#dorm life

[pam3pr]

Addison Gosel’s photos in Athens, University of GA, fall 2001

[gleekluver]

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒

mike’s never been with anyone and he’s terrified of messing up, so his roommate offers to help him out. It’s just practice… right?

‧₊˚ ┊𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k ˎˊ˗

♡ྀི ┊𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: college au, first kisses, awkward nerd mike🤤, crumbs of vulnerability, not proofread.ᐟ

the dorm was quiet, except for the hum of the minifridge and the scratch of mike’s mechanical pencil against a notebook. it was late, well past the hour where most people were out doing things that they were supposed to do. for a year, this had been their routine. silence, study, the occasional shared takeout, and the polite, careful distance they maintained to keep from tripping over each other’s lives.

mike was hunched over his desk, his posture tight, shoulders pulled up toward his ears. "you’re grinding your teeth again," you said, not looking up from your own book.

mike’s pencil froze. he let out a short, sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "i’m not. i’m just… thinking."

"you’ve been thinking for three hours," you said, closing your book and turning your chair to face his back. he didn't turn around, but he shifted, a clear sign that he was retreating. "it’s friday night, mike. do you ever actually go out? i feel like if i looked for you in the dictionary under 'hermit,' i’d find a picture of your laptop."

mike let out a dry, humorless laugh. "very funny. i have things to do. school is hard, in case you hadn't noticed."

"school is hard for everyone," you said, your voice softening because you saw the way he was gripping his pencil, hard enough that the lead snapped. "everyone else seems to balance it. they go out, they meet people, they… i don't know, they date. you’ve been here for a year, mike. i’ve never seen you go on a single date. i’ve never seen you bring anyone back. you’re like a ghost in this room."

mike finally spun his chair around, but he didn't look at you. he looked at the floor, his foot tapping a nervous rhythm against the leg of his desk. "well, i don’t see why that’s your concern."

"it’s not a concern. i’m just… curious," you lied, feeling the heat rise in your own cheeks. the truth was, you’d been wondering since the second month. you’d been watching him, the way he looked when he was stressed, the way his eyes softened when he thought you weren't looking, the way you’d both fallen into this comfortable rhythm that felt like more than friendship to you, even if you were too terrified to name it. "is it… is there someone?"

mike’s head snapped up. he looked startled, his eyes wide and dark, searching your face for a joke you weren't making. "what? no. no, there’s no one."

"so, what? you just don’t like people?"

"it’s not that," he muttered, his voice dropping, turning raspy and defensive. he started picking at the thread on his sleeve, his movements clumsy. "it’s just… it’s a lot, okay? putting yourself out there. it’s not really my thing."

"you’re twenty, mike."

"i know how old i am," he snapped, then immediately softened, his shoulders slumping. "look, i just… i haven't really done any of that. ever. it’s not exactly something you advertise."

the room felt like it had suddenly lost all its oxygen. you sat there, blinking, trying to process the vulnerability he’d just handed you. you’d spent the last year thinking he was just busy, or maybe guarded, but hearing him admit he’d never… it felt like the floor had dropped out from under you. it matched the ache you’d been carrying for him, the secret you’d been keeping under a lock and key because you were too scared of ruining the only space where you felt like you belonged.

"you’ve never…?" you started, then stopped, feeling like an idiot. "oh. i didn’t… i’m sorry. i wasn't trying to pry."

"it’s fine," he said, though it clearly wasn't. he looked miserable. "it’s just… if i started now, i wouldn’t have any idea what i was doing. i’d probably just… be weird. make it awkward. ruin it for whoever it was. i’m not good at the… the stuff people do. the flirting, or the reading the room, or whatever. i’d just be that guy who fumbles through it and makes everything uncomfortable."

he looked at his hands, his knuckles white. he didn't say the rest, he didn't have to. he didn't say that he’d spent the whole year wanting someone, but being too afraid of acting on it because you two shared a dorm, because he didn't want to be the guy who crossed a line, because he didn't want to lose the one person who actually got him.

"mike," you said, your voice shaking just a little. you stood up, moving slowly, cautiously. you didn't want to scare him off. you stopped just a few feet from him, giving him every chance to turn away. "you’re not going to ruin anything. and you’re not weird. you’re just… you’re you."

he looked at you, his gaze searching yours, looking for a way out, but finding none. "you-you don’t know that. you’ve never seen me try."

