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synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.
tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk
pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc
word count: 802
a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow
For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague.
After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again.
But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.
As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets.
His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons.
Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.
The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window.
When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.
Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.
When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries.
Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task.
But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.
When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment.
Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it.
“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”
At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne.
“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment.
After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair.
Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.
The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”
Itachi Uchiha helping you find pleasure from penetration.
Proofread: I tried my best! | Word count: ~8k | Warnings: MDNI! Smut, lifelong friends to lovers, pwp, fem!reader has no idea how to feel pleasure from penetration, slow burn pace, "poetic" dirty talk, a bit of praise kink, overstimulation, squirting (1st time), cunnilingus, fingering, mutual masturbation, deep (protected) penetration, and aftercare. Itachi is in his mid-20s, so not fully canon-compliant. Readers are free to scroll past if this specific character interpretation does not align with their comfort levels.
Tag list: @ichxraaa <3
A/n: shout out to Amy Daws and her book "Blindsided" that I read in 2024 and inspired this. You're the man, Amy! I truly hope you guys like it. After I was done and went back to review the writing, I felt like I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. Enjoy! 🖤
"Ah, baby, that was nice," your boyfriend exhaled, his chest heaving as he rolled off you and stared blindly up at the ceiling. His arm now resting behind his head. You stared at the exact same ceiling, feeling entirely numb.
Sex with him was always a scripted and very hollow routine. He would crawl over you with barely a scrap of foreplay, thrust his hips a handful of times, and declare himself satisfied. Just like this.
No passion.
No consuming warmth.
No lingering intimacy.
And you craved more. You wanted more. You wanted to feel like you were wanted in this relationship instead of feeling like just a toy. On your best days, if you completely detached your mind and truly concentrated, you could sometimes coax a tremor out of your own body from the clumsy, rushed way his fingers grazed your sensitive cluster of nerves. But it was never enough. You didn’t feel whole, you didn’t feel satisfied.
You lie there, the cool night air settling into the empty space between your bodies on the mattress. Your relationship had been perfectly normal so far, but entirely devoid of high thrills. He wasn't malicious; he was just the absolute pinnacle of the bare minimum. He remembered to text you back eventually. He brought you takeout, but usually only because he was already hungry and passing the food stall anyway, or had eaten on his way home and brought you the leftovers.
He would sit beside you and nod while you spoke, but his eyes were always glued to whatever scroll or game was in his hands. It was the kind of mundane, low-effort companionship that made you question if you were simply expecting too much from romance. You knew that sex wasn’t everything in a relationship, of course not. But how could you be happy if your needs were not being tended to in all areas when you had always gone above and beyond for him?
You pulled the rumpled sheet up to your chest and sat up, your gaze dropping to your hands resting in your lap. You gathered whatever courage you had left to finally bridge the gap.
"Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something. I actually went to a medical-nin the other day." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, his brow furrowing. "Are you sick?"
"No, no, I'm healthy," you reassured quickly, chewing on the inside of your cheek. "It’s just... I haven't been able to... finish. From penetration. And I thought maybe something was physically wrong with me, but the medic said everything is completely fine. So, I was thinking... maybe we could try something different? Switch things up a bit?"
The air in the room instantly soured. The easygoing, post-coital haze vanished from his face, entirely replaced by a defensive line. "Try something different?" he echoed in a completely flat tone. "Are you saying there's something wrong with how I do it?" "What? No, that's not what I said at all," you backpedaled, you could feel your chest tightening. You wanted to avoid confrontation; this was never your end goal here.
"I'm just saying my body needs something else to get there." He let out a humorless scoff, throwing the sheets off his legs and standing up. He reached for his clothes scattered across the floor. "Right. So I'm the problem. I've never had a girl complain before, so if it's not working for you, I don't know what to tell you."
"Are you seriously getting mad right now?" you asked, stunned, watching him strap his weapons pouch to his thigh. You were fortunate enough to be able to get him to spare some time for you after he came back from his latest mission, which, now, looking at him dressing up, you wondered how he even made it out of the academy with passing grades.
Konoha must be REALLY in need of shinobi!
"I'm not mad. You’re being overly emotional with this shit! I'm just not going to sit here and be told I'm bad in bed just because your body can't figure it out," he muttered, grabbing his green vest. He didn't even look at you as he walked toward the door. "If sex is going to be this complicated, maybe we shouldn't force it. Let's just call it quits. See ya."
See ya?
See. Ya.
What the hell just happened?
Did he…?
Did he just….?
The click of the door closing echoed in the agonizingly suffocating room. It wasn't the breakup that hurt; it was the sheer audacity.
Five months of dating had ended in a five-minute conversation simply because you dared to ask for more. You were left sitting alone in the dark, half-broken and half-stunned, a sickening realization settling in your gut.
He had never added anything to your life. He had only ever been using you for your body so far.
The sounds of Konoha usually offered a comforting white noise, but today they just felt like an annoying reminder that the world was moving on while you were stuck in a humiliating standstill—like your body didn’t even belong to your own desires anymore.
It had been three days since your ex walked out.
Three days.
Three stupid days.
Three days of replaying that pathetic, five-minute conversation until your pride was completely raw, like you needed to kneel on the dirt to scrape it back.
You hadn't realized your feet had carried you toward the quieter shaded outskirts of the Uchiha compound until the scent of brewing tea grounded your wandering mind. Surely enough, Mikoto was brewing one of your favorites, and it brought a feeling of comfort to you. You’ve always felt cozy when stepping into the Uchiha side of the village.
"You are walking with the posture of someone carrying a very heavy burden." You winced, snapping your head up to look at the owner of that voice. Itachi stood near the edge of his family's engawa. He wasn't wearing his standard flak jacket, just a simple blue yukata that made him look incredibly domestic, probably on one of his almost non-existent days off. His dark eyes analyzed the exhausted shadows under your eyes and the unyielding tension completely locking up your shoulders.
“Oh, hi, Itachi. Just... lost in thought, I guess.” You tried to force a polite smile. It completely failed. “Is your mom at home? I really need to talk to her, if she’s available.”
"I’m afraid not. She left just a few minutes ago and should return before nightfall.” “I see… well, alright then.” And you simply stood there, thinking about your next steps.
Who could be the other person to help you navigate this terrible moment of insecurity and uncertainty that surrounded you completely? You needed a new lifeline.
Itachi didn't push. He simply scooted to the side, gesturing toward the polished wooden deck. “But her tea is freshly brewed. Come. Sit with me."
You shouldn't have.
You knew you shouldn’t, because your mind was simply not there at all. But at this point, you might as well just burn your bridges to your childhood friend.
All of them.
You were a chaotic mess. But the quiet safety radiating from him was a gravity you couldn't resist. You slipped off your sandals and sank onto the wood by his side, letting the tranquil rustle of the wind through the willow trees soothe your edgy nerves.
He poured the tea with meticulous care. The ceramic clinked softly against the saucer. He didn't demand answers, allowing the ambient sounds of the koi pond in front of you to do the heavy lifting. He gave your mind the exact space it needed to unravel. And unravel it did.
You hadn't planned on telling him. Why would you? Your friendship with Itachi was a completely normal one, and you had never shared any deep secrets like this. But staring into the swirling green liquid in your cup, the humiliating truth started to spill right out of your lungs.
You told him about your clinic visit, the vulnerability of asking for a change, and the immediate shattering of an ego and the pathetic, indifferent dismissal that followed. Itachi listened attentively. He didn't interrupt or offer empty platitudes. And he didn’t seem surprised at all. Or at least that’s what you thought, because you couldn’t really read his expressions. Ever. At all.
"Sometimes these things happen," he murmured finally. His gaze remained fixed on the water of the koi pond, his profile perfectly sculpted and entirely unreadable. "Everyone's body is different, and everyone's body reacts differently."
You expected him to leave it at that, not say anything else or offer any sort of comfort. Itachi’s personality was far from that, and you knew it. You knew better than to sulk in front of him. The last time you did, you were kids, and he literally poked - gently - your forehead before smiling and leaving.
He shifted his weight, preparing to stand, but his eyes suddenly cut back to yours as you turned to face him. The intensity in his stare practically pinned you to the floorboards, leaving you unable to move, to follow his movements, to stand up and leave.
"Or maybe," the words slipped out with seriousness. "He simply did not know how to take care of you properly. How to satisfy your body's needs."
He simply did not know how to take care of you properly.
You stared at him, completely in awe, with a glow of heat rushing straight to your cheeks. But Itachi merely adjusted the collar of his yukata, his expression smoothing back into its stoic mask, as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb on your lap.
