#my desire to grow my hair out ever again has plummeted lmao

[julesnichols]

The urge to grow out my hair versus knowing I won't have the spoons to deal with it when it's long nor handle the sensory hell that's having hair on my head

[saltpepperbeard]

Ravenous ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello hello again lol! A bit weird, huh? I don’t know why exactly I had a sudden surge of motivation, but quite honestly, I’m not mad at it. While the shot I wrote a few days back was a more original idea of sorts, this one was an “anonymous” suggestion. A rather EYEBROW RAISING SUGGESTION™ if you know what I’m saying ha! But for whatever reason, dialogue and ideas started flowing, and here we are! Just couldn’t help but explore Katniss desiring to Spice Things Up a bit. With that being said shjdkhskdls-

Disclaimer: This fic contains NC-17 related material, but y’all been knew. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO LMAO.

And without further adoooooo...

Ravenous

It’s happening again. Our bedroom seems to rival that of the setting sun, the two dancing and paralleling. Just as the clouds and sky melt into orange, I too, find myself at its mercy. Just as the sun plunges beneath the horizon, so too, do our pelvises atop each other’s. Just as it sets fire to the grasses and trees as it plummets from sight, so too, do our roaming mouths and hands against each other’s bodies.

And just as the sunset is habitual, expected, so is the explosion within. It’s like clockwork. It’s like the mighty star’s journey across the sky. A soft, inviting, and consistent brightness is maintained throughout the day, before utterly exploding into color and passion as ebony surges forth.

The newness and its subsequent excitement must be why it’s so incredibly enticing, so normal in our schedule. To think, I used to be one with the dawn. The coldness, the solitude, and the call for survival...all were my essence. Now though, do I dance and take pleasure in the dusk, flooding with fiery color before all runs dark.

Not that I’m complaining in the slightest. No, I’m a medley of breathy giggles, mewled moans, and messy kisses. The usual, the expected, and the blissful.

So a subsequent shift in the cycle, in the ecstatic repetition, does indeed throw me when it presents.

Losing myself in Peeta each and every night allows my hunger to break free, spilling forth after being locked up for so long. It gnaws, it feasts, and it satisfies, before settling back to a hush, properly quenched. His initial touches, caresses, and kisses do marvels at igniting the starting flames. His following motions and salacious actions work wonders at surging the fire to a roar. And then his sweetness dampens the blaze into finality, into exhausted ashes.

But tonight...Tonight, it’s different. It feels...wrongfully intense.

I am not hungry- I am ravenous. It roars within me as if it’s never been satiated at all. It howls, screams, gnashing for a deeper satisfaction. The area between my legs aches almost painfully so, and the heat surging through my core snarls that it won’t be bested so easily.

Such a sensation almost feels instinctual, animalistic even. And with that notion crossing my mind, an odd picture presents itself within my subconscious. A symbolic representation? Or is it a solution, a suggestion that the deeper confines of my hankering body has pulled up? Either way, it’s bizarre, and subsequently earns a deep blush to my cheeks.

The image of a stag mounting a doe.

It’s something I’ve seen on rare occasion while hunting, a deeply intimate and almost sacred moment birthed from nature’s way. But translating such an intrusive image into our bedroom, into the current situation, and connecting the dots between the symbolism and the craving...

...Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks flush impossibly more so.

What an oddity. Peeta more than satisfies me. He gives me something no one else could possibly come close to offering. He takes me to realms unthinkable, and charts depths once-unexplored. And yet, does my body yearn.

What a foreign desire. I never could have pictured myself in such a position- or...intensely aching for one, rather. With carnal intimacy being so new to me, to the both of us, I never expected my body to erect anything of the sort. But I suppose, the deeper and deeper we traverse in one another, the more and more we’ll unlock. I guess there are still things to be discovered about each other, and complex layers of intimacy waiting to be unlocked...

“...Katniss?”

As if my cheeks couldn’t grow any more fiery.

I must have been quite disconnected, lost in thought and libidinous imagination. My grey eyes rapidly blink to break from the haze, but the desire still careens within. Venturing out from the fog reveals Peeta once more though, his beautiful, bare, handsome form hovering atop me. He too, is flushed, small beads of sweat glistening atop his scarred skin to compliment the fiery sheen within his darkened eyes.

But where there would be normally be a crooked smile, or an agape expression of pleasure, there instead exists confusion, concern.

When our eyes finally meet with clarity, he reaches to softly cup my cheek.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice still husky, breathy, “You alright?”

