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rimunagenius · 15 days

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And They Were Roomates

☙ pairing: Kate Martin x Roommate!reader

☙ word count: 2.5k words

☙ warnings: RPF!! use of y/n, not proof read.

☙ ri speaks: I need more kate martin content and i haven’t been fed the specific ones that i need so i must write them to the best of my horrendous abilities. Idek how good this will be…im sorry in advance LMFAO. also this is two thousand five hundred words but it looks a lot shorter….crying

this is also a general announcement that i will indeed be refreshing my blog, so that means new and updated master lists and posts are coming out soon so sorry if you get a spam of rimunagenius on your feed!!

Part 1

| Series Masterlist |

When you first started in Iowa, you never expected the immediate love you recieved from the people there. They were friendly, generous, and so much different from people in California. Especially your roommate, Kate Martin. You had met her shortly after your first day of Junior year. A while after, you two became roomates because you needed more space, and she needed someone to split rent with in her apartment. Sounded like a great deal to both of you.

"You don't mind?" You asked unsure. Not wanting to impose on her, possibly ruining plans with making a deal with her actual teammates.

"No! Not at all! I really like you and you're alot of fun! I'd love for you to move in with me." She beamed at you, giving you a side hug when she saw your expression change. You both were ecstatic.

Since then, you had been living with Kate for almost two years. You two had become inseparable. Always on campus together, meeting up between classes to get coffee or lunch together, sometimes with Caitlin and your other friends. It was great. You were happy with your home away from home.

You had transfered from UC Irvine and decided to pursue your degree and career in sports medicine here in Iowa City. You were one of the new athletic trainees and ocassionly a photographer; your previous major was in photography and Lisa and the administration had really loved your resume and work, so they hired you as a part time (barely) photographer, for whenever they wanted more shots than what they usually wanted or a fill in.

Currently, you were needed in the Carver stadium to help record a mic’d up practice session for the team. It was for the Iowa Hawkeye Youtube channel. You had experience because you too had a youtube channel that you started when you first transferred to Iowa. So you had told Lisa and the coaches that you’d be able to film it.

“Hey, Gabbie!” You smiled at her as you walked into the locker room, approaching Kate’s cubby to set your stuff down. Kate telling you this morning before she left that you could put your stuff with hers.

“Hey, girlie! So guess what?” You and Gabbie loved to gossip. It was so much fun and it started when you were redoing the tape on her ankles, and she looked down so you asked her about it, and since then, you both have told eachother whatever gossip you had.

“Oh my god, what?” You took your sweater out of your bag, the locker room being chilly, so you could imagine the court.

“So that boy Nick in my econ class, totally asked about you today. I didn’t want to crush his hopes and dreams but I did say you weren’t his type.” She took a seat next to where you were standing to put her shoes on.

“Wait, the boy I said would so be my type if he was a girl? That Nick?” You laughed because he was really nice and such a sweet guy but he just wasn’t a girl. Men are pretty but only to look at.

“Yes!”

“How’d he take it?” This guy has asked you out once before but you just said you weren’t looking to date. Probably should’ve elaborated on that one.

“But he asked me “Oh, who is? Does he go here?” And I was like,” she paused to reenact the face she made. “I said it too fast so I didn’t have time to say “Oh, It’s long distance or something” sooo I don’t know.” She rambled and just pulled her hair into a small ponytail.

“What do you mean? That made no sense, Gab.” You were confused. She looked guilty of something but you didn’t want to pressure her but you also really wanted to know what she had said about you to Nick.

“I kinda sorta said you had a girlfriend already, and he took that as ‘Oh, she’s dating her roommate Kate Martin’ because he said he supposedly sees you guys together everywhere.” She meant well. It really wasn’t her fault that Nick totally misread the situation.

“Oh shit.” Your jaw dropped. You thought it was awkward but now it went full fledged horrendous. You were already out, and anyone who followed your insta would’ve saw it in your stories, so you weren’t worried about that but you were worried for Kate.

“So what do we do about the fact that a random kid on campus thinks your dating Kate?”

“Ok wait, i’m actually scared. Like how do you think Kate will take it?” You were talking to Gabbie and immediately knew you fucked up by seeing the expression on her face.

“How will I take what?” Kate walked in, hair down, dressed in her practice uniform, and sat on the chair next to you. You hadn’t realized that you sat down with Gabbie. Lost in the conversation and frenzy of the new mess that could possibly affect yours and Kate’s social life dramatically.

“I’m just gonna…” Gabbie got up, and walked out, meeting the others outside on the court.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you in a minute.” You said to the girl before turning to Kate. You had caught her up on the lore behind you and Nick, if you could even call this one sided infatuation lore. Now you just had to tell her the problem. “So Gabbie tried to tell him that I was already seeing some girl. But Nick jumped to this whole conclusion that me and you were together.”

You watched her face. Looking for any sort of negative reaction. Waiting for her to blow up on you. “Oh.”

“And when Gabbie tried to say it wasn’t you and that were just friends, and that my supposed girlfriend lives in California, he got up and left. So it may be possible that the whole Iowa college campus will assume we’re together.” You played with your fingers as you watched her some more. Still waiting for her explosion.

“I mean, I don’t mind. He sounded weird so if it keeps the guy away from you, i’m okay with being the ‘pretend’ girlfriend.” She shrugged her shoulders. Grabbing her shoes from behind you, your chair sitting right infront of the cubby that belonged to her:

“Kate. Are you sure? This is so random and so strange and I would totally get it if your uncomfortable.” You wanted it to be clear that this situation could go away if she was uncomfortable. If she was uncomfortable you’d go on a date with him and just tell him it won’t work after. It’d be bad for you if he goes around saying rude things but you couldn’t care less about people you don’t know. You just wanted to make sure Kate wasn’t the one feeling weird.

“Yeah, I mean—I don’t have to kiss you in public, right? I feel like that’s overstepping a boundary we have not thought about setting.”

“No, Kate. You do not have to kiss me in public. Wait so you’d kiss me in private?” You looked at the girl, now fully joking around as you wiggled your eyebrows and laughed.

“Oh yeah for sure.” Kate made a funny face while nodding her head before grabbing her water and standing up. You following behind to get this practice and video recording started.

“Oh, and your getting mic’d up today. I don’t know if Coach Lisa told you.” You say as you both walk onto the court.

You and Kate had showered, separately unfortunately, and sat on the couch. You had been trying to convince her the whole way home from practice to watch New Girl. She agreed after ten excruciating minutes of your nagging.

