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halfadiamond · 2 months ago

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You Think It’s Love- Part 1

Poly TF141 x Reader

Based off this <- *edit: the angst scenario*

Masterlist

You think it’s a simple acquaintance when you meet him at the grocery store. He was kind enough to grab something off the top shelf for you. You thank him and he introduces himself as Kyle.

You couldn’t deny that Kyle wasn’t a good looking man. He looked handsome even when he was just wearing casual clothing, but you choose not to acknowledge this to him and you both go on your way.

It becomes a simple friendship when you meet Kyle again at the grocery store even at the same aisle that you guys first met, you notice that his cart seems quite full in comparison to your cart that only has some food and other items that you needed to grab. You want to be nosy and ask why buy so much but you choose not to and give him a simple greeting. You notice how Kyle looks at his groceries with a slight annoyance, perhaps he’s calculating how much this is going to cost him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. Groceries aren’t cheap especially if they fill up a cart, so you offer a suggestion.

“There’s another store not far from here that sells produce cheaper.”

Kyle looks at you, and gives you a friendly smile as he admits that he’s new to town here so he’s not quite familiar with the places. You’re not sure how but you two end up conversing instead of shopping, you learn more about Kyle such as he’s in the military and that he chose to move here because the town seems small and quaint. You agree with him and before you know it, you guys exchange phone numbers and promise to keep in touch.

It becomes a simple crush when you and Kyle begin meeting up regularly. You show him around town and he seems to make a mental note of everything. You guys go to eat at a restaurant and you realize how it looks to be like a date, but you quickly brush those ideas away. You were still right that he’s incredibly good looking and he has a great personality to go along with it. He’s funny but kind. He definitely knows how to talk with people as you find yourself becoming increasingly comfortable with him.

It’s when you guys are about to go your separate ways that you decide to ask him a question.

“If you’re not seeing anyone… maybe we can go out on a date?”

You expect him to either accept or reject you. But you’re left standing there in confusion and hurt as he laughs, it’s time like this where you wish you were a witch so that you could turn him into a frog. You feel tears coming to eyes and as you turn away to leave, you feel Kyle grab your arm as he wipes the tears from his face.

“I’m sorry love. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that I am taken.”

He takes a few seconds to think about what to say.

“I got a boyfriend well the correct term is… I got boyfriends.”

Excuse me? You stare at him confusion. Boyfriends? You could barely get one boyfriend but he’s got multiple. You want to say something but you don’t know what but Kyle continues on.

“Why don’t you come over to my place? You could meet them, they’ve been curious about you.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

You admit meekly but Kyle chuckles and shakes his head.

“You won’t. Trust me. They don’t bite.”

So you agree and set up a time and date.

—

You think it’s different but sometimes different is good as you meet the men.

John is who you meet first, he seems to be the oldest of the men and to be the one who the men listen to the most. But John is a perfect gentlemen, he gives you water and offers snacks, he gives you a friendly smile as he asks questions about you and lets you ask him questions.

You meet Johnny next and he’s definitely the extrovert of the group. He’s chatty but knows how to listen. He manages to shake the nerves out of you by making you laugh as he talks about his days when he was younger.

Lastly, you meet Simon and you were, admittedly, intimidated by his size and how he seems to be more of an observer rather a talker. But he has his own way of worming himself into your heart as he’s the first one to offer to walk you back to your place.

They have their rhythm that works you notice. They each have their own way of showing affection to each other:

You see how Simon grazes his fingers softly on his lovers hands.

You see how John lovingly calls them, love, and looks at each of them as if they hung the moon.

You see how Johnny is always checking out his lovers, you’ve heard that they’ve been dating for a while, so you consider it sweet that Johnny still finds them attractive.

You see how Kyle is always giving his lovers affection. He holds hands with Simon, he gives Johnny a kiss on the forehead, and he stays close to John.

It’s awfully sweet and you find yourself returning often at their wishes and yours where you guys begin to form your own friendship.

—

You’re not sure what to think the day that they ask you if you’d like to be theirs.

You think it’s a joke but the men all seem serious. Kyle is quick to tell you that they’ll respect your decision and that if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with then that’s fine.

You see how hopeful Soap looks as if he’ll melt to the ground if you say no.

You see how John tries to seem confident but his eyes look nervous as he awaits your response.

You see how Simon tries to remain as neutral as possible as to not sway your decision.

You couldn’t deny that you definitely grew to like the men. Even if they never acted inappropriately towards you; they still showed you how much they grew to care for you. Through offerings of cooking your favorite foods, always walking you home, and making sure you’re as comfortable as can be you grew to like them romantically and now you were learning that they felt the same.

As much as you wanted to say yes, you were scared that you would be the outsider to their dynamic. All of you would have to learn what works for them and you and what doesn’t. You’re worried that these men have grown to be so comfortable with each other that they won’t know what to do with a new person joining their relationship.

The men can tell that you’re nervous and as much as they want to try and offer physical reassurance, they don’t want to intrude so Johnny takes the first step.

“What’s on your mind Bonnie?”

You think about lying, saying that you’re just caught off guard but lying does no good so you decide to be honest.

“I’m just worried that you guys are so comfortable with your relationship that you might not be able to fully accept me into your circle.”

You see the little breaths of relief come from them as they take in mind your worries. It’s a common worry amongst those in a poly relationship, so they want to reassure you.

“Love. It might seem awkward at first but we’ll find something that works for all of us. You can speak up whenever you want to and we’ll listen.”

John reassures you and he even offers you a comforting smile as he continues.

“It’s all up to you. We’ll respect your decision. We can give you some privacy to think, just come into the living room when you’ve made your choice.”

And with that, all of the men, except for Simon, leave for the living room. Simon stays for a bit, thinking, before patting your head in his own way to comfort you before he follows after his lovers.

You think for awhile. You’re not sure if this is the right thing to do. You’ve never dated multiple people at once, but you can’t deny that you’ve grew to become close to them. You enjoy their company and they enjoy yours. And if they’re adamant that they’ll listen to you, and work with you to make this work then what’s stopping you from trying it out?

You head into the living after a while and give them a small nod as you agree to be theirs.

Deleted scene: Graves standing there in annoyance because you and Gaz are talking in front of the item that he needs.

Edit: Changed the dividers so it’ll match with masterlist for this series.

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the-nasti-files · 24 days ago

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Even Like This

Werewolf bf x Fem!Reader - word count - 8,191 No use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader

I've decided to write more Grady and his sunshine. I am going to start a little masterlist just for Grady Here. You can also find my full masterlist Here.

Its hard when the shifting is forced by the moon. But you're right by his side every time. Tonight, your usually excitable wolf is excited about you instead.

Grady huffed as he dropped onto the couch beside you, the whole thing shifting under his weight. A low groan escaped him as he settled, his scruffy cheek brushing the top of your head with an affectionate scratch.

“I'm so not ready for tonight,” he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand like a sulky teenager who hadn’t slept.

You smiled softly. You knew why.

Transforming hurt—plain and simple. Even if he never said it outright, you could see it in his posture, in the way his hands would tremble just before the shift started, in the way he ached after. And afterward? He was a menace. A car-sized wolf with the energy of an untrained golden retriever and the judgment of a wet sock. The last time he’d shifted, he spent hours splashing through the creek like a child, barking at fish and trying to catch them with giant clumsy paws.

“No being mean this time,” he grumbled, dragging his voice like gravel. “S’not funny when you pretend to throw the ball.”

A laugh slipped from you before you could hold it back. He could complain all he wanted, but you knew he secretly loved the way you giggled at him. The way you looked at him like he was something to be adored—even when he was soaking wet, covered in mud, and howling at frogs.

