting the countryside in hues of gold and ash, the horses had grown weary—and so had you.

Chan called a stop in a sleepy village nestled along the road. A modest tavern stood at its center, plain but welcoming. The innkeeper bowed low at the sight of the Duke’s crest, and soon you were inside, warming your hands by the hearth as your husband spoke in quiet tones to the keeper.

Two rooms.

You heard him say it.

Not one. Not shared.

Two.

Your heart thudded quietly in your chest as the innkeeper handed over two brass keys, each dangling from a worn leather tag. Chan took them both, turned, and offered you one.

“We’ll continue the journey in the morning,” he said simply, his voice even, unreadable. “You’ll be more comfortable this way.”

You took the key slowly, your fingers brushing his. “Oh,” you said softly. “So… we won’t be—?”

He looked at you then, and the flicker in his eyes almost made your breath stop.

“No,” he said, and there was something strained behind the word. “Not tonight.”

He turned without another word and headed for his room.

You stood in the hallway a moment longer than you should have, your skin buzzing with questions you didn’t dare ask aloud.

The room was small but clean. The bed was turned down, the hearth lit just enough to cast a golden glow over the walls. You undressed slowly, slipping into your nightgown, folding your wedding dress carefully over the back of the chair.

You lay down with your back to the door, watching the shadows dance across the ceiling. Sleep didn’t come.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The way he looked at you when you walked down the aisle. The tension in his jaw when he took your hand. The way he refused your dowry. The way he refused you.

But then… why did it feel like he wanted you so badly he could barely look at you?

The creak of the door snapped you out of your thoughts an hour later.

You sat up.

Chan stood in the doorway.

His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair slightly mussed like he’d run a frustrated hand through it a thousand times. His eyes found you—no hesitation this time.

“May I come in?” he asked, voice quiet. Rough.

You swallowed and nodded. “Of course.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken truths.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said finally.

“Neither could I.”

His eyes dropped for a moment, then returned to yours. “I thought this would be easier if I stayed away. That if I kept my distance, maybe I could ignore it.”

“Ignore what?”

He exhaled, his hands flexing at his sides. “How badly I want you. How much I feared you didn’t want me back.”

Your breath caught. “You thought I didn’t want you?”

“I thought… maybe you only married me because you had to. For duty. Not for desire. Not for love.”

You rose slowly from the bed, the nightgown falling gently around your legs. “I thought the same,” you said, voice trembling. “I thought I was the only one lying awake, aching for something I thought you would never give.”

He stepped toward you then, like the distance between you had become unbearable.

“I’ve wanted you every second since I met you,” he said, voice thick with restraint. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you. And hated myself for it, because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

“I want you,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Now. Here.”

He closed the distance between you in two strides and kissed you like he was unraveling. His hands cupped your jaw, then your waist, then slid lower, gripping your hips as his mouth took yours with growing hunger. The kiss turned hot—tongues meeting, breaths colliding, a low groan rising from his throat as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pressed closer.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your mouth, breathless.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed, pulling him back in.

Your nightgown was gone in moments, lifted over your head and tossed aside, leaving you bare in the firelight. His eyes swept down your body—slow, reverent—and he reached out with both hands, tracing the line of your collarbone, the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, kissing your neck, your shoulder, down to your chest. When his mouth closed around your nipple, your breath hitched, hands fisting in his shirt. He sucked gently, then bit—just enough to make you gasp.

He undressed with shaking hands, never tearing his eyes from you. You drank in every inch of him—broad shoulders, smooth skin, the hard lines of muscle and restraint carved into him like stone. When he finally pressed you back onto the bed and settled between your thighs, your whole body ached for him.

He kissed a path down your stomach, then lower, until his mouth hovered just above where you burned for him.

“Let me taste you,” he said, voice rough and reverent.

You nodded, hips already tilting toward him. When his tongue found you—slow and firm—you cried out, one hand flying to the back of his head. He licked you with long, unhurried strokes, circling your clit with the kind of precision that could only come from obsession. He groaned as he devoured you, like the taste of you was the sweetest thing he’d ever known.

You shattered on his tongue, thighs trembling around his head as he coaxed every wave of pleasure from you. And when he rose over you again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, you reached for him, desperate and breathless.

“Now, Chan,” you whispered. “Please.”

He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. Then he lined himself up at your entrance, eyes locked on yours as he slowly pushed in.

The stretch was intense—deep and thick and slow—but you welcomed it, hips rising to meet him. He held still for a moment once he was fully inside, forehead pressed to yours.

“God,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”

Then he began to move—long, deliberate strokes that made your entire body hum. He filled you completely, the friction unbearable in the best way. He kissed you through every thrust, touched you like you were fragile and powerful all at once.

He groaned your name, voice hoarse, broken, and the sound of skin against skin filled the room. Your legs wrapped around him, drawing him deeper, needing more. And he gave it—harder now, faster, hips rolling into yours with each thrust until your moans echoed off the stone walls.

When you came again, it hit hard, your whole body arching beneath him. He followed moments later with a low, guttural groan, pulling out and spilling the sheet beside you.

He climbed back over you, chest heaving, forehead against yours, your sweat-slicked bodies tangled together.

“I love you,” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face. “So much I can barely breathe.”

You kissed him softly, slowly, your body still trembling. “I love you too.”

He gathered you into his arms, holding you close as the fire crackled beside the bed. And when you both finally drifted off to sleep, it was with your body wrapped around his, your heart finally at peace.

That night, he didn’t return to his room.

~~~~

The carriage rolled to a stop beneath the towering arches of Blackwood Manor.

The estate loomed above you, grand and gray, its spires clawing toward the sky like the fingers of a half-remembered dream. Ivy scaled the walls in tangled webs, and the shuttered windows stared blankly down, as though keeping watch over memories that refused to rest.

Chan stepped out first, then turned and offered you his hand. You took it—because you always would.

He gave your fingers a quiet squeeze. “Welcome home.”

Home.

The word echoed strangely in your mind as you looked up at the manor—this place he had inherited too young, too solemn. A house not given, but left behind by a father who ruled it with more presence in absence than in love. Even now, you felt the weight of him in the stone and silence, lingering like smoke that never cleared.

A line of servants waited along the drive, heads bowed. At the front stood an older woman with silver hair pulled back in a stern bun—her presence proud and unshakable.

“Your Grace,” she greeted Chan with a curt nod, then turned to you and softened. “My lady. We’re honored to welcome you.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice calm despite the knot tightening in your chest.

“Mrs. Lee has managed Blackwood longer than anyone,” Chan murmured, still holding your hand. “And she’s Felix’s mother.”

Your eyes widened. “That Felix?”

Mrs. Lee let out a quiet laugh. “Yes, that one. Writes when he remembers. Still more trouble than ten sons.”

“She’s the only person who ever told my father off to his face,” Chan said with a glint of admiration. “And lived to keep her job.”

A flicker of pride passed through her eyes. “Someone had to keep him from turning out just like the old Duke.”

Her words were affectionate—but Chan’s expression dimmed. And just like that, the air changed.

Inside, the manor was as grand as you’d expected—and colder. Every surface polished to perfection. Every corner too quiet. Velvet drapes, thick with dust. Oil portraits of stone-faced ancestors loomed from gilded frames, as if daring you to speak too loudly in their presence.

The silence between you and Chan grew heavier with every step.

He led you through the drawing room, the music parlor, the massive study that had once belonged to his father. Each one was beautiful. Each one made your chest ache.

And then you reached the west wing.

Down a narrower hallway, one door sat slightly ajar—its frame a faded yellow, unlike the rest. Your footsteps slowed.

You didn’t know why you were drawn to it. Only that you were.

You pushed the door open.

A nursery.

Sunlight spilled in through lace curtains, catching in the dust that hung in the air. A cradle rested near the window. A small rocking chair sat perfectly still. Nothing had moved here in years, and everything looked like it was waiting.

Your hand tightened around the doorknob.

Behind you, Mrs. Lee’s voice carried gently. “I expect that room will be filled soon.”

The words hit you like a stone to the chest.

Your breath caught, sharp and sudden.

She didn’t know.

You turned away quickly, blinking hard, nodding as if you hadn’t just felt your heart fracture anew. “Of course,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

You kept walking before anyone could see the tears gather.

Chan caught up with you moments later, just as you ducked into an empty sitting room, pressing a hand to your mouth to keep it all in.

“I saw your face,” he said quietly.

You didn’t turn around. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No,” he said. “But it still hurt.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Chan came to stand behind you, hands gently wrapping around your arms. “I know what that room means to you.”

“It’s not the nursery, Chan. It’s all of it. This whole place feels like it’s built on someone else’s dreams.”

“It was,” he said. “And none of them were mine.”

You looked up at him then, eyes stinging. “Then let’s make it ours.”

He didn’t speak, just leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours.

“Let’s rip it apart,” you whispered. “Every haunted corner. Every room that still smells like him. I want to paint it in colors he would have hated.”

A soft laugh escaped him, dry and fond. “Let’s burn the past and build something new.”

And you did.

That night, it began.

In the library, you kissed him until the weight of silence cracked. He pushed you against a wall lined with old volumes, lifting your skirts, his mouth hot and seeking. You gasped against his lips as he sank into you, deep and slow, your fingers clawing at his shoulders like you couldn’t hold him close enough.

You made love as though your bodies could rewrite the legacy of the house itself.

In the music room, he sat at the grand piano while you straddled him, your moans rising like a symphony as his hands roamed your back, your hips, your soul. You rode him slowly, reverently, as though you were reclaiming every note ever played in that room.

On the staircase, he pressed you to the railing, teeth grazing your neck as he thrust into you with aching desperation. Your laughter spilled through the marble halls, echoing against portraits that no longer mattered.

In the conservatory, beneath the stars and glass, he laid you among the roses, your skin dewed with sweat and moonlight. He worshipped you there—hands and mouth and body, promising with every movement that the life you shared would be no less full, no less real, simply because it would not contain children.

And finally, outside the nursery door, he stopped.

The yellow door glowed in the low candlelight.

“I hate that it hurts you,” he said softly.

You turned to him, heart in your throat. “I didn’t expect to grieve what I never had. But I do.”

He touched your face, brushing away a tear. “I don’t know what our life will look like. But it’ll be ours. I promise.”

You kissed him then, slow and deep and grateful, and let him take you there—in the hallway, between sorrow and hope, tangled in silk and healing.

Room by room, you took the manor back. Rewrote it. Reclaimed it.

And on the second week’s night, as you curled beside Chan beneath linens of your choosing, with laughter in the walls and warmth where shadows once lingered—it finally felt like home.

~~~~

The village outside Blackwood Estate bloomed in spring.

The trees lining the main lane unfurled fresh green leaves, and window boxes overflowed with flowers in every color. The market stalls bustled with life—cheeses, bread, hand-dyed ribbons, and sweet tarts displayed proudly as if each was an offering to the new Duke and Duchess.

You stood beside Chan on the cobbled square, your gloved hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm. He was dressed modestly for a nobleman, but there was no hiding the quiet nobility in his posture, the strength in his gaze.

Children peeked from behind their mothers’ skirts. Men tipped their hats. Women curtsied deeply, eyes curious and warm.

You smiled at them all.

These were your people now. And you wanted them to feel as if you were theirs.

Chan nodded to an older farmer, helped lift a barrel onto a cart, shook hands with a blacksmith. You spoke to the baker’s wife about her daughter’s wedding and accepted a flower crown from a girl no older than seven.

He watched you the entire time—eyes full of something unspoken.

On the walk back up the hill, the manor rising behind golden fields, he reached for your hand.

“You were perfect today,” he said softly.

You looked up at him. “So were you.”

“Don’t lie. I nearly dropped that barrel.”

You laughed. “Only a little.”

His smile faded into something softer—deeper. “They love you already. It took years for my father to earn even a sliver of their trust.”

“That’s because you lead with your heart,” you murmured. “Not your title.”

He stilled. Then leaned in, voice brushing your ear like a secret. “Come with me.”

He led you back to the manor and inside—not to your rooms, but to the study.

His study.

The room still carried remnants of his father—heavy drapes, the oil portrait over the hearth—but it was no longer haunted. The desk held your pressed flowers. A well-loved armchair rested near the window where you liked to read.

And soon, your back was against that desk, his mouth hot and hungry on yours, his hands undoing your bodice with maddening urgency.

“You undid me today,” he breathed against your skin. “Watching you… I wanted to take you in the alley behind the bakery.”

You gasped, heat rushing through your veins.

“Chan—”

“I need you,” he growled, lifting you onto the desk, dropping to his knees.

He worshipped you there, mouth unrelenting, until you were trembling—hands buried in his hair, voice wrecked with pleasure.

And then he was above you, inside you, his thrusts hard and perfect, his mouth never straying far from your skin.

You came with his name on your tongue—and moments later, he followed with a deep groan… pulling out at the last second, spilling against your belly.

Just like always.

Later, when you lay tangled on the study floor, his head resting on your chest, a thought stirred at the edge of your mind. A whisper. A question.

You waited until evening.

In your chambers, as Mina brushed your hair by candlelight, you finally found the words.

“Mina?”

“Yes, my lady?”

You hesitated, watching her in the mirror. “Can I ask you something… personal?”

“Of course.”

You swallowed. “To make a child… does a man have to… finish inside a woman?”

She blinked. Then smiled gently, as though she’d been expecting the question. “Yes, my lady. That’s how it begins. His seed must be spent inside. It doesn’t guarantee conception, but without it…” She shook her head softly. “It’s not possible.”

You stared at your reflection. Your heart felt too loud in your chest.

Chan had never done that.

Not once.

Not on your wedding night. Not in the days after. Not even when your bodies moved together like a prayer.

He always pulled away. Always whispered he couldn’t. That it wasn’t possible.

And you had believed him.

Believed he was incapable of giving you children—because he had said so. Because he had let you grieve that absence like it was truth.

But it wasn’t.

It was a choice.

Yours had been love. And his… had been silence.

You sat still as Mina continued brushing, her strokes gentle and rhythmic, unaware of the storm building in your eyes.

Because somewhere deep in your chest, beneath the grief and confusion, a single question burned:

Why didn’t he want to give you a child?

Why hadn’t he trusted you with the truth?

And when you stood to leave the room, your hands were steady—but your heart was anything but.

You would ask him.

And this time, he would answer.

~~~~

The next day, you played the part of the duchess perfectly.

You dined with him. Walked the gardens on his arm. Smiled when he kissed your temple and laughed when he teased you. But beneath the silk and grace, something sharp coiled in your chest.

You were done waiting.

That night, after dinner, you found him alone in the library—half-buried in a ledger, brow furrowed, sleeves rolled to the forearms. His head lifted as you entered, but his smile didn’t have a chance to form.

Not before you crossed the room and kissed him.

Hard.

He made a sound of surprise in his throat, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt. You didn’t give him time to speak, to think, to question.

“Y/N—” he breathed, pulling back just slightly, eyes dark with confusion. “What’s—”

You silenced him with another kiss, deeper this time, hungrier. He groaned as you straddled his lap right there in his chair, your skirts riding up around your thighs.

“I need you,” you whispered against his mouth. “Here. Now.”

His hands came to your hips, gripping hard. “You have me.”

He shifted to stand, but you pushed him back into the chair with both hands on his chest.

“No. Like this.”

His eyes met yours, searching, heat and hesitation warring in his gaze—but he didn’t stop you.

You unfastened his trousers and freed him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, already hard and throbbing in your grip. His head tipped back with a guttural sound, hips lifting into your palm.

And then you sank down onto him in one slow, claiming stroke.

His hands flew to your waist, fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck—Y/N—”

You rolled your hips, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Always.”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Then don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

You rode him like you meant to leave him ruined—slow and deep and relentless. You kissed him with teeth and fire, moaned into his mouth as your bodies moved in perfect, punishing sync.

But this time, when he began to tense beneath you—when his hands gripped you tighter and his breath turned ragged—you didn’t let him pull away.

You pinned him down, forced him deeper, rode him harder.

“Y/N—wait—I can’t—”

“Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You will.”

“Y/N, don’t—please—”

But you ignored him. You forced his release.

He came with a cry, broken and helpless beneath you. And only when the tremors passed did you finally stop moving.

You sat there, still joined, breathing hard, his hands trembling against your hips.

Then you looked down at him, voice steady.

“You lied to me.”

His gaze snapped to yours. “Y/N…”

“I asked Mina. About children. About what it takes to make one.”

He swallowed hard.

“You never finished inside me. Not once. You let me believe you couldn’t. That you were incapable. And I mourned that. I grieved for something you knew was never lost.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did!” you snapped. “You let me suffer. And for what? Some self-righteous martyrdom? To protect me from a decision I never got to make?”

“I was protecting you—”

“No. You were protecting yourself.” You climbed off him, yanking your skirts back into place. “You lied because you were a coward.”

He stood, eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare call me a coward.”

“Then what would you call it?” you shouted. “Keeping secrets? Controlling my future without asking me? Lying every single time I looked you in the eye and asked for honesty?”

“I was trying to break the cycle. I didn’t want to become him.”

“You’re not your father,” you said coldly. “But you are acting like him. You made a choice for both of us without my consent.”

His fists clenched. “You think I did this out of cruelty? You think I wanted to hurt you?”

“I don’t know what you wanted,” you said. “Because you never trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

He was quiet for a moment. Breathing hard. Then, quieter: “I didn’t know how.”

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You knew exactly how. You just didn’t want to risk what we had.”

“I was afraid!” he exploded. “Afraid of losing you, of repeating the same fucking legacy I was born into—of becoming him. You don’t understand what it means to carry that name.”

“And you don’t understand what it means to love someone and be lied to by them,” you said, voice shaking with fury. “You broke something. And I don’t know if it can be put back together.”

His jaw tightened. “Then maybe you never really trusted me either.”

That hit harder than it should have. You stared at him, stunned.

Then: “Don’t turn this on me. I wanted a future with you. I fought for it.”

“And I was trying to protect you from mine,” he said, teeth clenched. “But fine. You want the truth? You have it now.”

“And I wish I didn’t,” you said coldly.

Silence fell—sharp and final.

He didn’t reach for you.

You didn’t take a step back.

You turned and walked out, your footsteps echoing down the hall like gunfire.

And for the first time since becoming his wife, you slept in a separate room.

Neither of you spoke the next morning.

And the silence between you didn’t feel like grief.

It felt like war.

The manor was no longer a home. It was a battleground lined with velvet and roses.

Two weeks had passed since that night in the library. Since truths were ripped open like old wounds, and you had climbed off his lap with rage in your throat and betrayal in your bones.

You had not spoken since.

The servants, once used to your laughter echoing down the halls, had learned to carry messages instead.

“His Grace requests you delay your ride until after the rain.”

“My lady wishes to dine alone tonight.”

“His Grace is unavailable.”

Their words were ghosts now, passing between you like smoke under closed doors.

He slept in the Duke’s chambers at the end of the west hall. You remained in the Duchess’s rooms, your door bolted every night. You shared corridors, not conversations. Meals, not meaning.

Even in public, where smiles were required, your interactions were cold and clinical—just enough to preserve the illusion of a perfect union.

And still, the silence between you screamed louder than any fight.

You were seated in the morning room, a teacup in hand, when the latest issue of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers arrived by courier from London. Mina fetched it for you, expecting you to scoff at the latest scandals with detached amusement.

But your heart dropped on the very first page.

Lady Everly Fairchild, long thought to embody the virtues of refinement and restraint, was recently spotted departing a certain notorious Viscount’s private club—unescorted and in a state that could only be described as… indecorous. While society recovers from the shock, one wonders how this development will reflect upon her illustrious niece, the newly minted Duchess of Blackwood. And what must the ever-composed Duke make of such scandal trailing so close to his name?

You stared down at the page, breath gone tight.

A scandal.

And your name dragged right alongside it.

You rose from your chair and passed the paper to Mina.

“Ready my bags,” you said quietly. “I’m going back to London.”

He found you in the foyer, gloved and laced, as the footmen loaded your trunks into the carriage.

“You’re leaving?” Chan’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

You didn’t look at him. “There’s a scandal involving my aunt. I need to manage it before it worsens.”

A pause. Then, carefully: “You intend to go alone?”

You turned toward him, meeting his gaze for the first time in days. “Does it matter?”

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“Why?” you asked coolly. “It’s not as though we’re—”

“I’ll go with you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer, but his tone was devoid of warmth. “For appearances. They’ll talk if the Duchess returns to London without her husband.”

You folded your arms. “Let them talk.”

“I won’t give them the satisfaction,” he said, cold steel behind every word. “And you might be—”

He stopped.

But the sentence hung between you anyway.

You might be pregnant.

Your stomach knotted. “So this is about control, then. Not duty.”

“No. It’s about knowing if there’s a child,” he said bitterly. “And what that will mean for both of us.”

You stared at him—this man you had once trusted, once craved, once bled for.

“How noble of you,” you said softly. “To care only when your bloodline is involved.”

He flinched. Just barely. But it was enough.

“I’ll have the staff prepare a second room at my London residence,” you added. “I assume you won’t want to share.”

His eyes locked on yours. “No. I won’t.”

Silence.

Then you turned toward the carriage without another word.

~~~~

The ride to London was long. Silent.

You sat on opposite sides of the carriage, staring out different windows, breathing the same air but not the same life.

The city loomed ahead, glittering with gossip and expectation.

And for all the world knew, the Duke and Duchess of Blackwood were returning in triumph.

Only you knew the truth:

That inside the carriage sat two people who had once loved each other like fire—

Now nothing more than strangers, dressed in silk and secrets.

As evening descended upon your aunt Everly’s estate in London, the echoes of high society filled the grand halls. You sat in the lavish parlor, your back straight, eyes sharp. The whispers from the latest paper had already cast a shadow over your name, and now you had to ensure it didn't consume you. The scandal surrounding your family was spreading, and it was only a matter of time before it reached the highest circles. You couldn’t afford that.

"Aunt Everly," you began, your voice steady but firm, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on your shoulders. "We must act swiftly. The gossip is escalating, and if we don’t address it, it will only get worse."

Your aunt, lounging lazily in her velvet armchair, didn’t immediately respond. She took a slow, deliberate sip from her wine glass, as if savoring it more than the conversation. She avoided your gaze, and you could almost feel the disdain radiating from her.

"We cannot afford for this to affect the Duke’s reputation—or mine," you continued, walking across the room, your heels clicking against the marble floor. You stopped by the window, gazing out at the estate grounds that seemed to stretch endlessly before you. "I will take control of the narrative. I’ll attend the upcoming soirées, speak with the highest circles. I will show them that I can manage this. I can manage you."

At last, her eyes met yours, and you saw that glimmer of recognition. There was no approval in her gaze, but perhaps a flicker of begrudging respect. "You would put yourself in the firing line for our name?" she asked, her voice thick with both skepticism and something close to admiration.

You held her gaze, unwavering. "For the family. I won’t let this destroy what little we have left."

Her lips curled into something that almost resembled a smirk, but it quickly disappeared. After a moment’s pause, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Then I suppose it’s as you say. Take control. But be careful, my dear. This game is not one for the faint-hearted."

