Cloud 7

27blk If you have an ageless bio—please and respectfully—don’t talk to me. Requests are always welcome 🙂‍↕️

[i-mean-y-not]

WORDS NEVER SAID

Ony would never hurt you.

Ever.

Despite his commanding existence and almost unnerving demeanor. His walls simply crumble at the sight of even a frown marring your face. Your lips are pouting? He’s kissing them with a whispered, “What’s wrong, ma?”

You’re feeling insecure? He’s giving you deep strokes in missionary and telling you how stunning you are.

Having a shitty day? Damn the game, you’re going on a date. That’s how it was, how it’s always been until recently.

As of late, Ony has been distant for lack of a better word.

Not answering his phone when you FaceTime. Coming in and out of your personal apartment whenever he damn well pleases. And evading you like the plague.

You don’t mope around and wait for him to come home.

Oh no.

You reciprocate.

Call it petty, but equal opportunity was a better word for it. You were fine before him and you’d be fine after him. You’re a social person, so as soon as you spot the very first party you see on insta, you’re getting ready. After an hour of doing your routine, you slide on the front seat of your car and happily hum to your destination.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊ ₊˚ ‿︵₊

It’s not until your fourth shot that you realize that your phone is buzzing incessantly in your back pocket.

With a drunken shake of your head, you snatch your phone out of your white jeans. “O” with a pastel blue heart flashes across the screen, and before you have a chance to swipe on the green button, if fades away.

It’s then that you noticed the glaring red numbers of missed calls and messages. The calls are in the double digits and messages are in the triple. Does it mean occur to you that he might be worried? Sure.

Do you care at the moment? Absolutely not. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve been out and amongst the masses. Being a senior in college doesn’t necessarily grant you that much freedom. So for a while you forget that you have anywhere to be or anyone to answer to.

For the next few hours, you’re in a haze, happy and bursting with tequila when you spot familiar eyes from across the room.

Dammit.

Connie Springer’s eyes assess you shrewdly. Beginning at your modest sneakers up until the very lashes that sit atop your lids. And it isn’t a hateful stare perse but it definitely makes you think twice about Ony’s friend group. While maintaining eye contact, he pulls out his phone and you see the efficient way his fingers type on the keyboard. With a final glance your way, he disappears through bodies you can’t even begin to count.

There goes your phone again. It rings once, twice, then three times. And you’re not a scary person, not at all. You laugh at the face of danger and throw caution to the wind majority of the time. This, however, is completely different.

Your phone buzzes like it’s gone haywire and you slowly begin to descend into panic. You know who it is. You find your way to the fridge and gulp down water to begin to break your liquor haze and coupled with the almost certain laborious conversation you’ll have later, you sober up fairly quickly.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊ ₊˚ ‿︵

Driving back to your apartment has never been so dreadful. You purposely stop at all the red lights. You actually obey all the stop signs and you even obey the school zone speed limit signs, not caring in the slightest that it’s already 2 AM in the morning. When you pull into your designated parking spot, there’s not a need to look at the spot next to yours.

He knows that’s his spot.

Everyone else knows that’s his spot.

And no one dare park in it.

You push the off button in your car and slowly begin to make your way to your front door after locking your car. Once you open the front door, contrary to your belief, you’re met with silence.

But not just any silence. No, no this is a silence that speaks one thousand words. Are you staying in the doorway, waiting.

For what? You have no clue.

But you know what’s coming. But once again you can’t bring yourself to care. Kicking your shoes off by the door, you venture to the kitchen and find ramen to soak up the liquor you ingested.

As you’re slurping, you begin to question if he’s actually here. I mean you were sure that was his car and his university blue Jordan’s were snug in their place beside the front door. Placing the bowl in the sink, you venture into the bathroom and pretend not to see the Ony shaped lump other the cover.

The shower you take is refreshing. Coupled with the ramen, the steam works wonders for your inebriated state.You’re lost in thought when you feel rather than see a presence in the bathroom with you.

