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theragethatisdesire · 1 year

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scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.”

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin.

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch.

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

#aot x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren yaeger x you #eren yeager smut #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fic #eren jaeger fanfiction

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ssahotchnerr · 4 months

Note

Can you even imagine Hotch’s little girl grabbing his phone and sending random pics to the bau group chat LOL. And it’s all candid pics of reader 🥲🥲🥲🥲 but of course the team is like “oh so you’re WHIPPED” 🤭

a good morning

PLEASE cw; girl dad!aaron, set in s10, fluff <3

At promptly nine, Aaron entered the roundtable room. As he settled into his seat, Dave didn't hesitate to toss him an extremely amused, cheeky expression.

"You feeling alright there?"

"You had a good morning."

Aaron's eyebrows quirked at his statement, quickly recalling his day so far. Getting himself up, getting the kids up, heading out the door. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact he actually had the time to sit down and eat breakfast. "I suppose I did, yeah."

Kate snorted a laugh. "You 'suppose?'"

Aaron's quizzical expression lingered, his gaze shooting to hers. She clarified further - her face just as smug as Dave's.

"Your texts."

Confused, Aaron pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened messages, taking notice of the time in the corner - the most recent activity in the group chat about an hour ago. He tapped it open.

"Oh," He chuckled, a soft smile forming on his face as he saw its contents. "Ellie had my phone."

He hadn't noticed she had been taking pictures. He remembered giving her his phone - in attempt to refrain her from throwing her Cheerios onto the floor. Her tiny hands had struggled to hold onto it, it thudding against the table a few times besides him, as he ran through a short multiplication practice with Jack - who had a test today. Evidently she must've secured a firm grasp, and took photos in the process.

"She sent those?"

Aaron nodded, the grin on his face growing slowly as he scrolled through the thread of pictures, his heart warming. They mainly consisted of you: smiling, placing a bowl of cereal in front of Jack, preparing your coffee at the counter; all candidly taken. His family in its most natural, loving state. "She must've."

"When'd she learn how to do that? Ellie's what, four?"

"Three." Aaron answered Derek, a chuckle shaking through his chest and he placed his phone back into his pocket. "And your guess is as good as mine. Jack probably, or from watching us. We don't allow her screen time."

"Well, you should take notes from her." JJ gave his shoulder a squeeze as she passed by, en route to her chair. "We don't nearly get enough of them."

#ellie hotchner <3 #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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porcelana-r0ta · 1 year

Text

let the mourners come

Title: let the mourners come

Ao3 Link: Only available to Ao3 users

Word Count: 3045

Summary:

It started, as most things do with Danny Fenton, as a joke.

It ended, as most things do with Jazz Fenton, with things better than they were before.

xxXxx

When Danny finally gets a Twitter, it’s during Elon Musk’s shit show takeover. He’s able to secure a good Twitter handle thanks to people leaving en masse and fleeing to Tumblr. He knows about things that happen outside of Amity Park (he is terminally online rather than chronically, after all), but he still doesn’t think anything of using @TheJoker as his handle, even knowing about Gotham City’s clown troubles. It’s just going to be a shitpost account, anyway, one that dances in the chaos of Elon’s electronic graveyard. Nothing will come about him using @TheJoker when he’s merely posting things like, “Just grew a new row of teeth!!! very pointy but can’t go to the dentist anymore bc they might turn me in to the giw.”

So Danny honestly never foresaw The Actual Real Joker breaking out of Arkham Asylum all the way in Gotham City, New Jersey, and deciding to get a Twitter account to terrorize people online as well as offline. And he definitely never foresaw The Joker @’ing him on Twitter, demanding that Danny change his Twitter handle. But, well. Here he was.

[Image Description: A screenshot of a Twitter reply chain, starting with the real Joker @'ing Danny's Twitter account, which uses TheJoker as his Twitter handle. The Joker, who has a verified account, demands that Danny "change your handle", and Danny replies with a simple "no" followed by red heart emoji. The Joker Tweets, "Kid you don't know who you're fucking with," to which Danny replies, "Ye I do ur some dude w/ poor fashion sense and lame jokes. Maybe try badjokesbyjeff bc originality is ugly on u" followed by a shrugging emoticon. The Joker responds, "Check your DMs." Danny then responds, "Perf [happy emoji surrounded by hearts] I've sent you a time and place. Can't wait to beat the shit out of another disgrace of a clown." Someone with the username "Gregg rulz ok" responds to Danny's last Tweet, "Bro is absolutely RATIOING the joker but the clown keeps responding [three skull emojis] embarrassing frfr too bad he's gonna die for realsies".

End ID]

Danny is quick to respond and then makes even quicker work of roasting The Joker. This soon results in The Joker DMing him his IP Address and a creative threat. Still, Danny isn’t about to cow to a clown with no respect for the art of clowning. He replies to the DM:

Cool, meet me at the Nasty Burger parking lot in Amity Park IL on tuesday at 2am

The response from The Joker is quick:

Fourteen year olds are too confident these days

Danny rolls his eyes and ignores the influx of notifications from Twitter, and instead makes another Tweet.

Imagine beefing with someone over a Twitter handle lol acc so embarrassing for him

He blackens his screen and stretches in bed, letting his spine pop more than what is humanly possible. He runs his tongue over that second row of teeth, his lips curling into a grin.

xxXxx

Gothamite Twitter is blowing up over The Joker’s social media beef with a faceless shitposting account. Jason, upon finding out about it, has a series of reactions: first, he looks up the shitposter and follows them. Then, he finds the actual chain between the poster and The Joker, and his vision goes vibrant green when he sees that The Joker’s profile picture is of the second Robin, beaten and swollen in an abandoned building in Ethiopia.

When his vision clears and he can breathe without wanting to kill, he likes the shitposter’s replies, and he calls the Replacement to see if the other Bats know already.

“We know,” Tim says in lieu of a hello when the ringing cuts out. “We’re working on it.”

“What, you think anything’s gonna come of it?” But even as Jason asks, he already knows the answer. The Joker is unhinged and once he’s threatened something, he’ll follow up unless he comes up with a “funnier” option.

Tim’s breath hitches, and he says, “I’ve hacked their DMs. Joker knows the kid’s IP address and sent it to him. He knows everything from that address alone.”

He pauses in the middle of suiting up, “Kid?”

He hears Tim swallow, “Yes, kid. He’s fifteen. And he gave The Joker a specific time and place to meet up to fight. In his own hometown.”

“Are— are you fucking kidding me?”

“No. B is already calling Nightwing. We’re taking the Batwing to Illinois.”

“Jesus fuck. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Hood, I—”

“Shut up, I’m already in my gear.” He hangs up without waiting for a response.

He refreshes the Twitter feed and barks a laugh at the newest Tweet:

Jason Todd votes, and the Red Hood leaves his safe house.

xxXxx

A commercial flight to Illinois takes around two and a half hours. In the Batwing, they get there in an hour, and don’t even have to worry about the drive from Chicago to a small speck of a town like Amity Park. They spend the quick flight learning everything they can about Daniel James Fenton, the owner of the Twitter account, and they can all sense the growing tension from (and between) Bruce and Jason.

But, well. Jason doesn’t care. Let them be uncomfortable. It doesn’t compare to being ripped back into life and finding out his dad didn’t even get justice for his death.

When they reach town, it doesn’t take long to find the Fentons’ home. This is in part because Amity Park is a very navigable town, and because of the giant neon sign proclaiming FentonWorks on the side of the building.

“Is that a blimp?” Dick asks. “Why don’t we have a blimp?”

“Where would we keep it?” the Demon Brat counters practically. “Goliath takes up all of the Cave’s extra space.”

Jason rolls his eyes and knows veins would be popping out of Bruce’s forehead if it weren’t for the cowl.

“Let’s go,” Bruce says instead, and they all make their way to the house.

Nightwing, predictably, goes for the front door approach. Jason rolls his eyes as he takes one of the second-story windows and finds his way downstairs.

He gets down at the same time that a redheaded girl answers the door and nearly slams it in Dick’s face. Jason has to suppress snickers at the sight.

“Wait, wait, wait, are you Jazz Fenton? We need to talk to your brother!”

“...We?” she asks, then tenses and turns around to see the rest of the Bats in the hall behind her. Dick takes the opportunity to step in completely, closing the door behind him. “Wha— what’s going on?”