You nodded once more, a sense of determination settling over you. You would show them all what it meant to be in control. You would prove that you weren’t just a figurehead in this game of society, but that you had teeth—claws, even.

~~~~

The hours of night stretched on, and the sounds of the house around you grew quieter. Restless, you paced the halls, each step feeling heavier than the last. The scandal, the whispers, and the Duke—each thought wrapped tighter around your chest until you could barely breathe. You hadn’t spoken to Chan in days, and the silence between you gnawed at you, unsettling and suffocating.

You finally found yourself standing at the grand staircase, your gaze falling to the darkened foyer below. No sign of him. No sound of footsteps. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. The quiet had become unbearable. The silence between you had stretched too far, too long, and it was suffocating.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Chan stepped inside. His silhouette barely registered in the dim light, his coat undone, his shirt slightly untucked, and his hair messier than usual. You could smell the faint scent of alcohol, sharp and mingling with the chill of the night air.

He barely glanced your way as he closed the door behind him, his gaze lowered, avoiding yours. "Y/N," he muttered, that one word hanging between you like a lifeline—tattered and fraying.

"Where have you been?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. The suspicion in your tone was undeniable as you descended down the stairs to stand in front of him.

He stopped, eyes flicking toward you, but they were distant, closed off. "Nowhere."

"Nowhere?" Your heart tightened, and a bitter laugh escaped you. "So, you've been with women."

His brow furrowed slightly, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable. The accusation lingered, cold and heavy, and neither of you moved to break the tension.

"You..." The hurt, the anger, the despair welled up in you all at once, too much to contain. "Is there anything left, Chan? Anything at all?"

For a moment, he said nothing, and the silence between you felt sharper than any words could have. But then, without warning, his hands reached for you, pulling you close. His lips crashed onto yours with desperate urgency, hunger in every movement. There was no tenderness in the kiss—just raw need, as if he were trying to apologize with his body, to make up for the space that had grown between you.

You kissed him back, just as urgently, needing to feel something—anything—to break the tension that was crushing you both. His hands were quick and rough, tugging at you, pulling you onto him. The kiss deepened, frantic, as he backed you against the railing of the stairs, his body pressing you into the cold wood.

In a blur of movement, his hands slipped beneath your skirts, and you felt the heat of his touch on your thighs. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was raw, desperate—just like everything between you.

"Chan..." you gasped between kisses, the heat of his body against yours making it hard to think. Your hands fumbled with his trousers, desperate to feel him, to take something from him, anything to make the ache inside you stop.

But just as quickly as he had pressed you against the railing, he stopped. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable.

"No," he said, his voice low, tortured. "Not here."

His hands remained on you, but there was a wall between you now, invisible but undeniable. You stared at him, confusion mixing with frustration.

"Why?" you whispered, your voice trembling with both need and frustration. "Why now, Chan? You’ve never stopped before."

His jaw clenched, and he took a step back, his hand still gripping yours. "If you are with child, I will stay," he said quietly, as though the words were hard to utter. "I will stay to raise my heir. But if you’re not..." He paused, his voice heavy with finality. "We’ll remain married, but we will live separate lives."

The words hit you like a slap, cold and cruel. Separate lives. That was all he was offering—a life together in name, but nothing more.

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to scream, to run to him, to force him to feel what you were feeling. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

"Is that all I am to you?" you asked, the tears rising despite your best efforts to hold them back. "A means to an end?"

He didn’t answer immediately. His silence spoke volumes—he wasn’t sorry, and he wasn’t going to pretend. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded once, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I’ll do what’s right, Y/N. I’ll stay. I’ll do what I can. But don’t ask me to pretend." His words cut through the air, harsh and final. "I can’t be something I’m not."

Your chest tightened further, the weight of his words suffocating you. You didn’t want to hear this—not from him, not now. But the truth hung there, cold and undeniable.

"Then maybe I don’t want to be something I’m not either," you whispered, the tears threatening to spill.

Without another word, you turned away from him, retreating into the shadows of the house. The silence between you was a cold, insurmountable barrier, one that had stretched further than you could ever have imagined.

~~~~

The evening air in London was thick with the hum of society, its murmur filling the halls of your aunt's estate. You walked through the parlor, your back straight, head held high, as you navigated a sea of judgmental glances and whispers. The scandal surrounding your family had reached new heights, and tonight, it seemed, the old women of the ton were only too eager to sink their teeth into it.

Lady Margaret and the Duchess of Clyne stood by the fireplace, their conversation pausing as they noticed you enter. Their eyes flickered with disdain, barely masked behind their practiced smiles.

"Miss Y/N," Lady Margaret purred with thinly veiled mockery, "how lovely to see you. Though, I must say, I was surprised you would still grace us with your presence after the unfortunate... rumors surrounding your family."

You caught the slight sneer in her voice and felt a cold anger settle deep in your chest. But instead of responding with the fire you longed to unleash, you smiled back, all sharp edges hidden behind a calm facade.

"And you, Lady Margaret," you said with a biting edge, "must be familiar with the whispers that follow any high-society family. The more one has to hide, the louder the accusations, I suppose."

The room stilled. The Duchess of Clyne lifted an eyebrow, her smile never wavering but clearly surprised by your audacity.

"Indeed," she replied, her voice dripping with condescension. "But I daresay the Blackwoods have a longer history of... drama than most." Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, daring you to respond.

Your aunt, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her armchair, seemed unfazed by the conversation. But you could feel the weight of her silent disapproval like a weight on your shoulders. Still, you held your ground.

"You are correct, Duchess," you said coolly, "but perhaps it is the nature of those who’ve seen more than their fair share of drama to offer their opinion on others."

The words landed with an audible thud, and Lady Margaret’s expression shifted, a brief flicker of surprise before she masked it with a smile. The Duchess, too, blinked but didn’t immediately respond. You had shut them down—for now.

As you walked past the older women, you glanced over at Chan, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, his back to the room. He was watching you, but there was something unreadable in his expression. Something darker, more distant than you were accustomed to seeing.

A few days later, Chan returned home later than expected. You heard the door open, followed by heavy footsteps and the unmistakable sound of him stumbling slightly. His coat was askew, and the unmistakable scent of alcohol clung to him, mingling with the sharp scent of sweat. You didn’t need to guess where he’d been.

"Chan," you said softly as you moved into the foyer, your gaze immediately catching the bloodstains on his shirt and the bruises beginning to form along his jaw.

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and filled with frustration. “I’m fine," he muttered, though his words betrayed the exhaustion weighing on him. He moved toward the sitting room, but his posture was stiff, his movements jerky, as if something was festering just beneath the surface.

You followed him quietly, watching as he collapsed onto the couch with a groan, trying to avoid your concerned gaze. But there was no hiding it—the fight had been more than just a brawl. He was hurting, physically and emotionally.

“Tell me what happened," you insisted, not moving from your spot by the door.

“Does it matter?" he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "They wanted a fight. They got it.”

"Who?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "Who were you fighting?"

He hesitated, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, but his lips were tight with anger. "The Duke of Westbrook. His friends," he said, his words bitter as they left his mouth. "They’ve been hounding me about the family name. About how I’m supposed to carry it on." His voice dipped lower as he muttered, "As if I care about any of it."

Your heart clenched in your chest at his words, but you kept your voice steady. "Chan, you don’t have to carry that weight anymore. You know that, right?"

He didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes were distant, haunted. Then, with a deep breath, he spoke again, and this time his voice was quieter, almost as if he were speaking to himself rather than to you.

"I fought because I wanted them to understand," he said slowly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "I don’t want the Blackwood name to carry on. I don’t want any part of it. I was the last of us, Y/N. My father’s deathbed vow wasn’t about honor or family; it was a curse. He said the Blackwood line would die with me, and for once, I intend to honor that vow."

You froze, the weight of his words hitting you like a physical blow. His father’s cold ambition, his harsh final vow, had trapped Chan in a life he never wanted. A life he resented with every fiber of his being.

You stepped forward, your voice quiet but urgent. "You don’t have to honor it, Chan. You’re not him. You can choose a different path."

His gaze flickered up to meet yours, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t name. "I’ve made my choice," he said bitterly. "I won’t carry on the Blackwood name, and I won’t be forced into a life I don’t want. The line ends with me."

His words cut deep, but something inside you snapped at the finality of his tone. He was running from everything, from what could have been a future with you.

You didn’t want him to carry the weight of his family’s curse, but you couldn’t change his mind—not tonight, at least.

“Why won’t you open up to me?” you asked, your voice trembling with the frustration and sorrow you could no longer suppress. You sat beside him, your fingers gently pressing against his battered face as you began to tend to the wound on his lip, the roughness of his skin feeling so different from how you longed for him to be.

His chest rose and fell as he exhaled, the sharpness of his words betraying the vulnerability he kept hidden. "I can’t," he whispered. "I don’t know how to be anything but what I was made to be."

You leaned forward, your hands trembling as you continued your ministrations. "Chan... a child would be a blessing. You don’t have to face this alone." Your voice cracked with the weight of it, the hope and love you still held for him.

He pulled away, his eyes wild with pain. "No," he growled. "You don’t understand. I won’t carry on the name, not for you or anyone. I promised myself I’d be the last."

Your anger surged at his refusal, at the way he pushed you away with every word. "You made a vow to me, too," you snapped, the words sharper than you intended. "You don’t get to decide everything alone."

The silence that followed felt heavier than any argument could have.