Before you open your mouth, a gravely voice croons, “So, where you been?”

And instead of answering, you continue scrubbing. Who does he think he is? Coming into your space, questioning your whereabouts? And to top it all off, he’s acting like his snitch friend Connie didn’t already tell him. The water turns colder the longer you stand in here but you can’t bring yourself to get out. He’s leaning against the counter when you finally turn the water off and those signature grey sweatpants sit lowly on his hips.

He’s glaring at you. You would say it makes you feel naked but you literally already are. His dark brown eyes start at your toes and work their way to up and you stand there, slightly amused. That however dissipates when he crowds your space in one swift movement.

“You ain’t hear me ask you a question, ma?” Those grey sweatpants hang loosely on his lips and his abs make you crumble beneath his gaze.

You try to turn your head but his index finger and thumb catch it before you have a chance to. His eyes bore to yours and one bushy but sculpted eyebrow raises in scrutinization. Ony’s never been one for words, either. Either choosing to glance in question or rub at your love handles.

Always gentle. But now, you gulp as he tilts his head slightly to the left. His mouth parts and you see the gold grill cap on his incisor peeks at you. This time when he speaks his chest rumbles with authority.

Each word is spoken slowly and every syllable is enunciated. “Where you been at?”

“Does it matter?”

And it’s not that you wanna argue. It’s the fact that you know that he knows. So, this 21 questions shit doesn’t make the least bit of sense.

“Did I ask?” he counters and you roll your eyes. “That’s how you wanna play this tonight?”

Your face scrunches up and purse your lips annoyed. “Why are you asking when you know the answer to the question?”

He mows right over the inquiry as if what you said doesn’t matter in the slightest. “So, that is how you wanna play it.”

You suck your teeth in annoyance, wishing for this conversation to be over. If you’re being honest, you really don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Nor do you want to. Him going and coming.You trying to hold onto your sanity.

With a sternness that’s unique to you, you simply say, “Get out.”

He takes a deep breath in and his eyes shutter closed.

When they open, there’s a whole other storm brewing beneath those mahogany browns. “Don’t do that.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “No, you don’t do that.”

Your nostrils flare and before you can stop it, the dam breaks. “I want you out, Ony. You’ve been on one the past couple of weeks. I’ve never once questioned you. I don’t know what know what you’re doing or who you’re doing it with.”

You sigh in anguish, because you do care. But you suck it up. “You’re not about to come in and out like my door is always gonna be open for you. Matter of fact, give me my key back.”

His head is shaking as soon as your palm opens. “No.”

“No?” His shoulders drop and so does his head and you watch as he takes a deep breath before looking back up at you.

“Talk to me.”

You want to validate him. Tell him that it’s okay, but the words are stuck in your throat.

Your hands clench into fists and you mumble, “What would you like me to say?” With a purse of your lips you declare,“I’m not an option. Do you understand me? You will not treat me like gum on the bottom of your shoe and waltz in here like you never left. I won’t ask you again. Give me my key.”

He rubs at the back of his neck and the veins in his neck scream in protest. Almost as if he’s physically holding himself back from saying what he wants. He murmurs something quietly, too quietly. Your neck cranes slightly and you hope that signifies what you don’t voice. Then you hear words that sounds like a confession you’ve longed to hear.

“What?” you whisper.

“I love you, alright? Damn.”

Your eyes widen so much, you’re sure that the whites are completely visible. Your mouth opens and closes several times in quiet astonishment. The words haven’t even formed in your mind let alone your mouth.

Your breath becomes a bit heavy and he continues, choosing to explain himself before you can ask. “I’m not good at this feeling shit, bae. You know that. I ain’t never wanted to be around anyone as much as you. Never wanted to punch a nigga in the jaw from just glancing at a woman too long. I’ve never wanted to build a family with anyone before. You make me…fuzzy inside.”

He cringes as soon as he says it but you quirk your lip up at the thought that you feel very similar.

He presses on, “I’ve been gone lately because I wanted to sort my feelings out. Believe me when I say that I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I fucking love you.”