“Where are your parents, Jazz?” Bruce makes every question sound like a demand. Jason rolls his eyes from behind his mask—way to put the teenager at ease, B.

“Why do you need to know?” Her voice has a defensive edge to it. “What do you want with Danny?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nightwing comforts. “He didn’t do anything too bad, just said some dumb things online. It’s not his fault.”

This relaxes her, and her shoulders begin un-hunching. “Oh, s-so what’d he do?”

“He foolishly challenged The Joker to a battle in a ‘Nasty Burger’ parking lot tonight.”

“You could’ve had some more tact, Robin,” Nightwing scolds. But the Demon Spawn just crosses his arms.

“He did what?” Jazz shrieks. “Like, The Joker from Gotham? That Joker?”

“Are there others?” Red Hood comments dryly.

Her face goes through several different emotions—disbelief, rage, fear, and then rage again, “DANIEL JAMES FENTON! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!”

There’s a thumping noise, and then frantic footsteps down the stairs.

“Wha? Who died?” asks the figure of a tiny fifteen-year-old, smaller than even Jason had been when he was alone with The Joker. He’s tiny and lanky. Zero muscle definition. Eye bags to rival the Replacement’s. Something ripples in the Pit, deep and distinct, but he can’t name what causes it.

Oh, this kid is so dead.

“Danny,” says Jazz calmly while Danny blinks uncomprehendingly at the heroes in their hallway. She is solemn when she says, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you now.”

“What did I do?”

She stares at him, “Why have you scheduled a fight with The Joker?”

“Oh, that.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Is he taking that seriously?”

“Of course he is, Danny! It’s The Joker! That’s what he does! He can’t differentiate between a joke and reality! He would tear off his own face for the bit!”

“Oof,” is all Danny can muster. He digs his phone out and starts typing before Jazz yanks it out his hand.

“You’re fucking TWEETING about this?” Jazz asks incredulously, and Hood’s hackles rise. She even reads the Tweet aloud, “‘Just found out @TheJ0ker is being fr about fighting me. Sad but i can take a clown.’”

“I was gonna add ‘i’ve done it b4,’ but like the letter and the number four. But yeah.”

“You’re grounded forever.” Danny opens his mouth to protest, but the look Jazz cuts at him is so scathing that he shuts his mouth. Hood is reluctantly impressed—she had what could be cultivated into a fantastic Batglare. She pockets the phone, “You’re never getting this phone back. Taunting The Joker to Amity? Have you any brain cells? What if he brings Joker gas with him, huh? Or any of his goons? What if he starts hurting other people? Have you thought any of this through?”

Danny’s face goes from tired to chastised, his lips drawing into a frown, especially at the mention of other people.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think that he’d take it so seriously.”

“He sent you your IP Address.”

“I thought that was just a random string of numbers?”

“Oh my god,” Jazz despairs. “Oh my god. Grounded forever. See, I know you're lying to me. I know you're lying because Tucker, the nerdiest tech nerd to have ever been born, is your best friend.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “I tune him out?”

“You’re still lying to me?” Jazz scoffs and turns to Batman, “Do whatever you want with him. I’m not going to defend him from this.”

“Hey!” complained her brother, but Batman just continued on, “Where are your parents?”

“They’re in Sweden for a science convention,” Jazz answers. “They left this morning.”

Damn, Jason curses to himself.

“Jazz, seriously. You’re not gonna let Batman kill me, right?”

“Do you want to be cremated or buried, Danny?” Jazz asks blasély, and Danny gulps, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“It’s my Twitter handle,” he mutters petulantly, and Jason can’t believe the gall of this kid. Or maybe stupidity. Audacity’s a good one, too. “If he wanted it, he should’ve gotten it first. And he gives clowns a bad name.”

“Not the clown thing again.” Jazz digs her palms into her eyes, sighs, then turns to the heroes. “He has a whole clown thing ever since Circus Gothica came to town and robbed a bunch of jewelry stores.”

Danny gestures wildly with his hands, as if demonizing clowns was the real problem and not the egomaniacal mass murderer who wanted to murder him for his Twitter handle, “Clowning is an art form, Jazz, and people like Freakshow and The Joker make a mockery of the very serious societal statements that clowns make!”

All of the Bats very carefully Did Not look at Nightwing, who has made very similar rants on quiet patrols.

“You are never leaving this house again,” she says serenely. “And I’m unplugging the wifi router.”

“You would punish even yourself?”

“Oh, little brother. I would watch the world burn if it meant knocking sense into your thick skull.”

“Okay, Christ,” Red Hood finally interrupted the siblings’ melodrama. An unyielding redheaded girl and a mouthy black-haired, blue-eyed boy? They’d fit in a little too well back at the Manor, so Jason needs to cut this shit out before Bruce’s bat-doption instincts start tingling. “Stop. Just… Christ. Stop. Is this how you always interact with each other?”

“Sometimes there’s explosions,” Danny pipes up, a cheeky grin on his face.

Jazz doesn’t dispute it.

Fucking hell. God damn it. I can’t. I just can’t.

Batman doesn’t give anything away, “Robin and Red Robin will be staying here with you until Nightwing, Hood, and I apprehend The Joker. First, we’re going to check the perimeter.”

“Oooh, I get to give the lab tour!”

Lab?

“No lab. You’re grounded. You’ll only be in there for cleaning duty now.”

“Wh– hey! No fair!”

“What’s this lab you two are talking about?” Red Robin asks before Jazz can rip into her brother again.

She sighs, “Our parents’ lab. I’ll show you, but someone needs to stay with Danny.”

“You act like I’m gonna run off and start World War III….”

“I wonder why,” she says sarcastically.

Batman nods to Robin, who nods back, and the rest of them follow Jazz out of the living room to a metal reinforced door. She types in a code—Jason catches the numbers 03-14-99. There’s an assenting beep, and she opens the door, flicking on the lights and leading them down into what is apparently a basement lab.

A stone settles in Red Hood’s stomach, cold and heavy.

The basement is large, likely the floor size of the entire building. There are several work tables, filled with miscellaneous blueprints and spare parts and weapons and tools. Against the farthest wall is another armored door, but what draws Hood’s—and the entire Batclan’s—attention is the south wall, where a circular hole in the wall was glowing a toxic Pit green.

The stone shattered in his stomach, splintering into his body. Is it harder or easier to breathe? Jason can’t tell.

“Wow,” says Nightwing. His voice is cheerful, but Jason can feel the stress beneath it. “Do I even want to know?”

Wasn’t this supposed to just be typical Joker bullshit?

“Our parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz explains nonchalantly, walking further into the lab. “As in, ghost biologists.” She pauses at one of the work tables, picking up a green and white thermos. Pretty boring, considering the rest of their surroundings.

“Ghosts.” Red Robin’s voice is carefully neutral.

“Ghosts,” Jazz reaffirms. “I know. I thought they were crazy at first, too. But I can prove it, if you like.” Then, without waiting for a yes or no, she untwists the thermos, and there’s a bright flash of white, and a whole entire body sprouting out of it.

“WHOO! I’M FREE!” cries the…being, pale and floating and lanky and entirely too big to have fit into a fucking thermos, of all the fucking things. “....And not in the Realms? Wait.” He stops stretching, descending to rest closer to the ground, but still hovering a few inches from the floor. He’s got green eyes and lifeless (ha) blond hair. He’s wearing a trenchcoat and a green skull necklace. Overall, he looks like the type of thug he’d arrest in the Bowery.

“Hello, Johnny.” The man’s—ghost’s?—eyes flicker around each person in the room, his gaze becoming more and more confused and panicked as he takes in each Bat, before settling on Jazz Fenton.

“Why are the fucking Bats here?”

“The Joker’s coming to Amity,” she says. The ghost’s eyes widen. Jazz tilts her head, “How many ghosts would you say passed away in Gotham, Johnny?”

As Jason and the Bats tense, this Johnny guy lets out a wicked laugh, “Oh, Doll, you have the best surprises. Why did we break up?”

“You did try to have my body possessed. That ruins any good relationship.”

“Man, but Kitty’ll love this. Thanks for letting me out of Soup Time, Doll.” He floats higher, “Any advice?”

She throws him the phone she’d confiscated from Danny and he catches it easily, “Everything’s on here. Have fun.”

“What exactly are you planning?” Batman scowls.

