#these are so bad... and this post will probably flop

[arabella-syntax]

Poco a poco

(A/N: My first attempt at a WOSO fan fiction. A little unconventional as usually it’s between Footballer x Reader. But I’m quite intrigued to explore the recent dynamics seen on social media between Jana Fernandez and Aggie Beever-Jones. So this is my totally, fictional take. Don’t sue me, savvy?)

Pairing: Jana Fernández x Aggie Beever-Jones

Tone: Slow burn, dry humour, soft queer joy.

Word count: > 30K, one shot.

Summary: It started, as most catastrophes do, with an Instagram like.

———————————————————————

It started, as most catastrophes do, with an Instagram like.

Jana Fernández was finishing up her second post-training recovery shake when the notification popped up:

@aggiebeeverjones liked your post.

Not strange. They were both professional footballers. Liking each other’s matchday photos wasn’t exactly criminal behaviour. But then came the second like. And the third. The third was on a post from 2022. Jana squinted. That was deep-scroll territory.

She didn’t say anything at first. But when she opened her DMs and found a message—

“Your header clearances were so peng it hurt.”

—she dropped her phone.

“Joder,” she muttered. (Fuck)

“Who’s peng?” Vicky López asked from across the locker room, towel slung over her shoulder.

“No one.”

Vicky raised a brow and padded over. “Esperar. ¿A quién le escribes? Parece que acabas de ver un fantasma. Or worse—got followed by a Chelsea player.” (Wait. Who are you writing to? You look like you just saw a ghost.)

Jana stayed quiet.

“Esperar. WAIT. This about that English girl? Beever-Jones?”

“It’s nothing.”

“That’s what people say when it’s definitely something.”

Alexia, tying her shoelaces with casual slowness, glanced up. “Blue tick?”

Vicky nodded. “Blue tick. Chelsea forward. Sorprendentemente linda.” (Surprisingly cute.)

Alexia smirked. “Hmm. Barça-Chelsea. Forbidden fruit.”

“I am not doing anything,” Jana insisted, which made it sound instantly worse.

The thing was… she was doing something. Namely: checking her own Instagram to see if Aggie had liked anything else. She had. A team photo. A charity event. A photo of Jana eating gelato in Girona with the caption “Poco a poco.” (Little by little)

Jana didn’t reply to the DM straight away.

She did the professional thing.

She showed it to Ona.

Ona glanced at the message and blinked. “She called your clearances ‘peng’?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means hot.”

“Well.” Ona handed the phone back. “At least it wasn’t about your throw-ins.”

Meanwhile, in Cobham, Aggie was panicking.

“What if she thinks I’m a stalker?”

“You are a stalker,” Niamh Charles said without looking up from her protein bar.

“I’m just admiring her defending!”

“Sure. That’s why you scrolled to her Girona trip in July and double-tapped it.”

“I meant to double-tap the ice cream.”

“Uh-huh.”

Aggie flopped back against the bench. “She’s just… cool, okay? She doesn’t post dumb thirst traps. She reads books and eats peaches and probably listens to indie Catalan pop.”

“You’re projecting.”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve got it bad.”

Aggie buried her face in her hands. “I think I like her.”

Back in Barcelona, Jana finally replied:

“Gracias. But ‘peng’? That’s good, yes?”

Aggie wrote back immediately:

“Very good. Like… 10/10 would defend against again.”

Jana smiled.

It was ridiculous.

She was defending against this girl. Technically, they were rivals.

But it didn’t feel like rivalry.

Not when Aggie said things like “You were class” or used emoji combinations no sane adult would choose.

That night, Jana found herself scrolling through Aggie’s stories, watching a TikTok of her dancing terribly with Niamh in the gym. The caption read: Defenders hate her. Coaches fear her. She can’t dance but she can score.

Jana replied with a simple:

“🤨 esto es criminal.” (This is criminal.)

Aggie:

“Only if you arrest me.”

Jana laughed so hard she nearly choked on her chamomile tea.

Barça vs Chelsea. Champions League semi-final, leg one. Camp Nou.

It had been a bruiser of a match. Aggie Beever-Jones had nearly slipped past Patri twice. Jana had won five headers and one key interception that led to their second goal. And Aggie had smiled at her exactly three times—which, statistically, was probably illegal.

Now, in the tunnel post-match, players were doing the usual exchange: sweaty hugs, shirt swaps, murmured buen partidos and a few grumbles about the ref.

Jana spotted Aggie near the mouth of the tunnel. Alone. Strapping her wrist. Hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.

She didn’t mean to walk over.

She just did.

Aggie looked up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jana said. “Tough game.”

Aggie gave a tired smile. “You tackled me like I owed you money.”

Jana tilted her head. “Maybe you do.”

Aggie blinked. “For what?”

She shrugged, lips twitching. “Entertainment.”

Aggie laughed. “You’re not as serious as people think.”

“Only on matchdays.”

“This was a matchday.”

“I made exception.”

Aggie opened her mouth—maybe to flirt back, maybe to just keep her there—but then a third voice joined in.

“Vale, que ya está bien,” Alexia said as she appeared at Jana’s shoulder, eyeing Aggie with the amused suspicion of someone who knew far too much for comfort. (Okay, that’s enough.)

“Ale…” Jana said, sighing.

Alexia raised a brow. “So. This is the famous Chelsea striker, no?”

Aggie blinked. “Famous is a stretch.”

Alexia looked her up and down. “You speak Spanish?”

Aggie blinked again. “Uhh… poquito?” (A little.)

“Hmm. Dangerous,” Alexia said in English, the word heavy with her accent. She turned to Jana and added in Spanish, “Habla poco, pero mira mucho.” (Speaks a little, but looks a lot.)

Jana elbowed her. “Ale, por favor.”

“Just saying,” Alexia said, holding up both hands. “No me fío. You see the way she look at you? Like… Camp Nou es tu cara.” (I don’t trust…Camp Nou is your face.)

Aggie was very obviously trying to follow the conversation, which made it worse.

“What did she say?” she asked, smiling.

“She said… you look at me like I’m Camp Nou,” Jana muttered.

Aggie laughed. “Well… you did keep me out the box like you were defending holy land.”

Alexia made a soft, dramatic tsk noise.

“Careful with her, eh?” she said to Aggie, tapping her temple. “She look sweet, but she bite.”

“I’m starting to hope so,” Aggie muttered.

Jana groaned. “Okay. That’s enough.”

Later, in the dressing room, Ona tossed Jana a protein bar and raised an eyebrow.

“So?” she asked.

“So what?”

“You talked.”

“We exchanged five sentences and Alexia tried to murder me with her eyes.”

Ona grinned. “That’s basically dating for you.”

Seville. Nations League matchday.

Spain vs. England.

The weather was brutal—32 degrees, bone-dry, the kind of heat that made defenders cranky and wingers reckless. The score was 1–1 at half-time, and both Jana and Aggie had been subbed for “load management,” which was just a polite way of saying don’t break your stars right before Champions League.

Now, the two of them sat on the bench—stretching, hydrating, watching their teammates run wild.

Aggie glanced sideways. “Hot enough for you?”

Jana, dabbing her forehead with a towel, snorted. “You call this hot? Try Cádiz en agosto.” (Cadiz in August.)

Aggie laughed. “I’d melt.”

“You’re already red.”

“British blood. We weren’t built for sunlight.”

Jana smiled, sipping from her bottle. “You run well for someone solar-powered.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that buzzes with unspoken jokes. The pitch glimmered in front of them. Leah Williamson was yelling something at Millie Bright. Aitana was clapping furiously. Someone had just missed a sitter.

Aggie leaned closer. “Do you always play this… intense?”

Jana raised an eyebrow. “You mean serious?”

“I mean, you look like you’re solving a murder out there.”

Jana smirked. “Well. Sometimes I am.”

Aggie laughed.

Then, as if rehearsed, their hands reached for the same bottle of electrolyte water.

“Sorry—” Aggie said.

“No, tú,” Jana replied. (You.)

Their fingers touched.

Neither pulled away.

Until someone cleared their throat behind them.

