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httpknjoon · 4 months ago

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satellite | jjk

plot | Your friend, Jungkook, offers to help you while you review for your human anatomy exam.

w.c | 3K

genre | fluff, slight angst, fwb (but nothing 18+ happened)

pairing | jungkook x medstudent!reader

note | written from my own swamp of academic-related activities

main masterlist | playlist

u up?

You

yep

i'm studying

exams tomorrow

can i come over

You

yes but don't be a distraction

u know i can't help it 😪

You

🙄

i'm busy stop texting me

will be there in five

You

door's open no need to knock

see u 😉

Maybe you should have just pursued a course in creative writing... Or maybe culinary arts. Maybe something connected with baking. You love baking, right?

Maybe if you picked a college program based on your hobbies, you have better sleep. Maybe you are happier. At 11:51 PM, maybe you are already sleeping soundly on your bed, next to your emotional support stuffed toy, with your favorite weighted blanket on your exhausted being.

But you didn't. You can't.

So here you are, sitting in a swamp of written notes, books, and colorful post-its (that you haven't found any helpful use yet), having a crisis over your career choices.

"You want this, YN." you remind yourself, shaking your head.

Your digital clock on your study desk just ticked the time to 11:52 PM. It has been almost three hours since you began your planned all-nighter for tomorrow's exam.

"I want to cry." you sighed, your forehead softly hitting your desk. "But I don't have the time for that."

Groaning, you opened one of the textbooks you borrowed from the library. You tried to process every word you came across. But considering that you went straight from your eight-hour shift from your part-time job, you only managed to comprehend half of the sentences you read.

"I wish I was born as a nepo-baby."

Another random thought rolled off your tongue instead of understanding where the hell the spine of the scapula is. Admittedly, you find it hard to locate the muscles in the human body when you only have a 2D version of it. But you don't have those 3D models that can help you to learn and remember better, so you will settle for pointing your index fingers at flat images on the book pages.

"Trapezius... Acromion... Deltoid..."

Reciting the muscles in the familiar tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", you began pointing to certain areas of your body. It was one of the studying techniques you have been using since you were younger. So far, it's helping. You keep doing it for the other parts.

"Subscapularis..."

But the longer you sang, the words slowly rambled in your tongue and your eyelids got heavier. You were so close to drifting away until you heard the familiar click of your door. Your head snapped up instantly. You hear his voice greeting your roommate who's probably watching her favorite show in the living room.

"Pizza and ice cream. Want some?" you heard him offer.

He brought food?! Of course, he did. He's Jungkook. For the first time since you sat in front of your study desk, a smile formed on your lips. Shaking your head, you just read your notes again. It didn't take long for your bedroom door to open. The scent of a freshly baked pizza filled every corner of your room. And there, you see him coming in with a smile on his pierced lips.

"Oh, hello, gorgeous."

Jungkook was surprised to see you already looking at him when he entered your room. Usually, he would find your nose dipped between your textbooks when he visits during your study sessions.

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, "I know, I looked like a mess right now. Just give me my prized pizza and ice cream please."

He laughed, not because he agreed with you, but because you are always quick to turn down his micro-flirting. He sometimes thinks that it keeps him grounded.

"And you got the coffee ones! This is why you're my favorite hookup buddy." you quipped before kissing his cheek, elated by the ice cream he got you.

"I'm honored. Thank you." he replied, before getting a slice of pizza.

Both of you know that you don't have any other hookup buddy. You're not that adventurous. It's just something you joke about.

"How's the studying going?" he asked before sitting on your bed.

"Shit." you shake your head, tired. "But this ice cream makes me feel a little better."

Jungkook smiled at that. He listened as you went on telling him about something that happened in your shift earlier today. But he ended up studying you. Because contrary to what you said earlier, you are too pretty, he finds it distracting. You were tired, it's written on your face. But the way your eyes light up as you share your story makes your face glow. With your desk lamp being the only light in your room, it perfectly highlights the small smile on your lips after you take another spoonful of the cold dessert.

"Why did you come here anyway?"

Your sudden question snaps Jungkook out of his daze. He cleared his throat.

"I-I'm bored and you're up."

He was not bored. In fact, he missed a party he was invited to tonight because it has been four days since he last saw you. He was busy with his training and practice, while you were working two jobs and studying. You two were just texting each other these days and with how rare you reply during the daytime, he knew that tonight is probably the best time to see you.

You sigh, "I told you, I'm studying for tomorrow. I can't do anything with you right now."

"And I didn't say we have to do anything. I'm just happy to be here. I'm like little Bear right there." he replied, pointing to your stuffed toy who was sitting next to him.

"Okay, I'll go back to studying. Is that okay?" you asked, putting on the lid of your half-finished ice cream.

He winked, "Of course."

Jungkook is that person you probably know for too long. Like, someone you should have met only once or twice or occasionally. Not like this, in which you see each other almost every day.

When Liz, your roommate, introduced you two to each other during some Halloween party, in which you came as Dorothy from The Wizards of Oz and he was Peter Pan, you did not expect to start any kind of connection with him. You remembered thinking to yourself how exhausting it was to have him around with how he seemed so full of energy, not knowing then that he also enjoyed the same little things you did. You two became real friends after bumping into one another in a record store an hour away from your uni.

Because you feel that you two always stood on opposite ends of any scale. You were a reserved working student with introverted tendencies while on the opposite, Jungkook is a known varsity star, who's rumored to be a CEO's son (He is. He admitted it to you), on campus with a charm that works for everyone. Just like how great he is at playing basketball, he is equally good at socializing and making new connections. That charm definitely worked for you a year ago because one thing led to another and now, he is in your bed, casually scrolling on his phone.

"Why do you have a camera with you?" you broke the silence after reading for god knows how long. Yet, you are unsure if you picked up anything from it.

He looked up, reaching for the camera bag he brought with him earlier, "It's a new one, my dad brought it to me as a gift."

"For what? Your birthday was like three months ago," you asked even though you already had an answer in your head.

"I helped him with some documents," he replied, knowing that you would say something after.

"Spoiled." you teased him.

"Haters gonna hate," he responded with a sassy roll of his eyes, you laughed. "Anyway, I'm kinda testing it out. So, if you don't mind..."

He placed the camera in front of him, aligning its viewfinder to his left eye. You put the back of your hand under your chin with a tight smile on your lips, posing. Click. A shutter sound and a bright flash followed. You see Jungkook look down at his camera to check the outcome. A small smile forms on his lips.

"You have too many pictures of me," you told him.

Every single time you two are together, he takes a picture of you. You don't really mind even though some shots are candid. Some of the pictures of you he took are the only ones you have on your Instagram. He's good at it, but sometimes, you worry you will get used to being his muse.

"I'm thinking of making an exhibition out of it." he said.

Sensing his sarcasm, you ride on with it, "Yeah, you can title it with something like, The Life Of An Overworked Twenty-Something Student. I looked exhausted in all those photos. An ugly, dry potato."

"I think you look pretty in all of them."

And it didn't help that he complimented you a lot after taking pictures of you. It just scares you that you feel a light feeling in your stomach when you see him smile after taking a shot of you or when he calls you gorgeous or pretty.

But instead of letting the giddy feeling show, you just smiled, "Of course you do, you're sleeping with me. You will always find me attractive."

It was almost an hour later when Jungkook paused the video he was watching on his phone to once again try his camera. A camera nerd, he was watching a clip about his new camera's settings. Of course, he was in his earphones so that he wouldn't get to distract you.

After modifying some parts of the settings, Jungkook placed his camera in front of his right eye, ready to capture another picture of you. But before he could click the button, he noticed your shoulders shaking.

His right eyebrow raised as he slowly put down his camera.

"YN?"

He heard you hiccup before humming, "Hmm?"

"YN, can you look at me?" he asked since you kept your back turned to him.

"Not now, I'm busy." you sobbed, failing to hide from Jungkook.

He frowned, getting up from your bed, "YN, baby..."

"No, I said-"

Before you could continue denying, Jungkook already pulled the swivel chair you were sitting on closer to him. You covered your face with your palms since you hated crying in front of anyone. Jungkook tries to remove it softly but you shake your head.

"Please, let me see your face. It's okay," he whispered while his thumbs drew circles at the back of your hands. Finally, you listened and let him hold down your hands.

"Shh..." he hushed you, wiping the tears on your cheeks. "What's going on? Are you okay? Is there any way that I can help you?"

"I-I cannot remember anything and I'm just so tired." you broke down, feeling the exhaustion from both studying and working finally creeping up in your body.

"Then, take a break. Let's nap." he offered, knowing how much you need it.

You cried even more, "I can't nap. My exams are tomorrow and I can't understand anything I've been reading so far."

He clicked his tongue in disagreement, "I'll wake you up in thirty minutes. How about that?"

While his offer seemed ideal for you, the pressure for what is coming tomorrow is heavily sitting on your shoulders. But you're really tired.

"Just nap?" you asked, making sure that it won't lead to anything else.

"Yeah— Okay, maybe cuddle." he shrugged.

"Okay." I kinda need that.

"Okay. C'mere, my snotty baby." He cooed.