In a moment of cold realization, you stood, your hands trembling as you prepared to walk away. "In a few days, we’ll know for sure," you said, your voice low and tight with emotion. "My courses are due, and then we’ll know if we’ll be miserable together or happy apart."

~~~~

You both agreed to join your aunt for a concert the next day, but the tension between you was palpable, a chasm too wide to bridge. You parted ways as soon as you arrived, each of you retreating to your own corner of the grand opera house, the air between you cold and unspoken.

The music swelled around you, but you barely heard it, too consumed by the ache that had taken root in your chest. And then, in the midst of the opera, something unexpected happened. Chan reached over, his fingers brushing yours in a tentative, almost fragile touch. He hesitated, his hand resting lightly on top of yours before his fingers gently intertwined with yours.

It was such a simple act, but it struck you to the core. His grip was uncertain, almost like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to reach out. You stared at his hand, frozen, unable to process the shift in his demeanor. This wasn’t the Chan who had been distant, withdrawn, and angry. This was a version of him you hadn’t seen in days—a version you weren’t sure you could trust.

But before you could respond, something shifted inside you. The pressure building in your abdomen became too much, a sudden cramp seizing you in a way that made it impossible to sit still. Your heart raced as the realization hit you like a wave. You needed to get out of there. Now.

With a sharp intake of breath, you pulled your hand from his, standing abruptly, your chair scraping harshly against the floor. You didn’t speak; you couldn’t. Your chest tightened as you fled to the hallway, the sound of your breath quickening with each step, the feeling of something changing, slipping away, consuming you.

By the time you reached the drawing room for ladies, the pressure in your abdomen had become unbearable—warm, unwelcome, cruel. You barely acknowledged the startled glances of the women already gathered there, sweeping past them in a blur of silk and panic. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, your composure collapsed.

You moved toward the corner, heart pounding, and lifted the hem of your dress with trembling hands. The stain was there—dark, undeniable. Your worst fear confirmed in one sharp breath.

You sagged against the back of a velvet chair, your fingers fumbling as you tried to clean yourself, the delicate lace of your gloves now streaked with blood. Tears stung your eyes, hot and unrelenting, and before you could stop them, they were falling—silent at first, then heavy and unrestrained.

Grief clawed its way up your throat like a scream you couldn’t bear to make. You staggered toward the low mirror by the vanity, clutching its edge as your body shook with sobs. The arguments. The silence. The aching, fragile hope you had clung to. All of it crumbled beneath this moment.

You had dared to believe that this month might be different. That maybe, just maybe…

But now…

The door creaked open behind you, and you caught the rustle of skirts, the hesitant tap of heeled shoes across the carpet. You turned, your vision blurred, and there she was—your aunt, her mouth pressed into a tight line, her eyes wide with alarm and something gentler beneath.

She didn’t speak at first. Her hands fluttered at her sides, unsure, but when she saw your face crumple again, she stepped forward without hesitation. Her arms wrapped around you, awkward but firm, holding you as if you might shatter.

You buried your face in her shoulder, the sobs breaking free in loud, gasping bursts. Her touch was stiff, uncertain, but she didn’t pull away. Her gloved hand patted your back in a rhythm that was clumsy but comforting in its own way.

“I… I’m sorry, darling,” she whispered. Her voice was soft and unsure, like she wasn’t quite sure if she was saying the right thing. “I know you wanted more.”

You clung to her like a lifeline, your tears soaking into the satin of her gown. You cried for what you had lost, for the closeness that had once seemed possible, and for the child who would never come.

Back in the opera box, Chan hadn’t moved.

He sat frozen, the haunting music of the orchestra washing over him, but he barely heard it. His eyes stared blankly ahead, but all he could truly focus on was the emptiness of the seat beside him.

And the sound—your sound. Your muffled cries, far away but distinct, echoing faintly down the corridor like a wound he couldn’t ignore.

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles whitened. He had heard you weep before, in anger, in frustration—but this… this was different. This was grief. And it sliced through him like a blade.

He had made a vow once. That the Blackwood name would end with him. That no child would inherit the burden of legacy, of cruelty, of duty stripped of love. That the line would die with him, and the weight of it would be buried alongside his own bones.

He had believed it noble—righteous, even. But now…

Now all he could hear was your heartbreak.

And for the first time, Chan wondered if his vow had truly been an act of honor—or just another kind of abandonment.

A selfishness disguised as sacrifice.

And as the opera swelled to its crescendo, he sat in silence, mourning something he never allowed himself to want.

𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 -

@hyeon-yi @penny44224 @nchhuhi @soupbinlily @myfriendgavemeanegg @avokralaim @teeesthings @estella-novella @0sunshinecryptid0 @finannn @lectrice-ios @hanniebunch @astrobebba

𝓜𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 -

@jehhskz @true-queen-of-mischief

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henrioo · 1 year ago

Text

°•*⁀➷ MINE TO CLAIM: ZORO

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : In a full moon night your werewolf boyfriend can be a little wild and uncontrollable, good that you don't mind helping him with all his needs.

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : AMAB! READER, MALE! READER, NSFW, MLM, HOMO SEX, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, werewolf stuff (full moon, heat, knot, biting/mark, mate), impregnation talk (Zoro wants to make the reader a dad), breeding kink, the reader CAN'T get pregnant but Zoro doesn't care

꒰ WC ꒱ : 1,1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : So again, minors and fem DNI, you be blocked and blah blah, I'm not in a good mental state to post a long notes, so sorry. The thing I can say is I will try to finish the ask because I am already taking too long, and I will try to finish translating my other stuff to post, I hope this helps me get better, thanks for all the support and enjoy!

You held tighter to the pile of pillows, there was padding everywhere thanks to Zoro's claws that had ripped some pillows and cushions from the nest he built. You thought that nests were things for omegas in fanfictions, but it seemed that in reality all wolves had one. Since Zoro no longer slept in the forest now that you were dating, and you forbade him to sleep in the middle of the woods when you had a house in perfect condition, it wasn't strange to realize that he really missed something more traditional from his werewolf origins.

You helped him build the nest with lots of love, using a small spare room in your house, the two of you were able to build a nest and a small den for when Zoro felt like snuggling, following his instincts in a more natural place for his breed. It was basically a mess of sheets, your and Zoro's clothes, as well as several pillows and cushions to make you comfortable. You also covered the window with black plastic so that it would always be darker and more cozy for both of you.

Usually, you and Zoro just laid there cuddling, especially when he was in his full form. Sometimes you ate and watched movies on your cell phone, nothing too strange or exotic. That was until Zoro finally asked you to marry him and asked if he could mark you as his mate, saying he couldn't bear to go out with you on the street anymore, knowing that you didn't have his mark or scent. After some explanations about this ritual, you accepted both requests with great emotion, deciding to become Zoro's become his fiancé and also his companion.

Since the branding ritual, a deep bite on your neck that bled and left you in pain for weeks, unable to even turn your neck, every full moon, his nest, which was once just a spare room for snuggles, has become something much more… Intimate.

“Zoro!” You screamed his name for the thousandth time that night, your ass was high in the air and if it weren't for Zoro's big hands with huge claws holding you by your thighs, your wobbly legs would have already given up on you.

Your entire body was burning, and you had already cum so many times that your dick was so sensitive and Zoro hadn't even fucked you yet, he was too busy with foreplay. He was now licking your hole like he was sucking on ice cream, sticking his huge tongue so deep you could see stars, you were already drooling against the nest and every scent of your wolf was so intoxicating that you felt drunk and sick from his pheromones.

“Mine, mine, mine” Zoro didn't speak properly during mating season, he usually growled and released small compliments or affirmations of possession. He tried to show all his feelings just through actions, not being able to trust his tongue to express all his desires.

He finally pulled away from your hole, which was now dripping with saliva, and enjoyed the view for a bit. You were squeezing around nothing, and you were stretched and wet enough to take him. Zoro was always twice as careful during the full moon, knowing that for a human it would be much more difficult and painful to take a werewolf's knot completely. He quickly bit your ass a little hard and slapped the other side, then he stood up and leaned over you.

He placed kisses on your back, feeling you relax as he began to smell your neck and hair, making you shiver and let out a soft moan. He quickly began rubbing his nose against the huge bite mark on your neck and licking it affectionately, feeling pride fill his chest knowing that you were completely his and anyone could know that.

“Zoro… Please” you begged whimpering for him, you were already so tired and overstimulated that you were afraid you would pass out before the wolf was able to stick his dick in you. “I want your cock, please, please, I need it so much” you begged him, begged him to finally satisfy you both and not prolong this pleasurable torture any longer.

“Do you want my cock?” He growled in your ear as he grabbed your waist with one of his hands, his claws scratched you and you knew you would be sore all over the next morning. “Do you want my knot? Do you want me to fill it completely?” He pumped his own dick while rubbing the head of it against his crying hole, which was trying his best to suck him inside. Your own cock began to twitch, getting excited to cum again.

“Yes! I want your knot! I need it, Zoro!” You screamed without any shame, knowing that Zoro loved it when you became uncontrollably vocal, shouting how much you loved and needed him “I need you to fill me Zoro! Please! I need your cum inside me!” You cried shamelessly trying to rub your ass against him.

“Shit… You’re my needy boy, aren’t you? I'm going to fill you so good, I'm going to fill you completely... You're going to take my fucking knot and I'm going to fill you with my cum again and again until you're full and pregnant with my puppies” he breathed heavily into your you heard as he began to slowly thrust into you, giving you time to get used to his cock which was bigger and more swollen due to the full moon “You want this, don’t you? Carry my puppies? Being the daddy of our pack” he growled at the idea.

"Yes! I want to! Please, Zoro! I want to carry your puppies! Oh!” You screamed as he thrust harder, shoving a large portion of his cock in at once. “I’ll be a good dad, I promise!” You didn't even have control over what you were screaming and begging for anymore, you just needed him.

“I know, I know you will” You both knew it was impossible for you to get pregnant, after all you were both amab men, but that didn't lessen the fantasy of Zoro filling you up until you were pregnant with his puppies. “I’m going to fill you so fucking good you’ll be dripping”

And when Zoro rammed the rest of his cock in, pressing into your prostate so hard that you came immediately, feeling your legs giving out and your eyes rolling back to their fullest as you could feel his cock so deep and swollen inside you that you definitely had a bulge in your stomach, you knew that was definitely a promise.

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animeyanderelover · 1 year ago

Text

I did something like this before with Dazai but I just sort of redid it again because I was in the mood.

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, touchiness, stalking, paranoia, controlling behavior, manipulation, guilt-tripping, isolation, abduction, pregnancy, C-section, mentions of non-con, Stockholm syndrome, baby-trapping, afab s/o

Tags: @lovley-valentine7 @leveyani @chxxz @shumidehiro @izanami78

Pregnancy Hc’s

Pluto

🐺You've always wondered if Pluto due to being a Demon Hound would go into rut as well now that apparently he has chosen you as his mate. You remember having done a lot of research on wolves. Now that you are permanently stuck with him in a den filled with clothes and blankets he has stolen from villages to keep you warm, you can't help but feel scared when you see the worst fits of winter slowly passing by and the snow melting. Breeding season is from February to March as you can recall and so you watch with growing caution and worry Pluto's behavior. He's recently acted strange. He always rubs his scent all over you, growls as soon as you dare to leave his vision and has been getting a lot more aggressive and irritated with every living being around his den. You fear the worst as he grows clingier and clingier until one day your worst fears are confirmed when sharp nails rip your old and worn-out clothes from your body as red pupils dilate and you feel his erection rutting against your entrance, irritated that he can't get in before he finally slips into you. He barely separates from you during his rut as he spends his time either breeding you or cuddling next to you protectively.

🐺You know that he would be the one who would notice your potential pregnancy first due to his enhanced senses and when he soon starts nudging your tummy with a satisfied rumble coming from deep within his chest and starts licking it, you take it as a confirmation that he succeeded in breeding you. You don't take the news well because you know that you have no doctor to visit and no midwife to help you when you'll eventually give birth. You only have Pluto with you who resembles from behavior and intelligence a wolf. You can't help but sob a bit when you realise that you'll have to essentially go through pregnancy and birth all by yourself. Pluto, distressed by your sorrow and stress, starts whining and tries to ease your distress by cuddling himself physically close to you. Obviously he doesn't understand what you are thinking right now or why you are so stressed in the first place. He only knows that he doesn't like to see you so panicked and sad, especially now that you carry pups.

🐺As the male wolf who sired the offspring developing in your tummy, he grows exponentially more protective as his instincts remind him that he is protector and provider for the mother of his children as well as the babies themselves. He starts hunting animals and even buries them for later. You do your best to light up a fire in here to cook the raw meat or just command Pluto to breathe fire for you, a useful trick you've taught him ever since he abducted you. A part of his brain also recalls occasionally what food you consumed when you were still living in a town and since food is now more important than ever with you gestating his young, he raids towns in his Hound form for food and brings it to you. You don't want to touch food that has been directly touched by his saliva when he spits it out in front of you but you accept canned food which Pluto remembers for his next hunt. Besides his hunt for food and his pursuit of everything that dares to get too close to his den, he spends all of his time wrapped around you. Either in his human or hound form.

🐺You notice that Pluto is confused when you don't give birth within spring and you assume it's because his kind usually gestates young quicker than a human. He whimpers as he presses his nose and ears confused against your swelling stomach as he looks up at you with concerned eyes. You assume that he can sense that the babies are developing fine inside of you as well as that you are healthy which only leaves him majorly confused. You can't help but wonder if you are still growing faster than a normal pregnant human would or if you are actually expecting more than one because you could swear that your stomach looks bigger than it should be already. The only thing you can do for now is wait though. Pluto grows more protective and anxious the more time passes by as his confusion and unease only grow as you don't give birth as well as seeing you starting to struggle as your belly swells and starts hindering you from moving around as much.

🐺As soon as you can confirm first movement and you realise how much movement it is, you can only silently confirm that you are definitely carrying more than one baby. When Pluto sees and feels the movement in your belly too, he lets out a few excited howls and starts licking your belly more from that day on to show you as well as the pups inside more affection. You really wish that he could talk like a normal human whenever he presses his ears against your stomach because you think that with his enhanced senses he might even be able to hear the heartbeat of the babies and can count them. You can only leave the den when he is with you and the more pronounced and rounded your stomach becomes, the more he insists that you ride on his hound form so that you don't tire yourself. He ususally remains in hound form as he watches you cleaning yourself in the river, his ears twitching and turning around with every small rustle and sound.

🐺When autumn arrives and the babies are still not born, his anxiety increases. He frantically starts stealing more food as well as clothes and blankets for you to prepare for winter. He's often wrapping himself around you in his hound form nowadays to keep you and your big belly all the time warm. You expect to give birth soon as you have done the basic calculation and at this rate you can't wait as your stomach has gotten so huge. Your labor starts and your water breaks in early winter as you spend hours upon hours with contractions. Pluto is emotionally just as distraught as you are as he cries and whimpers, licking your sweaty head as he tries to comfort and encourage you as you birth his kids. Nearly a day filled with pain later, you've given birth to three boys, all with his silver hair. If he'd have a tail right now, it would wag like crazy as he lets out what you assume are excited barks as he tenderly chews off their umbilical cord and licks them clean before he carefully pushes all of them against your chest. He pulls a few stolen blankets over his new family before turning into his hound form and wrapping himself protectively around his mate and freshly born litter.

Snake

⚕️Snake is a hybrid himself so chances of him experiencing something akin to mating season aren't unlikely. It will probably not be as strong with Snake who is normally always a more shy and insecure around you but there is an intense need for him during such periods to mate with you and breed. He is conscious of his sexual urges though and generally tries to avoid you during such times. He doesn't want to force the sexual act on you even if all of his snakes try to coax him into believing that he shouldn't resist his nature. Snake refuses though even if temptation is sometimes very strong when he feels the warmth of your body on his skin as his pupils go from their ususal slits to growing, black orbs as he feels his desire flaring up hotly inside his body. Sex during this period of time is rougher as the normally more submissive male becomes more dominate, although he tries to be more careful with you despite essentially being in heat.

⚕️As he eventually calms down from his heat and returns to his normal self, although highly ashamed and apologetic afterwards, his snakes and him soon sense that he has succeeded in what his heat-addled brain wanted to do. You're pregnant. He doesn't know how he should tell you and hesitates for a while. Snake is terrified that you'll be angry with him for impregnating you and also worries that you might reject the child to whom he seems to already form an attachment to. His golden eyes often focus on your stomach as he grows more protective and starts following you around more often. His snakes seem to try to tell you what Snake hesitates to speak out as they wrap themselves around your stomach protectively to protect the precious life inside. You can tell that something is going on but Snake still can't speak up. So far no one besides Sebastian seems to have caught on, the butler telling Snake in an amused tone that he should tell you soon as you are already suspicious.

⚕️He apologizes as soon as he has told you and you can see that he is visibly anxious and nervous for your reaction. At this point you've had your own suspicions already as your period has been late and you've started to experience some typical symptoms like a change of smell. You are a bit unsure because this pregnancy wasn't fully planned even if you were aware of Snake's intentions when you agreed to have sex with him during his heat but you also don't hate the baby and just decide to raise it together with him. Snake is visibly relieved when he hears your answer as his eyes water a bit. He's shaking a bit when he hugs you because he is excited, nervous and anxious all at the same time. Snake seems to be a bit unwilling to share the news initially with Ciel and all the other human servants as he is quite protective but he knows that it's necessary so he soon tells the Earl of Phantomhive about the fact that you're expecting. When Mey-Rin, Bardroy and Finny find out, they're busily congratulating him as well as suggesting names for the baby, even arguing over it.

⚕️Snake feels increasingly more uneasy and worried whenever he has to leave you alone so to not feel as anxious, he always leaves a few of his snakes in your company. All of his animal friends gladly do him the favor of looking out and guarding you and there is always at least one poisonous among those who stay with you. Just to be completely sure that nothing happens to you whilst you are pregnant. So you end up always having one snake gently wrapped around your neck whilst the other one is wrapped around your stomach for as long as it is still possible. Snake gets all flustered when you slowly start developing a baby bump, his hands trembling slightly when he touches your tummy with his hands carefully as if afraid that even the slightest touch could harm the precious life inside. He's more warily than ever when he brings you over to the mansion because all other servants, besides Sebastian, have been kind of asking him if he could let you visit. His snakes have been against it, it's only because you wanted to come over that he yields. He's still cautious and stays alerted because he knows that the servants in this mansion can be quite clumsy and he wouldn't want anything to harm you.

⚕️He has been sensing it for kind of a while now and his snakes have been too but Snake waits for a while to confirm his suspicion as your stomach swells with new life until the first kicks eventually happen. It's then that he can confirm that he has been sensing two lives within you and all of his snakes have done so too. He looks anxious when he tells you this because one child is already such a big responsibility. Two at once is even bigger of a responsibility though and he can't help but worry even if he is also equally as excited. At one point your stomach gets too big for some of his snakes to comfortably wrap around so instead they curl themselves over your stomach comfortably as soon as you sit down or lay in bed. You notice that they are often hissing, their tongue flipping out as their head moves closer to your stretched skin. Snake informs you that they're communicating with the babies inside your stomach and often translates to you what they're saying. Both of you actually wonder if the babies will also be able to understand snakes like he does and judging from the increased movements whenever a snake is talking to them, you like to imagine that they do.

⚕️As happy as Snake is, he's also more prone to insecurities. He's worried that his children might also be made anomalies due to him being their father. He manages to convince Ciel with the huge support of the other free human servants to be given some time off when you approach your due date. He rejects the offer that you could come over to his mansion and give birth in his room as he wants his solitude with you when your water breaks as he prefers to stay in your house. He does accept the offer of letting a midwife stay with you now that you're so incredibly close. He definitely reaches the peak of his protective behavior in those final days when him and his snakes can all sense that it could happen anyday now as he barely leaves you out of his sight. He's not leaving your sight, clutching your hand tightly in his own as soon as your contractions start as if he's the one in need of support, golden eyes observing sharply the midwife from time to time too. You give birth to one boy and one girl and they're surrounded by all of his snakes instantly, the animals determined to protect both of those children. They have some scales littering a few parts of their body but he doesn't care as he tears up when he sees how cute they are.

Dazai Osamu

🤎Dazai wants to start a family with his darling at one point and he has always been hinting at this. Whenever he sees a young family when he’s walking around with you, he jokingly asks you how your children would be if you would have a few. As soon as he sees a pregnant person walking around, he tells you that you’d probably look very cute with a pronounced baby bump that would make you waddle wherever you go and would force you to rely on him for a lot of things. He says all of those things with a harmless and teasing smile on his face yet he also gauges your reaction to his words very closely, brown eyes observing every twitch of your mouth and eyes. Perhaps it would be best for you to have nothing against the thought of children because otherwise you might be succumbed to his manipulation and gaslighting. Jokes eventually turn serious as Dazai makes it clear to you that he desires a child with you, his own hands gently grasping your own as he presses his forehead against your own. Don't you want it too? Leaving a physical trace of your love and adoration on this earth even after your death in form of a sweet child?

🤎Perhaps you should have expected this outcome even if you yourself never desired a child to begin with. As your period doesn't come and as you slowly start experiencing symptoms such as cravings, a suden change in smell as well as nausea you can feel his eyes trailing after you. It's like he has been waiting for signs of pregnancy from you and now that you experience those changes, Dazai starts feeling extremely giddy. He soon goes out to run an errand and asks you to wait for him at home before he leaves, giving you a quick kiss before he does so. When he returns, he has bought a few pregnancy tests and asks you excitedly to take them. He waits in front of the bathroom, although he knocks on the door every few seconds to ask if he can come inside now. As soon as you allow him, both of you wait for the results. When two red lines appear on all of them and confirm that you are indeed expecting, he starts to let out a genuinely happy and excited laugh. Arms wrap gently around your waist and you feel warm lips travel all over your face before he starts spinning and swaying you around whilst humming happily.

🤎Dazai decides to keep it a secret from everyone in his workplace for now and is especially more careful to keep the news away from the Port Mafia. He is no fool, he is aware that at one point they will find out. For now though he just wants to enjoy this special time with you whilst also preparing for the baby. For the first time in a while he seems to become conscious of his own life lifestyle and suddenly he does a 180 now that he knows that a baby will soon live here. Dazai starts cleaning everything, clothes and other stuff that used to lay everywhere randomly is sorted away because he doesn't want you to trip over it. He even makes a list what he needs to buy but he still likes to make spontanous decisions as he goes out with you, a hand always wrapped around you as the both of you buy a crib, diapers and choose babyclothes together. He discovers his fervor as he buys everything even if it threatens to tear a hole in his wallet. Both of you find quickly out during an appointment with a doctor that you are actually having twins and he couldn't be more happy as he showers you in kisses as soon as the news are out. So that means that he can name one child and you can name one too.

🤎He always keeps a picture of the ultrasound pictures in his wallet and whenever he has the time, he just stares fondly at the two little babies in your womb. This is what he'll soon protect and have in his life. He has had his hands on your stomach and even talked to the babies before you were showing but as soon as you start developing a baby bump, he glues himself even more to your side. Hands are always rubbing over your swelling tummy as he all but dotes on you and his two babies. As soon as you are in your second trimester he becomes especially touchy as he eagerly awaits the first kicks of his precious children. It's probably around this time that the other members of the ADA find out about your pregnancy. It's either that they caught him staring at the ultrasound pictures or that Yosano caught sight of the two of you during her shopping trips and connected the dots quickly when she saw your growing belly. Initially his reactions are more careful when all members find out and congratulate him but eventually he becomes more open and starts gushing about how precious and adorable you are with your baby bump and how he can't wait for the babies to be born.

🤎Dazai starts taking pictures of you at one point too because he wants to capture how beautiful and motherly you start looking the bigger you start to grow and is all but cooing and doting on you during this time as you slowly start struggling with the size of your belly. Dazai on the other hand truly starts blossoming as your situation as well as his babies motivate him to take better care of himself because you and the babies need him to take care of them. He helps you with all tasks that start to become more straining for you, he cleans the house, does the laundry and even starts to pick up some meals to cook so that he can prepare them for you as well as for the babies at one point. He always insists to spoonfeed you whenever he cooks something for you, all excited for you to try them. He does keep you on a diet appropriate for your pregnancy but at one time he starts to become so putty in your hands the further along you are that he starts stocking the food that you start craving a lot whilst you are carrying his twins.