“Vaya, vaya,” said a voice that could only belong to Vicky López. “¿Qué tenemos aquí?” (Oh, oh, what do we have here?)

Jana rolled her eyes. “Vicky…”

Vicky plopped down on Jana’s other side, grinning. “I leave you alone for ten minutes and you flirt with the enemy?”

Aggie looked at Jana. “What’d she say?”

“She said I’m flirting.”

Aggie blinked innocently. “Are you?”

Jana paused. “Estoy… being friendly.”

Aggie smirked. “Is that what they call it here?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If you flirt back.”

Vicky groaned loudly. “Dios mío, get a room.” (My God…)

Later, in the England camp, Leah watched from a distance as Aggie scrolled through something on her phone, cheeks slightly flushed.

“You FaceTiming her again?”

Aggie glanced up. “What? No.”

Leah raised an eyebrow.

Aggie held her hands up. “I’m not!”

Niamh strolled past. “She is.”

“Bloody snitch,” Aggie muttered.

“She likes the Barça girl,” Niamh sang under her breath.

“I don’t—” Aggie started, then stopped. “Okay. I do. A bit.”

Leah smirked. “Just don’t get nutmegged by your girlfriend in the next match.”

“Shut up.”

Back in the Spain camp, Vicky leaned against the doorframe of Jana’s room.

“¿Te gusta de verdad?” (Do you like it?)

Jana looked up from her phone.

“¿Quién?” (Who?)

Vicky gave her a look.

Jana hesitated, then admitted quietly, “Tiene algo… no sé. She’s funny. And real.” (There's something about it... I don't know.)

“Y guapa.” (And pretty.)

Jana rolled her eyes. “Obvio.” (Obvious)

Vicky smirked. “Vale. Pues no la cagues.” (Okay. Don't screw it up.)

It escalated like all disasters do: through memes and thirst traps.

The DM window between Aggie and Jana was officially alive. Chaotic. Bilingual. And teetering somewhere between “friendly banter” and “pre-dating with a side of emotional repression.”

Aggie started it with a TikTok of herself and Niamh trying to copy the latest dance trend in the Chelsea gym. It was awful.

Jana replied:

“You dance like you’ve been tackled mid-air.”

Aggie:

“Better than your throw-ins.”

Jana:

“Oye, mis saques laterales son arte.” (Hey, my throw-ins are art.)

Aggie sent a voice note just to hear her say “laterales.”

That week, Jana sent her a video of Kika and Vicky attempting a “serious tactical breakdown” using tortilla chips as players and guacamole as the midfield.

Kika yelled, “THIS is the 4-4-2 diamond!”

Vicky responded, “You just ate the right back!”

Aggie replied:

“Your team is unhinged.”

Jana:

“We are artists.”

Aggie:

“Kika licked guac off the tactics board.”

Jana:

“Performance art.”

Brighton was cold, damp, and smelled faintly of chips and sea salt.

Jana loved it.

She was visiting Bruna Vilamala for the weekend. Bruna had been on loan at Brighton for almost a season now, and while she missed Barça, she had fully adopted seagull-core chaos.

They sat on a graffiti-covered bench overlooking the pebble beach, wrapped in coats, nursing overpriced takeaway coffees.

Jana scrolled on her phone. Bruna glanced sideways.

“Is it her again?”

Jana didn’t look up. “No.”

Bruna snorted. “Then why are you smiling like a lovesick Labrador?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Cállate.” (Be quiet)

Bruna grabbed her own phone and opened Instagram. “She liked your photo again. The one of us in London. Should I feel replaced?”

“You’re not replaced.”

“Just benched?” Bruna deadpanned. “I get it. The Chelsea girl’s got those cheekbones and chaos curls.”

“She’s not chaos,” Jana muttered.

“She FaceTimed you from a Sainsbury’s.”

“She was looking for the right tea.”

“She bought one called ‘Proper Builders Brew,’ Jana.”

Jana cracked a grin. “It was strong.”

“Yeah, like your feelings.”

Jana groaned. “I came here for friendship. Not psychological warfare.”

“Too bad. I’m your best friend. It’s in the contract.”

Later, at the training ground, Bruna introduced Jana to her Brighton teammates as “la que roba corazones en Champions.” (the one who steals hearts in the Champions League)

Jana blushed. “No estoy robando nada.” (I'm not stealing anything.)

“Right,” Bruna smirked. “You just ‘accidentally’ tackle her like you’re asking for her number with your shins.”

“I play clean.”

“Clean-ish.”

After training, as they walked along the pier, Bruna grew a little quiet.

“You like her, huh?”

Jana hesitated. “Sí. But… we’re on different paths. Different leagues. Different languages.”

Bruna nodded. “Yeah. But same game. Same heart.”

Jana looked at her. “That’s deep.”

“I watched a lot of rom-coms during flights between London and Barcelona. Estoy transformada.” (I’m transformed.)

Back in the hotel that night, Jana opened her phone to find a message from Aggie.

Aggie:

I saw your Brighton story. Beach girl now?

Jana:

Only if the beach has football. And you.

Aggie:

Careful. I might hop over.

Jana:

Do it. I’ll bring you guantes.

Aggie:

What’s that mean?

Jana:

Gloves. For when I steal your heart and leave you cold.

Aggie sent back an audio message of her laughing.

Jana played it three times.

One night, long after midnight in Barcelona, Aggie FaceTimed without thinking.

To her horror, Jana picked up immediately. Hoodie, glasses, hair a little messy. Her voice soft: “Aggie?”

“Sorry—I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”

Jana tilted her head. “You called me.”

“Yeah, but like… midnight brain, you know?”

Jana smiled. “No hay problema.” (No problem.)

Aggie’s voice softened. “What were you doing?”

“Reading.”

“What book?”

Jana held it up: Nada by Carmen Laforet.

Aggie squinted. “That’s… not English.”

“Correct.”

Aggie smiled. “You’re a book girl.”

“I like words,” Jana shrugged. “Sometimes better than people.”

Aggie blinked. “So… I’m an exception?”

Jana paused. “Eres una interrupción agradable.”

“What’s that mean?”

Jana smiled slowly. “A nice interruption.”

Aggie looked genuinely flustered.

“God, say something terrible so I stop liking you.”

“Your accent when you say ‘vale’ is criminal.”

“There it is.”

The next morning, Alexia found Jana still scrolling through their conversation history. They were in Alexia’s apartment - planning their trip to London after Copa de la Reina’s final - it was specifically a trip to watch Beyoncé’s concert.

Alexia sat on the bed. “You’re smiling like… una idiota enamorada.” (…an idiot in love.)

“Ale… no es así.” (It is not like that.)

“¿No?” Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Then why do I hear you giggling at 2 a.m.?”

“It’s not like that.”

Alexia nodded solemnly. “Claro. Of course. Not like that. You just want to learn British slang and suddenly drink tea at five.” (Clear)

Jana groaned. “You’re worse than Vicky.”

“Vicky thinks she’s going to be the flower girl.”

Back at Chelsea training, Niamh casually tossed a ball toward Aggie. “You seeing her this weekend?”

Aggie blinked. “What?”

“She’s coming to London, yeah?”

“How do you know?”

“Beyoncé concert. Her and Alexia.”

Aggie almost choked. “How you’d know?”

Niamh winked. “I saw your texts! Better get that hair sorted, Beever-Jones.”

It was raining in Barcelona and Jana was holed up in the recovery room scrolling through her messages when Alexia walked in, soaking wet and holding two coffees.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just handed one cup over and sat down across from her like a therapist about to begin the session.

Jana raised an eyebrow. “Gracias… pero why are you staring at me like that?”

Alexia sipped. “No digo nada… todavía.” (I'm not saying anything... yet.)

“Ale…”

Alexia smirked. “Okay, okay. Just one thing. You watch that clip of her goal how many times now?”

Jana flushed. “Once.”

“Please. You’re watching it like it’s a romantic drama.”

“It was a good goal.”

“She almost tripped during the celebration.”

“I found it charming.”

Alexia sighed. “Ay Dios… estás perdida.” (Oh God... you're lost.)

Jana buried her face in her hoodie.