You glared at him before slapping his chest. He laughed, catching your hand and pulling you to him on your bed. You fell on top instead of your mattress, feeling his toned body under you. His chin rests on the top of your head as he draws circles on your lower back.

"Let's do anything you want after your exams," he mumbled.

You exhaled, "Why celebrate? I am not even sure if I can pass it."

"You will. You're the smartest person I know."

This isn't the first time Jungkook saw you broke down over academic reasons. He knew how much you value your studies as someone who has always been an achiever since you began studying. It didn't help that your mom expects quite a lot from you, based on what you told him.

You looked up to meet his eyes, "Thank you."

He simply kissed your forehead, "Of course, babe."

You did find yourself feeling much better after your 30-minute rest. But, you also found something else when you woke five minutes ago next to Jungkook. It's something that can probably help you study.

"Take off your shirt," you whispered as you rested your head on his arm.

"Why?" he asked, suspicious.

"I think you can help me study," you said, sitting up on the bed.

Jungkook sat next to you, "I thought we were just cuddling."

"Jungkook." you called him. "Please, just do it."

"Okay, I will. You know I can't say no when you beg, babe." he teased.

You watched him reach for the back of his shirt and remove it over his head. With how cold your room is, Jungkook immediately crossed his arms over his chest, making his muscles bulge before you. You were quiet, squinting your eyes on his arms.

Feeling a little conscious and confused, Jungkook spoke, "It's a little chilly here. What now?"

"Wait, let me get my sticky notes."

"You know, I should be paid for this," Jungkook spoke, covered in neon-colored sticky notes from his neck to his back and arms. "I am like your model."

"You are my 3d model." you laughed while tracing his body with your finger to look where you could stick your next label. "I'm too broke to buy one so just be my friend and let me put some sticky notes on you."

"I'll just buy you one." he offered and he's serious. If it's something that can help you, he'll buy it for you.

"You sound like the spoiled kid you are." you joked.

"I like it when you keep me humble and grounded," he reacted sarcastically. Out of a hundred people he knows on the campus, you are the only one who always reminds him of his privileges. He found it annoying at first but now, he just finds it funny.

"I know, it shows especially when you get all submissive sometimes." you joked again, scrunching your nose at him.

"Why won't you just let me spend money on you?" he asked, recalling the other scenarios he tried buying or doing something for you. But you were quick to decline him, especially if it's connected with money.

You stopped and stared at him, "For the tenth time, Jeon, I will not be your sugar baby."

"Or you can just be my... baby," he whispered, but since you are the only awake people in this house at this time of the day, you still heard that.

Your eyebrows scrunched, looking at him. Visibly cringing at what he said, you pushed his face with a laugh. You hear him chuckle lowly.

"If you want someone to be your baby, you should be asking girls out, not signing up for a friends-with-benefits-type of relationship with me," you mumbled while writing a certain body part on your notepad.

It is part of your agreement that this thing you two have will end once one of you starts dating again. But the idea of him asking girls out after literally sleeping on your bed for the last twelve months still made your heart sink a little. You cannot imagine how your future will be without him, you still haven't thought that far.

"I know..." he whispered. But you're not up for any commitment. He wanted to say that. Instead, he replied, "But you give the best blowjob ever. How can I look for someone else?"

You laughed again. God, he loves making you laugh. It's like a melody playing in his head.

"Yeah, I know. It will be hard to find someone better than me. I'm the best."

Yes, you are. He agreed, almost saying it if you haven't spoke to soon.

"Now, please, can you stop moving? My notes are falling everywhere."

"Hi, I'm Mabel."

It's been days since that night. Now, a blonde, blue-eyed girl offered her hand to Jungkook while he prepared to leave the campus with his car after his basketball training. Jungkook, being polite, introduced himself even though he was not really interested. He continued making sure he got all his stuff in his backpack as the girl continued saying that they had two classes together. When he was done checking, she spoke,

"I think you're really cute and was wondering if we could go out sometime? Maybe we can grab some coffee together?"

Jungkook scratched the back of his head, feeling bad for what he was about to say to this seeming freshman before him. A tight smile forms on his lips. This isn't the first confession he got in his lifetime, but rejecting someone is always hard.

"Wow... uhm... I'm sure you're a really wonderful person, Mabel. But I'm not really interested in dating anyone right now. I'm sorry."

The familiar flustered face instantly showed up on Mabel's face, "Oh, okay. Uhm, thank you for your time. Nice to meet you though."

Jungkook was not even able to reply before she ran away. It didn't took him too long to dwell on that interaction when he got a message from you.

YN 🩺

I PASSED

COME OVER!!!!1!

Jungkook smiled after reading that, feeling your relief and excitement. He typed in a reply before hopping in his car.

I KNEW U CAN DO IT

SO PROUD OF YOUUU

WILL BE THERE IN FIVE ;)

note | scheduled as my first post for 2025 :) thank you so much for reading!

ps. will probably delete this later on

taglist rules

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones

904 notes · View notes

covid-safer-hotties · 6 months ago

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Also Preserved in our archive (Daily updates!)

What if the pandemic safety net cobbled together in 2020 had been a new beginning?

What if when Joe Biden came into office in 2021, the Covid-19 safety net he was handed had become a new floor?

What if that was his baseline—and the newly elected Democratic president, sold by his most ardent supporters as FDR 2.0, had used our Covid-19 response as the bare minimum of a new social contract with Americans?

What if the caring nature of the best aspects of the US Covid response became the map for international relations—leading not just to international cooperation on infectious disease, but on matters of war, climate and genocide?

What if, instead of dismantling the vaccine-delivery infrastructure—which, at its height, delivered some four million shots in a single day—the Biden administration built upon and made some version of it permanent, so that everyone could easily get annual Covid boosters, annual flu vaccines, or get specialty vaccinations during outbreaks of unusual viruses (such as for mpox during the 2022 summer outbreak among queer men) whenever they needed it?

What if the viral surveillance and communication mechanisms utilized for learning about SARS-CoV-2, treating it and telling the public about it were being used to address H5N1—a virus which has been moving from birds to farm mammals to humans with so little notice that dead cows were killed by the “avian flu” and left on the side of a road in California’s Central Valley, as “Thick swarms of black flies hummed and knocked against the windows of an idling car, while crows and vultures waited nearby—eyeballing the taut and bloated carcasses roasting in the October heat”?What if the leaders of the Democratic party had used Covid as a blueprint to make a national platform based on care?

What if all the ways Covid had made clear how farmers, industrial butchers, kitchen staff and other food workers are the most at risk people amongst us to viral infection led to meaningful, permanent protections, such that they were much less likely to contract not just SARS-CoV-2 but H1N1, H5N1, influenza, or any other existing or novel pathogens?

What if all the all the ways Covid exposed how unsafe industrial food production is (for the workers who make it and the people who eat it alike) had triggered safety reforms, instead of having these warnings ignored and leading towards record numbers of safety recalls for e-coli, Salmonella, and Listeria?

What if an airborne pandemic had led to indoor air being as filtered, treated and regulated as drinking water?

What if everyone with a child was still getting a $300 check from the US treasury, so that having a child was not a gambling-style risk, but a responsibility shared with all of society?

What if the paused-for-years student debts were forgiven, so that young people could actually begin their lives?

What if Biden built on Americans’ experience of just showing up somewhere to get the medical care they needed to create a universal healthcare system?

(What if Kamala Harris built upon Americans’ taste of not getting charged at the point of such service—and campaigned on Medicare for All?)

What if once the link between Covid and homelessness was established, the Democrats had pushed infectious disease as just one reason for an end to evictions and a robust, public-health-backed campaign to end homelessness and stop the United States from having more people living on the streets than any other country?

What if after the link between Covid and incarceration was established, the Democrats had pursued decarceration as a public health measure and—instead of throwing weed and cryptocurrency at us—had made reducing incarceration a centerpiece of the Harris campaign to earn the votes of Black men?

(What if after 100,000 Californians died of Covid and the links between Covid, homelessness and incarceration were clear, residents of the Golden State chose to allow rent control and to abolish legal slavery in prisons—instead of voting to ban rent control and to continue prison slavery?)

What if the leaders of the Democratic party had used Covid as a blueprint to make a national platform based on care?

Would we be in the lethal position we are now—with a genocide raging abroad, Covid deaths in the hundreds every week at home, a poisoned food supply, $17 trillion in household debt, oligarch goons ready to dismantle government regulations, and a sociopath heading back into the White House—if Covid had been the floor?

#mask up #covid #pandemic #public health #wear a mask #wear a respirator #still coviding #coronavirus #covid 19 #sars cov 2 #us politics #democratic party #ditch the dems

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cloudyluun · 2 months ago

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No Cameras Allowed (p4) | famous!harry

Summary: Your private messages have been leaked, the world is dissecting every detail, and the paparazzi are relentless. Harry is furious, protective, and ready to go to war for you. But as the pressure mounts, the question lingers—are you worth the fight? And more importantly… will you let him fight for you?

