#i scaled this back down to an acceptable drabble size bc it was getting Too Long

[winetae]

⇾ cross the line (m).

idol!au + impreg kink 

⇁ female reader x seokjin

⇁ smut, idol!au

⇁ unprotected sex, kink discovery, dirty talk ↳  (supposed to be a drabble); 3.8k

. . .

seokjin knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself from coming back to you. 

(a/n) ik this is idol!au but seokjin is a bit ooc !! i don’t think he’s really like this irl ok,, also tagging addie bc she said she’s a thirsty hoe n wants to read @chinnychimchim (ilu) inspired by pic above (ldflfjkj) + title taken from ariana grande’s song into you which was the original title for this fic (ha) love u all & happy holidays. 

Seokjin liked to think he had excellent control over his own emotions. 

How could he not when this particular skill was one of his many job requirements? He had learned long ago to conceal his frustration with forced smiles and loud laughs, to veil any traces of fatigue behind an immaculate appearance. It was the only way to maintain his manufactured idol image.

But Seokjin was only human. There were times when his carefully crafted mask shattered around the edges, his real feelings bleeding through the tiny cracks. Between Bangtan’s packed schedules and the stress from the impending comeback, his patience often hung by a thread. The younger members in particular liked to push their luck and test his tolerance, their jokes teetering between friendly banter and blatant disrespect. Only years of practice had helped him curb his instinctive desire to put them back in their place. 

Thankfully the constant presence of cameras kept him in check. Only the occasional tick in his jaw betrayed his vexation. On the days when he felt particularly vindictive, he slapped a friendly hand over Jungkook’s shoulder with more force than necessary. Just as a reminder. 

But those slips in composure rarely happened, all things considered. Seokjin was good at bottling up his feelings, a charming smile always ready to deflect any intrusive questions asked by reporters. The exaggerated winks and excessive air kisses were now an automatic response to the shouts of his name, and all the boasting no longer made his ears turn pink from embarrassment. Every day, he played his role as the narcissistic visual convincingly, the shameless bragging more for comedic effect than anything else (the extra five seconds of screen time were a welcome bonus). 

Managing his image wasn’t an easy feat by any means. The list of things he wasn’t allowed to do or say was twice as long as the one detailing what he was given permission to do. Even when the cameras stopped rolling, he had to be mindful of his every expression and action. 

Naturally, there were times when he wanted to say ‘fuck this’ and throw caution to the wind. He was sure most of his friends shared the same sentiment. They all coped with it in different ways; Yoongi vented his anger through his lyrics, making a home for himself in his studio, and Hoseok smuggled late night snacks into his room when their manager wasn’t looking. 

Seokjin’s preferred method of rebellion was you. 

Or, more specifically, fucking you into the sheets in hotel rooms when your schedules permitted it. 

It was the ultimate transgression, but Seokjin would be lying if he said the adrenaline rush didn’t excite him.

He could handle extreme dieting even if his stomach grumbled in protest. He could turn a blind eye to the vicious comments left under his articles even if he had to subdue his initial burst of anger. There were, however, rules he didn’t like to play by and assumptions he didn’t care to humor. 

Some would argue that it was more effort than it was worth. Every secret rendezvous necessitated weeks of planning, lots of spare money, and, more often than not, involved the signing of two or three non-disclosure agreements. Even to him, the lengths he went for a fuck seemed like too much trouble, especially when the risks were so high. 

But then he remembered how good your tight heat squeezed around him, your manicured nails digging into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist with unbridled enthusiasm. Whenever he was buried balls deep inside of you, your name caught in the back of his throat, he reminded himself that you were absolutely worth it. 

There was nothing more satisfying than seeing you fucked out underneath him, your lips bitten-red and parted to ask for more. You always looked so far gone, tears prickling the corner of your eyes when you shuddered in ecstasy, and it did wonders for his ego. 

It was the image of you falling apart on his cock—eyes unfocused, voice hoarse, skin dewy with perspiration—that stayed ingrained in his mind long after the sun had risen up. The memory was barely enough to keep his desires at bay during the weeks that separated the nights spent with you, but Seokjin was forced to make do with the hazy and fading recollections of your trysts. He had nothing else to hang on to. There were no phone calls, no Facetime dates, no ‘good morning’ messages or secret couple clothing exchanged. What the both of you shared wasn’t a relationship, not in the traditional sense of the term, and it sure as hell wasn’t a friendship, either. 

As much as he wanted to spend more time with you, these days he hardly had time to squeeze in a 3 hour nap, let alone find the time to jerk one off in the privacy of his shared bathroom. Concert prep always left him drained, his body too exhausted and sore to even think about working himself to completion. Thoughts of you became less and less frequent as his attention was monopolized by work. All of his days blended into one monotonous routine of repetitive and predictable press questions and the same, fixed set list. 