"I promised to train with Sasuke," he excused himself, brushing past you with the fluid elegance of a ghost only he carried with such grace. “You’re welcome to stay and take all the time you need here. Drink the tea before it gets cold." And just like that, he vanished into the trees, leaving you entirely alone with a realization that set your blood absolutely on fire.
What you didn't see was how he stopped the absolute second he was out of your sight. You didn't hear the exhale that escaped his lungs, or see the way he closed his eyes, fighting to maintain his self-control. He had just intentionally crossed a line he had spent a lifetime protecting, practically begging you to look at him as a man with desires instead of just a safe, untouchable friend.
He had planted the seed. Now, all he could do was wait to see if it would grow.
His words had haunted you ever since you left his family’s house. They echoed in the quiet of your room for who knows how many agonizing days, rewriting everything you thought you knew about your own body, until the sheer weight of your intrusive thoughts finally drove you out of the house.
You had known Itachi Uchiha for almost your entire life. Growing up in the same village, with parents who had known each other for what seemed like ages, your friendship had always been a steady constant. Not awkward nor strained. You had shared countless conversations, sitting in the clearings or walking the market streets when your paths crossed. Itachi was the perfect example of a low-maintenance friendship, and you were completely fine with that.
You knew his habits.
You knew his quiet quirks.
And now you even stood outside the bakery around the corner from his clan’s compound for ten solid minutes, totally paralyzed. You debated whether to buy a skewer of tricolor dango or a sweet red bean bun before coming to see him, hoping his favorite sugar rush might somehow soften the inappropriate conversation burning in your throat.
But you walked away empty-handed because no amount of dango could change the fundamental truth about him, about how he was notoriously vague, how he was a closed-off, untouchable golden child who kept his private life locked behind an impenetrable fortress, which was exactly why you were currently making a complete fool of yourself.
What am I even THINKING?
You were on your fifth frantic lap around the perimeter of his estate, entirely unable to force your feet to step onto the actual property. You were beating around the bush, completely terrified of ruining a lifelong friendship, regardless of how close you two were. Your treacherous mind simply wouldn't let go of his voice, of his damn words.
Well, it’s not like I don’t have other friends, right? If he ditches our friendship, I’ll be just fine. Yes, I WILL be fine!
What if Mikoto finds out? She might think I’m one of those women and ban me from ever seeing them again.
Shit, shit, SHIT!
You were so lost in your own panic that you didn't even hear his footsteps approach. The only warning you received was the weight of his long fingers wrapping around your wrist. You froze as his thumb rested perfectly over your racing pulse point, feeling the frenzied rhythm of your heart.
"How many more times do you plan on walking the radious of my home?" Itachi's voice was a soothing buzz that vibrated straight down your spine.
Had his voice always sounded so good before?
When did admiration turn into desire?
Control yourself, seriously!
He didn't sound angry or impatient, or even slightly annoyed. He was just observant, his gaze, always intense, pinning you exactly where you stood. "Are you looking for something? My mom should be home toda—"
"No, I'm not...not looking for your mother," you blurted out, the words tumbling past your lips before your common sense could stop them. "Actually...I-I was wondering if we could talk? Over some tea?" He didn't hesitate, though he seemed surprised, offering a formal nod as he guided you inside the house.
The low table felt like an executioner's block as a bead of sweat threatened to drop from your temple. You sat rigidly on the cushion, watching him serve the tea with the same fluid elegance he applied to everything. Or, at least, you hoped that it was to everything.
"I was thinking about what you said the other day," you started, your voice sounding entirely too small for the stifling silence of the room. "About...body needs." He took a slow sip of his tea, nodding once. “May I ask you a personal question, Itachi?”
He nodded again, his eyebrow curving just a bit. You forced the words out in a single breath, asking him if he had ever made a woman feel good under him. The ceramic rim stalled a millimeter from his lips.
Why is the clock on the wall sounding so loud all of a sudden?
"I'm so sorry, Itachi, I shouldn't have—"
"I suppose I cannot discuss any private matters I have had with past lovers," he interrupted softly, resting his teacup back onto the table. His dark eyes held your panicked stare, but not enough to fully ground you in the moment. "But I have never received a complaint. Let us put it like that."
"I see," you whispered, feeling the heat in your cheeks burning absolutely out of control. The silence stretched thickly between you again. But Itachi was not dumb, and you’d be even dumber to think he could not see deep into your soul, with or without his Sharingan.
"I believe it is time for you to truly say what you have been wanting to say since you were pacing nervously outside.” You were the one who nearly choked on your tea this time. You set the cup down with an ungraceful clatter, staring at the wooden table as if it were the most interesting thing in the room to avoid his gaze.
"Itachi... how long have we known each other?"
"Almost our whole lives, I would say."
You swallowed the thick lump that formed in your throat for the second time, your pride completely abandoning you as you asked him the ultimate question. “Do you think you, maybe you…Perhaps we can…But only if—” You closed your eyes and took it as your turn to drop the bomb right back at him. “Do you think you could help me practice more and discover my body’s needs? Just once. To try different positions so I can finally find a release.”
Itachi went entirely, utterly, completely still. The only betrayal of his composure was the microscopic tremor of his pinky finger resting against his cup.
Had you just managed to break down his composure with your words?
His silence became a physical weight, the anxiety violently clawing at your throat. "I'm sorry," you gasped, scrambling to your feet and almost falling down when standing up. You grabbed whatever was left of your dignity while bowing your head in absolute shame. "This is terribly inappropriate. Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll get going now.”
You didn't give him a single second to respond before you practically ran from the room. You fled back into the safety of your house, knowing well enough that this conversation would randomly keep you awake at 3 AM forever.
But you weren't the only one about to lose your sleep.
Back in the quiet of his house, Itachi remained entirely frozen where you had left him. He stared at the empty cushion you left behind, his Sharingan bleeding into his eyes in the room purely on instinct as his blood roared violently in his ears. You had just handed him the exact weapon he needed to claim you after so many years, and the restraint it took not to follow you home right then and there nearly ate him alive.
You avoided him like the plague for an entire week. And you planned to keep it that way for as long as necessary.
Your daily routine became a masterclass in evasion. At this point, you could easily become a covert shinobi, and you had never even set foot inside the academy.
You walked strictly to and from work, kept your head down, avoiding the usual streets that would make you and Itachi cross paths on the street. You avoided the clearings you knew he favored, and even had to deny Mikoto’s invitation to dinner when she saw you at your workplace. You practically sprinted through the market whenever you needed groceries.
Most importantly, you completely abandoned the bakery on that corner. The mere thought of accidentally bumping into him while he bought his favorite sweets was enough to send your heart into a nauseating spiral.
If I never see him again, I will literally never have to explain myself.
It was a flawless, if cowardly, plan.
Right up until it wasn't.
You didn't know that your absence was driving him absolutely feral. You thought you were being slick by dodging him in the market, but Itachi was not stupid. He had known you his entire life. He knew your routines, the corners you favored, the alleys you used to cut through the village, and the exact minute your shift ended, even if you had overtime.
He let you play your little game of hide-and-seek, giving you exactly one week to panic and process the tension snapping between you two. Because at the end of the day, you could avoid his paths all you wanted, but he knew exactly where to find you when the time came.
You had just returned home from an exhausting shift, kicking off your sandals with a heavy sigh of relief. The only good part of your day was the beautiful sunset hue that seemed to embrace you while you walked back to the comfort of your place. The absolute second the door clicked shut behind you, a melodic knock echoed through the wood. You froze, very aware that you were not expecting any visitors or deliveries.
Another knock.
Patient.
Unyielding.
Your hands felt entirely too cold, slick with a sudden sweat, as if your body intrinsically knew exactly who was behind that door.
Maybe, just maybe, if I stay perfectly still, the person will go away, right?
Wrong.
Another knock.
Gathering what little courage you still had, somehow, you pulled the door open, completely (un)prepared for the sight waiting on your porch. Itachi stood cloaked in the evening shadows as the sunset gave away the space to the dark night sky. In his right hand, he held a small, dark silk pouch, his long fingers wrapped loosely around the drawstrings. "Hello."Your lungs instantly forgot how to function.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not him!
"I-Itachi, h-hi," you stammered, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the doorframe for dear life. "Uhm, can I help you?"
"You ran quite fast last week," he stated, stepping over your threshold without really waiting for an invitation, effectively trapping you in the entryway. "You did not give me the chance to deepen our conversation. I felt like I had no say in it." You swallowed hard as his intoxicating scent completely invaded your personal space, your home.
"I thought about your offer for the entire week," he continued with his voice dropping into a hypnotic cadence. "I am deeply honored that you trust me with such a delicate vulnerability. Though I kept thinking if our bond would deepen after such an offer, or break entirely.”