A/N: If you ever wanted to know what a PR nightmare looks like, welcome to the disaster! This part is 80% stress, 10% emotional turmoil, and 10% Harry being a human shield. Enjoy the angst, darlings. Don’t forget to leave me love (or therapy bills) in the comments. ❤️

Word Count: 5,4k

Warnings:

Invasion of privacy (leaked messages, paparazzi harassment)

Emotional distress & self-doubt

Angst, tension, and existential crisis moments

Mentions of legal action & media scandals

Protective!Harry in full-on war mode

A tiny, fragile glimpse of hope at the end

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The silence in the room is suffocating.

The bright, sudden flash still lingers behind your eyelids, a harsh imprint against the darkness. Your breath stutters in your chest, too shallow, too fast, as your mind struggles to catch up with what just happened.

A camera.

Someone is outside.

Someone is watching.

Harry moves before you do.

His reaction is pure instinct, muscles tensing as he pushes off the couch, his body a solid wall between you and the window. His head snaps toward the source of the light, green eyes flashing with something raw, something dangerous. His breathing is sharp, controlled, but you can see the way his fists tighten, knuckles blanching as rage coils through his body like a live wire.

You don’t even realize you’re gripping your phone like a lifeline until the notifications blur together on the screen. The vibrations are constant, the messages rolling in like an avalanche—unstoppable, overwhelming. Your name is everywhere, attached to headlines that twist and stretch the truth into something grotesque, something unrecognizable.

Your stomach clenches. This isn’t just gossip anymore.

This is war.

Harry’s entire body is coiled with tension as he storms toward the window, yanking the curtain back just in time to see movement—a shadow darting away, camera still in hand. He curses under his breath, every muscle in his back flexing as he fights the urge to chase after them, to do something, to stop this before it spirals even further out of control.

But it’s too late.

The damage is already done.

You can feel it in the way your fingers tremble as you swipe through the messages. See it in the way Harry’s breath comes too fast, too sharp, his entire body wound tight with barely restrained fury.

He turns back to you, his expression shifting from anger to something else—something quieter, something more desperate. His brows are drawn together, his jaw tight, but his eyes are searching yours, scanning your face like he’s trying to gauge how bad this is, how much more you can take before you break.

“We need to get out of here.”

His voice is firm. Unshakable. A decision already made.

But all you can do is stare at the screen, the words bleeding together, the weight of them pressing down on your chest like a vice.

EXCLUSIVE: PRIVATE MESSAGES LEAKED. THE TRUTH ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY STYLES.

Your world is falling apart. Again.

And this time, you’re not sure you’ll survive it.

The air in the room feels thick, pressing against your ribs, making it impossible to breathe. The weight of the flashing headlines, the invasion of your privacy, the sheer force of the betrayal—it crushes you from the inside out. Your fingers are still curled around your phone, but you can’t bring yourself to look at the screen anymore. You can’t read another twisted version of your own life, can’t stomach another invasive headline dissecting your relationship, your secrets, your body.

Harry is moving before you can.

His presence is sharp, controlled, but barely. You can see it in the rigid line of his shoulders, in the way his breath comes fast and uneven, like he’s fighting to keep himself from unraveling. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides as if he’s physically restraining himself from putting his fist through the wall.

“We need to get out of here.” His voice is rough, edged with frustration, but beneath it is something softer. Urgent. Protective.

You finally lift your gaze, meeting his. He’s watching you closely, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are burning. With determination. With something fierce and unrelenting. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all it takes.

Harry grabs what he can—his phone, his jacket, the well-worn cap he always wears when he wants to disappear. You follow suit, hands moving on autopilot as you shove your essentials into a bag: your phone, your keys, your wallet. Your sunglasses, even though it’s late and useless against the darkness outside.

Harry is already dialing before you even reach the door. His voice is clipped when Jeff picks up, sharp with frustration and urgency.

“I need a secure place. Now.”

A pause. You can’t hear Jeff’s response, but Harry’s free hand is already tightening around his cap, knuckles white.

“Somewhere remote. No press, no paps, no one. Just make it happen.”

Another pause. Then Harry exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah. Fine. Send the address. We’re leaving now.”

He hangs up without another word, shoving his phone into his pocket. His fingers find the small of your back, pressing lightly as he steers you toward the door.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Car’s downstairs.”

You barely process moving through the hallway, the elevator ride down, the cold night air hitting your skin like a slap. Your thoughts are a blur, looping endlessly—Who leaked it? What else is out there? Will it ever stop?

Then—

The flash.

The moment you step outside, cameras explode around you, white-hot bursts piercing the night.

You flinch, instinctively ducking your head, but Harry is already there. His arm loops around your shoulders, pulling you in tight against him as he guides you toward the waiting car. Voices shout from every direction.

“Harry! Y/N! Do you have a statement?” “Are the leaked messages real?” “Harry, how do you feel about Y/N betraying your trust?” “Is this the end of your relationship?” “Are you going to sue?”

The words hit like bullets, each one a fresh wound, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Harry keeps his head down, his grip on you firm as he hauls the door open, practically shoving you inside before climbing in behind you. The moment the door slams shut, the noise outside dulls to a muffled roar.

Your breath stutters as the car peels away from the curb, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. But even as you leave, the flashes continue, cameras desperate to capture every last second.

Jeff’s team was fast, but not fast enough. The paparazzi are already following.

Harry curses under his breath as he pulls his cap lower over his face, one hand gripping the back of his neck in frustration. The driver takes a sharp turn, speeding up in an attempt to lose them, but they’re relentless. Two, maybe three cars tail closely behind, cameras flashing through the tinted windows.

You swallow hard, curling into yourself, fingers twisting the fabric of your sweater in your lap.

The silence in the car is thick, charged with unspoken words, with fear, with the weight of everything crashing down all at once.

Your throat tightens. “Is this ever going to stop?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate.

He reaches over, sliding his fingers through yours, squeezing tight. His grip is warm, steady, anchoring you even as the world around you spirals out of control.

“We’re going to end it.” His voice is low, firm, a promise. “I swear.”

For the first time in days, you almost believe him.

The words settle over you, warm and steady, like a fragile shield against the chaos. But the feeling is fleeting. The moment the car speeds into the countryside, the city lights disappearing behind you, doubt creeps back in—slow and insidious.

The villa is remote, just as Jeff promised. Hidden behind towering trees, the long driveway winds through a dense forest before opening up to a sleek, modern house with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a vast stretch of land. It should feel like a sanctuary. It should feel safe.

But it doesn’t.

Not when your phone still vibrates with endless notifications. Not when you know that, even here, you’re just waiting for the next wave of headlines to crash over you.

Inside, the villa is silent except for the faint hum of the heating system. Harry drops his bag near the door, running a hand over his face before turning to you.

“You should sleep,” he says, voice softer now, exhaustion seeping into the edges.

You nod, not because you’re tired, but because you don’t know what else to do. Because the weight of everything is pressing so heavily against your chest that you feel like if you speak, you might crack open entirely.

You disappear into the master bedroom without another word, closing the door behind you.

And then, finally, you let yourself fall apart.

You sit on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

The villa is beautiful. Quiet. Untouched by the rest of the world. But your thoughts are loud, relentless. Your mind replays the headlines, the leaks, the accusations—each one sinking into your skin like poison.

It’s your fault.

You should have been more careful.

You should have never let yourself believe you could have this—him—without consequences.

Because the truth is, you’re dragging him down with you.

Harry Styles, the golden boy, the untouchable icon, the man whose career has been meticulously crafted over a decade—he’s being torn apart for something he didn’t do.

And it’s all because of you.

Your stomach twists violently, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. You stand abruptly, pacing the room, arms wrapping around yourself as if you can physically hold yourself together.

The thought has been lingering in the back of your mind since the second your private messages leaked, but now it takes full shape, solid and undeniable.

You’re ruining him.

The realization knocks the air from your lungs, sharp and brutal.

And there’s only one way to stop it.

When you finally step out of the bedroom, Harry is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. His jaw is tight, his brows drawn together, and you know he’s reading something about you. About him. About this nightmare you’ve pulled him into.

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

Then, before you can lose your nerve—

“Maybe you should just let me go.”

The words are quiet. Fragile. A confession and a surrender all at once.

Harry’s head snaps up. His phone drops onto the couch beside him, forgotten. His expression sharpens instantly, disbelief flashing across his face. “What?”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in, but you force yourself to keep going.

“I mean it,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Maybe—maybe this isn’t worth it. Maybe I’m not worth it.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Then—

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

His voice is hoarse, raw, disbelief laced with something sharper—anger, hurt. He’s on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between you.

“After everything?” His hands curl into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. “You really think I’d just walk away?”

You swallow hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything.”

Harry exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Jesus, Y/N.”

Then, before you can retreat, before you can even think—

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones, grounding you. His touch is firm, steady, a contrast to the way you feel like you’re unraveling.

His voice drops to something softer, something that aches.

“You are everything.”

The breath punches out of your lungs.

Your fingers curl around his wrists, holding onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the space between you charged, crackling with everything unsaid. His eyes are wild with frustration, with something dangerously close to desperation.

This should be the turning point.

