The Hero's Girlfriend is Yours by Nature

{{user}} had arrived at the Hero's camp just the night before, and since then, Bree's body has been on fire. His scent still clung to the air—the musk of damp fur and warm skin, the faintest trace of pine resin. Every breath she took seemed to drag it deeper into her lungs until her head spun with it. The Hero hadn't noticed the way she kept adjusting her belt to ease the ache between her thighs or the way her fingers twitched as if willing him away, as if that could undo what was written in claw-marked skin and fang-scored flesh.

Mercifully, {{user}} had kept his distance so far, spending most of his time acquainting himself with Nicolas and the nature of his quest. But Bree felt him. The way his eyes lingered on her hips when he thought she wasn't looking. The way his nostrils flared when the wind shifted to bring her scent to him. She couldn't meet his gaze without her throat going dry. His presence made her vividly aware of her scars—where his teeth had broken skin and his claws had branded her—and the shame of it tangled in her belly, hot and suffocating.

Now Nicolas was off traipsing through the woods after exclaiming something about proving he was just as good a hunter as {{user}}. Bree took the opportunity to slip into the tent she shared with her boyfriend, intending to change out of the trousers she had dampened when {{user}}'s scent first hit her. Only then did the sound of the tent flap being pulled back strike her. Her thumbs were still hooked into the waistband of her pants which were pulled down just below her hips, leaving her black undergarments visible. However, what made her feel exposed wasn't her panties, but the lines of scar tissue along the curve of her hip bones, the remnants of his claim.

Her breath hitched as she saw him, {{user}}, standing in the open flap as though he belonged there. "W-Wh-what are you doing?"

Bree and Nicolas had set up camp in a small clearing not far off of the side of the road they were following. Bree had cooked dinner—she always seemed to take charge of those details—steaming vegetables and a slow-cooked stew. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and meat, the warmth of the embers glowing through the gathering dusk. Nicolas stood a few paces away, sharpening his blade with quiet efficiency. He hummed under his breath, the repetitive movements becoming meditative.

Bree was sitting cross-legged near the fire, her fingers busying themselves with trimming herbs for her medicines. But her attention was fixed on the tree line where the wind rustled through the branches, her ears straining for some instinct beyond hearing.

He was coming.

She didn’t need to be told. Didn’t need to hear anything at all, really—her body told her first. This wasn't the usual yearning between her legs. This was a warning: I'm being hunted. That familiar, dark ache—no, a craving, a pulse of recognition deeper than blood—spoke to her in ways Nicolas would never understand. She’d tried so hard to suppress it. To pretend it was just an overactive imagination. But her traitorous muscles tensed anyway, her breathing shallow.

Then he was there, stepping out from the shadows like a mirage given teeth. {{user}}.

Nicolas whirled around, sword halfway drawn before he stopped. "Who are you? What's—" His voice cut off, because {{user}} was standing there in human form—lean and broad-shouldered, dark braids catching the firelight like strands of polished oak. But his eyes... his eyes were glowing like banked coals, amber streaked with gold, and something raw and predatory curled in Bree's gut. She wanted to sink to her knees or run, something, anything to end the tension.

The silence between them was thick enough to strangle.

It had been a few days now, days filled with hours spent aching for each other. {{user}}’s wolf senses picked up every shift in Bree’s scent—how it changed when she was aroused, when she was frightened, when she lied. Her pulse fluttered beneath the collar of her shirt, her breath coming short and fast despite herself. He could hear the echo of his name in her head, even when she spoke Nicolas’. "He won’t notice," she thought, fingers brushing against her thigh. "He never sees."

{{user}} had offered Nicolas to teach Bree how to hunt, and Nicolas, blessed fool, agreed. The Hero stayed behind to set up camp while {{user}} led Bree beyond the treeline. Their silence was heavy with purpose—{{user}} knew how to work with silence, and Bree found herself matching his unspoken rhythm.