Alexia continued: “You know… this is what happens when you watch too much British TikTok. You start liking girls who say ‘innit’ and call crisps ‘chips’.”

Jana peeked up. “You think it’s a bad idea?”

Alexia sat with it for a moment. “No… no es mala idea. But it is… complicated.”

Jana nodded slowly.

“She’s far. Different league. You’ll get busy. She’ll get busier. People talk.”

“I know.”

Alexia stared at her, serious now. “But… if she makes you feel safe… and seen… entonces vale la pena.” (then it's worth it.)

Jana blinked. “That was almost tender.”

Alexia shrugged. “I can do sentiment when required.”

Then, softer: “Just don’t lose yourself, ¿vale? You have a big heart. Make sure she deserves it.”

Jana exhaled. “Gracias, Ale.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until I scare her at the Beyoncé concert.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Soy hermana. Es mi trabajo.” (I'm a sister. It's my job.)

Later that evening, Jana sat by the window, texting.

Jana:

If I bring you to a Beyoncé concert, would you survive?

Aggie:

Only if I’m sitting next to you.

Jana:

That’s negotiable.

Aggie:

Then I’m bringing binoculars.

Jana:

Why?

Aggie:

To study Catalan cheekbones in their natural habitat.

Jana smiled, heart warm and full of dread.

The official reason for the London trip was the Beyoncé concert.

The unofficial reason was Aggie.

Jana hadn’t said it aloud, but Alexia knew. She wasn’t born yesterday. She’d seen Jana put on lip balm three times at the airport and switch hoodies at the last minute because “this one feels more… me.”

Suspicious.

They landed at Heathrow on a gray afternoon. A black car picked them up. Alexia played DJ, putting on a mix of Rosalia and Bey. Jana stared out the window, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

“You nervous?” Alexia asked, glancing at her.

Jana blinked. “For the concert?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Sure. For the concert.”

“Shut up.”

“I said nothing.”

“You said everything.”

They checked into their AirBNB that Jana insisted on - with two separate rooms. Jana asked a passerby in the hallway as they were about to open the door to their accommodation, if there was a “good café nearby that might have Wi-Fi and no paparazzi.”

Alexia didn’t comment.

Yet.

Later that evening, they arrived at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, surrounded by tens of thousands of glittering people. Sequins, boots, rhinestones. A glittered-up universe.

They were both decked in Cowboy-inspired outfits.

They made it to their VIP row just as the lights dimmed.

And there, just across the section, was Aggie.

In a leather jacket. Hair braided loosely. Standing next to Niamh Charles.

She spotted Jana instantly. Her smile was immediate. Like she’d been waiting for this moment.

Jana waved, soft and awkward.

Alexia leaned over. “Vaya… Look who’s also a Beyhive member.”

Jana pretended not to hear her.

Midway through Love On Top, Aggie texted:

Aggie:

This song is about you, you know.

Jana:

You’re not even subtle.

Aggie:

You love it.

Jana:

Maybe.

Aggie:

Wanna meet after?

Jana hesitated. Then looked over at Alexia.

“Ale… voy a ver a Aggie un rato después, ¿vale?” (…I'm going to see Aggie a little later, okay?)

Alexia didn’t even flinch. “Claro. But if she breaks your heart… Beyoncé will hear about it.”

“You’ll tell her yourself?”

“She follows me on Instagram.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Alexia sipped her overpriced bottled water. “Not yet.”

After the final encore, the stadium slowly emptied.

Jana met Aggie outside by a pretzel stand. Their eyes met and it was… soft. Familiar. Charged.

“You looked very focused during ‘Partition,’” Aggie teased.

Jana rolled her eyes. “And you? Scream-singing ‘Alien Superstar’? Interesting choice.”

Aggie stepped a little closer. “Only because you were standing there looking like you were in a music video.”

“I was just watching the show.”

“You are the show.”

Jana blushed. “Shut up.”

Aggie offered her a bite of her pretzel. “We’ve crossed into something, haven’t we?”

Jana nodded. “And we’re not pretending anymore.”

The next morning, the rain had returned.

Gray, soft, romantic—the kind of drizzle that made the city look cinematic.

Jana stood outside a small café in Soho, tugging her hoodie over her ponytail. She texted one word.

Jana:

Aquí.

Aggie replied instantly.

Aggie:

Coming.

Three minutes later, Aggie jogged up the pavement in an oversized coat and Doc Martens, her fringe curling at the edges from the rain. She looked like a music video you didn’t mean to fall into.

They hugged.

It wasn’t long.

But it was long enough.

They ducked into the café, ordered two flat whites, and claimed a quiet corner. Aggie sat across from Jana and smiled like she already knew the ending to a story they were both still writing.

“So,” Aggie said, hands wrapped around her cup. “You’re in London for… Beyoncé? Any other purpose?”

Jana ignored Aggie’s latter question, raised an eyebrow. “It’s Bey”

“I live here.”

“And?”

Aggie grinned. “And here I thought you missed me, you want to see me.”

Jana looked down at her cup. “Tal vez.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Maybe.”

Aggie leaned forward, a little softer now. “You always switch languages when you’re being honest.”

“Me gusta tener secretos.”

Aggie tilted her head. “You like having secrets?”

Jana met her eyes. “I like when they’re shared.”

Outside, the rain picked up.

Inside, their knees touched under the table.

They talked about football, upcoming matches, Kika’s latest TikTok disaster, and how Vicky López had once told the Spanish media that Aggie looked like a “bad decision in boots.”

Aggie was still laughing about that. “Tell her I said thanks.”

“I will,” Jana said. “She thinks you’re trouble.”

“I am.”

Jana smiled. “I know.”

Two hours later, they walked in silence down the narrow streets of Soho, sharing Aggie’s umbrella. Their arms brushed. Aggie didn’t pull away.

“You know,” Aggie said, voice low, “this feels like something.”

“It is.”

“But it’s complicated.”

“I know.”

Aggie looked up at her. “You still want it?”

Jana hesitated. “Tengo ganas.”

Aggie paused. “That’s the word again. What’s it mean?”

Jana looked at her gently. “It means… I want.”

Aggie’s breath hitched.

And then, just as the rain slowed, she leaned in.

They didn’t kiss—not yet.

But their foreheads touched.

And that was somehow louder.

Back at their accomodation, Alexia opened the door to find Jana quietly slipping off her shoes.

“Y bien?” she asked without looking up from her phone.

Jana shrugged, face carefully neutral. “Solo café.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just coffee. That’s why you’re glowing.”

Jana muttered, “Ale…”

Alexia nodded. “Okay. No judgement. But please—usa protección.” (…use protection.)

Jana blinked. “What?”

Alexia pointed at her phone. “From gossip.”

Jana threw a pillow at her.

The night before Jana flew back to Barcelona, they met again.

No cameras. No teammates. No pretzels or concerts.

Just them. Quiet. Unrushed.

Aggie’s flat in London wasn’t massive, but it was warm. The kind of place where the heater ticked and the couch was too small to sit on without knees touching.

Jana sat curled up in the corner of it, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Aggie brought tea—proper English tea—and plopped beside her, legs folding like she’d done this a hundred times.

“You drink this every day?” Jana asked, taking a sip.

Aggie grinned. “Religiously.”

“It’s aggressive.”

“You’re just soft.”

“I’m Catalan. We prefer wine.”

“Classy.”

“You prefer this?”

Aggie took the mug from her hand and stole a sip. “Only if you’re drinking it too.”

Jana blinked. “That was kind of cheesy.”

“I’m trying here.”

“It’s working.”

Silence stretched, soft and full.

Aggie turned toward her. “I meant it… you know. When I said it felt like something.”

Jana nodded. “It does.”

“But we’re not in the same city. Not even in the same league.”

“I know.”

“And we’re both—what—twenty? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-three.”

Aggie smiled. “You’re old.”

“Respect your elders.”

They both laughed.

And then, slowly, the air shifted.

Jana looked down at her hands. “Tengo ganas de ti.”

Aggie blinked. “That word again. Ganas.”

Jana nodded. “It’s hard to translate. But it’s like… longing. Craving. Wanting something in a way that’s not just physical. Like your soul wants it.”