But it’s not enough.

Not yet.

Because even though his touch feels like home, even though his words dig deep into the part of you that wants so desperately to believe them—

The doubt is still there.

And you don’t know how to make it go away.

Harry’s words should be enough. The way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in the world should be enough. But the fear is still there, tangled deep in your chest, coiled so tightly around your ribs that it feels impossible to breathe without it.

Maybe it’s because you’ve been here before—at the mercy of the media, of strangers who think they know you, who think they’re entitled to pick apart your life like it’s a story written for their entertainment. But this is different. This is worse.

Because now, it’s not just you.

It’s him.

And you don’t know how to live with that.

You don’t know how to fix it.

But Harry does.

By morning, he’s already in fight mode.

The villa is eerily quiet when you wake up, the morning light filtering through the massive windows. For a brief second, you allow yourself to pretend that things are normal—that you’re just waking up in some beautiful, secluded place with him, that the world isn’t currently tearing you apart outside these walls.

Then you hear his voice.

Sharp. Clipped. Angry.

You pull on a sweater and follow the sound, padding barefoot down the hall until you find him standing in the open-concept living room, pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. His jaw is set, his brows furrowed, and the tension radiating off him is almost palpable.

“I don’t care how they got the messages,” he snaps, voice cold and lethal. “They posted them. That’s illegal.” A pause. He shakes his head. “I want every single one of those outlets served by the end of the day. I don’t care if we bankrupt the whole fucking tabloid industry in the process.”

You swallow hard, hovering near the doorway. You’ve never seen him like this before. So furious. So unwavering. So willing to burn everything down.

But he isn’t just fighting for himself.

He’s fighting for you.

And it’s terrifying.

He scrubs a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply as the person on the other end responds. His shoulders are tight, his body wound like a coil ready to snap.

“I want their sources,” he says, voice low and venomous. “Who sold it. Who leaked it. Every single name.” Another pause. “No, I’m not issuing a fucking apology. I have nothing to be sorry for. Neither does she.”

The words send a jolt through your chest.

Because that’s what they want, isn’t it?

For you to apologize for something that never should have been anyone else’s business in the first place.

For you to shrink.

For you to disappear.

Harry won’t let that happen.

And for the first time, you start to wonder if you should stop letting it happen, too.

By the time he finally hangs up, he’s exhausted but determined, his shoulders slumping slightly as he drags a hand down his face. He turns to you immediately, his expression softening the moment he sees you.

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, reaching for you instinctively.

You let him pull you in, resting your cheek against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—something steady in the middle of the chaos.

“You’re really doing this,” you whisper, voice muffled against his hoodie.

“Of course I am.” His lips brush the top of your head, lingering there. “We’re not letting them control the story.”

You swallow hard, your hands curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “And what if it just makes it worse?”

Harry exhales slowly, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up, making you look at him. His eyes are softer now, but still burning with that same unshakable determination.

“It won’t.” His voice is low, steady. “Not if we control it first.”

His PR team has already started working—turning the conversation away from scandal, away from gossip. Instead, they highlight what this really is: an invasion of privacy. A crime. A disgusting violation that no one should have to endure.

The narrative shifts.

Headlines start to change: “Harry Styles & Y/N Take Legal Action Against Tabloid Invasion” “Private Messages Leak Sparks Celebrity Privacy Debate” “Leaked Conversations Were Stolen—Legal Consequences to Follow”

The message is clear.

They’re not going to bully you into silence.

Later that afternoon, a statement is drafted.

Not a denial. Not an apology. Just the truth.

A firm, unwavering declaration:

"Our privacy was violated. Our personal conversations were stolen, twisted, and used against us. We refuse to be shamed for something that should have never been made public in the first place. We will not be bullied into silence. Legal action is being taken."

Jeff sends it over for final approval, but before it goes live, Harry turns to you.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, watching you carefully. “I’ll put it out myself if you don’t want to say anything.”

You hesitate, your throat tightening.

You know this statement changes everything.

If you put this out, you’re no longer just the girl caught in a scandal. You’re taking a stand.

You press your lips together, staring down at the message on your screen. Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit quietly.

Harry shifts closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His voice is gentle but firm.

“It’s your choice,” he says. “No one else’s.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering.

“But don’t let them scare you into silence, love.” His voice drops to something almost reverent. “That’s what they want.”

You look at him, at the unwavering belief in his eyes, and for the first time, the fear starts to loosen its grip on you.

Maybe…

Maybe it’s time to fight back

You don’t sleep that night.

You try. You lie in bed next to Harry, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the warmth of him beside you. But your mind won’t stop. The headlines, the messages, the invasive betrayal—it all loops endlessly in your head, pressing down on your chest like a weight you can’t shake.

And then, sometime around three in the morning, it clicks.

You’re tired of running.

Tired of being reduced to a victim. Tired of letting other people decide the narrative. Tired of being silent.

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Harry. The villa is dark, save for the soft glow of the moon spilling through the massive windows. You grab your phone and pad into the living room, curling up on the couch as the screen illuminates your face.

Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard for a second.

And then, you start typing.

You don’t craft some polished PR statement.

You don’t ask for sympathy.

You don’t justify yourself.

Instead, you write from the rawest part of you—the part that’s been stripped bare, the part that has spent too long feeling ashamed of something that was never your fault.

"This past week has been one of the hardest of my life. My privacy was invaded, my personal conversations stolen and used against me. I’ve been dissected, humiliated, and turned into a headline—treated like I’m not a real person, like I don’t deserve the basic human right of keeping parts of my life private."

"I refuse to apologize for something that never should have been made public in the first place. I refuse to let strangers twist my words, my choices, my relationship into something grotesque and scandalous. I refuse to let people make me feel ashamed for existing."

"To the people who did this, to the ones who made a profit off my pain—I hope you understand that what you’ve done is not journalism. It’s not news. It’s cruelty. And I hope one day, you feel the weight of it."

"To those who have supported me, who have spoken out against the invasion of my privacy—thank you. You have no idea what it means to me."

"I’m not running anymore."

You stare at the words on the screen, your pulse hammering.

And then—

You hit post.

It explodes.

Within minutes, your phone starts buzzing—notifications flooding in so fast that your screen freezes. The world reacts instantly.

Your name trends worldwide, but for the first time, it’s not attached to scandal.

It’s attached to your story.

People rally behind you. Fans flood your mentions, sending messages of love and support, calling out the media for their invasion of your privacy.

"This is disgusting. NO ONE deserves to have their private life exploited like this." _"Proud of Y/N for standing up for herself. We love you." _"The way the press treats women in the industry is fucking horrifying. This needs to stop."

But it’s not just fans.

Celebrities start speaking out.

Big names. **A-list actors, musicians, influencers—**people who understand the fear of losing control of their own lives.

"What happened to Y/N is beyond unacceptable. The industry needs to do better." – [Famous Actress] "Paparazzi culture is predatory, and the fact that she even has to defend herself is sickening." – [Well-Known Musician] "Proud of Y/N for standing her ground. Privacy matters." – [High-Profile Model]

And then—

Harry reposts it.

No caption.

No additional statement.

Just your words.

Because they say everything that needs to be said.

By morning, everything has changed.

The headlines that once painted you as a scandal now tell a different story:

“Harry & Y/N Fight Back: Privacy Matters” “Celebrity Culture Under Fire After Leaked Messages Scandal” “Fans & Celebs Support Y/N Against Media Exploitation”

The tabloids try to keep up, but the tide is turning. The public is angry, not at you, but at the people who did this to you.

And for the first time since this nightmare began—

You feel like you can breathe again.

The shift in public perception is undeniable. The voices that once dissected you like a scandal now speak with outrage at the invasion of your privacy. Fans defend you fiercely. Celebrities take a stand. Even news outlets that once sensationalized your pain are forced to acknowledge the ethical violation at play.

But it’s not enough.

Because while the world moves on, while the headlines start to shift to the next big thing, you’re still left with the wreckage.

And Alex Carter?

He’s still out there.

He’s still breathing.

You don’t go looking for revenge recklessly.

No, you do it right.

You gather information. You use every resource available—Harry’s legal team, your own contacts, private investigators. You dig into Alex Carter’s every move in the past six months, compiling evidence, timelines, bank transactions, leaked communications.

And then—

You find it.

The proof. The direct link between him and the leaked messages. The money trail from a tabloid to a shadowed offshore account. The receipts.

And just like that—

He’s fucking done.

You don’t wait for him to come to you.

You go to him.

His office is a glass fortress in the middle of the city, all sleek surfaces and sharp edges. You know this place well—you spent years being mentored here, being told how to survive this industry, how to be grateful for every opportunity.

It’s almost poetic that this is where it ends.

The receptionist looks startled when you walk in, but you don’t stop. You push through the doors, unannounced, unapologetic, unstoppable.

Alex is sitting behind his desk, his laptop open, a half-empty cup of coffee beside him. He looks tired. Stressed. Like a man who knows his world is crumbling.

When he looks up and sees you, his face drains of color.

“Y/N.” His voice is tight, forced into something that almost sounds casual, as if you’re just an old client stopping by for a chat. “This is—unexpected.”

