roommate!ellie who is so desperately trying to find a roommate before school starts, not wanting to make the expensive rent a weight on joel’s shoulders. that’s when she finds you, the only person who actually seems interested and nice to be a roommate with (plus very pretty).
roommate!ellie who is honestly way too nice, lets you pick out most of the decorations for your small apartment - also because she’s not very good at that. would literally let you cover it in pink if you asked.
roommate!ellie who is quite bad at cooking, has way too many instant noodles every week and barely ever makes breakfast for the simple reason of being lazy. is definitely surprised when you start making extra food and leave it in the fridge ready for her :)
roommate!ellie who is even more surprised when, in one night where joel comes to have dinner with her, you and him seem to be awfully good at making conversation with one another. the usually grumpy father turns into a very much lovely man to be around and makes sure to compliment your food at least twice. her dad likes you? that can’t be a coincidence.
roommate!ellie who really tries to be happy when you tell her you have a date, but inside she’s just trying to not crumble down right there in front of you. curls into her bed while you’re out with your date, secretly wishing you don’t bring them home with you.
roommate!ellie who loves to lay on the living room floor with you, specially on a late night after finishing a rough week. you’ll both eat an insane amount of candy until you’re sugar high and have a tummy ache, giggling at the most stupid things ever and talking the night away.
roommate!ellie who really wants to kiss you but is afraid it will ruin your whole dynamic. and she’s not about to risk losing you as a roommate. she’s fine with loving you from afar, she has to be.
roommate!ellie who takes care of you when you come home overly drunk one night, clinging onto her and babbling nonsense. grabs your hair and rubs your hair when you empty your stomach and makes sure to do your skincare. stays on your bed next to you while you fall asleep (as insisted), hand tightly holding hers. and she doesn’t miss the way you whisper ‘i love you’ right before you’re out.
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I am slowly working on the story of Kai and Mikael for the future webcomic, and I just want you to know it is not going to be as silly and cute as the original 24h comic.
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.
While working on this I had the idea of making a one shot Yuri and the title would be “I’m not in love with my useless zombie roommate!” So if that sounds good to all you FREAKS on here sound off in the comments, thanks
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Roommate Brian Penderman, 26, announced Monday morning that he hopes the loud bumping, grinding, and moaning of the five-hour-long fuckfest he had with his girlfriend did not in any way prevent you from sleeping last night.
“I’m exhausted—are you exhausted?” Penderman asked while he extended his arms in a stretching motion and yawned loudly. “Honestly, though, I sincerely apologize if all that fucking that was going on in my bedroom kept you up until the early hours of the morning.”
thinking about clark and roommate reader...brain go brrrr😵💫
word count: 2235
they met in college in metropolis, both journalism majors with a minor in communication studies. they had a lot of the same classes and shared a lot of the same interests, so naturally, they ended up hitting it off really well.
after class they would go to a local coffee shop to study, playfully bantering back and forth. they would end up just staying out late in clark's car, neither of them able to hangout in the other's dorm due to policies.
eventually, y/n would crack a joke about "just moving in together" but clark thinks it's a great idea. he would stutter and flush in the cheeks but he gets the word across. he thinks you two should move in together.
you both start looking for places for rent, or even for sale, and you end up finding a place in the city. a two bedroom, one and a half bath apartment with a full kitchen. within two weeks you're moved in.
every night turns into a three hour dissertation about the whatever the fuck you guys want. "jaden from poli sci makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon and eat them" all the way to "when i was little i was scared of the 'angels watching over me'" were topics you covered on the couch while 'friends' re-runs played lowly on the television.
as time went on, you two got more comfortable. those nights spent on the couch turned more than friendly. before, you would be on separate cushions but now he's laid out on the couch with a head on the headrest and your laying between his legs, head on his chest with his arm around your waist. he gives you 'goodnight' kisses and sneaks a hand under your shirt, tracing shapes into the soft skin of your back.