He stopped mere inches from you, using the back of his heel to slowly push the door shut behind him. "But I need you to know," he added, completely serious. "Regardless of the outcome today, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you." You stared at the small silk pouch dangling from his fingers, your mind entirely blanking out.
Outcome of today? What is… Wait, what?
"Wait... what do you mean, the outcome of today?"
"You came to me asking for help," his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "What kind of friend would I be to deny you your personal struggles? To abandon you in a predicament like this."
Your brain completely short-circuited. You stood frozen in your own entryway, acutely aware of the massive heat radiating from his large frame. "Right," you squeaked, your voice jumping a pathetic octave. "So... where do we... uhm, what do we..."
Itachi watched your agitated stammering with an unreadable expression, though amusement seemed to swim in his eyes. "For starters, we can relocate to your bedroom," his tone as smooth as glass with no signs of nervousness whatsoever. "If you are comfortable. If you still want this."
"Right. No, I want this," you babbled. "My room. Okay! Right."
He tilted his head just a bit, his gaze lazily drifting over your shoulder toward the small living room. "Unless you would prefer I take you right there on your couch." Your breath completely stopped.
"What?"
"What?" Itachi echoed. You opened your mouth to argue, but no sound came out. You spun on your heel instead, marching down the short hallway and past your living room toward your bedroom, purely to escape the weight of his stare. He followed silently behind you, his quiet footsteps a terrifying reminder of exactly what you had just invited into your house.
Danger.
The second you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, the reality of the situation crashed directly into your spine. This was your sanctuary, and Itachi Uchiha was standing right in the middle of it. You stood entirely too rigid at the edge of the mattress. Your hands were trembling so badly that you had to clasp them together on top of your thighs.
He didn't miss the movement. He didn't miss anything. "You are nervous,” he observed, setting the silky pouch onto your nightstand.
"Well," a borderline hysterical little laugh escaped your mouth. "I've never exactly had an appointment to have sex before." A low puff of genuine amusement escaped his chest. He crossed the small distance between you, his hands coming up to gently cup the sides of your flushed face. But as his dark eyes searched yours, the carefully constructed mask of 'the stoic best friend' finally slipped.
For a fraction of a second, you saw a raw devotion burning in his gaze, like a silent admission of exactly how hard it had been for him to stand by and watch you doubt yourself because of somebody else.
"I would call it a walk-in, if you will,” he purred, stepping closer to you. His thumbs brushed soothing circles against your cheekbones, melting the tension straight out of your muscles. “But it is just practice."
You hadn’t realized what Itachi was doing until now, but the moment his touch found your face, you knew his game was on. He was building the pace, slowly setting the tone and the vibe in ways that your body was not used to. Tonight, Itachi would give you what no one else could, and you really weren’t ready for it.
The bedroom felt too small with Itachi standing in it. Your hands were still clasped tightly on your thighs, your knuckles white, your eyes squeezed shut as if darkness could somehow rewind time and take back the foolish offer you had made.
"You are doing it again."
"Doing what?"
“You’re nervous, overthinking. Trying to force your body to feel something through willpower only.” His thumbs brushed your cheekbones again, slower this time. "Let go. You don't need to try so hard."
A shaky exhale left your lungs. It was exactly what you had always demanded from yourself ever since you had started dating your ex 5 months ago —just relax, just try harder, what's wrong with you?
But Itachi was offering some kind of peace of mind to you like a gift.
"I can't just turn it off, Itachi," you whispered. “After the breakup, that conversation made me feel like I was...broken."
"You are not broken," his tone left absolutely no room for argument. "You have simply never been taken care of properly. We’ve already covered this part, didn't we?”
His hands slid from your face, his long fingers finding the hem of your shirt. "May I?" You nodded, and Itachi leaned in. His mouth covered yours. It wasn't rushed or demanding like you had previously experienced; it was more of a ruinous yet soft claiming that completely silenced the racing of your mind.
You let out a tiny gasp, and he swallowed the sound, his tongue sliding effortlessly past your lips to taste you for the very first time that night.
The kiss was a physical tether, melting the rigid tension straight out of your muscles as he guided your back down against the sheets. You went willingly, melting into the bed as the heavy dip of his weight followed you down. He didn't break the kiss as his hands gripped the hem of your shirt, only removing his mouth from yours when pulling the fabric up and over your head before tossing it to the floor.
His bare palms settled warmly against your waist. The contrast of his touch sent a delicious shiver straight down your spine as he positioned himself completely into the V of your thighs. That immediately made your cunt pulse.
He caged you in with his arms, hovering just inches above your chest like a heavy blanket of night-blooming florals and adamant focus. Your upper body was completely exposed, only the delicate fabric of your bra holding your breasts as they practically begged to be set free, to finally feel his touch.
Itachi slowly pulled back from the kiss, his lips slick and his breathing slightly heavier. "Look at me," he rasped, his hot breath grazing your collarbone. The deep sound of his voice now becoming a sweet melody in your ears.
You forced your eyes up to meet his, drowning in the pure intensity of his gaze as it mapped every inch of your exposed skin. He wasn't looking at you like an object, or an obligation, or a chore to be rushed through, but like you were a prayer he had no right to whisper, but every intention of answering.
His gaze dragged over the swell of your breasts barely contained by the thin fabric, the rapid flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat betraying your panic. You felt entirely too seen, stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with the clothes you were shedding.
Was this really a good idea?
His palms traced a worshipping path up your ribcage, his calloused thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the lace. A cracked sound escaped your throat before you could trap it. Your eyes squeezed shut on instinct—that desperate need to force your body to warm up and feel something, like you had to do all the work, to concentrate, to wring out the pleasure you had been told you were incapable of feeling.
“My eyes are right here, sweetheart,” Itachi whispered close to your mouth. “I am the one holding you tonight. And I intend to treat you exactly how you were always meant to be treated.” You opened your eyes, promising yourself you’d not close them anymore unless you were feeling too much pleasure; that was the only exception.
His right hand moved to the clasp of your bra, the fabric gave way, and he slid the straps down your shoulders, tossing the lace aside to join your shirt on the floor. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, but Itachi was right there to warm it, his palms settling heavily over your breasts. He didn't maul or grab; he weighed them in his hands, his thumbs teasing lazily over your tight and hardened peaks, coaxing a ragged moan from your throat.
“Does it feel good?” He asked, and you nodded. “What about now?” His mouth dropped to one of your breasts and closed on it.
The shock of his wet heat against the sensitive peak was a lightning strike that arched your back off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from your lips before you could stifle it. He didn't rush; his tongue swirled in slow circles that seemed to pull the tension right from your marrow and replace it with a liquid heat that pooled heavy and demanding between your thighs.
Your fingers found their way into his hair, the dark silken strands sliding against your skin, anchoring you to that moment as he alternated between gentle, teasing flicks and the firm, suctioning pressure that made your toes curl. It was unlike anything you had ever felt— not the mechanical fumbling you were used to.
It was focused.
"So responsive," he cooed against your skin, the vibration of his words humming straight into your blood. "I have barely touched you, and I have a feeling that you are already soaking wet." His mouth strayed to your other breast, sucking and slowly nibbling your nipple.
Your hips rocking up and down, trying to glue onto his. The embarrassment should have burned you, but his voice was dripping with such genuine reverence that it only fanned the flames.
His mouth began a descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center of your ribs, over the soft plane of your stomach, dipping teasingly into your navel. Every inch of skin he claimed felt worshipped, marked by a concentration that terrified you as much as it thrilled you.
When his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, you instinctively tensed, whispering that this was the moment the disappointment would set in.
“You have nothing to prove here," he cooed again, sensing the spike in your heartbeat. He slid the fabric down your legs, taking your underwear with it in one fluid motion, leaving you bared to him completely. The heat of his gaze searing into your exposed cunt was absolute fire.
He settled himself between your thighs, his shoulders pushing your legs wider, wider, until you were completely splayed open for him, settling his broad shoulders between your thighs. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up, his hot breath fanning over your dampening folds.
"Itachi—" you gasped, your hands flying back to his dark hair."It's okay," he whispered against your skin. "I got you," his eyes locking onto yours from his vantage point, looking like a dark angel ready to devour you whole. He lowered his head, and the first slow drag of his flat tongue against your folds obliterated every coherent thought in your mind.
You wrapped your legs around his heavy head and let his tongue swim toward salvation.
Your fingers tangling desperately in his hair as he began to work you with a patience that promised to ruin you. He consumed every part of his act. His tongue painted long stripes through your folds, gathering your slick before circling your clit with so much care that it made your vision blur. The movements of his muscle made you roll your eyes every time its warmth pooled over your cunt again.