Johnny laughs, “Aww, don’t worry, Bats. Peace and love on Planet Earth, or whatever. We’ll make it quick.” Then, as the Bats leap into action as one, Johnny turns invisible, the Batarangs passing harmlessly through where he’d once been floating.

“Where did he go?” Batman turns his scowl, angrier than ever, to Jazmin Fenton, who stares back unflinchingly. “He’s going to solve the problem.”

“You mean he’s going to kill The Joker.”

She shakes her head, “Oh, no. That’d just be asking for him to come back as a ghost. Could you imagine a Joker with powers like invisibility, intangibility, flight, and more? Johnny can be impulsive, but he’s smart. None of them will kill The Joker.”

“Then what are they going to do?” Red Robin asks.

“My parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz repeats from earlier. “But I am more of an anthro-ectopologist. I am concerned with the study of ectoplasmic beings’ societies and cultures. And while it is very ancient, there is protocol in the Infinite Realms—that is, where you go when you die, should you remain after death—to prosecute living criminals who have killed a certain number of Realms citizens. So you don’t have to worry about your moral code, Batman. The Joker will be tried by a much fairer court than Gotham can ever hope to have. No offense.”

Jason stares at Jazz Fenton, who he’d pegged as the sane sibling. He’s not so sure now, but he can’t say he hates it.

“And how do we know it’s a fair trial?” Nightwing asks.

She waves her hand, “Oh, as Gotham’s Knights, you’re key witnesses. I’m sure you’ll be summoned to testify. You will see then. And don’t worry about your secret identities—the dead don’t care much for that sort of thing.”

“So if this is a ‘fair’ trial or whatever, The Joker’s going to be locked up forever?” Jason asks. “I mean, that’s the only option for shit like him.”

Batman sends him a look, but he ignores it.

“Well, there are several different punishments that could be deemed appropriate, but he’ll never be able to set foot in the mortal world again, yes.”

Jason Todd grins, “Oh, I’m glad your brother’s stupid, kid.”

She sighs, long-suffering, “Well, that makes one of us. Still, there’s more important things we should discuss now that you’re here.”

“More important than The Joker trying to kill your brother over a Twitter handle?” Red Robin asks doubtfully.

Jazz smiles, sharp and dangerous, and asks, ”Have you ever heard of the Anti-Ecto Acts?”

xxXxx

Several months later when Danny is finally un-grounded, he Tweets his last three Tweets before Twitter can become the foolishly named X:

Imagine bullying the Joker so hard that it not only lands the Joker in ghost prison BUT it also leads to major law reform in the US lmao someone make the domino effect meme about this pls

Y’allre replying to me with thanks like i did anything other than be an internet troll. My sister literally manipulated local, federal, and interdimensional law so you should be thanking her.

i just a babie 🥺🥺🥺

xxXxx

Thanks for reading! This is the whole fic, so pls do not ask for tags! Thank you :)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #batman #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #the joker #johnny 13 #severely ooc

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myouicieloz · 6 days

Text

Live my life

band!aespa x fan!reader

Synopsis: It’s been less than a year since the band Aespa was created. Karina, Minjeong, Giselle and Ningning travel all over the country with nothing but a few gigs, little money and much love for the music. They’re far from superstars, and they still don’t have a lot to offer, and there’s something they can’t quite grasp: why you, the band’s most faithful fan, follows them blindly.

Warnings: smut. lowk confusing… but it’s the aesthetic

Word count: 9.9k

Notes: I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE DEAD 😤😤 I was obsessed w the MV as soon as it was out so I wrote this work!! it ended up being too long (lol) so i decided to split it in 2. I SHALL NAWT VANISH ANYMORE PINKY PROMISE.

pt.1 | pt.2

—

“Do you think it’ll fit?” Ningning’s hesitation is easily explained by the amount of suitcases hanging from the small hood of the car. The four girls agreed to bring each a single backpack of clothes for themselves, so the instruments and sound equipment could also be transported.

Clearly, it was still too much.

“It has to.” Winter answers, her tiny frame reaching up as she tries to grab one of the big suitcases herself. With Ningning’s help, she manages to do it, and they both stare at the car, wondering about an adjustment that would work.

Just as both girls imagined how to rearrange the space, Giselle and Karina stepped down the house's stairs, frowning.

Karina, is, as always, not amused by the struggle placed in front of her, but Giselle scoffs, judging her bandmates for not having things ready yet. They were supposed to pack their stuff in the car while she and Karina prepared their snacks and made sure all the windows and doors were closed, so they’d find no surprises once they got back home from their trip. Now, they’d leave later than expected, which would result in them facing the road at night— which was exactly what they were avoiding.

This day was starting to piss her off.

“What are you doing?” Giselle crossed her arms against her chest, trying her best to not sound as irritated as she was. They all knew, though. The girls know each other too well.

“Playing Tetris.” Minjeong stared back at her, with a tone that was just as presumptuous. “What does it look like we’re doing, Gigi? The space is obviously too fucking small for all of our stuff.”

Karina takes a step further before Giselle is able to open her mouth and give her friend a petty response. Her clumsy hands rearranged the suitcases so fast the three girls barely registered her actions, closing the hood of the car in a quick motion so everything wouldn’t fall off.

“Mhm, you won’t be able to see much of what’s behind the car, Gigi, but I don’t think it can get any better than that.”

The girls simply stare, impressed by Karina’s skills.

“So… problem solved?” Ningning asks, and they all nod.

Without a word, the four girls enter the small car, squeezing themselves as they prepare for their small trip. It wasn’t uncommon for the band to spend hours stuck in Giselle’s stepfather’s old 2000 Civic, but the lack of space was always annoying, making them all feel packed in like sardines. However, the vehicle was the only option they had to make their way to nearby cities to perform, so they avoided making any complaints.

The band was just about an hour into their 4-hour drive when Giselle pulled over, cursing under her breath.

“Fuck.” She mutters, biting her nails as she looks at the line of cars being stopped by the police, just a few miles ahead. Her face was even paler than usual, which set the girls on alert mode immediately— out of the four of them, Giselle was the least likely to panic at any unusual situation.

As soon as her body tensed, the Uchinaga felt long, lithe hands on her neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to soothe her, filling her with reassurance. Karina’s, naturally. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, why did we stop?” Ningning adds to Karina’s question, just as curious.

Minjeong’s brows furrow and she adjusts her posture, trying to stare at the horizon in the same position Giselle was, from the passenger’s seat instead. As always, she’s quick to understand the situation. “They’re stopping the cars ahead, but it’s just their normal procedure. They’ll stop us, of course, since we’re young girls traveling by ourselves with a bunch of luggage, but we’ve got nothing to hide, so… keep going, unnie. It’s fine.”

Seconds went by before Giselle grunted, a tense atmosphere hanging in the air while she fidgeted her fingers. Only then, her answer came, barely in a murmur. “I don’t have a license.” She could only hope they hadn’t heard her.

Judging from the way her bandmates’ mouths opened in shock they all started to speak together, though, they did.

Such a selective hearing, huh. She always had to yell at them at least three times for someone to get up from the living room and do the dishes, whenever they were home.

“What the fuck, unnie?”

“Do you really drive us illegally? Girl, we go everywhere by car!”

“I can’t believe you’re so damn irresponsible, I fucking swe—“

Karina stops their banter by out-screaming the two younger girls, a few minutes after Giselle had shrieked down on her seat so much she could merge with it anytime. “Wait! Wait.” Three pairs of eyes stare at her, inquiring. The quietness was odd, but it didn’t last much anyway. “I thought you had your permit taken last month?”

It’s Giselle’s turn to roll her eyes, then. “I literally told you that I failed. Do you pay attention to anything I say?”

Despite the situation they found themselves in, Minjeong and Ningning couldn’t help but giggle. It wasn’t news that Karina’s got her head up in the clouds, but her innocence was always funny to the girls. Despite being the oldest, she’s just a big puppy, after all.

And she looks outraged, ears red from the thought of being fooled by Aeri.

“What? we even celebrated!” Her face comes to the realization, as Minjeong tries to hide her laughter with a fake coughing fit. Winter’s blonde hair blows effortlessly when she turns her head to the window, in an obvious attempt to escape Giselle’s piercing stare. “Oh! Was that why you were being such a jerk the entire night, at the club?”

Giselle ruffles her hair in frustration but nods anyway. “Yes, that was the reason. Thanks for reminding us of that wonderful day, Jiminnie.”