He stuffs his hands in his sweatpants. And his voice cracks and he tries to feign nonchalance when he utters, “Now if you want this key back…you can have it. But you gone have to pry it from me, cause I ain’t giving it up.”

He looks fiercely determined as you make a move to step closer. You’re probably cold by now, but the shock disregards your external temperature. You’ve long since air dried and he flinches when you wrap your arms over his shoulders. You smile into his bare skin when you confess. “I love you too.”

As always, my requests are open! Send some in! :)

[i-mean-y-not]

sooo??💔😭😭😭

It has been delivered 😁

[i-mean-y-not]

“Do you still love me?” it’s spoken as a whisper, but the reaction is all the same. His head snapped back, eyes squinting at you.

“Come again?” he says and it’s not really a question. It’s a hard demand that leaves no room for argument.

And you don’t want to repeat yourself. For a moment, he stares at you, unblinking. His eyes shimmer with an unchecked emotion and you avert your eyes slowly.

It wasn’t supposed to come out like this. It wasn’t supposed to come out at all, really. This was an intrusive thought that somehow meandered out of your mouth.

You look down at your stomach, burgeoning and round. His eyes follow and only then does he allow his eyes to blink. His whole face scrunches together and you mimic the gesture.

“Are-” he pauses, hands hovering over the game controller in his hand. He can read your mind. Being with a person for seven years can do that. You don’t have to say a word for him to understand, and in a way you’re grateful.

But it doesn’t wound you any less when he says, “Are you asking me if I’m attracted to you?”

Your mind stutters as do your words when you respond. You look down depreciatively, hand gesturing to the stained moo moo you adorn. Before pregnancy, you were always the belle of the ball. Opting to dress to the nines at all times. But since you’ve discovered your somewhat unexpected bundle of joy—it’s been a journey of emotions and swollen feet.

You’ve changed. Your body has changed. You’d stopped trying. And you weren’t the woman Eren had fallen in love with.

But you say nothing. Push everything in the very depths of your being and focus on the man that doesn’t everything in his power to make you a kept woman. Somewhere along the way, though, you’d avoid the scale. You’d walk right past the mirror. You’d look at food as if was the absolute worst thing invented.

Eren noticed, of course he did. But he let you process. Afraid that if he pushed you, you’d clam up. But as he hears these untruths and vivid lies fall out of your mouth, he gives you his full attention in earnest.

“If I could eat you, I would.” He says is before he can help it, really. Choosing to be brutally honest rather than leave anymore room for confusion.

Your tuck your teeth into your mouth to try to keep from smiling.

You fail.

He shows his teeth in a gentle yet predatory way in response.

He turns to fully face you now, body shifting on the couch.

“You’ve been silent long enough.” He scoots closer to you and nudges your knee with his. Placing his fingertip right at your temple. "What's going on in there?"

The tears escape your eyes before you can help it. His eyes soften at the sniffles you make but he patiently waits for your sobs to quiet.

Your mind spirals. Honesty is the best policy but the thought of sharing your insecurities makes you sick to your stomach. But he sits there, calm and patient as ever. And when you stop ugly crying and blubbering he sits there, soft gaze intently on you.

“I’m different,” you start, then immediately pause to see if he will interrupt you. He doesn’t, just nods lightly, urging you to continue.

“I’m gaining weight, I’m bloated. I can’t see my feet, Eren.” You pause again in quiet focus to piece together your next words carefully.

“I feel…ugly,” you murmur, eyes casted down.

That gets a rise out of him. He sighs into the air and shakes his head harshly. He takes a deep breath. Then two. Then he’s on you.

Mouth everywhere at once. It’s on your stomach, it’s on your neck, it’s in your cheek. Finally, it’s inside you. You claw at the leather of your couch and your eyes slam shut in pleasure. He eats you through your panties and you want to scream.