"maybe," you whispered. the room felt very small, the silence thick with the things you hadn't said for twelve months. you were terrified, too. you were scared that if you did this, you’d change everything, that you’d break the fragile balance of your lives. but looking at him, seeing the raw, quiet desperation in his eyes, you knew you couldn't just walk away. "but… if you’re worried about being bad at it… why don't you practice?"

mike blinked, his breath hitching. "practice? ..like, what do you mean?”

"with me," you said, and your voice was barely a whisper. it was the most vulnerable thing you’d ever said. "it doesn’t… it doesn't have to be anything. we can just… help you get over the hump. if you’re worried about being clumsy, we can just… see. right now."

mike stared at you, his mouth slightly parted. he looked like he was trying to solve an equation that had no solution, his brows furrowed, his eyes darting to your face and then back to your lips. "you’re..being serious?"

"i’m just… trying to help a friend," you said, not able to even believe yourself.

he stood up, but he was shaky. he didn't have any of the confidence he’d seen other guys in the dorm hallway have. he just looked like himself, earnest, anxious, and deeply, painfully careful. he took one step toward you, then another, until he was standing right in your space. he didn't touch you yet. he hovered, his hands coming up and then dropping back to his sides, like he wasn't sure if he had permission to exist in the same space as you.

"if i’m… if i’m not good at this," he said, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the room, "you have to tell me. don’t just be nice. tell me."

"i won't be nice," you promised, your heart hammering against your ribs. "i’ll be honest."

he took a deep breath, and he finally reached out. his hands landed on your waist, his grip delicate, like he was afraid he might bruise you. his palms were warm, and you could feel the tremor in his fingers. he looked down at your face, his dark eyes searching yours, and for a second, he looked terrified.

"okay," he breathed.

he leaned in, slow and agonizingly hesitant. he was overthinking it, you could see it in the way he squinted, in the way he tilted his head too far, in the way he hesitated when he was inches away. you couldn't take it anymore. you reached up, your fingers finding the collar of his hoodie, and you gently tugged him the rest of the way.

the contact was electric. it was messy, he bumped his nose against yours, and he held his breath, and for a heartbeat, it was exactly as awkward as he’d feared. but then, he let out a sharp exhale, his eyes fluttering shut, and his grip on your waist tightened. he wasn't thinking about the mechanics anymore. he was just feeling.

he wasn't experienced, and you weren't either, but the desperation was there, a year’s worth of unspoken longing pouring into the touch. he moved his hands, pulling you closer, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. he kissed you like he was trying to learn the shape of your soul, his mouth searching, then slowly finding a rhythm that was just yours.

he made a small, frustrated sound in his throat, pulling back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours. he was flushed, his hair a disaster, his eyes dazed and wide.

"is that…?" he started, his voice thick. "was that… okay?"

you let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your hands still clutching the front of his hoodie. you could feel his heartbeat through his chest, fast and irregular, matching your own. "y-yeah," you whispered, "that was.. pretty good, i think.”

he let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension in his shoulders finally draining away, replaced by a soft, incredulous look of wonder. he didn't pull away. he stayed right there, in the circle of your arms, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

"okay," he murmured, his voice stronger now, more certain. "i think i might need to practice a little more."

he didn't wait for an answer. he leaned in again, and this time, there was no hesitation.

[blondechariot]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Chan x reader where he finally meats someone as stubborn as him and finally gets him to stop working a bit and relax and rest? With the other stray kids there just for the fun. Hope that’s okie! ✨

pairing: Bang Chan x reader

warnings: Chan being a workaholic, Reader taking care of him, some fluff, slight suggestive at the end (just a pinch)

I have been sick the whole week so I had aaaaallll the time in the world hehehe

︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶

You stayed at the dorm every now and then, never long enough to disrupt schedules but long enough to feel the rhythm of the place settle into your bones. Shoes lined by the door, half-empty water bottles on every surface, music leaking from someone’s room at odd hours. It always felt lived-in, chaotic, warm.

Chan looked the most at home there, even when he looked the most exhausted.

You noticed it on the first night you stayed that week. He sat at the studio desk long after everyone else drifted away, shoulders hunched forward, eyes glued to the screen. The glow painted his face pale blue, shadows clinging under his eyes like they refused to let go. He smiled when he noticed you watching, wide and reassuring, like he always did.