Ningning taps on Karina’s shoulder, in hopes of offering some comfort to the desolated girl. She whistles, then looks from Aeri to Minjeong as if hoping they’d pull a permit out of nowhere and start driving again. Once it’s clear none of them would provide any solution, she does so herself, lifting her hips to grab her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll call Y/n.” Is all she says, clicking on the red number with 13 missed calls on the screen. “She’ll do something about it.”

Karina’s even more outraged, then, staring at Ningning in disbelief. She tries to reach out for her friend’s phone, but the maknae pulls her hand away with a huff. “Why do you even have her number, anyway?”

Sure, you’d be at their presentation, even if it were at a nearby town, hours away from where they lived. Somehow, you always show up. The girls couldn’t even remember when it happened; all they know is that they played at Ningning’s cousin’s club once, and from then on there you were, accompanying them in every step. You took pictures, edited videos to upload on their YouTube channel, and even helped them get some gigs every once in a while. It’s difficult for the girls to understand the reason you spend so much time and effort with them— a broke, nugu band who’s been doing this for a little over a year, yet there you were. Their first and most faithful fan, ready to drop everything to help them with any situation, at any given time.

Just like now.

Nonetheless, they had agreed to keep you at an arm's distance, only so the lines wouldn’t get too blurry. With time, they got to know you better, and it was noticeable you were as spoiled, obsessive, and explosive as you were sweet and passionate about the things you liked.

Truth be told, you scared them a little.

“I thought we had agreed on not talking to the psycho anymore,” Minjeong commented, resting her head on the window.

Ningning pauses at that, muting herself on the phone for a moment before answering, straightforwardly. “Well, do you want to get there or not?”

Her honesty is harsh enough that Minjeong lifts her palms in surrender, while Karina and Giselle share a knowing look. Ning’s right, naturally —what matters is that they get to the club on time.

“Fine,” The blonde sighs, turning to point at Karina. “But you’ll have to handle that nightmare of a weirdo. Don’t let her freak out or anything, like she did last time.”

“Why do I always have to do it?” Karina pouts, rolling her eyes. “Come on! What the fuck.”

Giselle giggles, grateful that Karina can’t reach out to punch her as she nods. “I agree… it’s a leader’s duty.”

With her brows furrowed and her rosy lips, the oldest member of the band looks much like a doll, adorable in all of her mannerisms. Even when she scoffs, it doesn’t come out nearly as rude and intimidating as she intends it to be. She still looks like a painting, so pretty Ningning pokes her playfully, brushing the irritation out of Karina with her ticklish fingers. Once she’s left ticklish in her seat, Ningning drops her phone, done with her call.

“Y/n said she’ll be here soon.” She announces, and the girls hum faintly in response. It’s enough for her to giggle, reaching out for her bag in hopes of finding a snack. “Don’t be too excited, damn...”

“I just hope she doesn’t take long,” Giselle mutters, ignoring the glares she gets by being to blame for their current situation.

“Well, if someone had just passed their driving test, we wouldn’t—”

The Uchinaga turns to Winter so fast her neck makes a weird noise. “Shut the fuck up, Minjeong.” Her tone is full of mockery, which is dangerous. Giselle gets irritated easily, but it’s hard to get her mad. Whenever she does, though… None of the girls like that. “I don’t see you driving around either.”

Minjeong, who’d rather die than recognize she doesn’t excel at something, puts a hand on her chest with the comment. Her face is quickly filled with red and, in a minute, she’s defending herself as if she’s just received a 5-year sentence.

As much as their banter is entertaining, Ningning still clings onto Karina on the backseat, resting her head on her unnie’s shoulders.

“I do hope Y/n arrives soon.” She tells her friend, closing her eyes despite the noisy background.

Karina smiles, ruffling the maknae’s hair with tenderness as she relaxes beside the oldest. “Don’t worry, Ning. She will.”

If there’s something she’s sure of, is that you don’t play when it comes to their band. Be it for good or for worse.

—

“Hello, cuties.” You say, tapping your knuckles on the driver’s window to gather attention. It works: the girls all jump in their seats, cursing under their breaths as they try to gather themselves from the scare. “Your knight in shining armor has come! Hurry, hurry! You’re running late.”

It had been less than an hour since Ningning’s call, so there’s no way you could’ve reached them so quickly. None of them say those words out loud, of course— some questions are better left unanswered.

“Here comes the devil.” Minjeong mumbles. The smile she gives you is drenched in feigned politeness, yet yours is sincere, bluntly ignoring her grumpiness with a wave of your hand.

“Hi, Y/n.” Karina greets you as the four girls get out of the car. You hug each one of them energetically, clearly pleased to be urged to help.

It doesn’t even bother you that Giselle, Winter, and Ningning only mumble, not paying you much attention. If only, your happiness would take long to wear off.

Still swooning, you gesture to the van that’s parked beside their car where a handsome, baby-faced boy waves at the girls with ease.

“My brother won this van at a bet a few days ago, and fortunately, he lent it to us. It’s more fitting for a band anyway.” You gesture at their car, still explaining. “Gyu can take your stepdad’s car back to your house, Gigi. Don’t worry.”

They already know Beomgyu from the previous times he’s dropped you off at their rehearsals and shows, so it’s nothing new. Although Giselle doesn’t seem convinced about your idea, she reluctantly gives him the car keys anyway. There’s no other option; she can’t just leave the car on the road, even though giving it to a stranger makes her uneasy.

“Thank you, Beomgyu-ssi.” The girls bow at him, thankful for the extra space, to which he simply nods.

The girls are quick to transport the suitcases to the van, stretching their legs out as they sigh with contentment. It’s like they can finally breathe, now that they’re not cramped in a tiny space. Even Minjeong is smiling, her little banter with Giselle being long forgotten by now.

Giselle is in the passenger’s seat, this time, and she’s surprised to see how easy it is to talk to a happy Y/n. You laugh and gossip over other bands the girls come across sometimes, and you tell them the entire story of how Beomgyu actually got the van. Time flies by while you’re on the wheel, and soon enough the four girls find themselves at the back door of the club, fixing their instruments for the time they go on stage.

—

“Do you get all those insane takes with this old-ass camera?” Ning asks curiously, holding the straightener against her hair as she watches you record Winter, who’s busy tuning her bass and pretending you don’t exist.

“It’s vintage, unnie.” You correct her, zooming in on the blonde girl’s delicate hands and her precise movements against the cords. “It has amazing quality, still.” Because Ningning is still staring, clearly waiting for a more direct answer, you add, “Yes. Pretty Much. Hey Minjeongie, look at the camera so I can get a better shot of you.”

All Winter gives you is an irritated look as she scrunches her nose and shakes her head. The girls enjoy arriving early at their events so they’re able to gather a few minutes of quietude, strictly to relax and focus on not letting the nerves overcome their abilities to shine on stage. You know that— it’s something you’ve seen them do countless times before. You find it adorable how they’d just close their eyes and try to control their breaths, fingers tapping their thighs to ease the anxiety that always comes with the wait of going on stage. No matter how many times they perform, the thrill will always be the same.

Although you don’t mind interrupting Winter’s time of focusing at all. Seeing you won’t give in, Winter scoffs, dropping the bass onto her lap. “Be polite, Y/n. Say please.”

Her intentions are as obvious as daylight. She’s mocking you, defiant like the insufferable being she is. Out of the four girls, Minjeong is the most stubborn, and you’re much alike. She was the one you got into most arguments with, none of you backing down from the opportunity of being right.

Said banter is the reason you turn and adjust the camera focus to Ningning, instead of giving in to the blonde girl. Yizhuo looks pretty as always, smiling at you as you kneel to get a take of her from a better angle.

You’re immediately interrupted by the same girl who was irritated by your presence just seconds ago. In a blink, Winter’s hands go to your chin, forcing you to face her with an assertive grip. “No. Film me.” Her porcelain skin shines against her dark eyes, who pop out even more, making her intimidating aura stand out in the small room as she adds with an icy, commanding tone, “And have manners.”

God, you’d gladly take her down just to get rid of that cocky tone.

“Stare at the fucking camera so you can have some decent solo shots, Winter unnie.” Your reply comes immediately, tone dripping with venom, “Please.”