“Come on,” he murmurs, and hauls you up. He carries you to your bedroom and it’s there that he whispers all the insecurities you never spoke aloud. He addresses every doubt with a kiss, every worry with a nip, and every fear with a promise that he’ll do better.

And when you wake up in the morning, body aching because of the hours he kept you edged, you smile into the satin pillowcase.

Your stomach is cradled in his wide palms and he pretends not to see the drool at the edge of your lips when he kisses you.

You bask in the glow of the safest thing you’ve ever known.

And he basks in the knowledge that he’ll have you this way forever.

[i-mean-y-not]

its tuesday girlie

I got you twin 🤧

[i-mean-y-not]

please i cannot wait anymore..😭

I'm finishing up, so hopefully Tuesday at the latest 😭 thank you for your patience

[i-mean-y-not]

sooo.. its been more than a few days.

I really admire your tenacity haha and I've cleared my schedule for the week so it'll be done soo, promise 🤞

[i-mean-y-not]

its sunday..🥰🥰 im so impatient for you girlie sorryyy

No need to apologize haha! I know I'm late but I've written and rewritten it a couple times 😂 give me a few more days

[i-mean-y-not]

did you forget my fic?😭😭😭

I didn’t twinn lol I promise! It’s gonna be scheduled for Sunday!

[i-mean-y-not]

so where is my fic by the end of the week girlie..😔😔😔 you writing is so good im impatient

Non-non! I was so excited to write then fell into a slump lmao but I got you! It’ll definitely be done sooon so be on the lookout! Thank you 🥺

[kitschykittie]

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ⊹ ˚ ⸱ ៰ ͘ ࣭ ⸰ * 𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ ₊

ﾟ. December will bring blessings !! ⊹˚ . * 𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ

ﾟ･｡･ﾟ ⊹˚ ⸱ 𖥔 ៰ ͘ ࣭ ⸰ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ⊹ ˚⸱ ៰

[girltalk]

December will be filled with joy.

December will be filled with love.

December will be filled with trust.

December will be filled with peace.

December will be filled with clarity.

December will be filled with miracles.

December will be filled with blessings.

[pittsick]

okay i’m gonna say it: fandoms are kinda dying on tumblr, and they’re starving because nobody reblogs anymore.

like… i don’t wanna be that person but be for real?? likes are cute and all but they do nothing for creators. ZERO. NADA. a reblog is literally the oxygen mask keeping this blue hellsite alive. you say you “love” a fic, an edit, a gifset? then BABES… reblog it. boost it. let it breathe.

half the time creators are out here pouring their entire soul, spine, AND three vertebrae into something just for it to get 200 likes and 3 reblogs, two of which are their own. that’s why people stop posting. that’s why fandoms feel empty. content doesn’t magically fall from the sky — it comes from people who feel seen.

and i promise you: reblogging is free. it costs you like 0.2 seconds and suddenly you’re personally responsible for keeping a whole fandom alive. congrats!! so yeah. if you like something? reblog it. scream in the tags. yell. keyboard smash. put sparkles. do whatever. just don’t let creators feel like they’re shouting into a void.

reblogs feed creators. reblogs keep fandoms thriving. reblogs literally save lives (okay maybe not literally but u get it).

support the creators you love !!!!!! or else we’re all gonna be sitting in empty tags like clowns.

[i-mean-y-not]

hi i love your fics you write so maturely ! can you please do a black fem reader who is pregnant and married to eren and gets insecure of her body and he reassures her with a lotttt (iykyk) thanks!

Thank you non-non! I appreciate the kind words, makes me feel warm inside 🙂‍↕️. You got it! I’ve been in a great writing mood lately, so I’ll have it by the end of the week!

[thememedaddy]

[i-mean-y-not]

Too Little, Too Late

Nanami is a stern man. It’s apparent in the way he does everything.

The way he wakes up at exactly 4:32 AM every morning to fix your family breakfast. He has the Raisin Bran, you have the Cheerios, and your son blueberry pancakes. It’s in the way he always brushes his teeth, washes his face, and gels his hair. In that exact order.