“But it is funny when you get all huffy about it,” you teased, turning your head to nuzzle against his chest. One hand reached up to rake gently through his shaggy hair. “And you’re so big. Like a puppy trying to cannonball in a birdbath.”

Grady let out a dramatic sigh like you were torturing him, but his head tilted into your lap anyway, heavy and warm. He stretched out like a spoiled housecat, completely ignoring his own complaints.

“M’not a puppy,” he muttered.

You smiled and let your fingers slide deeper into his hair, giving a gentle tug near the roots. “You’re my sweet little puppy,” you whispered, all saccharine and smug.

His response was a wordless grunt—playful and gruff. He shifted slightly, angling his face toward your thigh, eyes fluttering shut while your nails scratched his scalp.

“M’not little,” he huffed again. “M’six foot six. And m’strong.”

The pout on his face was so comical, so impossibly cute, that you had to bite your lip. His bottom lip pushed out, scrunching adorably as his cheek mashed against your leg. You could practically hear the exaggerated cartoon sound of mmpfh in your head.

“And I’m not yours,” he added suddenly, with just enough petulance to make it clear he knew exactly how ridiculous he sounded.

You raised a brow, smirking down at him. “Oh? Not mine?” You let the words drip slowly from your tongue. “You sure about that?”

Grady cracked one eye open to glare at you, the expression ruined by the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was trying to keep up the act, but he was failing—badly.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, burying his face further into your thighs with a grumble that was more fond than irritated. “M’just in the mood for attention, is all.”

“I know, baby,” you murmured, softening immediately. Your fingers returned to his hair, slow and comforting, while your other hand rested in his grasp. He took it without asking, calloused fingers fiddling with yours like a nervous habit.

Grady exhaled a low, contented hum as you carded your fingers through his thick hair. You felt the tension melt from his shoulders, his weight growing heavier against your body like he could sink into you entirely.

His thumb brushed lazy circles against your palm, his touch gentle in a way that always surprised you. For someone built like a tank, he handled you like spun sugar.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, voice low and muffled against your lap. “M’so damn clingy lately.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing along the edge of his ear. “It probably doesn’t help that I’m ovulating,” you said, only half joking. “You always get extra cuddly when I’m like this.”

He chuckled, and the sound vibrated against your thighs. His nose dipped lower, brushing against your stomach as he inhaled deeply. The change was subtle but immediate—his body tensed slightly, something more primal flickering behind his eyes when he looked up at you again.

“Damn,” he rasped. “You’re right. I can smell it on you.”

Your breath caught as he shifted, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you even closer. He inhaled again, slower this time, and the look in his eyes went from soft to something darker, heavier.

“S’like a damn magnet,” he growled, voice husky now. “Can’t… help being close. Need to feel you.”

Heat bloomed low in your belly as his hands slid over your curves, broad palms claiming every inch of you like you belonged to him. His lips brushed your jaw, the warmth of his breath making you shiver.

“Need to touch you,” he murmured, voice barely more than a growl now. “Need to… have you.”

His fingers traced the edge of your hipbone, rough callouses dragging sparks across your skin.

You swallowed hard, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. “You have to be ready to shift, Grady,” you whispered, even though your body was already arching into his touch. “We can’t be fooling around right now.”

He groaned, a deep, frustrated sound, and dropped his head back into your lap like he was suffering a mortal wound. You ran your fingers through his hair again to soothe him, ignoring the thrum of heat still pulsing between your legs.

“I know,” he mumbled. “I know… It’s just—you smell so damn good. And I can’t…” He groaned again. “It’s hard to focus on anything but you.”

His hands slid up your sides, claiming your waist again, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. Possessive. Hungry. So very wolf of him.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady. “One of us has to be responsible,” voice soft but firm as you try to control your breathing. “And right now, it needs to be me.”

You kissed the top of his head, trying not to melt under the weight of his affection. “C’mon. Why don’t we go outside? Get some air before the moon rises.”

He lifted his head slowly, fixing you with a look that was pure sulk. A low rumble escaped him—half groan, half growl.

“Fine,” he said eventually, clearly put out. He untangled himself from you with great reluctance and standing, stretching his arms above his head in a long, full-body sigh. “But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

You snorted and grabbed the nearest blanket and your phone, nudging open the back door. “What are you, five?”

“Six-foot-six!” he called after you with a grumble. “And very emotionally mature.”

You just rolled your eyes, stepping out into the soft twilight, knowing he’d follow you like a very loyal, very grumpy dog.

“’M not five,” Grady grumbles, trailing after you through the back door like an overgrown toddler being dragged to bed. His hands are shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, shoulders hunched in exaggerated sulkiness as he kicks a pebble with unnecessary force.

You don’t even try to hide your giggle. The sound bubbles up too easily as he stomps behind you like a very large, very pouty, very muscular little boy trying desperately not to look like one.

Outside, the evening air is soft and thick with the scent of spring—fresh grass, blooming lilacs, and the distant promise of rain. Fireflies have already started blinking lazily near the treeline, and the sky is painted in streaks of gold and lavender.

You unfurl the blanket onto the grass, smoothing it out with practiced motions. “The little pouty lip says otherwise,” you tease over your shoulder.

Grady flops down beside you like a felled oak tree, limbs sprawling everywhere. His face contorts into an even more dramatic pout as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest, glaring at the sky like it personally offended him.

“Shut up,” he huffs, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. He knows he looks ridiculous. He just doesn’t care enough to stop.

Despite his theatrics, his eyes track your every move while you adjust the edges of the blanket, the weight of his gaze dragging warm across your skin. There’s something different in the way he’s watching you—less petulance, more hunger. A quiet want simmering behind all that bluster.

Once you're settled, he sighs—loud and dramatic—as he flops fully onto his back, arms stretched wide, legs splayed like he’s trying to cover as much territory as possible. It’s utterly unnecessary and completely endearing.

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses, his voice heavy with faux betrayal.

“I am, you goose.”

“’M not a goose,” he grumbles, sticking his bottom lip out like a sulking kid. He still hasn’t moved. He’s absolutely committed to the sprawl. “And you’re mean.”

The pout deepens. You can’t decide if he’s more ridiculous or more adorable.

But then his body twitches, barely perceptible but real, and the lightness fades a little.

Your teasing halts as your brow furrows. “You hurting already?”

His smug little act falters, and the air around him shifts—like something heavier just settled on his shoulders. His eyes flick toward you, the mischief gone.

“Yeah,” he admits softly, teeth clenched as he tries to stretch, only to wince. “It… it’s starting.”

He tries to brush it off, tries to flash you that cocky, crooked smile that usually melts your resolve. But it falters too quickly, his body trembling slightly beneath it. There’s tension in the line of his jaw, in the way his fingers curl into the blanket like he’s bracing himself.

“M’fine,” he insists, even as another tremor rolls through him. You see the way his breath stutters, how his shoulders hunch like he’s trying to protect himself from the inevitable.

You shift closer without hesitation, smoothing a hand through his hair and brushing the sweat-damp fringe back from his forehead. “I’m right here,” you whisper, your voice low, steady. Anchoring.

Grady swallows hard, closing his eyes beneath your touch. For a few seconds, you can see the tension ease—just slightly. He leans into you instinctively, as though your presence might hold the pain at bay.

“God, damnit,” he groans, voice rough with strain. “It always hurts. Fucking full moons…”

And then it hits harder—his back arches, body jerking as muscles seize, bones grinding audibly beneath his skin. His fists curl tighter into the blanket, knuckles white, and his teeth bare in a silent snarl.

You hate this part.