Winter’s face is so red you’re afraid she’s going to combust at any second. She never spares hurtful words during arguments, and you’re ready for her to give it all. Disaster is set to happen until Giselle pops her head backstage, looking for you. Her eyes disappear and her cheeks flare up as soon as she meets your face, breaking the tension with a smile once her presence unintentionally ends the small battle you were having with Winter.

“Y/n!” She calls, handing out her hand to help you stand up. “Could you come help us with the drums, please? The guys from the bar are trying, but they’re so damn useless… We need you.”

You look away and Winter’s grip on you fades, although her trimmed nails still scratch your jaw as she lets her hand fall to her sides and returns to the couch, tuning her bass as if she had never been interrupted.

“Sure, Gigi. Let’s go.” It’s impossible to not smile back, allowing yourself to be guided through the narrow stairs of the place until you arrive at the stage. You don’t bother saying goodbye to either Ningning or Winter, knowing you’re going back to them as soon as you’re done.

The two younger girls are left by themselves, in silence for the first time since you arrived to pick them up, hours ago. It’s unsettling yet peaceful; not uncomfortable by any means. They’ve known each other for too long by now, so being with each other is more than natural— it’s one’s absence that is unsettling.

After giving her hair a few finishing touches, Ningning turns to her bandmate, pulling the chair beside her as she gestures for Minjeong to sit. Its leather cover is torn and the comfort is long gone, but they don’t mind. They’ve performed in far more awful places anyway.

“Okay, I’m done! Be still while I do your makeup, now, unnie.” Minjeong does as told, closing her eyes while the maknae starts moisturizing her skin.

The silence has Winter’s mind replaying the previous banter nonstop. She tries to stay silent, but the memory of your petty smirk is enough to leave her fuming, pumping with rage.

“Can you believe her, Ning? That fucking bitch, ugh. She’s so insufferable.”

“Oh, definitely.” Ningning smiles, thankful Minjeong has her eyes closed. She lets out a small giggle, still focused on brushing the concealer through her friend’s face. “God forbid someone puts you in your place, right unnie?”

She nearly doesn’t escape the highlighter Minjeong throws in her direction, now laughing freely as she continues with her task.

—

Aespa is a band of many talents.

The girls all met during sophomore year of high school, all trapped in detention for the day (as much as Minjeong would rather die than admit she’s ever gotten detention in her life). Even though they differ in personalities, in a clear contrast of cultures, manners, and experiences — their differences somehow added to each other until there wasn’t something missing anymore. The feeling of longing and loneliness that had accompanied them for so many years had finally ceased. After that, the girls found themselves at peace: the world was finally silent, as long as they were together. No matter how chaotic it was, Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning knew they’d like nothing else but to be together.

Luckily, they all shared two main passions: the love for music and the desire for attention, so being in a band together was something that happened rather naturally. The members all agreed, then, that Karina should be the leader. She was soft-spoken, calm, and had the experience in the industry the others lacked, from being a child model. It was the right decision: the oldest would do anything to protect her girls, and knew just the right people to ask for opportunities. They weren’t famous, nor did they make enough money to live off exclusively from the music, but it was enough, for now.

They had trouble understanding you, though. It was hard to grasp why on earth would they have someone so faithful, so committed to following their every move when they weren’t even famous? They didn’t have money, influence, or anything to offer you whatsoever. Yet you were always there, giving them your endless support without asking for anything in exchange. You could be a handful sometimes, sure, but still… your commitment was something that left the girls constantly wondering.

Because you’re special. The world will see this too, someday. is what you’d always answer, followed by a giggle and a wave of your hand, muttering about how it all wasn’t that big of a deal.

But as Giselle watches you help them relocate their instruments and set the tripods and cameras straight, she wonders if that’s truly it.

“Hey, Gigi.” You smile at her, looking down at the ground once you realize you’re the object of her piercing, focused gaze. “Are you and the other girls ready to go? Everything’s in order here.”

Now isn’t the time for that, though, Aeri reminds herself. As of now, the only thing she should focus on is her upcoming stage. Music is one of the many things she was strict with: she pushed herself to nothing but perfection, no matter where she was performing.

The other girls are quick to follow your call, grabbing their instruments and getting into their starter positions as they’ve done countless times before. They all adjust their mics to the perfect height until Karina is the only one left in the center, tapping hers to make sure she sounds loud and clear. Ningning’s hands fiddle with her drumsticks nervously, paddling along with her whole body— surely from the energy drinks she’s had minutes before, while Minjeong and Giselle stay each on one side of the stage, waiting for their leader’s cue.

Offering free tickets for those who arrived before 11 PM was a great strategy that many clubs implemented to fill up their spaces. And even though you’re well aware the girls are known enough to gather such a crowd without that stunt, you’re glad to have a full house staring at the small stage with expectation.

Karina waits until you’re done with your camera’s finishing touches up to speak, her voice echoing through the noise so easily that your hands stop adjusting the device’s focus to pay attention to her. With a smile so big her eyes grow small, her face is like a beacon, gathering all the focus to herself without the need for a spotlight.

“Goodnight! I’m Karina, and those are my bandmates: Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning.” She points to each of her friends, who bow and wave excitedly, still waiting for her cue. “And we’re AESPA! We hope you like our music, we’ve worked hard on our songs! Please enjoy.”

With that, Ningning taps on her drumsticks, as they’ve done countless times before. Minjeong’s bass and Giselle’s guitar sync with Karina’s voice as soon as they start playing, the melody echoing through the place like physical particles. Music is more than just a part of their lives: it’s who they are, how they express themselves, what they breathe, and it’s easy to forget they’re at a shitty pub and not at a fancy festival. As long as their voices and instruments are harmonizing together, the girls get lost in their passion and nothing else matters.

Even though they’re a new group— barely a year into the industry, original songs are not something that lack from their setlist. The public is screaming, the girls are jumping as they sing and dance along the rhythm and you try your best to capture their best angles, but the distraction in the form of a sin that is Karina prevents you from doing a good job. Her dark eyes glow in the dark, giving her an angelic aura as her strong voice reverberates through the place with ease, despite her shitty mic. It’s an impressive crowd they’re performing for, but she’s only staring at you. Preventing you to breathe or even move, afraid she’d lose her interest and look elsewhere.

No, you’d have none of that. Like all the girls, Karina was yours: you’d share her utter attention with no one.

So you stay at the front line, with your hands holding onto the camera as your head is held up in a frozen frame, looking at her.

You’d always look at her.

—

The afterparties are always one of the girls’ favorite events. The adrenaline rush is still present, giving them tons of energy to drink and party with strangers. They are constantly showered with compliments, being pampered, and indulged with all the attention they crave. It’s part of the reasons why they deal with music, obviously: Minjeong, Giselle, Ningning, and Karina. Because the desire to be seen and recognized for their music is a feeling they’ve been looking for ever since they can remember.

And that’s exactly what they were indulging in before hearing a loud crack from outside of the backstage room. The noise, followed by a bunch of ugly screams, startles the four girls, who exchange a quick, worried glance before storming down straight into the sideway alley.

“Damn.” Ningning whistles, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile coming from her lips. At her side, Minjeong and Karina are equally shocked and frozen at the scene unraveling in front of them.

People usually use the dark, space to smoke and get a break from the noisy, heated space of the club. Instead, the four girls find a huddle of girls so entwined with one another it’s hard to tell how many there are. Four, maybe five? Of them are vividly screaming, kicking, tugging, and pulling hairs. Despite the mess, the girls realize there’s one that keeps beating the shit out of them, which is impressive due to being gravely outnumbered.

As the commotion stops for seconds once the strangers become aware of the newer company, it’s easier to tell a specific head of honey hair apart from the others.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Minjeong’s murmur doesn’t come off nearly as disappointed as she intends to. If anything, she’s also holding back her laughter while you prove that one does not need that much muscles to win off a fight.

“Go Y/n!” Karina claps, cheering. None of the three girls make any move towards the scene, so Giselle turns her head towards them in disbelief.

The Japanese girl shrugs, quickly making her way onto the ground to break off the fight. She’s always been strong, and her time spent at the gym pays off as she grabs you by the waist and throws you over her shoulder, heading back to the backstage room as if you weigh nothing. Any attempts of resisting are useless, yet you don’t make Giselle’s job any easier— your kicking and screaming are now directed at her, hands curling into fists while you use your entire strength to hit her muscled back.