“I was just finishing something,” he said.

He always said that.

You nodded then, because you knew better than to push on the first night. You sat on the couch instead, feet tucked under you, listening to the soft tapping of keys and the distant sound of someone laughing in another room. When Chan finally joined you, hours later, his movements felt heavy, like gravity clung to him harder than it did to anyone else.

You wrapped an arm around his waist, and he leaned into you immediately, head tipping to rest against your shoulder.

“You ate?” you asked.

He hesitated for half a second too long.

“Yeah,” he said. “Earlier.”

You pressed your lips together but said nothing. Not yet.

The next few days unfolded the same way. Chan woke early, earlier than everyone else. He trained, practiced, produced, checked on everyone, answered messages, adjusted schedules that were not even his responsibility. He smiled constantly, laughed easily, reassured everyone who came near him.

He forgot himself in the process.

You watched him like a quiet guardian, eyes following him as you moved through the dorm. You noticed how he rubbed the back of his neck when he was tired, how his shoulders sagged when he thought no one was looking. You noticed how often he drank coffee instead of water, how he skipped meals and called it efficiency.

The others noticed you noticing.

Hyunjin caught your eye one afternoon while Chan sat on the floor with headphones on, scribbling notes in a notebook. Hyunjin raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward Chan, lips twitching with something amused and fond.

“Good luck,” he mouthed.

You smiled thinly.

That evening, you decided to intervene gently. You cooked dinner with the others, insisting Chan sit down and stay put. You placed a plate in front of him and sat beside him, close enough that your knees touched.

“Eat,” you said.

He laughed softly. “You sound like the members.”

“They learned from the best,” you said, glancing around.

Chan ate then, obedient for once, though you caught him trying to stand afterward, hand drifting toward the studio door.

You caught his wrist.

“Rest,” you said.

He paused, then sighed, the sound deep and resigned. He sat back down and leaned into you again, eyes closing for just a moment. You felt his body relax despite himself.

For that night, you won.

The next day, he tried something new.

You woke late, the dorm unusually quiet. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, warm and lazy. Chan was not beside you. The bed was cold.

You found him in the kitchen first, sipping coffee, hair still damp from a shower. He smiled brightly when he saw you.

“Morning,” he said.

“You’re up early,” you said.

“Habit.”

You watched him carefully. He looked relaxed, calm, too calm.

Later, when you sat together on the couch watching something mindless, he stayed still longer than usual. He did not check his phone. He laughed at the right moments. He leaned against you like nothing weighed on him.

It felt wrong.

You excused yourself and wandered the dorm. You checked the studio. The lights were off, the equipment silent. You checked his room. The bed was made neatly, suspiciously so.

You turned back toward the living room, then paused.

A faint hum came from the laundry room.

You opened the door quietly.

Chan sat on the floor with his laptop balanced on an overturned basket, headphones on, fingers flying. His brow furrowed in concentration. Several notebooks lay open around him, pages filled with lyrics and notes.

You crossed your arms.

He looked up and froze.

“Oh...Hi,” he said slowly.

“I thought you were relaxing,” you said.

“I was,” he said. “This was just… an idea.”

You stepped forward and closed the laptop gently but firmly.

He opened his mouth to protest, then stopped when he saw your expression.

“So you're hiding now,” you said. “That’s new.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“I do now,” you said.

He sighed and leaned back against the machine behind him, eyes closing. “5 Minutes okay? just 5 Minutes.”

“It's always 5 Minutes,” you said softly.

You took the laptop and stood. He did not stop you.

The others appeared one by one, drawn by the tension like moths to light. Changbin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Felix peeked from behind him, eyes wide and sparkling. Han sat on a washer and swung his legs idly.

"Busted,” Han said, grinning.

Chan groaned. “You all knew?”

Changbin shrugged. “We bet on how long it would take.”

You raised an eyebrow at them.

Felix smiled sweetly. “We were on your side tho.”

You left the room with the laptop tucked under your arm. Chan followed quietly, like a scolded cat. You placed the laptop on the highest shelf in the living room, far out of reach.

“You’re resting,” you said. “No arguments.”

He stared at the shelf, then at you. “You’re bossy.”

“So are you,” you said.