I cannot help but swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to vocalize such a thing? Is it too taboo to ask for? The idea of...Peeta...taking me from behind?

I’m a mess, shutting my eyes and turning my face into his hand, as if to hide myself away.

“Hey...” His voice sounds more concerned, and a bit warmer. Some of the huskiness has disappeared too. And subsequently, a spark of desperation alights within me; perhaps because the hunger screeches at me to maintain heat.

“Sweetheart-”

Softening sentiments are cut off by a carnal kiss, my body piloting me to fight the dip. I lace my hands around the back of his head and pull his stunned form closer, breathily moaning through the connection. When I feel his lips begin to part though, when I practically taste the confused question forming on his tongue...

I know I have no choice. I know it’s now or never. And if I could stare the hunger dead on, if I could address its call and dive into vulnerabilities with Peeta before...

Surely I can do this too. Hopefully.

“Peeta?” I quickly interject.

I expect him to remain close, but just as ferocious desire pilots me, so too does compassionate concern steer him. He leans as far back as he can with my hands laced through his hair, staring with those inquisitive, stunning blues.

“...Katniss?”

“I...I...”

Just as the first time we delighted in one another, my throat threatens to lock up from anxiety, from fear of the unknown. Just as before, I find it horribly difficult to vocalize my wants. But in knowing that soft and concerned stare, in understanding the eyes that expectantly wait, and in feeling far fierier than previous times, I find the strength I need to produce a voice.

“...Can we...try something different?”

Nerves drive me to bite my swollen lip, as if Peeta’s going to react poorly or something equivalent. But as truly expected, he blinks the concern away before the tension visibly melts above me.

“Oh! Yeah, uh...sure,” he murmurs, beginning to smile despite lingering bits of confusion still present in his brows, “Is that why you...?”

“Yes...”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling softly before leaning back in for another kiss. He nestles close once more, our bare forms pressing and creating small hints of tantalizing friction. Be it the throbbing within, or the very present feeling of his erection between us, I break the kiss with quickened pants.

Unbothered now, and in a better understanding towards my desperation, he moves to kiss and bite at my neck. My hips and eyes both roll, the intense lust leaving me less bothered by the various noises sounding from my throat.

Peeta too, must be quickly getting tugged back; I feel him twitch before he softly grunts into the tender skin of my collar.

“What would you like?” he huskily whispers, topping off the question by tracing my bone with his tongue.

Between nerves and the sensations he’s dizzying me with, I briskly shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it...” I wheeze.

I feel his mouth turn upwards against my skin, and he chuckles before drawing forth artistry, painting his way up my neck and cheeks with brushing lips.

“Alright...” he says thickly, and I think I can feel him quivering slightly, “Show me then?”

I tense, but catching his stare grounds me. Beyond the drippings of ebony lust and fiery coals, I can see that beautiful understanding, that adoration with zero judgement. It’s what drove me to explore initially, and thus, does it fuel me once more.

My hands come to rest upon his muscular chest, quivering ever so slightly as I give a gesturing push. He follows my direction without hesitation, moving until we’re both sitting up on the bed. Another bout of hesitance grips me, but upon seeing the sight of him, heavily engorged and nearly flush against his stomach, I break through once again.

My stare manages to break to a necessity then, gazing upon his amputated leg with another bite of my lip.

“Your prosthetic...”

I can see his breath catch, watching his chest heave as I momentarily avoid his stare.

“...I need it?” he whispers.

I can only nod, and he thankfully doesn’t press, scurrying off to retrieve and reattach it. I’m piloted once more; my body seizes the opportunity to get into position while he’s not looking. Though my heart pounds something terrible, though trembles alight in my limbs, I roll onto my hands and knees, poised and ready for what I crave.

Peeta’s to my backside now, so I cannot see his reaction to what I’m offering. I can certainly hear it though, as well as almost feel it, the room seemingly spiking in temperature the moment he notices.

“O-oh...”

I tremble in both deep anticipation and tension, still unable to look at him. There’s a bit of pause though, and right when I think I’ve made a mistake, I feel the bed shift with the re-introduction of his weight. My thighs clench something terrible at his presence behind me, and I feel my entire lower half quivering.

Made even worse when Peeta groans my name.

“Katniss...”

The amount of lust is incredible. I could almost rocket myself backwards upon him. It’s wild, and hard to imagine how I wound up in such a position. But through the salaciousness, through the smoke clouding my brain, nerves still manage to peek.

“Is...this okay?” I shakily whisper.

“Yeah...” he breathes, and I nearly run woozy at the sensation of his hands ghosting my curves, “Is this...?”

