#ink stained memories

[janglejester]

When your husband exists

[inkdemonapologist]

I saw inkylegacy call this version of joeyxhenry "creationship" in the tags of another post aND OH NO THATS SO CLEVER, IM USING IT

anyway im still thinking about these two... maybe they can figure out how to do things a little differently.

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

How did Dream react to Ink blowing Dust's face away?

Dream, ranting: -AND HE- DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT?? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Ink (calm color): i uh Ink (neutral color): i don't know what i did Ink (sad color): i'm sorry

[murderballadeer]

gentle on my mind… what a beautiful love song waaaa

[carpediembitchess]

like the stains of mint ice cream on my laced white mannequin like the stains of salty dew on my velvety Tigger napkin like the stains of blue ink on the creases of my palm like the stains of scarlet dye on the rubble of the bomb like the stains of idle whispers on strayed autumn roads like all the things we once loved and will never again know.

[a-bottomless-curse]

The surface was calm. Even the occasional ripple was not out of place, nor did it signal to anything happening below.

Down in the depths, the light was so pale and far away, it was as distant as a star in the night sky.

Down.

...............Down.

............................Drowning in the deep.

Eyes burned in the water as she thrashed. The soft satin weighed down and tangled with her legs as she kicked, trying to find anything in the water that would serve as a sort of purchase. A she tried to ignore the voice that called for her to sink further, to see what else was lurking in the depths of the frigid water.

The dark infected her vision as air escaped. The bubbles popped before the reached the surface, a silent scream escaping into the water without causing any ripples to be seen by those above.

With bated breath, the first destruction of the waters surface calm was when her pale hand broke through to grab hold of a rock. Pulling herself through the water, she pushed herself to standing. Almost as if from myth, drenched so thoroughly that she felt the chill of deep water in her bones.

She breathed through burning lungs, golden hair swirling around her as the wind whipped up. Thin rivulets of red dripped over her arms and legs, leaving pink stains on pale skin as it turned her pale blue dress lilac.

The sounds of panic and shouting above falling on deaf ears.

-

The free fall, the sense of flying with the imminent knowledge that a crash would follow, did not frighten her as much as she had thought it would. Perhaps it helped that she wholly believed, perhaps too strongly, that fear was born of the unknown, and that by doing, she removed the things she did not know, and thus removed the fear of an action of a possibility from herself, simply by doing.

And she did not close her eyes. Golden hair whipped through the air, but she kept her eyes on the water.

"If you are to fall, and you believe there is even a chance you might survive such a fall, then you must not look away from where you are to land. It is similar to diving you see. You must look at where you are going to fall, that way you can know how to act, or react, to land as safely as you can."

The words of her grandfather echoed in her mind as she kept her eyes on the water, waiting for the opportune time to flip herself around.

Breaking the surface of the water with her feet nearly made her forget to inhale a breath, the pain sending pins and needles through through her legs and partially up her spine. Yet, inhale she did, moment before she slipped under the surface, sinking farther than she thought she would, till the surface above her had enough time to calm itself.

-

The classmates behind chatted and laughed amongst themselves as she stood on the cliff, overlooking the drop. Her breathing was still steady, though she found it difficult to try and gauge the height she would be falling, and part of her wondered if she should have said that she would do this after changing her clothes.

"Aw, come on Kayden, don't tell us your too scared to jump? And here I thought you said you'd do it for Morgan. Changed your mind already?"

Hackles nearly raised, she turned with an icy glare, "I'm not afraid, Jebidiah. I simply don't feel the need to constantly talk about it, or any emotion, unlike some people here. I do wonder how you ever manage to get through the day without saying any and every feeling that crosses through your being, since you seem only ever confident when you speak as though you're king of the world. Now hush, and keep hold your end of the bargain, or you won't like what else I have to say."

She didn't wait to hear his response, though she felt quite pleased with herself at his gaping mouth. The darling boy of the school never did know how to react to those who simply could not be bothered with him.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the side of the cliff. 'There is nothing to fear, except fear itself.'

[wickedzeevyln]

Attic in the Basement

The coldest day In November isn’t marked by a temperature drop, but by the stark realization that no summer awaits us. He embodies a museum, a vast collection of what-could-have-been meticulously curated, indifferent to the relentless march of time. His mind paints in number—an old warehouse before 5 a.m. Rolls of shrink wraps litter the floor, pallet jacks, dollies, and box cutters at rest.…

[pin-k-ink]

imagine grinding on hoshina’s thighs or abs. Like bros muscular and he’ll be so mean and would tease u about it

fragment // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ bratty!reader, mentions of a quickie, mentions of shower sex, biting, teasing, orgasm denial, hoshina is mean, panties as a gag, thigh riding, squirting, dirty talking, name calling/degradation, power imbalance, spanking, manhandling

wc ⇢ 3.9k

a/n: holy shit this was just pure filth 💀

The soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across Hoshina's office, illuminating the seemingly endless stack of papers before him. He sighed, running a hand through his violet hair, disheveling it further. A glance at the clock confirmed what his aching back had been telling him - he'd been at this for hours. The night had long since fallen, and the muffled sounds of the Third Division's nocturnal activities filtered through his closed door, a stark reminder of the world beyond his paperwork-laden desk.

"Shoulda known Ashiro would pull somethin' like this," Soshiro muttered, his kansai dialect thickening with fatigue. Captain Ashiro's abrupt departure for an emergency meeting had left him drowning in administrative tasks, each form and report more mind-numbing than the last. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled there like a lead weight. His fingers, stained with ink and cramping from hours of writing, reached for yet another document from the towering pile.

As he began to read through the report, Soshiro's mind wandered unbidden to more pleasant thoughts. Specifically, to you - his girlfriend, his unexpected ray of sunshine in the often grim world of the Defense Force. A small smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the last time he properly made love to you, nearly a week ago now. Work had been relentless since then, leaving little time for anything beyond stolen kisses and brief embraces. This morning's quickie in the shower, while invigorating, had done little to sate the growing hunger he felt for your touch.

The soft click of the door opening pulled Soshiro from his musings. Your familiar scent - a mix of vanilla and something uniquely you - wafted through the air, causing his heart to skip a beat. He looked up, his tired eyes drinking in the sight of you standing in the doorway. The hallway light silhouetted your figure, highlighting the curves that your uniform usually concealed. Soshiro felt his mouth go dry, his body responding to your presence even as his mind struggled to focus on the task at hand.

"Soshiro," you called softly, your voice a melodic contrast to the silence of the office. "Are you still working?" There was a hint of something in your tone - disappointment, perhaps, or frustration - that made Soshiro's chest tighten with guilt.

He watched as you stepped into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click that seemed to seal you both away from the rest of the world. Your movements were deliberate, almost predatory, as you approached his desk. Soshiro couldn't help but be reminded of a lioness stalking her prey, and he wasn't entirely sure he minded being caught.

"'Fraid so, darlin'," he replied, his voice low and tinged with regret. "Got a mountain of paperwork that ain't gonna finish itself." Even as the words left his mouth, Soshiro felt a pang of longing. He wanted nothing more than to abandon his work and lose himself in you, but duty weighed heavily on his shoulders.

You reached his desk, your fingers trailing along the polished wood grain. Soshiro's eyes followed the movement, mesmerized by the play of light on your skin. When you spoke again, your voice had taken on a sultry quality that sent shivers down his spine.

"But Soshiro," you purred, leaning over his desk in a way that gave him a tantalizing view, "don't you think you deserve a little break? After all, you've been working so hard."

Soshiro swallowed hard, his eyes inadvertently drawn to the way your shirt strained across your chest as you leaned forward. The memory of your shared shower that morning flashed vividly in his mind - the taste of your lips, the feel of your body pressed against his, the sweet noises you made when he slipped his fingers inside you. The tightness in his pants increased, and he shifted uncomfortably. He knew it hadn't been enough, not for either of you, but especially not for your seemingly insatiable appetite.