February kicked in with their new song lining up the charts. He had never been more thankful for the opportunity to perform new songs, new choreos—anything that would break the pattern his body had unwillingly gotten used to. 

The only thing he hated about promotion cycles were the inevitable music show performances. Waking up at the crack of dawn for pre-recordings and then having to kill time for the rest of the day was a pain in the ass he would pay to avoid if he could. 

Seokjin was notorious for complaining about the long waiting hours—his crabby behavior a thing of legend among the staff. It was childish, but he was too petty to change his ways. Bad habits die hard, as they said.

Today, however, he was uncharacteristically quiet, his compliance earning raised eyebrows from staff and members alike. If Yoongi was surprised by his lack of grumbling this time around, he probably hadn’t realized that your comeback had coincidentally overlapped with his.

Eyes trained on the screen in front of him, his thoughts wandered back to all of your stolen moments together. He couldn’t help but notice how your smile looked less strained than it used to be, your eyes twinkling under the harsh stage lights. Seokjin wondered if you had moved on and found someone else to satisfy your needs during the months he hadn’t seen your face. Something ugly twisted in his chest; he hated that he was so replaceable. 

As soon as he finished performing one of their newest songs, his expression darkened again, having caught sight of you as you lined up with your group members. Belatedly, he remembered the presence of the cameras and the watching eyes all around him and hurriedly schooled his features. 

Standing on Music Bank’s ending stage; he waved at the audience blindly, guided by the screams of his name, and aimed his trademark winks at the over-enthusiastic crowd who were more than happy to pretend they were directed at them. He indulged them for a little longer, before deeming his quota of fan-service for the day fulfilled, his attention inevitably strayed back to you. 

Thinking back, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you. Even when you two had been seeing each other regularly, neither of you were the type to showcase your closeness outside of closed doors. 

Seokjin wasn’t awaiting a long heart-to-heart conversation or a warm catching up session, but surely you could have reciprocated his smile? When you greeted him with a formal bow, Seokjin fought hard to keep the frown off his face. Why did it feel like a subtle dismissal? Were you mad at him for not staying in contact? He didn’t want to admit how much all of this bothered him. Why was he getting so worked up? After all, you weren’t his girlfriend; you didn’t owe him anything. Was he…overreacting? 

A headache was on its way, he could feel it. When it was time to line up and greet the KBS PD, the promoting groups huddled on either side of the corridor while waiting for him to come out of his waiting room. Leaning his weight back against the wall, his eyes kept flickering back to you. It was easy to spot you out of the crowd; your tinkling laugh recognizable, his ear trained. 

The corner of your eyes crinkled, your expensive, shiny earrings dangling whenever you tipped your head back to laugh at one of your member’s joke. Seokjin’s chest constricted, an invisible weight pressing down until it was hard to breathe. He hadn’t realized he had made his staring obvious until another girl elbowed you, jutting her chin in his direction.

Like a deer in headlights, he stood there like an idiot as you finally acknowledged him with a surprised look painting your face. You offered him a polite smile, confusion evident by the way your brow creased. Now that you were in front of him again, so near, he felt the familiar, distracting tug of arousal. There was something else, too, twinging at his heart, but he focused on the heat stirring in the pit of his belly instead. 

He toyed with the phone in his pocket, his eyes never leaving yours, before finally deciding to just go for it, not wanting to wuss out again and regret it. 

[Seokjin] : Hey. Can we talk? 

.

.

He should have predicted that falling into bed with you would be stupidly easy, like a habit he would never grow out of.

“Fuck, I forgot the condoms.” He had never wanted to slam his head against a wall in sheer frustration until now. Sitting back on his haunches, he cast a dejected look over the expanse of your exposed body, his mouth downturned in a pout. 

Should he text his manager hyung to get him some? He was desperate enough to put aside his pride and ask. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, grabbing his hand between your dainty fingers before he could reach for his phone. “I’m clean, are you?”

“Y-yeah.” He licked his plump lips, his answer a breathless stutter. Did you—? “Wait, are you sure?”

He had never not used a condom. With you, or anyone else for that matter. Management had advocated the practice of safe sex enough times that he always kept a condom in his wallet just in case. He had been warned about the dangers of unprotected sex so many times that the mere idea of fucking you bare made his chest constrict with worry. What if…?

“Please, I want you so bad,” you whined, tugging his hand impatiently and effectively putting a stop to his inner monologue. 

Seokjin swallowed thickly as you guided him to the apex of your thighs because, fuck. How were you so wet already? He ran a tentative index finger along your slick folds, feeling the extent of your arousal. A sharp intake of breath alerted him of your sensitivity and he couldn’t stop himself from applying a little more pressure just to hear the sound again. 