I almost move beyond my own control, thrusting my hips backward and placing myself into his grasp. It’s his turn to tremble, and he groans yet again.

“God...Katniss...”

I’m his craft once more. His hands grasp me, knead me, squeezing my voluptuous backside as he would when he prepares dough. And just as the touch readies dough for heat, it too, sets me utterly ablaze.

Unbridled moans and mewls sound from my throat at his massage, my legs spreading wider and my back arching further. There’s barely a connection between anxiety and my ravenous core anymore, hunger almost entirely at the helm.

“God...” Peeta moans again, and such a noise pushes me into raw desperation.

“Peeta...” I whimper in a tone so unlike my own, “Peeta...”

We’re on the same plane. He understands immediately. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as hungry as I am, made raw by the sight before him.

So he quickly rectifies the situation. I feel the bed shift, before he brings a shaky hand to grasp one of my hips. I’m barely breathing, barely able to process with such deep anticipation. His following words almost don’t reach me, what with the beautifully torturous feeling of his head just barely brushing betwixt my folds.

“Okay...I love you, Katniss...”

I somehow wheeze, somehow manage, those words landing when nothing else can.

“I love you too- AH!”

I’m no stranger to the feeling of Peeta sheathing himself deep within me, to holding him snuggly and tightly in a space reserved just for him. We’ve danced in it and dazzled in each other so much lately that it’s, in fact, almost become something of a second nature.

So it’s definitely strange that just a mere change can have electrifying, incredible effects.

The cry from his entrance was utterly unavoidable; he feels deeper and heavier than ever before. I’m stunned at how different it feels, at the intensity behind it. He’s within familiar grounds, and yet it feels entirely new.

I’m dazed, but my hunger is utterly elated. It sings at the feeling, rejoices, driving me to slide myself backwards against him, swallowing him impossibly deeper.

His groan intersects beautifully with mine, the both of us likely relishing in the sensations. When I dare to ease my hips forward again, I feel Peeta’s other hand reach to grasp. With his hold complete, he pulls me back as he thrusts deeply.

And I already find that I’m quickly losing control, everything working to utterly unravel me.

The strokes, so deep and reaching, quickly earn a stream of incoherence from my hanging mouth. I moan and whimper and grunt a plenty, weaving a tapestry of pleasured nothings.

“Mmm...Oh, God...Peeta...”

There’s also something about this that strangely seems to amplify, something that makes it the most different from our previous sessions: I cannot see him. I cannot see the beautiful, wrenched effort on his visage, nor can I steal the moans from his lips. I cannot latch myself to his tender neck, nor can I run my fingers through his ashy locks.

It’s just the sensation of him within me. Nothing more but his powerful drives and our precious connection.

No wonder it’s so raw, so animalistic indeed.

But perhaps, not mutual.

Where I would expect Peeta to take off, to drive with reckless abandon, he instead remains...oddly consistent with his glides. They’re heavenly, and reaching, but unamplified. In fact, instead of speeding up as expected, he seemingly slows within me.

Such a turn, a difference in the usual chain of events, is enough to whip my head around. It’s my turn to furrow with confusion and concern, squinting through the intense mindfog to finally lay eyes upon him.

Which ends up being a blessing and a curse; the sight of him in such a position is almost enough to send me reeling further. Seeing him kneeling, grasping my hips, panting with reddened cheeks, and disappearing deep within...

A shiver runs up the length of my spine, exiting through my mouth as my voice just barely manages to quiver his name.

“...P-Peeta?”

“I...Um...”

It’s like we’ve switched places, what with him being apprehensive and me existing in a realm of thirst and confusion. Just as before, a cock of the brow and a building question is what spurs the opposite party into explanation.

“I’m...It’s going to sound...cheesy, okay? But I uh...It’s...Different I guess, not being able to...look at your face. Or kiss you. Or...”

He shifts himself a bit as he reaches for my face with a hand, effectively sending himself inward at a deep, torturous angle. It drives me strangely mad, my eyes rolling and my throat resonating with a squeak. It feels so foreign, to be reduced to this. And in my state, in my heightened desperation, I find myself blurting without much control.

“-Keep going.”

He freezes then, inside and out, looking upon me with widened blues. Such an expression mildly grounds me, offering a pang of guilt and a subsequent apology to follow.

“Sorry...” I wheeze, “I...I didn’t mean...If...you’re not...”