His mouth blew a breeze of cool air on your clit, and that alone made you squeeze his head between your thighs.
"Oh, fuck. Itachi, do that again, please..." You cried out between a moan, you could feel his smile as he blew again, before sucking on your clit ferociously. But it was the slow intrusion of his finger that shattered you. He pressed it deep, crooking upward in a beckoning motion that hit a spot inside you that felt foreign—too sensitive, too raw.
You gasped, your hips jerking away instinctively, but his free arm spread out heavily across your pelvis, locking you in place against the mattress.
"No, stay with me," Itachi commanded, his voice muffled against your cunt and stripped of the gentleness he had when he first took you in his arms. He added a second finger, the stretch making your breath hitch, and began a relentless scissoring motion that opened you up, thrusting in tandem with the rhythm of his mouth.
You had never experienced anything so delicious like this, even after the countless sex nights you had with your ex. You didn't need to focus now on trying to feel the pleasure because it was consuming every inch of you.
The pressure built rapidly with a tightening coil in your lower belly that felt close to pain but infinitely better. This specific sensation, a deep, throbbing need to release something that felt dangerous, like holding back a tidal wave with a crumbling dam, was new.
"A-ah—'tachi," the nickname slipping out unbidden as your fingers tightened desperately in his hair, trying to pull him away. The sound of his name—his name, falling from your lips—sent a jolt straight to his core. He had spent years listening to you talk about so many things, your life, your work, your relationships, but the absolute high of hearing you sob for him made his jaw clench with a possessive need.
His free hand held your wrist, removing it from his hair. Only his eyes were visible, the rest of him hiding under your wet folds. "Unless you want me to fully stop, I suggest you don't try to take me away from this sweet cunt."
You whispered a "right," almost embarrassed, and he went back to work, sucking your clit into his mouth just as his fingers curled ruthlessly against that spongy patch inside you. His movements picking up a faster pace, like he knew you were only a few seconds away from coming undone for the first time in the night.
A quivering heat swelled in your belly, your muscles contracting tighter with every wet suck of his mouth, with every thrust of his fingers. You felt yourself clenching desperately around him, the wet sounds filling the quiet room.
"Itachi, wait, I feel like I'm going to—something is—"His tongue struck your sensitive clit, and the coil snapped. Your back bowed off the bed, a moan tearing from your throat as a gush of liquid heat surged from you, soaking his hand and chin. It was violent, overwhelming, a crashing wave that wiped out every memory of shame and replaced it with pure ecstasy. You pulsed around his fingers, your cunt fluttering wildly as the pleasure tore through you in spasms that left you boneless.
Itachi didn't pull away; he worked you through it, prolonging the aftershocks with gentle laps of his tongue, swallowing your every drop until you were a trembling gasping mess beneath him. When he finally lifted his head, his face was glistening with your essence, his eyes burning with a possessive pride that made your heart stutter. For the past few days, you thought you’d never meet a soul who could speak your body’s language, until there was Itachi.
Itachi, fluent in you.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your mind. The wetness beneath you was undeniable, the evidence of your pleasure painting his skin. "I... I didn't know I could..." You swallowed with a wrecked and barely audible voice. "Can you... do that again?" you asked breathless, entirely stunned by your own body. A small laugh escaped his chest—the most beautiful and unguarded sound you had ever heard from him. "I can do it as many times as you need."
He immediately obliged, his mouth descending onto you again. He coaxed a second, softer climax from you with just his tongue, his hands holding your hips down so you couldn't squirm away from the overwhelming sensation. When he finally pulled away and stood, you pushed yourself up on trembling arms.
"My turn," you said reaching for him as you sat on the bed, knees so wide open your cunt almost touched the sheets. He let you unbuckle his pants, set his cock free as he removes his black shirt, let you wrap your fingers around his thick, heavy length. But as you moved to take him into your mouth, his hand caught your chin.
"You do not have to perform for me."
"I want to make you feel good too," you argued. He smiled and took your hand, the same one that was touching him, on his. "Come," He moved to sit on the bed with his back touching the headboard. With a simple gesture, he called you over. "Let me touch yourself while you do it. I want to know you are feeling good, too." He guided you onto your side so that when your head would go down to suck him, your ass would go up.
You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, taking him deep into the wet heat of your mouth, and his hand slipped between your thighs. He cupped your soaked mound, his middle finger gliding lazily through your slick folds, alternating between gently circling your oversensitive clit and pushing a finger inside you.
squelch.
squelch.
squelch.
A muffled moan vibrated around his shaft. You stroked what you couldn't take of him with your hand, falling into a synchronized rhythm. The dual sensation of pleasing him while he played with your throbbing flesh left you completely electrified.
"Good," Itachi praised, his voice strained for the first time. His hips snapping forward to chase the slick heat of your mouth, a desperate curse falling from his lips. His hips twitched, pushing himself a bit deeper into your mouth. "Just like that, baby— fuck, you feel so good." You whimpered around him, sucking harder, your own hips grinding against his palm.
The wet sounds of your mouth on him and his fingers on you were not the only sounds echoed through the room. As you sucked Itachi's balls, he moaned your name loudly. It was messy, sensual, and unhinged, and yet, you felt safer in this vulnerable position than you ever had before. You were growing wetter every second next to him.
Itachi pulled away before he could finish, lifting your head so he could see you, your mouth full of his juices. You looked so hot right now that if the goal wasn't to help you out, he could easily claim you as his right there, making your cunt sore. He was breathing heavily, his posture cracked, his chest heaving while he craved more of your touch, but knew he needed to save all of this energy for what was about to happen.
He reached for the dark silk pouch on the nightstand, the one you were curious about when you saw him holding it, but forgot about. He opened it, pulling out a small gray foil packet.
A condom.
Of course, he came prepared.
He tore it open with his fingers and rolled the latex down his thick length with practiced ease. It made you think how many times he had done it before. "Let me make you feel good now," you crawled over to him, as he guided you to straddle his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. The broad pink head of his cock nudged your entrance, and you froze, your eyes wandering down to his chest. What if it didn't work? What if you still couldn't—
"Keep your eyes on mine." His hands settled on your hips, stilling your trembling. "I'm here for you, for your needs.” His hand brushed your jaw, his fingers grabbing your chin to make you focus on him. Your eyes found his gaze waiting for you, your arms around his shoulders, and your face came closer to his. He analyzed every single feature. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. Everything.
Taking a deep breath, you slowly sank down. The stretch was a fulfilling pressure as he glided into you inch by inch. You stopped when he was fully seated inside you, adjusting to the fullness. Slowly, you began to roll your hips, twerking on his cock. Itachi leaned forward, his mouth finding your collarbone as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed the swollen nub in tight circles, matching the grinding cadence of your hips.
"That's it. Such a good girl. See how well you are taking me?" The friction was different. Deeper. The angle pushed his length directly against that pleasant spot inside you, while his thumb sent electric shocks rocketing through your nervous system.
You rolled your hips faster, chasing the sensation. “I-Itachi—" you moaned, feeling every nerve on your body, every sensation, every inch being consumed by him. Itachi leaned his head back against the headboard, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged, looking at you like you were both his salvation and his downfall.
You kept going, your second orgasm collapsing over you as his fingers played with your nerve bundle. But still, he knew this was not the one you were craving, not the feeling you were chasing after.
“C’mere,” he rasped, his hands tightening on your hips. He shifted, turning your bodies so now you were the one under him. His hands shoved your thighs up until they touched your belly, your kneecaps close to your nipples. He sank right back, leaning forward as his hands supported his body. This angle was even deeper.
"Slower this time,” he growled, his voice thick with pulsing need. "Feel where I am inside you. Feel how your body responds."
"You feel s'good inside of me right now."
"Good, I want to feel your cunt clenching around my cock until you can't take it anymore," he breathed, reaching one of his hands to cup one of your breasts. Itachi's dirty talk game was different, full of praise for you and you only. You could literally cum just by being overwhelmed by his words.
Instead, you gasped, pleading for more, and he let out a hissed curse through his teeth.He began to thrust into you.
Deep. Unrelenting.
"Ah—'tachi please, keep going," you mewled, your hips writhing to capture every inch of him. Because of the angle, his cock dragged continuously against your G-spot with every stroke. The pressure was building again, that same wave from before, but this time it was intensified by the feeling of him moving inside you.