“Put me DOWN! I’m not done with those whores.” Your feverish voice is ignored by the four girls, who are used to your tantrums by now.

They know you’re naturally provocative, and never one to back down from a fight, even if you were in the wrong. And, somehow, you were good at it too: even if you left bruised and scratched, your opponents would somehow always turn out worse.

“Sorry ladies, we have some issues to deal with. If you excuse us.” As the group goes back inside, Ningning offers the poor beaten-up girls a calculated smile before closing the door on their faces. She doesn’t bother to check in on them— they’re strangers, after all.

You’re thrown onto the worn-out sofa with little care, suddenly staring at four serious faces. The funny atmosphere of the fight is long gone, so you cross your arms under your chest and grunt, face held high to put up with their judgmental looks.

This is their job, and they can’t have you causing trouble over anything. You’re associated with them by now, whether they like it or not. It’d be an awful occurrence.

“So, troublemaker, tell us.” Giselle is the first to speak, brushing the bangs out of her face. Even after carrying you for solid minutes, she still looks flawless, much different from your disheveled self. “What had you beating their asses out there?”

There’s a pout on your lips, and the defiant air in the room stirs up their nerves. It’s an annoying interruption of the fun they were having just now, and the alcohol makes it hard for them to stay patient.

Minjeong takes half a step forward, her hands messing up your hair even more. “Speak, Y/n. We have better things to do.”

She doesn’t coddle you, tone cold as it always was when directed towards you, but you don’t mind. If anything, you take pride in making her life a bit more difficult every time. You know they won’t give you their attention for much longer, though, which is why sigh deeply.

“I was defending your honor, you idiots!” You gesticulate towards the door, huffing. “Those whores were out there, talking about you, speaking the most vile things… I had to do something. You should be thanking me, and not look so pissed.” You roll your eyes, muttering the rest to yourself as you sink on the dirty couch. “You never acknowledge anything I do anyway.”

It had felt too hot inside, so you passed the backstage area to gather some fresh air at the alley when you encountered the group of girls. They were in love with the band, obviously, and were very vocal about the things they’d let the girls do to them: how their leather clothes were so tight and how hot they were… Hearing such things being said about your girls made your blood boil. They were yours, and no one else had the right to desire them like that. So you were quick to take action and make sure everyone knew who Giselle, Winter, Karina, and Ningning belonged to. As a matter of fact, It was a successful attempt: after the lesson you taught them, those girls would think twice before saying anything again.

Your gaslighting does little to the band; it’s easy to look further into your façade now that they know you. They don’t pity you in the slightest, well aware you’re one to be cautious around.

Karina smiles at your act. She can’t help it if the pout on your lips makes you so adorable, and your crossed arms are the reason your send nudes crop top rides up so your boobs are even more evident. “Which things, Y/n? What were they saying, exactly?”

“What they said doesn’t matter.” You huff, dismissing Karina’s question with a wave of your hand. “The important thing is that they’ve been dealt with, and your honor is intact. You’re welcome.”

The electronic music is loud, and it’s easy to feel the rhythm reverberating through the furniture, sending electric waves to your bones that rile you up even more. You’re energized, ready to go back to the crowd, drink, smoke, and stir up some trouble again.

Aeri must’ve been thinking the same thing since she merely shakes her head and leaves without a word. Ning is the next one to follow, proceeded by Minjeong, who rolls her eyes and points her finger right at your face.

“You’re such a menace, Y/n. Acting like an animal… you can’t behave at all.” You’re used to the disdain in her voice, so the only thing you do is mirror her snobbish stare as you watch her leave.

Unlike her bandmate, Karina’s eyes are kind— even though you’ve just messed up hard. You’re the only ones left in the room, you realize, as she holds out her hand to you. With her presence, the music ceases, and the only thing you can focus on is the sound of her heartbeat, and how her little chin mole goes up to match her smile, which is equally sweet.

Sweet, patient, and definitely too good for you: that’s Karina, a soul that should stay untouched, not yet ruined by the world and by other people.

Too bad that you’ve never been one to do the right thing.

You navigate towards her in a magnetic motion, taking her help so fast your bodies nearly crash once you get up from the couch. Instead of complaining or making fun of you for being so abrupt, Karina takes her free hand to your face, cupping your cheek before carefully wiping the dirt from your skin.

“Troublemaker.” She repeats Giselle’s words from earlier, although they sound almost reverent when said in her raspy voice, tired from the crazy routine they live with. “She’s a bit right, don’t you think?” The smirk on her lips is playful, and she toys with you. “You keep us on our toes, for sure. I guess someone has to.”

She doesn’t mind. If anything, Karina misses your presence when you’re gone— which is thankfully, a rare occasion. Sure, you’re stubborn, spoiled, and very annoying, but the band somehow needs you to keep their engines running. She knows the other girls feel the same way about you too, even if they’re good at not making it known.

Being with Karina feels right. She’s Aespa’s peace, their leader, and their oldest member. And, just like everybody that has ever met her, you long to be around the older girl.

“Let’s go back to the party, Jimin unnie.” You tell her, crossing your arms behind her neck. If there’s anything she’d want you to do, you would. Gladly. “I want to dance.”

She smiles back at you, looking at the half-open door before nodding. “As you wish, Y/n.”

—

Aespa’s hotel room for the night is precarious, to say the least. The wallpaper is peeling from the walls, the furniture is dusty— and the small dining table seems to barely handle your laptop and media equipment. The bed makes too many weird noises at the slightest movement, and the smell of mold is a bit unsettling for those with a decent sense of smell.

It’s Minjeong’s job to deal with their spending and to book their stays, whenever the band wanders off their hometown. Her father works as a treasurer at a well-established company and has taught her how to handle her own money from a young age. Sometimes, though, she tends to spend too little, given the fact that they still did not earn much with their performances, and the five girls would end up in situations like the current one. Not that they truly minded: they had two rooms to sleep in and breakfast by the morning, which was more than enough. They would handle the rest.

Karina, Giselle, Ningning, and Minjeong are all rockstars, it’s natural for them to thrive under attention. They live for it, and you love to record their pretty faces. Out of all the experiences of being with the girls, getting to take pictures and videos of their performances and looks— be it before, during, or after their shows. Editing might also be a pain and sometimes feel like a chore, but it was also something you enjoyed doing.

Besides, the praises and the proud, enamored look Giselle, Ningning, Karina, and Minjeong gave you whenever you updated something new to their channel and social media was something you looked forward to, naturally. In fact, you’re so focused on your task that you barely notice a sudden wave of hot breath on your shoulder.

“How far are you, yet?” Karina’s wet hair clings to your neck as you breathe in her post-bath scent, so refreshing. You’re unable to see her sulk behind you, but her whiny tone is enough for you to figure her feelings out before she adds, “Also, why am I the one with the least videos, Y/n?”

You don’t even stop your work to look at the vocalist, who stares at your laptop’s screen with expectation: the answer is obvious to anyone who has ever had the privilege of getting to know Aespa's leader."

“Because I’m always too busy looking at you to focus on anything else.” The words leave your mouth immediately, exposing facts. “But I’ll improve for next time if that’s what you wish.”

Doing anything after Karina opens her mouth is impossible. Her angelic voice and sharp moves draw all the attention to her immediately; one would be completely insane to not be mesmerized by her. By all of her.

“It is.” She nods, still so close you’re able to feel her body pressed against you through the chair’s cracks. Like a kitten, Karina purrs, finally breaking the tension between you by pressing small, wet kisses to your neck. “Y/n…”

You’re doomed. You’ve known that ever since she left the bathroom, with wet hair and red, swollen lips that did little to hide what she was up to while the shower was running.

Karina’s long, purple-painted nails scratch your neck, forcing you to pay attention to her— as if you’d do anything else. You’re quick to comply, closing your laptop as you stand up and walk away from the oldest member, onto your backpack. Her confused brows are adorable, but the realization comes soon once she reckons the camera on your hands. By then, there’s a dirty smirk on both of your lips; you know she loves this as much as you do.

“Are you up for another show, doll?”

Karina nods, suddenly shy from all the dirty thoughts going through her head. Her skin throbs, and there’s a familiar sensation building up in her core from the anticipation.