I’m a mess with my attempts to breathily stammer. But just as further guilt begins to bud, just as I fear I’ve forced him into an uncomfortable place, he gives such an unexpected and strong jerk of his hips that I yelp into the tense space.

When the shock leaves my system, when the static clears my brain, I’m able to see him beginning to smile once more, a bit more lecherous than before.

“Hmm...You know, different...might not be so bad then...”

“But-”

Again, he tortuously cuts me off, giving another strong jerk and sending me careening.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, looking at him with widened eyes, trembling legs, and a stunned soul.

“Because...” he grunts, softly squeezing and kneading my hips, “You like this, don’t you?”

He shifts then, focusing on slowly feeding himself into my depths, effectively earning a low grunt from his throat. A noise that’s quickly overpowered by my own, an open-mouthed moan as I squirm against the mattress, against his lovely torment.

“Peeta...”

“Yeah? You like it? Hmm, love?” 

My eyes flash at his darkened vocals, followed by a bite of my lip to hush the rolling whimper. Something is most definitely in the air tonight. The sun surely exploded in its descent. We’ve never really been so...raw with each other, so driven and demanding.

But it seems neither of us have any qualms. Even my worry towards pressuring Peeta into an unfavorable session seems to back away, what with his ebony murmurs and expressions so evident. We seem to be re-aligning, re-joining each other on the same plane of passion.

Thus, do I desperately nod, at his complete disposal. I slide myself backwards then, easing until I’m practically touching his pelvis, panting and gritting at the extent of penetration.

“I’ve forever to kiss you..." he whispers.

Please...Please please.

I’m hardly with it enough to question the strangeness behind the newfound begging, simply squirming and existing entirely within the desperate space.

“...But not long enough to pleasure you so...”

Thus, miraculously, do any last bits of wall come tumbling down.

And I’m no longer in our bedroom. I’m within droves of ardent fire. I’m traversing the very surface of our sun. I’m in a place so foreign, a state so delightfully insane, where none have ever brought me before.

All from the sudden, strong, and intense reaches of him deep within.

Oh, how I fall apart. How I deliciously unravel. Being so pent up, so oddly starving, the hunger gorges and instantly sets me alight. Just as it screamed before, I too, find myself vocalizing with such strength.

It’s a medley, an absolutely chaotic medley of passion. Beyond my cries and his grunts, I can hear his pelvis slapping against my back side again and again. Beyond the flashes and shivers in my vision, I can see our bed hammering from the force he’s inflicting. Beyond the heat and pounding stream of blood, I can feel him hitting places so new and intense.

And it’s everything. I love him. I adore him. And I cherish the connection we have, the way we can send each other directly into the heavens. I never could have imagined. Even mere months ago, I never could have imagined.

“Gggh...Katniss!”

His deep grunt coupled with the groan of my name is enough to break me from my overwhelmed thoughts; the dig of his fingers into my hips is enough to ground me completely. I cannot escape the ungodly pleasure now. I am present, and at its full mercy.

And when a thrust hits just so, when a piece of my glass cracks and threatens to shatter, it’s no wonder that my arms fall instantly gelatinous. I cry and toss my head back, sending a rolling ebony wave before my front half descends. I desperately grip the blankets, knotting the fabric with begging grunts and whines.

But it only continues to build, and build, and build, impossibly faster and impossibly deeper. Our souls are tangled, so very tangled, dancing and intertwining and refusing to let go. Naturally, I start to ascend, faster than I ever have before. The fire licks its way up my belly, caressing my jiggling breasts and-

...No, that’s his hand, reaching beneath to knead and massage, emboldened and salacious. My eyes roll something terrible, my hips even more so, more and more of the glass chipping away. He’s snarling, almost yelling; I know he’s so close too. But somehow, just as he always has, Peeta dashes through the chaos and holds me above all.

His wandering hand suddenly juts backwards, racing down my body before fingers find their prized destination. There’s a subsequent bolt of electricity at my core, followed by a heave of tension as cracks spiderweb throughout. I’m on the cliff, on the edge, writhing and seeing it shatter before me...

“Peet-”

The final note of his name shifts into that of a divine keen, elongated and reaching as my wings outstretch. I feel like I’ve never flown so high before. It feels as if though I breach the very reaches of our atmosphere, everything whited out and flashing with a dazzling array of color.

Surely I’m screaming. Surely I’m crying out with such forceful contractions wracking my system. But I can barely breathe, barely process. There’s nothing but this. Nothing but him.

Him- somewhere below, I can hear his desperate groans. He too, yelps like he’s attempting to hold on to the Earth, to stop such a rapid ascent into space. But with a distant, cracking yell, and with another push that drives me even higher, I welcome him into my flying embrace.