Aggie was very still. “You have that… for me?”

Jana didn’t hesitate. “Sí.”

Aggie’s breath hitched.

And then she kissed her.

Finally.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t fireworks.

It was real.

Soft lips. A hand on a cheek. A pause that said I’ve been waiting for this, and a smile that answered me too.

When they pulled apart, Aggie whispered, “You taste like overpriced English tea.”

“You kiss like a footballer.”

“Strong?”

Jana smiled. “Precise.”

They didn’t talk about what it meant.

Not yet.

But when Jana left the next morning, Aggie walked her to the car.

And as Jana buckled her seatbelt, Aggie pressed her hand through the open window and said: “Let me know when you want to come back.”

Jana nodded. “Siempre tengo ganas.” (I always feel like it.)

There were no official declarations.

No Instagram hard-launch. No “us” photo with matching captions. No post-win kiss on the cheek broadcast to millions.

Just:

A playlist Jana made and sent over WhatsApp titled “Soft like you”.

A blurry selfie from Aggie’s couch with a caption that read “still cold but she made tea.”

An inside joke that Alexia didn’t understand but side-eyed anyway.

It was slow. Soft. Ongoing.

Poco a poco.

After the London trip, they fell into rhythm.

Morning DMs. Evening FaceTimes. Voice notes full of silence and city sounds—Barcelona rain on Jana’s window, London traffic outside Aggie’s gym.

Jana went back to defending with even sharper focus.

Aggie scored twice in the WSL and pointed vaguely to the crowd—something only Jana understood.

Alexia, of course, understood everything.

“Estás enamorada,” she told her one day in training, voice dry. “Completely.” (You are in love.)

“No digas eso,” Jana muttered, cheeks pink. (Don’t say that.)

“Don’t worry,” Alexia said, patting her on the head. “You’re just becoming British. Soon you’ll wear bucket hats and eat beans for breakfast.”

Jana deadpanned, “Nunca.” (Never.)

Bruna visited Barcelona during her Brighton break.

They sat on the rooftop, sharing sunflower seeds and watching the sky turn pink.

“So?” Bruna asked.

“So…”

Bruna grinned. “You’re happy.”

“I’m… working on it.”

“She’s part of that?”

“Sí.”

Bruna bumped her shoulder. “Then don’t overthink it. Let her be soft with you.”

One day, during an early morning call, Aggie asked:

“Do you think this will… last?”

Jana thought for a long moment.

Then answered honestly.

“Not if we rush.”

Aggie nodded. “So we don’t rush.”

“Poco a poco.”

“Together?”

“Sí.”

Aggie smiled. “Say it again. That phrase.”

Jana did.

Aggie recorded it.

They still hadn’t defined anything.

Aggie called it “slow-burn international chaos.”

Jana called it ‘lo que me hace sentir tranquila.’ (what makes me feel calm…)

But every time Aggie texted “vale,” and every time Jana replied “on my way,” something grew between them.

Something honest.

Something whole.

And in every language, it meant the same thing.

Fast forward to a few months of whatever they called their relationship, it had been a strange season.

Busy. Electric. A little bit lonely.

They hadn’t said “girlfriend,” not exactly, but Jana and Aggie had slipped into something steady—messages every morning, calls every night, Spotify playlists shared like love notes. They never rushed. Never forced the label.

Until now.

Jana was sprawled on her sofa in sweatpants, rewatching match tape with a spoonful of almond butter in one hand when she heard the doorbell.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. Alexia had gone to Madrid with her partner Olga, Ona was visiting Lucy in London, and Bruna was back in Brighton.

She opened the door.

And nearly dropped the spoon.

“Hi,” Aggie said, grinning under the hood of her coat, slightly breathless from hauling a suitcase through El Born’s cobbled streets.

“Aggie—” Jana blinked. “¿Qué… cómo estás aquí?” (What… how are you here?)

Aggie shrugged. “Wanted to see you. It’s Valentine’s. And… your birthday’s close. Felt like good excuses.”

Jana just stared.

“I brought snacks,” Aggie added, lifting a tote bag.

Jana pulled her inside and kissed her senseless.

They spent the day wandering through the Gothic Quarter, trading kisses near murals and churros under napkins. Aggie refused to tell Jana what the plan was, only insisting, “Wear something that makes you feel unfairly attractive.”

Jana obliged.

At 7:30 PM, a car picked them up and drove them along the shimmering curve of the coastline, finally stopping outside a Michelin-starred restaurant with subtle lighting and panoramic sea views.

Jana blinked. “This is… expensive.”

“You’re worth it,” Aggie said, completely serious.

Jana rolled her eyes to hide the blush. “British girls and their dramatics.”

Inside, they ate - slow. Talked softer.

Wine glasses clinked. Dishes with foam and edible flowers made them giggle. Between courses, Aggie held her hand under the table.

“You planned all this?” Jana asked, eyes warm.

Aggie nodded. “And more.”

After dinner, the car took them to the W Hotel. Towering. Glass. Ocean glitter below.

“I wanted you to feel spoiled,” Aggie whispered as the elevator ascended. “You always work so hard. Always carry everything.”

The suite was breathtaking—floor-to-ceiling windows, ocean beyond, soft lights and even softer sheets.

Jana turned to her. “You did all this… for me?”

Aggie stepped closer, brushed a curl from her cheek. “Not just for you.”

Jana’s breath hitched.

Aggie held her gaze. “For us.”

A pause.

Then: “I want this to be real, Jana. Official. Not just playlists and stolen weekends.”

Jana starred. “You mean…?”

“I want to be with you,” Aggie said. “Fully. I’m falling in love with you.”

The world tilted. Not in a dizzy way—but like something clicking into place.

Jana exhaled. “Yo también.” (Me too.)

And then she kissed her again—no more holding back.

That night.

They moved together like people who had memorized each other from afar and were finally free to touch the real thing.

Lips. Hands. Mouths speaking things that didn’t need words.

Clothes fell to the floor. Breaths turned ragged.

The night was ocean-lit and quiet, save for whispered yeses and te quiero, over and over, until everything disappeared but skin and safety and something dangerously close to forever.

The morning after.

The light was blue and slow.

Jana stirred, tangled in sheets, her leg wrapped over Aggie’s. They were quiet, lazy, kisses trailing from shoulders to spines, laughter buried in skin.

Aggie pressed a kiss to her collarbone. “You’re insatiable.”

Jana smiled against her neck. “You started it.”

“I regret nothing.”

“Liar.”

They were about to go for round three when Jana’s phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.

She groaned. “Ignore it.”

It kept buzzing.

Then dinging.

Then buzzing again.

Aggie reached over. “Do you always get this many messages at 8 AM?”

Jana frowned, grabbed her phone, and unlocked it.

There were 37 new messages from a group chat titled:

💥Las Reinas del Caos (ft. Ale)💥(The Queens of Chaos…)

Alexia:

¿Estás viva? No ha posteado en 48 horas. Alarmante. (Are you alive? You hadn’t posted in 48 hours. Alarming.)

Send SOS if you’ve been kidnapped by the Chelsea girl.

Ona:

At this point, I’d believe it.

Vicky:

Pics or it didn’t happen. Also: is she good at kissing? Asking for science.

Kika:

Check in or we’re calling your abuela.

Patri:

Someone call the Mossos.

Then Vicky did the unthinkable.

Vicky started a group video call.

Jana panicked. Her thumb slipped as she meant to hit decline—

—and accidentally hit accept.

The screen lit up.

Five faces.

Alexia. Vicky. Ona. Patri. Kika.

Staring.

All at once.

Staring at Jana mid-orgasm.

Or, to be fair, post-orgasm but definitely still flushed, topless, and with Aggie’s hand visibly in frame.

“OH MY GOD—” Jana shrieked.

Aggie yelped and dove for the blanket.

Alexia blinked. “Bueno…” she said, eyebrows high.

Vicky howled. “¡lo sabía!” (I knew it!)

Ona cackled. “Look at her. Can’t even lie now.”

Patri sipped tea from an invisible cup. “Esto es lo más emocionante que he visto en toda la temporada.” (This is the most exciting thing I've seen all season.)