He’s methodical in every sense of the word. When you first met him, you thought he had OCD. Everything was so strict and rigorous for him. So you rarely see him lose control. The first time you saw him cry was at your wedding. Standing at the altar; the tears soaked his face. Then there was the time you gave birth and lost a lot of blood. You were delivered from consciousness to find a hunched over Kento at your bedside.

The third time was the Shibuya incident. You remember vividly how he collapsed into your arms when he finally came home. He’d wrapped you up in his arms and cried hysterically. Fat sobs ripped from his chest. He’d let your son spend the night with you that night. Right in the middle of you two.

Now he’s upset and viscerally so. His mouth is upturned, curled into a sneer. His eyes are low and eyebrows arched. His head is cocked to the left side which signals irritation. If it was the right, it would be desire.

This is not exactly how date night was supposed to go. With him across from you at the table, hands folded and resting within each other. You sit parallel and you stare at your glass of water in quiet fascination. There's nothing fascinating about it at all, not even in the slightest, but it beats looking at him.

"Will you ever learn?" he murmurs sternly. You tongue your cheek in apprehension quietly biding your time. You're in so much trouble. You know that. He knows that. And it's just a matter of time before this very nice conference- style glass table either becomes your best friend or worst enemy.

"It's not what it seemed, Kento."

He hums then, throat vibrating and words reverberating into your very eardrums. "Enlighten me, then."

You don't want to. This is a tale as old as time. There's a guy at your work. Sweet as pie. He was always offering to get you coffee and putting your mail in alphabetical order for you. You didn't notice it too much at first, thinking he just wanted to climb up the ranks. After all, there was about a seven-year age gap between you two.

Kento immediately took a disliking to the man after meeting him once at a company party. "I'm not too fond of him, darling. Please be careful." He'd said after making sure you were buckled in your seatbelt.

You shrugged it off because the guy was harmless. And he was-until he wasn't. But by then it was too late, and you find yourself in this situation. You would never cheat on your husband. And you know you can say the same thing of him.

The very thought of letting another man where he's made his home disturbs you to the very core.

But his trust is crumbling bit by bit.

Tonight, he came to your work after you didn't mention that you'd be working late. You're usually there to greet him when he gets home with a dopey smile on your face. Tonight, you were nowhere to be found, and your son was with your parents.

It wasn't like you to not communicate. Not really. So, he assumed something was wrong. He called you first. A couple times, even text you although that’s not his spiel. “It’s not intimate enough.” he always says.

Then he chooses to put his coat back on and head into the frigid weather. An hour later he stared at you through the opaque wall with the man you told him not to worry about.

And you're not doing anything. But the fact that you're here, alone, in the office with this man this late grinds his gears. So, he waits for you to leave. Going to the parking garage and finding your car with ease. He parks his car right next to yours and bides his time. It's not long—maybe an hour after gets there that you come out.

You look pretty today. You have on a baby pink chiffon dress and moderate heels to match. Your khaki blazer accentuates your figure and he's getting more and more perturbed. The coworker walks beside you close enough to rouse suspicion.

He keeps his composure when he gets out of his car. He keeps his composure when he sees your face frown in shock. He even keeps his composure when the guy he refuses to acknowledge, bids you goodnight.

That's how you end up across from him at the dinner table. You’re ashamed. Not because you’ve done anything wrong but because you got caught. You knew this man made your husband wary. However, in your mind, he could never take you. So, the staying out late at the office and letting him sort your mail was harmless.

But if the roles were reversed, it’d be a different story. So you wait. You expect for him to mete out punishment. To ban you from sex for a week or to withhold something else from you but he just calmly stares at you, waiting for an answer to his long ago asked question.

“He’s just a coworker,” you say. “I wouldn’t even consider him a friend.”

“What does he consider you?” he questions, his old-fashioned sitting in front of him, amber liquid swirling in the glass along with the vibration of his voice.

That gives you pause. You have no idea. “I don’t know.”

He sighs then, a loud and irritated noise that forms at the very back of his throat.