You were deciding to pick the snack you wanted, grabbing M&Ms you bought at the store yesterday, snickers, chips, and popcorn. You wanted to watch as many episodes as possible because you both started school late tomorrow and it was an off day for practice.

“What are these practices anyways? Are they like preseason workouts to get back in shape or?” You watched Kate as she picked her snacks.

“Yeah. Basically. We’re technically only allowed to goof off a little during those ones.” Kate laughed, referring to the mic’d up practice today. Coach Lisa usually wants a more focused and intimate space during the actual season. “Oh my. What if we just kill this whole tub of Neapolitan ice cream?” Kate took it out of the freezer and suddenly all your snack choices went back to the cabinets.

“Ou deal, Martin.” You grabbed two spoons before making your way to the couch. Grabbing the blanket off the backrest, and throwing it over you both. You both settled and got comfy ready to start the marathon of New Girl.

You were both sitting in silence after you decided to just do a highlight reel of episodes since you weren’t going to force Kate to watch multiple seasons. "Are you excited for this upcoming season? Your last season?" You asked as you looked to your right. Kate was seated next to you while you both decided to disregard bowls and just eat the ice cream straight from the tub. She held the tub as you both dug what you wanted out of it. She shoved more ice cream into her mouth and she smiled and nodded her head.

"I am. Just scared and sad." She said somewhat incoherently due to not having swallowed the mouthful of ice cream. You nodded your head. You had already adapted to the Kate language. When she talked while yawning, mouth full, her body language, and her facial expressions. Not many people were fluent like you, and you were actually proud to be one of the people. So you understood exactly what she meant. You saw everything else she was feeling just by the look in her eye and the shape of her lips.

But you also felt sad for her too. You’d both be a sixth-year, grad students, in a couple months. This year bigger for her more than you. This year being her last and final run in her collegiate career. This was huge. You both knew this but wanted to focus on the nicer aspects. You and the girls would support her and be her friend even if she decided to never touched a basketball again. You guys were for life.You didn’t play, so you felt there was nothing you thought you could say other than just being her friend.

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." You wrapped your arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. A small comforting hug, atleast a hug at which this position provided, and kissed the top of her head. You only used terms of endearment like this in small, comforting, intimate moments. You felt this was the right time. "I'll be here for you, and you have the girls. We’ll back you in whatever you do, outside of basketball and school. You can’t ever get rid of us if you tried. But I will give you all the support and all the ice cream you can eat right now." You smiled at the blonde. You both stared at eachother, a little too long, “We are not beating the supposed ‘girlfriend’ allegations right now, Martin.” She bursted out laughing. You not far behind.

"But seriously, thanks shortie." She said as she patted your knee, right before she lost it again and laughed out loud. You immediatey cringed at the name, and pushed her away from you.

"OH! my god! Immediately no, Kate." You laughed again, half embarassment and half amusement. "That is not funny. You sound like a frat boy." That earned another snort laugh from Kate.

"You're right. I'm sorry." You side-eyed her. Pulling the blanket a little closer to you. Scooting over the tiniest bit over to feign anger and hurt. Still managing to catch her movement through your peripheral.

"Bro, I'm not even that much shorter than you. Just short three inches." You rolled your eyes at your best friend, turning back to the episode where Jess and Nick kiss eachother for the first time. Your favorite episode.

"Yes, I know. I know how you feel about my short jokes. I almost cried when you ignored me for three and a half days." Kate chuckled as she looked to you her smile dropping, a frown forming when you still didn't acknowledge her. "Oh, come on, y/n. Don't ignore me again, please! I was kidding." She asked you while chuckling nervously, she asked you two more times, when that didn’t work she insisted on poking you for a two minutes straight.

"Okay, Kate. I forgive you. Now shush, my favorite part is coming up." You kept your eyes on the screen and tried to reach for your spoon in the tub. Your fingers reaching everywhere but your spoon. "Kate can you help me please?"

"Yes, but haven't you already seen this show like eight-billion times?" She grabbed a spoon, whichever one was closest, forgetting which one was which, and scooping a good spoonful, before bringing the spoon to your mouth. "Open." You opened your mouth and took the ice cream happily.

"Thank you, you big teddy bear. God's gift, I'm telling you." You said as you watched the best scene on sitcom TV about to unfold.

"Im just going to pretend you're talking about me and not your show." Kate whispered. "You're welcome, pretty." She said louder so you could hear.

That got your attention. It wasn’t something that you hadn’t heard come out of her mouth and directed to you before; she's called you pretty multiple times when you had asked if the outfit you were wearing out looked good or if the makeup you put on was good for this dinner a girl you were seeing on and off wanted to take you out to. But she's never once used it in this context. You got a nervous feeling in your stomach, something you recognized as butterflies for sure. Fighting the urge to smile at the compliment, a small blush creeping up on your cheeks. Fighting the thoughts you had about her.

It was something new but this one thing…this you weren't going to get used to. You guys were best friends and just roomates. You can't feel anyway about this.You decided to ignore it and take it as a compliment in the moment to make up for the short joke. It definitely wasn’t something serious as you were making.

"I was talking about both of you. The TV and you, Kit-Kate." You put your arm around her shoulder and continued to watch the show. Watching the scene you had been waiting for all night to play. “This was the best cinematic experience I have ever had.” You whispered, now reaching for the spoon again for some ice cream.

Kate beating you to it, already having got another spoonful for you, feeding it to you like she did a couple of seconds ago. You smiled and thanked her before you both decided to cut the show, and search for a movie of both your choosing this time.

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tinycozycomfort · 9 months

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rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta.

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done.

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for.

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation.

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for.

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him.

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing.

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.”

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?”

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.”

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out.

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.”

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?”

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?”

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.”

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?”

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it.

She might be.

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—”

“Hey.”

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.”

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else.

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class.

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on.

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—”

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.”

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.”

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.”

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home.

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.”

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours.

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream.

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old.

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways.

But it’s not up to you.

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel.

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating.

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome.

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts.

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking.

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged.

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him.

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.”

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull.

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack.

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy.

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take.

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding.

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating.

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed.

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal.

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all.

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him.

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself.

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy.

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it..

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you.

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat.

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?”

“What?”

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?”

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to.

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?”

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself.

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why?

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away.

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.”

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous.

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.”

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more.

