Ink (Writer!Eren X Reader) 1800s!AU

~A/N: Listen As You Read! www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNnxCq…














    The charcoal-silver quill he gripped fiercely in between his callous-covered digits held the grace of a heather blowing in the gentle midday breeze, and yet the harsh brutality of a cactus in a barren desert. It's fine golden tip became encompassed by the jet liquid enclosed in a miniature glass bottle, only to resurface with the fluid sticking to the metal as if it were clinging onto the last string of sanity it contained. The continuous flickering light of the dainty candle beside him seemed to add to the serene aura spread about him. His emerald hues focused solely and intently on the yellowed-with-age parchment spread across the uneven dark wood of his desk, ends of the paper daring to roll up and fold itself into isolation, almost as if it were shy. The quill barely brushed the sheet as a single drop of ink descended into the bisque parchment, virtually dissolving as well and staying in place. Nervously swiping his moist tongue over dried and chapped lips, he began to scrawl onto the paper, spilling out his thoughts and emotions with ease.

    Mellifluous and euphonic her voice was, the way his name slid off her tongue with ease, almost as if it were meant to be said by her honey-like tone. "Eren?" she hummed, hesitantly stepping behind him as her nimble fingers wrapped gently over his tense shoulders. A broad grin spread across his incision-laced lips as her arms snuck about his torso and she rest her head in the crook of his neck. "What're you writing?" she whispered, breath feathering off his tan skin and causing multiple shivers to run down his spine.

    His smile grew in size as her grip tightened with affection over his abdomen, the few loose strands of her hair tickling the exposed skin by his clavicle. "Just... things," he answered respectfully, turning enough to meet her gaze from where he sat in the uncomfortable whittled chair.

    Lips pursed with disappointment and brows furrowed, she responded, "Things isn't very specific if you ask me." A husky chuckle rose from his throat as he set his hand against her cheek, pulling her closer as he tipped his chin up.

    "That depends on what you see it as," he murmured in return. Seeing the smile form onto her rosy lips, he couldn't help himself but to slightly part his own peach-tinted ones, and encircle hers. He could feel the way her lashes tickled his cheeks, how her hand knotted into his thick chocolate tresses, or even the way the slight grin adorning her features forced himself to follow in step.

    Once pulling herself away, her teeth bit softly down onto her lower lip -an odd habit, he presumed, she had when she was in deep thought- as her bright orbs trailed over his figure, up and down. "It's midnight, you've been up here in this dungeon of yours since dawn," she said. "Come eat something, then come to sleep, alright?"

    A soft sigh escaping his lips, he glanced over his shoulder at the parchment laid neatly across the textured desk. Emerald eyes glancing up to hers, he gave her an expression a toddler would have made while pleading for an extra dessert. "Just a few more minutes?" he asked. At her stoic expression, his teasing grin grew. "Come on, please?" he begged, standing and gently grasping her shoulders. She seemed as if she wasn't going to budge, so he simply pressed multiple pecks against her lips, nose, cheeks, forehead, eyelids, until she eventually had a fit of giggles and pushed him away.

    "Fine, but ten minutes maximum," she said over her shoulder as she strolled out the door.









    She was his ink...

              She'd stick to his parchment as if she were glue...

                        She'd decorate his canvas with characters, or scribbles...

                                  She'd even go as far as to accidentally spill over his sheets...


    And for that he loved her more than a flower adores the sunlight. Her ink would forever dance gracefully over his parchment, creating the designs of royalty, love, freedom, gratitude, devotion, affection... his list would be long enough to stretch over the ocean. His love for her was greater than any other he was perceptible of feeling, even a touch by the most beautiful woman in the world would have no effect to him compared to the way his name slid off her tongue with the elegance of a swan. She was why his first breath when his eyes opened in the morning was filled with tranquility and joy, and why his last breath before falling into a deep slumber was bedecked with bliss and contentment.


    What was a scrap of parchment without its ink?

    Exactly that. A strip of parchment.


    Without the ink covering the paper and adding it's beauty, charm, decency and dexterity, the paper would remain nameless and without a purpose. Yet with ink decorating it's ivory surface, it was complete, it was whole. He'd allow herself, his ink, to drip away carelessly into his life, his parchment, for as long as he possibly could, for however long that would be. And every second the ink drips and drops on that scrap of paper, even if it spills slightly, there wouldn't be a single ounce of regret in his heart.

    And with these finishing thoughts in his mind, he set the charcoal-silver quill to the side, next to the miniature glass bottle containing the jet liquid, and rolled the parchment into a neat cylinder. With a final sweep over his desk with his bright emerald eyes, he blew out the single candle, and extinguished the flame.