I hold onto him so tightly. I fly and dance and marvel in the closeness, in the connection we share. I soar hand in hand, his softness rivaling that of the cloud we pass. Before eventually, inevitability, we must return to a realm more frequented.

I land hard. My form essentially evaporates upon impact. The moment Peeta breaks our connection, the moment he releases my hips, I fall into a heap atop the blankets. It’s no surprise that I’m shivering, nor that I’m weeping, overwhelmed to the warmest, highest degree. I remain on my stomach, limbs sprawled every which way, continuing to pant and ride through the occasional aftershocks.

When the sound of my pounding heart departs from my ears, when I become more aware of my surroundings, I can hear Peeta on the bed behind me, heavily panting all the while. Surely he’s sitting back, likely riding the same lingering effects as I. 

But I need him. After almost selfishly delighting in such pleasures, I miss him. So I turn my head against the blankets, attempting to look in his direction as I reach with a hand.

“P-Peeta?”

Unsurprisingly, he understands. In mere seconds, he heaves himself beside me, flopping down atop the mattress. Though I’m utterly exhausted, and akin to jelly, I hoist myself onto my side and into his arms, our bodies as close as possible without the added element of fire.

And there, I snuggle, I caress, I kiss. I make up for the missed touches. He of course, reciprocates, the both of us tiredly offering all the affection we can muster between our shaking breaths. Soon enough, falling back into our usual patterns, we begin to smile. Then breathlessly giggle. Then speak and whisper sweet nothings through our exhausted exchanges.

“Oh...my God...Oh God...” I wheeze into one of our many kisses.

Peeta snickers a bit then, his hands beginning to softly rub circles against my bare back.

“I don’t...I don’t know what happened...what came over me...” I whisper, shying away to nestle my cheek against his.

He laughs more then, somehow managing to tug me even closer.

“Hooo, well...Whatever it was...I’m glad...I’m glad it did...”

I feel myself blushing, somewhat...shocked by the intensity of my actions. And in considering my behavior, in considering how ferocious the hunger was, it unsurprisingly reminds me of the likely sacrifice Peeta had to make in order to appease. I flush even harder, moving to hide my face against his perspiring shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” I murmur against his sweet skin.

“Hun?”

“I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t...”

I of course, struggle through my words, through my explanation. I’ve never been good at saying something. But my love patiently waits, expectantly waits, continuing to softly rub me through the silence. As usual, his understanding anchors me, and I whimper the truth rather sheepishly.

“It just felt so good, Peeta...”

To my relief, he gives a hard, handsome laugh, rattling our tangled forms.

“That’s all I could ever hope for, sweetheart...” he replies with lingering chuckles, pressing his gentle lips to my dampened hair.

I sigh at the tender contact, but continue to push myself.

“Really though...I’m sorry...I didn’t...want to make you uncomfortable...”

“You didn’t.”

When I huff against his shoulder, he softly tugs me backwards, allowing our stares to connect once more.

“You didn’t, love. Clearly.” He chuckles a bit more, before falling back into his earnest tone. “Like I said, it was just...different, that’s all. I marvel in your beauty, you know.” 

When I scowl at him, at the compliment, he grins even wider.

“And yes, I’m used to seeing your face in this. But thankfully, every inch of you happens to be stunning.”

“Peeta...” I groan, feeling my cheeks flush something terrible beneath his onslaught of tender eloquence. Once more, he laughs, before leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“I just got to address the less...frequented places,” he continues with a smirk, “Which after tonight, won’t stay that way for long, I’m sure.”

I huff, which again, earns another snicker coupled with a kiss. When we break away however, I find myself staring into those sparkling, warm blues. His expression shifts into something more gentle, more awed, surely catching the earnestness behind my stare. My hands reach up to cup his face, stroking my thumbs against his scarred yet softened skin.

“I did miss this, you know...” I whisper, topping my words off with a kiss to his nose.

“Well, I did say we have forever,” he replies with a growing, crooked grin.

“That’s not long enough for this either...”

I pull him into perhaps the softest, tenderest kiss of the night, one more fitting for the day than the dusk. It’s one I pour all my adoration into, of course having to verbally proclaim it all the same.

“I love you so much...” I murmur against his lips.

Once more, the connection breaks from the strength of his smile, delightfully warming body and soul before the sentiments are returned.

“And I love you...”