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.”

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear.

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other.

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun.

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?”

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.”

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?”

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?”

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?”

“So you can get his number.”

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes.

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.”

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.”

And then you’re alone again.

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed.

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous.

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing.

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet.

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind.

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now.

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion.

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind.

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time.

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement.

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip.

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable. He’s going to be a problem.

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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hanjiesgf · 2 years

Text

– upgrade.

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader (ft han jisung)

contains: power play (?), face riding, masturbation, biting, lowkey sub/dom dynamics, voyeurism, exhibitionism, perv!jisung, switch!afab!reader, switch!jeongin.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: hello !!! i just hit 200 followers and this is my little baby, i had a dream and iris made fun of me BUT encouraged me to write this,,, AND IM SO SLOW!!!!! i loved reader and jeongin’s relationship omgggg,,, also this is my self-birthday gift bc TODAY THAT IM POSTING THIS IM OFFICIALLY 21,,,, and probably this is my only smut ever written (this long, bc i usually don’t write THAT MUCH) so please enjoy and remember to give me some feedback hehe tysm!!!!!

a screaming match in the kitchen woke you up.

you sighed as you put on a shirt that wasn’t yours and went to see what was happening.

it was very common for you and your roommates to share clothes, after all, you washed them together and sometimes they get mixed up, so it wasn’t a problem at all to use someone else’s clothes.

the han jisung vs yang jeongin live action was happening in the middle of your kitchen.

your classmate seungmin, who was also majoring in photography like you, mentioned that two of his close friends were looking for a place to stay, you hugged him tightly and he blushed hard making you giggle. so after some interrogation on your part, you found jeongin and jisung to be a good fit for so place you called home.

and here they were, a whole year later, fighting for their lives in the middle of the kitchen. jeongin was holding jisung’s arm against his back in some sort of wrestling position, jisung struggling against the kitchen counter with jeongin on his back laughing.

“when are you going to behave, hyung?” jisung groaned, getting more and more frustrated with every passing second. you watched it all from the door, giggling.

“why are you bullying your hyung, innie?” both of them snapped their heads towards your voice, watching you lean against the door with a smile.

jisung instantly freed himself from jeongin’s grasp when he was distracted by your presence, jumping quickly away from him with a fight stance. “don’t ever do that to me again.”

“then don’t be stealing my food when i repeatedly asked you if you wanted some and you said no three times.” jisung raised his eyebrows in annoyance, then he turned his head towards you like he was expecting you to say something.

“what are you looking at, jisungie? he told you.” jeongin winked and you, grabbed his food, and walked quickly to his room without saying anything else, brushing his arm with yours as he walked past you.

jisung scoffed, starting to make some breakfast for himself after the whole catastrophe he had just suffered. you walked to the refrigerator and got yourself some cereal and milk, watching how jisung was fuming making himself some sandwich.

“stop frowning, you look ugly.” that’s a lie.

his eye twitched, “shut up, you didn’t say anything to defend me.”

you scoffed at him, eating your cereal unbothered. “literally it was none of my business, chill out.” he rolled his eyes and took a seat in front of you on the table.

you both ate in silence for a few minutes, occasionally glancing over to watch the other. until you broke the silence.

“do you want to watch a movie or something with me in my room?” jisung choked on his sandwich, making you laugh. “are you okay?”

“no thanks, i have other important things to do now.” he looked away, you looked shocked for a few seconds, then quickly regained your composure. was he still mad for the fight thing?

“sure.” you stood up from the table looking at him one last time, leaving your plate in the kitchen sink. “have fun then, i’ll ask innie.”

giggling on your way to jeongin’s room you thought about jisung, he never rejected the chance to spend time with you, even to the point to cancel his plans to hang with you, you shrugged it off and knocked on jeongin’s door.

“come in!”

you opened the door to see jeongin sitting with his legs crossed still eating his food and watching some anime on his laptop. “hi.”

jeongin nodded at you, mouth full of food, he paused the anime and put the bowl of food on his nightstand. “hey, what’s up.”

jeongin was wearing an oversized graphic tee, with a pair of shorts that left almost nothing to the imagination, his marked thighs from working out daily against the fabric, showing off more because of the way he was seated on his bed.

“jisungie rejected my invitation to watch a movie in my room, y'know, i have an actual tv.” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows, you were set on watching a movie with someone, it doesn’t matter if it was jisung or jeongin.

“is this an invitation to fuck?”

huh?

you smirked, “i mean if we are in the middle of the movie and you get hard i’ll think about it.” jeongin chuckled.

“that depends on the movie.” he raised his brows, with a playful smile.

“you think we are watching fifty shades or what?” you grinned.

he shook his head, standing up and getting closer to you, then you noticed his wet hair, he had showered before the breakfast incident probably. he smelled good, and he was looking extraordinarily handsome today.

“well, are we going or not?”

you rolled your eyes as you followed him to your room. he got himself comfortable on your bed and took the lead to pick the movie, you went to see if jisung was still in the kitchen, but he wasn’t there, so on your way back to the room you clashed with jisung who was leaving the bathroom.

“sorry,” you glared at him, he looked at you weirdly and peeked on your open door, seeing jeongin getting comfortable on your bed, covering himself with your blankets. “oh… you went to jeongin instead?”

you scoffed, “of course, i want to watch a movie, weren’t you busy?”

jisung looked away, “yes, sorry.”

“good luck, bye.” you entered your room and closed the door on jisung, leaving him speechless.

jeongin looked amused by the whole situation, “i’m still winning after all.”

“don’t.”

you jumped on the bed and took your spot beside jeongin, who was looking very cozy with your blankets on top of him. he had already put a movie on, it was a horror movie and you were happy.

“we’ll watch a movie adaptation of the book it by stephen king.” jeongin murmured, getting comfier and putting his head on your shoulder. you nodded and rested your head against his soft hair.

you could count with two hands the actual time the both of you watched the movie. the protagonist’s little brother was about to die to the ugly ass clown hiding in the sewer when jeongin’s hand gazed at your thigh, at first you shrugged it off but the second time you felt his fingers against your skin, you knew it wasn’t an accident.

“are you truly getting horny with this scene?” you chucked, caressing jeongin’s hair with your hand.

he grabbed your thigh and stroked it gently with his long and slender fingers. “to be honest, you’re not wearing pants.” was he a genius?

“i’m wearing underwear, that’s how i sleep, that’s not an excuse.”