Kika: “Wait, did we interrupt the ‘ganas’ thing again?”

Jana fumbled the phone, finally ending the call.

Silence.

Aggie buried her face in the pillow. “I want to die.”

Jana lay beside her, staring at the ceiling.

Then: “At least now they’ll stop asking.”

Aggie turned her head. “You okay?”

Jana nodded, breathless. “Yeah. They know.”

Aggie smiled. “You sure?”

Jana leaned in and kissed her. “I’m sure.”

—————————————————————

THE END.

For now.

[dellamortte]

Jason Isaacs as Mr George Darling PETER PAN (2003)

[doostyaudi]

//suggestive images

Made these cuz uhm. Uhm. Im not sure actually. For funsies or something. Eroticisim of the machine or something idk im new here

God i am SO CRINGE but i am... Free?

[spookythesillyfella]

"This crying voice of mine is so annoying // I suppress the emotion // Break the egg, make it a mess // Fry it, roll it // Look, I've stopped crying"

★ alt verzionz under cut :

★ song : "For you An Empty Shell" – Dobu no Awa

[purpurussy]

phannies ripping dnp to absolute shreds for being sponsored by adobe but then it's crickets when they're sponsored by EA I love fandom drama

[hiraganasakura]

Hi so me being me I've decided to hyperanalyze the conversation Qrow and Raven had in Higanbana practically line by line bcus I have Many Thoughts and this is the best way I can think of to get them all out. If you can't tell I'm absolutely obsessed with these two. Btw.

Thanks to the RWBY wiki for providing transcripts for every episode, otherwise I definitely would have missed smth despite having just watched this scene recently lol

I put it under the read more for easier scrolling due to how long this post got!

I immediately noticed smth in the very first lines of the interaction:

Raven: "Hello, brother." Qrow: "...Raven."

You'll notice throughout the whole conversation that Raven never calls Qrow by his name, only condescendingly referring to him as "brother" this one time and never calling him anything else. Meanwhile, Qrow directly refers to Raven a total of three times throughout the conversation, and only one doesn't call Raven by her name (which we'll get to shortly)

On the other hand, Qrow doesn't bother with even so much as a greeting beyond simply stating Raven's name

It's different ways of communicating their distance. While Raven holds her relationship with Qrow over his head — never once, even outside of this scene, does she call him "brother" with affection iirc, only derision and condescension — Qrow doesn't seem to rly know how to greet her. He hesitates before saying her name and approaching her, as if trying to assess the situation before acting

Qrow: "So, what do you want?" Raven: "A girl can't just catch up with her family?" Qrow: "She can, but you're not. Now how 'bout we get on with it? Unless you plan on keeping these [drinks] comin'."

Again, Raven seems to bring up her familial ties with Qrow as a tactic to get him to do what she wants — in this case, stick around to talk to her despite him not seeming to rly want to. Frankly, it feels manipulative. We're gonna put a pin in this for now and come back to it in just a moment

Additionally, Qrow already knows that Raven's not just here for a friendly chat between two siblings, and sees right thru her facade that it is. Raven is here bcus she wants smth from him. But interestingly, it is Raven in V5 that says, in an almost frustrated/disappointed tone, "Family. Only coming around when they need something." There's another pin; keep both in mind

Raven: "Does she have it?" Qrow: "...Did you know Yang lost her arm?" Raven: "That's not—" Qrow: "Rhetorical question, I know you know. It's just obnoxious that you'd bring up family and then carry on like your own daughter doesn't exist." Raven: "I saved her." Qrow: "Once. Because that was your rule, right? Real 'Mom of the Year' material, sis."

Qrow dodges Raven's question about the Relic and instead brings up her hypocrisy in how she treats family. And it's a good point. Here she is lording her siblingship with Qrow over his head while simultaneously defending and upholding her rule that she is only obligated to help her own daughter a single time. Another pinpoint on our little conspiracy board

Also, here's the one time in this conversation Qrow refers to Raven as "sis". Like Raven's use of "brother", Qrow's use of "sis" is very pointed and with intent. But it's not to manipulate Raven, it's a snarky jab meant to rly hammer home Qrow's point

Raven: "I told you Beacon would fall, and it did. I told you Ozpin would fail, and he has. Now you tell me. Does. Salem. Have it?" Qrow: "I thought you weren't interested in all of that." Raven: "I just want to know what we are up against." Qrow: "And which 'we' are you referring to?"

A few things of note here. At some point in the past, Raven expressed an outright disinterest in Ozpin's inner circle, at least to Qrow. Qrow also feels excluded in the "we" Raven mentions being against Salem. To me, there seems to be a distinct possibility here that it wasn't that Raven felt personally disinterested in Ozpin's operations, but that she somehow felt excluded and feigned a lack of interest in order to protect herself. An idea that is further supported in my eyes by the following dialogue:

Qrow: "You should come back, Raven. The only way we'd beat her is by working together. All of us." Raven: "You're the one who left. The tribe raised us, and you turned your back on them." Qrow: "They were killers and thieves." Raven: "They were your family." Qrow: "You have a very skewed perception of that word."

And there it is. Raven's problem is laid out here for us, loud and clear: She feels like she was the one abandoned, not the one running away. She says it outright! "You're the one who left." To her, Qrow is the traitor, the one who left their family behind. If you ask Qrow (or, for that matter, Tai, Yang, and even Summer based on the scene in V9), it's the opposite

Bcus they have different definitions of family

Another thing to pin (I promise this will all become clear soon)

Raven: "I lead our people now. And as leader, I will do everything in my power to ensure our survival." Qrow: "I saw. The people of Shion saw, too." Raven: "The weak die. The strong live. Those are the rules." Qrow: "Well, you've certainly got someone strong on your side. I've seen the damage." Raven: "We couldn't have known the Grimm would set in as quickly as they did." Qrow: "I'm not talking about the Grimm. And I'm not talking about you, either."

Notice Raven's shift from "the tribe" to "our people". More of that guilt tripping!

Additionally, Raven is *obsessed* with rules. One save. The weak die, the strong live. Raven lives and breathes rules, even seemingly arbitrary ones. Guess what this is? Another pin!

Raven: "If you don't know where the Relic is, then we have nothing left to talk about." Qrow: "I don't know where the Spring Maiden is, either, but if you do, I need you to tell me." Raven: "And why would I do that?" Qrow: "Because without her, we're all going to die." Raven: "...And which 'we' are you referring to?"

Qrow's "either" here implies that he also doesn't know where the Crown of Choice is, which is... interesting. He's one of Ozpin's closest lieutenants, and is in the dark on where Beacon's Relic is? Wherever it is, it is such a closely kept secret that even Ozpin's best spy doesn't know where it is (maybe so that in the event Qrow gets captured by Salem he can't be forced into giving her the information?)

Meanwhile, Raven's "And why would I [tell you]?" implies that she does know who the Spring Maiden is (obviously. Raven's the Spring Maiden lol) but refuses to disclose to Qrow

A lantern sputters out after Qrow says "Without [Spring] we're all going to die." Now, I genuinely can't remember if this is headcanon or canon, but iirc Misfortune seems to act up when Qrow's upset. He's clearly tired of this little game of dancing around topics that Raven's been playing with him

And once again, Raven indicates a feeling of exclusion from Qrow's life in the iconic final line. She gets the final word in before leaving

We've finally reached the end of the conversation. Now what does all of this tell us?