when you don't feel like cooking, he quick to order take-out, always knowing exactly what you like. he'd find himself feeding you the first bite, guiding the fork into your mouth, and laughing hysterically when food dangled from your mouth or sauce smears onto your face. seeing his face light up is the highlight of your day, so you don't mind.
when you do feel like cooking, it becomes an experience. clark gets home from class or the gym and finds you at the counter, vegetables on the cutting board. "what are you doing?", he would ask as he dropped his bag and hooked the keys on the rack. he would walk up behind you and look over your shoulder, leaning his hands on the counter beside your hips. "i'm building a lego set. what does it look like i'm doing, clark?", would be your sarcastic reply. he's just pinch your hip and blow raspberries into your neck in response. he would join you soon, only making things harder, as he was honestly bigger than the kitchen. "clark, honey, step out," you would point to the couch with a spatula. "wha-," he would complain, his face dropping. "step out," you'd instruct, not backing down. he respects you too much to disobey, so he would walk to the couch glumly. the food ends up being delicious and he makes sure you know.
"you're insane, y/n, i mean, really," he would moan as he scarfed your creation down. "what did i do to deserve you?" is what he's asking as he holds your head in his hands before he plops a kiss on your forehead, then both of your cheeks, and your nose. everywhere but your goddamn lips.
then comes relationship talk. by the time you're out of college, you start dating. or at least wanting to date. college boys aren't worth fighting for but men are, so you hit the town. it comes surprisingly easy for you to get guys; it's the guys that come that are the problem. of course, you would confide in your roommate about this. one night, after another failed date, you're laying in clark's bed beside him, propped up on an elbow, as he played with the t-shirt of his draped over your body.
"he was nice, don't get me wrong, but he was so small. i'm all for body positivity, but what the fuck is going on?" you would rant to him, "why does it feel like we were having an ozempic off the whole time? his waist was legit smaller than mine," clark would laugh, eyes crinkling and teeth gleaming. you would push his shoulder but you were smiling too, "i'm dead serious, he was so small. i just want a big man. like, a manly, big, strong man. is that too much to ask for these days?" you didn't even realize what you were saying but clark did. he always listened to every word you said, and he heard them too.
that night you fell asleep in his bed and woke up to his arm wrapped around your waist and his face in your neck. you didn't move and neither did he.
when you both start working at the planet, you only get closer, if that was even possible. you start staying up even later to piece sources together and get head starts or sprinting finishes on articles. when there's work gossip, you both can't help but indulge in that same cuddly position you always find yourself in. when you're actually at work, the same habits apply. your desks are right across from each other and you always turn around to talk to one another. at 3, like clockwork, he meets you at the coffee machine to make another cup and you guys chat for 15 minutes.
"those two...," jimmy olsen observes with lois, the two staring as you guys laugh at whatever inside joke you're telling. "those two...," lois would echo, shaking her head. "aren't they roommates?" jimmy asks, taking a sip of his own coffee. "yup," lois would affirm, bringing her own mug to her lips too, "it couldn't be written any better." jimmy would agree with a simple hum, "mmm, mmm."
one night, the work crew organized a night out. just a few of the best people are invited to a bar to relax and have some fun after all the hard work they do at the planet. y/n is in the shower, washing the office off, the glass door foggy, when clark barges in. they've both made it a habit of talking to each other when they're in the shower. you can't really see anything but a shape anyway (you can see clark's head over the top of it). "hey, y/n, where did you put my converse shirt? the small one that's black?" he would ask from the doorframe, watching your slender, blurry figure sway as you rinse your body. "small? dude that things, like, a large," you laugh, turning the water off. clark, on autopilot, hands you your towel and you step out carefully, skin damp and hair in a bun atop your head.
"yeah, whatever, it's small on me," he admits sheepishly, "anyway, where is it? i wanna wear it." he taps his foot impatiently, letting you push him against the doorframe with a hand on his chest as you walk past him.
"it's in my closet, hang on," you tell him, leaving wet marks on the ground as you walk to retrieve it.
"oh, so you weren't gonna give it back?" he teases, following you into your room, avoiding your steps. he plops down on your bed as you walk into your closet. you come out with his shirt and your own pair of comfortable clothes to wear while you do your hair and makeup.