After waiting for the camera to be well adjusted and centered in front of the bed, with the familiar red dot announcing the recording, she turns around, removing her robe with practiced ease. The silk fabric of her robe cascades from her back, exposing her milky skin in its most perfect form. She’s indeed like a doll; body still untouched, announcing it’s been a while since she’s had any fun, and her Venus dimples flare up with every step she takes towards the bed. Her curves are perfectly enhanced by her sensual walk— she knows so, grabbing her hair out of the way so you’re able to get a clear shot of her body.

You’re so lucky to even have the privilege of looking at her. Karina seems to think the same thing; her knowing smile turns malicious just as she sits on the bed, spreading her legs out for your delight. Playing around with her is almost a routine, by now: Karina needs something, someone to be her stress-relief, and you’re more than eager to help.

However, seeing her bare and so eager to welcome your touch was something you’d crave forever. No matter how many times it happened: you’d always be hungry for the slightest glimpse of her pretty pussy.

And it was no secret that Karina loved to show off, so you drink on her like you haven’t had a single drop of liquor in ages.

It had indeed been too long.

“How do I look, baby?” Her voice is soft, calm as she looks deep inside your eyes and taps on her pussy with two of her fingers. A small strand of wetness lingers between her fingers and her slit, and she takes her fingers forward to make a show for seconds longer. It’s only when the strand dissipates that Karina brings her fingers into her mouth, taking them in ever so naturally. You don’t even register the whine that comes from your lips once she releases them with a ‘bop’, right after licking them clean.

“Absolutely stunning.” Your answer comes in a heartbeat, which pleases her deeply. In a blink, you’re in front of her on the bed, although still careful to not cover up her frame for the camera. Not that you have to worry about that; Karina is well aware of her best angles. “As always.” You lick your lips, eager to have your mouth on her, licking every part of her body until she’s more than satisfied, coated with your saliva.

But you know better than to touch her without permission, so you simply wait, aware she needs more indulgence than merely a few words. You run your hands up and down her legs, ever so obedient, hoping she’ll allow you to touch her.

Instead, her fingers go up to her chest, groping her big, voluptuous breasts. She’s so evil— Karina knows how obsessed you are with her boobs, “You caused so much trouble today, Y/n… I shouldn’t let you touch me at all.”

Her feigned innocence only adds to your desire, dampening your pussy even more. Even though you’re burning up, you can’t help but be in awe by how much of a goddess she looks, and it takes everything in you to not just grab her by the ankles and suck on her clit until she was screaming and leaking white from her pussy. Still staring at you, Karina twists her nipples and moans, biting her lip as she breathes in deeply.

You’re already throbbing yourself, and she’s done nothing. That’s the amount of power she has over you.

“I’ve been bad.” You nod almost eagerly, ready to do whatever she commands you to if it means you’ll get to pleasure her. “Can I still have you, though? Promise to make you feel super good.”

At first look, Karina might be the most inviting one out of all of the girls, but you know better than to fall into her trap: just like her bandmates, the leader thrives on playing games, manipulating people, and fooling around. Thankfully to both you and her, you’re happy to indulge in all of her wishes. So you add, battling your lashes at her as you take off your clothes yourself, not bothering for a command on this matter. “I’ll do my best for unnie…”

Karina’s eyes darken at the sight of your naked body; it’s so empowering to know she’s just as affected by you, and she runs her fingers through your hair with practiced ease. Taking her silence as an encouragement, you lie down until your face is lined up with her soaked cunt, blowing warm, rapid breaths onto her sex.

She smiles, then, caressing your cheek before giving it a light tap. “Go get the strap, baby.” Your smile fades immediately, and you contemplate ignoring her words until she’s changed your mind before your cheek is met with more of Karina’s fingers, her touch stronger this time. “Now.”

You huff, muttering incoherences because she’s such a bitch, ruining all of your plans, but still do as told, grabbing the strap without much further fussing. With the toy in hands, you return to the edge of the bed, staring at her with a puzzled look on your face.

“Are you going to use it?” You ask, curious. Taking Karina’s cock was something you always looked forward to, and the sight of her pounding onto you was enough for your walls to clench, eager to welcome her.

Karina launches forward before you even finish your question, grabbing your thighs with practiced ease as her fingers brush your pussy. The surprise touch makes you let out a loud moan, which stirs up a laugh on the older girl.

“If only you’d behaved today… I had so many things planned for us to do.” Karina’s voice sounds almost regretful, making you kneel once again, “No, baby. Tonight’s only about me. Now suck.”

There’s little time for you to think her thoughts through. Your mind goes blank, and you open your mouth to give her a show this time, reversing the roles. Always eager to please, you gag on her cock. Saliva drips onto the sheets as she shoves it down your throat, but you don’t seem to care, emptying your mind to give her will over you to use you like a toy. She’s not sweet or slow by any means— Karina’s innocent smile, welcoming posture, and puppy-like personality make a good disguise for hiding how dirty she is. Part of her tells herself it’s wrong, and that’s why she tries to reject how much her body craves rougher actions, but the truth is that the hiding and the expectation also turn her on.

Those thoughts hover in your mind as you bob on her strap, looking at the leader through your lashes while you gather all your focus on giving your best for her. You try to look your best, and give your best for Aespa’s leader: she deserves nothing less, after all. It seems to be enough for Karina, who sighs at the sight of you staring from behind your lashes with your hair all over the place ever since her tangling hands went to your scalp, encouraging you to keep going for so long you’ve lost track of time.

“Beautiful. You look so beautiful like this, baby.” She murmurs with a low, sultry tone as she takes the strap from your mouth and seals your lips in a slow kiss. You’re starved for her; your boobs press together when you deepen the kiss, desperate for more. At this point you’re already soaked, leaving a deep, wet spot on the sheets— and your skin burns. “Don’t be rude. Say thank you.”

Such a tease, she is. You roll your eyes at her trying to rile you up, and she laughs. “Don’t even.” You mutter, rolling your eyes at her.

Karina’s hands go to your thighs, caressing your skin as she motions for you to get up once again. “You’re so stubborn.” She chants, adjusting the strap on you. Per her request, you lay back on the bed as soon as you’re done, somehow managing to sink under the shallow pillows.

There’s such a mean smirk dancing around her lips. Your cunt aches and it’s borderline painful; sweat covers your body and you’re nearly sure you’ll go insane if you don’t give her all the pleasure she’s worthy of very soon. All you want is to eat her out until she’s breathless, porcelain skin all marked begging for you to stop. Then, you’d lick her clean, making her cum so many times there’d be plenty of milk dripping from her hole for you to drink on. All yours. She’s all yours to tend to.

“Why don’t you just let me do it already…” You whine, drawing your head back when she grabs one of your nipples and twists— the friction feels so good it sends a hit of pleasure straight to your pussy.

Instead of indulging your needs, Karina laughs, and there’s a hidden mockery in her tone that only adds to your frustration. She comes close until her hips rest on your thighs, with the strap being the only thing that keeps a distance between you. Before you’re able to test her patience even more, she positions the dick on her entrance, slightly rocking back and forth so it hits deliciously against her clit.

“You can look.” She says, grabbing your shoulders to steady herself. “But you can’t touch. Understood, baby?”

Karina’s eyes, big and expressive, stare at you with feigned innocence as one of her hands caresses your jaw, lifting your face so you’d stare at her. Having her making such luscious sounds so close to you is like a death penalty. Karina’s mouth hangs slightly open, and you gulp whenever she aligns the fake dick with her entrance, giving you a serious look that makes it clear that she expects an answer to her command.

A huge bitch, she is. A hot, sexy, and huge bitch. It’s nearly impossible to stay still, but you can see the challenge in her eyes as soon as she cocks her head at you. Although her little act of defiance is silent, her intentions are as clear as day: she wants you to humiliate yourself: to beg for forgiveness so you’ll maybe get granted the privilege of touching her.

So you smile back, placing your hands on your hips and doing nothing else, even if you’re itching to run your tongue all over her body. “As you wish, unnie.”

Karina is so wet, of course she is— it’s not hard to leave her drenched. The dick slides in easily, and she takes her time with taking down its inches. Your grip on her hips turns slightly stronger at the sight of her looking so angelical, as her big, soft boobs are all in display to your face. That earns you a censoring look, and you move your hands with another eye-roll. There's nothing more you want but to touch her.

After a few breaths, Karina finds a steady pace, bouncing on your lap. The gushing sounds of her pussy that echo through the room are nearly pornographic, and you find yourself letting out desperate whimpers, too.