“You do,” he presses. “I’ve told you.”

“He knows I’m married.”

He scoffs then, his eyebrows furrowing harshly. “When has that ever stopped anyone?”

“I would never cheat.”

He hums, eyes flicking down to the transparent table. “Wouldn’t you?”

Your entire face contorts into a show of affront. He mirrors your face, almost exactly and picks up the glass he’s almost polished off.

“Don’t you see, darling? You already are.”

He nods into his glass as he sips and you suspect he’s giving you time to form a rebuttal. And for a few seconds there’s an eerie silence. Your face softens as you have an inner monologue. Your mind twists and turns with all the sudden emotions. There’s guilt and there’s melancholy and there’s confusion. But mostly there’s realization.

Your mouth pops open in quiet despair and for the first time since this conversation started, Kento gives a soft upturn of his lips. It’s not a smile. More of a grimace mixed with a placating sadness. He knows it too.

Yet still you have to say something. And your lip quivers when you whisper, “But I love you, Ken.”

Then he gets up, walks slowly to your side of the table. The dress shoes be adorns becomes the only sound in the room. When he reaches you, he leans down, slightly, just enough that you feel his breath ghost your brow.

He places his lips on your forehead and gives you a kiss so gentle that you close your eyes in quiet distress.

“I love you too.”

[i-mean-y-not]

Friday nights were reserved for you and Eren.

A long-standing tradition that has never been neglected. But somehow, some way, you sit here in the prettiest dress in his favorite color, alone.

You’re over crying.

Over trying to talk sense into him.

But marriage is a battle. A long and treacherous struggle that never quite reaches its peak.

This is the Mount Everest of your marriage. A fight to the top is about to take you down.

If he senses it, it seems he doesn’t care. And if he doesn’t care…well what’s left to say?

You eat dinner alone. For the first time on a Friday night in the frigid December weather. You’ve left the window open, hoping to feel something other than the numbness taking over you.

You have a few glasses of wine. Maybe more then a few. And by the time you’re stumbling into your pajamas and getting ready for bed, the numbness has transformed into anger then the slow descent into heartbreak begins.

Eren has always wanted to take care of you. So he says. And he has. You’ve never wanted for anything. He always procured what you asked for, even things you didn’t.

His lifestyle—your lifestyle— has been bought and paid for with blood, sweat, and tears. Now you question if it’s worth it.

The tears drop against your satin pillow without a warning. Then come the sniffles and before long you’re openly sobbing into a bed that only you occupy.

That’s how you fall asleep. Reeking of red wine and reeling with emotions that leave you open and vulnerable.

You don’t hear him come in. But an eye open tells you that it’s half past 1. He sighs heavily when he opens the door to your bedroom. His shoes thud on the linoleum floor, but he stops just before the bathroom. Even with your eyes closed you’d know his whole routine.

He toes off his boots, strips out of his clothes, and turns on his shower water. He likes it steaming. Not cold, not warm but scalding. And for the first time, you wonder just what he’s washing off. He checks the water thrice to make sure it’s the right temperature. Then there’s the click of the glass door shutting.

You lay there until he gets out and even then your ears follow his every movement. He goes back to the kitchen, finds his plate in the microwave and warms it up. He sits on the couch and turns on the show you’ve stopped watching together. Perhaps that’s because you never see him any more. He’s always gone when you wake up and arrives after you’ve fallen asleep.

He never comes home anymore. And you never ask what keeps him. You’re resigned to sit and wait and in a way that’s become your norm. Six months of barely seeing a man you used to crave is a jarring experience.

There was fighting at first. Yelling, screaming, and throwing dishes that narrowly missed his head. Now it’s…nothing.

The television clicks off in the living room and you hear his now slippered feet shuffle back to the bedroom.

He stops in the doorway for a second. You assume he’ll climb into bed like he always does. But tonight his feet shift until he stands above you. His presence a force to contend with.