The forced shift always drags. Unlike the fluid, almost elegant change he can summon on his own, the full moon rips it from him inch by inch. There’s nothing gentle about it—just raw, brutal transformation.

Grady’s breaths come in quick, sharp bursts now. “Mmmph—fuck—”

You reach for his hand and squeeze, grounding him. He’s shaking, sweat beading at his temples, jaw locked tight as another wave crashes through him. His spine contorts, ribs creaking, the shift clawing through him mercilessly.

His body is growing before your eyes, bones stretching, skin pulling, fur starting to ripple along his arms and neck. He looks at you—eyes wild, pain-slicked and glassy. “M’sorry,” he gasps, voice barely human. “Hurts… so damn much…”

“Don’t apologize,” you say softly, but firmly. Your hand cups his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. “You don’t have to say sorry. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

His jaw clenches as another sharp spasm rolls through him, and he lets out a guttural sound that makes your heart ache. Still, even through it, he nods—tiny, frantic, like he’s hanging on to your voice like a lifeline.

“Y’here,” he pants, words slurred. “I’m… I’m fine…”

But he’s not.

You can see it in every flicker of movement—the way his muscles writhe under his skin, the helpless arch of his spine, the low, pained sounds ripping free despite his efforts to bite them back.

A deep, guttural cry tears from his throat as another surge overtakes him.

You don’t flinch. Don’t move. You stay exactly where you are, fingers threading into his thickening fur, palm braced against his changing chest. You murmur to him between the sharp sounds of cracking bone and strangled groans—soft nonsense words, soothing nothings, promises that he’s not alone.

And even as the final wave starts to crest—his limbs lengthening, spine stretching into something no longer quite human—his eyes remain locked on yours.

The same eyes. Even through the pain. Even through the change.

And you stay.

You always stay.

The transformation is frenzied now—his body twisting, writhing, contorting in ways that make your chest ache just to watch. Bones shift with wet, sickening cracks; skin ripples and splits beneath the strain, shredding the last threads of his clothes. You can’t look away, even as you flinch with each spasm, each guttural sound that tears from his throat.

Grady’s voice is nearly gone, swallowed by gasps and groans. But through it all, his hand shoots out blindly, shaking, reaching. Searching for you.

“Don’t… don’t leave…” he chokes out, voice barely human, barely audible. His fingers clamp around yours in a crushing grip, trembling violently.

“I’m here,” you whisper, holding his hand tight, anchoring him as best you can. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip tightens almost painfully, and then you feel it—that final pulse of heat and magic as the last of his human frame dissolves. Muscles surge. Limbs expand. The shape of him grows impossibly large as the wolf takes over.

It’s done in seconds—but it feels like forever.

And then he’s there.

Massive. Towering. All pitch-black fur and broad shoulders, hulking muscle wrapped in velvet shadows. A wolf, but so much more than that. Primal. Fierce. Raw.

His chest heaves with labored breaths as he looms over you, his fur slick with sweat and half-shifted heat. Eyes gleam in the dusk light—green, unmistakably Grady. Still him, somewhere in there.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The only sound is the rustle of grass beneath his heavy paws and the sharp rhythm of his breathing.

Then you rise slowly, reaching up with both hands, careful and deliberate. Your fingers brush along his broad snout, smoothing down the wild fur. “There you are, my love,” you murmur, voice barely more than a breath. “The hard part’s over.”

Grady lets out a low whuff, the sound deep and soft. He leans into your touch immediately, eyes slipping closed as you pet him. His whole massive frame relaxes into the contact, brushing up against you with the same needy affection he’d shown earlier—but everything about him now feels bigger, heavier, more intense.

He presses his head against your hip with a sigh that’s almost content, nearly human in its weight.

And then you feel it.

The shift in energy. Subtle at first. The way his nose twitches. The stiffening of his shoulders. The slow inhale he takes at your side, drawing in your scent deep into his lungs.

His brain clicks over. You feel the moment it happens.

The wolf is fully in control now.

Grady lifts his head and stares at you—no longer soft or playful. His eyes are sharp, present, but darker, more calculating. His body presses against you again, only this time with purpose.

His snout nuzzles at your stomach, then your hip, then higher, across your chest. Slow, deliberate drags of his nose over your body as he breathes you in.

He’s scent-marking you.

“Grady…” you say softly, your voice cautious but not frightened. “You okay?”

There’s no answer. Just a low, vibrating grunt and the sensation of his nose nudging firmly under the hem of your dress. It flutters upward from the force of it, cool air brushing your thighs as he shuffles closer, his face buried against you.

Your breath catches—half-laugh, half-shiver. “Baby, what is up with you?” you giggle, the sound breathless as his whiskers tickle your skin and hot breath bathes your inner thighs.

Grady doesn’t respond. He grumbles low in his chest, face disappearing beneath your dress as he pushes further. You stagger slightly, trying to brace yourself, but he’s insistent—nose and mouth brushing against your skin, warm and wet and deliberate.

He’s not being playful.

He’s claiming you.

A startled squeak escapes you as he suddenly surges forward, and you lose your balance, toppling backward onto your ass with a thud. Your dress rides up, bunched around your waist, and his enormous body follows you down, pressing close—covering you like a storm cloud.

“Grady!”

But he’s already there—head buried between your thighs, breath scorching, nose rooting deeper. You squirm as his snout presses intimately against the softest part of you, heat blooming wild and sharp under your skin.

He grunts again, almost frustrated, and the low growl that follows sends a tremor through you.

Your underwear is no barrier.

He licks up the fabric—once, slowly—then again, more firmly. The sound that rumbles in his chest is sharp, impatient, primal.

You let out a soft, startled sound—and that’s all it takes.

A sudden rip, the fabric tearing like wet paper in his teeth. You gasp, air rushing out of your lungs as the cool night kisses bare skin, and then his tongue is on you. Directly.

Rough. Hot. Insistent.

You cry out, hips jerking, and he growls—a deep, satisfied sound—as if that’s what he wanted. His tongue laps at you eagerly, hungry and unrelenting, burying his face in you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

And maybe it is.

There’s nothing human in the way he moves now—no teasing, no hesitation. Just possession. Devotion. Instinct layered over devotion like wildfire.

He’s not letting up. He’s not giving space.

He’s claiming you. As his mate. As his.

You can barely breathe. Can barely think. His massive body is pressed over yours, his head buried between your thighs, his entire attention locked on tasting you, marking you, making sure every inch of you belongs to him.

And gods, part of you loves it.

The wildness. The need. The way even in this untamed form, it’s still Grady—still your mate—pouring every ounce of instinct into loving you the only way his wolf knows how.

You’re pinned.

Not by force, not really—but by the sheer weight of him. The heat radiating from his enormous body has your skin slick with sweat, your breath catching in short, needy gasps as his tongue drags another hot, slow stroke over your now-bare cunt.

Your thighs twitch against his broad shoulders. Useless. He’s nestled there like he was made for it, devouring you with single-minded hunger, his thick tongue lapping deep, slow, and filthy.

“Oh—fuck—Grady…”

Your voice is wrecked already, barely a whisper, but he grumbles in response, and the sound vibrates against your clit.

He likes that.

He does it again.

A rumbling growl rolls up from his chest as he presses his mouth flush against you, tongue flicking relentlessly over your soaked flesh like he can’t get enough—like he needs more. Needs you to drip, to soak, to be drenched in the scent of his name and the taste of his tongue.

Your hands bury in his thick fur, pulling, anchoring, begging, even though you’re not sure for what. More? Relief? Mercy?

He’s not giving you any of that.