You shut the door behind you.

And you smile.

But it’s not friendly.

It’s the kind of smile that precedes destruction.

You take your time. You don’t speak right away, just let the silence stretch, let him feel it.

Then, finally, you sit down across from him, folding your hands neatly on the desk.

“You leaked the messages,” you say.

A statement. Not a question.

Alex exhales through his nose, feigning exasperation. “You don’t have proof of that.”

You tilt your head. “Actually, I do.”

And then—you lay it all out.

Every transaction. Every email. Every direct link between him and the tabloids.

You watch as his mask cracks. As his calm façade shatters into something desperate, something frantic.

He scrambles for excuses. For anything.

“It wasn’t personal,” he rushes out, leaning forward, his hands flat on the desk. “Y/N, you have to understand—this is the business. The industry would have come for you eventually. I just—” He swallows. “I just made sure it happened on my terms.”

You almost laugh.

His terms.

Like he ever had control over you.

“You always told me the industry would eat me alive,” you say, voice quiet. Steady. Unshaken.

Alex exhales, nodding quickly, latching onto your words like they might save him. “Exactly. I was protecting you, in a way—”

You cut him off with the final blow.

“Guess what?” You stand, smoothing your hands down your jacket. “I’m still here.”

You lean in slightly, dropping your voice to something dangerous.

“And you? You’re done.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out.

Because he knows.

He knows you didn’t just come here for revenge.

You came to end him.

And you have.

By the time you walk out of that office, head held high, shoulders back, something in you has shifted.

You’re not just surviving anymore.

You’ve won.

The realization settles deep in your bones as you step out of Alex Carter’s office and into the cool evening air.

For days—weeks—you’ve felt like you were drowning, gasping for air as the world pressed down on you. But now?

Now, you’re lighter.

It’s over. Really, truly over.

There’s only one thing left to do.

You take a deep breath, pull your phone from your pocket, and text Harry.

Come outside.

The villa is quiet when you return.

The sun is sinking low in the sky, setting the world on fire with streaks of orange and pink, reflecting off the calm surface of the lake beyond the house. You spot him immediately—standing at the water’s edge, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly.

He hasn’t heard you yet.

You take a moment just to look at him.

The tension in his frame, the weight he’s been carrying for you, with you. The way his curls shift slightly in the breeze, the golden light catching on the angles of his jaw, his cheekbones.

God, you love him.

And you almost lost this.

You step forward, your shoes crunching lightly against the gravel.

His head snaps up at the sound.

For a second, neither of you move.

His green eyes are careful, searching, waiting. There’s something fragile in them, something hesitant—like he’s afraid of what you might say, like he’s bracing himself for another fight, another wound.

But you don’t give him one.

Instead, you smile. Soft. Small.

And you say the only two words that matter.

“It’s over.”

Harry exhales sharply, like the air has just been punched from his lungs. His whole body sags, the tension draining from his frame all at once.

And then—

He moves.

In three long strides, he’s there, hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, like he can’t believe you’re really here, saying these words.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I have proof. He’s finished.”

Harry swallows hard, his eyes flickering between yours, searching. Not just for confirmation, but for you.

For the girl he’s loved through every storm, every headline, every broken moment.

And when he finds her—when he sees that you’re okay—

He kisses you.

Not desperate. Not rough.

Just deep. Slow. Sure.

Like a promise. Like relief.

His hands slide from your face to your waist, pulling you against him, and you melt into him, arms winding around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls.

The world fades. The noise, the past, the pain. None of it matters anymore.

There’s just this.

Just him.

Just you.

When he finally pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours, breathless, his fingers still tracing gentle patterns on your back.

His voice is soft, full of something raw and unshakable.

“We made it.”

Your heart swells.

You cup his face, brushing your thumb over the stubble on his jaw, smiling as you whisper,

“Yeah.”

Your lips brush his, featherlight, a quiet, steady truth.

“We did.”

The words hang in the air between you both, simple but profound, the quiet reassurance you’ve both been craving after everything that’s happened. The chaos. The heartbreak. The betrayals.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands still intertwined, your eyes locking in a moment that feels like the calm after the storm. Harry’s gaze softens, his features still raw, but there’s something else now. Something that wasn’t there before.

Relief.

For the first time in days, you feel the weight of the world lift just enough to let you breathe.

A few days later, you find yourself standing in front of a crowd again, this time not as a victim but as a force of your own.

Harry’s hand is warm in yours, his fingers gently threading through yours, and for once, the press is the farthest thing from your mind. This isn’t about the headlines or the lies anymore. It’s about the two of you, walking out into the world side by side.

The cameras are relentless as you step into the venue. The flashbulbs pop, lighting up the night like a thousand tiny suns, but you don’t flinch. You’ve faced worse, and you’re not backing down now.

You squeeze Harry’s hand, a silent declaration to yourself as much as to the world. You’re not hiding anymore. You’re standing tall.

And then, as if the moment is its own kind of defiance, you do something you never would’ve dared before.

You don’t hesitate. You interlace your fingers with Harry’s, showing the world exactly who you are—and who you’re with.

In full view of the press, you and Harry are undeniable. A team. Unbreakable.

It’s a quiet rebellion, but it’s a victory all the same.

The next morning, the news shifts.

“Harry & Y/N Fight Back: Privacy Matters.”

No more scandal-fueled drama. No more manipulation. This time, the story is yours to tell.

And in the flood of positive messages, supportive comments from fans, and even messages from celebrities condemning the invasion of privacy, you feel something shift deep inside. The narrative is no longer in their hands. It’s in yours.

As the evening draws to a close, the event winding down, you find yourself standing with Harry by the door. His hand still hasn’t left yours.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“No cameras allowed.”

The words are full of quiet pride, but also a promise—one that you can finally believe.

And for the first time, you believe it.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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saltcxrcle · 3 months ago

Text

a book for every situation ── . ✶ i. lahey

summary: isaac loves that you're a bookworm, until you ignore him for a book

pairings: isaac lahey x bookworm!reader, isaac lahey x gn!reader warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', fluff, slight humor, a mention of isaac's dad, reader is described as shorter than isaac, title is a lyric from carolina by harry styles, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own word count: 2.6K a/n: had the sudden idea to write bookworm!reader and wanted to write isaac, so combined the two ideas lol. this could have been a head canon but i was itching to write a one shot for my boy hehe <3 enjoy !! isaac lahey masterlist

YOU’VE ALWAYS LOVED books. You’ve been reading since the ripe old age of 6 when your mom brought you to the Beacon Hills library, and you discovered the Junie B. Jones series, and from there, you were hooked. Whenever you were asked what you wanted for your birthday, you always replied with books.

And you never really grew out of it. You loved getting lost within the pages of a well-written book, getting emotionally attached to the characters, and submerging yourself into the world of the book.

Stiles and Scott always teased you about having your nose stuck in a book, but they never failed to ask you for help with their book reports or essays for English. You didn’t mind helping them, but you never failed to have a smug grin on your face when correcting Stiles when he was being a smartass.

They aptly gave you the nickname “bookworm,”—they were going to shorten it to ‘Wormy’, but after verbally threatening bodily harm, they never called you that nickname after the threats made by you (you still remember the fearful looks in their eyes).

You would have argued that Stiles could compete for the title of the biggest bookworm (it was more like who was the biggest nerd), but one mention of the overflowing bookshelves in your room proved you wrong very quickly.

However, when you were pulled into the world of the supernatural by your best friends, you perpetuated that stereotype to the extreme. When Scott was bitten and became a werewolf, you all but threw yourself into researching and reading whatever lore books you could find on werewolves.

Despite being human, you brought a lot of brain power to the pack (which is saying a lot since the only ‘brainiacs’ within the pack were two other people). Your extensive knowledge of the supernatural and mythology came in handy. It helped the pack out when it came to the threats that loomed over Beacon Hills constantly.

Isaac knew that you were smart, maybe too smart for your own good. He vividly remembers spotting you at the local library when he was younger, with your eyes rapidly moving across the page. You sat at one of the tables with books spread throughout the top of it, with one of the Percy Jackson books in your hands as you flipped through its pages.

You were someone that he noticed, but Isaac doubted that you would have noticed him with his quiet disposition and his preference to stay in the background. So when he became a werewolf and inadvertently joined Scott’s pack, he was slightly intimidated by you. Though you were cold to him at first, you eventually warmed up to him—Isaac wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he felt relief wash over him when you stopped acknowledging him with a slight frown on your face and a genuine smile.

Once the two of you became friends, you guys naturally gravitated towards each other; whether it was sitting together at lunch or in times of danger, Isaac instinctively looked for you and tried to protect you. You remembered the day that Lydia pointed it out to you and just brushed it off as him being a good friend and not wanting you to get hurt since you were one of two humans in the pack.

Lydia had a sly smirk on her face. “I don’t see Scott trying to protect Stiles at every turn.”

You narrowed your eyes at the strawberry blonde—you were glad that she didn’t have super hearing because she would have heard your heart beat faster at her implication. You brushed her off and went back to studying, but Lydia didn’t miss your slightly flustered state.