"no, idiot," you tease back, throwing the shirt at him, which he catches with one hand. you pull a t-shirt on over your towel and allow it to reach mid-thigh before you drop your towel and pull on a pair of panties. "i was gonna give it back, but it just looks so much better one me," you smile as you pull your panties up your legs. his downward gaze and bitten lip don't go unnoticed by you. when you walk past him to go back into the bathroom, you grab his chin and give it a little squeeze. his eyes follow you all the down the hall.
when he's ready, he lays on your bed waiting for you to be done. "are you almost done?" he would whine, huffing dramatically every time he heard you dig for another product in your bag. when you finally finish your hair and makeup, you just need to get dressed.
"clark, i need your help," you say as you walk out of the closet. "should i wear this top," you point to the one you have on, "or should i wear this top?" you hold a different up and let him choose.
"definitely the one you have on," he says decisively and almost too quickly. what you settle on is a denim mini-skirt, a lace maroon tank top, with one of clark's old leather jackets over it.
clark drives there but he lets you play music. your knees are turned inward as he drives, doing air drums and guitar and singing the lyrics at him. he just smiles and laughs and adores you when you aren't looking. that night, one drink turns into six and, before you know it, you're drunk and feeling good and feeling trusting. lois becomes your first victim.
"I haven't had sex in soooo long," you tell her, and quite loudly as well to be heard over the music. "i think i need to fuck someone bad." she would just pat your back, "sure, honey," and guide you to clark, who typically became responsible for you when you were drunk. "she's talking nonsense, clark. you need to take her home," is what she tells him before running back to jimmy.
"clark!" y/n exclaimed, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck, reaching up on her tip toes, "my favorite person ever," you hum into his chest, feeling his strong arms wrap gently around your waist. he lets you hug for a moment before he peels you away gently. he pinches your chin to make you look at his face.
"you feelin' okay, sweetheart?" he asks, even though he knows the answer. when you only smile drunkenly with your eyes closed, he nods and politely excuses himself from the conversation he was having. he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you tight into his side, keeping you close to him in the crowd. he had to park kind of far away, so when you make it outside and walk half a block, you start to whine. "what's wrong, baby?" he asks, the pet name feeling like second nature.
"my shoes," you whine, pulling on his wrist, "hurts," you huff like a child and stare up at him through your lashes. how can he say no to you? he thinks to himself. he wordlessly, and mindlessly, wraps an arm around your upper back and another under your knees and scoops you up. you don't even really react, it's just become so normal. you only mutter a drunken thank you and nuzzle into his firm chest.
he takes the two of you home, changes you into comfortable clothes (another one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties), takes off your makeup, brushed your teeth, and makes you a glass of water. he carries you to the kitchen while he makes your water and sets you down on the kitchen counter. he hands you water and watches as you take a sip, then set the glass down beside you. you beckon him over with the wiggle of a finger, which he immediately obeys.
"i love you, clark, you know that?" you ask gently, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. he hums as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, pushing the long t-shirt of his that adorns your body higher. "i mean it, like, I really love you. so much," you smile, playing with his hair.
"i love you too, y/n," he agrees, wrapping his arms around his waist and at your lower back, "so much, sweetheart." he tightens his grip on your body and pulls you closer to him. he places a kiss to the top of your head and you wrap your legs around his hips, knowing he wants to pick you up. he hoists you up into his arms, hands holding you up under your ass. he walks with you in his arms, carrying you like you weigh nothing, and gently lays you down on your bed. he makes sure you're comfortable and reaches to turn off your lamp. you grab his wrist before he can.
"stay," you demand softly, giving his wrist a gentle tug. he looks down into your eyes, hunching down slightly, "please." at that soft plea, he obliges and slips into the bed beside you.
that night the two of you fall asleep with your head buried in his chest and his hands wrapped fully around your body. your leg is thrown over his hips and he has an arm wrapped over it with a hand under it. his other arm is under your abdomen, clutching you as close to him as he possibly can.