There we remain for numerous comfortable beats, continuing to lazily kiss and caress until the last of the sunlight disappears from the night sky. I find myself contemplating what lead to such an explosion, what lead to my desire firing off to such an extreme degree. Of course Peeta would be on the same wavelength, though the grinning question that breaks the silence gets me laughing and shoving his chest.

“You don’t...happen to have further tricks up your sleeve, do you?”

[relaxedreptile]

Fourth Period - Part Two

Pairing: Baekhyun X Female Reader

Sexual Content: protected sex. Swearing. Teacher!AU.

A/N: I apologize for how long this took me to write, my schedule has been packed and lately, the words aren’t flowing as freely as I would like them to.

I’m getting back in the groove, do not worry.

Also, I’m thinking of one more part after this one, what do you think?

Have a lovely week.

Part One Part Two Part Three

You weren’t sure how your parents would react to you clutching to Baekhyun for dear life on the back of his bike as you rolled into your neighborhood because that’s the opposite of how that went down.

No matter how scared you should’ve been with the air whipping past you on all sides with no protection whatsoever from the elements (minus the heavy helmet on your head that made it hard to keep your neck upright on top of your shoulders), your hands were barely ever touching Baekhyun’s waist. Instead, they were up in the air as you cheered whenever Baekhyun ended up on a main road and had to pick up his pace.

“You need to hold on!”

Your teacher’s exclamation soared into your ears and right into your brain, but you chose to ignore the command to continue relishing in the adrenaline pulsing through your body.

Baekhyun also seemed to ignore your rebellion (and apparent hard-of-hearing ears) and found himself smiling. He enjoyed seeing you so happy.

All because of him.

Your mood instantly plummeted once Baekhyun turned into your street, you didn’t want this adventure to end. You begged Baekhyun to take multiple detours along the way in order to prolong the trip, but he had silently refused with each correct change of direction.

“Are you sure we can’t go for another ride? How about I drive this time, yeah?” “No, no way, Y/N,” Baekhyun put his hands up, “Even if you had a license to drive a motorcycle, it wouldn’t be this one.” “What, you care more about the bike than me?” You were pushing it. Baekhyun cocked his head at you, unsure of how to go about answering your question.

In order to prevent an awkward silence, you acted quickly and threw your bag over your shoulder. “I have to head inside before my parents start freaking out. I, uh, never told Chanyeol who had brought me home.” You were dreading responding to the multiple texts you were sure your brother had built up on your phone.

Baekhyun cocked his again and smiled, did he realize what you were doing? Did he know you were relieving the tension? Regardless, he seemed to appreciate it as his smile grew until you could see all of his pearly-whites.

“I’ll wait for you to get inside.”

You smiled back, appreciating his concern for your safety, and thanked him for the ride home.

You were extremely conscious and aware of your stride up your driveway towards your front door. You made sure to exaggerate your steps to accentuate your butt and even threw in a few extra sways of your hips, just incase your teacher was watching.

He was, but you didn’t know that.

You made it to your front door and stilled for a moment before turning towards Baekhyun, still in the street and leaning against his bike, and waved goodbye one last time before it was returned with a swift nod and a leg swinging over his motorcycle as he got ready to leave.

You felt more than a little creepy as you watched him drive away through the small window that was placed on the side of your door.

“Honey? What are you looking at? Where’s Chanyeol?”

You paused in taking off your shoes and looked up at your mom standing in the hallway a few feet from you.

“I, uh… got a ride from someone.” “Who?” Her tone more curious than anything. “Baekhyun…” you allowed your voice to die off as you took out your phone to let your brother know what had happened and why he no longer saw you in the stands.

“Baekhyun? Byun Baekhyun?” You looked up at your mother, utterly terrified, hoping she wouldn’t give you a lecture about accepting rides home from a man well into his twenties who was also your teacher and the biggest crush you’ve had since Sophomore year.

But he was also your brother’s best friend. A boy your parents trusted.

“I never thought I would be one of the parents to complain about how fast you kids grow up,” your mother admitted, “but I can’t think about Baekhyun driving any type of car. Unless it’s one of those karts he convinced Yixing to steal from the golf course those two used to work at. Does he even have his license?” “Well, do you need your driver’s license to get one for a motorcycle?”

Your mother stopped and stared at you for a moment, contemplating what you had just said while you were still standing awkwardly by the front door.

“Baekhyun’s bike is actually really cool, it’s got this blue detailing-” “That boy gave you a ride home on a bike?” Your dad only caught your piece of the conversation, “is it one of the ones with the two seats? Or did you just run next to him as he pedaled?”