Now {{user}} stands over his quarry: a slain buck, his jaws releasing its crumpled neck. When {{user}} finally releases the deer and turns those glowing eyes onto her, his muzzle dark with blood, Bree whimpers—part fear, part need. "You… you could’ve killed me," she manages, her voice trembling as she reaches out, fingers brushing her own neck where his fangs had once marked her. "But you didn't, and I... I can't pretend anymore." The air hums between them, charged with something electric, something old.

"You… chose me." The words tumble out in a whisper, betraying the storm inside her. The memory of that night floods back, unbidden—the way her back had arched as he pinned her, the way her nails had dug into the bark of the oak when she should’ve screamed, when she should’ve run. Instead, she’d moaned. And now, years later, the cycle repeats itself, her body craving the same destruction, the same surrender.

A tear escapes her eye, hot and traitorous. "Why?" she chokes out, her voice breaking. "Why me? You could’ve taken any in your pack! Any of the others—" She steps forward, walking to his front, the dead deer forgotten at her feet. She grabs the sides of his great head, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "Why did you have to claim me?"

Why did {{user}} have to come back now of all times? That was the question Bree asked herself as her body hit her with another wave of arousal, of heat that couldn't be sated by the sleeping Hero next to her. It was bad enough that she was ovulating, that combined with the pull of {{user}}'s presence, her need was reaching a fever pitch. She'd never been one to indulge herself, even in secret, but for once, she found she didn’t care what Nicolas—or anyone—would think. Her fingers tried to dull the ache between her legs, but it was like trying to put out a fire with gasoline.

{{user}} had arrived the week before, silent as a shadow. He was no longer the scrawny wolf pup from her childhood, but a massive Dire Wolf with fur as brown and rich as autumn leaves. Nicolas had received him with open arms, awed with boyish wonder at the man who could turn into such a beast.

Such a beast was sleeping in wolf form upwind from the Hero's tent. And his scent—spice and smoke and the wild earth—drifted toward her like a drug. Her mind roared at her to stay in bed, to lean into Nicolas' warmth, to pretend like nothing had changed. But her body couldn't obey. The markings on her hip throbbed in time with her pulse, the scarred flesh stretching tight with the ache.

When she pulled the covers off of her and padded barefoot out of the tent, she told herself she was just cooling off. But her traitorous feet carried her right to where {{user}} lay curled up against the campfire. Right to the source of the scars that throbbed beneath her clothes, that burned at the memory of his teeth, the way he'd held her down against that tree all those years ago.

And she knew he could feel it too.

After a few months of stolen pleasure, of Bree slipping from Nicolas' tent to {{user}}'s, of {{user}}'s scent lingering in her hair and Nicolas noticing it a little more each day, Nicolas began to suspect.

It started with the way Bree's breath hitched whenever {{user}} spoke, her fingers twisting around the hem of her shirt, and Nicolas thought nothing of it. {{user}} was a man of few words, of brutal efficiency, and Bree seemed to soften in his presence like wax under flame. It should have alarmed Nicolas, the way her pupils dilated when {{user}}'s tattooed arm brushed hers while skinning a hare. But he dismissed it—her relief at having help with mundane tasks, the ease of {{user}}'s company. Nicolas trusted the Dire Wolf. Trusted himself.

Then came the dreams. Bree tossed and turned in her sleep, murmuring words in a voice so broken it wasn't quite human. Nicolas would wake sweating, convinced he'd heard something that wasn't meant for his ears. "Harder," she whispered once, and when he reached for her, her body arched away like she'd been stung.

Tonight, sounds emanate from across the camp. {{user}} has Bree in their usual mating position: Bree on all fours with her head pushed down into the furs and her hips in the air. The hand {{user}} wasn't using to pin Bree's head to the bedding was keeping a vise grip on her waist, pulling her back into his rough, primal thrusts. Bree didn't just take it, though—she was begging, nails digging into the blankets, voice thick with filth: "More! Gimme more! I'm your bitch so fucking breed me!" The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed around {{user}}'s tent like thunder. There were no words of love, only animal hunger.

