#inkwell

he lets out a very quiet, careful sigh, making sure his chest doesn't expand too much. if he breathes in too deeply, he’s going to knock over the tower of jellycats stacked precariously near your feet.

you are sleeping completely fine. you’re curled up in a comfortable little ball right in the center of the mattress, one arm hooked around a plush bear, looking totally peaceful. you have no idea that your boyfriend is currently fighting for his life in the plushie trenches.

martin honestly hates sleepng at your place. he loves you, and he loves hanging out with you, but your bed is a literal hazard for anyone his height. he needs space to stretch out, but your room is basically a toy store warehouse.

the worst part is the plastic noses. right now, there are at least three different hard, plastic animal noses digging straight into his lower back. one of them feels suspiciously like a vintage care bear, and it’s hitting a nerve that’s making his left foot go numb.

he tries to slide his hand down to shove the care bear away, but the second his fingers move, the fabric of your blanket rustles.

you stir slightly, blinking your eyes open in the dark. "mars?" you mumble, your voice thick with sleep. "you okay?"

martin instantly freezes. he forces his muscles to relax, even though his spine is screaming at him.

"yeah, baby," he whispers back, his voice smooth and entirely casual. "just shifting a bit. go back to sleep."

"are you comfy?" you ask, shifting your weight to lean closer to him, which inadvertently pushes a giant plush penguin right onto his face.

martin takes a breath through his mouth, the soft felt of the penguin's wing tickling his eyelashes. he could easly tell you the truth. he could ask you to just throw the plushies on the floor for the night so he can actually breathe.

but then he thinks about how happy you looked showing him the new frog you bought yesterday, and his chest tightens for a completely different reason. he hates saying no to you. he absolutely sucks at it.

"so comfy," martin lies smoothly, reaching out his arm with great effort to pat your head through the dark. "best sleep of my life. close your eyes."

"okay," you murmur, completely satisfied. you bury your face back into your pillow and are asleep again within thirty seconds.

martin wait until your breathing evens out before he uses his fingers to gently pry the penguin's wing off his mouth. he accepts his fate. he accepts that his back is going to be completely ruined tomorrow during practice, and he accepts that he will probably have the imprint of a unicorn horn stamped into his cheek by morning.

he closes his eyes, letting his head rest against the hard wall, and prays for the sun to come up quickly.

"yes! i want the whole thing," you said, sitting up quickly and tossing the pillow to the side. you started counting on your fingers. "i want the stupid morning texts, i want the matching sweaters, i want someone who looks at me like i invented the moon. and i want to get married before my joints start cracking every time i stand up."

"dudeeee, matching sweaters is where i draw the line," martin jokd, his eyebrow twitching up. "that's a red flag. any guy who agrees to that is lying to you."

"it is not! it's cute," you pout, leaning over the edge of the cushions so you were looking right down at him. "you're just, like, cynical, bro. you don't get the vision."

"i get the vision fine. your vision just involves a lot of public display of affection and probably a lot of bad poetry," he said, reaching up to casually smack your knee with the back of his hand. "besides, you're still so young. you act like you're eighty and running out of time. chill out, man. you've got decades before you have to worry about dying alone with twelve cats."

"twelve cats sounds kind of nice right now, honestly," you mumbled, slumping back against the sofa. "at least cats don't ignore my texts."

martin rolled his eyes, but there was a soft, fond look in his eyes that he tried to hide by looking awy toward the TV. he reached out, his hand sliding up from your knee to grab your ankle, giving it a playful shake. "i don't ignore your texts."

"you took three hours to reply yesterday because you were 'testing a new hair gel', martin."

"it was a very intense process! it has a strong hold," he defended himself, a wide grin breaking across his face. he sat up fully then, shifting so he was leaning against the base of the couch right by your legs. "tell you what. since you're so terrified of ending up alone and wrinkly, let's make a deal."

you cocked your head to the side, looking down at the back of his head, your eyes lingering on the soft, long strands of hair at the nape of his neck. "what kind of deal?"

martin turned his upper body around, resting his elbows on the couch cushion right next to your thigh. his face was suddenly much closer, and he had that stupid, silly look he always got right before he said something ridiculous.