You snorted at your father’s comment and started to jog up the stairs, skipping one with each stride.

“I promise it was safe!” You yelled before shutting your bedroom door behind you.

You plopped your butt down on your bed, your knees drawing up in front of you with your toes hanging off the side.

Hair acted as a curtain, hiding any facial skin from any onlooker who could decide to sneak a peek.

You were disgusted by yourself, there was no question pertaining to whether or not you knew what was happening was wrong, so why did you feel proud of yourself? Was it some subconscious reflex to a boy paying attention to you? To a boy doing something arguably romantic that could make a cameo in a cheesy romance film?

But the thing was, Baekhyun wasn’t just any boy, he wasn’t even a boy. He was a grown-man who has been in your life since middle school and now worked at your school. You had a crush on a fucking teacher, an instance that the age of consent can’t cover up.

Who cares if you’re eighteen, who cares if you’ve been legal when you’re the school slut who sucks off a teacher underneath his desk for a better test grade?

You told yourself that Baekhyun was just an old crush breaking through the surface after such a long time being forced into the dark, but it was just bullshit to make yourself feel better. You never had feelings for Baekhyun, not to this extent and his age was no excuse for wanting your teacher.

Didn’t you have more self-control than this? Shouldn’t his new position in your life be enough to put an “off-limits” sticker on Baekhyun’s image in your mind? Were you broken for having these thoughts and desires?

Or were you completely sane while Baekhyun was the one with issues?

Nope, you doubted that. Through your self-hatred session, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t really make a solid claim against Baekhyun. Of course he was an older man hanging around a younger girl, but is it really that far-fetched that a teacher is just trying to help one of his students with a ride home? By keeping her company at a baseball practice no one wanted to be a spectator of?

Would people think twice if Baekhyun was older? Married with kids? Or is that even worse than a young teacher that could easily get with any student if he so pleased?

Your back gave out on its support of your body and was pulled into your soft bed by the force of gravity no one could escape.

Was Baekhyun the same? A force impossible to resist? Should you conjure up enough wind and pressure to escape his grasp temporarily, or give in and accept the inevitable?

A sigh escaped your lips before a groan tumbled out along side it.

The sound of your phone vibrating once, twice, three times shook you out of your confused stupor and brought you back to reality, the reality of your brother chain-texting you hoping you weren’t just kidnapped right under his nose and stuffed into someone’s trunk or a ditch on the side of the road.

You weren’t given a chance to reply before your 6’ 1” giant of a brother came barreling into your bedroom furiously spinning his head around until his eyes landed on you and narrowed.

No sigh of relief, no sign of happiness, just annoyance.

“Where the fuck is your phone?” Chanyeol yells, ignoring the exclaim of “language!” coming from downstairs.

Large hands snatched the device from your smaller ones and carried it until your brother’s face was lit up by the screen that was stuck on your chat history with him.

“So where has this been, huh? Where has this been for the past hour while I texted you nonstop? Where have you been?”

You opened your mouth to speak but Chanyeol didn’t give you a chance to get the words out.

“I can’t even get through practice without having to worry about your ass? Without constantly having to hold your hand and watch you like a child? Your mind can’t even process the idea of letting me know you’re alright? The idea of sending me a text like “by the way, chanyeol, not dead! Lol, sorry, lmao, hahaha’… nothing?” “I’m eighteen, Chanyeol, I can take care of myself, and I don’t text like that.” “Oh, I’m sorry, which emojis would you like me to act out?” “Shut up, Chanyeol,” a pillow found its way into your brother’s chest, “I’m sorry I forgot to text you but you can’t expect it to be instinctual for me to text you with continuous updates on my whereabouts.”

Your brother crossed his arms in front of your body and slapped on the most ironic fucking smirk before scoffing.

“You do realize that I’m the one who’s gonna end up dead if I let you end up dead? That Mom and Dad would murder my ass if I came home before you and was forced to explain that I lost you? That one moment you were freezing your ass off on the bleachers and then the next some old man was stuffing you into the trunk of his car? I can’t handle something like that! I’m too young to die!”

You rolled over onto your side, facing away from Chanyeol to keep him from catching sight of the guilt starting to form in your gut.

Your brother must have caught on anyways, despite your efforts, and you winced when you felt the corner of your bed sink from the weight of Chanyeol in consolation-mode.

“Look, I’m sorry for yelling at you, but you have to understand where I’m coming from. I was worried sick.”

You didn’t answer, waiting for Chanyeol to activate his sibling-telepathy and give you what you wanted.