He sighs and it’s a tired thing. A sound that says let’s stop pretending. But you can’t. You actually turn the other way, shifting until your back faces him.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your body betrays you. Literally shuddering at the very sound of his voice. So you don’t pretend. You shift back to face him.

And in his face there’s relief.

“It’s been a while, mama.” His eyes crinkle with the huge smile he gives you. And your eyes begin to water all over again.

He squats down to eye level and gives you a kiss on your forehead. And it’s supposed to be gentle, really. A small act that says “I’m here.” But it enrages you.

How dare he? Make you feel all the things you’ve gelled over.

“I hate you,” it comes out before you can help it. Your mouth clenches shut as if you can somehow put the words back in your mouth.

His eyes lower a fraction and a frown mars his features. But in spite of his expression he murmurs, “I know.”

And that hurts even more.

“Baby, I know.” His voice cracks on the pet name.

He knees hit the floor then. And you haven’t moved an inch.

“I always want to take care of you. You understand that, right?” he breathes out and it only further incites you.

You sit up then, eyes full of unchecked emotion. “This is what you call taking care of me? You never being home and me wondering where you are? Walking in here like you own everything in here, including me? Is this taking care of me?”

His tears spill over and the silence is so void that you swear you can hear his teardrops touch the newly waxed floor.

But you’re on a roll now. “I’m tired, Eren. Marriage is a partnership and I feel like I’m going at it alone. If you don’t want me-” Your voice chokes on the words, trying to not have a full blown panic attack. “Then let me go.”

He sits on the bed then, eyes alight with downright misery. “I know I haven’t been the best. I don’t even deserve to come home to you. The person I would give my life for. The person I crave to see even though you’re asleep when I do. My person.”

He lips push out in disdain and he grabs your hand, “If you left me, I’d die. I just feel like I’m always on go. At work, I’m needed constantly. My family expects so much from me because I made it. And you…you’ve never asked me for anything.”

The way he says it gives no room for argument. As if it’s a fact that is irrefutable. “There is no me without you. And I’m sorry that I hurt you, made you feel invisible. You are all that I see, every morning. Every night.”

You clench his hand then, “I just want you here. I want you to hold me again. I want to kiss you, hold you. I want to make love to you because I love you. I can’t do any of that if you aren’t here.”

He latches into every syllable out of your mouth. And by the time your finished, he’s directly next to you, breath fanning your face.

“I can do that,” he says, more than enthused about the idea. And that’s how this chapter of your marriage closes.

Waking up the next day is full of surprises. Eren is there when you wake up. You know because you’re awoken by a tongue lapping you up in a place that’s been abandoned.

You’re mouth parts on a silent scream and your body is so in tune with his that it doesn’t take long before you fall apart again, and again.

By the time he’s inside of you, you’re exhausted, but your body clenches all the same. As if it’s terrified that if it lets him go that it won’t ever feel this again. And he talks you through it.

Every orgasm is accompanied by an, “I love you, mama.” or a “Missed this so much.”

By the time he finishes, there’s not a doubt in your mind about it. Yes, marriage is a mountain but the zenith never looked so close.

Based on this ask: https://www.tumblr.com/i-mean-y-not/801670320112238592/please-please-please-write-some-eren-angst-where

Post by @i-mean-y-not

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · Please please please write some eren angst where her and eren have been fighting for too long and he gets home too late for

[i-mean-y-not]

“So do you want me to beg? Is that what you want?”

This would be endearing if it wasn’t too little, too late.

Choso is a mess. Eyes an unnatural red and snot coursing through his sinuses. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

Choso was becoming—in your eyes at least—a master manipulator. This is a man that cried at every fairy tale movie you’ve watched together. A man that held your hand for no reason and for any reason. This man was terrified of thunderstorms. And even more terrified of losing you.

Or so you thought.

This man was an indisputable cheater. And you were a pawn in a game he played for fun. It had been months since he held you and you suspected that’s because there was someone else.

There had to be.