“you literally invited me here to fuck.” you gasped offended.

“i did not,” you pushed his head off your shoulder making him look at you frowning. “bro i just wanted to see a movie in peace but you horny gremlin and the other angry gremlin cannot do this to me.”

jeongin smirked, quickly pausing the movie and looking back at you as he sat on your lap. “what are you-” he took off his shirt and looked down at you. “what the fuck jeongin.”

“at least are you thinking about it?” of course you were thinking about it, he was literally shirtless in front of you, his toned chest from working out and his biceps at your display.

you traced your hand around his chest, playing with his nipples as he shivered. he placed his arms around your neck as you played with his chest, scratching his pecs with your nails.

“you’re fully thinking about it.”

you nodded, tilting your head to the side and watching him stare at your lips, his chest slowly expanding with each breath he took and licking his lips more times than he could count. you pouted, your doe eyes working hard and fast on him.

“so are you going to kiss me or not?” he grinned as he leaned on, capturing your lips in a kiss. and he was good, slowly sucking on your lower lip making it a hundred percent hotter than it should be.

still sitting in your lap with his arms around your head, holding you up to keep you in place, kissing him. his hips started working against your lower belly, the bulge on his shorts growing hard with each thrust. “oh?” he giggled like he got caught doing something bad.

“was this your plan all along?” you asked, after a long kiss. jeongin was lowkey breathless, so he just nodded.

he was kissing you again, one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your head. his tongue made expert movements inside your mouth, wanting more and more from you.

your hands were still on his chest, making him tremble against you every time your hands caressed his torso. you could feel his already hard cock against your belly, taking the initiative, your hand wandered down to his shorts making him jump slightly, he smiled against your mouth when he realized what you were doing.

“take them off?” he rolled his eyes as he struggled with letting your lips go.

he got up from your lap, quickly taking all of his remaining clothes off and smirking when your eyes went down to stare at his hard leaking cock shining with precum on the tip, he made a mocking sound.

“i mean, it’s a pretty dick, why are you laughing?” he just shook his head as he got closer to you, kissing you deeply leaving no room between the both of you as he got on your lap again.

you wasted no time getting your hands and mouth on him, watching him gasp at the feeling of your hand on his cock and the other playing with his balls. your mouth attacking his neck leaving very notorious marks that he enjoyed by the sound of his pitched moans, his hands traveled to your hair, pulling it as you jerked him off.

between the sweet sounds of jeongin’s moans on top of you, grinding his hips against your hand to gain more friction, you heard some shuffling on your door, it was now a little bit open but you didn’t pay it any attention, your lock was broken anyways.

jeongin’s breath got erratic and your head snapped in his direction, feeling yourself getting hornier just by his looks, sweaty hair, and gaping mouth. “i’m going to-” he gasped, closing his eyes shut, his whole body shaking on top of you. he came in your hand, with a few last pumps he began to whine result of the overstimulation.

he moved himself to the side so you could step out of the bed and get yourself cleaned, you had fluids all over your arm and hand, and some on your shirt too.

“come back here, you’re going to sit on my face.” as you were wiping your arm with a wet cloth jeongin made himself comfortable again on your bed.

“is that so?” he nodded enthusiastically, sticking his tongue out.

you teased him lowering your underwear, which was soaking wet, and throwing it close to the door. jeongin licked his lips as you walked closer to him until you were towering over him only wearing your shirt.

“c’mon, sit.” he didn’t have to ask you twice, you got yourself on top of his head, getting yourself comfortable on the bed and with his head between your legs. the moment you lowered yourself into his mouth he did a long lick on your folds, taking it all in.

you moaned loud, damn he was good.

he traced his tongue all around your folds, alternating between your hole and clit, making you jump when he pressed his tongue in the spot you liked so much. your hand flew to his hair, pulling it hard to make him keep doing what he was doing perfectly fine under you.

jeongin puffed air on your folds as he separated his mouth from your core, you exhaled shakily as you looked down to see him smirking at you. “you look so pretty on top of me.” you rolled your eyes.

“that’s why you stopped?” he quickly grabbed your thighs to pull you down on him, sucking on your clit with a mission on his mind.

jeongin was good with his mouth, in every way that could sound. he was an excellent singer, the best student in his university debate club, and of course, a god giving head.

your hands flew to his hair again, pulling him up so he could continue doing what he was doing, jeongin didn’t fight you and accepted it happily. his hands were gripping your thighs to keep you in place on his face, after a few seconds he started to move you to ride his face, and you were happy to comply with it.

the sounds coming out of your mouth were music to jeongin’s ears, he speeded up his movements on your clit making you whine riding his face harder. he was grateful if his death was between your legs, giving you oral.

with a few last movements on your part, you came on his face with a loud moan, your legs quivering as he held you up in place to keep you from falling to the ground, licking all of the fluids that came from you gladly. when he finished doing that, he slowly removed himself from under you skillfully, and you were still recuperating from the orgasm now laying on the bed.

“round two?” he proposed from the other side of the bed, you exhaled, preparing yourself mentally as you nodded.

“get yourself hard, my hand is sore.” you joked, totally willing to suck him off and then fuck.

“don’t worry, i’m ready if you are.” confusedly you looked at him, and to your surprise, he was rock hard, probably from eating you out.

okay, that was hot.

“do you have condoms here? or should i go to my room for one?” he teased you with a wink, and you suppressed a laugh.

“maybe you should ask your hyung for one, huh?” he looked at you incredulously, you snickered and pointed to your bedside table smiling wide.

jeongin got to work, and quickly got the condom from your drawer looking at you funny because you had a LOT of them in your drawer, you shrugged. your mouth watered at the sight of his hard cock, ready to wreck you. you were still wearing just the shirt, you got ready on the bed as jeongin jumped on you, accommodating himself between your legs with the condom on, as he should.

he took his time teasing the head of his cock between your folds, smiling every time you complained, he played like that for at least a minute, between kissing you and putting just the tip inside of you, taunting.

“such a big cock and no use for it?” you pouted mockingly, already wanting to get fucked dumb and stop being teased.

“shut the fuck up.” it wasn’t just the tip now, it was the full package inside you.

“holy fuck, that’s it!"

he grinned as he pistoned his hips hard and fast, his hands went directly to hold your waist and the other to keep himself against the bed frame. It was impressive how he fucked you swiftly without losing balance, your cries made him go vigorously faster, it was like you were cheering him on to make you come again.