“Come on, Y/N, you know I worry about you. I love you, you’re my little sister.”

Your body sprung up from your bed to wrap around the broad shoulders of the man sitting next to you.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you admitted. “I know.”

You untangled your arms and plopped back onto your bed after retrieving the discarded phone from the foot of your bed.

You thought you were in the clear until Chanyeol made no move to leave and instead allowed more confusion to fester.

“How did you even get home? You don’t have a license. Or even a car.”

You considered your options.

You could ignore his question, come up with a lie, or straight up admit that you wanted to sleep with his best friend and that a ride home was the perfect way to-

“Baekhyun drove me home.” You stared straight into your brother’s eyes as you normally would, hoping to eliminate any potential awkwardness.

“On his motorcycle?” You nodded. “Seriously? You got a ride before me?”

You were in the clear.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

You and the other five people in your vocal lesson all groaned, which was apparently the only thing that you could manage to do in unison.

Baekhyun had introduced a new piece to the entire choir at the beginning of the week and had been going over the music with each individual group at their lesson through the duration of the week. It wasn’t a particularly hard piece, but without the entire choir to back up the six altos stuffed in a practice room, the timing was off for all of you.

The bell was going to ring in just over three minutes and the little to no progress that your group had made had thoroughly and visibly frustrated Baekhyun to the point where he refused to leave form his spot at the piano.

You knew you had nailed the timing the past few times and you were getting annoyed with the other girls in your group, was it really that hard?

“Y/N!”

Your head snapped up to face your instructor, ignoring the gasps from the two girls on either side of you.

“You’ve been executing your entrance perfectly this entire time and just when we’re about to call it a day you have to go and screw up?” You held your tongue, knowing Baekhyun wasn’t in want or need of an answer. “The rest of you ladies can leave while her,” a long finger was pointed in your direction, “and I get this straightened out.”

The girls you had spent the hour working with snatched their bags from underneath their chairs and basically bolted out of the classroom, leaving you along in the lion’s den.

“Y/N,” Baekhyun rose form his throne next to the piano with one hand cradling his forehead. “I was just being careless, I should’ve been paying attention instead of getting lost in my thoughts-” “What exactly were you daydreaming about that you deem more important than rehearsal? These lessons are crucial to our improvement as a group and I can’t have one of my best students slacking off.”

You were struck by him calling you one of his best students but you knew he was expecting a response and had to snap out of it.

“I’m sorry, sir-” “Do I really scare you that much?”

Your apology came to a halt as you squinted your eyes at your teacher who was slowly losing his cool. Was Baekhyun smirking?

“Excuse me?” “I’m barely five years older than you and you’re calling me sir? I mean, oppa, sure, but sir?” He was on the verge of laughing now. “Well, I felt bad for screwing the group up, I didn’t know how else to express my apologies.” “Y/N, I know what you’re capable of, I understand it was a simple mistake. I’m sorry I became so upset with you, it’s harder to hold my frustration in around you.” You cocked your head to the side, pushing for further explanation.

“You’re not a regular student to me, I don’t feel as awkward.” The butterflies in the deepest depths of your stomach came to life. “You’re like a little sister to me, you know?”

You have got to be kidding me, sister-zoned? You could deal with student-zoned, too-young-for-me-zoned, but he saw you as a fucking sister?

Not only were you now sexually frustrated, you were frustrated in general because of Byun Baekhyun.

“Although, I guess that’s not the correct comparison, either.” “It’s not?” Your ears perked up at this new revelation. “People aren’t supposed to want their sisters, are they?”

You gulped and felt a shock of electricity shoot through your body before settling and festering in your core.

Baekhyun took a step towards you and reached out to you with a single hand. His movements were slow, hesitant, giving you a chance to stop him.

You did no such thing. Instead, you raised your eyebrow and held your eye contact with Baekhyun, daring him to go further.

A few strips of hair were brushed away from your face and tucked behind your ear. You were still trying to process the initial gesture when your teacher decided to move on and snuck in closer to you, his mouth directly underneath your ear.

“You have a very beautiful singing voice, Y/N,” Baekhyun whispered, his lips catching on your earlobe every so often. “I wonder how beautiful my name would sound coming from your lips,” his tongue flicked the sweet spot underneath your ear, causing your breath to hitch. “How many times do you think you could say it in one breath? How many times could you scream it?” Your head turned to the side slowly, acting as a warning to the man oh so close to you.

“As many times as you want.”

Baekhyun’s grin grew in size as his pupils shrank.

“Let’s figure it out together, shall we?”