🤎He is constantly torn apart between wanting to know the gender of his babies and wanting to keep it a surprise. There were multiple times during appointments with the doctor where he wanted to ask or even at home when he already had his phone in his hands and was about to call them only to change his mind in the last moment. He takes some time off from his work in your last weeks as he yearns to spend those last few weeks with you. It'll be the last time for a long time that both of you will be alone after all. He savors the last bit of your pregnancy, his hands and lips cherishing your big tummy as he spends every waking hour with you. When your labor starts, he decides to wait as he packs everything he thinks you two might need for the hospital all whilst giving you soft kisses in between whenever you feel a contraction. When your contractions come in certain time intervals, he drives with you to the hospital and then he stays there with you, his hand rubbing over your stomach as he asks the twins to not give you too much of a hard time and that he can't wait to meet them. His eyes are filled with nothing but love as soon as you give birth to his daughter and his son as he admires his new family.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

🍎Fyodor has never mentioned anything about children to you for as long as you can remember. And honestly, with the situation you are in with him you have never had the time nor the care to ask him what his opinion of children is. Until Fyodor succeeds in invading your heart and mind and you stop caring about about everything else that isn't him either. Your days from that day on are spend with Fyodor being much more gentle and affectionate with you although sometimes he just needs to ignite the sadistic spark inside of him and see you in pain only to kiss the pain better afterwards whilst uttering sweet nothings to you. You've completely forgotten about thoughts of a child until one day he suddenly brings it up to you whilst you are placed on his lap, his lips brushing against your ear as he asks you how you'd feel about a child. You're a bit surprised but eventually you tell him that you wouldn't mind having a child with him. He gives you a small smile as he replies that he's glad to hear this as you feel one of his cold hands resting on your stomach.

🍎You realise a few weeks later that he must have already known at that time that you were expecting as you are hunched over the toilet again, Fyodor behind you as he caresses your back and your shoulders whilst you throw up. He's sure that it must be uncomfortable but he hopes that you'll get used to it since this might happen more often now that you carry his child. You've already asked him a couple of times before if the child was intended from his side or if it was an accident. All you always get from him is this mysterious smile and a gentle kiss somewhere on your head as he tells you in a low tone that he's happy and that is all that matters. He quickly arranges everything for you and the child. Fyodor can't risk anyone tracking you back to him and possibly go after you now that you are carrying his baby but he is generous enough to know that it would be wiser to have medics assisting you and helping you, especially once you'll give birth to his baby. He's very picky though as he chooses a selected few doctors and midwives to do the ultrasounds and to cater to your and your baby's needs as soon as he has to drive you to the hospital.

🍎His hands caress your stomach gingerly as soon as you start showing as he even starts occasionally talking to the baby, mainly in Russian. He's given you already a nickname in Russian and he gives one to the child inside of you too and always addresses the baby by his chosen pet name when he talks to your stomach. Fyodor wants to find out the gender of the baby soon though so as soon as it is possible to find the sex of the baby out through the ultrasound, he asks the doctor to tell the both of you. A small smile appears on his face when he hears that he'll have a little daughter, his eyes twinkling with pride and fondness whenever he touches your stomach from that point on and talks gently with his litte girl. His sadistic desires completely vanish during your pregnancy because he would never be so cruel to hurt you whilst you carry something so small and pure inside of you. This little girl is a gift from god after all, physical proof that both of you are bound together.

🍎The whole nursery is colored in white and light blue and you don't get much of a say in it. White is the color of purity after all and his daughter will be born pure. She'll be a precious and innocent child, born without any sin tainting her. And light blue to symbolize the clear and blue sky on a day without any clouds hiding it from the human's eyes. The further along you are, the more Fyodor tries to make more time for you instead of spending it scheming and planning his crimes or wasting hours in front of multiple screens. Even whilst he is working, he always has one screen showing him live footage of a camera he has set up in your room for safety. Sometimes he forgets about his work as he instead admires you through the screen. His admiration for his darling definitely grows during the pregnancy. It's so beautiful to see how your body adjusts and prepares for his daughter you grow and nurture inside of you. You are so breathtaking as your belly swells with child and your breasts slowly inflate with milk to nurse the baby as soon as she is born.

🍎The man finds himself low-key starting to worship you and your body as you grow with his child and he admits to you so as he whispers words of affirmation and praises into your ears whenever his arms are wrapped around you gingerly and his hands rub over your stomach soothingly. He has a smug and content grin on his face whenever you tell him that the little girl starts kicking and moving around inside of you whenever he starts talking Russion to her as if she reacts to his voice and his words as his hands instantly rest on your bump to feel her little feet and hands. He always tells you in an almost teasing voice that he's just starting very early to teach her his mother tongue, glad that she seems to react so strongly to him speaking in Russian to her. He chooses a couple of different names for his daughter, all in Russian as well and all of them have some meaning including purity or God in it. He tells you about those names he has chosen so far and asks you which name sounds prettiest to you. You tell him your honest answer although you don't know if he'll actually consider your answer.

🍎He removes himself completely from all of his work when your due date is getting close as he spends all of his time from that point on with you. His purple eyes are always on you as he watches for any sign that you might experience the first signs of early labor. Similar to Dazai, Fyodor decides to wait for a while until your contractions are coming within a certain time. You spend early labor with him as both of you pack everything he thinks you might need whilst in the hospital whilst he softly assures you that even if what is to come might be scary and will be painful, it's the last and ultimate act you have to do in order to bring your beautiful daughter into this world. He has booked a private room for you as soon as he brings you to the hospital because he doesn't want too many people around you and his newborn daughter as soon as she is born. There's only the midwife occasionally checking how far you are dilated, otherwise you are left alone with Fyodor who soothes you as good as he can until they tell you that it's time to push. Fyodor tells them to leave as soon as the baby is safely delivered and cleaned, his eyes focused on his daughter as he tenderly caresses her head.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️Here you are, permanently imprisoned as the government has taken you under special protectionall because Jouno has asked them to do him a favor. You know that this is in reality just a more civilized abduction but no one gives you any help as you are stuck as Saigiku's lover, a doll who can do nothing but wait for him to return from any missions or other business he had to attend to and hope that he won't be in any sadistic mood. You never even thought of any children and you honestly get chills when you think about Saigiku being father to a child, especially if it should be your own. You don't even think that he would want any children if you would have to make a guess based on his possessive behavior he exhibits around you. You barely take notice when your period is a bit late because it wouldn't be your first time that you've missed your menstruation due to the stress you've felt ever since you've been taken. You don't assume anything, not until you see Saigiku's frown as his head tilts into the direction of your stomach.

♦️You can only freeze in shock and confusion when he suddenly leans down and presses his ear against your stomach and before you can even attempt to ask what has suddenly gotten into him, he hushes you as he starts focusing on something. You see his normally smug and composed exterior fading as you see surprise, then shock and eventually unease all appearing on his face before he pulls away. He furrows, appears conflicted before he asks you when you've last had your period and it's his question that makes you realise that you've been quite late by now. You want to ask him why he wants to know before your breath gets caught in your throat as you connect the dots and Jouno can hear that you've caught onto why he asked this. He instantly makes an appointment with the doctor and not too long after he gets the confirmation of what he already knew. You're pregnant, the embryo already having a heartbeat which he is able to detect now. There is a thick silence as soon as the news are out and you look anxiously at Jouno who seems to contemplate the situation right now.

♦️You're surprised when he actually asks you of your opinion on the pregnancy and since he would be able to tell if you would have lied or not anyways, you decide to give him an honest answer. You aren't sure how to feel about this. He seems to think the situation through for the next few days, the second heartbeat he can pick up when he is around you a constant reminder of what is going on inside of you. Eventually he makes the decision to keep the child. You don't know if he would force you to keep the baby even if you were against it but you are still unsure to make up your mind about the situation so whilst you aren't distraught when he announces his decision to you, you also aren't thrilled. Saigiku lets out a sigh when he picks up on your hesitance, one of his hands ruffling your hair gently. He knows that this wasn't the plan but now that this surprise happened you two might as well just make the best of it. He takes your hesitance over any hatred directed against your child though. Jouno just hopes that you'll have made up your mind by the time the child is born. He trusts you to make the right decision.

♦️He would like for this to remain a secret but the other Hunting Dogs find out far too soon for his taste. Fukuchi congratulates him as he pats Saigiku on his shoulder, Teruko is having a laugh imagining Jouno with a toddler whilst Tetchou and Tachibana fret for the way the baby will be raised by Saigiku. Whilst Tachibana at least keeps quiet about it even if Jouno can still pick up clearly on his emotions, Tetchou is a bit more blunt as he openly admits that he is a bit concerned for how Jouno plans to raise his child. Saigiku can only feel his temper rising as this is the precise reason why he wanted to keep your pregnancy hidden for a while longer. How dare he to question his abilities to take care and look out for his own child? Fukuchi stops the two of them before anything grand might happen as Jouno leaves, fuming on the inside. What is probably even worse is that he knows exactly that you think the same way Tetchou does so when he visits you shortly after his argument with Tetchou, he feels the need to make it very clear to you that he wouldn't harm his own child. Honestly, for what kind of sociopath do you take him to even consider such a thing?

♦️You have regular appointments with the doctor to make sure that the baby as well as you yourself are both fine. Truthfully though, Jouno is playing partially a medic too. His enhanced senses to cancel out his blindness cause him to pay very close attention to everything he can pick up. He listens closely to the heartbeat of the baby as it grows stronger and stronger each week and seems a lot more concerned as soon as he notices that you're stressed or anxious. Whenever he notices that your emotions go a bit haywire he quickly walks to you, asking you with a frown on his face if something is wrong. He wouldn't want you to stress yourself too much since it might be bad for the baby as he starts refraining from hurting or scaring you during your pregnancy. He becomes very touchy with you because of his blindness. He can't see you growing round and looking all adorable and he would lie if he would say that he isn't a bit upset about it so instead he feels your pregnancy. His hands are often on your stomach, slowly running over the surface to feel how much you've grown since last week and to imagine what you might look like now.

♦️Since the pregnancy was already a surprise he decides the sex might as well be a surprise until birth as well. He gets some time off before your due date as requested by him and Fukuchi who insists that he gets some time with his new family. Everything is ready by now. From the nursery to the people who will assist you the moment your water breaks as he tells you that you can't just go into a public hospital like this now that you're under his protection and carry his child. You'll have your own special room just for yourself and your own team. Your little daughter isn't born the natural way though as you experience stalled labor throughout the process and suddenly stop progressing as you stop dilating. You decide to wait for a while yet as you still experience contractions without dilating further, the doctor advices that a C-section might be an option and Jouno agrees as he's worried for you and his child. She's still born healthy though as Jouno gets to hold her first, listening to her gentle breath and the sound of her heartbeat. His fingers trace tenderly over her face, trying to imagine what she looks like before he hands her over to you and asks you to describe her to him.

Sigma

☁️Sigma is a person who just came like this into existence by being written into the Book without any way to ever find a reason why he came into existence anyways. He has found his purpose ever since then in you as he has made it his whole point to exist to look after you and to protect you. You are his purpose in life so he can't allow you under any circumstances to leave him which has led you to be permanently stuck in the Sky Casino and even all the gifts and riches he gets you don't do any good yet he still does his best to appease and please you in any way he can. Sigma as the one who has dedicated his entire existence to you will be relatively quick to notice the small changes occuring in you. He notices how you suddenly crave food you've never particularly liked before, he notices how you're suddenly more sensitive around certain smells as well as some headaches. He frets about your health as he wonders what might be wrong with you but it is you who one day approaches him to tell him in a serious tone that you're quite late for your period and that is when he realises what is wrong. It's something he didn't really want to consider.

☁️You can't help but wonder that it should be the other way around as you can see Sigma's whole face twist in fear, anxiety and stress as his eyes widen, his heart starts beating out of his chest and his breath quickening. He looks like he is about to have a meltdown and a panic attack so you try to calm him down as he clutches onto you as soon as he feels your warmth, his palms and forehead covered in cold sweat as you help him to regulate his breathing. As soon as he has regained some semblance of composure he apologizes frantically to you. He-he had no intention to get you pregnant! He's so sorry he should have been more careful with protection! You try to put a stop to his anxious rambling as you inform him that you aren't angry with him or anything. He still apologizes as he informs you that he'll arrange you an abortion if you desire one. You tilt your head at him as you ask him what he actually wants and he insists that he'll do whatever you want him to do in this situation. You fall silent as you consider everything before you tell him that you'd like to keep the child. You see him swallowing nervously as he purses his lips but he eventually gives you a nod.

☁️He spends entire nights reading through every file and online article he can find about pregnancy and memorizes everything in there. From development of the child to the changes your body will undergo to what he can do to make this pregnancy as easy as possible for you. Honestly, he knew before all of this very loosely that unprotected sex would lead to pregnancy but he can't help but be shocked and even slightly disturbed as he reads through everything. The thought of growing an entire life within your womb is so strange but he wasn't exactly created the normal way so perhaps that's why he finds this all so foreign. He insists on knowing the sex of the baby as early as possible as he assigns a few medics to monitor your pregnancy. He needs to order and prepare a nursery after all and instead of constantly second-guessing everything he wants to have delivered, he just wants to know the sex of the baby as early as possible. He still second-guesses everything though because he wants it to be perfect for you and the child so you end up helping him to choose, literally meaning that you say what you like and he buys it without giving his own opinion. Your opinion matters after all.

☁️It's kind of cute when he randomly tells you how big your son is right now if he would be a fruit and what he is already capable of doing within your womb. He's been still somewhat in denial and disbelief up until a certain point that he has gotten you pregnant yet the reality of the situation crashes down onto Sigma when he notices that you start developing a baby bump. He just stares and stares and stares as you start to grow bigger as if still thinking that he is hallucinating yet he can't deny that he's curious. How does your stomach feel now that you're carrying a baby inside of you? He always wonders but never asks. Not until you yourself take it upon yourself to invite him to touch your belly as you have noticed those curious eyes on your belly for a while now. He asks you if he really can before he carefully touches your tummy, amazed by it's roundness and firmess. You find his fascination with your belly cute though. Sigma is perhaps a bit strict with your diet and activity though as he has only the advice of the doctor and the advice online to trust so he is a tad bit controlling because he really doesn't want anything to happen to you whilst you're pregnant.

☁️He's initially bewildered but then quickly intrigued when the baby starts kicking around inside of you. Honestly, he is admiring you for growing another human being inside of you whilst enduring the changes that come with it and the further you are along, the more protective and paranoid he becomes. He's constantly checking the cameras in your room to see how you're doing only to pause and always get so fascinated when he sees how big you have grown already. The more you start swelling and the less foreign and strange the concept of you being pregnant with his child becomes, the more another feeling starts blossoming inside of Sigma. He starts feeling an attachment to his son you're carrying as he starts feeling responsible. Responsible to protect him, cherish him and raise him well. He's going to be a father to your child and as much as this knowledge stresses him, it also makes his heart pound in excitement as he realises that his son will be one more reason and justification for his existence. Sigma will have another purpose to exist as soon as his child gets born.

☁️Besides a few chosen people who Sigma closely monitors, no one else finds out about your pregnancy though. Sigma is too anxious to let anyone else know about it. He's counting days and hours the closer your due date gets as he simultanously worries and marvels over how much you've swollen and changed with his baby developing inside of you and he tries his best to alleviate you of any pressure and pain you might feel by giving you a massage or doing anything you want him to do. He tries and fails to keep his composure the moment your water breaks as he instantly cancels all of his work to instead spend it with you and tells all guards to not let anyone get close to your room. He's sweating, he's hyperventilating and he feels like he's about to suffer a mental breakdown as he watches you going through labor. He's constantly fearing for the worst yet luckily he is disappointed when his boy is born healthy. You fall asleep soon after you've given birth which leaves him pacing back and forth in the room with his son in his arms as he is unable to sit still. His eyes constantly go back and forth between you and the baby, hoping that you'll soon wake up before glancing down amazed at the baby he created.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere pluto #yandere snake #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere dazai #yandere dazai osamu #yandere fyodor #yandere fyodor dostoevsky #yandere jouno #yandere jouno saigiku #yandere sigma

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capr1pengu1n · 8 months ago

Note

hello!

I would LOVE to see you write a oneshot for Arkham City Eddie if you are interested? It's my birthday on October 18th and I just knew I wanted to request another piece from you to celebrate! You have full reign to make it as salacious as you would like. Fem reader, please, but could you maybe do a brat kink with pigtails or something? I love picturing him with a partner that acts like a brat just to get his attention. 😈

I appreciate you, friend!

Happy Halloween!!

Until the lights go down

Summary: Under Edward's protection in Arkham City, you quickly become bored of your routine, and hope to spice up your time by seducing your lover

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), dom!eddie, thigh riding, blowjobs, rough sex, slight threat at the start, threat of exhibitionism, praise + degradation

Words: 5k

Notes: Happy birthday to the lovely @adhdnursegoat !!! Thank you for being such a sweetheart for as long as we've been mutuals, I really hope you have fun with this, and most importantly have a great birthday! <3

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Boring is not the word that you would have assumed would be your descriptor for the hellish megaprison you’d been thrown into…but as you lay on your back on the lumpy mattress, that’s the one that springs to mind. Boredom sets in like a rot, the latest gunfire from somewhere vaguely to the east of the building not even making you flinch like it used to anymore.

You weren’t completely sure how long both you and Edward had been here, although your lover was taken first. Watching the news in slight horror and anxiety as you saw the coverage detailing his move into the controversial new prison, more like a holding pen for the corrupt and the insane. Well…the corrupt, insane, and you. What both you and Edward weren’t planning on was how thorough Hugo Strange had been; Edward had never so much as whispered about your relationship to anyone, despite how much he secretly ached for Gotham to see how easily a man as intelligent as him could get a girl as pretty and devoted as you, but somehow Strange knew about you both. You’d been practically abducted and taken, chest heavy with your panicked breaths as you'd gazed upon the psychologist who had orchestrated this ordeal.

“Ah, Mister Nigma’s little pet. I wonder, will he protect you? Or will you be too much of a liability? A distraction from whatever twisted little game he hopes to play.”

His tone you remember was icy and clinical, head tilted as his eyes moved up and down you. You’d bit your tongue, knowing that any outburst may result in further injuries than just the bruises blooming on your arms beneath the guard’s tight grip. You looked down, but he stepped forward and gripped your jaw with a harsh cruelty. “I believe he’ll throw you to the wolves, that’s all a sociopath like him is capable of. You’re nothing but a foolish little girl for thinking he cares about you any more than a lapdog who satiates his primal needs.”

You couldn’t contain the death glare that you shot at him. He dropped his hand, leaning away from you before signalling to his guards, and before you knew it, you were in the lion’s den, so to speak. Forced onto the ground, you’d quickly scrambled to your feet as you adjusted to your surroundings. And as you noticed the eyes blinking at you from the streets.

With a shaky breath, you quickly assessed the situation. You knew you were the equivalent of fresh meat in here, only made worse by the fact they hadn’t given you another set of clothes, so there you stood in your skirt and jumper they'd kidnapped you in. Footsteps echoed behind you, a couple of men clearly wanting to intimidate you by jeering and laughing. Thoughts of breaking into a sprint had entered your slightly dazed thoughts, however you remember the sudden loud gunshot had seized your body up as you ducked. You quickly realised however, that nobody had been shooting at you, when you hear the inmates behind you quickly back away and speak.

“Fuck, I thought nobody had seen him in here. I ain’t getting’ involved.”

Confused, you looked up to see Edward striding towards you, confident as ever with a revolver in his hand. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed a hold of your arm and pulled you along, and you can’t deny the slight sadistic joy you got from glancing at the other inmates’ intimidated faces. Turns out he’d paid two of Penguin’s muscle to escort you both to his hideout, but he hadn’t spoken a word the whole way back, jawline stuck in a harsh line.

Once you were back, he’d lamented how stupid it was that you were here, how he didn’t have time to play the role of babysitter and keep you safe, how much of an imbecile Strange was for making such an enemy of him. But with a little difficulty, he’d assured you that he would, in fact, keep you safe, and the tight grip he’d kept on you that night confirmed it.

But now…now you were bored. You understand why he’s forbade you from leaving, but each day seems to bleed together into one long stretch of dullness. Edward barely had time for you, too busy concocting his masterplan, so that left you to wander around the building over and over again. He’d told you that you were beneath the iceberg lounge in an abandoned train-yard, but you couldn’t hear that much coming from outside apart from the occasional explosion.

So alas, you have the same shitty cold shower you do every day (although at least Edward’s hideout granted you the luxury of a shower in the first place) before getting changed. He’d given you some clothes he’d managed to obtain that vaguely fit you, but you decide to wear the outfit you’d been thrown in with. That’s when you hatch your plan.

An awful decision really, truly you were asking for trouble, but at least trouble was something interesting. So you tie your hair up in loose pigtails, rolling your skirt up for maximum effect, and skip down to where you know Edward will be. He’s sat, endlessly tapping away at his keyboard while observing the many monitors he’s set up to feed him information. You can’t deny you’ve always been impressed with his ability to multitask so well.

Scribbling some notes down on a scrap piece of paper, he hardly heard you come in until you lightly brush your finger along his shoulder and say in the softest voice you could muster, “Eddie, I’m bored.”

Taking a quick glance at you, he laughs. “You look ridiculous dear, I hadn’t realised you were so desperate for attention you’d attempt to replicate Harleen’s look. Do you expect me to be interested?”

You roll your eyes, letting your finger wander up and down his shoulder and collarbone beneath the tattered green suit jacket. “C’mon Eddie…I know you’re interested.”

“Just because I don’t want you to die an undignified death on the streets by some thug, doesn’t mean that I will drop all of my important work because you’re bored. Why don’t you dig deep into your limited cognitive capabilities and find something to do?”

“There’s nothing to do.” You lament, not being bothered by his usual condescending tone.

“And that’s my problem how exactly? Be grateful I’m letting you stay here.” Huffing, you sit up on his desk as he scribbles something else down. “Get off my desk.”

“Edward come on.” You whine, knowing you were acting like a petulant child, but at least he was actually acknowledging you.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, glasses falling down a little. “Do you have any idea what I’m attempting to plan here? What am I even saying, of course you don’t.”

“Tell me then.” You challenge, appealing to the narcissistic part of his personality that longs to be praised and recognised.

Eyes narrowing for a moment, he sits back in the chair and relents, starting to explain his plan. You hear him detail how he’ll kidnap the medical staff sent in to look after the welfare of the inmates, but you can’t help your thoughts drifting as he speaks. Always loving his voice, you allow your mind to bathe in the sound, eyes flitting over him. He’s clearly stressed, but when isn’t he these days? His tie hangs loosely around his neck, and your fingers itch to fix it…or to have him rip it off in a desperate haze before using it to bind your wrists. You blink your way out of those thoughts, as he’s still explaining the master plan, hands waving to solidify his points.

Your gaze flits to them, the dark purple fingerless gloves drawing attention to his digits, cleaner than they usually are, most likely due to his informants building whatever is left of the various contraptions, leaving his hands free to scheme. What you wouldn’t give to have those hands wrapped tightly around your throat, holding you in place as he uses you. Or perhaps have them drag along your trembling form, feeling the leather contrasting your smooth skin as they reach their crude destination. Or even have those long digits filling up your needy cunt, curling in just the right way that he knows will have you gushing all over his hand.

You notice he isn’t wearing a belt either. How easy it would be to just crawl to your knees, unbutton his trousers and have him gasping and gripping your hair as you-