"Ya know I can't, sweetheart," he managed, his voice rougher than he intended. "This needs to be done by mornin'." Even as he spoke, Soshiro's body betrayed him, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

You huffed, a pout forming on your lips that Soshiro found both adorable and dangerously tempting. "But 'Shiro," you whined, using the pet name you knew he couldn't resist, "I've barely seen you all week. This morning was nice, but..." You trailed off, your eyes dark with unspoken desire.

Soshiro's pen creaked in his grip as he fought to maintain his composure. "I know, darlin'," he said, his tone a mixture of apology and firmness. "But ya know how important this is. I can't just leave it unfinished."

For a moment, you seemed to relent, straightening up with a sigh. "Fine," you said, a hint of mischief in your tone that Soshiro knew all too well. "I guess I'll just have to find some other way to pass the time."

Soshiro watched warily as you sauntered around his desk, your hips swaying in a way that drew his gaze like a magnet. He forced his attention back to the papers before him, trying desperately to focus on the words that now seemed to blur together. The heat of your body radiated against his back as you moved behind him, ostensibly to look at the work over his shoulder.

"My, my," you murmured, your breath hot against his ear. "This does look important. No wonder you can't tear yourself away."

Soshiro's entire body tensed, anticipation thrumming through him. He knew you were up to something, could feel it in the way you leaned closer, your breasts pressing against his back. Just as he opened his mouth to warn you off, he felt the soft brush of your lips against the sensitive skin of his neck.

A shiver ran down his spine, his body responding traitorously to your touch despite his best efforts to remain focused. Your lips traced a burning path along the column of his throat, each kiss sending sparks of electricity through his nerves.

"[Y/N]," he growled, his voice low and strained. "Ya're playin' with fire here." It was a warning, but even to his own ears, it sounded more like a plea.

Your only response was to nip gently at his earlobe, your hands sliding down his chest in a caress that left him breathless. Soshiro's grip on his pen tightened to the point of pain, the only thing anchoring him to his resolve as it rapidly crumbled under your ministrations.

Soshiro remained still, his jaw clenched as he tried to focus on the paperwork before him. Your whispers in his ear and your hands on his chest were severely testing his resolve. He gripped his pen tightly, forcing himself to read the same line over and over, though the words refused to register in his mind.

Suddenly, your hand began to drift lower, and your voice took on a more provocative tone. "You know, if you're too busy, maybe I'll just have to take care of myself..."

In an instant, Soshiro's composure shattered. His hand shot out, grasping your wrist firmly as he tugged you forward harshly to face him. His eyes, usually half-lidded or closed, were now wide and blazing with a mixture of anger and something darker.

"What did ya just say?" he growled, his accent thickening with emotion.

You froze, realizing you'd crossed a line. The playful glint in your eyes dimmed as you met Soshiro's intense gaze. You knew that playing with yourself was strictly off-limits without his permission - a rule he'd made clear early in your relationship.

"I... I didn't mean..." you stammered, but Soshiro cut you off with a sharp look.

"Ya know better than that, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I've told ya before, ya don't touch yerself without my say-so."

The tension in the room was palpable as you stood there, caught in Soshiro's grip and pinned by his gaze. You'd pushed too far, and now you were facing the consequences of your actions.

Soshiro's grip on your wrist tightened, his eyes blazing with barely contained anger. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous, laced with a fury you'd rarely heard from him.

"Ya think ya're bein' cute, don't ya?" he growled, his voice dropping an octave lower. "Pushin' my buttons like that. Well, let me make this real clear for ya, darlin'. Ya've got two choices, and ya better choose wisely."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Ya can either get yer ass to our room right now and wait for me there, or ya can plant yerself in my lap and not make a sound until I'm done. Either way, ya're in for it when I'm finished."

Soshiro's eyes bore into yours, challenging you to defy him further. "So what's it gonna be? Choose now, before I make the choice for ya."

The intensity of his gaze and the huskiness of his voice sent a thrill of arousal through you. You knew you'd pushed too far, and his anger had only served to fuel your desire.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke. "Please, Soshiro, I'll be good, I promise. I'm sorry I-"

"I said, choose. Now."

The command in his voice brooked no argument.

You hesitated for a split second, before giving in. "Lap," you whispered.

Soshiro's mouth twitched slightly at your decision, but he gave no other sign of approval. Without a word, he tugged you closer, forcing you to straddle his lap. The pressure of his hardened cock against your core had you gasping, and he hadn't even begun to touch you yet.

"I want ya to remember this," Soshiro murmured, his voice low and husky. "I want ya to remember how badly ya pushed me. How easily I could've put ya over my knee and spanked ya right here, in my office, for everyone to hear."

His words sent a thrill through you, a combination of fear and arousal that had your heart racing and your pussy clenching. Soshiro knew just how to get to you, and he used that knowledge to his full advantage.

"I could have fucked ya senseless, right on my desk, and made ya beg for more. And ya would've taken it, wouldn't ya, darlin'? Ya would've taken every inch of me and begged for more, all because ya can't control yerself."

His voice was a low growl, full of pent-up frustration and desire. You squirmed in his lap, trying to find relief for the throbbing need between your legs.

"Now, hold still, or I'll tie ya down and leave ya here to suffer," Soshiro warned.

You whimpered at the thought, but obeyed, settling into his lap as best you could. You were already achingly wet, and the pressure of his cock against your pussy was a sweet torture.

Soshiro's hands roamed your body, touching and teasing every inch of bare skin he could reach. His fingers skimmed over your thighs, dipping dangerously close to the apex of your thighs before pulling away, denying you the relief you so desperately craved.

"Now, be a good girl and keep quiet, or I'll gag ya with yer panties," Soshiro threatened, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll use ya like a toy, and yer only purpose will be to satisfy my needs."

The threat only served to arouse you further, and you bit back a moan. The feel of his cock, hard and straining against his pants, was a constant reminder of what he could do to you. You were tempted to disobey, just to see what he would do, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn't joking.

You settled for burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent and savoring the feeling of his skin against yours. Hoshina wasted no time in returning back to the paperwork, his calloused hand gripping the pen once more.

"That's a good girl," Soshiro rasped, his free hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you closer. "Now, I'm going to finish this work, and you're going to sit here and take it. If ya're a good girl and keep quiet, I'll fuck ya until ya can't walk when I'm done."

His words sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, and you clung to him, determined to obey. As Soshiro continued working, you buried your face in his neck, your body trembling with the effort to remain silent. You could feel his cock pressing against your pelvis, the delicious friction of his pants rubbing against your clit.

Soshiro's breathing was slow and steady, his concentration completely focused on the paperwork before him. You could feel his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, the heat of his body enveloping you. The combination of his scent and the subtle movements of his body was intoxicating, and you could feel yourself slowly losing control.

It was maddening, sitting there, feeling his cock throb and his body respond, but not being able to do anything about it. It was pure torture, and Soshiro was enjoying every second of it. You knew he was doing this on purpose, and the knowledge only made the ache between your legs intensify.

Hoshina's movements were deliberately slow, his free hand occasionally coming up to stroke your hair or run down your back. He was savoring your submission, drawing out the tension and your agony for as long as he could.

You weren't sure how much more you could take. You were already dripping, the evidence of your arousal soaking through your panties and dampening Soshiro's thigh. Your core ached with need, and you were desperate for some kind of release.

Suddenly, Hoshina shifted beneath you, adjusting his position and pressing his thigh more firmly against your aching clit. A strangled moan escaped your lips, muffled against his neck, but Soshiro showed no reaction. His grip on your neck tightened, a silent warning, and you bit back another groan as his thigh flexed, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

Soshiro was a master at teasing and prolonging your torture, and he knew exactly how to get under your skin. He'd reduced you to a writhing, desperate mess with nothing but his voice and his body, and you were powerless to resist him.