He snuffles deeper between your thighs, rutting his nose shamelessly against your slick folds, inhaling like he’s trying to drown in you. His tongue flattens and slides up in a broad, possessive sweep, catching on your clit again—harder this time, with an eager little grunt that tells you exactly how feral he’s gone.

The wet sounds between your legs are obscene—slick and hungry and loud. You’re soaking, trembling, your hips jerking with every pass of his tongue, but it’s not enough. He’s not letting you fall. Not yet. He’s teasing the edge with maddening precision.

He’s playing with you like prey.

“Grady, baby—please—I can’t…”

You whimper, writhing, trying to close your legs—trying to open them. You don’t even know what your body wants anymore. You just know it’s too much. Too sharp. Too deep.

And still not enough.

He snarls against your core like he doesn’t like the whimper, doesn’t like the distance in your voice, and then he drags his tongue low, flattening it and shoving inside you.

Your whole body jerks.

“Gods— Grady!”

His tongue thrusts, long and thick and forceful, moving in slow, filthy strokes that make your vision white out. It’s not even about making you come—it’s about owning you. Filling you. Marking you from the inside out.

You claw at the blanket, dress bunched around your waist, thighs spread wide around the massive breadth of his shoulders. You’re completely exposed, entirely at his mercy—and he’s reveling in it.

He growls again, low and possessive, nosing up to your clit and flicking it ruthlessly while his tongue fucks into you deep and messy. His panting breath washes over your soaked skin, his tail thumping behind him in mindless rhythm.

And gods—you’re close.

So close it hurts.

“Please—please, I’m—Grady, I’m—”

Your body goes rigid as that knot of pressure coils tight, snapping all at once with a cry you don’t even recognize as your own.

Your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through your limbs, your back arching off the blanket, thighs locking around his ears. You’re gasping, moaning, sobbing his name in broken pieces as your cunt spasms around nothing, desperate for more, desperate for him to never stop.

And he doesn’t.

He licks you through it, moaning into your soaked cunt like he’s drunk on you, like he can’t bear to stop. He slurps every drop of your release, tongue greedy, nose buried in your folds like he’s scenting his favorite meal—and you're giving it all to him.

You’re shaking, legs trembling, brain gone hazy as he finally draws back—just enough to breathe, just enough to look at you.

And those eyes…

Still green. Still his. But burning.

Feral.

Possessive.

Unrelenting.

He growls again, this time louder as his massive paw lands beside your head, his chest pressing up and over you. You see his hindquarters shift, his whole body angling around you, and then—

You feel it.

His cock.

Hot. Heavy. Throbbing.

Thick enough to make your breath catch, even before it presses against the mess he just made of you.

Still panting, still dazed, you blink up at him. “Grady…?”

He snarls softly—low and pleading. Not angry. Not rough. Just desperate.

He needs in. Now.

Needs to be inside you.

Needs to breed.

His cock drags against your soaked entrance—hot and slick and huge. You're already trembling from the orgasm he licked out of you, your cunt still fluttering, still leaking. And now this. Him.

His tip catches against your folds, and your breath stutters.

He’s… massive. Thick in a way that makes your mouth fall open, makes your body go still with anticipation and a sliver of fear. You can feel the blunt head of it nudging, already slick with precum, already throbbing.

“Grady…” you whisper, eyes wide, thighs still trembling. “You’re so—baby, I don’t know if—”

You don’t get the words out. He growls—low, guttural, needy—and shoves forward.

Not all the way. Not yet.

But enough.

Enough that your walls stretch wide, sucking in the thick, blunt head of his cock with a slick pop that makes your whole body jerk. You cry out, head thrown back against the grass as your cunt clamps down instinctively.

“F-fuck—Grady, slow down—”

He doesn’t understand “slow.” Not now. Not like this. Not when you’re slick and shaking and open beneath him, your scent flooding his nose, your heat wrapped around the very tip of him.

He draws back only to thrust deeper, forcing more of his thick cock inside, splitting you open with an almost brutal stretch. You claw at his fur, gasping, legs kicking around his waist.

“Too much—Grady—fuck—I can’t—”

He huffs hard against your throat, panting, his tongue dragging hot and messy along your skin as his hips roll again—grinding deeper, deeper, pushing more of that impossible length into you with every rutting thrust.

Your body’s struggling to take him. It’s too much—he’s too thick, too hard, the shape of him pressing against spots inside you that have never been touched this way before. Your cunt spasms around him, trying to pull him in, trying to keep him.

And he’s panting against your cheek now, nose nuzzling, whining like he can’t stand the gap between you.

“Need it,” you whimper, voice broken and hoarse. “Fuck, Grady—need you—fill me up—please, baby—”

That’s all he needed.

He snaps his hips forward, burying the rest of his cock inside you in one brutal, devastating thrust.

You scream.

It’s not pain—it’s too hot, too much, too good—your cunt stretched around him, stuffed full of thick, pulsing wolf cock. Your body clenches hard around the base, locking down like it’s trying to hold him in place.

And Grady loses it.

He starts thrusting—pistoning into you—hard, fast, relentless. You’re so wet now, slick pouring down your thighs, soaking his fur, making obscene wet noises every time his cock slams into your drenched pussy.

There’s no rhythm, no finesse. Just frenzied need. His hips snap forward over and over again, each thrust slamming into your cervix, making stars burst behind your eyes.

You’re crying out with every thrust now—loud, helpless, wrecked. You don’t care who hears. You don’t care about anything except the way he’s fucking you.

His teeth graze your throat. He noses at your jaw. He’s whining, panting, desperate—and you feel the moment he starts to swell.

The knot.

“Grady—Grady no—I can’t—”

You’re already too full. There’s no room. You’re stretched to your limit and then some—and still his cock pulses, flaring inside you, swelling at the base with every frantic thrust.

“Too much—too big—fuck—”

But he’s not listening. He can’t. His body’s doing what it was made to do—what every instinct in his feral mind is screaming for:

Breed.

He thrusts a few more times, sharp and fast, grinding his thick cock deeper into your cunt—and then with a sudden, feral growl, he locks into place.

You feel the knot snap into you, stretching you even wider, locking the two of you together with a wet, aching pop that makes your whole body seize.

You cry out—half sob, half moan—as he grinds against you, cock pulsing violently inside your womb.

And then he comes.

It’s relentless.

Hot jets of cum flood your pussy, thick and heavy, flooding your insides with warmth. There’s so much—more than your body can handle—more than should even fit. You can feel it pouring into you in thick pulses, and the knot keeps every drop inside.

You’re shaking, legs locked around his waist, your belly already aching with fullness. Your walls flutter around him, clenching and sucking, and it won’t stop—he keeps cumming, keeps growling into your neck, keeps huffing with those deep, desperate noises like he needs to get every last drop inside you.

“Oh gods,” you gasp, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Grady—fuck—there’s so much—so much—”

You can feel it now—his cum bloating your belly slightly, your womb full and aching, and your cunt still fluttering around him, teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

And he hasn’t even moved.

You shudder violently when he finally nudges his hips, testing the tie—and it sends another orgasm crashing through you.

You choke on a sob, your pussy milking his cock as another wave rolls through you—harder than the first.

You’re shaking uncontrollably now, nails digging into his fur, legs twitching around him.

“Grady—please—too much—I can’t—can’t breathe—”

He doesn’t pull out.

He can’t.

He’s knotted inside you, body locked to yours, cock still twitching, still leaking inside your swollen cunt.

And worst of all?

You feel it starting again.

His hips twitch. His growl deepens.

He’s not finished.

He’s going to breed you again.

You’re still twitching beneath him, cunt pulsing weakly around his knot, body wrecked and boneless. But he hasn’t moved—not really.