And here is where all of those pins I wrote down are relevant. As I mentioned, the twins view family very differently

Qrow's view is pretty obvious: he views family as the ppl in his life who matter most to him. Unlike Raven, he does not view the tribe as family despite the fact that they raised him, disgustedly referring to them as "killers and thieves". It's implied that he was, in fact, neglected and/or likely abused by the Branwen tribe, saying in V6C4, "No one wanted me... I was cursed..." further explaining his distaste for them. Furthermore, despite not being related to Ruby by blood, they clearly consider one another family throughout the series, and he even seems closer to her than he seems to his niece who's actually blood related to him (I personally headcanon that he keeps more of a distance from Yang bcus she reminds him too much of Raven, who he feels abandoned and hurt by, but that's neither here nor there). Bloodlines and debts are secondary compared to loyalty, if they're considered at all. He is obviously furious that Raven only insists on saving Yang once and never directly interacting with her beyond that, despite Raven constantly guilting Qrow over abandoning his so-called "family" of the tribe. And yet. And yet. He still offers Raven a place back in his life, even if only to unite against Salem

Raven's view, to me, has been an enigma for a while. But after hyperanalyzing this conversation, after noting down all of those points of interest, I feel like I've finally cracked the code. Raven views family as an obligation, an exchange that always has an ulterior motive behind it. She seeks out Qrow only bcus she desires smth from him despite showing distaste when someone does the same to her; condescendingly calls Qrow "brother" more than his actual name and calls the tribe their "family" to try guilting him into doing what she wants; and feels fierce loyalty to the tribe but barely interacts with her daughter, only seeming to count one of the two as true family. She views the concept of family with cynicism and seems to feel an obligation to the tribe, as if she "owes" them for raising her

I think the two's perceptions of what defines family are all to do with the way the tribe treated both of them. This crosses a bit into headcanon territory, but as you can see by the above quotes and analysis, I rly don't think I'm just making it up entirely

As I already mentioned, I think it's implied that the Branwen tribe neglected/abused Qrow. In fact, we could probably blame their treatment of him for the deep self-loathing he has due to his "cursed" Semblance. But what about Raven?

Well, it's simple: I think she was abused, too, just in a different way. While Qrow was likely shown and told on a consistent basis that he was unwanted, unloved, undeserving of good things, Raven may have been shown and told she was wanted, loved, and deserving of good things... if she did what the tribe told her. If she repaid them for raising her and her brother, for being her "family". The way she uses her familial ties with Qrow as almost blackmail may be exactly the way the tribe treated her. Her obsession with following rules may stem from the fact that she had to follow the rules the tribe set for her in order to be accepted and deemed worth smth

As for her distance from Yang... honestly, I wonder if Raven is aware that Yang deserves better and keeps her distance as her way of doing that. When Summer confronts Raven in the V9 scene, Raven says, "...You're better at that life. Better than I was." She seems to have a fear and insecurity about being a good family member, a good mother, and maybe that's why she fled. Maybe she was scared of being like her abusers due to how she emulates them as a self-preservation tactic in so many other ways. Not entirely sure about this point tho

And I think too this is why the twins don't rly understand one another. They may have been unaware of the different ways in which the other was treated. Qrow, constantly unwanted and loathed, can't understand why Raven sticks around with the tribe; Raven, who obeyed the tribe and, in doing so, garnered enough of their favor to even eventually become leader, can't understand why Qrow can't just be "good", earn respect, and stay

This dissonance between the two experiences may also be completely intentional on the part of the tribe; abusers will often eliminate their targets' support systems in order to make them completely reliant on the abuser, so it's highly likely that the wedge was intentionally driven between the two siblings so that they could not find support in one another. This would also tie into why the twins seem to feel excluded from one another's lives and abandoned by one another: bcus they were made to feel that way by their common abusers, and did nothing to challenge these assumptions bcus they saw no reason to — and only seemed to keep proving one another right if they did

Which rly has some disturbing implications about how the Branwen tribe works. Like, do they just pick orphaned kids up off the street and abuse them into being perfect little bandits, molded to be of the greatest possible use and discarded if they're deemed worthless? Plus Qrow says his Semblance is how he got his name, which implies that the tribe also renames the kids they scoop up (possibly as a form of control or a way to make sure they can't be tracked down by any remaining family)? Plus there's the whole thing where Qrow and Raven were originally sent to Beacon to learn how to kill Huntsmen, which carries with it the implication that the Branwen tribe grooms literal orphan children into becoming stone-hearted murderers? What. The heck.

And if I'm right, if the Branwen tribe is that severely abusive, then like... wow, no wonder Qrow and Raven are Like That. They're both very deeply hurt people expressing it in different ways

I was considering adding their conversation at the Battle of Haven to this post, but I think that would be better as its own thing. Also I haven't gotten there on my rewatch yet so I may miss some details if I try to analyze it rn; it's better to wait overall methinks

But I have reached the point of my rewatch where we see Weiss and Whitley interact, and I think it would be very efficient to sum up what Qrow and Raven's relationship seems to be by using those siblings as a point of reference. Qrow = Weiss, actively trying to break free from and fight back against their abusers in different ways, while Raven = Whitley, continuing to do as their abusers want and have wanted as a method of self-preservation. Only, unlike Weiss and Whitley, Qrow and Raven have yet to come to a point where they can understand one another. I think that's a good way to briefly summarize the uh. Absolutely massive post this is.

In conclusion, I may have cracked the majority of the Branwen twins' pre-Beacon backstory purely by hyperanalyzing a single conversation. Oopsies

[latinokaeya]

i don’t know how they’d realistically do this to fit with the narrative of the rest of the series and i’m sure people would riot abt it as they already did abt every change they made in pjotv s1 but im still kind of obsessed with the idea of the betrayal scene happening in the show in such a way that they could potentially set up for annabeth and percy having flipped opinions on luke (aka annabeth being unsympathetic n angry while percy is still desperately trying to reach out to him) just bc i think that would be soooo juicy

[teh-nos]

Reminding myself that I resolved not to delete any fics that have a bookmark on them😭

[juice-boxy]

U know what would be wicked cool?

A tmnt iteration where Mikey is the leader

[petiolata]

Boring and bad advice from someone whose only qualification is "I've written!". Volume =/= quality or qualification. There are millions-word long garbage fics.

"400k in fanfiction" yeah me too. Along with pretty much every fanfic writer I know.

"Professional beta reader" lol. Seriously, lol. A beta-reader's job (including ones who are paid) is to give insight from a reader POV. While there are definitely better or worse ones, there is no required skills or skill level to be paid to beta-read. It's not like being an editor. (While in the fanfic world, the more editor-y the beta is, the better, when it comes to *pro writing* and paid roles, the editor and beta reader are intentionally distinct and beta readers serve the function of a focus group; they're a preview into how your actual audience will perceive the book. If your target demographic is LGBT young adults who reads queer YA novels, then a beta reader's qualification is being an LGBT young adult who reads queer YA novels. They don't have to know anything about the craft of writing.)

My #1 piece of holy grail advice is don't take advice from OP or the thousands of nobodies like them. Find authors with real qualifications and proven chops and read their books on things like showing vs telling, plotting suspensefully, etc.

The endless amounts of crap writing advice posts that gets reblogged and sharing is nothing short of amazing.

As for OP: your books don't sell. There's a reason for that. Stop giving advice and start reading it. Hopefully from some authors who actually know what they're talking about.

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

[myork]

.

[youkah]

gonna delete this later because I'm trying not to spoil too much about an insane idea I have but I feel like people need to see my vision for my evil plot to get ahs to notice me so I can be the next miodiodavinci but of the blue freak (ust by narzum, song is idol by yoasabi)

[meenaxskz]

when the bed gave up on life (hyung line)

ot8 reactions | bf!skz x reader au genre: crack | light smut warnings: language | suggestive content a/n : (testing new posts layout, it will probably change again idk) i always try to not write cliché gym rat changbin... but it has jokes potential so yeah lol. ✧ hyung line | maknae line

bang chan

“C’mere” Chan growls flipping you onto your stomach. You gasp, already dizzy “Holy shit-okay-aggressive!” “I said I’d make you feel it” he grunts, pressing into you, “so shut up and-” CRRREAK. SNAP. Silence. You’re on the floor. The mattress is sideways. A piece of the frame bounced. Chan’s still inside you “…Did the bed just die?” you whisper, stunned. He’s frozen. Still holding your hips. “I-I think I just alpha’d the IKEA out of it.” You collapse face first into the blanket, wheezing. Chan pulls out gently like he’s scared touching you will trigger another collapse. “I’m so sorry,” he says, horrified. “Are you hurt??” You look up with tears in your eyes...from laughing “You fucked us into poverty” He starts pacing. Still naked “I JUST WANTED TO MAKE YOU SEE STARS” “You did! But the bed saw heaven!” --- Five minutes later, you’re both wrapped in the blanket on the floor, drinking water and staring at the broken frame like it’s a crime scene. Chan sighs. “That was expensive.” You snort. “tell me about it” He looks at you, grins. “You still wanna finish?” You raise a brow. “On what the rug?” He shrugs. “Bet it won’t break.”