You usually needed longer to get ready for him, but you were so wet and slippery that Seokjin surmised he could probably push himself into you with relative ease. His head spun as the tempting visual clouded his vision in a haze of lust. 

“Stop making me wait.”

The audible whine in your voice made the surface of his skin tingle with renewed desire, and he was left momentarily speechless. His shaft stiffened against his thigh, not indifferent to the irresistible sight in front of him. There was no way of hiding how much your actions affected him, and you were quick to take advantage of that.

“Want you to fuck me raw,” you continued, eyes lidded, gyrating your hips in circular motions against his still hand. Already foreseeing he would give in to your request, you didn’t bother to conceal the small yet victorious smirk on your face. “It’s all I could think about when we weren’t together, I missed you so much. My fingers can never compare to your dick.”

Your filthy words made his cock jump, the red tip already leaking with drops of pre-cum. What the fuck. Had he really heard you say…? He couldn’t recall you being this needy or demanding before, but the gleam in your eyes confirmed you had indeed crooned out such brazen and forward words. 

“You can’t just say that, shit,” he squeezed the base of his erection, trying to subtly ease off the edge. The only thought running through his mind right now was how much he needed to fuck you. Maybe it was because his orgasm was long overdue…but it wouldn’t take much longer to bust a nut if you kept talking like that. “Okay, okay, hold on a sec.”

He slipped a finger inside of you, a loud squelching sound telling him your body was lubricated enough already. His bottom lip stayed nestled between his teeth as he focused on getting you ready for his cock. Not that you seemed to need it. You felt so wet, your body eagerly accommodating his intruding digits as if it was welcoming him back. 

“I’m gonna go in now, yeah?” 

“Hurry.” He ignored your whiny mewl in favor of slowly sinking into you. Groans of satisfaction mingled as he inched himself into you. Shaking his bangs out of his eyes so that he wouldn’t miss any shift of expression on your face, he greedily took in the sight of your face scrunched up in pleasure. He gave a tentative thrust of his hips to test the waters, and was rewarded with a delicious moan. Pupils blown dark with pleasure, you pulled him down closer so that your lips could melt against his.

It was frighteningly easy how quickly his body warmed up to yours, how his hands seemed to remember all of your sensitive spots, how his hips settled into the rhythm you liked best. Some things just couldn’t be forgotten, it seemed. Swimming, dancing, cooking his mom’s favorite recipe—you somehow fell in the same category. Months had passed between now and you last liaison, but his body reacted so naturally, as if it relied on muscle memory.

His thrusting became less coordinated, the set pace forgotten. Maybe if he was less taken by lust, he would be embarrassed for not lasting very long. In his defense, it had been a very long time since he last had sex, and no normal human being could resist your hot pussy, anyway. 

“I’m close,” he grunted, the urgency he felt hard to disguise. To this, you crossed your legs around his middle a little tighter, silently inviting him to sink in deeper. He slid a hand up one of your smooth thighs, his fingers sinking into the skin in warning, “Fuck, I have to pull out, sweetheart.” 

“Cum in me. C-can you do that? I want you to fuck me full of cum. Please?” You said the last word so sweetly it made your demand all the more alluring. 

“We shouldn’t, what if—”

“Why not? O-oh.” Your eyes widened in realization. It seemed like you had been knee-deep in lust and had forgotten all about the risks of unprotected sex. “Ah, mmh, but I think you be a good daddy.”

What a filthy mouth you had. Seokjin wondered what kind of porn you had watched to learn all of this…

His hips stuttered, the hand around your thigh gripping the skin so hard he was sure his fingerprints would stay permanently inked on your skin. The clamping of your walls around him, vice-tight, made him realize that this wasn’t just said in jest. You really… You were really into this. The realization made his eyes darken with determination, your pleasure the only object of his attention. 

“F-fuck. Is this what happens when I don’t give you my cum? You’re so horny you’re willing to let me knock you up?” He growled into the shell of your ear, his heart hammering in his chest so loudly he thought it would burst. This was undoubtedly uncharted territory, but he wanted—no, needed—to make you lose it on his cock one last time before he reached his end. “You’ve been such a good cockslut for me, maybe I will reward you.”

“Seokjin!” 

He groaned in turn, your tight pussy trying to milk him as the aftershocks of your climax made you tremble like a leaf in his arms. He distantly registered the tell-tale signs of his own impending release by the way his balls tightened and his stomach tensed. Hips rocking into yours with abandon, he entertained the thought of giving you what you begged for. Having never experienced it before, he could only imagine how it would feel like to spurt his seed into your warm heat and then make you keep it inside you. The mere thought sent shivers down his back all the way down to his toes. Your pussy felt so snug, your walls clenching and squeezing enticingly around his hard shaft, that he just about lost it right there. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” His nostrils flared when the familiar white hot pleasure crashed over him, momentarily blinding him. 