You had to admit to yourself that you found yourself falling for Isaac. His dry humor complimented your smartass remarks that you found snarking out to him in the moments of banter that the two of you had, and he was easy to talk to when it came to anything.

He’d let you ramble about the book you had just finished or rant about a plot line within a book that irked you to no end. Other than talking about books, you found that Isaac’s presence allowed you to tell him things that you found challenging to try and bring up with Stiles or Lydia.

In turn, Isaac confided in you about his past with his father (which sparked a flame of anger inside of your chest but managed to keep it contained) and was significantly more vulnerable with you in general.

You knew that your life wasn’t like one of the romance books you read—if anything, it was more like the horror murder mysteries that were on the bookshelf in your room.

You liked reading romance, they were a fun escape, getting swept up passionate love story between the two main characters, and wishing that your life was like the ones in the books. But you were realistic and didn’t delude yourself into thinking that you would have a love story like any of the heroines that were in these books, hence why you kept your burgeoning crush on Isaac to yourself.

Little did you know that Isaac had felt the same way about you, and unbeknownst to you, Isaac had a feeling that you liked him back (he silently thanked the fact that he had super hearing and could hear your heartbeat).

So, he decided that he would make a move during your weekly movie nights with the pack. After the movie was done, he stayed behind as the rest of the pack left to help you clean up (since this most recent one was held at your house). After the living room was cleaned up, the two of you were in the kitchen chatting about how kinda bad the movie was and how egregious the plot was.

You were putting away some dishes back in the cupboards so your parents didn’t harp on you for not doing it, and you turned around to be face-to-face (more like face-to-chest) with Isaac. You didn’t realize how close he had gotten to you, and your breath caught in your throat. Isaac’s bright blue gaze froze you into place.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, and you knew that Isaac could hear it. Being this close to Isaac, in combination with the cologne he was wearing, was enough to make you dizzy.

Isaac was smirking internally, hearing your rapid heartbeat, and let it show on his lips as he placed his hand on your cheek. His eyes flicked from your lips and back to meet your gaze.

“Can I kiss you?”

You wanted to regain some control over the situation and your heart rate. “What’s the magic word?” You quipped with a slightly nervous smile on your lips.

Isaac huffed a laugh through his nose, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“Can I please kiss you?”

“There it is, ye-” The rest of your response was cut off by Isaac pulling you close to you by your neck and kissing you.

The moment Isaac’s lips landed on yours, everything around you faded into oblivion, and all you could think about was how soft and warm his lips were against yours as they moved together. It was everything that you imagined kissing Isaac and more. This kiss felt like how they were described in the romance novels you read, fireworks and all.

Now, you were lying in your bed, reading your worn copy of Little Women that your mom had gifted to you for your thirteenth birthday. Your room was dim but bright enough so your eyes weren’t strained when reading the black text on the page, and you had some tea on your bedside table that you occasionally sipped at as you read.

Sunday was usually the day you carved out time to read recreationally if you didn’t have any homework to do over the weekend. Today was a gloomy day, making you want to bundle up. Which you did, clad in some fuzzy socks, a soft sweater (that you definitely didn’t steal from Isaac), and some sweatpants.

You were so absorbed in your book that you didn’t realize that Isaac was leaning on the doorframe at the entrance of your room until you heard a loud cough pull you from the story and back to reality.

You looked up and saw your boyfriend with a small but amused smile on his face. “Oh, hey! I thought you were coming over later?”

“Babe, it’s later.” Isaac pointed to your alarm clock, and you saw that it was the time he had texted that he’d be over.

“Oh.” You said sheepishly. “Lost track of time.” You gestured to the book that was still open in your hands.

Isaac chuckled lightly. He loved the fact that you were a bookworm; it was very endearing to him, and it was one of the many things that he loved about you.

“I could tell. I was standing there for a good five minutes before I caught your attention.” Isaac kicked off of your door frame and made his way into your room, closing your door as he did. You noticed that he was dressed in a similar get-up to you—he was wearing a sweater and some sweatpants.

“You were just standing there and watching me read?” You raised a curious brow at him.

He nodded. “Yeah, you scrunch your eyebrows together when you’re really focused.” Isaac moved to sit right next to you on your bed and used his thumb to smooth out the wrinkle from between your brows. “Like that.” Isaac couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

You didn’t realize you were doing it, and when you felt his warm hand on your face, you swatted it away, feeling yourself flush at the action.

“Don’t worry, it’s cute.” Isaac grinned before leaning down and kissing your forehead.

You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help the slight smile that grew on your face at the feeling of his lips against your skin. You shook your head at him before picking up your book again and picking up where you left off.

Isaac couldn’t help the pout that formed on his lips as you began to read again, ignoring him for your book. There was a reason why he came over: to spend time with you and get your undivided attention. A sigh escaped him before he let his head fall back against your headboard with a slight ‘thunk,’ staring up at your ceiling.

Another sigh left him, this one slightly louder than the first. And then he did it again, then one more time— this time being the most audible out of the four times he did it, making you cast a glance at him before you went back to reading.

Isaac mentally groaned at your lack of response at his (poor) attempt to get your attention. He looked down at you, totally engrossed in your book. Isaac decided that it was time to bring out the big guns to get your attention.

You felt Isaac poke your arm. You didn’t even flinch and kept your eyes on the page. He did it again, this time poking your thigh. You pressed your lips together as you reread the sentence you were trying to finish before Isaac was trying to get your attention. You quickly caught on to what Isaac was trying to do, but you wanted to finish this page before you could reprimand the boy sitting next to you.

The next time he poked you, he aimed for your side—making you jerk away from him.

Isaac all but whined out your name.

You finally looked up from the book. “What? Why are you poking at me and sighing?”

“You’re supposed to be spending time with me,” Isaac said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh at your boyfriend’s tone. “But I am spending time with you.”

Isaac rolled his eyes at your witty remark. “I meant that you’re not paying attention to me.”

“When Lydia said I’d be practically dating a puppy, I didn’t think she’d be right.” You had a sly smile on your face as you teased Isaac. “Let me finish this page and then you can have my undivided attention, okay?”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed at you before moving so fast that you barely registered what he did. He grabbed your book from your hands and threw it on the floor next to your bed.

“Isaac!” You exclaimed indignantly.

He smirked before climbing over you, his face hovering over yours. “You can finish the book after I leave, but right now I’d really like a kiss since I didn’t get one when I got here.”

You shook your head at him. “You’re an idiot.” You looked deep into his cerulean gaze, finding it filled with mirth, love, and satisfaction at getting your attention.

“You’re dating this idiot.” Isaac smirked before sweeping you up into a dizzying kiss.

Your hands instinctively found themselves buried in his blonde curls as his soft lips moved against yours in a passionate kiss that filled your chest with warmth. Kissing Isaac never failed to make you feel like you were the only person in the world as his lips made you forget anything else was happening. Isaac pulled away from you and chuckled when your lips followed his.

“You happy now?” You asked him as you scratched at his scalp.

“Very.” Isaac shot you a smug grin before lowering his body on top of yours, letting his head rest on your chest as you played with his hair.

You welcomed his body weight on top of you like he was your own personal weighted blanket. The both of you let out contented breaths as you relaxed together. The room was filled with a comfortable silence as you played with Isaac’s hair. You could feel Isaac place a gentle kiss on your neck occasionally before nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck, taking in your familiar scent—his body relaxing further as your ministrations almost lulled him to sleep.

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the night before your mom knocked on the door and let you know if you guys wanted to eat anything, dinner was made, and you could serve yourselves.

You looked down at Isaac, who was nearly asleep on top of you. You brushed the hair from his forehead, making his eyes flutter open.

“Are you hungry? My mom said that dinner is ready downstairs.”

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but his stomach growled loudly—making you giggle at the sound and at the red hue beginning to grow on Isaac’s face.

“I think that answers my question.” You said with a smile.

You went to move, but Isaac grunted and wrapped his arms around your waist, preventing you from moving further.

“Five more minutes.” Isaac mumbled into your neck

“I don’t know if your stomach can handle five more minutes without eating.” You teased as you ran a hand through his hair.

Isaac groaned before rolling off of you and onto his back on your bed. “Fine, but you owe me more cuddling time after we eat.”

You laughed at Isaac before you nodded. “Yeah, yeah fine you big baby, let’s go down and eat.” You patted his thigh before getting up from your bed and taking your half-drunk cold tea to bring downstairs.

Isaac got up from your bed and quickly grabbed your free hand, his fingers interlacing with yours—making you smile at the action before the two of you made your way out of your room and down the stairs to eat.

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notapradagurl7 · 8 months ago

Text

By Your Side.

BlackFem!Witch!Reader x Terry Wizard!Richmond from Netflix film Rebel Ridge.

Taglist: @lovedlover @avoidthings @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @brattyfics @soft-persephone @planetblaque @sageispunk @megamindsecretlair @theblacklewinsky @sweettea-and-honeybutter @melaninpov @keyera-jackson @browngirldominion

Summary: You were a gifted professor for all black magic academy, teaching your students alongside Terry, where you discover a strange flower and leaves you alone with him.