lee know

You’re clinging to the headboard. He’s behind you, low growling, full feral mode, hips snapping. “Don’t even try to run” he pants. “You wanted this.” You gasp “Min- the bed’s creaking-” He grips your hips tighter. “So are you. Guess which one I care about more.” CRRREEAAAK. SNAP. THUD. You drop. Flat on the mattress, now tilted at a cursed 45 degrees. Minho flops on top of you like a sweaty, breathless. Silence. “…Did we just fall?” You’re wheezing into the sheet. “THE BED BROKE YOU PSYCHO.” He slowly lifts himself off you, glancing around checking the crime scene. Then calmly : “…It was probably loose before we started.” You sit up, wild-eyed. “I literally heard you say ‘I wanna break you tonight.’” “I meant emotionally. That bed just had bad build quality.” “...Minho, one of the legs is across the room.” He shrugs. “That’s not my fault. That’s gravity. And weak screws.” You glare at him, tangled in sheets and shame. He wipes sweat off his chest with a smug little annoying smirk. “You’re welcome by the way.” “For WHAT?!?” “For the experience. You’re glowing.” "Oh my god" --- Later, you lie together on the mattress, which is on the floor now, panting and sore. You mutter “we need a new bed.” He hums, already falling asleep “...and it better be able to handle me”

changbin

It starts innocent enough... LIES. Sweat is dripping, you’re moaning, he’s muttering things like “You’re so tight,” “I love this angle” and “This is why I do leg day" (??) The bed is screaming. You clutch the headboard “It’s creaking-” “I’M CREAKING TOO BABY STAY FOCUSED—” CREEAAACKK. SNAP. BOOM. The bed dies. You both collapse mid-thrust like the mattress got drop-kicked by karma. You gasp. “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” Changbin is hovering above you, wide-eyed, hair sticking up like he got electrocuted “…Did I break the bed?” You stare. “Are you asking me while you’re still inside me?!” He slowly pulls out, rolls to the side, and looks around at the hurricane damage. One bed leg is completely gone. A bolt rolled under the dresser. He exhales. “That’s kinda hot though.” You blink. “You BROKE our BED Binnie!” “I told you I was strong” You smack his arm. “This isn’t CrossFit! This was my peaceful coochie session!” He giggles. --- He grabs his phone. “Wait. Wait. I need a pic. I gotta show the guys.” “DON’T YOU DARE” He grins. “I’m putting ‘broke the bed during sex’ on my gym progress tracker.”

hyunjin

You’re on top, breathless, hair sticking to your forehead, hands planted on his chest. Hyunjin’s gripping your thighs, eyes rolling back as you ride him. “Fuck-yes...just like that, baby...” CREAAKK. SNAP. THE WHOLE RIGHT SIDE DROPS. You scream as the mattress collapses, pitching sideways. Hyunjin yelps, legs flailing as you both go crashing down mid-thrust. A full thud echoes across the room. Silence. Then his voice : “…WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” You’re tangled in blankets, still half on top of him. “DID YOU JUST ASK ME LIKE I PLANNED THAT?!” He stares at you with wide, scandalized eyes. “YOU WERE ON TOP THIS IS YOUR FAULT.” You sit up, offended. “I was riding you into heaven and the bed flopped.” He throws a hand up dramatically. “EXACTLY I WAS LITERALLY JUST LYING THERE BEING SEXY AND SUPPORTIVE.” You glare “supportive?? You kept yelling FASTER like I was a fucking engine!” He rolls off the broken half of the bed and flops onto the floor like a naked fish “The bed wasn’t ready for that kind of passion. I wasn’t ready. My ass hit the wood slats” You cover your face. “I think I bruised my knee.” --- 10 minutes later, Hyunjin is sprawled across the mattress on the floor “we need a new bed. And... knees.” You open one eye “You still came though.” He chucks a pillow at you.

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[cloudstongue]

this will be my only contribution for damien thorn be born day

[lucentstarss]

Why does my keeper of the lost cities post always do better then my art 😔

[yerchokito]

PRETTY KITTY TURNS PRETTY HORNY .ᐟ FT SATORU GOJO

synopsis - finally you decided to adopt a new friend at the adoption centre! only, he wants to be more that friends…

warnings - p in v, brief oral sex (fem receiving) unprotected sex, slight manipulation(?) creampie, shitty smut, petname: master used mockingly, not thoroughly proofread, talk of potential children, lowk masochist gojo, ect ect. fem reader

notes - yay I finally got this out! lol it honestly did get a bit sloppy at the end but I wanted to get this out b4 christmas!enjoy! the smut is lowkey short but I don’t want to fix it..

edit - I just realised I posted this on his death date

Phew, you did it.

You finally grew a pair and adopted a newly rescued snow-leopard hybrid! After months of your self-pitying you managed to convince yourself to adopt a friend!

You spent many, many hours contemplating on whether to actually adopt. And many hours more watching sad videos on hybrids, how mistreated they are out of the adoption centre.

That was more than enough to convince you.

Now you have an exotic hybrid of your own! And he’s just the cutest little—er big thing! He’s got fluffy little ears, a handsome face, striking blue eyes, and the fluffiest tail in the world!

You’ve learnt a lot about him. His name is Satoru Gojo, around the same age as you! Unfortunately, he spent a lot of his life in illegal fighting rings. Poor thing almost got killed a while back. Luckily, his caretakers at the agency have had no aggression problems with him! He’s affectionate, friendly, reckless at times, but overall great to have as a first time owner!

He’s really—really big. His head just about reaches the ceiling of your small apartment. It's gonna be hard finding clothes for the man. Let alone a bed.

But that’s all a problem for future you!

Packing him in the car was a hefty thing, his tallness being the main problem, a little cramped (he had to lay half his body on the floor) but it worked in the end!

As soon as you bought the little—uh, big critter home, you pampered him with affections. Petting his head, rubbing his ears, scratching under his chin all that stuff that makes him mushy in the brain!

The only problem would be leaving him alone… he’s fairly clingy. You’ll just have to work on that. He seems capable enough. Hopefully…

Note to self: get a baby cam.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Maybe this was a mistake.

Satoru’s a really good guy, he’s friendly, definitely affectionate and really clingy. All good qualities that you love about him!

But, there are qualities you come to… dislike, so to say.

He’s bratty. defiant against your house rules, a back-talker.

He always wants attention. Pushing things off counters or using his tail to block your eyes whenever he wants to annoy you.

He’s very manipulative. Using his wide eyes to trick you—or anyone—into giving him sweets!

He’s also unbearably horny, probably his worst trait. Always trying to rub against you, heck even mount you! For someone so angelic-looking, he sure ain’t an angel.

And you can name a couple of… embarrassing incidents.

Incident #1

“Hey—Toru! What are you doing, stop that!” You shout, trying to push him back and away from— wait, are those your panties he has in your mouth!

“Satoru! Bad boy, get those out of your mouth!” You splutter, face flushing red.

But, apparently you adopted the devil.

He tilts his head in an innocent way, ears flopping to the side as he deviously munches on your precious—and very expensive—underwear.

You try to wrestle them away from his maw, unlucky for you, you’ve also adopted an abnormally tall hybrid. His innocent act drops as he dangles them above your head, laughing at your embarrassment.

Of course, he gave it back. Not without it slicked in his spit and now turned crotchless.

It was… not a great moment for you or your hopes of being dominant over him.

Incident #2

It’s a nice sunny morning, you got up earlier than your alarm, made a nice breakfast, and finally got that darned work assignment finished.

A peaceful day.

Until your precious kitty takes his biting urges on you.

“Satoru, do-don’t bite meee!” You whine, once again trying to push away the snarky beast. God, why must he be twice your size.

He chuffs, pining you with his weight as he nibbles at your skin. Tail swaying mischievously behind him.