Seokjin thankfully had the presence of mind to pull out, ropes of white spilling onto your stomach and staining the wrinkled sheets below. He panted heavily, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath and stabilize his pounding heart.

A huff of laughter escaped his parted lips when he noticed you run your digits across your toned tummy, “Don’t look so disappointed. You know we can’t.” 

You sat up, back now resting against the wooden headboard, a small pout sitting on your lips. “Did you really think I would let you stick it up me without protection?”

“So, you mean…we were safe?”

With a roll of your eyes, you nodded your confirmation, “I get the contraception shot every couple of months… It’s in my contract, anyway. No one wants to deal with a pregnant idol. We have to be a lot more careful about these things… If we have to count on the guy to pull out at the right time, then we should say goodbye to our careers.”

An initial wave of relief put him at ease, his shoulders drooping as an imaginary weight was lifted off of him. Still… There was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite brush aside. He shook his head, instead focusing on cleaning you up and getting ready to head back to the dorm. 

Seokjin watched you tie your tousled hair up with an elastic, his eyes tracing the graceful slope of your nape. Something akin to possessiveness warmed his chest as his sight fell upon the red marks he had suckled down your neck and across your collarbones. 

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Did you really miss me?” he asked before he could stop himself. 

In the still of the night, his voice rang out loud and clear. Startled, your fingers hovered in mid-air, three blouse buttons still undone. Even to his own ears, the question reeked with the need for validation and affection. He hated that his feelings were so transparent, so obvious, especially when he didn’t know where he stood with you. 

You turned to face him, cheeks flushed a dusty pink and makeup slightly blotchy. “As much as you missed me.”

He was at a loss for words once more, his mind drawing a blank. What did that even mean? This wasn’t a KBS drama; he could make do without the vague, mysterious answers. Seriously, why were women so difficult to understand? The litany of questions he kept to himself kept him occupied as you both got dressed silently. 

What a waste of a hotel suite, he mused, shutting the door behind him after having watched you leave fifteen minutes prior. There was never time to admire the luxurious backdrop, not when every second spent together could be detrimental to your careers. He had watched enough movies and daytime dramas to know that relationships weren’t supposed to be this way. But since it was you, he was willing to take what he could get.

.

Seokjin found it hard to function the next day. And the day after that. It was becoming increasingly difficult to carry out his job properly when his every thought was plagued by you. His thumb hovered over your name in his contact list the more he let himself be consumed by old memories. He kept spacing out during interviews, and it was only when Namjoon discreetly pinched his side that he was brought back to reality. 

Fans started to notice his strange behavior. They were worried that he was sick and overworked by his company, but the reality was far from that. What would they think if they knew he was actually thinking about filling you up with cum? The thought crossed his mind at the most inconvenient times, more than he was willing to admit. He didn’t blame his fans for thinking he was ill; Seokjin himself felt feverish, his skin hot and clammy. 

For the first time, he felt all semblance of control slip through his fingers. It was as if he had been yanked backwards in time, forced to experience puberty all over again against his will. His body had become a slave to his desires and he was helpless to stop the onslaught of salacious thoughts from eating away at his sanity. 

Even though he knew it wouldn’t help him in any way, he replayed the night in his head whenever he had a spare moment to himself, his tight pants revealing how worked up he got over the memory of you climaxing to the thought of him getting you pregnant.  

At the time, he had thought it to be your kink, but the more he let himself fantasize, the more it dawned on him that the idea equally thrilled him even if it clashed with his moral code. Getting a girl knocked up had always been the one line he had never been willing to cross. Even now, his mind reeled at the thought of him jeopardizing his group’s career because of his carelessness. But knowing that you were actually using contraception gave him the safety net he needed and, for once, he let himself entertain this particular fantasy. 

He didn’t know what to think of this new development or what to do with this revelation. All he knew was that he wanted to try it again, just to see if it was a fluke, a onetime thing. 

.

[artificialqueens]

These People in This Room (Don't Shine Like You) (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Lawrence has just been crowned the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, and Ellie is right beside her. Just like she’s always been.

a/n: omg HIIIIII! here’s my entry to the fic challenge (will it be my only one? who can say). in a shocking turn of events this is not a drabble asdfghjk but would we have expected anything concise from me? this fic was inspired by Shine and Starstruck, both by Years and Years. they are very diamond chaney songs so pls do give them a little listen for full effect! standard procedure, she/her pronouns bc they’re in drag, u know the drill. this has taken me entirely too long to write but pls enjoy some diamond chaney from the night of the crowning! (pls also collectively pretend they had an actual dancefloor to celebrate on and not just a hotel room bc i had already started writing at the point Ellie posted her BTS. fic is just one big serving of pretend anyway xo)

***

It’s somewhere around midnight, the sun has set on Thursday and Friday has crept in, and Lawrence is sitting in a booth with the dancefloor flashing bright colours in front of her, only just daring to believe that this is her actual life.