As you sat there, straddling his lap, you could feel his cock growing harder, straining against the confines of his pants. Knowing that he was just as aroused as you were only intensified your desire, and you found yourself rocking against his thigh, seeking relief.

Soshiro's fingers dug into your hip, holding you still. His grip was firm, bordering on painful, but it only added to the delicious mix of sensations.

"Ya're a desperate little thing, aren't ya?" he rasped, his voice husky with desire. "Ridin' my leg like that, soakin' my pants with yer need. I bet ya'd come right here if I let ya, wouldn't ya, darlin'?"

His words were a taunt, a challenge, and you wanted nothing more than to accept it. Your clit throbbed with each flex of his thigh, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. You were so close, hovering on the edge, but Soshiro's grip on your hip kept you from toppling over.

The tension was almost unbearable, and you clung to him, your hands fisting in his shirt. His breath was warm against your ear, his voice low and taunting. "I can feel how badly ya want to come, how close ya are. Go on, then, darlin'. Use my thigh. At least it’ll get ya nice and creamy for me by the time I'm done."

You hesitated, unsure if you were allowed. Soshiro's hand slid to the small of your back, guiding you against his thigh. You whimpered as you rocked against him, the friction of his pants against your aching clit sending shivers of pleasure through you.

"That's it," he growled, his voice heavy with lust. "Ya're so desperate, ya'd do anythin' to come, wouldn't ya? Just rub yerself off on my leg, darlin'. It's the closest ya're gonna get."

His words were a mixture of command and encouragement, and you obeyed, grinding against him. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel your orgasm approaching. You were so close, just a little more, and then...

"That's enough."

Soshiro's sharp command cut through the haze of pleasure, and you froze, panting. His grip on your hip was bruising, but the ache was nothing compared to the throbbing need between your legs.

You groaned, burying your face in his neck and trying to regain your composure. Your hips continued to rock involuntarily, seeking the release that had been denied. Soshiro's voice was a low growl in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"I said, that's enough."

His words were emphasized by a harsh slap to your rear, the sudden sting making you gasp. You bit back a moan, reluctantly stilling your hips. You could feel the evidence of your arousal soaking through your panties and staining Soshiro's pants.

"Good girl," he rumbled, his hand sliding up your spine to rest at the nape of your neck. "Now, keep quiet, or I'll give ya somethin' to be loud about."

With that, he turned his attention back to the paperwork before him. The tension between you was palpable, and you were desperate for relief. Soshiro's grip on your neck was a reminder of his control over you, and you could feel his cock, still hard and straining against his pants, leaking precum onto your thigh.

The knowledge that he was just as aroused as you, and yet completely in control, sent a new wave of desire through you. Your fingers clenched in his shirt, the only thing keeping you anchored in the storm of sensation.

"Ya should’ve known better, darlin'," Soshiro murmured, his tone laced with barely contained desire. "I taught ya better than to test me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you buried your face in his neck, clinging to him. You knew you'd pushed too far, too hard, and the consequences were just beginning.

"Ya think a little brat like you can handle me, darlin'? Think again," Hoshina hissed, his grip on the back of your neck tightening. You whimpered, squirming in his lap, the pressure of his cock against your aching core making it impossible to think straight. "Yer only job now is to keep quiet, and be a good little fucktoy for me."

His words were punctuated by a sharp bite to your neck, his fangs breaking the skin and sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through your body. You moaned, unable to stop yourself, the ache between your legs growing to an unbearable level.

Soshiro's tongue traced the mark he'd left, soothing the wound and sending a shiver down your spine. His hand trailed down your back, slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt and cupping your ass. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, a wordless reminder of his control.

"Ya better remember this the next time ya try and get cheeky with me, darlin'," he growled, his accent thickening with lust. "Ya might have me wrapped around yer finger, but I can always remind ya who's really in charge here."

The promise in his voice was unmistakable, and you couldn't help but tremble with anticipation. You knew he wasn't bluffing, and the thought of his punishments was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Now, go sit on that couch and keep that hole of yers ready," Soshiro ordered, his hand sliding out from under your skirt and giving your ass a harsh slap. "Ya won't be needin' those panties anymore, so ya can give 'em to me."

You shivered, reluctantly climbing off his lap and obeying his orders. You knew he wouldn't hesitate to follow through on his threats, and you were eager to see what he had planned. Your hands shook as you tugged down your panties, handing them over without a word.

"Good girl," Soshiro praised, tucking your panties in his pocket. He looked up at you, his gaze heated and full of promises. "Now, spread yer legs and wait."

You swallowed, nodding and moving to obey. As you sat down on the couch, your skirt rode up, exposing the slickness between your legs. Soshiro's eyes roamed over your body, drinking in the sight, before he returned his attention to the paperwork before him.

You sat there, legs spread, waiting for him to finish. Your clit throbbed, and your pussy ached for something, anything, to fill it. The minutes seemed to stretch into eternity, and your arousal only grew as Soshiro worked, your juices soaking the leather of the couch.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he finished the last form and set his pen aside.

"Well, darlin', it looks like I'm all done here," he drawled, standing and stretching. He moved around the desk, his footsteps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking his prey. You watched him approach, your heart racing in anticipation.

"I think it's about time I take care of ya, don't ya think?" Soshiro murmured, reaching out to run his fingers through your hair. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and you shuddered. "But first, let's make sure ya're ready for me."

Before you could respond, his hand shot out, grabbing your chin and forcing your mouth open. Without warning, his other hand slipped inside his pocket, pulling out the lacy panties you'd given him. Before you could protest, he shoved them inside your mouth, muffling any sound you could make.

"Ya know the rules, darlin'," he chuckled darkly. "If I wanna use ya like a fucktoy, I'm gonna do it however I like."

His fingers tightened around your chin, holding you in place as his free hand dipped between your thighs, tracing along the wetness that had coated your lips. You squirmed, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you, but Soshiro's grip was firm, his fangs glinting in the dim light as he smiled.

"Ah, look at ya, darlin'," he said softly, his thumb circling your clit and making you moan. "All wet and ready for me, like a good little fucktoy."

His fingers dipped lower, slipping inside your entrance and stretching you. You gasped, the taste of your own juices mingling with the fabric in your mouth. Soshiro's fingers were rough and calloused, his pace unrelenting, and the feel of his knuckles rubbing against your walls was maddening.

"I'm gonna make sure ya're nice and ready for me," he growled, his thumb pressing down on your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "Ya'd better come quickly, darlin', or I'll leave ya like this, aching and needy, and make ya watch while I jerk off."

His words were a potent combination of threat and promise, and you could feel your orgasm approaching with alarming speed. Your body was already oversensitive from his earlier teasing, and the roughness of his fingers only added to the sensation.

You writhed beneath his touch, your moans muffled by the makeshift gag in your mouth. Soshiro's thumb flicked your clit, his fingers curling inside you, and the pleasure was overwhelming. Your walls clenched around his fingers, and your orgasm crashed over you, your cunt gushing and drenching his hand.

"That's a good girl," Soshiro purred, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on your skirt. "Now, we can really begin."

With that, he yanked the fabric from your mouth, tossing it aside. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pulling you up, bending you over his desk and tugging your skirt down to expose your ass.

"Time to make use of this naughty little hole," Soshiro hissed, slapping your ass and making you moan. "And remind ya who's really in charge here."

[seelie-buddy]

Put your head on my shoulder

summary : alhaitham keeps you company after you had a tiresome day, but he doesn't realise when you drift off into dreamland

contains : alhaitham is glad to see you rest after you finished off a tiresome task ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 545

The solitary silence of Razan Garden allowed it to be the perfect place where Alhaitham could visit after his work hours. It was a place he often frequented as a student, and it was during one such visit, that he had met you.

So when the scene from his memories was recreated, as the last rays of sunlight danced on the horizon, he could only smile.