The rest of the day passed in enforced calm. You dragged Chan onto the couch, laid his head in your lap, and ran your fingers through his hair until his breathing slowed. He pretended to resist, but his body betrayed him every time.

He slept then, deeply, mouth slightly open, lashes resting against his cheeks. You watched him like this, heart full and aching at the same time.

When he woke, the sun had dipped low. He blinked at you, disoriented, then smiled softly.

“I feel better,” he admitted.

“Who would have thought,” you said.

He behaved for exactly one evening.

The following day, you found evidence everywhere. A notebook tucked behind a cushion. A phone hidden under a pillow, screen glowing with notes. A pen in his pocket during movie night.

You confiscated everything without mercy.

Each time, the others watched with open amusement. Seungmin clapped slowly when you emerged victorious from Chan’s room with a stack of papers.

“You’re terrifying,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said.

Chan sulked dramatically, though his eyes never held real resentment. He hovered near you instead, hands brushing yours, head resting against your shoulder. You knew he appreciated it, even if he hated admitting it.

That night, you sat with him on the balcony, the city stretched out below like a field of stars. The air felt cool, clean. Chan leaned against the railing, gaze distant.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he said quietly.

You looked at him then, really looked. The leader, the producer, the constant. The weight he carried pressed into every line of his posture.

“You don’t have to stop,” you said. “You just have to pause.”

He nodded slowly.

You took his hand and squeezed. “Let me take care of you sometimes.”

He smiled at that, small and real.

“Okay,” he said.

The next morning, he slept in.

The dorm buzzed softly around him, but he did not stir. You lay beside him, tracing lazy patterns on his arm, listening to his steady breathing. When he woke, he did not reach for his phone immediately.

Progress.

Later, he tried to sneak away again, but he barely made it two steps before you cleared your throat.

He turned slowly.

You held up his headphones.

The room erupted in laughter.

Chan laughed too, finally, shoulders shaking as he walked back to you. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his forehead against yours.

“I lose,” he said.

You smiled. “Good.”

The dorm settled into its evening rhythm, lights dimmed, voices lower, the chaos softening into something almost peaceful. You lay on Chan’s bed with your back against the pillows, legs stretched out, phone glowing softly in your hands. You scrolled without really reading, thumb moving out of habit while your ears stayed tuned to the sounds beyond the door.

Laughter drifted down the hallway. Someone argued about snacks. Someone else sang off-key for exactly three seconds before getting shushed.

Chan was not there.

You glanced at the time and frowned. He said he would come to bed soon. Soon had a very flexible definition when it came to him, and you had learned to be suspicious of it.

You locked your phone and stared at the ceiling.

Minutes passed.

You called out, voice raised just enough. “Channie?”

No answer.

You waited, counted to ten in your head, then groaned loudly and flopped back against the mattress.

“If you are working,” you shouted, “I swear I will beat your ass.”

Silence answered you, which somehow felt worse.

You kicked the blanket aside and stood, muttering to yourself as you padded toward the door. You grabbed the handle, already prepared to lecture him into exhaustion.

Just as you stepped into the doorway, you nearly collided with him.

Chan stood there, eyes bright, hair slightly messy, holding a glass in his hand. Ice clinked softly inside it. Something citrusy and sharp drifted into the air. He wore the most smug grin you had ever seen on his face.

You blinked.

He lifted the glass slightly in greeting. “Evening M'Lady.”

You stared at him, then at the drink, then back at his face. “What are you doing?”

“Going to bed,” he said easily.

You narrowed your eyes. “With a cocktail?”

“Yes.”

“You hate cocktails.”

“I do,” he agreed.

Suspicion crept in slowly, then curiosity followed right behind it. “Then why?”

He stepped closer, careful, deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Because,” he said, voice low and warm, “it’s my turn to take care of you now.”

Your lips twitched. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “Very much so.”

You hesitated only for show before taking the glass from his hand. Your fingers brushed his, and his smile softened just a little. You brought the drink to your lips and took a sip.

It was good. Surprisingly good. Cool and balanced, sweet without being overwhelming.

You hummed approvingly. “Okay,” you said. “That’s actually really good.”

His smile widened, pride shining in his eyes. “I practiced.”

“You practiced making a cocktail.”

“For you.”

Your heart did something inconvenient.

You handed the glass back to him and reached for his wrist instead. “Alright,” you said. “Explain yourself before I start assuming things.”