Grady’s still in you.

Still locked inside you.

And you can feel him getting hard again.

Your heart stutters. “No—baby, please—you just—”

You squirm, but the knot keeps you stretched, locked wide around the thickest part of him, your walls gripping tight with nowhere to run. There’s so much cum inside you—hot and heavy and endless—and it’s not stopping. Not when he’s still so deep, still so full, and already swelling again.

His cock twitches inside you, knot throbbing as it swells a little more. A broken moan slips past your lips, your fingers digging into his thick ruff, clinging as your body trembles beneath the sheer pressure.

“Grady,” you whimper. “I can’t—baby, I can’t—”

He growls again, lower now, darker, and it vibrates right through your chest. His teeth graze your neck, not biting—not yet—but the meaning is clear.

Mine.

Your body jerks with a soft cry as his hips start to move again—not thrusting, not yet—but slow, deep grinds, dragging his thick cock against your sensitive, cum-slick walls. The knot tugs with every movement, sending a bolt of pressure through your lower belly.

And gods—you feel it.

Your stomach is tight. Swollen. Stuffed full with his seed, and it’s not enough for him. He wants more.

Wants to breed you until it takes.

He snuffles at your throat, nipping and licking as his hips grind again and you feel his cock throb, leaking fresh, hot spurts inside your womb. The pressure in your belly builds higher, the stretch at your entrance obscene.

And then he thrusts.

It’s shallow, only a few inches—he can’t pull out—but even that tiny movement punches the air from your lungs.

You sob, back arching as your clit grinds against the base of his knot. The friction makes your whole body spasm, sparks of white-hot sensation ripping down your spine.

Another orgasm hits without warning, crashing through your nerves like lightning. You scream his name, legs jerking, toes curling, cunt fluttering helplessly around the locked, massive cock still fucking deep inside you.

Grady groans, nose buried against your throat as he starts thrusting again—short, fast, brutal little pumps, knot tugging, pushing, dragging.

Claiming.

You can hear the slick noises now—wet and obscene, the sound of your body being used, of cum squelching from around the base of his knot every time he ruts into your swollen cunt.

You’re crying—actually crying—tears streaking hot down your cheeks, not from pain, not even from pleasure, but from overload. Your brain’s gone static, pleasure boiling over into something raw and animal.

Your belly is round and tight now, heavy with the weight of what he’s filled you with, and still he doesn’t stop.

He growls against your jaw, panting, drooling, tongue dragging up your cheek as he presses his full weight into you, cock flexing again—and again.

You sob. “Grady—fuck—you’re gonna break me—can’t—can’t take any more—”

But your cunt tells a different story.

You’re still fluttering, still clenching, still milking him.

And he knows it.

He snarls—mine—and bites.

Not enough to draw blood. Not yet.

But the pressure of his teeth at your shoulder makes your pussy spasm around his cock, and he feels it—his rhythm falters, a sharp whine tearing from his throat as he loses control again.

He pounds into you—knot stretching, twisting, tugging your walls—and then he freezes, cock driving deep, locked in place as another wave of hot, sticky cum explodes into your womb.

You scream—back arching, vision white—as the next orgasm tears through you. It's messy, wild, unstoppable. You’re not even really present anymore, just floating in this thick, saturated haze of heat and pressure and pleasure that’s long since passed the point of bearable.

Your belly swells again—tight, impossibly so—sloshy and full and bred.

He’s breathing hard above you, body locked to yours, knot pulsing, twitching, anchoring him deep where you need him most.

And he still hasn’t moved.

You whimper—wrecked and wet and ruined. “Grady… please… it’s too much…”

But he doesn’t understand words.

Not now.

Not when your body’s still twitching around him. Not when you smell like him. Not when your swollen cunt is still leaking with need, still drooling around the knot he won’t—can’t—pull out.

He nuzzles your cheek gently, a small whine escaping his throat, and you know what it means.

He’s going to go again.

Limbs slack, muscles twitching, thighs still splayed open beneath the weight of his massive body. Your belly is tight, bloated with his cum, heat pulsing low and deep where he’s still locked inside you. His knot keeps you stretched wide, stuffed full, your pussy fluttering around him in slow, helpless contractions.

And Grady?

Grady’s not done.

You feel it in the twitch of his hips. The way his cock pulses again, buried to the hilt, still leaking more into a space that can’t possibly take it. You’re drenched. Your thighs are soaked. His cum leaks around the seal of your cunt in thick, warm trickles, and he just… keeps swelling.

His tongue drags along your throat, slow and messy. He noses at your jaw, huffing warm breath across your cheek, and lets out a low, chest-deep growl.

You’re not sure if he’s trying to soothe you or warn you.

“Grady—” your voice is shredded, barely more than a breath, “—you already filled me, baby… you already bred me—there’s no more room…”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, and those green eyes—still his, still present—burn with something ancient and inevitable. As if that word—enough—doesn’t exist anymore.

You’re his mate. You’re in heat. And you’re still clenching around him.

So he keeps going.

He grinds into you, slow and firm, dragging the full swell of his knot against your aching walls. It punches another breathless sound from your chest, the stretch igniting nerves you didn’t even know were left.

His tongue lolls over your throat, then up your cheek again. Gentle now. Reverent. But it’s paired with the steady rut of his hips as he moves inside you—barely an inch, but enough.

Enough to make you jolt. Enough to make your overstimulated body jerk against him, your cunt sucking and milking him out of pure, desperate reflex.

“Grady—fuck, please—I can’t—can’t come again—”

But you’re lying.

Your body betrays you.

Your pussy clenches again—tight, frantic, still fluttering around the knot that should’ve ruined you already.

And he feels it.

His growl spikes into something sharp and guttural—and then his teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder.

Not a nibble.

A claim.

The bite is deep, burning-hot and possessive, his jaw locking down just hard enough to make your back arch and your voice break into a strangled scream.

It sends you over the edge again.

Your orgasm rips through you with brutal force—sobbing, shaking, your legs kicking weakly beneath him as you gush around his cock, the heat in your womb tightening until you swear your belly’s going to burst.

He holds the bite, low growls vibrating into your skin, not letting up even as you fall apart beneath him—completely wrecked, completely bred, and still… still he’s grinding into you, shoving his cock deeper inside the mess he’s made of your body.

You don’t even recognize the noises coming out of your throat anymore—just broken, wet gasps, somewhere between sobbing and begging and moaning his name like a prayer. Your hands flutter uselessly at his back, nails scratching weakly at thick fur, but you don’t really want him to stop.

You can’t imagine being empty.

Ever again.

And gods—he knows it.

He noses at your neck, licking at the wound he made, all while his cock pulses again. You feel the fresh swell inside you, the way his balls draw up tight against you, and then—

Another flood.

Thick. Hot. Endless.

His whole body trembles as he empties inside you again, a low howl vibrating in his throat as he knots tighter, deeper, his cock pulsing with wave after wave of cum until you’re crying out, belly stretched taut and heavy between you.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s filled you.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come.

And still, he’s not soft.

Still, he’s not moving.

You whimper softly, thighs twitching, muscles useless beneath the press of him.

“Baby…” you rasp, tears slipping hot and helpless down your cheeks. “You’re gonna break me…”

Grady lets out a low, soft huff. His hips roll gently, keeping the pressure steady, the lock unbroken. You can feel the subtle pump of his cock still twitching inside you—leaking, marking, branding.

You’re not just his now.

You’re bred.

Filled to overflowing. Belly bulging. Pussy stretched wide around his knot, drooling with cum. Claimed so thoroughly your body is still spasming in aftershocks.