"Itachi—" you whimpered, your nails digging into the forearm close to your waist. “too much— Oh, ’ts too deep.” Hearing you beg for him, moan his name, completely wrecked him. You weren't thinking about your ex, or your insecurities, or your brokenness. You were only thinking about him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips thrusting with an incessant force, hopelessly addicted to the sweet sound of his name on your tongue.
"You can take it," he smiled, looking down right at you. "Let me make you whole, baby." He didn't stop, didn't slow down, his hips snapping up into yours with a wet, slapping sound that echoed obscenely in the room.
Sluck.
Sluck.
Sluck.
You were almost quivering around his cock buried deep into your spongy walls when he burst you out of your pleasure bubble. “On your stomach for me,” he said, stopping the thrusts and helping you sit down. You scrambled to comply, positioning yourself on the mattress. He moved behind you, his large hands smoothing over the curve of your spine, down to your hips. He grabbed your ass, pulling it up, while one hand sat on your back, gently forcing it to lower down, your face against the bed.
He pressed into you again, slowly this time, sinking to the hilt until his hips were aligned against your ass. He was so deep, so fucking impossibly deep, that the pressure against your front wall felt perfect. He started slowly but hard. Each thrust was a plunging punch of pleasure that rattled your bones. The intensity was too much, unlike anything you had ever felt during penetration.
The pleasure was building from the inside out, fusing with the throbbing ache in your clit, creating a feedback loop of sensation that threatened to shatter your mind. To make you fall apart in a matter of seconds.
"Faster," you begged, dropping your chest lower to the mattress, your fingers clawing at the sheets. "Please, Itachi, deeper, faster. I need to feel your cock pounding on me—"
A low snarl vibrated through his chest. He was helping you, but still, there was just so much he could do to hold himself back during a moment like this, while he's making you take every inch of his cock inside your sweet cunt.
He obliged instantly, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he picked up the pace. He slammed into you with primal urgency, his hips meeting your ass with a wet slap.
Plap.
Plap.
Plap.
"Look at you," he panted, his voice rough, his hands taking a fistful of your hair and pulling it back. "Taking me so beautifully. Feeling so good. Do not fight it."
"Nnnngh...Itachi, I can feel every inch of your cock."
"Am I making you feel good, baby?"
"So good, 'tachi. I feel like I'm ready to—" you couldn't even form a proper cohesive sentence at this rate. The storm inside you was winding tighter than ever before, a physical pressure that bordered on pain but felt like transcendence. Itachi's cock was buried in your cunt, hitting your g-spot, making you feel like this topped any other form of pleasure known to a man.
Every thrust knocked the breath out of your lungs, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each stroke, sending jolts of pure pleasure up your spine.
"Yeah, sweet girl?" You let out a soft moan, agreeing. "I will leave such an imprint on you, deep on your body, that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me in order to understand you, to savor you."
His words were your undoing.
With a final deep thrust that pressed you flat into the mattress, the coil snapped again. You screamed his name, you cursed loudly, your vision blurring white as the most intense climax of your life ripped through you. It started deep inside your womb and radiated outward to the tips of your fingers and toes, forming a beautiful wave of unadulterated pleasure.
As your body kept trembling, calling out his name, Itachi groaned yours like a prayer, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, filling the condom with his release. He pulsed inside you, his whole body shuddering with his own climax.
Itachi did not collapse on top of you like a lazy man would. Even as the final tremors of his release wracked his frame, completely undone, his control held perfectly. He stayed kneeling on the mattress right behind you, his large hands keeping an anchoring grip on your hips to steady you both. He simply held you there, letting you catch your breath against the sheets as you lay completely unraveled and utterly remade.
Only when your coarse breathing finally started to slow did he move. He withdrew from inside of you, the sudden loss of his heat drawing a low whine from your throat, your hips dropping fully to the mattress as you melted into the bed.
You heard and felt him leave the bed, making his way to your bathroom to ditch the condom full of his white, almost transparent seed. When he returned to you, he stretched his large frame out on the mattress right behind you. His strong arm closed in around your waist, cradling you gently backward until your spine was pressed against his chest.
He pulled the heavy duvet over your bare shoulders, tucking you in as his face buried into the crook of your neck. His right hand stroking your hair.
"Are you alright?" he asked eventually, his deep voice a whisper, music to your ears.
"Better than alright," you turned around to face him, your fingers leaving the comfort of the duvet to trace the chaos lines on his face. He closed his eyes, feeling your touch. "I think I'm fixed. Thank you, Itachi."
"You were never broken," he corrected, his mouth pressing a kiss to your palm. "Let me keep proving it to you!"
(omg my first divider <3)
⋆。‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧。⋆ Readers also liked: [KAKASHI] Thank you for loving me when I still taste of heartache and war | ✎ Masterlist | Have a request? Drop it here!
🎀 DO NOT repost, translate, modify, or feed my content to AI. All rights to the original writing and plots belong to me!
(I wrote this in Swedish and have tried to translate it. I normally wouldn’t post something like this here, but I wanted to share it anyway. I apologise for the self indulgence. I know there are wars out there, and in a way this is about that too. It is a text about not fitting in, about animals, about the destruction of forests, and about the madness of humankind. Please feel free to skip this post if it is not of interest.)
It is difficult to explain to others, because I can hardly explain it to myself.
When my days fill with people and conversations something begins to happen to me. Slowly at first, almost imperceptibly.
It is as if I grow thinner. As if I begin to dissolve in all these encounters. In the end I no longer quite manage to hold myself together, no longer quite understand who I am within it all.
People become shapes I do not fully comprehend. Outlines, voices, gestures. Through observation and experience I have learned what is expected of me. How I should respond. How I should smile. How I should be.
But sometimes it simply does not work.
I cannot.
I cannot, cannot, cannot.
My social strength drains away. At first almost imperceptibly, then more quickly. Inside me a quiet panic grows, something I try to conceal. Eventually it turns into resignation, and finally into a kind of helplessness.
And yet I have always carried a longing to be liked. To be one of those people who seem to move easily among others, one of those whom everyone naturally warms to.
But I never quite found my place there.
Instead I found companionship in imagined worlds. In books. In television series. Through them I lived among people at a distance, close enough to recognise something of the human world without quite belonging to it.
And in animals.
In watching animals, in the quiet presence of the animals I have lived with or still live alongside, there is something different. A stillness. A balance. Something that asks for no interpretation and no explanation.
I do not have to guess what is expected of me.
There I do not have to play a role.
When I cannot leave people behind for a while, when I cannot step away from them, beyond them, far enough to breathe again, something inside me begins to give way. Panic perhaps. Or anxiety.
I feel such an urgent need simply to walk away, to get into the car and drive without direction, that when expectations hold me back I almost cannot breathe. When I cannot leave, I fall into a dark hollow.
At the same time I know that I am fortunate. I have found love. A love that has walked beside me for a quarter of a century.
With him I can rest.
But even with the love of my life I cannot always explain myself. I cannot expect to be fully understood when I myself struggle to understand. When I try to give shape to what I feel, the words often become flat and inadequate. They say something other than what I meant.
But there is one thing I do not have to explain. We share a sorrow over the madness of humankind.
Our strange capacity for destruction.
All around us the forest is being massacred.
Lorry after lorry, loaded with felled trees, passes our house. Clearcuts spread where forest once stood. Lifeless rows of tightly planted spruce replace something that once was living, varied, full of voices.
Wild animals must survive on the conditional mercy of humans. They withdraw, adapt, endure where they can.
And yet we humans so often speak of ourselves as the developed ones. The moral ones. The ethical ones.
If that were truly so, it is difficult to understand why it is we who are destroying the world around us.
For it is in the quiet, wild landscape that I find my refuge. My rest. My life.
When that world disappears, I too become something that is hunted.
When I cannot escape I feel trapped. As if in an animal factory. As if in a house of slaughter. Surrounded by a system that insists this is normal, that this is simply how the world is.
Pairings include: Xavier x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Sylus x Reader | Caleb x Reader
Warning, this post contains: very light smut, nothing super detailed but definitely suggestive! Also fluff! Read at your own risk!
A/N: all moving banners in the post are by @cafekitsune + please be kind, as these are just my opinion / nicknames I have for them in game and in writings I’ve done. I had fun with this one! I def have more to write so you’ll be seeing more of me soon, thank you for the support!
Xavier
🐰Baby
Xavier isn’t sure what it is about the nickname. It’s so popular, so widely used, almost cliche. Some couples even find it cringy, and for him? It’s pretty damn modern. Maybe that’s why he loves it so much. Something about the way you sound when you call him baby, the tone of your voice, the caress of your fingers. That soft and sleepy “good morning, baby.” Sends his heart into a frenzy. It sparks kiss, then two, then three, and suddenly you’re making out and he’s shoving down his sweats to get inside of you.