There is not a single moment that seems real. Even being one of the top four took her essentially since filming stopped to come to terms with. But hearing her name being read out, hearing the other girls cheer for her and being able to do nothing but stare at the screen in disbelief with her hands over her mouth and sob like a baby…that’s not sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. She’s still feeling the after-effects from the way the shock and euphoria had kicked seven shades of shit out of her pulse, the way the serotonin had crashed over her like a wave and the absolute unbridled lack of control she’d had over any of her emotions.

When the cameras had been cut off and they’d been given the all-clear from the producers that they could hug each other, Lawrence had only managed to stand up from the chair, still in floods of tears as Bimini bundled their arms around her, Tayce had jostled them all with the way she’d jumped up and down and yelled in delight, and Ellie had looped her arms around her neck and murmured into her shoulder, words Lawrence couldn’t hear but felt the love from regardless.

It had to be Ellie, really, that crowned her. It was a full-circle moment. She still remembers the night they met for the first time; Dundee in 2016, some time in the early hours of the morning (she’d probably called it ‘bastard o’clock’ or something similar), coming out of the bar and being stopped by a boy in half-drag similar ages with her who spoke rapidly and excitedly and told her that he’d messaged her about starting drag and she’d replied to him. The way realisation had dawned on her and the way she’d been her usual loud and boisterous self to cover up the fact she’d actually been quite bashful about the fact they were meeting for the first time.

There was no alternative, not least because of everything they’ve been through together; the years leading up to this moment and the rollercoaster it’s all been. She’s glad that they’re on a high because they’ve seen each other at their lows (been the cause of each others’ too, sometimes) and pulled through only slightly scathed, but always stronger. The producer had asked Lawrence who she’d wanted and when she, still speechless, had pointed in Ellie’s direction, seeing the tears start to stream down her face had only made Lawrence’s start all over again. They’d hugged- just the two of them this time- and the way Ellie had immediately felt like a safe place in the crazy chaos of reality reminded Lawrence so much of when they had filmed. The way even just hearing Ellie’s voice would stop her feeling homesick, the way she was a living comfort blanket.

She’d never tell that to Ellie, of course, because she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

It’s been a couple of hours and Lawrence is expecting everything to suddenly sink in any minute now. Something will click like the last piece of a puzzle and she’ll finally accept that she’s won, that the whole thing isn’t a giant and premature April fools’ prank. She turns her phone over in her hand, wondering what all this nervous energy is doing to her body chemistry. She’s got messages from her family, her friends, Kiko, the girls she works with back home. Well…some of them. But apart from reading them and frantically replying, Lawrence hasn’t checked anything else; hasn’t opened Twitter or Instagram, where the notifications are piling up like pizza leaflets through a letterbox and are equally as unwanted. If she thinks about them she can feel her stomach twist, wrung out like a wet towel.

Forty thousand likes. The Team Bimini tweet had forty thousand likes. What did her own get? Eight thousand? Lawrence thinks about the sheer scale of forty thousand people, compares it to the population of towns in Scotland. Almost Airdrie. Just under Coatbridge. She imagines a whole town of people, angry and furious and disappointed, and all of them tweeting her to let her know exactly that. She remembers in high school when she thought the whole of Hermitage was against her. She wants to tell baby Lawrence that that was fucking small fry. A thousand kids? Try the sheer scale of Bimini’s fanbase. Her breath is shaky when she tries to breathe in, like her lungs have reduced in size. It reminds her of that time in school camp when they all had to jump from a pier for some unknown-fucking-reason, how freezing the water had been and how her chest felt tight as she gasped for air. Lawrence supposes it was character building in the sense that it prepared her exactly for how anxiety would make her feel later in life.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

“There she is!”

An ever so slightly slurred and wobbly voice breaks Lawrence’s reverie, and when she looks up she sees Ellie approaching her, a little unsteady even in the flats she’s changed into with a glass of prosecco in each hand. It says a lot that even at the top of a helter-skelter of an anxiety spiral, Lawrence’s heart still gives a little swell when she sees her friend. Ellie has always been able to make her feel better. She feels an almost silly sense of relief that she’s here.

Lawrence takes one last little breath in before plastering a small smile to her face. “Awrite? Where’s Mumma Diamond?”

“In her room conked out. Just got back from putting her to bed, she couldn’t hack it. Letting down the family name, that one,” Ellie huffs, sliding into the booth and squashing up right beside Lawrence, even though there’s enough space for two metres distance even if they had still been under strict instructions from the BBC.

“Tayce?” Lawrence asks, gratefully accepting the prosecco glass and hurriedly downing a too-big gulp in an attempt to calm herself down.

“Facetiming A’whora. Of course.”