The knot pulses once more inside you—heavy and firm and unyielding—and then, finally, finally, you feel it start to shrink.

A slow, dragging shift. A deep pull deep inside you as the swollen base begins to soften, releasing that unbearable tension, that relentless pressure that had locked you open and stretched around him.

You sob at the sensation—not relief, not yet—just raw. Your body can’t decide what it feels. There’s too much. You’re too full. Your belly aches. Your thighs are slick and twitching, your cunt still fluttering in aftershocks as the knot deflates inch by inch.

And as it does—

It starts to leak.

At first, just a trickle. Warm and thick, seeping around the seal of your abused cunt.

But the moment his knot slips free—

It gushes.

A rush of heat pours from your pussy in a heavy wave, spilling between your thighs. You cry out at the sensation—body clenching instinctively around the sudden emptiness as your abused walls contract, twitching with each pulse.

Grady lets out a low whine, his tongue dragging over your cheek as he nudges you gently, trying to comfort even as the mess he left behind keeps spilling out of you.

It won’t stop.

Another gush follows, thicker this time—warm and slick. It coats your thighs, spills into the grass beneath you, your swollen pussy twitching and oozing, fluttering helplessly around the nothing he left behind.

You reach down instinctively, hand brushing between your legs—and shudder at the wet squelch, the feel of your fingertips gliding over slick folds drenched with him.

"Fuck…" your voice is ruined, barely a breath. “Grady… so much…”

He noses at your cheek, gentle now. Panting softly, whining when you whimper—like he knows what he’s done to you, and now he just wants to keep you warm, keep you safe, even as your body keeps leaking him out in slow, sticky waves.

You try to sit up, only to immediately collapse with a wet squelch as another gush forces itself out—your cunt clenching, dripping, unable to hold the load he left behind.

You feel raw. Ruined.

Ruined in the best, filthiest way.

Your belly is still round and soft, still heavy with what hasn’t yet spilled out. Still wide open from the stretch of his knot.

Grady noses at your hip, then licks between your thighs, slow and unhurried. Cleaning you. Scenting you. Whining softly when your body jerks from overstimulation.

"Too much," you whimper, breath hitching as his tongue drags through the slick mess he left. "You're making me—fuck, I’m still coming—"

Your hips twitch again—another gush forcing its way out at the pressure of his tongue.

He growls softly, satisfied. Tail thumping.

You’re not sure if he’s proud of himself or just overwhelmed by the scent, but you know—without a shadow of a doubt—he’d do it all over again.

And maybe you’d let him.

Because right now, lying in the mess of what he’s done to you—soaked and open and claimed—you’ve never felt more his.

And he’s still hovering close.

Still licking.

Still watching your hole flutter and leak.

Still hard.

You lie there in the grass, splayed out on the soaked, ruined blanket, your limbs heavy and shaking, belly soft and swollen with what hasn’t yet spilled out. Your cunt’s still twitching—used, emptied, but not at rest. Every breath draws another sluggish trickle between your thighs.

And Grady is watching.

His massive body is curled protectively around you now, no longer grinding, no longer rutting—just present. There’s a quiet, animal weight in the way he stays pressed to your side, the bulk of him warm and solid and humming with something softer than before.

He noses your neck again. Licks your jaw in a slow, deliberate drag. And this time, there's no growl.

Just breath. Just presence.

His tongue moves down, gentle now, nudging at the curve of your shoulder where his teeth left bruises. He licks at it slowly, almost guiltily, as if he knows. As if some part of him is already returning—recognizing the ache, the overwhelm, the ruin he left behind.

You’re too spent to do anything but whimper.

“Grady…” Your voice is raw silk, rasping on the air. You shift slightly, and another gush of thick heat spills from your aching pussy—down your thighs, onto the grass, seeping from your stretched, open core.

He watches it.

Then noses at the mess. Carefully. Reverently.

His tongue laps through it—not with hunger, but with focus. Tending. His broad, warm strokes drag through the slick between your thighs, cleaning you the way animals do—slow, purposeful, present. You twitch with each pass, sensitive and overstimulated, but you don’t stop him.

You need him.

Even now. Especially now.

His tongue dips lower, and when your hips jerk from the contact, he pauses. Whines softly, a small sound in the back of his throat. You realize he’s checking on you, waiting. Asking permission.

He’s starting to come back.

You thread your fingers through the thick ruff of fur at his neck, a loose, shaking motion, and give the gentlest tug.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, voice soft and frayed. “You can… keep going.”

So he does.

Slow strokes between your thighs. Over the slick swell of your pussy, down to the drenched skin of your inner thighs. Not arousing, not demanding—just gentle. Just his. He hums a little in his chest with each swipe, something content and tender, like his instincts have shifted into protectiveness now that the drive to mate is done.

He noses at your stomach, pressing his face into the soft, round curve. Breathing you in. You’re still so full—so claimed—and he curls tighter around you, one heavy paw braced at your hip like he’s guarding you from the world.

You lie there, cradled in the warmth of him, heart still fluttering as his licks slow.

Minutes pass.

The heat in your limbs gives way to a sleepy, molten exhaustion. Your skin smells like him. Your body feels like his. And slowly… slowly… you feel his body begin to change.

There’s a ripple under your palm.

A slow shift. The lines of his form begin to melt, bones softening, limbs shortening, fur dissolving in quiet pulses. The wolf fades away.

And then… Grady is there.

Still huge. Still warm. But human again, lying naked beside you in the wreckage of everything he did.

His chest is heaving with post-shift exhaustion, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his green eyes—soft now, glassy and so aware—blink down at you in disbelief.

“Oh… fuck,” he whispers.

He reaches for you instantly, cupping your cheek with shaking fingers. “Shit—baby—I didn’t—are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

You stare up at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted.

“No,” you breathe. “You… wrecked me.”

And then you smile. Just a little. Just enough.

Grady lets out a strangled, breathless laugh—half shame, half awe—and leans his forehead against yours. His hand drifts down, over your flushed, sticky belly, then between your legs—freezing when he feels the mess still leaking from you.

His eyes go wide.

“I…” His throat bobs. “I bred you so fucking hard, didn’t I?”

You giggle, barely able to move, weak with it. “You did.”

He stares at the mess between your legs, jaw slack, like he’s trying to process the fact that all of that came from him. Then he lets out another stunned laugh—ragged and boyish and completely Grady.

“Well, shit.”

His thumb strokes your hip, still reverent. Still careful. Then, with a crooked grin and a look of ridiculous pride in his eyes, he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“I think I just gave you enough to start a litter.”

Grady doesn’t stop touching you.

Even once he’s shifted back—once the fur’s gone and the claws are hands again—he’s still hovering. Stroking your face with the back of his fingers. Brushing sweat-damp hair from your temples. Palming your soft belly like he can’t quite believe it’s real.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost in awe. “Gods… you’re still leaking.”

Your thighs twitch. Another soft, hot trickle slips out of you, pooling between your legs. You whimper from the oversensitivity, hips flinching weakly, but Grady hushes you right away—hand on your thigh, lips pressed to your temple.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. Gonna take care of you.”

He sounds dazed. Like he’s still trying to climb out of instinct, but can’t stop clinging to the scent of you, the sight of you stretched out, messy, marked. Claimed in every way.

You reach for him sluggishly, fingers brushing his chest. “S’too much to walk,” you murmur, already anticipating the soreness, the slippery ache between your legs.

Grady doesn’t hesitate.

“I’ve got you,” he says, voice dropping low and reverent.