Then there were the text messages and quiet calls. Sneaking off at 1 AM to calls from “Pizza Hut” and changing his phone code. You think two can play that game. So you giggle at your phone more. You deprave him of even the simplest form of touch.

It comes to a head two weeks after you start acting weird.

“What’s with you?” he asks, after yet another failed attempt at getting your attention. You don’t answer, afraid that he’ll hear the lie in your voice. Instead, you huff out another laugh. This of course insights him further. His entire body shift towards you on the couch and he shuffles closer to try to glance at your phone.

You put it down. He huffs out a breath.

You open your mouth to speak and he beats you to it. “Why are you being so weird lately? Huh?” And you don’t say anything.

Instead, you got up from his sofa and left his apartment. He didn’t follow. And that was the first of many cracks in your relationship. Choso is naive. He swears he doesn’t understand the nuances of people. That he can’t do anything wrong because his moral compass is broken.

So one day while he’s leaving your apartment after yet another unfulfilled day together you murmur, “Let’s end this.”

He pauses just outside the door as he’s grabbing his umbrella from your alcove. He blinks just as the thunder claps outside. Brows furrowed, he announces, “I don’t understand.”

And he’s so naive that it hurts.

You look up, expression blank, “I’m breaking up with you.”

“But you’re mine.”

“M’ not.” you rebut. "I'm not yours, Choso."

“But you are,” he presses.

Your mouth pops open in quiet confusion. But before you mutter a word, he continues. And this isn’t exactly how you thought this conversation would go. Break ups were usually easy for you. A fading away after responding every few days, and the missed calls more and more frequent. But this isn’t that. This is a coup he’s staging although he’s the reason for your desertion.

When you offer no response, eyes bored of the conversation, His eyes alight with something akin to bewilderment. “You are mine. In every sense. You’re mine to love and care for. You’re mine to argue with and comfort. You’re mine to have.”

It slips out before you can help it, mouth pushing out words you didn’t even want to acknowledge. “Yours to cheat on?”

Without missing a beat, he blinks. “You’re mine to hurt, mine to heal.”

Your throat makes an indignant sound. Your lip curls in disbelief and your mouth pops open in derision. This isn’t Choso. The man that would go out of his way to run to the bus stop shirtless to give you your umbrella because of the forecast later. The man that held you when you didn’t get that promotion. This is another person entirely.

Nonetheless, you double down, “You can send for your things.”

“Why would I send for something that’s gonna end up back here?”

Your mouth flounders for a few seconds, hoping to regain a semblance of control over your mouth. You want to cuss him out, but you don’t have it in you. Tired of harboring these feelings for the past few months. Exhausted of the whole charade.

When he sees that you won’t falter. Emotions or lack thereof apparent of your face, he pauses, seeming to consider that you are in fact serious.

Then his face crumbles. Those pigtails—that you used adore and run your fingers through— shift as he tilts his head in silent panic.

“I want you gone.” It’s said with such finality that he does that confused blink again and in a confusing turn of events his eyes start to water.

“But I’m sorry,” he says, and then the waterworks begin.

How had you not seen this before? This man knew no bounds. The tears become just like the rain just behind him and you blink your eyes in silent vexation.

There’s a flurry of movement and suddenly he’s crouching down into your direct line of vision.

“So do you want me to beg? Is that what you want?”

Your eyes squint and before you can help it, you laugh. A loud scary sound that comes from your very gut.

You’d lacquered over yourself you think. Avoiding the obvious issues and staying quiet when you should’ve spoken up.

So you’ve created this monster.

And this is the monster you must slay.

“I’m not your anything, Kamo. I don’t even want to breathe the same air as you right now. I wish I could say I hate you. Lord knows that would make it a lot easier. But I’m a person, my own person. And I hope whatever it is you need, whoever it is you want… I hope it makes you happy.”

He looks bewildered for a moment and then his face is schooled back into a show of sadness.

“But I love you. We belong together, don’t we?”

Without a word in response you give a sad smile. Then quietly, too quietly for his liking you close the door gently in his face.