“You really aren’t listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” His firm tone forces you roughly from your salacious daydream, blinking at him dumbly. Laughing coldly, he continues, “Really? Nothing to say? Maybe you’d have an inch more of an intellect in that pretty head of yours if you could restrain yourself from eye-fucking me every chance you get.”

Feeling the flush burn in your cheeks, you decide to double down. “Can’t help it. Not when you look so good like that.”

His eyebrows raise. “When I’ve been in a hellhole that doesn’t even have hot water, that is when you find me the most desirable?”

Others may not have noticed any change from your lover, but you know him too well. You notice the way his shoulders have relaxed slightly, how his legs have parted just enough for you to see. So you metaphorically pounce, moving off his desk slowly before straddling his lap, legs on either side of him, making the chair squeak slightly. “When we’ve been here and you’ve hardly touched me, that’s when. Can’t help that I’m needy”

He allows you to sit on his lap, hands moving to hold your hips gently. “Ah, my pet is feeling neglected is she?” His tone is mocking, but his wolfish grin and the way his eyes dart to your lips show he’s feeling just as pent up.

You make a noise of affirmation, moving to shift your hips over him. “Yes…you need to do something Edward.”

“Do not order me around.” He says lowly, tutting, “I think you’re forgetting who is in charge here.”

You smile, finally getting what you want. “Who is in charge?”

Letting out a slight groan, he grabs your cheeks in his hand, squishing them. “Oh you’re really playing with fire, my dear.”

You give him the most doe-eyed look you can muster before he kisses you roughly. Moaning into his mouth, you feel his tongue push into your lips, claiming you quickly and completely. It’s hungry and desperate, saliva being swapped in a way that would cause even the most provocative person to blush. In return, you do a more deliberate grind of your hips, feeling satisfaction as he bucks up into you instinctively. He pulls away, a string of saliva connecting you both.

“So your plan was to wear that stupid hairstyle and slutty skirt in the hopes you’d seduce me into giving you what you want?” he mutters, eyes taking in your body on his lap. Often, he looks at you like he can’t quite believe how attracted you are to him. He’d never admit it of course, to anyone who dared to find out, he’d boast about how natural it is for a gorgeous girl like you to pursue a man of such high intellect, charisma and looks. But deep down, he’s shocked that you desire him like you do, how you’d willingly be on his lap, pawing for his attention.

You nod, knowing it’s best to not lie in this situation, to which he chuckles darkly. “Oh sweetheart, you really are filthy, aren’t you?”

At your slight giggle, he leans and kisses up your neck before whispering into your ear. “I think it’s time I remind you that I’m in control…that I decide when you get touched, when you get pleasured. Not you.”

When you consent, he hums in mock thought, fingers tracing down to your hips, before reaching the soft skin just below where your skirt ends. He taps it a few times, relishing in the way you practically vibrate at the small contact, before reaching up and up to feel the material of your underwear.

“It’s a good thing a mind such as mine prepares for any eventuality.” He boasts, and your momentary confusion is dissipated when he produces a small knife from his jacket, cutting the material so it falls undignified to the hard floor. You pout a little, it’s not like you have an abundance of panties in here, before he moves the sharp blade to your thigh, gently tracing. “Problem?”

You shake your head quickly; you love being a brat sure, but you aren’t completely certain you want to unlock whatever sadistic desires he could have while holding a sharp object. Luckily he seems satisfied with your pussy now being out, but instead of touching it he simply places the knife back in his jacket before maneuvering you so you’re straddling his thigh. Gripping your hips tight, he moves you over the rough fabric of his trousers, before casting you a disinterested look.

“There, perhaps now you’ll be satiated by my mere frame while I continue my important work.” He says, but you don’t miss the cocky smirk that paints his face for a second as he speaks, before he quickly hides it.

Instead you let out a soft whine of protest, but the friction is too delicious to stop. So as he wheels the chair closer to the desk, his arm reaching to grab his nearly blunt pencil, you grip his shoulders and rolls your hips. A gasped moan escapes you, the whole situation coupled with how needy you’ve been for god knows how long means your cunt is alive with sensations that it greedily feasts on.

The only sounds from the room are your choked whimpers, the slow hum of the monitors and the scratching of his pencil on his notepad. You’re certain that there’s now a wet patch on the fabric beneath you with how much your pussy is leaking, begging to be filled or played with properly. Clit throbbing, you attempt to grind harder but it gives you little relief, so you press your forehead against his shoulder. You try to control your breathing, enough to formulate some plea, but deep down you know it won’t work. You’ll get your pleasure when Edward deems it time.

You aren’t sure how long you keep grinding, but your desperate moans increase in both frequency and pitch. He clicks his tongue at a particularly salacious noise that leaves your parted lips, and only then does he finally look at you; pupils blown so wide they’re like pools of ink, searching his body and face for anything that might free you from this pleasure-deprived prison he’s placed you in.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks condescendingly, and when you shake your head, a deep chuckle escapes him. “Greedy girl, you’re truly never content, are you?”

He grabs your waist roughly, stopping your movements before pushing his hand beneath your skirt and feeling the wet mess. “Soaked, as I predicted. I bet you’ve made a mess of my nice trousers haven’t you? Well, we can’t be having that. On your knees.”

You rush to follow his command, cheeks burning as he tuts at the discoloured fabric on his thigh. Still you do your best to look tempting as you gaze up at him, blinking slowly. He seemingly appreciates it, running a hand along your jaw. “You’ve distracted me from my plans by behaving like such a harlot, so it’s only fitting I treat you like one.”

As he speaks, he unbuttons and frees himself from his trousers, length springing free and your mouth practically waters in anticipation. But before you can taste it, he stops you. “No no…you have to make this worth my time, girl. Now ask me nicely.”

You swallow, attempting to formulate the words in your head before you start to beg. “Please Edward, please let me please you. I want to…I need to please you.”

He smirks. “Good attempt, but calling me my name is most certainly not what I want right now.”

Knowing his egotistical nature very well, you relent, the brattiness making way for a carnal need for him. “Please let me please you Mister Nigma, Sir.”

He gives you a soft pat on the cheek that you can only infer means you’ve done a good job before he allows you to part your lips and take the head in your mouth. Sighing in relief, you suck slowly before pushing forward to take in more, bobbing your head as you savour finally having his attention. He lets out a small groan of satisfaction that makes your clit pulse, so you keep going, dragging your tongue along the underside.

“Good…perhaps I’ve been using you wrong this whole time. Instead of seeing you as a distraction, maybe I should just chain you to the desk to keep as my own personal stress reliever. Ready to open her whore mouth and take me whenever I see fit. I’m sure my productivity would increase.” He brags, although the hand that currently isn’t stroking your hair is gripping the arm of the chair so hard you’re sure the knuckles under his glove are white.

You moan around him in response, the sounds of you sucking filling the room in an indecent cacophony. As you do, your body feels like it’s on fire, like any sensation would tip you over the edge. But you’re determined to make him come undone, blinking up at him as you take him deeper. The hand that was on the top of your head runs down to your jawline, before a wicked idea forms.

“Well, I suppose if you insist on wearing your hair like that, might as well make it useful.” He sneers down at you, before gripping both ends of your pigtails. You realise what’s going to happen, and you do your best to relax your throat as he pulls you down on his cock, using the hair like handlebars to move you as he sees fit.

He isn’t being as rough as he could be, clearly holding back from really ruining your poor throat. But he still pushes you down until your eyes water, feeling his cock reach almost the back of your throat before giving you the respite of pulling you back up to the tip. Edward lets out a small sigh, eyes closing for a moment before snapping back open. He’d never been able to deprive himself of the beauty of your face as he ruins it.

“Fuck…look at you sweetheart. Such a mess.” He says like he’s chastising you.

You can’t hope to respond, a small whine escaping you until his cock fills your mouth once more. Sure, he’s not overly big, but he prides himself on being big enough to completely fill whatever hole he deems suitable. Over and over again he uses you, until you blink away soft tears and suck in a particularly good way; a hiss escapes him and he pulls you off roughly, letting go of your pigtails.

“I suppose you’ve been good enough to warrant a reward, I’ll allow you the honour of sitting on my cock.” He says, trying to mask the real reason; that he was seconds away from blowing his load deep down your throat.

But you’re delighted you finally have the chance to feel him properly, in the way you’ve touched yourself every night you’ve been here thinking about. So you climb back into his lap, positioning yourself above him before he crudely uses his cockhead to rub your clit in circular moments. Moaning simply makes him chuckle darkly, cooing at you to “stop behaving like a needy whore and enjoy what I give you.”

Luckily he lets you finally sink down on him, feeling every inch stretch you open until you’ve taken him all the way. You both moan out, but you watch as he tilts his head back and enjoys the sensation of your warm cunt squeezing around him. He’s gorgeous like this, so unlike the demeaning supervillain he presents himself to Gotham as. You have no doubt you’ll see glimpses of that in a moment, but for now you enjoy how blissful his features are.

You experimentally roll your hips, making you both groan out, before you attempt to find a rhythm. He keeps a tight grip on your hips, clearly not wanting you to go too fast too quick, seeking to enjoy you for as long as he can. But you want to just ride him hard and fast, to chase your release until you’re making a mess all over his lap.

“Always so tight for me.” He grits out, and you bathe in the praise as you keep moving up and down. Your fingers dig in to the shoulder of his jacket, before he huffs and shrugs it off, leaving him in his off-white shirt and question mark tie. As you keep riding him, your hands trail down to his tie, idly playing with the material between your digits.

His grin grows as he looks at you. “So eager to strip me, or does the pretty girl have a lewder idea of what to do with my tie?” he says condescendingly.

When you just moan in response, he doubles down. “I could bind those pesky wrists behind your back, make sure you aren’t touching what isn’t yours. Or perhaps I’ll blindfold you, so you never know what your master is going to inflict upon you.”

His words cause you to clench harder around him, and he starts to play with your clit lazily as you move. With how pent up you are, your pace increases a little as his actions and words have you practically tasting your orgasm already. His hips twitch upwards a little, clearly fighting the urge to just take you all for himself in a mad rush. But how can he when you’re so close to coming undone for him, all by yourself?

“Oh look at that, is the big girl going to cum all by herself?” he smirks, his tone making you flush with embarrassment and arousal. But he’s right, with your body moving up and down coupled with his dexterous fingers toying with your clit, you were on the edge of orgasm.

As you nod quickly, he smirks and nods in return. “Make a mess all over me dear, just know I’m not going to stop until I achieve satisfaction.”

His words had trailed off in your mind half way through as you were too busy cumming on his cock, shaking and writhing in his lap. You slump forward, and he allows you the mercy of resting for a few moments before he bucks up into you, causing you to whine softly against his ear.

But he stops, his eyes darting to one of the top monitors, and a wicked expression crosses his face. “Be a doll and turn around for me, okay?”

You nod blindly at his instruction, turning so your back was to his chest before sinking back down on his throbbing cock. In your haze to do what he’d asked, you hadn’t followed his gaze to see what he’s looking at, not until he grasps your hips and begins to move you again do you glance upwards.

On one of the monitors, is one of his informants, dressed in what you think is Two-Face’s gang’s uniform, waving at the camera to get your lovers attention. Your breath catches at the sight, but Edward only chuckles behind you, not allowing you to slow down.

“Looks like we have an audience. Tell me, what’s to stop me from broadcasting a projection of what’s happening here outside on that wall behind him? Then he’d be able to see what a little whore like you does for my attention, for the riddler’s attention.”

His voice is deep and commanding, clearly the situation has stroked his ego in that all too familiar way, his grip almost bruising on your hips as he continues. “I think it’ll be good for the denizens of this wretched place to see who is really in charge, to remind them that my intellect has afforded me not just my reputation, but anything I desire. Including my cute little pet who offers herself up so willingly to me.”

His words are punctuated with guttural moans, his need now overwhelming. But he’d never pass up an opportunity like this, so he leans forward, one hand still holding you firmly in his lap and on his cock, before flicking a switch.

“Speak.”

“M-Mister Nigma, sir. I planted all them trophies ya wanted down in the courthouse, although I couldn’t do one of them, since I-I was nearly caught and-“

A particularly rough thrust upwards has you biting your lip after a small noise involuntarily escaped you, but you keep quiet as you try and control the rhythm of your movements. You’re glad you aren’t being projected for the man to see, but there is still the risk he’ll hear you. After all, you aren't sure how much the microphone can pick up, so he might be able to hear the soft squelch of your cunt as you move it up and down. Edward doesn’t seem bothered by the noise you made, simply rubbing your hips as he glares at the monitor.

“And you think this excuse will be useful to you? What the hell do I pay you for? I know a simple verbal instruction is hard for a cerebrally challenged monkey to follow, but do try and keep up.” He lambasts the poor guy out front, doing a remarkably good job of keeping his voice steady and even. But you can tell he’s getting off on the power of the situation; of having his lover servicing him sexually while he chastises one of the people who works for him.

“S-Sorry Mister Nigma, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”

Cruelly, Edward decides that now is the perfect time to move his hand up to tweak your nipple harshly, causing a whine to fall past your lips. You’re sure the man heard it, his features furrowing a little in confusion on the monitor before Edward flips the switch off.

With a grunt he lifts you off him before bending you over the desk and entering you in one harsh thrust yet again, the breath being knocked out of you. He sets a rough pace, clearly chasing his own release. All you can do is cling on for dear life as he uses you like a toy. The crude noises of your pussy being filled over and over again only serve to have you clenching around him in pleasure, your eyes forced to face the monitors. Forced to see just how much control Edward has over Arkham City, how much he knows about everything going on here as your eyes watch the inmates, and crucially how none of them know that he’s fucking you like a man possessed while you observe them.

“Fuck, it’s a shame I can’t fill you up while we’re in here. Guess I’ll just have to make you a filthy mess instead.” He grunts out, and you barely have time to process before he pulls out and quickly strokes himself to completion all over your ass. Both of your breaths can be heard heaving as you take a few moments to come down, the sensations still a gentle simmer across your skin. You hear him tuck himself away, fixing his clothes before you gently try and move.

“Stay.” He demands quietly, and you’re unsure why until you feel him gently cleaning his cum away from your skin with a spare rag. Once he’s done, he smooths your skirt back down as he helps you back into a standing position. Without uttering another word, he leads you back to the makeshift bedroom, settling you on the mattress to rest. You smile softly at the feeling of him taking care of you, in his own way. He sits on the edge, fidgeting with his hands a little. Getting comfy on the mattress, you go to reach out for him before stopping yourself, sensing something is…off with him.

“I…do in fact have something else for you. I was planning on giving it to you later, but you forced my hand.” He says suddenly, causing you to tilt your head in intrigue. Getting up, he rifles through a drawer you hadn’t thought to look in until he removes a small black box, with a slightly charred ribbon tied around it.

“I can imagine spending your birthday in a prison city wasn’t your ideal scenario.” He states, handing you the box as you look at him, shocked. You hadn’t even mentioned it was your birthday, not really thinking it was the right time in your current situation.

“You remembered?”

He lets out a scoff. “Of course I remembered, I’m no simpleton. I’m more than capable of remembering a date, especially when this dim-witted society places so much emphasis on someone’s date of birth.”

As you glance at the box in your hand, he continues with an awkward cough. “I confess I did have something a little better in mind. But it’s hard to procure items in here that aren’t of the firearm or explosive variety, and I didn’t factor into my plans our joint incarceration.”

With a soft smile, you move yourself into a seated position and tug on the ribbon before opening the box, seeing a simple bracelet in his signature shade of green. “Edward…it’s lovely.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He says quickly, for once his eyes were trained to the ground instead of your face, “Again, not the gift I was planning for you but…well it’s the best I could do here.”

You’re truly touched, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smile lovingly up at him. “Edward it’s perfect, thank you.”

Shuffling, you wrap your arms around him into a tight hug, burying your face in his neck. You don’t care that you’re both covered in dry sweat, or that you both reek of sex, all you want is to be close to him. He pretends to huff at your display of affection, but he wraps his arms around you regardless, holding you flush against him.

“Happy birthday, my dear.”

#the riddler #the riddler x reader #riddler smut #riddler x reader #arkham riddler #edward nigma #edward nigma x reader #edward nigma smut #edward nygma #edward nygma x reader #edward nygma smut #dc fanfic #dc smut #dc x reader #arkham city #arkhamverse #arkhamverse riddler

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ghoulz4foolz · 4 months ago

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Drift Playlist

It's been A While, but I completely revamped by Drift playlist. It's in chronological order from Dead End to the end of the events of Lost Light and broken up by time periods/major events. I have lots of notes and explanations for almost every single song under the cut (fair warning it is LONG, so only look at the stuff under the cut if you're interested or you'll be scrolling for a while). Please feel free to chat w me about any of it bc I am so very passionate. Cover art is also mine!

PRE-WAR/DEAD END 1. Bug Like an Angel - Mitski 2. Junkie Church - AJJ 3. Cocaine Jesus - RKS -honestly can also double for when Drift is in exile. I feel like it's super applicable thinking about his friends from Dead End and his general situation, but also later after he leaves the LL and is thinking about Rodimus 4. Camisado - P!ATD -who tf is caring about the guttermechs? Again, this would also be a good Deadlock song 5. Runs in the Family - Amanda Palmer (sorry ik I also hate her) 6. Brand New City - Mitski -what can I say, Megatron gave him purpose DRIFT, MEET RATCHET 7. Wretch - Autoheart -Specifically when Drift meets Ratchet in the Dead End clinic on Rodion 8. Underground - Cody Fry 9. Back To Life - Mother Mother -This feels very.... mmm Dead End to me. Very "fuck you, I'll do what I want" 10. Arms Tonite - Mother Mother 11. LIE WITH WOLVES - The Dogs on Shepard Street -”I’ll see you in my brothers, I’ll see you in the end” -”lie with dogs and you’ll get fleas. Lie with wolves and you’ll get teeth” DECEPTICON DEADLOCK 12. The Killing Type - Amanda Palmer (sorry againnnn) -I know he didn't exactly feel... bad? while he was first joined up. Just indulge me here 13. Cirice - Ghost -Megatron is Very Convincing. I'd revolt too. 14. Washing Machine Heart - Mitski -unfortunately, I read a great fic where Deadlock and Megatron kinda had smth going during the earlier war days and this song just feels Right. -Additionally, fitting for post-exile abt Roddy 15. Nicotine - P!ATD -see above 16. War Pigs/Luke’s Wall - Black Sabbath -”Politicians hide themselves away. They only started the war, why should they go out and fight?” 17. King For A Day - Pierce The Veil 18. Black Sheep - Dorothy 19. Girl is a Gun - Halsey -also one of my Starscream songs 20. Damonisch - TUYU -perfect fast-paced slasher 21. Set Me On Fire - Flyleaf 22. Cocoa Hooves - Glass Animals -cross-faction romance? on my playlist? -"You never fight back"... oh like a Medic? Who's job is healing regardless of alignment? 23. Lay All Your Love On Me - ABBA -see above 24. Headlock - Imogen Heap -”got your heart in a [Dead]lock”? Sorry that was SO cheesy 25. Wolf in Sheep's Clothing - Set It Off 26. Punk Tactics - Joey Valence & Brae 27. Centuries - FoB -oooooh the DJD wants you so bad 28. Little Pistol - Mother Mother -maybe having little change of heart? perhaps getting stuck with the Circle of Light?

FACTIONLESS ON EARTH/WRECKERS TIME 29. Liquid Smooth - Mitski 30. Hungover in the City of Dust - Autoheart 31. Clean - Woolbright 32. Impostor Syndrome - Sidney Gish -I really like the idea he learned a lot abt human culture and racing etc. on Earth. It was probably lonely, but he got a fresh start. 33. Being so Normal - Peach Pit -Still, it must be hard being so far removed from the settings you've known all your life 34. Daniel In The Den - Bastille -maybe both sides are flawed and people are complicated 35. The Distance - Cake -specifically about his drag racing days, ik it’s a little out of place, but it fits well w the songs after DRIFT DEFECTS/AUTOBOT DRIFT/MTMTE 36. Crusader - Stevie Howie -mmmm yes some good rock 37. Diary of Jane - Breaking Benjamin 38. This Is Why We Fight - The Decemberists 39. Allies or Enemies - The Crane Wives -certainly, he has some conflicting feelings about his new “allies” DRATCHET MTMTE 40. Oxford Blood - Autoheart -ESPECIALLY early Dratchet where they weren't quite together, but they were close pre-EOS 41. Body Terror Song - AJJ -look, ik Drift takes care of himself Now, but he certainly didn't always and I'm sure there was some lasting damage -I also like to hc he kept his 'con claws as a reminder of who he was before. I assume Autbots wouldn't look upon that too favorably 42. A Sadness Runs Through Him - The Hoosier -ooooh Ratchet wants to fix him so bad 43. The Soldiering Life - The Decemberists - I have a LOT to say about this. I know Drift and Ratchet didn't exactly serve together (except kinda in All Hail Megatron). Still, just listen to it and you will Understand. EXILE 44. Which Witch - Florence + The Machine -”I’m on trial, waiting ‘til the beat comes out” -”Who’s a heretic now?” -It's Perfect. you just Know he was mad even with all the other mixed emotions 45. Sucker’s Prayer - The Decemberists -it’s really perfect for this period of time -”I was not ready for the road. I was so discontent to wear that heavy load” -”I wanna love somebody, but I don’t know how” 46. Losing my Religion - REM -oh Boy. Self explainatory. 47. Drop the Guillotine - Peach Pit -thinkin' about how Rodimus sold him out as a scapegoat. Was being captain that important? 48. Working for the Knife - Mitski 49. Cleopatra - The Lumineers -Drift realizing just how much he really liked Ratchet, how they practically started the Conjunx Ritus before he left without even realizing. -Insert Specralist guilt here 50. A Pearl - Mitski 51. Mr. Loverman - Ricky Montgomery

EMPIRE OF STONE 52. Heartbreaker - Autoheart -I'd be pretty emotional too if the person I loved most in the world, who I never confessed to, travelled across space to come bring me back home. Even more so when my Amica didn't even consider it. 53. Drop in the Ocean - Ron Pope 54. Someone To Stay - Vancouver Sleep Clinic 55. Little Talks - Of Monsters and Men 56. Sleep On The Floor - The Lumineers -"leave a note on your bed, let your mother know you're safe" that of write the new CMO a note and go get your soon-to-be husband 57. The Sailor Song -this is my CD/Rewind song, but it belongs here too. 58. Drops of Jupiter - Train -honestly, this is more about Ratchet than Drift, but it felt fitting 59. Fast Car - Tracy Chapman -"Anyplace is better; starting from 0 we got nothin to lose" 60. World War Me - Kind and Queen of the Losers -"so tell me, baby- will you love me if I lose? Will you love me even if I lose?" 61. G.I.N.A.S.F.S. - FoB 62. We Can Build A Fire - Autoheart -”Who in your right mind did you think you’d find- your guardian angel?” -this one was rly hard to place bc it could go so many places POST EOS DRATCHET 63. Benjamin Alphabet - Super Whatevr -healing together takes time and energy! 64. You are the Moon - The Hush Sound 65. Me and My Husband - Mitski -with a positive interpretation, minimal angst intended -even when your best friend writes you off, you'll still always have your grumpy husband 66. Soul Meets Body - Death Cab for Cutie -the Dratchet song ever 67. Sunlight -Spending thousands of years on a war that did nothing but cause pain and suffering really makes a person think about how valuable enduring love and devotion are 68. Female Doctor - Miniature Tigers 69. I’ll Rust With You - Steam Powered Giraffe 70. Laughter Lines - Bastille -this will make me SOB if I think about it too long. GEN/LOST LIGHT 71. Calamity Song - The Decemberists 72. Angel With a Shotgun - The Cab -see Lost Light #1 73. How Far We've Come - Matchbox Twenty 74. Moscow - Autoheart -my Lost Light anthem!! 75. In Our Bedroom After the War - Stars -"at least the war is over" 76. I'm Still Standing - Elton John -boy isn't he 77. I Know The End - Phoebe Bridgers 78. Life Eternal - Ghost -yeah. all of this. 79. Bitter Water - The Oh Hellos

#sorry I know this is insane behavior #i'm re-reading mtmte/ll #I have a lot of feelings #dratchet posting #drift #dratchet #mtmte #lost light #idw transformers #transformers #drift tf #ratchet tf #Spotify

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guttergirlcore · 1 year ago

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You've got me hooked with that Cregan fic! Could you continue it with him returning to his Lady after the fortnight? Maybe he's injured and she takes care of him pls?

Love this idea! How'd u know I have a thing for vulnerable war-torn men??

A Den of Lions & Wolves: Part II

Cregan Stark x Lannister! Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

SYNOPSIS // It has been well over a week since your wedding night to the Wolf of Winterfell, Lord Cregan Stark. While he's away negotiating an alliance with a far-away dynasty, you are left to take in your strange surroundings. When Cregan returns to your bed wounded, you find there's much more to heal than just his broken skin.

WARNINGS // HotD universe, fluff, bit of smut, Lannister!reader, AFAB she/her reader, mentions of familial trauma, angst, injured!Cregan, light mentions of gore, low-key modern medical practices but give me a break--idk what maesters were doing back in 2 BC

>>READ RESPONSIBLY<<

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1.4k

The sunlight streamed in from the northern window, bathing you in its warm morning embrace.

It had been nearly two weeks since you'd last seen your husband, Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. Though you didn't know the man past the one heady night the two of you shared, you couldn't deny the pang in your heart that resembled longing.

Still, you allowed yourself to bask in the familiar comfort of solitude, however unusual your surroundings.

The days in Lord Stark's absence allowed you to tour your new home, and you found that Northerners could be rather kind, in a plain and uncalculated way. You often found yourself marveling at how different this all was from the place you grew up in. In House Lannister, kindness wasn't encouraged. People were but pawns to maneuver and discard when necessary in a greater game.

You shook yourself from these bleak thoughts of home. This was home now.

Dressed in the clothing your handmaidens left out for you, you eyed your reflection in the mirrored surface. The North was much colder than you had anticipated, so the heavy furs were a new and necessary part of your wardrobe.

You left the room you and Cregan were to share as a wedded couple and traced the short path to the Stark library. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, you were greeted by the warm glow of oil lamps and the scent of parchment and ink.

You could spend many hours losing yourself in literature. It had always been as such, as you were often forgotten of in your ancestral home. With books, you always belonged.

As you pulled a dust-coated, leather-bound book from the shelves, you settled into your favorite chair at the corner of the room for another long day of reading.

Perhaps Lord Stark would not be around much after all. Before your wedding day, you would have been pleased at the thought. Now, it left you with a lingering feeling of disappointment.

The night hummed with the howl of blistering wind and snow. It was nearly deafening. You pulled the soft fur of your bed closer to your face for warmth against the cold.

Just as you shifted, the bed dipped low, indicating the presence of another. Startled, you jumped into an upright position, pulling the blankets over your scantily-clad body.

"Rest now, it's only me." Lord Stark hummed.

In the dim glow of the night, you could just make out his large, imposing figure at the foot of the bed.