“Of course. Maybe a bottle and a half of prosecco is gonny be the love potion she never knew she needed.”

“Fuck, we can only hope,” Ellie grins, already laughing through her words. “If we’re gonna be touring with them I don’t wanna have to karate chop through five layers of sexual tension every time I have to walk past them.”

Lawrence chuckles, tired but humoured and unable to not make the so-obvious joke. “You couldny fight sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll fight you in a minute!” Ellie nudges her with her shoulder and spills both of their prosecco from the glasses in their hands. The gesture is affectionate and out of place with the impending threat. “Where’s Bims? Thought they were with you.”

Lawrence shrugs. “Went out for a smoke with one of the runners about twenty minutes ago and never returned.”

“Good for them. Always thought there’s something inherently sexy about a winch in a back alley.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Eh, so would you!” Ellie cries, nothing short of incredulously offended. Her expression makes her look even more like a cartoon character than usual, and it’s entirely too endearing.

“Yeah, forgot that popular phrase. It takes two to winch in a back alley,” Lawrence jokes, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s too heavy and her ribcage feels like someone laced her into a corset and pulled it too tight. She’s hoping Ellie is too drunk to notice.

Ellie sips her prosecco with her eyes on her, then scrutinises her as she swallows it. She frowns, her nose wrinkling up as she prods Lawrence with an acrylic-nail finger. “What’s up?”

Fuck.

“The sky,” Lawrence says without conviction, and the raised eyebrow Ellie gives her in return is enough to unlock her. She deflates like a balloon and brings her phone up so Ellie can see it, turning it over in her hands. “Just…as happy as I am, and as much as this is all a dream come true…I keep psyching myself up to open any social media, and I can’t, because this one fucking brain cell of anxiety keeps telling me that everyone out there hates me and hates the fact I’ve won.”

Ellie’s face falls into a frown. She gently pries the phone out of her hands and places it on the table, takes one of Lawrence’s free hands in hers and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. “But all your other brain cells know that’s wrong.”

Lawrence sighs. “So why’s that one louder than all the rest?”

Ellie presses her lips together in a badly-suppressed smile. She’s giggling as she speaks. “Because you’ve only got two brain cells.”

Lawrence splutters a laugh, shoving Ellie with her free hand. The other is still laced together with hers. As the laughter dies down and the momentary serotonin wears off, Lawrence can feel her brow furrowing involuntarily. “Forty thousand people wanted Bimini to win, Ellie. Forty thousand. You know that’s like a whole town? That’s like the population of Coatbridge?”

“ Fuck Coatbridge!” Ellie exclaims, affronted, and her shock and insistence makes Lawrence snort all over again. “Okay, forty thousand people is a town but really, what’s that to the rest of the world? Think how tiny that is in the grand scheme of things, Lawrence! Honestly, give a fuck about what any bastard who wants to send you anything vile thinks of you! You’re so amazing! You won! Fuck everyone else!”

Lawrence wants to feel cheered up. The prosecco Ellie’s drunk is making her all the more animated and lively, giving her words a determination and a passion that her speech so rarely possesses most of the time. Ellie is calm, and she doesn’t get wound up easily. There’s something about the fact she’s growing this animated over getting Lawrence to believe in herself that warms her heart a little.

Then again…

“It’s not just that, though. There’s girls from home that haven’t even said well done. Girls I’ve always supported and couldn’t do enough for, and it’s like…really? You can’t be happy for me when I’ve actually managed to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for years?”

“Well maybe they have said well done, and you’ve just not seen it because you’ve been hiding,” Ellie gestures matter-of-factly at her phone. It doesn’t convince her.

“They won’t have. You’ll know who I’m talking about, Ellie.”

Ellie sighs a little, clearly conceding that Lawrence is right. Her grip on her hand tightens a little, and when Lawrence looks up at her in response her blue eyes hold a glint of assurance.

“Well, even if they haven’t…fuck ‘em. Onwards and upwards, chick. You’ve got ten new sisters out of this who’re always going to know what it’s like, they’re gonna be here for you no matter what,” Ellie says comfortingly. Lawrence knows why she’s said ten and not eleven, but Ellie affirms this with another squeeze and a slightly shy smile. “And you’ve always got me. You’ve always had me.”

This is true. She’s always had Ellie. Before the show, doing gigs with her and hanging out with her and going to DragCon with her. On the show, always there to reassure her or pull her out of a negative spiral or just lean against her shoulder and squeeze her hand. And after the show. Whatever that might look like. Whatever that might be.

She supposes that neither of them know yet.

“C’mon,” Ellie says decisively, holding out a hand for her as the song changes. It’s some sort of Paolo Nutini dirge, and Lawrence has to laugh at how obviously whoever is in charge of the music has rushed to attempt to find something Scottish. Lawrence can only blink at Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on! ” Ellie laughs. Lawrence doesn’t know if she’s blushing or if it’s just the lights.