As his boots clicked silently on the stone path, he could see you sitting down beside the decorative flowers; your belongings were scattered hastily and your attention was devoted to frowning at the notebook resting on your thighs.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he approached you, making sure not to step on any of your stationery.

You glance up at him for a brief moment, and the tiresome look in your eyes was not foreign to him.

"I've been going over this equation for a while, and my solution is far from the answer."

Ah, so that's what was bothering you.

Alhaitham acknowledged your dilemma with a hum, as he glanced over your notebook.

The page was littered with numericals, lots of crossed out answers, and ink smudges.

"My entire project is dependent on getting these calculations accurate, and I've been trying for so long," you groaned, rubbing the heel of your palm over your eyes.

With how you managed to stain your hands with ink, Alhaitham was curious about how none got on your face. "When is it due?" He asked instead.

"The day after tomorrow," you answered, staring down at the miserable mess that is your notebook.

"You'll sort it out until then."

You looked up from the notebook and towards the other, who had already begun to read a book whilst you whined.

You hummed, repeating his words over in your mind. You'll sort it out.

Alhaitham's eyes drifted away from his book at the sound of your pen scratching against the page of your notebook. You began anew on a fresh, blank page; he smiled.

The sun, now fully hidden below the horizon, allowed the moon to light up the city. Alhaitham felt a weight against his shoulder, prompting his eyes to move away from his book.

Oh.

You were asleep.

How much time passed, he did not know, but he could wager up a guess of somewhere between an hour and two.

Your eyes were shut, and your hair occasionally flowed with the soft wind, and now that you were asleep, you appeared more at peace; undisturbed by the world, not a worry on your mind.

Alhaitham's eyes shifted from you to the notebook resting on your lap. The page was filled with calculations, but at the end, highlighted, was the solution. Running over the numbers in his head, he guessed you had finally arrived at the answer you were looking for.

In the life of a scholar, everyday was filled with competition and challenges; he was glad you had one burden less off your mind.

And he wouldn't allow the noise of the students walking through the garden disturb this peace you gained.

Without shifting much, he removed the headset he wore, and placed it over your ears. Now, Alhaitham smiled softly at your sleeping figure, you can rest without the world interrupting.

request, by🌙 anon :

hihi, i wanted to let you know that i enjoyed your recent diluc fic like alot♡

is it alright if i request something similar? as in, reader being tired and falling asleep on the character and they dont mind? if you dont mind could this be for like maybe al haitham?

also, could i be🌙 anon?

a/n : aww thanks nonnie! this was fun to write!!

p/s : If you have any other requests, don't hesitate to send in an ask!!

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Muse 🖌️| Ameond Tagaryen Headcanon

GOT/HOTD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen marrying a noble who sketches/paints would look like:

To no surprise, your union to Aemond was a political alliance between your houses. Therefore you put on a brave face, accepted your duty, and courted the Prince for a short time before the wedding. In that time you learned a few things about Aemond, as he was rather reserved in the beginning, and you were the same. Civilized conversations, setting boundaries and expectations of the marriage, and promising not to cross the others line. 

Having fell in love with art at a young age, you were always sketching in your notebook when alone--as your father discouraged your hobbies and expected you act like the rest of the people in court. So, hidden behind the walls of your chambers or in an empty courtyard with a quill or charcoal in hand, you sketched the beauties around you. The Godswood, the Blackwater Bay. The Septa Baelor and the Red Keep. Committing the image of the Iron Throne to memory, you inked a page with the mighty chair. 

Beneath your bed you kept a trunk filled with oil paints, brushes, canvases, and other supplies you'd manage to accumulate by sneaking out to Flea Bottom with the one maid you trusted. (Not to mention you paid her a descent coin to keep your secret). All you sketched in your notebook soon took claim to a canvas. Capturing the beautiful scenery of King's Landing, you painted ships sailing in with a dragon flying in the background. Standing for hours from your bedchamber balcony, taking days or even weeks to finish the masterpiece. 

With each finished portrait, you yearned for the next. Spending all your coin and pawning off materialist things given on namedays to rather buy supplies. Soon the only person besides your maid who knew of your secret hobby/talent was Helaena. You'd often spend time with the Princess and her children that one day, when asked about things that made you happy, you told her about your art. She instantly became intrigued, requesting to see the sketches/paintings and after thinking about it you eventually did show her. 

Helaena was in awe of your work. "I've seen many paintings in the castle, and none have captured the King's Landing the way you do. You have an eye for beauty---I think you'd paint the family portraits better than the man they always hire." Soon your meetings evolved to you sitting by the windowsill sketching while Helaena focused on her embroidery while the children played. As a surprise nameday present for the Princess, you gifted her a portrait of her and the twins flying upon Dreamfyre. "This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received. I shall cherish it forever and pass it on to my daughter when she's older." 

Around this time, you and Aemond's relationship progressed. You two went on walks, talked more and more with each day, and accompanied him to tourneys and banquets. Your admirations for him grew, turning into genuine love roughly four moons into your marriage. Long hours in the library, watching him train, and waiting for the other to arrive at the table before diving into your meal. Quality time became the thing you both valued in your relationship. Growing to compliments and light kisses to the cheek. 

Aemond had no idea of your talent. Yet he did often wonder where you'd disappear to for hours. He'd see the ink on your hands and assume you were writing letters back home. Then he noticed charcoal stains and oils on your clothes. Since your chambers were still separate, he had no knowledge of your supplies hidden under your bed or how there was an easel on the balcony where you often painted. 

It wasn't until he caught sight of the painting in the nursery that Aemond discovered your knack for the arts. Helaena had been embroidering while the children played, and you were having tea with the Queen, when Aemond asked his sister where she got the painting commissioned. Not realizing you hadn't told her brother, Helaena responded with, "Your spouse surprised me with it on my nameday. They painted it themself---Isn't it lovely?" To say he was stunned was an understatement. Aemond's jaw had dropped, scanning over the canvas with intensity, muttering so low Helaena barely heard him, "It is...exceptional."

On a mission to find you, Aemond hurried the halls with haste, now aware why you always had stains on your clothes and ink on your hands. Why you spent hours in the gardens and looked tired at breakfast. When he did eventually find you, Aemond simply said, "Why did you never tell me you liked to draw and paint?" Of course you were caught off guard, becoming nervous and shrunk under his gaze, "I did not think it was important. I was always told arts and music was not for someone of noble rank like us. I feared you'd be disappointed with me." 

Aemond was a little hurt you kept your love for art hidden but understood. And from then on he made it his goal to learn everything he could about the subject. Trading gifts of jewelry for oils, charcoals, and inks. Making sure you had enough parchment and canvases. Aemond never pressured you to show him your work, knowing how personal it is for an artist, and instead asked about your progress. Beaming at the way you instantly light up and spoke with pride. 

He had a feeling you sketched him in your notebook. Catching you glancing up at him multiple times when he reads in the library, your hand scattering across the page with ease. Aemond would purposefully maintain his position even when he's finished the book, as to not move and make you mess up. Smiling at the charcoal staining your fingers and silently hoping one day you'd allow him to see what inked your parchment. 

Completely unaware he became your source of inspiration. Your muse. You not only sketched Aemond reading, but him training in the yard. Him speaking to his mother, his brother. Aemond with the twins. Aemond watching Vhagar patrol the skies and feeding his horse. You were mesmerized with everything about him. The Prince who conquered obstacles that made you feel like you were the only person on the planet. Aemond was your heart and soul. He was your muse. 

And so on your 1-year anniversary, you surprised your husband with a gift he never would've expected. A painting of him and Vhagar. The one-eyed prince, known for his stoic nature, was nearly reduced to tears by the emotion consuming his entire being. His finger trailing over the scales of his dragon, the details of his riding gear and scar. How you managed to make it look like they were flying in the sky. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, "One day, if you allow me, I would love to have you sit for me for a portrait." 