"Husband! I hadn't known you'd return tonight." You stumbled out anxiously. He'd told you he would have you again when he returned, and now, here he was. You'd have liked a raven's notice of his return ahead of time so that you might have mentally and physically prepared yourself for the night ahead, but you sensed that Lord Stark's return was quite unplanned.

Lord Stark walked to the side table and pulled a match from the drawer, lighting a couple of candles. In the flare of the match, his rugged face was illuminated, the light catching on a deep, weeping gash above his right eyebrow. The skin below his brow and alongside his eye was bruising shades of purple and hazy yellow at the edges.

"Lord Stark, you are hurt." You startled out.

"Negotiations haven't gone as planned. It's but a flesh wound, really. The Maesters can mend me in the morn," he grumbled back.

"No need. I picked up some small medical knowledge during my schooling. I am no Maester, but allow me to stitch your wound." You were shocked by your own admission. Usually, you wouldn't be so bold, but something about seeing this great, infallible man wounded struck a cord within you.

He eyed you warily for a few moments more. "Alright then, but be quick about it."

You nodded curtly and stood from the bed to cross to the cabinet at the far corner of the room. Within it, you found the necessary supplies.

As you turned, supplies in hand, you were met with Lord Stark pulling off his furs, leather pelts, and undershirt. A dark bruise bloomed in shades of purple, violet, and indigo along his toned side, just above his britches. You winced at the image.

"Got that during negotiations as well?" You asked.

Cregan made a grunt of acknowledgment and sat heavily at the side of the bed. The frame bowed and creaked with his weight.

You approached cautiously, as you could see just how reluctant Lord Stark was to even let you witness him wounded. It genuinely seemed that the greatest thing to harm the Wolf of Winterfell was another seeing his softness.

"I can tend to that, also," you nodded to the wound at his side. Cregan said nothing, but watched you warily, as always.

You dragged a chair to sit in front of your husband, beginning your ministrations on his face first. As you brought the disinfectant to his cut, his slate grey eyes met yours and you had to quickly look away before his gaze made you entirely lose focus.

"The handmaidens tell me you enjoy reading," Cregan said, unexpectantly.

"Yes. Yes, I do, very much." You nodded your head as you threaded the thin needle.

"They also tell me you've visited the library several times in my absence."

You nod once more, unsure of the direction this conversation is going.

"The Stark library is vast, but I must admit, I haven't much patience for reading. I'm afraid I am not as well-versed in the selection as I'd like to be."

There's a moment of hesitation before he continues.

"My obligations have kept me away from my home for quite some time now, even before our union. I know this is far from ideal for a wedded Lady, and you must find things to occupy your time..."

"What I mean to say is...If you have need for a greater selection, all you need do is ask and I will make sure you are provided for." Cregan's expression, though obviously uncomfortable, is earnest.

"You haven't known me long, but you must know I will always provide for you, my Lady Wife."

You nod your head in understanding, taken by this sudden display of tenderness from the usually burly Lord Stark.

"I am quite satisfied with the selection, Lord Stark, I assure you." You smile reassuringly.

"Cregan, please." He insists and you nod once.

Your arm raises to place the first stitch above his brow. As the needle pierces his flesh, Cregan lets out a sharp hiss of pain, grabbing your wrist in his large hand.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. My stitching is straight, but the process isn't pleasant. Perhaps I can call for milk of the poppy? It is late, but I may be able to--"

"I have other ideas for ways to ease the pain." Cregan cuts you off with his husky voice, still holding tightly to your enclosed wrist.

He pulls you towards him and you have no choice but to stand above him. Eyes never leaving yours, his hands release you only to reach below the hem of your nightgown, pushing the thin fabric up until his rough fingers hook around the sides of your undergarment, pulling them down your legs in one swift motion. You shivered at the sensation.

You stepped out of them and watched as Cregan reached for the laces at the front of his pants, barely containing his hardening length. He loosened the laces just enough to free his cock, and it sprang forth, inviting you closer.

"I want you to sit on me," Cregan replied simply, taking your hands once more to draw you closer.

Nervously, you straddled your husband, waiting for further instruction. His rough hands found the tops of your thighs, splaying his fingers across them and slowly applying pressure until you bowed under their weight.

You slowly sank down on him, his cock first spreading you, then impaling until your hips were flush against his. The stretch was tight, but pleasurable after many nights apart.

"That's a good girl," Cregan moaned. "Now stay still for me, and I will for you."

You nodded silently, shakily raising the threaded needle to his brow again as he gripped your thighs painfully.

As the needle threaded flesh, you could feel Cregan throb within you, as did you around him.

Cregan's eyes closed and he tipped his head back slightly, enjoying the sensation of you squeezing around him.

It wasn't long before the cut was closed and you tied off the knot before snipping the rest off.

Cregan lifted his face to yours and smiled an almost devilish grin.

"You're not done, little wolf."

#hotd cregan #hotd #hotd season 2 #cregan fanfic #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark #cregan x reader #house of the dragon #house stark #rhaenyra targaryen #jacerys velaryon #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #got #game of thrones

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river-selkie · 2 months ago

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i really love your otter and lion species transition lists/ideas. some stuff id never seen mentioned or thought of myself, very neat!!

if you don't mind me asking (and if you do mind, please disregard my asking), do you have any ideas for a wolf? thanks in advance either way!

Hi there, thanks for the ask!! I'm happy to give my paw a shot at this based off of the documentaries and papers I've read across the years. Hope this is helpful in some way!

PS: I don't recommend faux fur due to the environmental implications, but I don't condone it if you prefer it over real fur! I do however advocate for using vintage/antique fur and recycled fur and never support fur farms or unnecessary hunting.

Physical Aspects

Grow out your body hair if you're not already

Try your best to exercise and stay healthy. Running, walking, hiking, lifting, and/or quads.

Wear clothing with recycled fur on it

Wear natural colored items and accessories based on nature (feathers, leaves, flowers, claws or teeth, etc)

Wear a tail (consider using vintage fur or "waste" fur)

Get a clear claw manicure or shape your nails out to be more claw like

Consider permanent fangs or custom fangs

Consider buying a realistic wolf mask or making yourself one

Find realistic wolf ears that match your hair color

Get paw print tattoos on your palms or use henna

Use eyeliner to shape the eyes to seem more wolf like

Use dark lipstick to create the canine "mouth corners" on your lips

Eat a more whole foods diet (red meat, poultry, fish, veggies, eggs, berries). Wild meat is especially great too!

Consider drinking bone broths as an additional means of hydration (still drink water too!!!)

Eat less popular cuts of meat to make more use of an animal

Consider tattoos of additional nipples if you feel called to it. Top surgery may also be another consideration if you were born with breasts you don't want to have.

Lifestyle Aspects

Form a small social group if you can, be it online or in person. It's healthy to not be extremely isolated. Even one friend is better than none.

Consider learning to hunt, fish, or forage and gaining the necessary licenses

Refer to yourself as a wolf or as wolf-like in social situations, even if casually or in a silly way to get it into people's minds

Decorate your room to feel more like a den. Add bone decor, earthy colors, shape your bed to be more body encompassing, etc

Learn as much as you can about your species and try to emulate aspects of it into your life

Seek enrichment in ways that your theriotype would i.e. sniffing, scent marking, exploring new environments, digging (gardening is a good way), swimming for some varieties, and so on.

Volunteer for projects involving wolves and their conservation if you can. Zooniverse.org has various projects that people can participate in online only and sometimes can involve wolves or their ecosystems.

Express yourself vocally more! Even if it's in private, it's important to communicate sometimes how you feel you should. Howl, whimper, whine, grunt, bark, all of it.

Maintain a territory of your own, even if it's small. Grow native plants there, keep trash out of it, and visit it regularly.

If you can, consider a career in forest management, conservation, at a national/state park, in environmental science, or another similar field. Obviously this isn't possible for everyone, but could be a future goal.

Use your free time to go outside, even if only in the yard or on a balcony. Bathe in the sun, get off your phone, just be an animal

Play games where you play as a wolf. WolfQuest is the best one I can think of for a realistic wolf experience, and it has a first person POV option!

Watch movies and documentaries about wolves and/or werewolves as well if you'd like to

#therian #transspecies #species dysphoria #species transition #wolfkin #wolf therian #ask an otter

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cherryblossombankai · 7 months ago

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Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You've spent your entire life believing you were destined to be the alpha's mate. On the night of the mating ritual, you discover that you have a second mate.

Warnings: breeding, knotting, werewolves, werewolf!reader, fem!reader

Written for Spooktober @pixelcafe-network!

The moon shines through the leaves of the dense forest. The ground is cold under your bare feet, but the bonfire kisses your skin in orange warmth. The pack gathers around, preparing the ceremony. At long last, you would be matched with your mate. It’s an intricate ritual, but one of a sacred importance to your pack. All of wolves who are ready to be matched circle around the fire.

A hush falls over the forest when the pack leader, Toshinori, joins the circle. His blue eyes glow as he looks around the circle. Then, Enji joins him. Enji, his rival and second in command, also joins the circle. Everyone’s eyes dart around the circle.

“Tonight is a special night for our pack,” Toshinori announces, his voice booming across the fire. “Tonight, we will see our pack grow closer than ever!”

Toshinori’s eyes fall on you, glowing with the firelight. He flashes you a quick smile, the light catching on his sharp canines. You blush when your gaze meets his. For years you’ve known you were destined to be Toshinori’s mate. No matter how he tried to avoid playing favorites among those in the pack, he couldn’t resist doting on you. The praise he’d give you after a hunt was always a little sweeter than the praise he offered the others. Even now, knowing damn well you’re the one he’s going to be dragging to his den and breeding tonight, he tries to seem like he’s giving all the others a chance to attract him as well.

Enji is the one who is the most surprising to be seen finally taking part in the ritual. He’d been encouraged for years to consider taking part, and finding himself a mate. It was obvious he wanted it, badly. Every time a new pup was born to in the pack, he was always there; snarling jealously as the father showed off their new pup. Yet he had refused to take part in the ceremony, and he never showed any interest in anyone.

Except you.

When he took you under his wing to teach you how to hunt; when he followed you on the night of the full moon to make sure you didn’t get hurt on the pack run; when he nonchalantly diverted any potential suitors off your scent.

Toshinori stands up straight, “Now, the full moon is rising! It’s time for us run. Tonight, we no longer run as a pack. Each of us will end the night with our mate.”

With those words, everyone begins removing their clothes and preparing for the shift. When you transform, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. It’s a shock every single time, how you get that rush of adrenaline as your body contorts into a new shape, a wild shape. Like so many of the werewolves out tonight, you’re in heat. The moment you shift your pheromones become even stronger. There had already been a white hot wave of need lingering among the pack tonight, and as everyone shifts that wave grows.

You run from the fire, taking off into the welcoming embrace of the forest. The moonlight illuminates your path as you run, your fur bristling in the cold. Your scent follows behind you, tempting your mate to come to you.

You were fully confident that Toshinori would be the one who finds you. Your keen eyes search the forest for his large, golden form. You raise your snout to the air to try to catch his scent.

A heavy weight crashes into you. You let out a yelp, and your body shifts once again to your human form. Right away you recognize the large, dark red wolf pinning you down. Turquoise eyes are flaming with desire, and Enji nuzzles his snout against your jaw with surprising tenderness.

“Enji,” you gasp. He switches forms as well, but his human body is just as imposing as his wolf form.

“I’ve been waiting for this, little wolf,” he growls softly. Your heart is pounding. Something is wrong. You know Toshinori is supposed to be your mate, but he’s not the one who caught you. He’s not the one high off your scent alone.

“I’m…yours?” you ask him.

“I caught you, didn’t I?”

His broad, muscular chest presses against yours while he kisses you deeply. You can feel his cock, hard and ready, resting on your mound.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” he asks. You’re still so shocked that all you can manage is a nod.

“It will hurt at first, my knot…” he seems almost flustered having to say this to you. “I won’t make it to the den. I need you now. I’ll try not to hurt you…I’ll take care of you…”

His words are uncertain, constantly pausing to make sure he’s expressing himself the right way but still he knows he falls short. He’ll never be able to fully express how it has felt all these years to watch you from afar and to long for you. Now you are his. You’ll have his pups, and together you’ll raise strong wolves.

He spreads your thighs wider, growling as your scent hits his nose again, to see that your body is reacting to him. Your arousal drips down onto the leaves below you.

“Good, good,” he whispers. His thick fingers rub your folds.

You’re lost the moment he touches you. You throw your head back to moan, and that’s when you see the yellow blur dive over you. Toshinori’s wolf form is huge, grand even. It’s shocking to see it so close, even now. He pins Enji to the ground, snarling and growling. He knew Enji fancied them rivals, but he never thought that Enji would stoop so low as to try to claim you as his own. He trusted him enough to let him be his second…

Enji shifts under Toshinori. It’s enough to make Toshinori back off for just a moment. The two wolves circle each other, growling and snarling. You know Toshinori doesn’t want to fight. He just wants you. He’s waited for so long to have his mate. Enji takes the first bite, teeth gnashing. But Toshinori bites back. You’ve heard of this happening before, two werewolves fighting over a mate. It’s even said the fights more often than not end up in a fight to the death.

“Stop! Stop!” you cry, running to them. Enji was already pouncing at Toshinori again, unaware of your intentions of throwing yourself between them.

Toshinori pushes you out of the way, his large snout butting against your back. You land on your knees, and you hear Toshinori yelp when Enji grabs his leg.

“No!” you cry out and you jump onto Enji’s head trying to push the large wolves away from one another. Toshinori growls and whines, but he doesn’t risk making a move that could hurt you. “Enji, please stop!” you yell, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The sound of your voice, so shrill and desperate, cuts through Enji’s rage. He pulls away, hurt shining in his eyes. How could you not see what was happening? You were moments away from bonding, and Toshinori jumped in to stop it. Toshinori was going to take you away just like he took away Enji’s chance at being alpha all those years ago.

Toshinori whimpers, then comes to you. He gently licks the tears off your face before nuzzling against you. You run your fingers through his fur gently.

“Don’t you see what is happening?” Enji asks, his voice slowly contorting as he shifts. “He’s trying to steal you away. You’re mine.”

“I have his mark, Enji. I’ve always been his,” you show him the mark behind your ear. Two long stripes, almost like bunny ears, that showed up on your skin years ago.

“But you also have mine,” Enji grabs your wrist and turns over your hand. On your palm, a splotch of red that looks like flames has appeared. You know it only showed up tonight, otherwise you certainly would’ve noticed before. All you know is that your body is burning with an undeniable ache.

“It’s not possible,” you whisper.

“You see it as clearly as I do,” Enji pulls you closer. “You wanted me, I could tell. I need you, I won’t wait any longer.”

Toshinori growls at Enji and pushes his way between the two of you again. He shifts and turns to you. His cock is dripping as he gets another whiff of your scent.

“You have to make a choice, if you can handle two mates,” Toshinori says before leaning in to kiss you. “And Enji has to decide if he’s willing to share. Because I won’t back down. I’ve waited too long for you.”

Enji growls as he thinks about this proposition. He feels weak and pathetic for wanting you and wanting pups so bad he’d even consider this. His mate should be his and his alone, but it seems the wheels of fate had other plans.

“Fine, but I get to breed her first,” he says gruffly before grabbing you.

His lips crash into yours with a gruff need he no longer cares to deny. You lose yourself to his harsh kiss, to the bittersweetness on his breath. He pushes you down onto the hard, cold ground but his body warms yours. He nibbles gently at your neck as he grinds against you, feeling your body already beginning to respond to him.

“Good girl,” he growls against your skin.

Toshinori sits on his knees by your head, running his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you through what’s about to happen.

Enji guides his cock to your hole and begins sliding into you slowly. He growls as your velvet walls welcome him in even though he’s ripping through your virginity. There’s a mix of pain and euphoria as you’re bred finally, after years of waiting for this.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re perfect,” Toshinori whispers. One hand continues soothing your hair while the other tugs insistently at his cock.

“Feels so fucking good,” Enji admits in a gruff growl. He bites down on your neck, marking you as he picks up his pace. His knot is already beginning to swell, something that would embarrass him if he wasn’t so full of need.

Toshinori is carefully watching your face for signs of discomfort but instead, it’s twisted with pleasure. Your sharp canines are glistening in the moonlight as your plump lips are parted in a cry.

“Yes, yes,” Toshinori coos at you gently. His hand leaves your hair and trails down your body. His fingers almost reach your clit but Enji growls, baring his teeth.

“Don’t be mean,” you whine. Still, Toshinori pulls his hand away. Enji begins rubbing your clit with his thumb while he’s pounding into you.

You tilt your head to the side and kiss Toshinori’s thigh gently. When he looks down at you again, you open your mouth with your tongue sticking out in invitation. Toshinori glances at Enji before guiding his cock to your mouth.

While he’d rather be breeding you, Toshinori can’t deny how good it feels just to have his cock in a warm hole. He gently guides your head further onto his cock, helping you find a steady pace.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, yes, yes,” Toshinori grunts.

Enji’s knot swells to its full girth right as he reaches his orgasm. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, holding onto you tight as he stuffs you full of his cum. He collapses on top of you, nuzzling his face against your neck. He nips and kisses your neck while continuing to lazily thrust.

Toshinori pulls out of your mouth and strokes himself. For a while, he even backs away to give you and Enji a moment for just the two of you. Your fingers run through Enji’s hair as he stays buried inside of you, waiting for his knot to go down.

Enji raises his head from the curve of your neck and looks down at you. His thumb drags along your jawline and cheekbone gently. Then, he leans in to kiss you.

“Good little mate,” he says softly.

Enji finally pulls out of you and sits back on his knees. Your spread thighs give him a perfect view of your leaking pussy. He rubs your thighs softly.

“You’ll be a good mother,” he says softly.

“Thank you,” you smile shyly up at him.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Toshinori growls softly as he makes his way back to the clearing with the two of you.

Enji is surprised at how much it pains him to part from you, but he can’t stand the idea of watching Toshinori breeding you. His pride won’t allow him to do it. As Toshinori slots himself between your thighs, Enji shifts into his wolf form and disappears into the forest. You whimper as you watch him leave you.

“Don’t worry, little one, he’ll be back for you. He’s tethered to you just like I am,” Toshinori soothes you softly.

He kisses you like he’s been aching his entire life for the chance. When he guides his cock to your entrance, he’s more gentle than Enji had been. You moan softly and wrap your arms around him. His nose rubs against yours as he begins a slow, steady pace.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you kiss him quickly. “It feels good.”

Toshinori’s fingers intertwine with yours and he stays always where your eyes can meet. He wants to take in every detail of this with you. His knot brushes against your sweet spot over and over again. Your legs tighten around his waist, forcing him deeper still.

“You like being bred, little one?” he chuckles softly. “I knew you’d be worth the wait.”

Enji’s cum makes your channel even slicker for Toshinori to pick up the pace. His hips snap, his balls slapping against your ass. Your eyes roll back with pleasure and you can’t stop yourself from crying out when you hit your peak. Your claws dig into his back, eliciting a deep growl from the alpha.

“Here I come,” he growls just as he begins painting your insides with his seed. His knot locks him inside of you. “You did so good for me,” he coos softly.

You kiss him gently. As he stays locked inside of you, he begins tending to you. His tongue laps carefully at the bite and scratch marks on your neck. He even cleans you with his tongue, making sure you feel cared for. By the time his knot releases, you’re fast asleep from his soothing ministrations.

Toshinori is careful as he picks you up. You stir slightly, but he guides your head to his chest and you doze right back to sleep. He carries you back to your home. When he enters your room, Enji is there on your bed.

“I need to breed again,” he growls as he stands up.

“I know, I do too,” Toshinori sighs softly. Of course, their ruts wouldn’t end so quickly. “We have to let our mate rest.”

“This is ridiculous,” Enji grunts. He watches with fire in his eyes as Toshinori gently lays you down on the bed. Your eyes open and you smile sleepily up at them both.

“Enji,” you reach out for him. “Come here.”

He hesitates for a moment to give in to such pathetic softness, but then he lays beside you. A soft grunt falls from his lips when you snuggle against his chest. Then, Toshinori settles behind you, spooning you gently.

“Rest little one, because when you’re ready for us, your mates need you.”

#🌸.writes #all might x reader #toshinori x reader #all might x you #toshinori yagi x reader #enji todoroki x reader #endeavor x reader #enji bnha x reader #endeavor bnha x reader #endeavor mha xreader

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taxidermycanine · 9 months ago

Note

Hey not sure if this is the right place to ask this but I'm looking for whoever might be able to offer advice. My wife just told me she's therian today (wolf). I'm completely supportive of it of course. As another wolf therian, do you have any suggestions for things I could do to help her feel more comfortable or support her better?

(Anon ask to protect her privacy because she's self conscious about it)

hi! this is absolutely the right place to ask, welcome :o)

this is very sweet of you to do, and i'm sure your wife appreciates you looking more into therianthropy so you can understand her better!

i hope you enjoy this post, and thank you again for this ask! the tips are under the cut

species affirming 101: wolves and other canids

hello there! struggling to figure out ways to affirm your therianthropy because you don't know where to start? or maybe you're someone who knows a critter personally and want to learn how to make them more comfortable around you? then sit down and get comfortable because this is species affirming 101 (with me, the dog).

before we go into it, please note:

not all of these things are for everyone, and that's okay! do what feels right for you.

i will try my best to provide alternatives for any food recommendations for those of you with dietary needs, but apologize in advance if i fail to do so.

that the most important thing to affirm your species is through taking good care of yourself and spending some time outside to ground yourself. sometimes these things take time, they'll come to you eventually.

with that in mind, let's begin with the first tip!

NUMBER ONE: clothing

whether you have shorter or longer fur, this point can help you either way! the human body doesn't grow nearly enough hair to feel comfortable sometimes, which is why i wear clothes that are fuzzy, warm, and the same color as my fur. this is especially helpful in the colder months.

as for the warmer months, i recommend purchasing things such as tail keychains, trimming your nails into claws, drawing paws on your shoes. even meditating in a wooded area can help somewhat (at least in my own experience).

NUMBER TWO: snacks

usually when people think of species affirming snacks their mind immediately goes to something like jerky, and whilst that can help a few folk, in my opinion it's much too gritty for me to enjoy comfortably. i prefer eating slim jims for the saltiness and fall-apart texture. if you can't eat meat for whatever reason, i recommend experimenting with different types of mushrooms. a popular choice for meat imitation is the lions mane mushroom. when cooked a certain way, it's crunchy, filling and has a tender texture.

NUMBER THREE: ambiance

something as simple as putting on a video of nature sounds can make you feel more at home. i recommend mixing this with den making (making your bed feel more like a den by adding lots of blankets, going under them to sleep for coverage, maybe a chair or two to keep the entrance visable. i find having some sort of floor mattress works best for this sort of thing)

NUMBER FOUR: comforts

stuffed animals of your theriotype are always a nice way to feel less lonely, especially if you feel like you're meant to have young. acting like they're your pack, your litter, or simply just your belongings can provide heavy comfort during times of feeling isolated.

if you feel like you shouldn't have stuffed animals because you aren't a domestic breed, you shouldn't worry about that. One, you can do whatever you want forerver. Two, there have been many cases of animals finding things like stuffed animals and playing with them, look at this guy!

NUMBER FIVE: socializing

as canines are social animals, it's important for you to spend time with others, therian or non-therian. if you have human friends, or a human partner, great! if they're comfortable with it, you can have them pet you if you'd like. maybe ask to go on a walk with them for a more discreet option.

i'd also recommend making friends who are also therian so you have others to relate to. it's important to realize that you are not alone in this, and there are so many who feel the way you do right now. if you make some irl, go to the forest together! play in the river! if you're stuck to being online friends for however long, make moodboards! play online games where you can be an animal together! roleplay if that's more your speed! there's plenty to do with loved ones.

for now, that's all i can think of. for the anon though here's a little more just for you, i wish you and your partner the best.

be there for her, tell her that her being a therian doesn't make you love her any less and that you find her therianthropy beautiful. ask her about what she'd like you to do to help with species dysphoria, if she has any. research about her theriotype with her to show her that you care about it. as another wolf therian myself, the thing that helped me the most is having my own partner be there for me. canines are social animals, be social with her.

my love to you both,

bandit

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writeforfandoms · 2 years ago

Text

Vicious

Find my CoD masterlist

Looking to expand your territory, you find a military group in more or less the middle of nowhere, and spend a few days observing them. Of course, things are never easy, and soon you find yourself a permanent guest of one Commander Graves.

Coyote shifter f!reader x Phillip Graves

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, piv sex, teasing, biting, dirty talk, blood, injury, gunshot, emotional slow burn, enemies to lovers, eventual happy ending. PoV does shift.

Everybody thank @sprout-fics for literally plotting this out with me I don't even know how long ago. Thanks for infecting me with the Graves brainrot, love.

Word count: 11.5k (might wanna go grab a drink)

You approached the base with caution. You'd circled around the base for a few days before deciding to approach. You wanted to know what this was since it was in your territory. Well. Sort of. It was kind of right on the edge of your territory, but since there was a very rude pack of wolves pushing on your territory, you were looking to expand.

Thus, investigating.

The base was big and mostly flat, several buildings set up. You could vaguely see a hanger in the distance. Hmm. Interesting.

Trotting along, you lifted your nose to sniff the air. Lots of scents - men and gunpowder and oil. Hmm. Not terrible, but not great.

Maybe you should look elsewhere to expand.