But she does know that she can’t leave Ellie hanging when she’s looking at her like that.

So Lawrence lets herself be dragged out to the dancefloor and pulled into a hug as Ellie sways them left to right ever-so-slightly out of time with the song, tipsy and full of affection given the way her arms are locked around Lawrence’s waist. It should feel stranger than it does. In reality, being held by Ellie feels as simple as just existing.

Or perhaps simpler than that, given the fact that Lawrence’s existence feels entirely surreal right now.

“You have to be in drag for half past se-ven,” Ellie sing-songs, bringing one of her arms out from around Lawrence’s waist and tapping her on the nose. Lawrence immediately misses it, so it’s a relief that it’s not gone for long.

“Because I wo-on,” Lawrence imitates back to her, and the way Ellie squeezes her waist in response and affirmation causes a smile and a blush to bloom on her face without her even being to control it. She rests her head against Ellie’s chest so she can’t have the satisfaction (ammunition) of seeing how she makes her feel.

It’s little moments like that that she needs right now. Anchors to keep her down on earth, to let her know that this isn’t just some really prolonged lucid dream and it’s all actually happening because currently reality is so absurdly ridiculous; she’s just won Drag Race and she’s slow-dancing with Ellie to the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the background, a parody of some American high school prom where she’s just been crowned the queen.

Moments like these- where Ellie’s holding her close as if she’s literally trying to protect her from the world- remind her that not everybody is against her. Not everybody hates her. Not everybody is wishing her a slow and painful death because Bimini didn’t win, least of all them. She knows that Ellie was never able to share what team she was on even though she hadn’t had a chance at the crown, but she didn’t have to. Not really. They’ve always been on each others’ team.

Ellie jolts Lawrence out of her daydream with the way her chest is shuddering, and Lawrence momentarily thinks she’s crying again before her soft giggle becomes audible over the music.

“What?” Lawrence tilts her head up, meeting Ellie’s scheming, smirking face.

“Can’t believe RuPaul Charles asked if you wanted to move to London, city of dreams, city of a thousand opportunities…” Ellie begins, Lawrence already laughing as she knows what the conclusion to her sentence will be. “…and you said, ‘yer awrite pal, am fine in Glesga wi the jakes an’ the Blue Lagoon chippy an’ the guy that stands on Buchanan Street and yells at everyone that they’re going to hell!’ ”

Lawrence would normally roll her eyes at Ellie’s impersonation of her accent, but she’s laughing too much at the joke that’s forming in her head to commit to it. “RuPaul asked if I wanted to move to London, and I said…”

The pair of them are almost giggling too much to get the punchline out, Ellie clocking on to how it’s going to end. In sync, the pair of them splutter out a “… NNNNAAW! ”

Giddy and happy, Lawrence rests her cheek against Ellie’s chest again. “London’s got junkies too, anyway.”

“This is gonna sound really selfish, but…don’t actually move to London,” Ellie’s voice murmurs from above her, and there’s something plaintive to it that makes Lawrence refrain from replying with a joke or a barb like she normally would. The way Ellie follows it up cements that fact. “It would probably be so good for you, but like…Glasgow would be lost without you, genuinely. And so would I.”

Lawrence can’t cry again tonight, even if it’s only because she thinks it’s physically impossible, so she just squeezes Ellie tight until she worries about her ability to breathe. “I’m not going anywhere, hen.”

Lawrence doesn’t even really know what they are, her and Ellie. They both still have Grindr and they talk about their hookups and raised hopes and broken hearts with each other like friends. But they’re not really just that. They’re affectionate, and they open up to each other with the same shared unspoken understanding of something Lawrence doesn’t understand. They hug for too long and cuddle up to each other when they’re together, and Lawrence can’t count the amount of times during filming that she’d find strength in the way Ellie would squeeze her hand without a word. They’ve woken up together too many times (why she’d felt the need to remind Ellie of that while the cameras were rolling, she’ll never know) and kissed each other more than that. Every time they say I love you they mean it, but they also mean a little bit more. There’s no butterflies or fast pulses or fluttering hearts- they’re past that stage. Everything is just natural and normal and easy.

She wonders if they’ll ever put a label on what they have. There’s a part of her that doesn’t ever want to.

“If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty,” Lawrence begins, leaning back to look at Ellie through her glazed, half-drunk half-tired eyes. “…we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get married.”

(She doesn’t even know if it’s a joke or not.)

Ellie laughs as if it is and nods as if it isn’t. “Drag wedding. We’d need to upstage Tayce and A’whora, though.”

Lawrence realises something. “I’ll turn forty two years before you.”

There’s a pause as the song starts to fade out, and it makes Ellie’s murmur seem louder than it is. “That’s okay. We don’t need to wait for me.”