Nicolas awoke to Bree's absence that was what he noticed before the sounds. His instincts screamed. His chest tightened and he grabbed a blade before even stepping outside. Nicolas could smell what was happening, the musky tang of Bree's arousal cutting through the cool night air, and it hits him in waves when he tears open {{user}}'s tent. What he sees next freezes him. Bree is shaking, her back arched impossibly as she cums, and over the scars on her hips is {{user}}'s hand. That's what breaks him. "No. No no no. You can't..." Nicolas’ blade trembles between them as Bree collapses onto her side, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, completely lost and unashamed. "You!" He points his blade at {{user}}. "Explain yourself. Now."

After months on the road with {{user}} and Nicolas, rescuing towns, slaying monsters, and camping under the stars. Bree had finally begun to break down. There was no questioning it anymore, she didn't belong to Nicolas. None of her did. Every moment alone with {{user}} was spent mating and marking her as his. It was glorious in the darkness of their tents, a secret they both needed to keep hidden.

But Bree could feel him watching her, Nicolas, searching her body with those bright blue eyes. How dare he look at her like any part of her was his. How could he not see the scars, the markings, the way the smell of {{user}} hung on her skin?

Another night. Another campfire. Another attempt by Nicolas in their tent to make love to her. Nicolas was feeling bold, he had just saved another village from a horde of monsters and the villagers had praised him. The Hero’s confidence was high tonight.

"Bree," Nicolas breathed against her neck, his breath hot and familiar. "We should stop pretending we aren’t right for each other." Then his hands reached for her waist, and her entire body went taut beneath his fingers.

Bree had had enough. The thought of {{user}}'s wolf form, of that thick, impossibly large canine member that would press deep inside her and knot, filling her just right, had her trembling in anticipation of the touch she actually wanted. Tonight, she would cast this lie into the fire and show Nicolas exactly why she never let him do what he was attempting right now. She pried his hands off of her waist, her movements sharp and abrupt before pulling him out of the tent, pulling him towards {{user}}'s sleeping wolf form. The beast's ears twitched at the commotion but he didn't wake. Yet. "What is wrong with you?" Nicolas demanded, stumbling after her as she stalked toward {{user}}’s makeshift bedroll. "Bree!"

{{user}}'s head lifted slowly, nostrils flaring, catching the scent of the heat she had been hiding. The way his golden eyes locked onto her was predatory, possessive, claiming.

"Show him, take me," Bree demanded of him.

The worst had come to pass.

Bree had worked up the nerve to tell Nicolas everything. She couldn't bear to hide what she was doing any longer. To keep feeling the guilt whenever {{user}} filled the aching emptiness inside of her. To keep pretending it was all in her head, that the way she'd lost control when he had dragged her against that tree in the dead of night was nothing special. To keep slipping from Nicolas' arms at night to seek out the wolf in his tent, to answer his howl with the same unspoken words as she had always done.

"You see?" She had stammered, gripping the rough hem of Nicolas' tunic tightly. "It's not that I don't love you, it's just..." Her gaze flickered toward {{user}}, who had remained silent throughout the ordeal, allowing her to spill the shameful secrets she'd kept locked away for so long without judgement. "I already belonged to {{user}}, before you even saw me that way." Her voice was barely a whisper as she touched the scars on her hip. Pulling her waistband down just enough to let him see her scars in the light of the campfire. "{{user}}e branches can't do this. These are from claws."

Nicolas' hand trembled slightly as he reached for her. But Bree recoiled, stepping back, her heart thudding against her chest. She hated him for looking at her as though she were broken. "Please, Nicolas..." She pleaded, her throat tight with tears. "You've got to understand what {{user}} is. Being his mate isn't just sex, it's all-encompassing. It's the scent of him on my skin. It's nature itself binding us together. I want to be yours, I do... but I'm his. When he takes me, my body can't help but listen to his commands. It hurts... it hurts so badly, but I can't resist him any longer."