“So good.” She murmurs, lost in pleasure. Her grip on your shoulders tightens, and you feel her muscles tensing up.

You can’t help it— watching her pleasure herself is almost too much. Without much thinking, your fingers make their way to her clit, circling her hardened as you study her, testing out the waters. She lets out a gasp at the sensation, closing her eyes to enjoy the way her lower abdomen kept building up the tension. The tingling sensation increases with the rhythm of your strokes, along with her moves, and it doesn’t take much further for Karina to cum.

Just as always, Karina’s strong voice fills the room as she takes her head back, clenching her pussy once the waves of pleasure hit her with strong motions. Her entire body trembles, and she relies on you to keep her steady.

“You look the prettiest when you cum.” You tell her, after a few moments of silence.

The laugh she lets out is weak, more like a giggle as Karina sighs deeply, carelessly throwing herself on your side of the bed. She turns to you, then, so close your noses are nearly touching, disregarding your words as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “And you can’t ever behave, can you?”

You mirror her smirk, pecking her lips before shaking your head. “You like it that way, though.”

The two of you stay in a comfortable silence, one you don’t mind at all. The girls have had some busy, tiring weeks, and you know Karina needs rest. She’s tired—they all are, so the tension relief was well welcomed by the oldest girl. Despite being all sweaty and breathless, Karina is much less anxious now that you’ve helped her relax. She runs her fingers through your body, taking her time until she reaches your pussy. It delights her to feel how soaked you are: she’s aware of the amount of power she holds over you, and the fact that you’re gulping, still throbbing yourself, is something so empowering to her.

It makes her insides tingle all over again, asking for more.

“Jimin…” You whine again, opening your legs to give the girl better access to your entrance. You need her to touch you or else you’ll explode.

Two of her fingers enter your cunt before you can cry any further, hitting a fast pace without warning. The action is well welcomed, and you hold her wrist, motioning to go further. But Karina loves to make you frustrated; it’s almost as if she thrives on it: just like they made their way inside, her fingers are gone, and her mean smirk is back.

“You haven’t behaved at all today.” She repeats herself, laughing as she kisses your pout away. You bite her lip in response, which makes her pull your face away, although she’s still giggling. “You’ll get nothing tonight, baby. I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes at her, “You’re such a fucking liar! You’re not sorry at all!”

Karina turns her back to you, making a show of ignoring you as she grabs the covers just as a big yawn hits her. “Goodnight to you too, pretty. Sleep tight,” You roll your eyes, ready to give her a sneaky remark when she adds, “Oh, and don’t forget to turn off the camera. We don’t want you running out of battery or anything, do we?”

“You’re such a bitch.” Although you still get up and do as told, knowing she’s partially right.

Karina waits patiently for you to return to bed, with her small eyes and big smile. The sensuality and roughness from earlier have been replaced by her usual bubbly self, which you adore just as much. It has always been amusing to you how easily it is for her to just switch back and forth from the luscious, gorgeous woman she is to her puppy personality, and you adore her either way.

You hop into her arms, humming when she fills your neck with small, wet kisses.

“You have to behave, silly.” Is what she tells you, biting your skin gently. You’re one to bruise easily, you both know it as much. However, you say nothing, allowing her to do as she pleases. “Otherwise you won’t get a reward.”

“We’ll see about that.” You murmur, happy to get lost in her cuddles. “I sure need something after that torture session.”

Your words cause you to be pushed back, although you know Karina’s only joking.“Oh my God! Go to sleep, Y/n. Goodnight.”

“Ugh.” Is all you answer, closing your arms around her waist.

“Y/n.”

“Right, right.” You sigh, “Goodnight, cutie. Can I get a kiss?”

The hand that goes through your face is enough of an answer.

“Sleep. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.” She commands.

And because it’s Karina, you obey. You’d always hail the band’s leader.

Your personal camgirl.

—

Breakfast has always been something you’d skip if you could. It’s a pain to wake up so early, and you need at least an hour to be somewhat presentable and another two until you can properly talk to anyone. However, the soon you leave this shitty hotel the better, so you resume sitting beside Giselle and Ningning while they talk excitedly. You chew on your bread with scrambled eggs with perhaps too much patience, still marveling at how composed they look despite running on 5 hours of sleep.

“So, we’ve got good news. Amazing news, actually. Like, the greatest news ever.” Ningning’s nearly jumping in her seat, her eyes darting from you, then Giselle, Minjeong, and finally to Karina multiple times in seconds. Yizhuo plays with her hands, nudging Karina while nearly dying of anxiety. “Unnie, would you please tell them? Go, go.”

The excitement in her tone captures enough of your attention; you, Giselle, and Minejong collectively sit up straighter, exchanging a confused look. The fact that they know as little as you do is comforting, and stirs up a nice, warm feeling of being included within your heart. The girls could be harsh and a little mean sometimes, naturally, but there are times when they’re also very sweet.

Karina laughs, pinching Ning’s cheeks. Even though Ningning pretends she despises it, you love to baby her and spoil her rotten.

“You can do it, Ning.” She encourages her baby girl to speak up, loving the smile that brightens up the maknae’s lips after the command. “Go ahead, tell them what we’re doing next.”

With her leader’s blessing, Ningning lets out a happy squeal and launches herself upwards. The upper half of her body hangs on the breakfast table as she looks around before whispering as if the topic is top-secret.

“So, this guy approached me after our show.” She stops abruptly at your reactions, waving her hands, “Hey, don’t make such faces! He wasn’t a weirdo or anything, I promise. Anyway, he came up and said he worked for AKT Music Ent. and that he liked our music and thought we had potential.” Ningning pauses, looking up to her leader for reassurance. Once Karina nods, giving her a knowing smile, she adds, “And then I told him to talk to Karina, of course, because she’s our leader and all… but basically, he invited us to compete at The Box, next month. Can you believe it?”

“You’re fucking with us.” Minjeong answers, in awe. She looks at Karina, with her mouth still slightly open in shock. “Please tell me you’re serious. That this isn’t a joke or anything.”

Karina has a proud look on her face as she nods. “It’s a thing. We’re doing it.”

“HELL YES!” Giselle screams, laughing loudly. She reaches out her arms and squeezes you and Ningning in a tight hug, her embrace so strong it’s borderline suffocating. Not that you mind— if anything, it fills you with warmth to be with them in their first big accomplishment. “WE’RE PLAYING IN THE BOX! OH MY FUCKING GOD. WE ARE AMAZING!”

Minjeong and Karina laugh at her reaction, just as happy from the news. Taking part in the event is an amazing opportunity for them: the mere thought of performing at the stage is enough to give them goosebumps, both of fear and excitement.

The Box is a week-long competition where the top 3 winners get a 2-year long contract, each signed with one of the Big 3 music companies of the country: SM, JYP or YG. It’s an elite program where successful bands have gained popularity and recognition, like SNSD. It’s set at a big, open area at the countryside and held much like a festival: the event has become more and more capitalized with every passing year. The companies make sure to hold a big show out of the entire thing, broadcasting the events that happen simultaneously 24/7— numerous interviews, commercials are shot by the participants to support the sponsors of the competition, which helps them to make their debut on national television. There are various foods, restaurants and parties being held at all times. It’s also a great opportunity for fans of nugu bands to personally interact with them, and actually super nice to meet other bands and artists. Besides the main goal, being at the event alone is a huge honor and opportunity for the band to grow as artists. They certainly won’t take for granted.

Minjeong claps excitedly. “We need to celebrate!”

“Absolutely.” Giselle agrees, looking in disgust at the men who kept sitting at the nearby tables even though it was still fairly early, and the Diner was still empty. “At home, though. Let’s get out of here, please.”

The five of you exchange a knowing look, collectively getting up at the same time as you grab your belongings and hurry to leave the shitty hotel. Your hearts are filled with pride, and you couldn’t be happier for them.

“You deserve this.” Is what you tell them, breaking the steady silence that reigned in the car. The girls look at you, all returning from dreamland.

Even though their only response is a faint hum, the satisfaction on their faces tells you they needed to hear that. “This is only a result of your hard work. All the hours of practice, the shitty-ass places you played at before, the No’s you’ve gotten… It’s going to work out, trust me.”

Karina’s arms go to your neck, in a gentle caress as she adds, looking at her bandmates. Her best friends. “Y/n is right. We got this.”

There’s nothing they can’t do, as long as they’re together.

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