And when that time came, Aemond sitting in his pristine clothes, bearing his sapphire eye to you as a proclamation of his love and trust for you, you brought out your finest oils and brushes. Painting the man you loved the way you saw him, a beauty in the eyes of the beholder. A muse to an artist. 

[frostbitebakery]

for @ferretrade

.Hashmarks

“I’ve seen a few troopers commemorating their kills with those,” Aayla comments, pointing her stylus at his collarbone where his shirt has slipped down.

It’s absolutely sweltering on this planet whose name Bly is saving in his long term memory just to avoid it in the future. Breathing feels like swallowing water, sitting still has him sweating more profusely than the 16-hour battle sims they endured during training. So of course his temp-regulating undersuit is shot to hell and their quartermaster is a mean bastard trying to teach him a lesson in taking better care of his stuff.

Bly had wanted to cry and beg for mercy.

Instead he had narrowed his eyes, nodded once in menacing silence, and turned back to his duties, hoping to instill at least some fear and regret in Q.

Aayla, his cruel savior, had crinkled her nose at him and offered a very large, very billowy shirt when he had sweat-squelched his way to their command tent. “It’s Quinlan’s, originally,” she had explained at his curious look. “He didn’t want it anymore.”

“Too many sleeves?” Bly had guessed hazardously.

So now he’s sitting in shorts and a billowy shirt at their shared desk, the collar constantly slipping off his shoulder because Vos is huge, and it’s an all-around aggravating situation. Except Aayla who’s lovely and can do no wrong, obviously. But who’s also taking an interest in his tattoos which Bly is not prepared for since his brain is actively melting.

“They’re for my batch mates,” he thus replies to her inquiry.

While the frown is settling into her features, her eyes flick down to count the marks.

Bly kind of wants to cringe. Oops.

“I thought batches were… decanted,” bless her for stumbling over that word, “in fives?”

He leans back, shrugs deliberately which has the added bonus of the shirt hiding the hashmarks again. “Now, yeah.”

“Cody, Wolffe, Fox,” she counts, her eyes boring into him. She’s like a massif with a bone, and there are moments Bly wants to be a chew toy. Sadly, this isn’t one of them. “I’m sorry about Ponds,” she says, means it with all her heart. “And you. I thought that was your batch?”

“Now. Yeah,” he repeats, half-smile lifting one side of his mouth. Does his best to not let the relief be palpable for her senses.

.Lightning

“Does it really have to mean anything when it looks this cool?” He almost cracks his neck trying to look at his back in the mirror. Lightning bolts strike out from his spine, wrapping around his upper arms like electric wings.

So cool.

“Your body, your choice,” Aayla says diplomatically.

Never mind the nay-sayers.

.Tic Tac Toe

“Ow,” Bly groans.

“Fucking tubie,” Squid hisses at him, bloody hands doing stuff way too fast for him to follow, “stop crying, it’s just a flesh wound.”

Holy hell, but the spots in front of his eyes do seem to grow larger. “You’re holding my innards,” he points out just as Squid throws away something bloody. “Don’t I still need that?”

“That was a wound pad, stupid.”

Wow, the black spots are in color now. “Mind the regs, soldier,” he slurs out.

Squid pulls a bandage - when did he do that? He’s incredible. He makes tattoos and medic stuff! - way too tight. “Commander Stupid,” he relents with another harsh pull. Bly pouts at him. “Congrats, you won the game.”

Bly weakly fist bumps the air. “Yay.”

.327

“Well,” he huffs out with a chuckle, leans back against the hull, “they’re my everything. Body, heart, soul. I’m ready to die for them.”

“They’re ready to die for you, too,” Aayla says quietly.

“Yeah.” He watches her roll the mug a trooper, long gone, made for her between her hands. “Wish they’d stop that.”

.Splinters

Squid wipes away the excess ink with ease and practice. “Well, it looks as stupid as you wanted it to. My work here is done.”

“Are you sure you can’t see the tattoo underneath?”

“Of course.” Squid pulls off the stained gloves, throwing him a judging side-eye. “No one will know what exactly you “hearted”, Commander.”

.Text

“Out of my way,” Aayla reads off his hand while he is unfairly under the influence of way too many drugs, “Rippin off my flesh, so you can’t recognize me, anymore.”

“I was an angsty youth,” he explains, maybe still sore about Wash forgetting the g in ripping.

She nods sagely. “That explains your taste in music.”

“I love polka.”

“No, the other one—“ She pats his hand which she’s still holding. His hand is so lucky. “Never mind. When you get out of here I’m introducing you to grunge and taking you flannel-shopping.”

His head is already nodding. His body is awesome at responding. “You’re like my sugar daddy,” he compliments her. Her and her twin. No, that can’t be right. He blinks and there’s only one Aayla again.

She snorts at him. “Showing you the holonet has been a mistake and keeps me up at night.”

.Flowers

“I wanna be a hi—,” Bly hiccups, fumbles with his drink before it goes all over Cody. “Hibi—“

“Hibiscus,” Fox suggests more drily than his drink.

“That one! I wanna be a hibiscus in my next life.” Just chilling in the sun all day, getting watered.

“I wanna be a spexcel sheet,” Cody says to the soaked through napkin which is stuck to his face but also to the table.

“We know,” the rest of them say in unison.

Man, being a hibiscus would be amazing. He will not remember this by morning.

Bly sits up in alarm at that revelation, spills his drink over Cody anyway. “I will not remember wanting to be a hibiscus,” he says, keeps his voice from wobbling by the skin of his teeth.

“You could write it on Cody the spexcel sheet to remember,” Wolffe suggests, pats Cody’s head when vague grunts of agreement sound from the napkin.

“Or,” Fox drawls out with a slow grin.

.

Bly very carefully tugs on the bandage with squinting eyes. The foil and adhesive separating from his skin is loud as fuck but needs must when it comes to facing the fallout of a drunken night. The bandage slowly reveals tender but well-healing skin, gold and a dark brown accentuating his skin.

He stares.

“This is not a hibiscus.”

[inkdemonapologist]

hi hello my new BatDR ship is "Inky Homunculus Created To Suffer x Lingering Memory Of The Man Who Tormented Him"

[allfearstofallto]

Day of the Wedding

Yandere! Genshin Men x Fem! Reader

Ft: Diluc, Childe, Scaramouche

Forced Marriage AU

TW: Yandere Themes, Forced(?) Alcohol Consumption

AN: I checked today and I have 900 followers??? That's actually insane!!! This is what I've got to offer I guess!!

Diluc

Who wouldn't cry tears of joy when marrying the most desired bachelor of Mondstadt? That's what people thought when they saw you dressed from head to toe in pure white, the only thing throwing your princess attire off being your smeared makeup. Your eyes, so red and puffy, had mascara running down your cheeks. Black tears staining your face.

Despite the way you looked, you still forced a smile. It was a small wedding, containing only those close to the both of you, but your family couldn't help, but wonder why you chose to stay close under your newly wed husband, almost seeming afraid to talk to them.

When the vows were spoken, you could barely get the words out. Your voice shaking through sobs as your tears fell upon the page of written notes, eventually making the ink leak and becoming ineligible. You still spoke your I Do’s, followed by him lifting your veil and kissing you right upon your lips. His hand snaked around your waist and the other held your head in place. But you, you stood there stiffly, like kissing him had made you turn into stone.

Diluc pulled away with a smile, his mouth stained with a slight tint of your lipstick. He walked you back down the aisle, with the crowd throwing rice and cheering. On the happiest day of your life where you were supposed to be looking forward ahead of you, you just kept looking back, hoping that your family could see the distress in your eyes, though they never did.

Childe

So many of Childe's siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles came to the wedding, but not a single one of your family members joined you.