"baby right there!” he was going feral, growling at your sounds and reactions from his cock.

he was pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, his face buried in your neck and not putting any of his weight on top of you so you could bounce on his cock freely. your hand went to your clit and the other to his hair, pulling it hard making him moan, it was obvious that he liked it so much.

the sound of skin slapping, your cries, and jeongin’s grunts almost made you not notice the door opening a little, making your head turn that way.

what you didn’t (or you did?) expect, was seeing jisung jerking off with your soaked panties on the doorframe, the door was a few centimeters open but you could see him clearly as a day touching himself with your underwear standing there, gawking at jeongin’s dick entering your hole quickly.

jisung hadn’t realized that you had caught him looking at you, he was stuck watching jeongin fuck you. the hand movements on his cock were painfully slow, your panties probably burning his skin as he jerked off with them, his precum drenching your panties more than they were before.

you were in a trance watching how jisung enjoyed the situation just like you, and how probably he was standing there for a long time before you realized. as his movements were getting faster, his sight flew to your face and you saw how the blood left his face just as fast his hand was pumping his cock.

“hi, jisungie,” you said beaming, jeongin raised his head and turned it towards the door while continuing to fuck you, smiling wickedly when he saw the situation jisung was caught in.

“i told you hyung was a pervert.” jeongin said groaning, psyching himself up to continue without being interrupted again.

“i-” jisung stuttered, frozen in site.

you threw your head back, getting yourself back in the mood with jeongin biting your neck. ignoring how jisung tried to explain himself as you enjoyed your second flawless orgasm of the day, your whole body shaking with jeongin holding you tight seeking his own release.

“fill me up, please.” he came with a cry, falling on top of you breathless.

jeongin snuggled into your neck, hugging you with his dick still inside you getting softer with every passing second. you embraced him back ruffling his hair and chuckling.

“you’re wearing hyung’s shirt, you know that right?” jeongin whispered, caressing your arm softly.

“tsk, i know.” you looked back at the door, which was now closed jisung nowhere to be seen.

you both giggled like kids.

#hanjiesgf #jeongin #hanji #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin smut #yang jeongin x y/n #yang jeongin #jeongin smut #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #jisung smut #skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids smut #hi ily

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raven-the-claw · 7 months

Text

A Complete Guide To Chaotic Academia

bc its my fav aesthetic and there is not enough content about it

Outfits

most people say that chaotic academia is just dark academia but a little bit more messy, and, well, chaotic. the truth is, chaotic academia is A LOT more messy than dark academia. you can still use dark academia as kind of a "base", but you are going to replace your blazers with flannels, your turtlenecks with tshirts. as for pants, you can go with litteraly anything: cigarette pants, tailored trousers, ripped-up jeans or normal black leggings. i personally really ike ripped up overalls bc they give that "i dont really give a damn, im so misunderstood, my parents didnt love me, im a crazy lonely introverted teenage child" vibe...idk. whatever you wear, make sure you feel comfortable in it! even tho in chaotic academia there are almost no rules at all, here are some things that might help you!

colours: any earthy tones are fine, brown, caramel, dark green, dark red, white, etc etc

fictional characters that might inspire you:

-remus lupin

- any dpc character

- jess mariano

- sydney novak

accesories: flannels (a personal fav + they make even the most boring fit look better), cardigans, converse (bonus points if you draw/write on them or if you have them laced in a weird way), bracelets or necklaces that mean something to you, harry potter back packs, tote bags...

hairstyles: whatever you want, just make sure your hair is ALWAYS messy, looking like you just fucking woke up

Activities and Traits

ok now we're getting to the actually important part bc (repeat after me): chaotic academia is not about how you look, its about how you live and how you act. so here r some thing that might help:

- annotating books with the most unhinged random thoughts

- learning poetry or speeches word for word but not remembering most of the things for school

- studying in the (school) library and being besties with the librarian (optional)

- leaving notes (on trees, mailboxes or library books) for strangers to find

- "studying while listening to classical music" and then instead of studying you end up agressivly mouthing your favorite song

- im sure yall already heard this one, but yes, swearing and slag while discussing deep academic topics is incredibly important

- speaking of important topics: posting something important on social media knowing no one will read it

- doodles on your hands 24/7 (NO SUSAN, I DONT GIVE A DAMN THAT ITS BAD FOR MY SKIN)

- sarcasm. a lot.

- random thoughts

- random quotes

- knowing a ton of conspiracy theories that you dont even beileve in by heart

- listening to all different types of podcasts

- one day reading the classics, the next ya fantasy and day after that ao3 smut

- multifandom, multishipper

- tea/coffee addiction

- adding b.c. to todays date when writing it in school

- random thoughts and the weirdest annotations in your school notebooks, especially the classes that you find boring

- "going to the bathroom" and then spending half of your math class drawing/reading/smoking/crying/thinking/whatever the fuck you wanna do there bc ur tired of everything

- stealing random stuff from stores (tho it is not encouraged blah blah blah)

- watching gilmore girls every fall

- telling people ur favorite colour is green even tho it isnt just to let them know that ur gay

- reading in class, on breaks, at home, parks, meetings, aethletic events, and generally all the fucking time

- doing (mostly) everything last minute

- bad at photography, but you enjoy it

- cold tea my beloved

- wearing one item every day: it can either be a necklace, a flannel, a bracelet, a badge, headphones, earrings etc etc

- extremely messy handwriting, always writing with black pen

- crying at least once a day, but only when ur alone, being super emotional but never showing it

- hobbies include reading, screaming in your pillow, learning unique languages that you will probably never use, rewatching dead poets society, harry potter, enola holmes, end of the fucking world and gilmore girls

- massive bookworm, reads all the time, always has a book with them

- skipping class, not that often tho

- 💫anger issues💫

- hyperactive and lazy at the same time

- uses big words but makes fun of other people when they do it

- writes (rebellious) book quotes everywhere, every single one of their notebooks had IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US written in them lol

- random useless powerpoints

- analysing taylor swift's folklore and evermore instead of sheakspeare because its just better

- retired almost-emo, had a phase when they wore black and acted all mysterious but were never really emo i cant explain it

- likes mcr. this one speaks for itself.

- gay and sad. no explanation needed.