There was a thunderous crack and a line of fire erupted across your back. You yelped, scrambling away, even as warm wetness seeped into your fur. You bolted, ignoring the pain, ignoring the blood. You needed to get somewhere safe to shift back and get medical attention. Or at least hide until you healed.

If the wolves found you like this, they'd kill you.

You made it away from the shooter, getting as far as an abandoned-looking building before you collapsed. Your legs gave out with a wobble and you whined softly to yourself. Your back hurt, a solid line of fire that pulsed steadily with your heart.

That was probably bad. You must have gotten hurt worse than you thought.

Jaws parted as you panted, you debated your options. You could try to sleep here, you could try to get somewhere safer, or you could shift back.

Even the thought of shifting made you hurt, and you laid your head down.

You needed medical attention. And liquids. And rest.

But rest would have to come first, because your body refused to cooperate with you otherwise.

As much as you knew it wasn't safe here, as much as you longed to get back to your own den… you closed your eyes.

Just a nap. Just enough rest to get you back on your feet to get home.

–

Graves had had a good day. Drills had gone well. One of his boys had shot at a coyote. All was well. He'd even authorized a couple boys to go find the coyote and put it out of its misery.

The last thing he expected was to see those two boys come back with a woman bundled between them, passed out cold and wrapped in one of their jackets. Her legs were bare beneath the jacket.

"What the fuck?" He muttered to himself, standing up straighter.

"Found her out in the middle o' nowhere," one of them said, flagging Graves down. "She's bleeding."

Graves frowned. Bleeding, unconscious, left in the middle of nowhere? Sounded like she'd run into some trouble.

"Bring her to medical," Graves ordered, already striding over to pull the door open for them. "And for fuck's sake find her some clothes." He held the door for the two and his gaze dipped down to what he could see of her. Mmm. Nice legs. Nice ass, too.

He resisted the urge to follow them to medical, trusting that they'd get her there. Instead he went to start on the necessary paperwork.

Medical paged him once she was cleaned up and dressed, and he told them to alert him as soon as she woke. Fingerprints hadn't gotten any pings yet, which was a good thing.

But still. He needed answers.

Graves huffed softly and leaned back in his chair. Nothing he could do about her for now but wait.

–

You woke slowly, warm and not sure why that felt wrong. Not at first. Then the smell registered.

This was not home.

You sat up quickly and then groaned softly, clenching your teeth. Oh, ouch. Your back fucking hurt.

"Oh good, you're awake."

You jerked your head to look at the door, eyes wide. A good-looking man stood there, eyes raking over you. He looked military - the way he stood, the cut of his clothes, the subtle bulge of a gun tucked in the back of his waistband. Oh fuck.

"How you feelin'?" His voice was mild as he grabbed a chair, pulling it over closer to your bed.

"Back hurts," you answered carefully. "Where am I?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, which remained cool. "Medical. I have a few questions for you."

You noted he didn't ask if you were up for it. Clearly this man was used to getting his way. You swallowed. His scent wafted to you, warm and a little spicy and far too alluring. "Okay."

"Do you know where my boys found you?"

You narrowed your eyes a little, thinking. Right. You'd been shot and ran away, and had collapsed outside that abandoned building. "Sort of?"

"Do you remember how you got there?" His gaze was more intense now and he leaned forward.

You had two options here that you could see. Make up some lie, or lie and say you didn't remember.

"I… don't remember." You swallowed hard, shifting your weight. Your back hurt and tugged a little. "What happened to my back?"

"Nice long scratch. Had to put in some stitches to keep your skin together." He didn't even flinch at the description. Not that you did either. You'd spent enough time as a coyote to see your fair share of blood.

"Thank you." You forced yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes were pretty. Alluring. Dammit.

"You're welcome." His smile was all arrogance now. "I'd appreciate some information in return."

"Like what?" Your gaze darted to the door nervously. This was bad. This was very bad. You needed to get out.

"Where were you before this? How did you get hurt?"

"I don't remember." You eyed him now carefully. You were injured, but maybe you could get the drop on him…

"Well. That's a damn shame, darlin'." He pushed to his feet, gaze fixed on you. "I'm afraid I need some answers before you can go."

"You can't keep me," you immediately retorted, twisting to face him. "That's not legal."

His smile turned condescending. "And who's gonna stop me?" He spread his hands out from his body, still smirking.

You tensed, gauging, and then lunged at him. You couldn't shift, not here. But maybe you wouldn't need to. You slammed into him, pain lighting up your back, and tried to shove past him. He recovered fast, faster than you expected, grabbing you and hauling you back to him. You growled, low and angry, and bit his shoulder. Hard.

He shouted, jerking under your teeth. But he didn't let you go. Just yanked your wrists behind your back, securing them with one hand before using his free hand to get a grip on your hair and yank.

"Feisty, huh?" His grin showed far too many teeth. Even for a human that was a clear threat. "'S alright, sweet pea. I've got time. I'll have you singing before long."

You whined when he tugged your hair again, forcing your head back, exposing your throat. He held you easily, not even breaking a sweat as he kept you contained.

You'd miscalculated. Badly.

The room he escorted you to was plain and not comfortable. Little more than a concrete box with a cot bolted down, the room lacked any warmth.

"I'll give you some time to think about your answers," he told you before he pushed you into the room. You stumbled, off balance from the shove, and the door slammed shut.

The lock clicked, loud and ominous in the room.

You had really, really miscalculated.

–

Graves walked back to his room before checking the bite, which was already blooming color on his skin. "Fuck," he muttered, half impressed and a little turned on. "Helluva bite." He sucked his teeth, fingers rising to press gently to his skin. The little bloom of pain made him groan softly, arousal rising. Damn but he liked that.

He wanted to tame this one.

"Damn, sweet pea," he muttered, pressing down again, ignoring the blood rushing down to his cock. For now. "Damn."

–

You were brought food regularly, so at least they weren't starving you. That would be bad, on top of your injury.

And the asshole came back at least once a day to ask you the same questions. What happened to you? Where had you been? How did you end up out here? Who hurt you?

You, at least, stuck to your line. You didn't know. That was all he was getting out of you. Nothing else.

You didn't try to bite him again. At least, not for the first few days.

Then he got mean.

"Y'know, sweet pea, I could make this so much nicer for you," he murmured. "Or so much worse. I've been generous, you know."

"You call this generous?" You curled your upper lip, hands curling into loose fists.

"Coulda left you to my boys." His smirk was downright nasty now, eyes glinting with mean amusement. "I'm sure they'd appreciate you."

You stiffened, a low growl rumbling in your chest. Excitement sparked through his scent and his lips stretched wider. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Then gimme what I want," he purred, leaning closer. "Or a good reason not to."

You lunged. He was prepared this time, though you still got your teeth in his shoulder before he grabbed you and twisted. You yipped, startled, as he manhandled you face-down on the cot, pressed up tight to your back to keep you down.

The hardness pressing into your ass made you jerk.

"Told you," he growled into your ear, breath hot against your skin. "Give me a good reason not to."

"Fuck off," you snarled, trying to buck him off, ignoring the hardness of him.

"Rather fuck you." His teeth were sharp on your ear.

You snarled, deep and rumbly, squirming under him. But you couldn't deny the thrill of arousal at how he held you down. He was strong. Very strong.

"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his hips harder into yours. "Better hold still, sweet pea, unless you think you can take me."

"I dunno, you think you can handle me?" You couldn't resist taunting him, baring your teeth.

He huffed a little laugh and shoved one knee between your legs, leaning his weight onto you. "Oh I can handle you, sweet pea." He shifted, biting down on the back of your shoulder. You moaned, almost startled at how much you liked that, how good it felt. "Yeah? Pretty girl likes it a bit rough?"

"You all mouth?" You shot back, managing to free one hand. You reached back to claw at him, not sure if you wanted him closer or wanted him off of you.

He swore softly when your nails caught skin under the sleeve of his shirt, dragging down. "Feisty pretty girl," he growled. He grabbed your wrist again and shoved it back down to the bed, pushing you harder into the mattress, his chest to your back. One hand let up, but he compensated, keeping you trapped under him. "Guess you don't wanna get fucked tonight." His free hand slid slowly down your side to your hip, and he pulled you back and down onto his thigh.

You gasped at the feel of his thigh firm between your legs, fanning your arousal. You squirmed, hands twisting, tilting your face to the side. "Mm, feels like you're all teasing and no follow through."

"Good girls ask nicely." He lifted his hips away from yours, using his grip on you to push you further into the bed, away from the warmth of him.

You snarled into the bedding, twisting harder. But he didn't budge, didn't give you an inch. He was absolutely infuriating.

But he was also possibly going to fuck you, and you possibly wanted him to.

"I don't do nice." You kicked out with one leg, and he grunted as you pushed him off balance enough to have him crashing back into you. You could admit to yourself that though he was an ass, you wanted more.

"You will, sweet pea," he grunted, fingers tightening around you. "You'll beg me for it." He rocked his hips into yours and you arched, no longer trying to get him away or get him off. No. Now you wanted more.

When he pulled back again, your lips parted in a snarl, and you almost asked what he was doing.

Except you felt fingers at your back, pushing the shirt they'd given you up until it bunched under your arms. His fingers were warm and a little rough as they slid along the path of your injury, just to the side so he didn't actually hurt you. The nurse had insisted on leaving the bandages for another day, although you didn't really need them - you healed faster than a human.

"One day you'll tell me," he murmured, low and promising. "And I'll be here for all your secrets."

A shudder ran down your spine and you squirmed. "Keep it up and I'll think you're actually interested in me," you quipped. You needed his attention off your back, needed him to leave it alone.

"Oh but I am," he purred, lowering himself again so you could feel the press of his shirt against your back, the flat plane of his stomach leaving you nowhere to go. "You're just too temptin', sweet pea. I can't resist."

You sucked in a breath when he bit down on the back of your shoulder again, a little gentler this time. But the feeling of teeth in your skin, even with the shirt in the way, only made you want more. You bucked into him, struggling, a low whine escaping without permission.

"Sound so sweet like that," he murmured, too pleased with himself. "Let's see what other pretty noises you can make for me."

"Arrogant," you shot back, wiggling your ass back against the bulge of him.

"Confident," he corrected, grinding into you. "Now, you gonna be a good girl if I let go?"

"Define good." You grinned into the sheets, hiking one knee up to get leverage to push back into him. He only pressed you harder into the cot, pulling a groan out of you.

"Guess that's a no," he huffed, nosing the side of your neck. "Shame. I'd love to take my time with a pretty thing like you."

"Sure know how to make a girl feel special." You squirmed again, trying again to free your hands.

"Baby, I'll make you feel so good," he promised, low and crooning. You shuddered hard, twisting one hand free and reaching back to pull his head closer, fingers scratching through his hair. He huffed against your neck, warm and damp. "Still gotta ask for it."

You gritted your teeth, digging your nails into the back of his neck. "Make me."

He groaned softly, pressing his bulge harder into you. He was a flurry of movement, pushing your shirt up over your head but leaving it tangled around your arms. "Such a little brat," he growled, teasing. "I can fix that."

"Such an ass," you gasped as he yanked your sweatpants down, leaving them pooled on one ankle.

"All you gotta do is ask, baby," he murmured, hand smoothing over your ask. "I'll fuck you real good if you ask."

"Not on your life." You whined softly when his hand dipped down between your legs, teasing, testing.

"Oh yeah?" He huffed an amused noise. "We'll see about that, sweet pea." One big finger slid into you and you gasped, legs shifting further apart to give him more room. "Knew you liked this," he muttered victoriously, his finger making a lewd noise as he moved it. "Fuckin' knew it."

You opened your mouth to snipe back at him and ended up moaning instead at the stretch of a second finger. “Fucking tease,” you managed, tilting your hips to allow him deeper.

He huffed. “Already told you what you have to do,” he murmured, pumping his fingers faster. The coil of pleasure in your belly grew tighter, and you rocked your hips back into his fingers. Not yet willing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you. But the scent of his arousal, his clear enjoyment of this, was near dizzying.

You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood as you got close, eyes shuttered, determined not to give him satisfaction while getting your own.

And his fingers slipped out of you.

“What–?” You started to demand, pushing hard against him.

“Told you,” he said, amused now, even as you heard his belt buckle clink. “Gotta ask, baby.” He nipped the shell of your ear and then groaned softly. There was a soft, wet noise.

Your eyes blew wide and you froze. He was stroking himself, slow and rhythmic, his knuckles just brushing your ass. He was just going to leave you like this.

Unless you asked.

You clenched your jaw for a moment before you gave in with a little whimper, tilting your hips and ducking your head down against the cot. “Please,” you murmured.

“What was that, sweet pea?” He sounded unbearably smug, even as he brushed his knuckles over your skin a little more firmly.

“Please,” you repeated, pressing your forehead into the cot. The smell of him was intoxicating and a little addicting and utterly ruining your composure.

He hummed, teasing, and the noise stopped. Still-damp fingers pressed to your ass and then curled around your hip, guiding you into a better position. “Please what?”

You growled a little, debating kicking him off and taking care of yourself. But damn he’d gotten you riled up, and now you wanted him. “Please fuck me,” you ground out, tone far from pleading.

But that must have been good enough for him. “Good girl,” he cooed, condescending and overly-sweet. You fought down the urge to bite him again, mostly because you could feel him beginning to press into you.

He did not go slow, and he was not gentle. Which was fine - you didn’t want gentle. You didn’t want slow. You wanted him to fuck you hard enough that you saw stars.

He was relentless, searching for your g-spot and then hitting it as often as possible. He released your hands to fist your hair, tugging your head to the side so he could kiss and nip at your neck. His groans vibrated against your skin, making you whimper.

“Yeah? Feel good?” He nipped sharply at your skin and soothed the spot with his tongue. “Tell me, sweet pea.”

You resisted. For a moment. “Feels good,” you agreed with a gasp, getting one hand behind you to scratch through his hair, keeping him exactly where he was. “More.”

“More what?” The words were growled into your skin, his grip tightening on your hip until you thought you’d have bruises.

“Need more,” you gasped, bucking your hips back into his. “Please.”

“Knew you could be so good for me,” he crooned, far too pleased. But he did move his hand to rub your clit, not giving you a chance to mouth off to him again.

“Fuck!” Your fingers scrabbled at the sheets and fisted in them, shaking a little.

“Good girl,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear now. “Come on, baby. Come for me. Come on, come on, baby.”

Later, you’d be humiliated, but you did. You came with a shout, body tensing under his, hand in his hair clawing down the back of his neck. He hissed, shuddering hard against you, and roughly pumped into you a few more times before he spilled in you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, almost dazed sounding. “Fuck you feel good.” He ground against you, probably just to hear you whine.

He didn’t quite collapse on you, but it was close. Fortunately, you got to just melt into the cot, breathing hard.

“Have fun, sweet pea?” He slid out of you smoothly and stood, fixing his clothing. You kind of hated him for that, even as you turned your head to glower at him over your shoulder.

“Still an asshole,” you grumbled, stretching out. You needed to move, to wipe yourself off. But you couldn’t resist the moment of tormenting him with the sight of you on display.

He chuckled, undeterred. “Better rest up, sweet pea,” he advised, smirk clear in his tone. “I’ll be back later.”

The door locked behind him as always.

Fine. You’d just bide your time. Someone would slip up eventually.

It took another week. A week of acting more compliant, of not trying anything. Graves didn’t come back for that entire week, either. Why, you didn’t know, but you weren’t going to ask.

Finally, the soldier that brought you food forgot to lock the door.

You waited until you couldn’t hear him anymore before you crept to the door, cracking it open just the tiniest bit. Nothing. No sound near you.

You had to sternly remind yourself not to just go tearing off, you had to do this smart. So you snuck out of your room, shutting the door again. Hopefully that would keep them from looking.

Getting out of there was perhaps one of the most stressful things you’d ever done. You listened hard for people, and once had to duck into a cleaning closet to avoid a couple chatting soldiers. Your heart pounded against your ribs the entire time, so loud you had to focus to hear past the blood rushing through you.

But you did it. You made it outside. The sun was setting, the land open around the base. You’d blend better if you shifted, and you’d be faster.

A quick look around showed you were the only one in sight. Moving fast, you nearly threw your clothes off and shifted, landing on four paws.

This was so much better.

You left the clothes where they fell and started trotting off, away from base. You were more careful this time, darting between bushes and generally being stealthy.

So when something tackled you from the side, you yelped, totally caught off guard. You struggled until a firm hand grabbed your scruff, holding tight and lifting you a little. You whined and went still.

“Well, well, well,” Graves murmured, smirking down at you. “I’ll be damned.”

You lifted your upper lip to growl at him, hoping he’d take the hint and back off. Instead, he fearlessly wrapped his free hand around your muzzle.

“You’ve already bitten me before, sweet pea,” he said, looking over you again, awed and not at all scared. “Not gonna let you with bigger teeth.”

You stared at him, fear a cold wash down your spine. You realized with perfect clarity in that moment that not only had he put together exactly what you were, but he was never going to let you go.

Graves carried you back to your room, shutting the door behind the two of you before he released you. You skittered away, putting some distance between the two of you. “Go on, sweet pea. Show me.”

You were momentarily confused, ears twitching as you looked at him. But he didn’t move, didn’t step away.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he teased, smirking like the bastard he was. “Already seen all of you before.”

Understanding dawned, and you briefly pinned your ears back. But if there was one thing you knew about Graves, you knew that he was stubborn.

So you shifted back.

“There you are.” He grinned, wide and satisfied and distinctly smug. “Quite a trick you got there, sweet pea.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, glowering at him. “Why did you grab me again?”

“Can’t let such a fascinating little thing run off now can I?” He finally took a step closer to you, gaze fixed on your face.

You clenched your jaw. “Sure you can, it’s easy.”

He chuckled, taking another step closer, until he was just outside your space. “Oh sweet pea, told you I’d be here for all your secrets, and I meant it.”

You swallowed, not sure how to react to that. He held all the power here, and you both knew it. But you didn’t want to yield, didn’t want to bare your neck to him. So you bared your teeth instead.

“Mm, that too,” he purred, not at all deterred. On the contrary, he reached for you with one hand, licking his lips.

You took a step back, eyeing him. “Do I get any say in this?”

“I’m not a monster,” he told you amicably, allowing you some space.

“No. You’ll just keep me here.”

He shrugged. “You know too much,” he said easily. “And knowing what you are? I’d be a fool not to use all advantages I can get, and I ain’t a fool.”

You puffed out a breath. “I think you overestimate how much I know.”

He smirked. “Perhaps.” He took a step back finally. “Tell you what, sweet pea. You behave and I’ll get you a nicer room to stay in.” He didn’t give you a chance to answer (or object), just turned and left, locking the door again.

You groaned softly and fell back on the cot. Well. Fuck. That had gone the opposite of how you’d wanted. Now not only were you stuck here, but Graves knew what you were.

Hopefully he wouldn’t try to do anything awful.

Graves visited you every day for the next several days. He never asked for anything. Just seemed to be enjoying the power he held over you. Sometimes the visits were short, mere minutes, more check ins than anything else. Sometimes he’d stay for longer, chatting, slowly getting to know you.

As you were getting to know him.

You didn’t pretend to understand his interest in you, but you didn’t exactly discourage him, either. You only snapped playfully at him. You didn’t try to kill him. You also didn’t spend more than a day or two feeling sorry for yourself and being sullen and mopey.

Coyotes were adaptable creatures. It’s how they’d become one of the most successful predators in North America.

So you adapted.

“Brought you a little somethin’.” Graves was in a particularly good mood tonight, eyes bright, smirk firmly in place.

“Oh?” You didn’t even bother to get up, staying seated with your back to the wall, book still in your lap. (He’d finally caved the fourth time you’d threatened to die of boredom.)

He crouched in front of you, holding out a bracelet. It was simple metal beads, though just from looking at it you guessed not all of them were so simple. He looked far too smug, putting you a little on edge.

“This has got a tracker in it,” he told you, letting it dangle from one finger, swinging gently and catching the light. “And a couple little surprises. Gimme your wrist.”

You huffed softly but held out one arm for him, watching him fasten it on you. “And what stops me from just taking it off?”

“One of the surprises.” He smirked, thumb rubbing the soft underside of your wrist, pressing briefly against your pulse. “You can test it, but I wouldn’t recommend it, sweet pea.”

Curiosity warred with caution, and caution won. You puffed out a breath. “Alright, so you can, presumably, track all the time I spend sitting here reading. Wow. Fascinating.”

He just grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that was absolutely not endearing. At all. Not even a little. “Well, I was thinking you could come on a walk with me.”

“Seriously? Not yanking my chain?” You raised both eyebrows at him.

“Seriously.” He stood straight again, using his hold on you to tug you up with him. “C’mon. Lemme show you around properly.”

Curiosity won out over caution, this time. You followed him.

The base was larger than you’d initially guessed. Graves kept you close to his side as the two of you walked, which didn’t stop you from looking around. Several of his men saw the two of you, but none of them approached. Hm. Fine with you.

Graves probably enjoyed showing off the base a little too much, although you realized he was also showing you off with a hand on your lower back. Conniving man.

You could respect that. Especially if he was less of an ass.

“Wanna go explore?”

You side-eyed him at the offer, and especially at the grin he shot your way. “Eager to see if your little gift works as promised?” you drawled.

“Nah. You’re not a fool.” His eyes gleamed as he watched you.

You huffed softly, amused despite yourself. “Well, you’re not wrong.” Not giving him a chance to retort, you walked away. You heard his chuckle behind you, but he didn’t follow.

Exploring by yourself was… interesting. But not in the way you expected. The men looked at you, yes, but none of them approached you. One or two even stepped out of your way.

Very interesting. They were not exactly a pack, humans didn’t work that way, but they clearly had their own pecking order.

You made your way towards the fence, looking up at the guard posts. Considering the way the land stretched out flat before you for miles, the base sticking up like a sore thumb, you were both surprised and not. Only one actual road in and out of this place, and you didn’t bother going towards that gate.

Instead you started towards the nearest guard post, determined to get up the ladder and see the view.

“Uh, ma’am, you can’t go up there.”

You looked at the young man in front of you - not as tall as Graves, definitely younger, a little uncertain. Adorable. He looked more like a pup than a man.

“Graves told me to explore,” you drawled, dry as dust. “I’m exploring.”

“You still can’t go up there.” He pulled back his shoulders, trying to intimidate you. Aw. Cute. His radio crackled, and very faintly you could hear Graves on the other end. Just his voice, not what he said. But the soldier nodded once and stepped aside. “He said it’s okay.”

“Thanks.” You kept your tone dry and purposefully made noise going up the ladder. The guard on duty glanced at you but didn’t say a word, allowing you to take your fill of the view.

This area had been your home for a long time. Sure, not here exactly, but, well… You’d been wanting to expand your territory anyway, hadn’t you? This wasn’t a bad expansion. Especially if you could convince Graves to let you go hunting properly.

You could come to see this as home. In time.

Coyotes were adaptable. This would not break you.

Graves’ hand at your back didn’t even startle you this time. You’d heard him coming, after all.

You’d ask him about hunting some other time. No need to push too fast, after all.

You had time to win him over.

–

Graves was pleased - the tracker worked exactly as it should. And you behaved perfectly, exploring, poking your nose places. All without even trying to leave.

He’d gentle you to him yet.

Eventually, he’d be able to move you into his room. But not yet.

For now, he contented himself with dinner with you, watching your barely restrained curiosity. He didn’t quite chuckle to see that curiosity mirrored in his men, but it was a close call.

"Enjoying, sweet pea?"

You scoffed softly. "Yes, well, meals in my room were rather dull." Your teeth flashed in a grin.

He chuckled. “Don’t have to do that anymore,” he offered, watching you. “Long as you behave.”

You tipped your head, and he could see the predatory gleam in your eyes. But you nodded once.

He’d definitely be keeping an eye on you. Not that he minded - you were a pretty little thing, after all.

Maybe he’d get his hands on you after dinner.

–

Days passed faster now that you were no longer confined to your room. Graves let you have free roam of the compound - nothing was off limits to you.

Which is how you stumbled upon a training exercise.

Graves beckoned you to join him without looking away, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watched two teams with paintball guns attempting to get each other out.

"Training?" You guessed, stopping next to him, observing the game closely.

"Mmhm." He didn't look at you but his hand settled just above your ass, thumb stroking gently. "Paintballs only."

You nodded. "Just trying to tag each other out?"

"Timed game," Graves told you with a flicker of a grin. "Team with most people left standing when the timer goes off wins. My boys are competitive."

You hummed acknowledgement, watching them dart around. It looked like this entire section of compound was open - the terrain and buildings were all being used in the game.

When the timer went off, Graves took you with him to see who had won. You only half paid attention, admittedly, busy examining the ones who'd been counted as out.

"Looks like somethin's on your mind, sweet pea." Graves smirked down at you.

"Let me play."

He blinked. That was clearly not what he'd expected you to say. "What?"

"Let me play." You bounced a little on your toes. "It looks like fun."

Graves blinked, giving you a quick once-over over. You were smaller than most of his men, and untrained. But he knew your secret. "Alright, but don't cry when you get out first."

You grinned, showing far too many teeth. "No tears," you promised, low and silky.

It took no time to get outfitted with a vest and a paintball gun. Graves even graciously gave you a one minute head start.

You darted away, finding a good hiding spot. Your aim was not the best, and you usually did your hunting with your teeth, but you'd make do.

A timer went off, signaling the rest of the teams were being released onto the playing field. Graves hadn't actually told you which team you were on…

Guess that meant everyone was fair game.

Your teeth showed in a grin as anticipation raced through your veins. Finally. A hunt.

The first pair you spotted were clearly on the same team and patrolling together. You waited until they passed and got both of them in the back. (One shot went totally wild, but you elected to ignore that.)

They both looked surprised to see who had shot them but moved off the playing field.

After that, you slunk away to another good hiding spot. This time you managed to get four - another patrol of two, then a single man a few minutes later, and another single man passing close enough for you to get him.

Your smaller stature served you well, letting you get into smaller spaces than they could. And you knew how to hunt, to wait, to be still and focused.