"if we're both thirty-five and still single, we'll just marry each other. simple. problem solved, no cats required," he said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down twice.

your heart did a weird, sudden flip in your chest, but you quickly forced a scowl onto your face to hide it. "thirty-five? wait—why thirty-five? you think i won't find anyone by thirty-five?" you hissed, narrowing your eyes into tiny slits. "what makes you think my expiration date is that early?"

martin laughed, the sound loud and bright in the quiet apartment. "i'm just being realistic! have you seen your taste in movies? your standards are based on fictional men who don't exist. and let's not forget the fact that you can't cook anything that doesn't involve a microwave."

"i can make eggs!" you shouted, grabbing a nearby couch cushion and shoving it right into his face.

martin caught the cushion easily, laughing against the fabric before pulling it down. his hair was even messier now from the impact, a few strands falling across his forehead. "barely! they're always rubbery! and you're messy. you leave your shoes right in the middle of the hallway like a trap."

"they're not a trap, they're just... waiting to be put away," you mumbled, crossing your arms and looking thoroughly annoyed, though the flush on your cheeks was probably giving you away. "you suck, marty. you're supposed to be my friend and boost my confidence, not roast my lifestyle choices."

"i am boosting your confidence," he said, his voice dropping into a slighly softer, teasing tone. he reached out, his thumb lightly catching the hem of your sweatpants near your ankle, tapping a rhythm against your skin. "i'm literally offering to be your backup plan. that's a huge compliment. i'm very high quality, you know."

"high quality?" you snorted, mimicking his words. "you spend forty-five minutes in front of the mirror just to make your hair look 'accidentally messy'. you're high maintenance, asshole."

"it's an art form," he argued, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward. "so? what do you say? thirty-five? do we have a contract or what?"

you looked at him—really looked at him. his broad shoulders were relaxed against your couch, his arms resting easily near your legs, and he was looking up at you with this bright, expectant expression. he was being silly, because martin was always silly, but under the layer of jokes, you felt a strange, heavy warmth settling in the room.

"i don't know," you smiled slowly, leaning your chin on your hand. "thirty-five feels a bit young. what if i meet a really handsome prince at thirty-four and a half?"

"not happening," martin deadpans. "i'll personally show up to the date and tell him about the rubbery eggs. he'll run away."

"you wouldn't dare."

"try me," he grinned, his eyes locking onto yours with a stubborn spark. "so? deal?"

you let out a long, dramatic sigh, pretending like you were making the hardest decision of your life. "fine. thirty-five. but if we do it, i'm choosing the sweaters."

"deal," martin said instantly, his smile widening until his eyes crinkled at the sides.

he turned back around to face the TV, but he didn't move away from the couch. his shoulder stayed pressed firmly against your shin, his warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothes. he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone back out, humming a random melody under his breath like he hadn't just completely rewired your brain for the rest of the evening.

you leaned back against the cushions, your eyes drifting down to the back of his fluffy hair again. your fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to reach down and run them through the soft strands, to pull him just a little bit closer.

you had spent the whole day complaining about wanting to be in love, about wanting the romance movie ending. but as you sat there in the quiet apartment, watching martin carelessly scroll through his phone while staying glued to your side, you realized something else.

martin edwards was deadass convinced he was just being a funny, reliable friend. but the way his hand kept naturally finding its way back to your ankle, and the way he secretly practiced his best smiles in your bathroom mirror just to make you laugh, said something else entirely.

because martin was already in love. just like that. and you were starting to think thirty-five was way too long to wait.

when you finally opened your eyes, the harsh stage lights were gone, replaced by the dimmer, quieter atmosphere of your group’s dressing room. you were lying on the sofa, a cold, damp cloth resting on your forehead.

the room was mostly quiet, but the first thing you noticed was jeongin sitting on a plastic chair pulled right up against the couch. he was still in his stage outfit, but he had clearly rushed over the second he heard what happened. his face was pale, his eyes wide and completely focused on you, and his usual calm demeanor was entirely gone.