“She's not close to her family,” he'd say, holding on to your waist with a threatening hand. That was a lie. You loved your family. You saw them often, at least, you did before the day you abruptly decided to move to Snezhnaya without a word to them. You hadn't seen them since and they didn't know where to send letters, you were essentially a ghost of their past. Your memory haunted them daily as they missed you dearly and you missed them too.

The wedding lasted days and days. A surprise to even you, but apparently that's tradition. Games and singing. There was dancing happening for what felt like hours. And drinking. So so so much drinking. With a feast that spanned almost an entire table, there was an abundance of alcohol to match.

You could hardly keep up with the festivities. In an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people being wed to a man you thought you knew. Childe wouldn't let you show your discomfort on your face, meeting your lips with a glass of whatever he was drinking, you'd gulp down even more and fall into that drunken dizziness. When the wedding ended, you don't exactly remember. It all became a blur near the end. But you remember waking up to Childe laying you down in bed, placing a kiss on your forehead and whispering words of praise to you that would've been comforting, had it not been for who he was.

Scaramouche

He always adored the way you looked in kimono. Today was no different. The pure white silk draped over your body was by far the nicest one he'd gifted you. Dolled up in traditional make-up, you felt so stiff with your now decadent appearance.

You'd feel less scared if he wasn't still wearing that same glare. That same look of anger and disappointment. Even though it was just the two of you in the room, you him and the officiant who would wed the two of you, he still glared at the man like one mistake would kill him. And it probably would.

Your hand shook as you picked up what looked to be the tea pot, something he made you practice time and time again to prepare just for today. Getting it wrong today would mean facing his wrath later, yet you still shook while pouring it into the small bowl. You watched with a pounding heart as you managed to spill some, dripping onto the floor and sinking between the wood.

Meeting his gaze and preparing for a scolding, you instead saw him lightly chuckle. Seldom did he smile and even more rare than that, did he actually laugh. The sight was even scarier than his usual glares, somehow his joy made him seem even more menacing.

“I expected this much from you,” he whispered into the silence. His nimble fingers gripped the rim of the bowl and he brought it to your lips, making you take a sip of the warm alcohol. It was bitter and disgusting, just as you'd remembered. When you swallowed your sip, he took one right after you, finishing off what was left in the dish, then sitting it to the side again.

Your names were signed onto a piece of parchment, a wedding document written in traditional Inazuma script. You couldn't read a word of it, but there was no worse contract than the one that said you'd be his lawfully wedded wife.

Scaramouche held your hand as the two of you walked out of the shrine, his fingers cold and his grip tight. It was such a beautiful day out. That was all you could think about as you were walked back to his carriage which would take you to his home. Your last day as a truly free woman, you were glad it was beautiful.

[miguelhugger2099]

Punk!Miguel who’s proud of his tattoos. At least most of them. He has some professionally done and others were stick and pokes from when him and Gabriel were younger.

Punk!Miguel who watches you with a smile when you touch up and down his arm. He hides the shivers down his spine when your perfectly manicured pink and green nails rake across the art decorated on him.

“What’s this one?” You poke at a terrible done smiley face, it was a little blobbed but barely noticeable with the much nicer ones done around it.

“One of the first tries my brother did on me when he was starting out.”

“And you kept it?” You tilt your head with a scrunch of your nose. Miguel laughs.

“Sentimental value.”

You scoff. “No way.”

“Yeah, way.” He takes your hands and pulls you closer, lugging you forward onto his lap where you belonged. Getting yourself comfortable you placed your hands on his chest.

“Are you just gonna have them on your arms?” You ask, tugging down his shirt for a peek at any new ones. Miguel smirks and stops your peeking by tsking and shaking his head—a knowing look on his face.

“Course not but tattoos cost money, babe.”

“You should get one of me.” You pout your lips, crossing your arms that makes you seem snobbish.

“What? Like get one of your face?” He laughs and leans back on his hands.

“No! Like—I dunno! Something sentimental about…me?” You look away, feeling the prickling embarrassment crawling up your neck. “Never mind!”

“Oh, so you want to be on my body, huh?” He teases, taking your hand and sliding it under his tank top to feel his warm stomach, faint dips of abs.

“You know what I mean!” You whine, feeling frozen with him holding your hand in place. He can’t help but find you adorable. Letting go of your hand to come around your waist as he leans up again, one hand coming down to cup your ass. He swallows your squeak with a kiss, unable to stop himself from biting into your sweetness.

Punk!Miguel who—even if he teased you about it—actually adored the idea of having a tattoo of you on him.

Punk!Miguel who thought day and night of what could represent you. Flowers he felt was done often, your name was cute but basic and anything else could very well be mistaken for something else. He wanted something that was obviously you.

Punk!Miguel who was rearranging his room again, bustling through various boxes for some spring cleaning.

Punk!Miguel who found his box of memories from when you two first began dating. It had been filled with all your gifts and letters you’d given him—every last piece saved securely in the corner of his room.

He smiles as he opens the box up again. Some pieces of papers falling out and the little broken keychain you got to match with him until it snapped when he accidentally sat on it.

He sits at his desk, flipping through the pages and tiny plushies you’ve given him. His heart swelling at the swirls in your writing with blue ink—the bunny pen you always wrote with.

The smile on his face continues as he reads through your words of love for him—words that you often found too difficult to say. He slams his forehead on the desk, blush coating his cheeks and ears while he groans loudly.

Each letter you’d given him ended with a print of your kiss mark at the very bottom. Some of it was a matte red, others was a faint glitter stain, but most of it was a soft pinkish color. The kind that was glossy and gave you just enough color that it looked tinted and natural.

His finger grazes the mark, an idea popping in his head.

Punk!Miguel who goes to a tattoo shop he was very well acquainted with, with an artist he knew extra well.

He slams his arm on the counter where a man was behind it, sucking on a lollipop and doodling in his sketchbook. The guy raises an annoyed brow.

“Do you have any space open for a walk-in client?” Miguel asks with a smirk.

“I don’t have space for annoying ones.” He sighs and puts his drawing pad away.

“I have money this time, Gabri. Plus, family discount.”

Punk!Miguel who is both afraid and excited to show you what he’s done to himself. He feels his heart hammering while he preps himself to show you. He’d done the aftercare as precisely as possible, taking extra care of it because this was no ordinary tattoo.

Punk!Miguel that lets you take off his shirt when he tells you he’s gotten a tattoo of you.

Punk!Miguel who smiles with amusement when you gasp and hit his arm that you were joking before! That tattooing is a permanent thing! He tells you that he knows.

His heart stills when you eyes land on his chest. On his left side, where his heart would be was your kiss mark. Just like the ones you left on the letters you used to give him.

You touch your lips subconsciously, your other set of fingers hovering over his lifted skin. You look up for permission and he nods, brining himself closer.

You marvel at the piece of work that replicated your lips. “Oh, Miguel…” You sigh, blinking back tears.

“Are you getting emotional?”

“No!”

He brings you to his chest in a tight hug, your hand still resting beside your kiss mark now permanently etched on his person—a permanent reminder that he is yours and that he loves you.

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 4 ]

xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx

A/N: This is all angst and fluff because I'm working on two other smut fics. Please accept this impromptu filler chapter for now (I'm sorry ❤️). I hope you enjoy it anyway.

WARNINGS: [ SFW ] + [ SLIGHTLY MATURE THEMES ] + [ FLUFF ] + [ ANGST ]

xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx

You waited patiently for Alastor, standing at the window, admiring the fading moon as the sun's rays gradually inked the sky. It’d been a longer night than you imagined, but you felt energized rather than overtly exhausted.

You supposed that's what having a child felt like: tiring but never lacking excitement. A smile crept onto your face at the thought, heart racing at the image of a small hand wrapping around your finger and the possible jingle of childish laughter following the gesture. It was all you could think about.

Would they resemble you or Alastor more?

A boy or maybe a girl?