He chuckled softly and let you guide him backward into the room. Once inside, he set the glass safely on the nightstand before turning to you fully. He slipped his hands around your waist, thumbs resting lightly at your sides.

“I saw you watching me all week,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “You noticed?”

“I always notice you,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You made sure I ate. You made sure I slept. You took my stuff away like a menace.”

“Someone had to,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “And I love you for it.”

Your teasing smile faltered, just slightly.

He stepped closer, foreheads nearly touching. “I wanted to do something nice for you. No work. No sneaking. Just us.”

You searched his face for any hint of deception. You found none.

“You’re really not working,” you said.

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You nodded slowly, then grinned. “Okay. I accept your care.”

He laughed, relief pouring into the sound, and reached for your hand. His fingers threaded through yours as he led you back toward the bed. He guided you down gently, like you were something precious, like there was nowhere else he needed to be.

You sat facing him, knees touching, the room quiet except for your breathing. The city lights filtered in through the window, painting his features in soft gold and shadow.

He leaned in first.

The kiss started slow, unhurried. His lips brushed yours like a question, and you answered by leaning closer, hand sliding up to rest at the back of his neck. He sighed softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating against you.

He kissed you like he meant it, like he always did. No rush. No distraction. Just warmth and intention.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

You smiled into the kiss. “I know.”

He laughed quietly and kissed you again, deeper this time. His hand slid to your waist, steady and grounding. You tilted your head, letting him take the lead, letting yourself sink into the familiar comfort of him.

“I don’t say it enough,” he murmured between kisses. “How much I need you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “You don’t have to need me,” you said gently.

“I know,” he said. “But I do.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed. “I would be so lost without you.”

Your chest tightened. You cupped his face and brushed your thumbs under his eyes, right where the shadows always lingered.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” you said. “Not when I’m here.”

He nodded, swallowing, then kissed you again like he was sealing a promise.

The kiss grew warmer, more insistent. You shifted closer, legs tangling with his as you pulled him toward you. He followed easily, hands roaming, respectful but hungry, like he had been holding back all day.

He smiled against your mouth. “You look happy.”

“I am,” you said honestly.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then just beneath your ear. His voice dropped, playful and intimate. “Good. Because the only work I’m doing tonight is on you.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Chan.”

“Too much?”

“Not enough,” you said, pulling him closer.

His laugh turned into a soft groan as he kissed you again, the sound warm and unguarded. The make out grew heated, kisses deepening, hands more confident. The world outside the room faded into nothing.

Somewhere down the hall, someone shouted, “Lock the door,” followed by laughter.

Chan froze for half a second, then groaned dramatically and buried his face in your shoulder. “I hate them.”

You laughed and kissed his temple. “You love them.”

“I do,” he said. “But right now, I love you more.”

He leaned back down, kissing you again, slower this time, savoring it. No rushing. No schedules. Just the quiet promise of the night stretching ahead.

You wrapped your arms around him and smiled into the kiss, content, warm, exactly where you wanted to be.

[apollos-boyfriend]

[theonlylivingirlinewyork]

fall semester 🍂

[horny-athletes]

What we're more into than classes or basketball.

We three—roommates in the university dorm and teammates in the club—shared everything. Living together day after day, we came to know each other's personalities, food preferences, musical tastes, and even what kind of girls we liked.

All three of us worked out to get bodies that would attract women, constantly comparing who had the most muscle. That's why we always hung around the room in just our underwear. That kind of easygoing camaraderie between guys felt comfortable.

Eventually, we started comparing how we masturbated and even the size of our cocks. To compete over cock size, the quickest way was to face each other and rub our erect cocks together.

Then we started sharing each other's bodies too. We realized it felt way better than masturbating alone. At first cautiously, then greedily, we sought and savored each other's bodies, discovering unknown pleasure switches in one another.

Now, every day—sometimes multiple times a day—we're lost in exploring each other's bodies deeply on the bed. To have two such attractive, erotic bodies right beside me. The roommates who once just shared a living space now show each other expressions never seen before, becoming partners who share mind-numbing pleasure.

Looking back someday, these days will surely be the most brilliant memories of our lives—days when we gained true friendship between men.

[wulfilaz]

Dorm Life

[hatemyrockandroll]

i made them big