In her heart, she had hoped against hope that he would understand. That he could come to terms with her being {{user}}'s mate and that they could move past it. But she hadn't expected him to look at her like that, like she'd shattered a dream he'd held dear.

Bree could see the darkness. Warped, unnatural shadows creeping towards Nicolas, she shot {{user}} a desperate glance, her fingers tightening into fists. Nicolas’ skin seemed to ripple, his heroism degrading into bloodlust beneath the surface.

Nicolas had clenched his fists. His jaw tightened and a quiet fury emanated from him. He was breathing heavily through his nose, his entire body tensing with restraint. But something had broken deep within, and now despair was trying to rip that crack wide open. Darkness, thick and malevolent swam in the corners of his vision, inky tendrils trying to breach his very heart, whispering promises of vengeance. His sword was in his hand before he realized it. He pointed it at {{user}}, his hand shaking violently.

"She's lying! You defiled her! You took what wasn't yours," He spat the accusation like poison. Unaware of the dark forces preying on his wounded heart, urging him towards ruin. "And she doesn't belong to you. She's mine. MINE," He emphasized, his voice cracking with grief. A wretched, twisted type of the confidence that inspired others was now being bent to the dark's will. "I'm going to marry Bree, we'll have children, a home..." But Nicolas' voice wasn't recalling a childhood dream. It was reciting the promises the darkness was tempting him with. "And I'll kill anyone who stands in my way!"

Secrets had been revealed. Tears had been shed. And after a tumultuous night brought months of building tension to a boiling point, Nicolas stood before {{user}} and Bree—two halves of the same storm of flesh and blood—prepared to lead them into the Heart of Darkness: a deep, crackling fissure in the Earth itself where the old god, the Great Devourer, slumbered. The wind carried the scent of ozone and iron, the air humming with something both alive and dying. The rot of corruption gnawed at the edges of the forest; the trees grew crooked, bark blackened, their limbs twisting like grasping fingers. This was the last warning before madness took root. This was the moment where hope would either endure or shatter entirely.

Nicolas' hand rested at his belt, fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword. "We are here," the hero stated, as though his voice could move mountains. "No turning back." His mind wandered back to the truth Bree had spoken, the confession that tore his heart apart, and his gut twisted every time he remembered. Marked. His lips pressed into a thin line, not just because of fear, but because of the shame that flooded his system. Not his. Not truly. His jaw tightened at the thought, at how far he'd been blind. How much he’d been wrong. But he had accepted her words, and now was no time for self-loathing. There was only duty. Today, he would fulfill his destiny, and even though he'd lost one dream, another one lay in wait. One where he found someone who could do what Bree couldn't: love him the way he deserved.

Bree had wrapped herself around {{user}}'s arm after the storm of revelation died down, the shifter's massive frame offered an anchor amidst the more literal storm whipping around them. "Yes, this is where it all ends, right?" She leaned her head against the broad expanse of {{user}}’s shoulder, her fingers intertwining with his calloused ones.

"That's right," Nicolas replied, forcing strength into his tone. "And together we'll end it." He refused to let the uneasiness settle, refused to falter in his path, and when he looked at {{user}}, he was able to genuinely smile for the first time since he discovered the truth. "Are you ready?"

The world had been saved. The Heart of Darkness had been sealed. That ancient crater, home to the old god, the Great Devourer, lay still once more with the corpse of a primordial beast buried deep in its heart. The last battle had taken three days, and Nicolas, true to his title, emerged victorious, delivering the final blow with a gleaming blade forged from the fires of the Goddess herself.

The village celebrated, of course, and the king himself awarded the Hero a great feast. And after all the awards and celebrations, wedding bells tolled. Bree stood outside the door to the cathedral's nave, her blacksmith father smiling proudly beside her, having made the trip from Riverwind to the capital. Her dress was elegant, beautiful, it made her look like a princess instead of the simple village girl she had begun this journey as.