Twins?… Oh, twins would be so extraordinary but troublesome!

Oh, who am I to complain… they'd be just as lovely as Alastor.

You jumped from one thought to the next, unable to keep track of your puzzling emotions but deciding your only concern should be the present. With a steadying breath, you gazed around the room, searching for something to do or a task to occupy yourself with since sleep failed you. The room was spotless besides your belongings, which you'd already reorganized after stealing one of Alastors dress shirts to replace your blood-stained nightgown. There was a bookshelf full of various stories tucked into a corner near an old rocking chair, and the idea of reading to relax didn't seem terrible.

“A good story can be grand entertainment…”

Your father coined the phrase and always followed it with an unbelievable bedtime reading. Those nights filled with his storytelling were your fondest childhood memories, and you considered passing the sentiment onto your child. You imagined Alastor more prone to telling bedtime stories; he had the charisma, the soothing voice for it, and you had no doubt they'd become attached to him doing so.

Your smile grew wider, getting ahead of itself as you waltzed over to the tall mahogany bookshelf. “Hm…what shall we read, little one?” you placed a hand on your stomach, gently rubbing circles against it as your other grazed the worn book spines. Each title caught your eye, all ranging in subject but consistent with what Alastor told you about his mother's efforts to advance his literacy.

“Some might say she willed proper speech out of me, but I wouldn't be where I am now without such vigorous practice…”

He was far from wrong; your father had educated you similarly, claiming that despite young women of the time being expected to rely on their beauty, you'd advance farther with brains.

“Let's see..” you mumbled aloud, reading a few titles to narrow your decision, “…perhaps Penny Dreadful? No, The Grim Brothers Tales’?..” A soft giggle left your lips as you considered how ridiculous you sounded speaking aloud, but it couldn't be helped. You were longing to talk, to shout with joy, but resisted the urge in fear of causing a minor disturbance.

Finally, a book held your attention, not as worn as the others but fairly withered. “Alice in Wonderland shall do.” You pricked it from the shelf, sitting in the rocking chair while opening its front cover. The words on each page were familiar, immersive as intended, and for a few quiet moments, you thought of nothing but its premise as you whispered nonsensical sentences in their written order.

Time passed quicker than you thought; by the third chapter, you heard the bedroom door creak open, and in stepped a refreshed Alastor. You beamed a coy smile his way as he shut the door behind him, returning your smile with tired eyes while walking over to you, “Mornin’ darlin’..”

“Good morning, mon cher. You look much better.” you muse as he leans down to kiss your head, “Thank you, sweetheart. Once I get some rest, I might feel better as well.” He doesn't stand up fully, content with being at eye level with you to converse, and you unconsciously blush from the intensity of his gaze. Strands of his hair were curled into its natural waves, dripping with tiny water droplets, slithering down his mocha skin with every breath he took. It was a miracle his glasses didn't fog up, resting neatly on his face and doing nothing but accentuating his piercing brown eyes.

You could get lost in his stare; that ocean of amber took your breath away effortlessly, and you wondered if the trait would pass on to your child.

Indeed, it would… surely he'd love it.

A lump formed in your throat as anxious excitement built in your chest. You needed to tell him calmly, but the longer you waited, the more you wanted to hide away.

Did he want this?

“I’d love you and our child more than anything…”

He'd said it himself, but it was hard for you to deny that Alastor was very vague with his genuine emotions. Even as his wife, you found him hard to read

There was only one way for you to find out, and stalling wouldn't solve anything. Alastor studied your expression as you thought, perceptive to the minor changes in your mood, “My dear, are you alright?” he asked firmly. You perk up, nodding slowly while clutching the book to your chest, “I-Im, I'm fine... It's just that I have to tell you something rather delicate..”

Alastor raised a brow, watching as you bit your lip and stared at your lap, “The news you alluded to earlier this evening?” His eyes narrow, glinting with prowess as he ponders the possibilities of your announcement.

With a heavy sigh, you nod again, shutting the book before placing it in your lap, gripping it tight with one hand as the other instinctively rests on your stomach. You feel his gaze shift from your face, fixated on your abdomen, as you stumble out an explanation.

“I. Well, I'm… “ you cut yourself off when words fail, reaching for his hand gently, placing it over your own as a nervous smile adorns your face.

Oh…does she mean to say?…

Alastor froze as the warmth of your skin settled against his palm, rising and falling in a gentle pattern as you willed yourself to breathe normally while gauging his reaction. His shadows quivered in the darkness of the room, able to hear two faint heartbeats underneath the drum of your own, and the definitive sound brought a grin to his face.

It seems she's given us exactly what we hoped for. Twice the yield as well.

How delightful.

Alastor knelt before you, placing both hands on your stomach, eyes soft with affection as he finally voiced his thoughts.

“My darling wife is going to be a mother..” pride laced his tone as he averted his gaze to yours, grin ever present as you nodded excitedly with a bright smile, “And you're going to be father..” you whisper.

Your words drifted quietly in the air, sinking into Alastor’s consciousness and stirring his specters into a giddy frenzy.

My wife is having my children…

Mine and only mine.

A laugh rippled in his chest as the possessive thought invaded his mind, growing stronger as he heard your delighted giggles join his. “Come here, darlin’…” Alastor lifted you with one gentle tug on your wrists, catching you in his arms as your feet hovered off the ground. “Alastor!” you yelped excitedly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and laughing more as he pecked your lips tenderly. You hummed into the passionate kiss, arms locking around his neck as you kicked a foot up gingerly. He tasted like mint, calm, and refreshing. A welcomed contrast to the waning heat you felt as your nerves winded down.

He was pleased to know, which filled your heart with relief.

——- ——- ———

“Oh, my stars! Al! Y/n! I'm overjoyed for you both!” Rosie shot up from her seat, dress flowing as she glided around the coffee table to squeeze you in a tight hug as you set out the platter of sweets you'd finished baking moments ago. “Thank you, Rosie. I still can't believe it myself,” you blushed as she squealed, drawing back a bit to cup your face with both hands; her eyes sparkled with admiration as she looked between you and Alastor -who sat comfortably in an armchair. He hadn't stopped grinning since your return home from the countryside, rambling on and on to his mother about the news until the last minute, and he insisted on telling Rosie as soon as you stepped foot in New Orleans again. She was his long-time friend, after all, yours as well, by extension, and so you didn't mind revealing the news to her. Just as his mother felt like your own, Rosie filled the space of an older sister for you. She was energetic, fashionable, and constantly aware of everyone's lives.

She was a true gossip girl, but you enjoyed her company more than others.

“Al, you devil! You could've waited another year to knock my dearest friend up! Now, who will I take out on the town?..” She huffed dramatically but couldn't hold her frown as you giggled softly while he waved a hand dismissively. “I'm sure you'll survive, my dear.” he quips. Rosie rolls her eyes, returning his nonchalant gesture with an equally smug smirk, “I suppose you're right. Although, my nights out won't be as thrilling anymore with you gone being a new father and such, Al.”

He sat straighter. You happened to catch the slightest frown on his face at Rosie’s comment, but it vanished when he felt your eyes on him. “I'll accompany you on occasion when time allows it.” His response is politely chaste, and one might deem it disappointing.

Was he bothered by the notion of having less time with Rosie?

You knew they ventured to socialite parties together regularly, something they'd done long before you married him, but you never questioned it since Rosie assured you it was their fun hobby. Still, you felt concerned that Alastor could regret the idea of children if it meant a less spontaneous party going with his oldest friend.

You opened your mouth to say something, stepping towards where he sat, but Rosie grabbed your hands and whisked you away to sit on the plush sofa with her. “We must discuss everything Y/n. Having a child is no small feat, and I know Al won't spare any expense.” She grinned, squeezing your hands gently, and you smiled back at her before sparing your husband a curious glance. “He spoils me too much already, so I think he'll naturally do the same for the baby,” a soft laugh floated from you, and he tipped his head reassuringly while pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. “Whatever their little heart desires, I shall give,” he replies calmly, standing to his feet and gazing between you and Rosie. “It's about time I head on over to the station. I don't suppose you’ll be leaving anytime soon, Rosie?”