“Keep calling me that, please. Need you to keep calling me your baby… I love it so much… fuck!”
🐰Xavi
Simple, sweet, playful. The first time you uttered the shortened version of his name, blood rushed to Xavier’s face. It wasn’t expect it, and for some reason it gave him cuteness aggression. He felt the need to tug you close, suffocate you with his hugs and kisses and maybe slip a nibble or two in there. However, the nickname could be used as a weapon against him. You’ve become prone to using it when he’s mad or jealous. “C’mon, Xavi! He was just giving me bread.” Yeah sure, just bread. That’s the first step, next is getting into your bed. Still, there is nothing he loves more than that nickname.
“Xavi, he’s just giving me bread!” His tone is higher, mocking you as he pounds you into the mattress. Xavi being the only name you can utter as he fucks you utterly senseless.
🐰Bunny
A classic. He just… he’s so… you know? How can you not? He’s your little bunny boy, your sweet, totally innocent bunny boy. You usually call him bunny through text, sending him selfies with the bunny plushie he won you in the claw machine (seems he had a new enemy). Bunny has also become a dual nickname, he’ll call you bunny right back whenever you’re excited or… riled up. It just suits him, suits you, makes perfect sense. “we also tend to fuck like bunnies.” A prompt slap to his bare shoulder sent him into a giggling fit.
“Tell—ha—tell me I’m wrong, my lil bunny…”
Rafayel
🐚 Bub or Bubba
This nickname just came so naturally once you and Rafayel had officially began dating. It just slipped out one day and Rafayel didn’t point it out — simply because he didn’t think you noticed. Then, it happened again, and again, and again. The variation between bub and bubba and sometimes both came out within the span of a minute. Eventually he teased you about it, but you claimed you couldn’t help yourself because he was just too cute. “If you can call me cutie, I can call you bubba.” Rafayel wasn’t complaining though.
“My sweet girl.” A gentle coo in your ear as he hugged you tighter from behind, lips ghosting the shell of your ear as his hips grind forward. “Let your bubba take care of you.”
🐚 Guppy
Rafayel had a huge love hate relationship with this chosen nickname. Initially he had gotten a little defensive, pouting his lips and puffing his cheeks and accidentally reinforcing your love for the nickname in the process. Now? He actually had to admit he thought it was pretty cute. Especially when you’d waltz into his studio, arms wrapping around his neck as you peck his cheek. “Is this your latest piece, guppy? It looks beautiful already!” The nickname was sweet, so sweet it made his cheeks warm every time you used it.
“You like this, huh guppy?” He was going to lose it, tugging against the silk restraints with a frustrated whine. “C-course…” but you fixed him in place with a cool stare “I mean… yes!”
🐚 Raffie
It came out while play fighting one night and Rafayel made you repeat it three times before bursting into a fit of giggles. He’d never heard anyone make his name cute before, so it was only right that his cutie was the one to do it. Though, there was also the argument that he had never let anyone get as close to him as you were. So, in a sense, the shortened and cute-ified version of his name was yours for the taking. It always had been, he was certain of it. “Raffie, what are we gonna do today? Wanna walk on the beach?” Or “Raffie, you’re wiggling too much I’m trying to sleep” no matter the context, Rafayel loved hearing the little nickname from you.
“R-Raffie! Feels so… good please don’t stop!” Your hips jerk against his lips, a fist full of his hair in your fingers: still, the nickname slipped past your lips. You weren’t far gone yet.”
Zayne
❄️ My Love
Just like all of your nicknames for him, none of them really shone through until after the surgeon and you made things official. So, it should be no surprise that Zayne’s face turned a shade of crimson the first time you said it. “My love, where did you put my reusable cup? I need it for training tomorrow.” Poor thing, he short circuited for a good two minutes before finally telling you where the cup had been moved to. Once he was used to it? Zayne started using the nickname back at you. “My love” became a common phrase.
“My love, I’ve missed you—“ a kiss “—so damn—“ another kiss “much…!” You were all over each other, two weeks apart due to surgeries and missions really caught up to you both.
❄️ Sweetheart
You picked it up from the man himself. Every time Zayne called you sweetheart, you found yourself calling it back. Turns out you were both creatures of habit. Whatever one did, eventually the other would pick up. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t stay too late, those files can always wait for the next shift.” Your voice filled this ear, a gentle sigh leaving Zayne’s lips as tired eyes scanned over his computer screen. “Don’t worry, I’ll be mindful of the time. I just have to do one more round and I’ll be on my way home. Don’t wait up for me.” The sweet nickname was the mood boost Zayne needed to finish his shift.
“Hi, sweetheart.” It was groggy, a kiss on your brow was all you needed to know your lover was home. “Hi, my love.” You shivered at the cool sensation of his hands slipping under the covers, roaming your skin in search of some much needed warmth.
❄️ Zaynie
A nickname that you had used on him since childhood, and yet it never failed to make his heart beat just a little faster. As cute as it was, it carried a level of intimacy and domestic nature that made Zayne smile. “Zaynie! It’s your day off, what do you want to do?” And — astra help him — he could think of serval things he wanted to do that didn’t so much as involve leaving his bed. You were just too cute for his heart to handle, so sweet and beautiful and— well it is his day off after all.
“How about this, my love… does this work?” Your mind is reeling, a quite plea if “zaynie…” leaving your lips out of habit.
Sylus
🍷Handsome
Sylus could have fainted the first time you called him handsome. You had done it so nonchalantly, so genuinely too, for the first time the leader of Onychinus didn’t know what to do with himself. You noticed, of course, the little hitch in his breath and the widening of his eyes. And you didn’t say a word, just tucked it in the back of your mind for later. Eventually he got used to you calling him handsome, but it didn’t stop the flutter in his chest when you did. “Morning, handsome. Are we going to go for a walk?” Sure, a walk works, but he can think of way better things to do to… warm up.
“S-so handsome, my ha-handsome boy—“ Sylus groaned, hips swiveling against yours. “Still praising me? What a good girl…”
🍷My Beloved
He thinks you got the nickname from him, considering he’s called you it a handful of times himself. So, it becomes a shared nickname for eachother, and Sylus finds himself grinning like a fool whenever he hears you calling him. “Are you ready to go, my beloved?” Your hand is extended towards him, you’re both dressed to the nines, and he swears the butterflies in his chest are about to break through his damn rib cage. “Course I am, beautiful.” With a shaky little breath, his fingers intertwined with your own. Now? It was time to get the job done… hopefully he could focus for that long—
“Couldn’t help yourself, beloved?” This wasn’t exactly your first time getting pressed up against a wall by your lover while on a mission. And it certainly wouldn’t be your last… “you know I’m insatiable.”
🍷Sy
It was so effortless falling from your lips that Sylus barely noticed it the first few times you had used it. It wasn't until the twins had begun to chuckle that Sylus picked up on the key detail his brain had been glossing over. "So domestic, boss!" to which the two of them were banished from the kitchen. All you could do was laugh, a dopey grin on your face as your lover approached you with mock disdain. "Using a nickname in front of those two... what a dangerous game you're playing, kitten." You could only continue your giggling, even as he picked you up and placed you on the marble countertop. "Naughty naughty..."
"S-sy! Sylus! Shit- slow down!" But he could feel you thrusting your hips backwards to meet his erratic thrusts. "You're so indecisive -ha- kitten."
Caleb
🍏 Honey
Caleb had been cheeky back when you pretended to be his girlfriend, using the pet name as frequently as he could to really sell the act. But, somewhere along the way after things became official, you had begun to use the term genuinely. "Hi honey." Here and "honey, where did you put the laundry detergent?" there and suddenly he was doing it too. It made him feel warm and fuzzy every time you uttered the phrase, and he didn’t dare tease you about it in fear that you’d stop using it all together. He could be your honey any time.
“You like that, honey? Like when I do this?” His lips are all over your chest, nipping and sucking and licking. “Bet you do, you’re as sweet as honey… how about I give you some of my honey too?”
🍏 Lover Boy
It had started as a joke, you even changed his name in your phone to the silly little name. Then? It was something that stuck. He’d say something to you with hearts in his eyes and you couldn’t help but chuckle, a fond smile on your face as you whisper “okay, lover boy, whatever you say.” Other times, you’d come home from work with a tired expression on your face and sleepily mutter it. And fuck did it drive Caleb wild. Sometimes he’d even use it against you, just to see your face fall apart as he pressed his body against yours, whispering the beloved nickname in your ear.
“This is what you want your lover boy to do, huh? Fuck this pretty pussy stupid with his cock? Yeah, good girl, I bet.”