A/N: don’t forget to re-blog, comment and like to support your favorite writers, and press the button for a request, So I was thinking in order to get back in the zone of writing, I combined Harry Potter but made it with only black people. Why not? Enjoy!🫡

Warning: +18, dirty talk, sex pollen, profanity, nipple play, violence, praise, spanking, use of magic, soft Terry, protective Terry, aftercare, brat reader, Terrybrat tamer! Slight corruption kink, masturbation,

—————

You stood beside Terry underneath the tree with your almond brown eyes watching the young adult melanated students of various shades standing side by side with their indestructible wands rested in their hands, pointing straight for the Greek god statues, the yellow energy crackling from their fingertips and spreading towards it, creating their own versions of art. Making the statues into themselves.

"Look at them go," Terry said, his voice smooth and playful, as he leaned closer to you. His cloak moved slightly with his movements.

"I think they’re actually going to turn that statue into a giant version of themselves. I mean, who knew they had such big egos?" he joked, rolling his green eyes at them.

You chuckled, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Well, they certainly have the talent to back it up. Just look at how they’re channeling their energy. It’s fucking impressive!”

You couldn’t help but smile at their joy, laughter bursting from their lips, their hair styled in small afros, low fades, in locs, box braided to their elbows, starighted and lastly, dressed in black, red, yellow, green hooded cloaks dawned to their ankles, black loafers and Mary Ann shoes.

“Remember when we were students at Willowstiff? Professor Anderson almost caught us passing notes in Potion class?” Terry mentioned with a grin, his tone was deep yet gentle.

You were a professor at the Wiilowstiff Academy alongside Terry Richmond, many other professors and your students talking about whatever crossed their mind, unfortunately gossip and rumors spread like wildfire on campus.

“Thankfully, I used that Change Emotion and Time Spell, he forgot immediately,” You chuckled, and your eyes landed on him.

You nodded at the fond memory of being a student at the same academy, where you and Terry became professors, the two of you had been good friends since you were students. Ready to conquer the world and defeat evil.

“I’d always liked that about you, your quick thinking and wit...”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lips at his words, watching the students float in mid-air while doing back flips. “And I always liked your honesty and kindness Terry..”

Standing behind the castle, located in the spacious backyard, the castle painted grey nestled in the middle of the vast forest, hidden from human eyes, danger and free to be themselves without judgment, without the ridicule of the world, the green grass underneath their shoes.

“Terry...” you began, your voice soft. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve come? From those awkward kids in class to where we are now?”

He met your gaze, the warmth in his green eyes making your heart flutter. “Yes. And I wouldn’t want to be doing this with anyone else. You’re the best partner a guy could ask for.”

His words washed over you like a gentle wave, and you felt a rush of affection for him. You smiled back at Terry.

The school was built by a married black couple with magic, wanting young black witches and wizards to harness their magic and embrace their identity. It was a sanctuary, a home where they could grow their powers and learn the rich history of their ancestors.

It was a luxury that you cherished forever, being yourself in various ways, even the forest was magic, hidden away in the depths of somewhere.

The ink black sky decorated with sparkling stars hovered the both of you, you pointed out to one student that asked for help, trying a different spell and it worked perfectly, Terry stole glances with his green eyes, smirking at the man as you walked back to his side.

The buzzing rumor in the air was Terry had a crush on you ever since you both became professors at this campus.

You were dressed in a black cloak with a dress, your black box braids pulled back in a ponytail. Your melanated skin glistened underneath the moonlight, your pretty face on cue.

The college students were young after all, often showing insouciance in some schoolwork, but loved doing the magic part of the school, you were like that but they changed over the years.

“Good job Faith! I see your technique, and Jordan! Don't show off because you like her!”

The brown-skinned young male rubbed the back of his neck and looked the other way. The wind brushed across your face and you exhaled the warm breeze.

Until one of your students discovered something growling near the stump of a bulky tree, your eyes quickly stopped her, “Amaya! Don't touch that!” you yelled out.

Amaya backed up immediately until the flower growled at her, eyes glowing red and growing larger, “well..well..time to eat!”

Amaya ran toward you and hid behind you, gripping your cloak. The young dark brown-skinned woman closed her eyes shut in fear, her locs pulled back.

“W-what is that?!” she exclaimed, you wrapped her in a protective manner.

“It’s a dangerous creature that kills witches and wizards, he spreads sex pollen, hopefully you won’t get affected..” You warned softly.

Terry’s eyes landed on you, “I'll assist by your side, Professor..”

You clapped twice and caught their attention, “Okay, students time to head in your dorms!! You too Amaya!”

The students groaned in unison and said “Yes, Professor L/N!” in a cautious tone, they walked in groups and, you rolled your eyes at them once again. Running off in separate groups and saying their goodbyes.

Being the ex-Marine he was, Terry's arms gathered around the students and made a motion with his hands for a swirling portal, the students jumped through the portal and vanished quickly.

“Thank you, Terry..”

“You’re welcome Y/N..” he said, standing by your side.

With a flick of your wrist, you summoned your own energy, feeling the warmth of your magic flow through your body. Terry did the same, bursting beams of light while Terry struck it with lighting.

The petals clutched around the yellow stem, throwing pollen at you. It exploded and the pink specks of pink pollen, fallen down near you and Terry until blew it away with a wave of his hand. Winds blew it into thin air.

“Are you alright?” He asked with concern, quickly turning to you.

You shook your head from side to side, “Unfortunately, the residue of the pink pollen doesn’t have to just touch you, it spreads like a virus.” You coughed, covering your mouth with your cloak.

“I should’ve acted quickly enough then you wouldn’t be affected, I’m sorry..” Terry replied softly, his face turned toward the flower that changed to a man.

Terry zoomed toward the flower man, his hands gripping the collar of his shirt and punched him in the stomach, lighting dancing around his fist. His hands gripped his ankles and flipped the man over, Blood trickled from its gut and sent the man sprawling into the ocean.

After the battle, your knees shaking weakly and almost fell to the grass, until Terry caught you with his hands. A heavy fever washed over you rather quickly, your breath became heavy.

The pollen made heat pool all over your body, your heart beating faster than usual, and an ache between your legs that started to hurt. You gazed at Terry and your breath hitched, clenching your legs again.

Your eyes fell to his lips, body, and face. Terry was so pretty, you whimpered softly but he kept asking you if you were okay, all you could do was shake your head. Familiar wetness pools between your thighs.

“T-Terry…I feel aroused and..” before you say another word, Terry lifted you carefully and carried your bridal style, snapping his fingers and a swirling green portal appeared before you, he stepped through it and you were in his spacious bedroom, your eyes roamed the place.

The four walls in sage green surrounding the two of you, The dim light from the candles flickered around the room, casting playful shadows on the walls. You could smell the rich aroma of incense wafting through the air, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs and a hint of something sweet like citrus.

The ex-Marine turned wizard professor carried the trauma with him but teaching the students helped subside it, seared in his brain for battle.

It was very clean from what you saw, with not much decoration but a regular room with the walls painted in sage green, rock music was his favorite genre. Deftones, Paramore & Radiohead were both of your favorites.

His head leaned in closer slightly, enough to give you space and his face softened, this wasn’t supposed to happen, he should’ve been more responsible. “This is so fucking bad, I gotta help you,” he said softly.

“The plant must've had some kind of aphrodisiac,” He spoke to you, catching your body shake from his touch.

“W-we can go back to the castle, they can help but I forgot that you don't live near the campus,” you said weakly, coughing still.

“I already notified the professors about the problem Y/N through a call, Genevieve is already up my ass about it..” Terry sighed, rolling his eyes.

Terry gently laid you on his bed, the blanket sprawled across the edge of the bed. He lifted your ankles and he looked at you with worry, “May I take off your shoes?” He asked gently.

Genevieve would usually scold Terry about anything when it came to you, she understood that he was an ex-Marine and you were friends but she was your sister. Like two peas in a pod, it seemed like no matter what happened, Terry was there to protect you.

“Gen is very protective, you know that,” you giggled.

“I get that but she’s always blaming me..” he mentioned with a soft tone.

You nodded at him, “its not your fault. Yes, you may. I'm starting to become hot in these clothes,” watching the man gently unzipped your black boots.

“Y/N, are you alright? The pollen…it can have some intense side effects.”

You could feel the heat radiating from your skin, and for a moment, you were lost in the warmth of his gaze. “I’ll be fine, Terry. Just a little… overwhelmed,” you admitted, your voice shaky as you tried to sit up.

“I’m a delicate flower, you know,” you huffed, trying to sound tough despite the heat coursing through your body. “I can handle myself.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh, I know you can. But right now, you look like you could use a little help. Let me take care of you for once, alright?”

You watched him as he knelt by the edge of the bed, his strong hands gently untying your shoes. The tenderness in his movements made your heart race, and you feel a flutter in your stomach.

He looked up at you, his expression serious yet playful. “Maybe I just like having an excuse to be close to you,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips as he tossed your shoes aside to the corner of the room.