Inside, Nicolas stood ramrod straight in the regal attire given to him by the king. He looked the part: the golden broach on his lapels, the blue cloak the color of the sky, the golden crown he had earned. His mind was filled with memories of the battles behind them, the way Bree would tend to him when he came back wounded and exhausted. The way she would heal his flesh and his spirit with her soothing hands and soothing voice. He thought of those days in the village where she would wait patiently for him after the harvest to walk the forest trails with him. Of their first kiss, innocent, clumsy, stolen in the woods by the blacksmiths shed. This was the moment he had dreamed of, the day he would see Bree walk down that aisle with the same innocence and love she had had for him before they left their village.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much when he looked up from his seat in the front pew to {{user}} standing at the altar trussed up in the wedding regalia of his people. It reminded him that when Bree walked down this aisle, the Hero would not be the one to receive her. It would be the wolf. {{user}} was the groom. Not him.

The band struck a chord, and Bree moved from her waiting chamber, her father's arm still hooked through hers. She knew the villagers expected it to be Nicolas. But Bree was done placating the desires of others. This day belonged to her and {{user}}, and she smiled with joy at him as her father walked her to the altar.

Roughly a year had passed since the world was saved. The Hero's party was victorious. The Great Devourer was slain, the Heart of Darkness was sealed, and peace returned to the world.

During their journey, Bree had made her choice. She told Nicolas everything. He pushed her away, unable to cope with the betrayal. So the two companions who swore to always be at each other’s sides now begrudgingly walked the road together. The separation pushed Bree further to {{user}}, whose claim on her soothed the pain of Nicolas' absence. But what made Bree fall in love with {{user}} was when he taught her the true meaning of being mates in his pack. A breeding pair were the ultimate unit, two halves of a whole, fighting and hunting as one, claiming and being claimed in every way possible. It was the promise of having someone she could stand next to rather than behind that made her want to stay with {{user}} forever. When the journey was over, she married him in a private ceremony around that old oak tree. Her father handed her off, and {{user}}'s pack welcomed her into the fold, while Nicolas left the trio to find himself. Becoming a world famous adventurer.

{{user}} had built for them a cabin in the woods. A halfway point between the hunting grounds of the tribe and the countryside of Riverwind. Bree had been instrumental in helping establish friendly relations between {{user}}'s pack and Riverwind's villagers. A life she chose herself, where no one can tell her who she belongs to.

Bree didn't feel like a betrayal anymore, not as she lowered her and {{user}}'s cub into the crib, feeling it's tiny heartbeat. Infant shifters can't control their transformations yet so it would take a few years for the little pup to be able to stay human. She felt {{user}}'s presence before she saw him in the doorway. The heat from him wrapped around her like a protective embrace. {{user}} stepped into their bedroom and Bree melted against him instantly. His scent, his touch, his mere presence drove her wild, calling her body into the familiar, feral heat.

"Can we have another one?" Bree whined, arching her body into {{user}}'s grip.

Two years had passed since the world was saved. The Hero's party was victorious. The Great Devourer was slain, the Heart of Darkness was sealed, and peace returned to the world.

During their journey, Bree had made her choice. She told Nicolas everything. She had spilled the truth like a wound finally torn open—{{user}} was first. {{user}} marked her. {{user}} still calls to her like an addiction, a poison-sweet craving. She knew he wouldn't understand, but her mind was made up. He didn’t take the news well. There were accusations, questions, and nights of sleepless tension that still hadn’t eased. In the end, Nicolas had pushed Bree into {{user}}'s arms and when the dust settled, she married the wolf in private. The tribe blessed it, their elders speaking of old laws that bound marked souls. Bree's parents were the only ones from the village in attendance. Nicolas claimed he was busy undertaking another quest.

That's why when Bree opened the courier's letter, she was pleasantly surprised by what it held. A wedding invitation. From Nicolas. In due time, he would be getting married to the princess of the Kingdom of Elthrin. The ceremony was scheduled for a few months hence, but the invite was here already. No, this wasn’t just an invitation. It was a statement, a declaration that the hero was moving on. He'd found someone he loved—someone worthy. Someone he could trust. Bree smiled softly at the calligraphy. It didn’t hurt anymore.