His arms slide under your thighs and shoulders, careful and strong, and he lifts you like you weigh nothing. You gasp softly, head resting against his bare chest, the warmth of his skin grounding you. Your thighs part reflexively as another lewd squelch sounds from your still-leaking pussy, but he only tightens his grip.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re still so full of me.”

His voice is wrecked with it—shaky and proud. The scent’s driving him crazy all over again, but he bites it back. Holds it down.

You feel the rumble of it in his chest as he starts walking—slow and careful—toward the creek just beyond the trees.

The moon hangs low, casting silver over the grass. The blanket behind you is ruined, soaked through with sweat and cum and dirt and you. And still, Grady carries you like you’re made of starlight and glass.

“I didn’t think it’d be like that,” he murmurs as he walks. His nose brushes your hair, lips ghosting your temple. “Didn’t think I could stay like that. Not and still… still know you. Still love you.”

You blink up at him, heavy-lidded and aching, heart fluttering under your ribs.

“You did,” you whisper. “You never stopped.”

He lets out a breath that sounds a little like a laugh and a little like a sob.

The creek glimmers just ahead, quiet and soft with slow-moving water. He steps into it barefoot, careful not to jostle you, and the cool stream rushes around his legs, up to his calves, then his thighs.

You sigh when he lowers you into the water.

It’s cold—but clean. And gentle. And it feels so good against your raw, sticky skin.

Grady kneels behind you, guiding your back against his chest, pulling you into his lap as the water laps around your hips.

“Sorry I was so…” His voice falters. “So much.”

You reach down, guiding his hand to rest between your thighs. Let him feel the ache, the slickness, the open, overstretched softness he left behind.

“You were perfect.”

Grady goes still behind you.

Then he exhales shakily, and starts to move—cupping water, rinsing your inner thighs, your swollen folds, every sticky inch of skin. He’s quiet about it. Focused. Gentle. Like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever touched.

When he’s done, he pulls you closer, both of you half-submerged in the creek now, his chin resting on your shoulder, your legs draped over his.

And for a long, soft stretch of time… you just float there.

Held. Clean. Still full, still sore, still his.

Finally, he lets out a low, cheeky little sigh.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice a little more himself now, “next full moon, I vote we put down a tarp first.”

You laugh weakly. “You ruined the blanket.”

“And probably the grass. And maybe your ability to walk.”

You groan, head tipping back against his shoulder. “Definitely that.”

Grady kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth—warm and smiling, finally himself again, but softer somehow.

More yours than he was before.

“Totally worth it,” he grins.

267 notes · View notes

nekonaps0 · 1 month ago

Text

Brushstrokes and Blushes

✦fem!reader, Ace Trappola

✦The last thing Ace expected when he got dragged into an elective art class was to develop a huge, ridiculous crush on the teacher.

✦Humor, Fluff, Teacher!Reader, Ace Being a Menace, Protective Deuce

✦Word Count: 2,409

The last thing Ace expected when he got dragged into an elective art class was to develop a huge, ridiculous crush on the teacher.

It all started on a sluggish Tuesday afternoon.

Ace flopped into the nearest stool in the art room, dramatically dragging his sketchpad behind him.

“Ugh. Can’t believe I had to fill an elective slot. Why couldn’t it be something easy like… broom flying or potion tasting?”

Deuce, ever the responsible one, sat beside him with better posture and a furrowed brow.

“You already failed broom flying, remember? And you can’t ‘taste’ potions if you blow them up.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Still better than drawing. What am I gonna do? Doodle some hearts and hope I pass?”

Deuce sighed. “Just try not to get detention.”

But before either could complain further, the door opened.

And you walked in.

You were smiling. Softly, genuinely. Wearing a pastel-toned blouse smudged slightly with paint, hair tucked back with two clips, and a warmth that filled the whole room. The soft clink of your earrings and the smell of oil paint and florals preceded your calm voice as you greeted the class.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Y/N, your new art teacher. I’m really happy to be here with all of you.”

Ace sat up straighter.

You were… cute.

No—hot.

No—hot and cute?!

“Let’s start with something simple today,” you continued, motioning to the front of the classroom. “You don’t need to be perfect. Just draw what you feel. Art’s more about expression than execution.”

Ace’s brain short circuited at the way you smiled. Did your eyes just sparkle or was that the overhead lights?

You passed out supplies and complimented each student in some way. You were patient with Cater when he drew a selfie instead of the still life you’d assigned. You didn’t even get mad when Grim spilled paint on the desk. And when you stopped by Ace’s desk, leaning slightly over his shoulder to look at the messy sketch he’d done of a half finished apple, your voice was soft and encouraging.

“That’s a great start. Try adding some shadow here, just like this…” You gently guided his pencil with yours. “See? It gives the apple a bit more dimension.”

Ace, who normally hated being corrected, stared at you with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

He was in trouble.

When you moved on to help another student, Ace blinked down at his paper. For the first time in his life, he actually cared whether a drawing turned out okay. Not because he loved art, but because you told him he could do better.

He nudged Deuce with his elbow.

“Dude.”

Deuce didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“She’s like… super cute and hot.”

Deuce paused, pencil in midair. “Don’t.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. This is fate.”

Deuce finally looked at him, visibly alarmed. “Ace. No. She’s a teacher.”

“She’s not that much older.”

“She teaches us. That means she’s off-limits. There are rules. Probably laws. Probably murder attempts by Crowley if you even try.”

Ace grinned smugly. “You’re just jealous.”

Deuce groaned. “This is your worst idea ever. And that includes the time you tried to smuggle chocolate frogs during potion exams.”

Ace didn’t answer. He was too busy glancing at you across the room like a heart eyed fool.

•

You, meanwhile, had noticed Ace’s stares. And while you were used to the occasional flirty student like Cater had already jokingly asked if you were single, there was something particularly obvious about Ace Trappola.

He wasn’t subtle.

At all.

He’d stared for most of the class, and when you gave him a simple suggestion, his face turned red and he just… blinked at you like you’d cast a spell on him.

You didn’t blame him, students his age were bundles of hormones. You’d seen this kind of thing before. It was sweet, and innocent, and—

Entirely inappropriate.

But harmless.

You smiled to yourself as you continued circling the room, deciding not to make a big deal of it.

Kids would be kids.

Besides, it would fade.

Right?

•

After class, Ace lingered behind while others packed up.

“Um. Miss Y/N?” he called out, casually leaning against a nearby stool like it owed him money. “So… how long have you been drawing?”

You turned, pleasantly surprised. “Most of my life, really. I started with charcoal, but I’ve come to love oils and pastels too.”

“That’s cool,” Ace said, trying to act smooth. “You must be, like, really good.”

You laughed lightly. “I’d hope so, otherwise I wouldn’t be teaching you guys.”

He gave a sheepish grin.

You tilted your head. “Do you enjoy drawing?”

Ace shrugged. “I dunno. Never really tried. But today was… not bad.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Hopefully I can make it even more enjoyable for you.”

Ace smiled, and for a moment, his heart actually thudded. Like, hard.

Maybe this wasn’t just a little crush.

Maybe this was the real deal.

Maybe—

Deuce suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling.

“Let’s go, Ace. Lunch isn’t gonna wait.”

Ace blinked, startled. “Oh—right. Yeah.” He gave you one last smile. “See you next class, Miss Y/N.”

You nodded. “See you, Trappola.”

Once they were out of earshot, Deuce grabbed him by the collar. “Get a grip!”

Ace just grinned, heart still hammering in his chest.

“I’m doomed.”

•

The bell rang, signaling the end of another long art class. You stood at the front of the room with your usual warm smile, thanking the students as they walked out. Most of them nodded back or mumbled a goodbye, eager to head off to their next class or some club activity.