🍏 Kay (pronounced like a shortened version of his name)
You’ve used the nickname since childhood, a shortened version of his name that he’s become damn near trained to respond to. “C’mon, Kay, please?” Anytime you’d want him to cook for you, or do your share of chores, or when you needed help with your homework. The list goes on and on, but Kay was such a special term to him. He loved how sweet and natural it felt coming from your mouth. Even if you were whining a majority of the time you used it.
“Kay! C’mon! Harder!” You’re flushed and drooling, nails biting into his shoulders as you plead with him to fuck you just a little rougher.
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⋮ ٠࣪⭑ authors note ⋮ first post ,, dont come for me ts is brain slop also no proof-read ! sorry ! gonna delete ts if noone sees it ong…
── ⟡ ˙ m.list ̟ ⊹
방찬. BANGCHAN
virgin!chan who , despite being out-of-"action" , can't keep his hands to himself — always wandering in places they shouldn't , especially in public . always has an excuse & will get flustered if you bring it up . will text you dirty things late at night , mostly when he's 100% sure that you're already asleep ( so he doesn't have to deal with the embarrassment of you reading them right then and there . ) cannot for the life of him keep his thoughts to himself either , always whispering things to you in public , slipping out lewd comments disguised poorly as jokes . swears you wear " revealing stuff " on purpose to " torture " him — will practically grope your ass and or hips when you do wear " torturous " clothes though . some nights with you , he has to literally hold back on begging you to just let him touch and please you . is surprisingly quite educated on female anatomy ( mostly due to porn ) , in hopes that when the day does finally come , he'll know exactly what to do . when you do finally let him fuck you , he's practically bursting at the seems in excitement ( that he masks very poorly ) . is genuinely shocked at the tightness , not being anything like how he had expected and " way better " then his hand . takes his time , holding back his urge to finish , almost painfully , just to make sure that you get the best of it first . is very vocal , especially the first time — asking things in between groans like : " you like that? " , " does this feel good? here? " and " is this right? are you sure? " . he's trembling almost the whole time , when he eventually does cum , he couldn't think straight enough to pull out , filling you up completely . after the first time , he becomes pretty much next-to hooked on you and your body — more than before and is baffled that he went so long without ever experiencing " heaven on earth " .
창빈. SEO CHANGBIN
virgin!changbin who is basically clueless , however , if you point him in the direction he's a fast learner. tell him where to touch , what pace to set , how deep he should be . . . clueless doesnt mean he hasn't thought it all through though — countless time's he's found his mind drifting to the idea of bending you over , making you scream loud enough for noise complaints , making you a complete mess . he's watched enough porn to know the basics . is constantly getting hard from the smallest things , your voice , your laugh — he knows its pathetic and will go to some lengths to make sure you have no idea about it sometimes ( in fear he'll " scare " you away ) . hates being mocked about his " innocence " by you , but wont stop you talking about it . some nights , when he's palming himself in the dark of his bedroom , he thinks about your pretty lips wrapped tightly around his cock , not a single mock or comment , tears staining your cheeks . at heart he's a freak and in his head he's a pro . when the time finally does come , he's desperate to be the one giving head instead — nothing like his fantasies . does almost every trick he had been googling months prior , when he feels your hand tightly grip and tug at his hair , he was the one moaning , more than you . he's a messy eater , but when he finally gets his dick wet — he's practically feral , barely being able to hold out from being rough . a stark difference to how he ate you out . convinces himself he could " go for rounds " but ends up cumming before you do — does immediately want more afterwards though .
한. HAN JISUNG
virgin!jisung who is a little too easy-going for his own good , tell him to get on his knees? it's done . sit on his face? he's ready . beg? he was already about to . honestly , even though sex is on his mind a lot — he's practically a nervous wreck after even a light kiss . isn't prepared for how different actually intimacy is compared to the porn he watches practically nightly . cries after he touches himself and or feels inexplainable guilt a lot of the time and is scared it'll happen with you . is aware that he's not the most skilled in bed but he will make it up for it with his mouth . is notorious for having wet dreams , every single one of them about you ( most of the time , it's you bossing him around ) . when you finally let him between your legs , his only thought is to make you a mess . eating you out mercilessly till your basically crying and whines are spilling from your mouth . when he finally gets inside of you , his mind blanks — unable to find a right pace for the first few minutes . with some of your guidance he's able to steady himself into a rhythm . as soon as he's close , you noticed before he did — his whines and noises turned into murmurs of : " m'thank . . . thank you.... " , almost in tears due to the pleasure ( not guilt this time ) . he didn't last long , but is too pussy-drunk to be embarrassed about it , eyes glued to it basically the whole time — mesmerized by you . afterwards , he's completely mind-blown and out of breath , face buried in your neck , sweat dripping off his forehead and onto your already wet skin . mumbles weakly into your neck that he " promises " too last longer next time . . .
a/n: guys i lost the post but someone had the brilliant idea of using Too Little, Too Late for a ryland angst fic and it gave me so much inspo
word count: 1.6k
tags/warnings: angst no comfort!! elementary teacher!reader, established relationship, you’re alone and Ryland just got sent to space
Fwip.
You taped up the last paper onto your wall with a swipe of your thumb. The crude drawing, surrounded by a couple dozen others just like it, depicted a familiar figure: beloved, former teacher, Ryland Grace.
But to you, he wasn’t a middle school teacher. Nor was he an outcast scientist. He was just Ryland. Your Ryland.
The words “my hero” floated above him on every paper. Like a halo. A cruel reminder that he’d never return to you.
Your classroom in Grover Cleveland Elementary was quiet. With the scribbling of crayons and the kid’s chatter gone, your only company in the empty room was silence. All of your fellow teachers left an hour ago, and your third graders had scrambled to leave long before.
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, bathing the room in warm, golden rays. Yet, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the wall of papers.
Not when the man you loved, albeit poorly drawn, stared back at you from thirty different papers. In every single drawing, he had a huge smile on his face. You frowned looking at it.
Earlier today, you’d assigned this classic project to your students. The instructions were clear: “Who is your hero?”
In past years, most kids did their parents. Moms, dads, and the occasional superman or spiderman would fill the exact wall you stood in front of now.
But this year was different. The Hail Mary launch was only a few weeks prior, so you’d expected one, maybe two pictures of Ryland.
Yet, you greatly underestimated how enthusiastic your kids would be about space, and how a science teacher, who was formerly a part of Grover Cleveland’s staff, was on the mission.
You scanned the papers, wishing he were here next to you to admire the work. Normally, he would be, and you struggled to avoid thinking about the gaping hole in your life with him gone— No more pop in’s during your lunch breaks. No more texts in the middle of the day, asking if you guys should get takeout or cook at home for the night. No more returning home to a warm house full of life. Full of him.
You felt fresh tears springing up in your eyes, so instead, you thought about your class from today.
Excited gossip filled the room as your kids dutifully colored. You sat at your desk, grading last week’s vocab quizzes, trying hard not to think too hard about Ryland. Unfortunately for you, it was nearly impossible to ignore the rapid fire commentary happening around you.
“Mr. Grace is so cool! I want to go to space like him!”
“I wish I had him as my teacher!”
“He’s so brave, he’s definitely my hero.”
“I bet he was excited to help save the world!”
That last comment made you pause. You looked at the sweet little girl that said it, and how earnest her smile was.
She had already moved on, only meant it as a passing comment, but her words echoed in your head. Because you knew, deep in your soul, it was a lie.
Ryland had been acting strangely over the past few months. He would return home at unpredictable hours, the dark circles under his eyes progressively getting worse. All you knew was that he had been recruited as a scientist to help figure out the Petrova line problem. He couldn’t tell you much else, not just because of the NDA’s, but also because of how little he was home.
Most nights, you would try to wait up for him, but sometimes he wouldn’t even return. And when you’d wake up in the morning, bleary eyes meeting his vacant spot, your heart would twist with the bitter realization that he was barely there anymore.
You’d give anything for his side of the bed to be warm again.
When you eventually saw him a few days later, you knew something was wrong. He brushed it off as last minute experiments and late night meetings, and blindly, you’d accepted his words. You thought, surely, there must be hundreds of other scientists working on this sun dimming problem.
Ryland was just doing his part, rejoining the scientific community, and using his knowledge to help the world. And at the end of the day, he’d return to you like he always did. But never in your worst nightmares did you imagine him getting ripped away from you so suddenly and violently.
And that was the worst part. You had no notice. No time to prepare. Only immense, immediate loss and the soul crushing news that he was gone for good.