Books, Movies and Music

Books:

- Harry Potter by you know who (WE DONT SUPPORT HER THO)

- The Secret History by Donna Tartt

- Night School by CJ Daugherty (is that how u spell it lol)

- The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

- Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

- Heartstopper by Alice Oseman

- Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

- Emma by Jane Austen

- Hamlet by Do I Really Need To Say Who

- The Perks Of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

- The Picture of Dorain Gray by Oscar Wilde

- Frankenstein by Marry Shelley

Movies/TV Shows

- end of the fucking world

- heartstopper

- harry potter

- enola holmes

- dead poets society

- gilmore girls

- httyd (no kidding lol)

im not really a film girlie so if yall have any recs please lmk

Music:

- Mother Mother

- Taylor Swift (obviously)

- Lana Del Slay

- Conan Gray

- Olivia Rodrigo

- My Chemical Romance

- Lovejoy

- Bowie

- Queen

- Radiohead

- Björk

- Those random Disney songs i know you scream to at 3am

also whoever sings the IMJUSTATEENAGEDIRTBAGBAABBYY song

here is my playlist if yall wanna listen to it

hope that helps lol

#chaotic academia #academia aesthetic #light academia #dark academia #jess mariano #dead poets society #dead gay wizards #why is everyone dead help #gay and sad #books #fanfiction #remus lupin #wolfstar #anti jkr #Spotify

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sugar-omi · 3 months

Note

hi!!!!!! I survived my finals so now I can brainrot again 🤭

daydreaming of cove and rereading ur posts have LICHRALLY been keeping me afloat the past two weeks and all I can think of is my out of state-college mc having a tearful reunion w cove after coming home for winter break 😪

and the whole family finds it amusing cause it’s only been a few weeks since thanksgiving break and yall saw each other back then there’s no need for another round of tears 😭💀

they don’t kno the tears r from when cove couldn’t hug and comfort u during ur exams and could only talk u thru it over the phone

-🗑️

OMG HIII it's been so quiet from you and 🕓anon so i figured school was kicking your ass, especially since its exam season i would say i'm glad im not in school but im thinking of going this spring/summer semester.... goodbye fantasies of a gap year. you were a nice dream.... :,) also now i need cove comforting mc through school so mayhaps a tiny ramble bc i started thinking abt it too n we actually needa talk abt mc/cove in school more bc it's yummy thought

omg you and cove only survived being apart by constant video calls

you'd be on your side of the state, homework spread out over the table, your computer sounding like a helicopter ready for take off, crying or on the verge of tears

and then cove is on his side, flustered or teary because you're upset so it makes him upset and he can't comfort you so now you're just crying over *insert subject here*

he's a silly lil guy

tries to help you study

(i just thought abt yall using kisses as motivation but that'd definitely be a distraction in practice. lots of homework went undone that way)

if you have to make something, and it won't take too long to ship, he'll buy something you need for the project, be it because you forgot or can't find it in stores or don't have enough money, or none of the above- he just does it bc he can, and mail it to you

i had a photography class (i hated it for personal reasons, the teachers/class was great but i did not need that 💀💀)

and my friends would send me pics they took n i'd use them for class right

i think cove would help you that way

probably needs help from someone else or asks you for tips but delivers nice pictures

omg. cove ordering you food or money for food

isn't listening at all if you protest, he just wants to do something nice for you

idk about yall but i need distractions after tests/homework bc im convinced i bombed it

the whole day youre attached to the hip, always holding hands or cuddling

#olba #cove holden #cove holden x reader

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4thenookie · 9 months

Text

random hcs 1/??

these are all pasted directly from the notes i write in the middle of the night lmao

toby is like.... weird. as in he was never really taught how to behave so he doesnt properly know how to so the way he interacts with other people is sometimes a bit strange

fanon waffle loving toby can suck it bc i dont think toby has a sweet tooth at all

(ik hes from mh but wtv) brian does photography as well as his videos, his favourite is candid photography, particularly of his friends (basically just tim)

brian probably whistles through his tooth gap when he does 'shh' sounds because i do that and im projecting

both toby and jeff struggle quite a bit with speech because of the way their wounds healed(?)

ej is, like, huge. as in he TOWERS over nearly everyone and hes WIDE too. and hes got demon claws and ombre hands and stuff

this one can go either way.... tim/brian wears crocs, and they're nearly always in sport mode. i was talking ab this w some1 a few posts ago and they said that tim brian and toby all have matching crocs and im latching onto that idea. i think brian started it

ej loves the rain because he had heightened hearing and the noise of it against windows and stuff just scratches his brain idk

laughing jack is the typa guy to say 'no more mr nice guy' if someone annoys him

all my lj headcanons are really mean because i dont like him

ill finish here for now but ill be back soon

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #ticci toby #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #laughing jack

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cqtlatte · 2 months

Note

your one of my favorite artists and i wanted to know if you have any tips for anyone who wants to makes drawings with colors like yours. the backgrounds are beautiful and i wish i could play with colors like that

AAAA Thank you so much Ruby 😭🫶🏻 it really means a lot.

Lots of typing below so I'll add a keep reading tab!

I did go in depth in a previous ask, where I also linked back to yet ANOTHER ask, lol. I definitely encourage you to give them a read if you'd like! :)

But of course I can definitely add some more tidbits!

Besides playing around with clip studio's built in features (tone curve, approximate color, gradient map, etc.) Taking inspiration from real life is one of my favorite things to do. ^^

In fact it's possibly one of the best places you can get color reference from, because how you interpret it is entirely up to you!

For example with the celestial crystalfly piece, I saw these flowers near a supermarket, and a really lovely color scheme near the end of a sunset. (Besides the fact that I was daydreaming about painting Lumine if she collected all of the elements FHAHDGSHA) I didn't actually color drop for this piece, because I wanted to treat it like a study, and I was painting the flowers from memory because I didn't have a picture of it them the time. I stylized it in the end but was very pleased w the result. ^^

And with this character design, I got color inspiration from a butterfly in a photography book that was on sale in Indigo.

So generally my colors don't always come from nowhere!

Besides that for all pieces, I personally also like to plan colors during the sketch phase!

If you're like me and you used to follow the traditional sketch > lineart > color workflow, but once you got to the coloring part you'd get stuck, try it! Once you have a pose and character in mind, add some lighter base colors. As you work on rendering the piece, build up your base colors with darker colors (or lighter colors for things like accents and highlights)

It's probably more suited to painterly styles, but I think you could definitely find a way to make it work if you prefer clean lineart.

I hope this helps give you some jumping off points to think about!