“Mn—be still, lemme jus’…” He whispers. Devious man he is. His nibbling becomes full-blown bites, decorating your neck and collarbone in a bazillion bite marks.

Satoru only giggles at your pathetic attempts of squirming away. Pfft, you think he’ll let you walk away? Nothing gets away from his keen eyes.

Needless to say, the bite marks were not a fashion statement at work. Didn’t really capture as many complements as it did laughter.

Note to self: Invest in a muzzle.

Incident #3

Now, maybe this is your fault. You did notice the change in behaviour, he’s always been clingy— the staff at the agency did say he was… the possessive type. But! You didn’t notice the possessiveness until now! So it’s not entirely your fault.

Okay, maybe his growling at your friend— male, should you note— was a teensy red flag, the constant butting of his head against you was also alerting you. So you maybe-sorta-should’ve predicted this.

Maybe if you realised that Satoru is not entirely human (even though he acts like it), you would’ve remembered he has an amazing sense of smell.

“aaahnn… mornin’ Toru’, how did you sleep hm?” you yawn. The lack of response is unnerving, and rude.

“Hey now, ts’ not nice to ignore me, Satoru.” Again silence, wait—what the-?

“Oof! Satoru—gah!—get off!” You struggle, your overgrown hybrid kitty has decided to pounce on you, his full weight crushing you.

“H-hey—oh!” Did.. did you feel that correctly, is your boy.. oh gosh.

“Mrrow…mn, you smell s’ good.” His breath is hot against your neck, sniffing at your throat, his fuzzy ears rubbing under your chin.

“Mnh—heat, in heat? mrr..” He purrs, big hands encasing yours as the big idiot rocks his hips against your backside— oh my.

“H-huh? No, down Satoru! Bad boy—ooh!—don-don’t!” You try not to moan out as he ruts against you. Licking at the nape of your neck, almost mockingly.

“Heh— shh, I’ll take care of ya. Aw’ you’re so small compared to me..” Satoru breathes, chuckling like he always does.

…

Lets just say, Satoru has become real good friends with the spray bottle.

Note to self: Get him neutered.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

And there are way more incidents as… sexual as these ones. You love the big guy, he’s cuddly, got a fuzzy head, really warm, but he seems to really enjoy mounting you. Like, really badly.

He’s become a menace! I mean, you knew he wasn’t neutered, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in you!

It's almost everyday he tries to get in your pants! Gotta hand it to him, he’s really persistent.

Well, you won’t be taking any of his nonsense today!

“Satoru! Breakfast!” You yell out. You hear him scurrying around the corner, jeez food fein.

“Heh, mm waffles..” He purrs at your feet, nuzzling against the back of your knee.

He wraps his tail around your ankle, hands gently kneading at your leg. Nose twitching at the sugary smells.

“You hungry, sweetie?” You coo, petting the big oafs head.

Awh, maybe you’re being too harsh on him. He’s your baby, he doesn’t know any better!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh who were you kidding, of course he knows what he’s doing! Why are you so gullible?

What was supposed to be a nice, calm, peaceful, non-sexual breakfast, ends up with your mischievous kitty munching on your pussy instead!

He’s got your legs up, knees having small-talk to your shoulders whilst he —quite literally— devours you.

“Satoruuu!— don’t do thaah! Oh!” You squeak. You weakly push on his head, trying to get him away from your front.

Unfortunately, Satoru is a determined cat.

“Mnn, be still. M’ hungry.” He purrs between your legs, the vibrations of his voice send tingles up your spine.

For Satoru, that delicious nectar leaking out of you is heavenly. Until this thin, pathetic piece of fabric ruins his meal. If only he could just…

rripp!

“H-huh? S’toru! Those were expensiveee— haa!” You scold. well, try to. It’s hard to speak when you’re literally breathless.

He tongues at your now naked pussy, slurping all that gooey goodness you so graciously produce. So sweet.

He pulls back, your cunt and his mouth connected by a sloppy string of spit. He coo’s and presses a kiss hard against your clit, making you twitch and moan.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the devil incarnate smiling so sweetly, his tail curling around your ankle. What was once a sweet gesture is now no longer reassuring.

Your ‘innocent’ kitty now has free rein to your more… primal parts. The stronger scent pulls on Satoru’s will, he whines at the sudden, yet aggressive urge to bury himself inside you.

Hmm maybe he should.

Hoisting himself up, Satoru leans back on his calves, admiring the little mess he’s made of you. Flushed red, panting, drooling, and completely high on the pleasure. His pants tighten.

He’s been blessed with such a cute owner!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Haa— d’aww don’t be so shy, master. Heh—fhuck!” Said the devil incarnate, mockingly.

Satoru is a condescending bunch, cute but really full of himself. It’s shows in his way of fucking.

He has you on your back, legs resting on his broad shoulders as he literally folds you in half. Your head is just reeling, your face is covered in his spit, hairline all sweaty, jaw hanging open, and you're burning all over!

His cock is big, too big. It nearly split you in half when he tried to fit it in. He’s never been a patient kitty.

“Awhhh— masterrrr, you’re tightenin’ up sho’ muchhh…” He purrs. Tail swaying mockingly.

Leaning forward, Satoru nuzzles his ears against your cheek, wanting to be pet.

Unfortunately, you’re incoherent to his requests. Too focused on the harsh rutting of his cock into your sticky cunt.

“Heyyy… pet meee,” He whines, “Hm? Heh— tappin’ out already?” His eyes gleam with mischievous-ness as he grins a toothy grin. You’re not gonna make it out alive.

He bites his lip, giggling at your pleasured face. If only he could take a picture, save this moment forever. He cups your face, caressing your sweaty cheeks, then presses a loving kiss to your lips.

“Mwah! Hehe— you’re so cute,” He whispers against your lips.

In midst of this somewhat sweet moment, the pace of Satoru rolling his hips against you increases. Then turning into him full on slamming his hips into yours, huffing as he focuses on pounding you into next week.

All you can do is grip onto him, tugging on his ears. He moans pornographically, drooling as you harshly grip his sensitive ears. The painful yet pleasant sensation sparks something new in Satoru.

With the intent to breed, Satoru turns you over. His chest to your back as he leans his weight on you, arms wrapping tightly around your sweaty skin.

This new position gives Satoru a better chance at giving you some cute mini him’s!

“Oh! Oh!—Toruuu’!” You squeal, tears now brimming in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling that is undoubtedly him.

Without warning, you cum. Hole clenching and spasming and coating his lower body in a translucent liquid.

“Hm—hah— I knew you wan—ahn—wanted me!” He mewls, quickly pounding in and out, creating a wet ‘schlick!’ sound.

Oh you’re so perverted! Letting your precious kitty take you like this!

You’ll never live this down.

Satoru doesn’t seem to care.

“Oooh— m’ cumming, nng— masterrr!” He moans, non-stop humping into your creamy pussy, drooling all over you.

“Not—not insideee! Toru’!” You cry out, pushing your hips back to get him off of you, it does the opposite.

His tail wraps around your thigh as he cums. It splurts frantically inside of you, his cock twitching violently as he whines in pleasure.

It’s hot, sticky and definitely a thick load. It feels endless, liquidy rope after rope. But it feels so refreshing.

He pulls out (you didn’t think he would), nuzzling and purring at the nape of your neck. Innocently licking at your tear-stricken cheeks.

…

It’s been so long since you last experienced this pleasure.

You’ll definitely regret this later.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh god, why did you do that!

Having sex with a hybrid is just a different type of low, even for you!

Oh jeez, you're just as perverted as him! Oh whywhywhywhy! He was just supposed to be a companion! Not a—

“Mrr, pet meee..” Satoru whines, pawning at your chest. He’s back to his old self again.

Mostly. He’s become more… confident in his abilities over you. Let’s just say after your regrettable (not in his eyes) playtime with him, he has no restraint on mounting you now. The idiots even started humping you in public!

Which is why you’ve been leaving him at home.

Now more than ever, you two spend a lot of time together. Mostly consisting of naps, him licking you, more naps, eating… recreational activities, blah blah blah. He now sleeps on your bed, he’s more like an overstayed one night stand than an exotic cat.

At Least he’s extra cuddly!