"hey," he whispered the moment he saw your eyes flutter open. he immediately reached out, his hand wrapping around yours. his fingers were a little shaky, squeezing your palm gently. "don't try to sit up yet. just stay still."

"jeongin..." your voice was raspy and incredibly quiet. "the stage... did i—"

"you fainted," he cut you off softy, his voice thick with a mix of relief and lingering panic. he reached up with his free hand, carefully adjusting the cold cloth on your forehead. "your manager carried you back. the medics already checked your vitals. they said it's extreme exhaustion and dehydration."

"i'm sorry," you muttered, looking away because you felt so guilty for ruining the performance and making him look so terrified. "i thought i could finish it."

jeongin let out a long, heavy breath, leaning forward so his forehead could rest against the edge of the sofa near your shoulder. "don't apologize. you have nothing to be sorry for. when i saw the broadcast monitor backstage and saw you fall... fucking hell, my heart literally stopped. i don't think i've ever run that fast in my life."

he pulled back, looking down at you with an uncharacteristic seriousness. his usual smile was nowhere to be found; he just looked deeply concerned.

"you need to tell your company you need a break," he said, his tone stubborn but incredibly gentle. "and you need to tell me when you're feeling bad. you can't keep pushing yourself until your body just shuts down like this. it scares me too much."

"i know," you said softly, squeezig his hand back. "i'm sorry for worrying you."

"just rest now," jeongin murmured, his expression finally softening a bit as he leaned down to press a quick, comforting kiss to the side of your face. he didn't care about the staff walking in and out of the room, or the fact that he still had to do the ending curtain call with his own group. he just sat back in his chair, locking his fingers tightly with yours, completely refusing to leave your side until he knew you were entirely okay.

camboy!jisung, you find, isn't a porn addict. he is the porn. you hadn't even meant to find out, you'd just been scrolling through a x-rated website, when you stumbled onto some guy's video. you don't remember what prompted you to click it, just the fact that you'd been eager for some release, and your roommate was out for the day.

camboy!jisung who's face isn't shown, but you didn't need that to figure out it was him. you could tell by his room, even if you've only been in it a couple times. it had the same figurines in the background, the same bedspread. his favorite posters stuck on the wall. it didn't take a genius.

camboy!jisung who's video you watch, anyways. despite the fact that you know. despite the fact that it feels a little morally gray. you cum on your fingers and the sheets, then once more when you stalk his page and watch another one. fuck, you're on you're third video, when you notice something odd.

camboy!jisung who's not using any toys in this one. when you squint harder, you realize it's a pair of panties. he's got it wrapped around his hard cock, pumping the length of it. his eyes are squeezed shut, and he's whining to himself, even biting his fist.

camboy!jisung who's not just using any pair, he's using yours. holy shit, your baby blue pair that you couldn't find, that you assumed the washing machine ate, that so perfectly matched his eyes. that bastard had not only stolen them, but jerked off to them. you can only watch in utter shock, as he cums ropes of sticky white all over them, making a mess.

camboy!jisung who's room you're literally breaking into, trying to see if he'd hidden them somewhere in there. you do end up finding them, placed in a cardboard box under his bed. you hold them up, unintentionally clenching your thighs.

camboy!jisung who must've come home early, because you can hear shuffling outside the door. you don't have a moment to react, not even to hide what you're doing.

camboy!jisung who looks sheepish, like a little boy who stole an extra cookie for dessert. except his cookie was a piece of cum-stained fabric. he tries to make this make sense, but he's never been that good with his words, so he just fucks his explanation into you instead, in hopes that'll work. to his luck, it does.

camboy!jisung who's dick is better in real life, than over camera. he's got you in the most cruel of positions, shoving his length into you. you can feel every drag of his tip, every stretch of your walls. you can't stop clenching around him, and it's driving him crazy—in the best way possible.

camboy!jisung who gets you to orgasm a countless number of times that night, like since he finally has you, he never wants to let you, or your tight little pussy, go.

camboy!jisung's who latest, most hit stream is titled "fucked pretty roommate instead of her panties this time!"

camboy!jisung who's not such a sweetheart, after all.