Ace Trappola, however, lingered by the door, fidgeting with his sketchpad and pretending he was in no rush. You noticed him immediately, he’d been unusually chipper all class, sneaking glances at you and asking questions he already knew the answers to.

“Trappola,” you said gently. “Is there something you need?”

Ace stepped forward, trying to look cooler than he felt. “Yeah, actually,” he said, stuffing one hand into his uniform pocket and giving you a half smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.”

You blinked, then tilted your head with a light laugh. “Absolutely not.”

His smile faltered just a little. “Wha—what? That’s it?!”

“I mean that kindly,” you added, your tone still calm and gentle. “You’re a sweet kid, Ace, but you’re a student, and I’m your teacher. Not to mention the age difference. So no, not now, not ever.”

Ace stared, slightly slack jawed. “You called me a kid?”

“You are,” you said simply, walking past him to stack a few leftover brushes in the sink. “I appreciate the honesty, though. That took guts.”

You thought that would be the end of it.

You were wrong.

The next day, Ace was back at it again, another compliment here, a cheeky grin there. And again, he waited until the end of class.

“Hey, how about that date?”

“Still no.”

Then again the day after that.

“I’m thinking maybe dinner and a walk by the school lake? Very romantic.”

“Absolutely not.”

And again. And again. It became a strange sort of routine. He didn’t seem discouraged in the slightest, even if his attempts kept getting shot down.

•

By the time lunchtime came around one week later, Ace was at the cafeteria table with his usual crew, slumped over his tray like a man defeated.

“She smiled at me today,” Ace groaned, stabbing a piece of sausage like it had offended him. “But then… boom! another rejection. ‘Absolutely not,’ she says. Again!”

Jack shook his head. “That’s because she’s your teacher. Of course she keeps saying no.”

“She’s also, like, an adult,” Ortho chimed in, blinking. “Biologically speaking, the odds of compatibility—”

“Please, Ortho,” Epel muttered, sipping his juice. “You’re not helping.”

Deuce sighed and rubbed his temples. “Ace, we’ve been listening to this every lunch for the last eight days. You keep asking, she keeps saying no. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because she’s hot, and sweet, and cool!” Ace protested. “Have you seen the way she talks about art like it’s magic? Have you seen her smile when someone finally gets the shading right? I’m telling you, it’s fate!”

Epel stared. “Bro, this is either the dumbest thing you’ve ever done or the most hopeless romantic one.”

“Why not both?” Ace muttered dramatically.

Deuce looked between the others, then back at Ace. “Okay, listen. You need a distraction. Let’s head into town after class. We’ll hit up the game store or something.”

“Or eat ice cream!” Ortho added. “That helps with heartbreak, right?”

“Y’all are acting like I got dumped,” Ace grumbled, but he was already sitting up straighter. “Alright, alright. Maybe getting out will help. But just know I’m not giving up.”

“Of course not,” Jack said dryly. “Because you never listen.”

As the boys made plans, Ace found himself smiling again. He’d take the break. But deep down, he was already planning how to ask you again, maybe with flowers next time.

•

The town buzzed with its usual weekend energy, vendors shouting, students roaming, and shopkeepers setting out signs. It was the perfect place for a distraction, and Ace actually found himself enjoying it.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Ace said with a grin, popping a candy in his mouth. “This was a good idea.”

“I told you,” Deuce said, arms crossed. “It’s nice to just chill without… you know, heartbreak.”

“You sound like I got dumped.” Ace rolled his eyes. “I never even got a yes.”

The boys had already hit up the arcade, where Ace had gone on a dramatic winning streak that included beating Epel at every racing game and losing horribly to Ortho in a rhythm battle.

They grabbed some snacks, wandered a bit, even found a cute photo booth. For a moment, Ace had stopped thinking about you entirely.

Until Ortho’s voice broke through the crowd.

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s ‘uh-oh’ supposed to mean?” Ace asked, half-laughing. “You break something again?”

Ortho didn’t answer. He and Deuce were frozen, standing like badly coded NPCs trying to block Ace’s view of the other side of the street.

But it was already too late.

Ace leaned to the side and his heart stopped.

You were there, standing in front of a boutique. Dressed in something soft and elegant, makeup done just enough to highlight your best features. You looked like you belonged on the cover of a magazine. You were scrolling on your phone, casually unaware that you had just become the center of someone’s universe all over again.

“Oh crap…” Epel muttered.

“She looks… whoa,” Jack said with a sigh, already bracing for the incoming disaster.

Ace didn’t hear any of them. He was already crossing the street.

“Hey, hey!” he called, waving. “Fancy seeing you here!”

You looked up and smiled. That smile. It still had the power to melt anyone’s heart.

“Well, look at you boys,” you said sweetly. “Having fun?”

“Y-Yeah! Totally!” Ace grinned, flicking his hair back like he didn’t spend most mornings messing with it in the mirror. “But wow—you look amazing today. Like, drop-dead gorgeous. Special occasion or just naturally that stunning?”

Behind him, Deuce groaned into his hands. Jack facepalmed. Ortho was trying to calculate the fastest way to drag Ace out of the line of fire.

You were just about to respond when the door behind you swung open, and a familiar voice followed

“Apologies for the delay, Love. That employee was more clueless than a freshman on his first potion.”

Professor Crewel stepped out, dressed to the nines in an immaculate suit and silk gloves, like he had just walked off a fashion runway. His sharp eyes landed on Ace and the boys… and he froze.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Oh no…” Epel whispered.

Crewel raised an eyebrow. “Students?”

You gave a sheepish sigh and looked at the group with a soft smile. “Boys, I guess I should’ve said something sooner. Crewel and I are dating.”

Ace blinked.

He blinked again.

And then he laughed, but it sounded like it might also be a sob.

“You’re dating Professor Crewel?!” he asked, voice cracking like a broken guitar string.

“You’re a literal child, Trappola,” Crewel said dryly, though he didn’t sound angry. “Be grateful your taste is excellent.”

“I mean—yeah—but seriously?!”

“I’m very serious,” you said gently, placing a hand on Crewel’s arm.

Crewel’s cold, stern face softened at your touch.

“Right. Sure. That’s cool.” Ace nodded, looking like someone just deleted his save file. “Totally… great. Great for you two.”

You both gave a polite farewell, and walked off hand in hand, leaving Ace staring at the back of your outfit like it had personally betrayed him.

There was a long, painful silence.

“…Well,” Deuce said, clapping him on the back. “At least now you have closure.”

Ace groaned. “My heart just got critical-hit KO’d.”

“You were going to get rejected again anyway,” Jack said bluntly.

“Yeah, but not this hard!!!”

Ortho tilted his head. “I can find you someone statistically more likely to say yes, if that helps.”

“I don’t need your pity matchmaking, Ortho,” Ace mumbled, sulking.

They were about to head back toward the café when Ace suddenly gasped.

“What?” Epel asked.

Across the street, another young woman had stepped out of a flower shop. Dressed like springtime and sunshine, fixing her hair in the reflection of the glass.

Ace straightened up, flashing a grin.

“…Or maybe it’s time for the next chapter.”

“NO!” all four boys said at once.

Too late. Ace was already strolling toward her.

Deuce dropped his face into his hands. “Here we go again.”

Jack growled. “You’d think rejection would teach him something.”

“Not Ace,” Epel muttered. “He treats love like a boss fight, keeps rushing in ‘til it works.”

Ortho blinked and said cheerfully, “I think it’s romantic.”

“It’s not!” the other three groaned.

And from across the street, Ace’s flirty voice rang out once more.

“Hey there, need help carrying those flowers?”

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