Your feet rested on the bed, You felt your cheeks warm. “You’re such a dork.”

“A dork who cares about you,” he retorted, a hint of sincerity in his tone. “And I’m not going to let you down when you need me.”

Your eyes landed on his ass, it was really nice. “Stop staring at my ass, girl.” he shot back.

You giggled softly, and your cheeks grew hot while you bit down on your lip. Was this pollen or only you alone? Maybe it was you, you liked Terry but the rules said that professors shouldn’t have a relationship.

You took off your cloak and tossed your dress aside, grabbing one of Terry’s oversized tee shirts, sliding it down, dawning to your thighs. “T-Terry.. I’ll be in the bathroom..”

You rushed into the bathroom and locked the door, you sat on the closed toilet lid. Gently pull down your panties and pull off the oversized tee shirt. Your fingers sunk between your folds and you moaned loudly. “Fuck!”

You rubbed your left titty in a circle and fingered yourself for the past fourteen minutes, thinking of Terry made it worse and pleasuring yourself wasn't working, fuck. This is embarrassing, you couldn't cum.

You stood up from the toilet and washed your hands clean, drying them with a towel. You sighed in irritation. “Y/N? Are you

You opened the door and pouted again, Terry

Terry carefully peeled away the layers of your cloak, revealing the soft fabric of your dress beneath. He paused, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, a hint of something electric passing between you.

“How come you didn't get affected by the pollen? This is unfair..” you grumbled, unbuttoning the front of your dress and you allowed it to fall to your sock-clad feet.

“I'm pretty good at what I do..” he bragged, shrugging.

“C-can you pass me one of your tee shirts please?” you asked him in a gentle tone.

Terry’s gaze widened for a moment as he processed your request, and a teasing smile crept onto his lips. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, don’t you?” He stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over you as he walked to his closet.

“Just a shirt, Terry. Not a marriage proposal,” you shot back, trying to sound playful, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at nonchalance.

He chuckled, pulling out a soft, oversized orange tee that bore the logo of a band you both liked. “This should do the trick,” he said, tossing it to you. “But I might need to charge you for it later.”

You caught the shirt, a laugh escaping your lips. “I’ll pay you with my undying gratitude,” you quipped, pulling the shirt over your head. The fabric was warm and comforting, but the heat from the pollen still simmered beneath your skin.

As he settled back on the edge of the bed, his eyes studied you with a mix of concern and something deeper. “

You didn't want either of you to lose your jobs because of one night, he was only taking care of you at the moment. You were nervous around him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“Terry, focus,” you said, trying to maintain your composure. “I’m not in the mood for flattery.”

“Y/N. Let me make the antidote.” He turned to stand up and faced his bedside table.

Terry snapped his fingers, a book appeared in front of him and turned the pages, took off his cloak and revealed his body clad in a suit, his body through the clothes was memorizing.

“Sex pollen, the side effects are heat in the body, fever and weakness. arousal, I'm making the antidote and the other cure is physical contact..” Terry trailed off, his voice deepened.

His hand grabbed the steaming cup from the air, a hint of honey and rosemary, bringing it to your lips. The bitter taste seething on your tongue, you covered your mouth. It was disgusting, did he put a goblin’s shit in the cup? Rose petals atop the tea.

“Look at me, I know it's not good but it's gonna help with that fever, just swallow and then breathe..” Terry reassured softly, humming lightly.

Swallowing it immediately after you made a gagging noise, taking a breath as he said “That was fucking gross, what did you put in that?!” you exclaimed, drinking from a cup filled with water at the beside table.

He chuckled lightly, he held up his three fingers. “In three…two..one..” he counted with a stren tone.

Your fever finally faded away, but the heat pooling between your thighs made it worse, clenching them close and your clit throbbed again.

You looked up at Terry and suddenly went silent, pursuing your lips. “My fever is gone..” you said softly.

His arms are crossed, showing off a few of his tattoos, “See what happens when you listen to your professor?” he teased with a deep tone.

Your heart raced as you tried to regain your composure. “Okay, Mr. Richmond, you’ve done your job,” you teased back, attempting to inject some levity into the moment.

“You're still flushed..”

But the heat in your body was not just from the fever; betraying you with the way you responded to him, “You know I’ve always wanted to take care of you in more ways than one,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced at his words, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with your own. “Terry, we shouldn’t...” you started, but the words died in your throat as he took another step closer.

“Why not?” he challenged, his voice low and sultry. “We’re both adults. We’ve been dancing around this for far too long.”

Your mind raced. You knew the rules about professors, but the thought of Terry wanting you, needing you, sent a thrill through your body. The heat between your thighs throbbed painfully, begging for attention.

“What if… what if someone finds out?” you managed to say, though your body betrayed you by leaning slightly into him.

Terry’s hand reached up, brushing a stray braid behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Let them. I’m tired of hiding how I feel about you.” His eyes searched yours, filled with longing and determination.

“I want you, Y/N. Right here, right now. I'm sure will still have our jobs, the campus was made by a married couple after all,”

Your heart raced at his confession, and the heat pooling in your core intensified. “But what if it ruins everything?” you breathed, your gaze darting to his lips, torn between desire and caution.

He stepped even closer, closing the distance between you until his body was mere inches from yours. “Sometimes things have to change to be better. I care about you too much to hold back any longer,” he said, his breath warm against your skin.

Before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a soft yet demanding kiss. Pulling away from him, “T-Terry…uh..can you fuck me please?” you begged him, clenching on his shirt.

His hand wrapped around your neck, making sure he kept your gaze on his. “A good girl is supposed to listen and you've been a brat, the back and forth, the teasing, finger fucking yourself in my bathroom..” he shot back, smirking.

Terry carefully unbuttoned the back of your dress, falling down to your feet while it was tossed aside, he unbuttoned his shirt and zipped his pants. Clothes riddled across the brown hardwood floor.

No panties but no bra, you hated bras with a burning passion. You weren't big-chested but you loved your body. Terry pulled down his boxers, his dick hung out. Long and thick, veiny.

“I'll be good this time Terry..” you pouted with a soft tone.

He gently pushed you down on your back, he hovered over you and the tip of his dick rubbed across your clit, rubbing his dick across your folds with sweet torture. “Are you sure? You're gonna behave for me?” he teased.

“Yes…Please…fuck me! Fuck me!” you cried out, your nails left marks on his shoulders. Your pussy clenched around nothing desperately for friction and whimpering. You rubbed your clit in circles and moaned again.

Terry moved your hand out of the way, smirking at you. Resuming to rub his dick across your wet folds, “Did I say that you could fuck yourself?”

“N-no…Terry! I’ll be good, I promise!” you cried out, tears rolling down your face.

He kissed your lips, “Here’s your reward, princess..”

He flipped you on your stomach and pushed his dick between your folds from behind, you gasped softly at his dick filling you completely, the ache fading slightly after each thrust.

“Oh fuck..Terry!” you cried out, balling up the blanket. Drool trickled from your lips. The more pleasure, the less ache was there. Crossing the line with him was a bad move but you needed him.

Terry's hands gripped your hips tightly as he thrust deeper, his breath coming in warm bursts against your skin. "That's it, Y/N. Let me hear you," he urged, his voice low and deep.

You felt the heat radiating from him, mingling with your own, creating a storm of sensations that sent pleasure coursing through your veins. Each thrust made you feel fuller, more alive, as though every part of you was awakening to the moment.

“Just like that,” he continued, his pace quickening, “You’re doing so fucking well.” His words wrapped around you, igniting a fire within that made you push back against him, longing for more.

“Don’t stop, please!” you begged, your voice breathless and desperate. You could feel the tension building within you, that sweet, sweet pressure begging for release.

Terry’s grip on you tightened as he leaned over, his breath brushing against your ear. “You want to fucking come? You’ve got to ask for it,” he teased, his voice dripping with playful authority.

“Please, Terry! I need it! I need to fucking come!” you cried out, the words spilling from your lips as he continued to pound into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, his tone sultry and deep, making your heart race even faster. "Let go for me, Y/N. I want to feel you cum on my dick."

With that, you let yourself fall into the pleasure, your body arching as waves of bliss washed over you. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room as you felt yourself unraveling, the tension finally snapping as you came hard around him.

“Fuck!” Terry groaned, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release. “That’s it, Y/N. Just like that.”

You felt him thrust deep one last time, his body shuddering against yours as he pulled out of you, tendrils of his cum landed on your stomach, the warmth filling you completely.

As you both came down from the high, Terry pulled you close, his hands tenderly stroking your back. “You okay?” he asked softly, concern lacing his tone as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with affection.

You nodded, your heart racing from both the intensity of what just happened and the warmth of his embrace. “Yeah, I’m okay… better than okay,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face.

Terry chuckled softly, brushing a strand of a braid from your face. “Good, because I’m not done yet,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the heat rise again within you. “Oh really?”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “You’ve got to be ready for round two then,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he captured your mouth in a lingering kiss.

————

#black!reader #black fanfiction #terry richmond #rebel ridge #aaron pierre #terry richmond x reader #black fantasy #black writer #masterlist #terry richmond x oc

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