By the time you'd gotten your tenth "kill", your heart was thrumming, easy confidence in your eyes.

But you paused when a PA system flicked on with a crackle.

"Change of plans, boys," Graves called. "First man to take her down gets a prize."

Fuck! That wasn't the game! But you had to admit… the change thrilled you.

Teeth showing in a grin again, you abandoned your current spot to climb. You needed to get up higher to see what you were up against.

Roughly ten men remained, some having been knocked out by other teams. You could briefly see them as they split up.

Good. Make this a real challenge.

But you had one advantage they didn't. You could hear them coming.

That was your only saving grace as one tried to corner you. You could hear him coming, and escaped around a corner before climbing to get away.

He swore extensively when you managed to shoot him.

Two of them got smart and tried to flush you towards a third. It might have worked, except that you spotted him up ahead, and threw yourself through a bush to get away.

Unfortunately, that only worked until one of them got physical, tackling you to the ground. Your yelp was more surprise than pain, and you had to resist the urge to bite him.

Graves would not be pleased if you made his men bleed.

"Caught, sir." The man who'd tackled you hauled you to your feet, and you narrowed your eyes at him. You were no misbehaving pup to scruff!

Graves sauntered up to the two of you, smirking. "Well, well, well," he hummed. "You did better than I expected."

You smirked right back at him. "Next time, you will not be so surprised."

He laughed once, short and amused. "True," he agreed. "Now, for your reward."

The man released you and you turned to see who was left. Only eight. (Either you'd miscounted or there had been a bit of foul play among the remaining players.) You memorized their faces.

You'd take them out first next time.

You didn't bother to pay attention until Graves had a hand at your back, guiding you forward again. The training seemed to be over, as most everyone was putting away their gear.

Graves didn't lead you back to put away your gear, though. He handed off the paintball gun to one of his men and pushed you back towards your room.

Fully aware of what you were starting, you bit him for being pushy, growling low in your throat. He just swore, hands clenching around you, and bit you back.

Honestly, you were a little amazed the two of you made it back to your room before the clothes came off.

–

Graves had never expected you to do so well at paintball, but you did. You were light and fast, hard to hit when you were on the run, and clever. Not trained, but clever.

He threw you in the paintball games as often as he could, now, just for the joy of watching you.

And the fun afterwards.

Finally, though, they got called out. He debated bringing you with, but… there was no easy way to explain your presence, and he wouldn't risk your life.

You'd just have to stay and be good.

You took the news better than expected, honestly. Only a little growling and biting. (And Graves really, really didn't mind the biting.)

But then you did something very unexpected.

You saw him off.

You stopped in front of the group, eyeing them all. Graves noted with amusement how they all straightened - you'd gained a lot of respect by joining in training.

"I expect I'll see you all again soon." The look you leveled at all of them made it clear that was an order, not a suggestion.

The various noises of assent just made Graves hide his grin.

You nodded once and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. But you did lower your voice, at least. "Bring me back something sweet." You winked and walked away.

From this angle, it was easy to see that you were a predator, stalking through his base as confidently as if it were your own.

Graves tried hard not to think about that too much, because if he did, he'd have to haul you back and fuck you on the plane.

–

You kept yourself busy while Graves was gone. There were still people on base, so you weren’t alone. You thought briefly about going hunting, but you didn’t want to distract Graves at a potentially vital moment.

So, you kept yourself entertained by poking your nose into every nook and cranny you could find.

That lasted you a few days. Watching several movies lasted you a few more. And finally, just when you thought you’d risk giving Graves a heart attack just to go for a proper run, they returned.

You did not rush them as they all disembarked the plane, standing back with your arms crossed over your chest. Some of them were injured as they got off the plane, but they were all back. You counted. Twice.

And then there was Graves, directing his men, making sure everything got done. You met his gaze across the distance and couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

There was no sense of challenge in meeting his gaze. No fear. Just the visual confirmation that this asshole hadn’t gotten himself killed.

He finished up quickly and made his way over to you, swagger uninterrupted, gaze fixed on you.

He surprised you, though, grabbing your hand instead of your wrist to tow you back to his room. His, not yours. Not that he gave you time to look at much before he was kissing you like he was affirming he was alive.

It wasn’t until much later, after you both lay sated and warm, that he grunted like he’d just remembered something.

“Brought you back something,” he murmured, moving away from you and ignoring your displeased huff. Not bothering to put any clothes on yet (something you very much agreed with), he stepped over to his duffel bag and bent over to grab a box. He smirked at you over his shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” You blinked at him, caught off guard.

“You heard me, sweet pea.”

You rolled your eyes pointedly and then closed them. This was silly. But you were willing to play along, for now.

To your surprise, you heard the box open, heard Graves step closer. “Smell,” he ordered softly.

You sniffed, head tipping in curiosity. You could smell the sugar, absolutely, and something floral. You huffed softly, amused at the little game.

“Sugared flowers?” you guessed without opening your eyes, leaning a little closer.

Graves chuckled softly, and the box rustled as he did something. “Open,” he murmured.

You briefly made a face but you did as he asked. He put a single piece on your tongue, fingers brushing your skin as he retreated. The flavor was more intense than the smell, and you hummed in satisfaction, eyes fluttering open again. Graves licked his lips, watching you as he pulled another piece of sugared flower from the box. This time, you accepted it and sucked on his fingers, swiping your tongue over the tips to get every last bit of sugar from his skin. The scent of his arousal quickly overpowered the florals, and the box dropped to the pillow next to you.

Somehow you both missed dinner.

–

Graves had been considering how to tell his men about his coyote. Oh, sure, they all knew that you were his, but they didn’t know you were a shifter. And that could become dangerous, if he didn’t tell them. In case of emergency.

(The fact that he wanted to tell them had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he wanted to show you off more. Not at all.)

His timeline got pushed when you let yourself into his office, near bouncing on your toes.

“I’m going hunting,” you said before he could ask.

Graves leaned back slowly, giving you a thorough once-over. “Need to borrow some gear?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, clearly exasperated. “No. I’m going hunting.” You showed your teeth to emphasize your point.

Ah. That kind of hunting. “Alright,” he agreed slowly. He knew you still had the tracking bracelet on, and he had to admit some curiosity to see how well it held up after you shifted. “I’ll make sure nobody shoots at you.”

“Again,” you drawled.

Graves didn’t feel bad about that, because nobody had known about shifters at that point. Besides, it was hard to feel bad about the thing that had brought you to him. But he would make damn sure you weren’t injured under his watch. “You shifting here or out there?”

“Here,” you answered after a moment. “Easier to not deal with clothes.”

Graves nodded again, still watching you. “Good hunting, then, sweet pea.”

Your teeth flashed again as you grinned. “I’ll bring you back something good.” And you were gone, bouncing back out of his office before he had a chance to properly respond to your words.

You’d promised to bring him something back.

This was something new, and Graves was going to find out what that was about.

His boys didn’t take the news about you being a shifter quietly, but they took it. He could see they didn’t believe him yet, but they would.

And they all knew he was a man of his word. So they knew he was not exaggerating when he threatened to kill anyone who breathed a word of this to anyone else.

But Graves trusted his boys. He trusted they wouldn’t betray him. Or you, by extension.

The day was mostly gone by the time he heard the commotion. The call to open the gate came first, then a chorus of whistling and clapping. That was enough to pull him outside to see what the commotion was all about.

A coyote was dragging a whole ass white tail deer into the compound, jaw clamped tight around its throat. Graves felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise - the deer was considerably bigger than the coyote, but the coyote didn’t even slow down.

Until you stopped in front of him, depositing your trophy and looking up at him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. Both the deer and you. “Dragged it back by yourself?”

You huffed at him, briefly showing your teeth.

“Course you did,” Graves chuckled, crouching in front of you. He debated for a moment before he held out one hand. It took only a moment before you shoved your head under his hand, and he stroked your fur, silently thrilled. His coyote. “Gonna let one of my guys fix it up?”

You stepped back and lifted your lip in a silent warning.

Graves chuckled, holding his hands up in a pacifying manner. “Alright, sweet pea. You just let me know what you need, then, and I’ll let you handle it.”

Mollified, you grabbed the deer again and started dragging it away from the buildings, which he appreciated. He watched you maneuver your kill around without assistance, admiring your strength and determination. His men all kept out of the way, though he did hear a few compliment you on your kill.

This was something he could get used to.

–

You honestly hadn’t realized how much you missed shifting until you could, anywhere you wanted. The men got used to you quickly, opening the gate for you to come and go as you pleased. An unofficial new game had popped up - try to pet the coyote. You took great joy in evading their hands and occasional playful tackles. Honestly, it was fun.

You didn’t expect to be approached by one of the men on his own while you were sitting outside. You blinked at him, head tipping to one side.

“Do you have a moment?” He shuffled his feet a little, scent caught between shame and embarrassment.

“Have a seat.” You turned a little to face him fully, on high alert now.

He sat next to you, giving you a moment to find his name patch. Roberts. His sandy hair was nearly the same color as Graves’, though he was shorter and leaner. Roberts sighed softly before he looked at you, meeting your gaze. “I wanted to apologize.”

You blinked, caught totally by surprise. “For?”

“I shot you.” He made a vague motion towards your back. “I mean, I didn’t know it was you, I just shot at a coyote. But still.”

You shook your head with a little smile. “Don’t fuss over it,” you advised. “It’s long in the past now, and I healed.”

He frowned at you, disapproving. “Anyway, a few of us were out last week, and, well…” He rolled up his sleeve to show off a still healing tattoo. A coyote in front of the Shadows symbol.

He had simultaneously claimed you as pack, and put himself under you. And he’d sort of spoken for the rest of the Shadows, too.

At least, your coyote brain was trying to convince you that you now had the biggest pack ever to protect and provide for.

You grabbed him, pulling him into a hug and rubbing your cheek over the top of his head. He held himself stiff for a few long moments before he awkwardly patted your back, looking absolutely bewildered when you pulled back.

“Thank you,” you murmured, breathing in deep. “That’s… it means more than you know.”

He smiled tentatively and nodded. “Sure,” he mumbled. “So, not mad at me?”

You huffed a little laugh. “Not at all.” You shook your head, gaze drifting down to the tattoo again. “May I?”

He held his arm out for inspection, and you looked over the line work and the details of it. That was definitely a coyote, and definitely the insignia of the group.

Well. Your pack had just grown. Quite a bit.

“I love it.” You sat back and smiled.

He puffed up a little, clearly proud of himself. “Did the line art myself.”

“Good to know.” You smiled slowly. “I might ask you to do something for me at some point, then.”

“Would be my pleasure.” He puffed up even more, resembling a fluffy rooster. “Anyway. Just wanted to show you that.”

“Appreciated.” You nodded to him and watched him go, still puffed up with pride. You, on the other hand, were wrestling with your instincts to provide for your pack.

Dammit. Fine. You’d make a couple loaves of bread, that would satisfy the itch for now.

The bread was a huge success. As were the next four loaves. (Graves grumbled about sending a few men for supplies, because apparently the demand for fresh bread was quite high.)

You didn’t expect to see more of the tattoos. But you did.

Over the next two weeks, nearly a dozen of them approached you, usually individually, to show off their own tats. Most of them got the tat on a forearm, but one got his on his back, and one got it on his calf. You couldn’t help it - you hugged every one of them.

You never would have predicted this would happen when you’d been shot those months ago.

“You’re not tired of that damn thing yet?” Graves asked, clearly grumbling, after the most recent soldier had jogged off again.

“The tat?” You grinned, looking back down at your bread dough. “Nah. I like it. Might get one for myself.”

Graves grumbled wordlessly, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your middle, teeth digging into the back of your shoulder through your shirt. “Won’t find one on me.”

“No?” Your breath hitched at the brief pain of his bite. This had become a habit between the two of you. “Too bad. I was thinking of offering an exchange.”

“Exchange?” His head peeked up over your shoulder. “Of what?”

You hid your smile, amused. “Marks,” you said blandly. “Thought you might like the idea of me wearing something of yours on my skin.”

The quickly-stifled groan against the skin of your neck proved you right, and your smile turned victorious. “Not that,” he mumbled, lips moving against your skin, making you shiver. “Something unique.”

You hummed softly, poking the dough one more time before tossing a towel over it to let it rise. “Well…” You trailed off, taunting, leaving the bait for him to take or ignore.

He, of course, took the bait. “Well?”

“Family tradition is a bite,” you mused, pushing your hips back into his. “But I don’t think that will work here. Don’t think you want a big scar.” You smirked teasingly back at him.

“Could just get it tattooed,” he pointed out, hands settling on your hips, pulling you back into him.

“Get a tattoo of your teeth marks?” You could feel the way he responded to that, an involuntary little jerk of his hips. “I could wear that, easy.”

“Yeah? Wanna show off that you’re mine?” Graves tightened his grip on you, scraping his teeth lightly on the skin behind your ear.

“More like have a permanent reminder,” you mumbled, tipping your head. “Pack already knows I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

He bit down on the back of your neck with a groan, hands nearly fumbling as he rucked your clothes up and out of the way to get at your skin.

It took only a few days to make the arrangements for your corresponding marks.

–

Graves normally didn't mind Shepherd. He was a demanding ass sometimes, but overall not bad.

Until right this very moment.

"Didn't catch that, sir," Graves ground out, working hard to keep his temper. He didn't want to go flying off the handle, not now.

"Don't play coy with me, son," Shepherd said, firm and a little condescending. "I know you've got a shifter there."

"Don't know what you mean." Graves dug the nails on his free hand into his skin, the pain helping ground him and keep him from doing something monumentally stupid.

"No? Then the coyote shifter isn't yours? She's a pretty thing, figured she's your type." The smirk in the general's voice was clear.

Graves didn't respond, torn between demanding to know how Shepherd knew about her, and denying her existence.

"I'll have a couple of my men there in a few days to bring her in."

"Bring her in?" Graves repeated, sharp and serious.

"I'm taking her. She could be a valuable asset to me."

Graves hit his limit. That? Was unacceptable. "No, sir."

Shepherd paused for a moment. "No?"

"No. She stays here." Graves knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he handed you over to Shepherd, you’d never be seen again. The general was a merciless man. He’d break you, or dissect you. Or possibly both. And that was something Graves found he couldn’t live with.

Shepherd let the silence grow between them before he snorted softly. "You sure you wanna do this?" He asked, soft and threatening.

“I am.” Graves clenched his jaw. He was willing to let a lot of shit slide, hell, he’d done a lot of shit himself. But this? No. He’d never admit it aloud, but he was too attached to you.

He’d never hand you over to anyone. But especially not Shepherd.

“This won’t end well for you,” Shepherd promised. And hung up, not giving Graves a chance to respond.

Graves breathed out slowly, putting his phone down. He knew Shepherd, knew the general wouldn’t give up so easily.

This would come down to a fight. One he was determined not to lose.

Graves started planning.

–

When Graves first insisted you learn how to use a gun, you rolled your eyes. Why did you need a gun? You had teeth. But he didn’t let up, going so far as to ask while balls deep inside of you, holding you still under his weight and refusing to move until you gave in. That earned him a few days of nasty looks.

But you did learn.

The worst part about it for you was the noise. Even with the headset to muffle the sound, it was jarring and took some getting used to.

You noticed the changes on base slowly. The guards seemed more alert, constantly watching the horizon. One of the Shadows was always nearby, though they always made it seem coincidental. Graves held you tighter at night (he’d moved you into his room shortly after you both got tattooed).

But any time you tried to ask, Graves evaded. Stricter training. Upcoming op. Refreshing their skills. All were excuses he tried.

You didn’t quite believe any of them.

But he clearly didn’t want you to know, so you didn’t push. You just grew restless, often walking the perimeter of base.

He was keeping something from you and you wanted to know what.

None of the Shadows would tell you. Apparently Graves had given them orders not to, because when you cornered one younger man he outright panicked, gaze darting all over the place, hands shaking. You left him with a snarl of discontent, stalking away.

Not that you had to wait long, after all.

A shout went up from one of the guards that night, well after dark. You could hear radios going off around base too, just caught a few words: vehicles, armed, Shepherd.

You had very little idea what it meant, but the way the rec room emptied hinted that it was nothing good.

“Come with me,” Graves demanded, hand fastening around your wrist.

“What–?” You didn’t get a chance to finish your question as he pulled you along with him. He got a vest on you first, then handed you the rifle you’d been practicing with and ammo.

“Stay with me, sweet pea,” he ordered. And it was very clearly an order. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, confused but rapidly realizing how serious this was.

Graves got his own gear on with practiced motions, clicking his comm. “How far out?” he asked briskly. You could just hear the voice on the other end, but not the words. “Copy.” Graves started moving, and you stuck close to him.

Outside the building was nearly unrecognizable. Shadows were running around prepping, putting up barriers and hides. Graves strode through the organized chaos, right up to the gate.

You could see vehicles approaching, four of them. The rumble of engines grew steadily louder, though the gates remained closed.

The vehicles stopped, people piling out of them, guns down for the moment. You didn’t recognize any of them. Not that that was truly a surprise - you knew few humans.

“Graves,” one of them called in the kind of tone of one used to being obeyed. “Last chance to hand her over.”

Graves clenched his jaw and didn’t look back at you, though you realized with sudden startling clarity that this was all about you. Because somehow that man out there knew you were a shifter.

And Graves had apparently refused to hand you over.

It was an interesting feeling, warmth suffusing you from Graves’s actions while dread tried to remind you of how very bad this could be.

“Not a chance, Shepherd,” Graves called back. He nudged you back just a little, hands gripping his gun securely.

“I’m sorry it came to this. If you hadn’t been such a fool…” Shepherd trailed off.

You only had a moment to wonder what he meant before the shooting started. You ducked back behind cover, Graves right behind you.

“I want them all dead,” Graves said into his comm, eyes utterly cold. You realized with a start you hadn’t seen him like this since the very beginning of your stay here. “Let’s get it done.”

You were not ashamed to admit that you were not much help. You didn’t have the experience of these men, and this was not a fun game of paintballs. Besides, your movements were restricted to keeping with Graves.

But you did surprise yourself when you spotted one attempting to flank around the barriers, and you shot him. He fell silently.

For a bare moment, you wondered if you should feel bad. Not that you did - you’d killed your fair share of prey before. But prey had never been human before.

Then again, humans had never attempted to infiltrate your territory nor threatened your pack before. Not like this.

“Good shot, sweet pea,” Graves said, speaking up over the din around you.

You had just enough time to see his faint grin before the world exploded around you.

You blinked at the dirt under you, ears ringing, head aching. Hands grabbed you and you growled, disoriented, at least until you heard the familiar sounds of your pack shouting. Pulling you back, away from danger. Presumably. Your hearing was still fucked, and you couldn’t smell anything through the gunpowder and smoke.

One of them fell with a shout, something you just barely heard. You stumbled as his support vanished, falling to your knees. The other Shadow tried to haul you to your feet before he was shoved away, much harsher hands grabbing you. You yelped, the sound too canine to come from a human throat, still disoriented enough that you couldn’t properly resist.

You almost got your feet under you, except a harsh yank from one of the two pulling you along sent you right back off-balance. You swore, clumsily grabbing for something to hold on to. Your hearing was coming back, slower than you liked but enough.

They were dragging you off base. To Shepherd.

If they got you that far, Graves wouldn’t be able to get you back.

You twisted hard, managing to get a hand on one of them. He tried to yank you off balance, muttering curses.

But you took advantage of the bare skin of his wrist that you could see and lunged, jaw locking and teeth clamping into his skin. The hot taste of blood filled your mouth but you refused to let go, even as one of them hit you in the back, hard.

It wasn’t until you heard two gunshots, closer than expected, followed by the dead weight of the soldier dragging both of you down that you released your grip. You spat blood out of your mouth, swaying a little.

“Sweet pea!” Graves hit the ground next to you, one hand immediately going to your cheek. Blood matted down his hair on his right side, and he seemed to be favoring that side in general, right arm kept tight to his side. Shadows surrounded the two of you, keeping Shepherd’s forces back.

“I’m okay,” you managed, still a little dizzy. But you latched on to Graves’s vest, because he was right there and comforting.

Graves let out a relieved sigh, giving you a quick visual once-over. His thumb smeared the blood on your chin.

“Not mine,” you reminded him, paying no mind to the two bodies around you now.

He nodded, tugging you closer. “Marry me.”

“What?” You blinked at him rapidly, sure you’d misheard him.

But he grinned, bright and a little mischievous, totally disregarding the active battlefield you were on. “Marry me.”

“Let’s finish this first,” you pointed out, lips twitching in response to his humor. “Kill Shepherd first. And then I expect a proper proposal.”

“Anything you want.” He pressed a hard kiss to your lips, uncaring of the blood, before he got to his feet. You followed him, swaying only for a moment before you caught your balance.

Shepherd’s force had been decimated, only four remaining, huddled behind the protection of the armored vehicles. One tried to put down his weapon and back away from the fight, only for Shepherd to turn on him and shoot him.

“You can end this,” Graves yelled to Shepherd in open mockery of Shepherd’s earlier offer. “Nobody else has to die.”

Shepherd didn’t respond, gaze flitting between the Shadows and Graves and you. “You really think you can get away with this?” he asked, voice absolutely venomous. “I’m a general!”

“Shouldn’t have tried to take my coyote, then.” Graves backed up, gently pushing you back as well. You were confused for a moment, trying to figure out what the plan was. There was no way he was just letting Shepherd live, was he?

The Shadows all swarmed back behind cover, still keeping you surrounded. Something rolled under the vehicle Shepherd hid behind, and the whole thing blew up. You ducked a little, reflexively, before popping back up with wide eyes to watch. The other vehicles were also quickly destroyed.

You followed Graves over to check the bodies. All dead. You tipped your head, looking down at Shepherd, silently wondering if he’d really been willing to die to get his hands on you.

“Let’s clean up this mess,” Graves ordered, and Shadows immediately jumped to obey. But grief hid in his eyes as he looked at his base. You leaned into him, silently offering support. You’d help count the losses.

“You still owe me a proper answer,” Graves murmured, his hand settling low on your back.

“You still owe me a proper proposal.” You smiled, leaning harder into him. “Even though you’re already mine.”

He huffed. “Bold of you,” he mumbled, head dipping closer to yours. “I like it.”

“You always have.” You smirked, tipping your head enough to bare your teeth at him and watch as his pupils dilated.

“Trouble.” But Graves just grinned at you.

–

The base was a mess. Graves helped as much as he could, contacted families and next of kin as necessary.

The general was disposed of quietly, their trail covered. His Shadows wouldn’t face the fallout of this.

You held up better than Graves had expected, supporting his men when needed, doing whatever you could to help with cleanup and disposal. Honestly, he was impressed.

He also hadn’t forgotten his promise to you.

Once he was sure the danger had passed, he made some arrangements. Flight plans, necessary permits, a few phone calls. Everything was set and arranged exactly how he wanted.

He had basically everything. The last thing was something he needed to pick up himself. He snuck out while you were hunting, knowing you’d more than likely pout but he’d be back soon.

“How do you feel about goin’ on a little trip, sweet pea?” He asked a few days later, so as not to arouse suspicion.

You shrugged from your place in his lap, idly watching a few of the younger Shadows playing a video game. “Never done much of it,” you admitted easily. “Never had a chance.”

He hummed, one hand squeezing your hip gently. “You interested?”

“Sure, if you want.” You shot him a little smile over your shoulder, relaxed still. That told Graves everything he needed to know.

He didn’t quite pick out your clothes for you, but he did insist on a few things. Like something nice to wear. (And if he snuck in a brand new set of lingerie for you, well, he liked seeing you in pretty things.)

You didn’t like the plane trip, that much was obvious. Tension pulled your shoulders tight, and it took you a long time to get comfortable and settle down. Graves kept one hand on you to help where he could, and was finally rewarded when you fell asleep against his shoulder.

Watching your awe looking around somewhere new warmed him in unexpected ways. (Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. He did ask you to marry him, after all.)

He gave the two of you three days to adjust to the timezone change and do some touristy things. Not that he much cared - he’d been all over the world by now. People were people everywhere. But giving you this experience? So much better.

You eyed the Eiffel tower with distrust when he led you to it, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

“Don’t worry, sweet pea,” he drawled, extra sweet. “You’ll be fine.”

You immediately scowled at him (just as he’d hoped) and stalked up to the lifts. He followed a little more leisurely, knowing everything was taken care of.

He caught your expression as the sun set, the wind whipping against the two of you, the city sounds all but gone. You looked awed again, hands gripping the railing as you looked over the city. Graves smiled, pleased with his timing, and settled next to you for a minute, just letting you look your fill. The softer light on your skin filled him with a kind of warmth he’d never thought he’d experience.

“Hey, sweet pea. Got a question for you.”

You turned to him and blinked, totally unsuspecting. Graves took a knee in front of you, pulling the ring box out of his pocket, and your eyes went wide, one hand flying up to your mouth.

“I promised I’d do this proper,” he murmured, looking up at you, blind to everything else. (There were at least two of his Shadows in the crowd, you were safe, that’s all he cared about.) “Never thought I’d be here, but you’ve been a surprise from the beginning. I want you to keep surprising me, sweet pea. Will you marry me?”

You nodded and then huffed a soft almost-laugh. “Yes,” you managed, hands settling on his cheeks before you kissed him. The crowd around the two of you clapped, a few whistles coming from his boys. Graves grinned at you, honestly ridiculously happy, and slid the ring on your finger.

Standing there with you in his arms, the stars slowly emerging even as his boys put on a hell of a fireworks show for the two of them, Graves knew one thing for certain.

He’d gentled his coyote, but you’d gentled him every bit as much. And he was just fine with that.

#shifter au #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x you #f!reader

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