The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart and the way Ellie’s talking as if it’s an actual plan makes her think maybe it wasn’t really ever a joke after all. It’s ridiculous though, and it’s all theoretical, and it’s a totally hypothetical scenario, and they’re both drunk , for Christ’s sake. So Lawrence pulls out of Ellie’s arms and takes her hands in her own, the song that’s started playing more upbeat and the opening chords inciting some sort of hope and optimism in her heart for the future that’s unfolding for the pair of them.

“One more song then bed?” she suggests. Ellie raises her eyebrows as she looks down at her.

“Whose bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dirty Diamond,” Lawrence shoots back without missing a beat, and as the first lines of the song fill the room she leans back and begins to spin the pair of them in a circle, both of them laughing as if everything is as simple as just that room, and the music blaring out from the speakers, and the lights flashing above them drenching them in purple and pink.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

i read your isopod bonding experience drabble with Toga, Twice and Hawks and i got curious. we have an idea how Hawks, Twice's and mr compress room looks like, but i wanna know about dabis, spinners, togas and shigaraki's. like i could imagine that spinners and shigarakis is prime basement dweller lodgings.

Oh, headcanon time? Headcanon time!

These idiots have, like, the entire floor of a wing for themselves and they all live next to each other. Compress whined on having one of the end rooms, he doesn’t want to deal with two noisy neighbors.

Toga’s room:

styled in a way that it would fit someone a bit younger than her (pinker than you’d expect. I mean, sure, she thinks it’s an amazing color, but you’d expect more,,, red), but looks pretty normal… as long as you don’t look too hard

those poor stuffed animals

watch where you step, she’s messy around the bedroom and she has a knife collection

something… smells, occasionally. (dead things of all sizes reek when they start decomposing, fam… we had dead mice in unreachable cracks in the pantry, and by lORD was that awful for 2 weeks straight)

Twice’s isopod is likely the thing that cleans up that mess

canopy bed with fairy lights

the odd, bloodied cholthing pile of stuff she went out on a hunt in

the only one apart from Compress who seems to use the stove and/or oven

Spinner:

p much what you’ve said lmao

has a fridge entirely for drinks. there’s lotsa energy drinks, but he’s got a bit of everything

started a figurine collection but still doesn’t quite feel comfortable going for the really big and expensive ones despite all the cash at his disposal

he lost a bunch of them during the camp raid, but have no fear!!! his replica collection has all of the swords that mattered, ever

especially happy about his life sized (and life sharp a f) Frostmourne

you can find an opened and forgotten can of scale specialized lotion in nooks and crannies all over the place

he’s lived in a trash pile for half his life and it shows, but he’s trying to be tidy, he really is

bean chairs

kitchen cupboards are full of snacks. this includes dried insects, too. (his favourites are the lime flavored ones) 

has good tea???

Dabi:

has the other end-of-the-corridor room

much like Tokoyami’s room, but taken down 20 notches bc he doesn’t actually need things to be dark

has a window open p much 24/7 bc doors are for normal people. you can catch him smoking in it on some nights

has only one, basically emptly trash bin for organic shit bc he heats up/burns everything he wants to get rid of. not that he cleans that shrunk and ashy mess up after himself, but still

his fridge is meager, but surprisingly normal looking. the freezer part, however, is full of ice cream only.

his bathroom is, like, the cleanest place in the entire HQ and the cupboards are fully equipped with anything one could ever need (he even has normal lights in there)

most light otherwise comes from neon signs that are likely stolen

there’s traffic singns that are definitely stolen

they are placed in spots they kinda fit in, actually

5.1 speaker system that either plays vaguely ambient stuff only those who get inside can hear or blares the most distorted shit that ever cursed human hearing organs to Shigaraki’s chagrin (though he doesn’t really complain bc he’s dead inside)

has a white and blue lava lamp on both sides of his bed; only one is on at a time (you need to let your lamps cool off every 8-10 hours, kids!)

Shigaraki’s room

is pretty minimalistic, at least his living space is

bunk bed. lower level is basically the garbage bin with the familiar bags already half full

the microwave oven ding echoes down the halls every few hours, but he has never touched anything else in the kitchen

apart from the sink bc usually he doesn’t go out to the bathroom to wash hands unless he has business there

once considered to replace the cooker with a dishwasher instead…. but nah.

him and Spinner both have a high-end gaming setup, though his is not personalized at all

also has like 3 consoles and an entire wall of a gaming library

you can catch the remaining hand of his sitting on top of whichever he last used

has his old toys lined up like They Used To Be Lined Up

in fact, the overall layout of the room resembles his old one

he even got the books and stuff he remembered having back

doesn’t feel the need to get new stuff but accepts them as gifts

his door is open a crack all of the time. sometimes, he creeps. noone appreciates it.