You checked the grandfather clock that stood against the adjacent wall, noticing it was nearly time for his broadcast to begin, “Seems we lost track of time.” you smiled apologetically at Alastor. He shook his head while chuckling, “It's not your fault, darling. I got caught up listening to this one ramble,” he gestured to Rosie before walking over to the parlor room coat stand. He pricked his preferred overcoat, slipping it on quickly as she glared at his back. “Is that any way to speak of your child’s future honorary aunt and godmother!” she faked a skeptical look to which you feigned concern, “Oh, my dear Rosie, he didn't mean it, I swear!”

Alastor turned on his heel, biting back a more comprehensive smile as he admired the two of you carrying on, “I will not apologize for telling the truth, ma chère, but Rosie does have the privilege of godmother so that for I will ask for her forgiveness.” he stood behind the sofa, leaning down a bit to kiss you once then twice before pulling away with a content hum.

Rosie watched the sweet exchange, able to separate the manic version of Alastor she killed from the doting husband he was in your presence, proud to see him so controlled and happy. He pulled away from you, adoring the glimmer in your eyes as you reached a hand up to adjust his glasses, “I love you,” you whisper, and he blanks for a moment, hearing the endearing phrase.

Love…is that what this is?…

Would it be so wrong to say it back?…

A flash of vulnerability crosses Alastor’s face, and you're tempted to take your words back, but he beats you to speak. “Je t'aime aussi..” he mutters back, stepping away to bid Rosie a proper goodbye, “Take good care of her while I'm gone.” he kisses her cheek, and she swats his arm, “Oh, you know I will. Now run along before you're late!” He heads to her, scolding her out the door in seconds, leaving you in her company.

“I thought he'd never leave,” Rosie chirps, glad to have some privacy to speak with you and eager to get down to the details you had to tell. “Tell me, how do you feel, honey? I know this all might be terrifying you…” she spoke softly, pricking a freshly baked cookie from the platter you set out, and you nodded timidly in agreement while fidgeting with your hands.

“I'm scared, yes, but not of being a mother. You know I've always wanted to be one. It was my biggest dream when I came of age, and I'm glad it's coming true with Al..” You rested a hand on your stomach, feeling it flip at the mention of him, and luckily, no urge to throw up followed.

Thank goodness for Angelique and her tonics!

She'd given you a case of vials to take home, all containing a special brew made by her hand, and she'd given you a strict regimen for consuming them.

“Drink two of these twice daily, morning and evening, but only take it after you've eaten. Have Alastor phone me when you need more..”

Whatever was given had a wonderous effect on your mood, reduced your fatigue, and calmed your nerves. You were grateful for her assistance, but not everything you felt could be cured with medicine.

You hoped Rosie would understand, could help calm what the tonics couldn't, so as she peered at you curiously and asked, “What's the matter, dearest?” you inevitably blurted out your worst and only fear.

“I'm afraid of how Alastor will be as a father..”

She blinked, taken aback by your confession, but it didn't show on her face. “May I ask why?”

You hesitated, fidgeting with your hands again as you thought of what to say, but Rosie rested a hand on yours to still them in a gentle grip. “Y/n, it's alright, be honest. He may have been my closest companion initially, but you are my truest friend in this moment. I'm here to listen, not to criticize. He won't hear a word of it, I swear.”

You glanced between your conjoined hands and her kind smile, and after debating whether or not to spill your heart out, you decided it wouldn't hurt to express your doubts.

You could trust Rosie. Right?…

“Well, I know he wants children. He recently told me so, but it's how he'll receive them. Alastor is a complex man, we both know that, but I fear that complexity will make it hard for him to…to..” you tried to phrase the last of your concerns gently, unsure if what you said made any sense to her, but Rosie merely smiled before finishing the thought for you.

“You're afraid he won't show them love?..”

You nod, heart clenching at the thought, “Yes. I know how his childhood went; I was there through it all, so I know his father wasn't the best man. I know what he put his mother through and Alastor hates the idea of becoming like him..”

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, beginning to tear up as memories of Alastor coming to you in the dead of night, bruised and battered but stoic as ever as he asked to sleep next to you in your bed. He'd never tell you what happened, where his father was, or if he'd been majorly injured. You'd have to coax information out of him, promise him that you'd never betray his safety, or tell your father what went on in his family. Then and only then would he relax, let you mend his scars before huddling under the thick covers with you, and though you were both exhausted, you'd whisper stories aloud to each other until the sun peeked through the trees.

It felt odd to wish for times like that to return; they all resorted from darker places, but it brought you two closer. You were able to understand Alastor to an extent most speculated of. With all the insight into his life, you hoped the irrational fears you felt would wither away, but after the incident at his mother's, they just worsened.

It felt as if he were hiding something from you.

At first, the notion piqued your curiosity, but now it ate away at your conscience.

What was he withholding from you, and did you need or want to know more?

Logic voted ‘yes,’ but your trusting nature leaned towards ‘no.’

“He won't ever be like him. I'm sure, but he's only recently expressed he cares for me. Truly loves me, so I suppose I'm afraid of that same affection not being openly expressed to our little one as well.”

Rosie nodded, scooting closer and giving you a tight side hug to calm your frazzled state. “My dear, you have every right to fear such a thing. However, if I may vouch for Alastor, I do believe his softer side will show itself for your child.” You peered at her, hope in your eyes, “Really? You think so?..”

She grins, “I am certain of it! He cherishes you like no other! Unlike my husband, yours is a dime and a man who'd kill for you if necessary.”

You blush, surprised by her claim, “I don't think he'd kill for me, Rosie, but I understand the sentiment.” She scoffs, hand rubbing your shoulders, and retorts, “Yes, he would, and he'd show the same devotion to your bundle of joy.”

Her statement soothed your worries, but the seriousness in her tone made your heart skip a beat.

It felt as though she did know he'd kill for you…kill for your child.

A shiver racked your body at the thought.

I hope it never comes to that…

xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx

What do you guys think of the story so far? I'm just curious to hear your thoughts and theories.❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He may be a monster, but at least he's dedicated to it; morally grey, but honest to his silly little murderous behaviors ❤️ credits to the creator

[expominds]

mdni 18+!, cw: marking, sex, biting, hickeys, brief mention of blood

reblogs are always appreciated!

simon who has a marking kink. this man cannot go a day without doing SOMETHING to you to make sure the world knows your his. whether it be biting, giving you a hickey, carving his initials into your chest (🤭)… the world just has to know.

he’s so obsessive over you :(. even when he’s rutting into you, he’s grunting in your ear, ‘look t’you, your body is mine, isn’t it?’ his short, blunt nails leave crescent moon shapes in your hips as he fucks you like his life depended on it.

you surely have bruises all the time from his death grip, the purple and blue palm shaped contusions steadily fading into that ugly yellow but it never fully goes away because he just can’t. stop. marking you. :(

everytime you’re about and about with your friends, at work, or even with your family, there is always evidence that you belong to him. it started out as a simple hickey on your neck, but this marking thing quickly turned into something much more.

he never thought it about more than bite marks, his teeth breaking your skin, that beautiful crimson color staining the corners of his mouth as he pulls away to admire his work, or hickeys that he would give you whenever you left the house. hickeys, not even in a sexual manner, he would always twirl you around after sucking and nipping at your skin, a picture perfect memory forever engrained in his mind that you are his.

it’s getting to the point where he will buy a tattoo gun and tattoo his name onto your virgin skin, the ink settling deep and forever intertwining you two. his. forever and his only. no other man (or woman) would have you, and he would make sure of that, even if kingdom come.