Color is a bit of a hard area to give concrete guidance on because it almost goes hand in hand with style. You get more comfortable with it and find what works the more you practice.

And that's coming from someone who used to color/draw like this 8 years ago,,,,,

so trust me. 😭

#asks #Actually I feel like I should compile all these tumblr asks into one at some point for people to refer back to #so I might do that when I'm free.#or maybe record one of those speedpaint videos where you explain as you go 🤔

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rubyreduji · 1 year

Text

My Heart Has Gone To You | 09

pairing: lee jihoon x f!reader ch notes: suggestive/mentions of sexual acts, jealous!jihoon, lots crying but idk if its considered angst w.c.: 2.7k a/n: AHHHH second to last chapter, im gonna miss posting these

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Despite somewhat making up with Jihoon you guys still seem to be avoiding each other, on purpose or not. It’s a few weeks after Christmas and despite still being winter break the Fine Arts Department has another event going on.

It’s a Winter Charity Ball to help get the names out for some of the arts students. You can’t complain too much because this gives you a chance to make some money off of your photography. Different art pieces are going to be auctioned off and the performing arts students are going to perform and get tips and it’s a big deal because some big names are invited every year.

You know a majority of your friends will either be performing or have pieces up for auction. You’re just excited for a reason to get dressed up and spend the night with your friends. The school is paying for everything which means you get to eat expensive food around rich people while promoting your art.

The ball is a week from now and you’re spending your days split between work and hanging out with your friends. You hang out with Hyunwoo often and he has turned into a type of life coach for you, at least when it comes to Jihoon.

“So he apologized?” You’re sitting in his penthouse apartment in a pair of his oversized pajama pants and your bra. Your dress is currently in the washer after it got dirty when you guys fucked in Hyunwoo's car after he took you out for dinner.

“Yes, but it’s awkward. We’re still not talking or seeing each other in person unless the whole friend group is together and even then we barely even look at each other.”

“So why don’t you approach him?” Hyunwoo has a towel hanging low around his hips as he runs a comb through his wet hair. He wanted to take a shower after you guys got back to his apartment.

“Because he’s the one who told me to leave! What if he doesn’t really mean his apology and he doesn’t want me around him so that’s why he’s not making the effort. I don’t want to try only to get hurt again,” you admit. “God can you put some pants on or something?” You can see the outline of Hyunwoo’s cock through the towel and even though he’s not hard, the dick print is still incredibly huge and distracting.

“You act like I wasn’t pounding into your pussy thirty minutes ago kitten,” Hyunwoo quips back but still walks into his room to get dressed. “Now you know I’m always Team Y/N and I know you’re not at fault here, but you keep sulking around about this guy so have you ever considered he’s afraid of you not wanting to be around him? Didn’t you ask for space?”

“Space doesn’t mean ignore me completely,” you groan and flop back onto the couch.

“Darling I hate to break it to you but to some people it does.” Hyunwoo comes and sits by you and picks you up so your head is resting in his lap. His hands play with your hair as he talks to you. “Maybe you should make the first move just to get the ball rolling. He’s probably walking on eggshells around you because he doesn’t want to mess up again. I know it’s not fair to you to keep putting in effort while he doesn’t, but if you have any trust in Jihoon anymore, just try once more. You don’t have to fully forgive him yet, but if you want anything to start getting better you guys need to stop avoiding one another.”

“Why are you so smart?” You whine and roll over so your head is buried into his stomach. You can feel him laughing at you.

“Ah, it comes with age.”

“Yeah because you’re fucking ancient,” you snort.

“Oh you’re really going to regret that kitten.” Before you know it you’re in the air and Hyunwoo is carrying you towards his bedroom. “Let’s see just how ancient I am.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror. You’re in a silky deep blue evening gown that has thin straps and a slit up the leg. The cut is a little deep but the skirt is flowy and not tight so you can’t complain too much. You have on some silver strappy heels and Sana has done your makeup for you.

“Stop staring at yourself, you look sexy!” Sana bursts into your room.

“How did you know I was staring at myself?” You frown at the girl.

“Because I know you Y/N. Now let’s go, Nayeon is waiting for us.” Sana shoves your silver clutch into your hand and nearly drags you out the door.

The ball is taking place at a hotel that’s not far from the campus and when you get there it’s only students milling around waiting for the event to start. When you walk into the building you peel away from your friends and go find your photography professor who is overjoyed to see you.

“Y/N! These works are lovely as always. I’ve left your information next to all of your pieces but you can go check the setup if you want to change some things.” You thank him before going off to find your work. They’re in the back of the room near the other pieces of artwork. You admire your own and others’ work before a voice startles you.

“Y/N! You look so gorgeous!” It’s Soonyoung and before you can even react he’s scooping you up in his arms.

“Hey Soonie,” you giggle. “You look nice as well.” His outfit is kept simple and you think it’s because he’ll be dancing tonight. Him, Jun, Minghao, and Chan would be singing and dancing together again to a song called “Highlight”.

A voice comes over the microphone announcing the guests will be here soon and everyone starts to get together so be able to start promoting themselves. The people who are performing first go get ready and you find yourself standing by yourself close to one of the walls.

You make a little bit of talk with a few of your friends and a few of the guests as well. Your professor updates you every once in a while when one of your pieces is bought as well. Your eyes scan the crowd and you notice the boy who’s been on your mind all week.

Jihoon is dressed in a black suit with a maroon button up and a black bowtie. His hair is styled out of his face for once and you can’t help but note how handsome he looks. He’s holding a cup of what is most likely water as he talks with Seungcheol and Hansol.

He’s going to be singing tonight towards the end of the event but you don’t know what song. You think it would be nice to hear him sing “Simple” or “Second Life”.

“Ah, hiding away I see.” It’s Minghao who approaches you this time.

“I’m not hiding Hao.” You roll your eyes at the younger boy. “I’m just observing. I’m not really in the mood to mingle tonight.”

“Well then come dance with me.” He holds out his hand and you sigh but take it. He leads you to the dance floor and you’re thankful the song playing right now is a slower song. Minghao holds you gently as you guys sway around to the music.

“Okay Jihoon-hyung, be honest, what’s going on between you and Y/N-noona?” Hansol asks Jihoon as he’s staring at you and Minghao on the dance floor.

Jihoon sighs and finally pulls his eyes away from you. “I messed up, but I’m going to make it right.”