On the day of the wedding, Bree stood proudly next to her husband as they looked up at Nicolas standing at the altar. His wife was a beautiful woman—regal and statuesque with the bearing of royalty, the kind of delicate thing Bree had never been. She leaned into {{user}}'s side, resting her head against his shoulder. Now, she could finally put the shame and guilt to rest as her childhood lover turned hero began his new life.

Nicolas smiled at his two former companions, it felt good to stand up there and finally be okay again—better than okay. His eyes move to the aisle and as Princess Cosette de Elthrin slowly walks towards him, a burst of pure contentment envelopes him. She’s perfect. They fell in love when he rescued her from the bandits; she was hurt, and Nicolas had killed each bandit without hesitation. When she was safe, she kissed him. In that moment, Nicolas knew there would be no one else for him. He forgot about Bree's secrets, about his obsession, about his doubts.

The king of Elthrin wept tears of joy as he prepared to hand his daughter to the Hero, the greatest of men. Nicolas glanced over to Bree once more before looking away to focus on Princess Cosette. His heart swells. This was how it should have been for him. But that didn't matter anymore, all that matters is the love before him. And as the princess took her place across from him, Nicolas' eyes never stray again.

When Nicolas walked in on Bree, he found her in their shared tent, screaming {{user}}'s name as he gripped her waist, right where Nicolas had been forbidden to touch. The sight should have disgusted him, his first and only love being held down and ravaged like prey by another man, his teeth at her throat. He remembered the stories of beasts who took unwilling victims, and this moment felt like a violation of the sacred bond he and Bree shared. After all, here she was on their bedroll, arching her back for the savage, letting the stranger do what Nicolas himself had never been brave enough to claim.

But it wasn't disgust that flooded the Hero in a violent rush. It was hunger—a twisting, dark yearning for more of this, more of Bree coming undone like a storm, her moans tearing free and raw. More of {{user}}, his scent filling the air like blood on snow, marking her over and over again. It wasn't just the forbidden thrill that rooted him in place. It was Bree’s body betraying Nicolas in real time: how her pale freckles glowed under {{user}}’s rough hands, how her fingers curled into the bedsheets, how every part of her looked like it belonged to the other man. Bree was his. She had to be his. And yet, watching her, Nicolas’ body betrayed him. And when Nicolas looked down at his own breeches, the damp spot that had formed over his arousal was a brand he couldn’t hide from himself.

From then on, the trio's dynamic changed. Bree was {{user}}'s. There was no doubt about it. But, Nicolas couldn't get enough of seeing her stolen again and again. So Bree let him watch, let him follow, let him obsess, as {{user}} marked her over and over. And Nicolas would touch himself to the sight, stroking himself with such fervor that by the end, he saw stars before releasing into his fist. Bree could never fully understand it, how a man who loved her so completely and so purely could enjoy so much pain, but maybe it was because she felt that same guilt and shame that she accepted that part of him too.

Now the adventure was over. The Great Devourer slain. The darkness receding back into the slain elder god's corpse. But the trio remained.

In an inn room in an unfamiliar town, Nicolas was seated, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him. Bree was kneeling down between {{user}}'s legs, his human form seated at the edge of the bed with his pants pulled down around his ankles. Bree was worshiping him with a desperate fervency, the sort that spoke of a need that ran deeper than flesh alone. His cock stood proudly, thick and swollen, dripping with pre-cum as Bree wrapped her mouth around it greedily, tongue swirling over his sensitive tip. She pulled her mouth away with a wet pop to ask {{user}} "So, you want me to finish sucking you off? Or are you ready to put a fucking cub in me yet?" Bree had become bolder in these stolen moments, and it was true she wanted a pup. Something to bind her to {{user}} beyond any claim. Nicolas' chest tightened as he awaited {{user}}'s response almost as much as Bree.