Seungcheol lets out a low whistle and Jihoon turns around so he can look at what Seungcheol is looking at. Tapping on Minghao’s shoulder to butt into your dance is Hyunwoo. He’s dressed in a silver suit with a silky blue button up to match your own ensemble. Minghao is moving out of the way so he can bend down to kiss your cheek and sweep you up into his own arms for a dance.

“Is that the guy Y/N-noona is seeing?”

“She’s not seeing him,” Jihoon spits out.

“I don’t know hyung, they look like they’re seeing each other,” Hansol mutters.

You have a smile spread across your face and you’re giggling every so often as Hyunwoo and you dance around. You guys look comfortable with each other. Jihoon knows you guys are friends but he’s still a bit upset at the appearance of the model, especially with how low his hands are on your back.

“He’s staring,” Hyunwoo says as he smiles down at you. “He’s literally in love with you Y/N. I know I’m not his biggest fan and he’s not mine, but he looks like he wants to cut my hands off for touching you.”

Recently Hyunwoo has been trying to convince you that Jihoon is in love with you back (“Just because he apologized doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.” “Oh but it does darling.”). He only knows your side of the story, and he’s still very anti-Jihoon, but he fully believes it’s true. He had the great plan of trying to make Jihoon jealous tonight so he could kick start you guys talking again. He knows that Jihoon messed up and he has a lot of making up to do, but he also wants to see you happy and loved. He also knows that if Jihoon ever messes up again he’ll be at his door ready to beat him up.

“Maybe if we sneak off for a little bit he’ll come find us,” Hyunwoo teases and you slap at his chest. He then bends down to whisper in your ear. “C’mon kitten you know you love it when I get you all riled up.”

Shivers run down your back but that doesn’t stop you from glaring at Hyunwoo. “Behave yourself.” He lets out a deep chuckle.

“Ooh lover boy is fuming now.”

You resist the urge to look over at Jihoon, instead rolling your eyes and moving your bodies so Jihoon isn’t in view of Hyunwoo anymore.

“Other than Jihoon, there are other people staring at us, who are they?” You look over your shoulder to see your friends giggling and looking at you. You groan.

“Unfortunately those are my friends who think we are boning.”

“Y/N darling, I hate to break it to you, but we are boning.”

“Oh shut up.”

You’re talking to Nayeon and Hyunwoo when the lights dim a bit and you hear someone start to speak into the mic.

“Hello, my name is Lee Jihoon, but musically I go by Woozi. I’m a singer-songwriter and a music producer. I’m going to be singing two songs for you guys tonight.”

You turn towards the front of the room, and there, center stage, is Jihoon. The piano has been moved to the center of the stage and he sits there, facing the audience.

“These songs both mean a lot to me and are written for someone very special in my life. I recently made a very big, stupid mistake, and these songs are to express my remorse for them and to try and make things better with that person. This first one is called ‘Don’t Wanna Cry’.”

Jihoon’s fingers fly across the keys as he starts to play the song. Your throat tightens as he starts to sing. He’s written more songs for you. Songs to show how sorry he is.

“Because I love you, because the words I love you isn’t enough, no matter what I say,” he sings and you feel tears already welling up in your eyes.

Jihoon loves you.

You know Hyunwoo is saying something along the lines of “I told you so” but you can’t focus on anything else other than Jihoon. Your eyes don’t leave his form the whole time as he sings. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

“My heart won’t listen like I want. Come back, come back, come back. My other half isn’t here so how can I live as one? I don’t wanna cry.”

By the time he’s done singing you’ve drifted closer to the stage. You’re sure that Jihoon sees you now and he stares at you for a moment before he starts talking again.

“Once again that is called ‘Don’t Wanna Cry’. This next song is to express my love for this person. I hope that it reaches their heart. This song is titled ‘Home’.”

His fingers start playing again and this time while he sings Jihoon’s eyes bounce between looking at the keyboard and looking at you.

“It’s still cold outside, the tip of my nose is tingling. Though we’re far away, the memories bring us closer. If your heart has a hole I’ll cover it with my hands. Even if your hands are empty, give them to me so I can fill them up.” By now tears are streaming down your face and you don’t care if you’re ruining your makeup. “Tell me, you’re mine, tell me, I’m yours. Tell me, you’re in me.”

When Jihoon finished the room erupts into applause but he can’t even focus on them. His eyes are on you as you stand in front of the stage, tears coming out of your eyes. He quickly thanks the audience before walking off the stage and straight to you.

You meet him halfway through and suddenly you’re in his arms and he’s holding you tight, thinking about how he’ll never let you go again. He wipes at your tears with his thumb and he holds your face in his hands. You’re sniffling and trying not to start crying again. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. He moves his hand from your face to grip your hand tightly in his.

“Can we talk?”

You’re nodding and then he’s leading you out of the venue. In the lobby of the hotel there is an arrangement of couches and Jihoon brings you over to one hidden in the corner. You guys sit down and you’re aware you’re basically sitting in Jihoon’s lap but you don’t particularly care.

“Hey baby.”

“Hi Hoonie.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You nod but you’re still crying a bit and can’t totally get the words out. Jihoon just holds you and rocks back and forth, telling you to take your time and that it’s okay. Despite your conflicting feelings you melt into his body, finding you’ve missed his touch more than you thought.

You are able to get your bearings straight and you sniffle as you sit up a bit so you can look at Jihoon. “I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen, okay?” Jihoon nods at your words. “You really hurt me Jihoon.”

You have been working out your feelings and what you would say to Jihoon with Hyunwoo but even now you’re nervous. You can’t even describe the emotions you’ve felt the past few months, so you tell him that. You understand that every story has two sides and that Jihoon had his reasons for his actions, but that doesn’t stop them from affecting you.

You explain to Jihoon just how everything hurt you and your thoughts on the whole situation. You talk about how you just wanted to help him and look out for him and he pushed you away and shut you out. You even call him out for how unfair it was for him to demean the work you’ve put into your career when he knows how hard you’ve been working. The whole time Jihoon nods, eyes only on you, and you can tell he is truly listening.

“With that all being said though, I know how much you’ve been repenting. I know how sorry you are and I trust in you to understand your mistakes and better yourself from them. I want to be friends again, but we’re going to have to take it slow, and I want to see progress in you Jihoon. Okay?”

Jihoon nods at your words. “Thank you Y/N, this means the world to me. I promise I’m going to be better now.”

“And Jihoon?”

“Yes Y/N?”

“I love you too.”

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