And without a doubt, you knew that your student's innocent words were false. You knew Ryland wasn’t excited to save the world, and that he didn’t sacrifice himself, because he would have come back to you. Just to hold you one last time and sear a final kiss into your skin so you’d never forget the feel of him. Hell, knowing him, he wouldn't have left in the first place.
Whatever it was, if it were truly up to him, he would have come back. That, you were sure of.
A knock on the door startled you out of your thoughts. You glanced up and saw a woman walking in, wearing all black and a grim expression to match. She had sympathetic eyes, but the weary lines of her face had clearly been an accumulation of stress over the years, hardening her exterior.
None of that mattered though. What immediately caught your attention wasn’t her looks, but what she carried— an all too familiar yellow raincoat.
You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening when you saw it. “Where did you get that.”
She dipped her head solemnly, wasting no time in answering despite your accusatory tone, as if she was already prepared for your harsh greeting. “Eva Stratt with the Petrova task force. This was Dr. Grace’s. He would have wanted you to have it.” Her voice was punctual, like she wanted to get straight to the point. She held the jacket out, but your body refused to move.
You eyed her, the tension in the air thickening by the second. The Petrova task force. What Ryland had been working on before he abruptly got on that cursed, one way ship.
A moment of silence filled the room. Finally, you slowly met her eyes, your voice barely coming out in a whisper. “It was you. You forced him to go, didn’t you?”
She closed her eyes, a quiet sigh escaping her, and it told you all you needed to know.
You shook your head, almost disbelieving. “You murdered him.”
Eva spoke softly, like she was trying to justify her actions. “You were the greatest factor in the decision. We— I tried to come up with another solution, but there was no alternative. Dr. Grace was our only hope.” A beat of silence. “I’m sorry.”
You scoffed. “You’re not,” you laughed bitterly.
She accepted your words, not even trying to fight back. It only made you angrier. Wordlessly, she held out the jacket again, gesturing for you to take it.
You snatched the fabric from her hands, desperate to preserve any remnants of Ryland you could. It still smelled faintly of him, and the jacket wrinkled from your vise-like grip.
“The pocket.”
You glanced up at Eva, who now had her arms crossed. As she said the words, her brows scrunched up ever so slightly, like she was fighting back from showing too much emotion.
Slowly, you reached into the right coat pocket, a feeling of dread suddenly coming over you. At the very bottom, your hands wrapped around a smooth, velvet box. Your stomach dropped.
With trembling fingers, you brought the small box out, delicately setting the coat down on your desk. You knew what it was, and yet you’ve never wanted to be wrong more in your life.
You popped it open. At the sight of the small object inside, you couldn’t contain the sob that escaped you.
A simple diamond ring twinkled up at you from its snug spot. It was one clearly bought off of a teacher’s salary. Not too flashy. Made with your favorite metal. Exactly how you’d like it.
Undoubtedly from Ryland, to you.
You weren’t sure when you crumpled to the ground, or when the tears started flowing freely, or when your ragged breathing turned into choked sobs. All you could think to do was clutch the precious band in your fingers, wishing with your entire being that none of this was real.
But all you felt was a gaping hole in your chest. He had been so close. So close to tying the knot and allowing you to take his last name, ensuring your lives would be intertwined.
But no. Your future, the one that included Ryland, had been irrevocably altered. By fate, the universe, Eva Stratt. It didn't matter who did it, just that it had been done.
Eva couldn’t watch anymore. She knew as soon as she found the ring that she would deliver it to you— it was meant to be yours, after all. Only the person meant to give it to you would be different. She'd decided the sooner the better, and now, the deed was done.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Grace.”
Eva dipped her head and left. She didn’t say anything more, and she wasn’t even sure if you heard her. She simply closed the door with a soft click, muffling your sobs from the rest of the world.
You’re not sure how long you sat there, grieving the man that got torn away from you before he could even propose. Really, it didn't matter how many hours you'd spend on the cold floor of your dark classroom, or how many times you could exhaust your eye sockets of tears.
All the time in the world would never be able to heal what you'd lost.
"whisper vows, I'll never say to you ... cause it's too little, all too late" ♬⋆.˚
Interlude XIII: Tell Me About It (The Jack Sessions Part VII)
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Jack is in therapy and still keeps waiting for the catch.
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 99: Whatever happens in the group chat, stays in the group chat
--- --- ---
Therapist: Jack, good to see you.
Jack: Hey, you too. How are you?
Therapist: (with a small smile) That’s not the most interesting question right now. How are you?
Jack: (grins) Good. Really good.
Therapist: I figured after the text you sent me.
Jack: Yeah, sorry about that. I was really excited.
Therapist: No need to apologize. I gave you the permission, remember? And I’ll take an excited Jack any day.
(Jack still smiles, but rubs the back of his neck.)
Therapist: So your backup plan worked?
Jack: Yeah. She said yes.
Therapist: Congratulations.
Jack: Thank you.
Therapist: Did the universe send you another Robby this time?
Jack: (laughs) No. Nothing like that. It actually went kind of perfect.
Therapist: I’m so glad to hear that. Where did you do it?
Jack: Her uncle’s lake house. That’s the place where we… um… accidentally made Lizzie, you know?
Therapist: So the place is holding a lot of emotional meaning for your relationship.
Jack: Yes, that’s one way to put it.
Therapist: When you think about this place and Vancouver - which one feels more like you?
(Jack thinks about it for a moment.)
Jack: The lake house, probably.
Therapist: I think so too. So, you’re not grieving the missed proposal attempt in Canada?
Jack: No, not anymore. Like this… you know, there was a sunset, champagne, the lake… and she looked so ridiculously pretty in her dress. It was… perfect. Even when I cried.
Therapist: That’s nothing to be ashamed about, Jack.
Jack: I know, I know. I just wasn’t crying when I was thinking about it, you know?
Therapist: I bet your fiancee didn’t mind a few happy tears.
Jack: (stops for a moment) It’s kind of crazy to hear that word from your mouth.
Therapist: Fiancee?
Jack: Yeah. That’s… I can’t fully wrap my head around it. She really is my fiancee. We’re getting married.
(He looks down at his lap, smiling.)
Therapist: You look happy.
Jack: Yeah, I am happy. Which feels… (stops)
Therapist: Yeah?
Jack: Um, kinda scary I guess.
Therapist: Scary? Why is that?
Jack: I don’t know. (hesitates) It’s weird, you know? For a long time things were just like… survive the next shift, get through the week, get through the… anniversary, get through the next thing. And then I met her and now… there’s a kid and family trips and lazy weekends spend together and … soon there’ll be a wedding. I mean… that’s a whole future before me.
Therapist: Why does this feel scary to you?
Jack: Because I didn’t think I’d have one. At some point I stopped expecting good things.
Therapist: And now?
Jack: Now I suddenly have too many good things.
Therapist: Can there be too many good things?
Jack: I think so, yeah. Because… the more you have, the more there is to lose, you know? (shakes head) I guess grief really fucks with your optimism, huh?
Therapist: It sounds like you think loving someone again means waiting for loss.
Jack: (shrugs) Yeah. Sometimes. You lose enough people and eventually your brain starts waiting.
Therapist: Waiting for what?
Jack: I don’t know. A phone call. A knock on the door. That look on someones face seconds before they tell you something horrible. The thing that changes everything.
Therapist: So a part of you is scared and waiting for something horrible to happen. But another part still made the decision to propose. And to chase your own happiness.
Jack: Yeah. I think… (hesitates) … she’s worth being scared for, you know? Even when I try not to act that way.
Therapist: What do you mean by that?
Jack: I think… I mean… she deserves someone who isn’t constantly waiting for disaster.
Therapist: Is that what you think you’re doing?
Jack: Yeah. Sometimes. Like things get really good and suddenly my brain starts looking for the catch.
Therapist: Like when you accused her of cheating with Robby?
Jack: (winces) Yeah…
Therapist: Any other more recent examples of this?
Jack: Well… sometimes when she doesn’t answer a text for a while my brain immediately goes like “Okay, cool - car accident. Kidnapped. Injured. Dead.”
Therapist: That escalates quickly.
Jack: Yeah, I know. (pauses) She went out with my colleagues the other day.
Therapist: And you didn’t join?
Jack: I couldn’t. Monthly Pitts Girls Night. Their words, not mine.
Therapist: Ah. I see. So how did that go?
Jack: Honestly? Kinda awful.
Therapist: Awful?
Jack: For me, not for them. She had fun.
Therapist: So why was it awful for you?
Jack: She didn’t have signal in the bar.
Therapist: Ah.
Jack: Yeah. And you know - logically I knew she was fine. She spent her night with a bunch of women working in emergency medicine. Probably the safest place in Pittsburgh then. But emotionally? My brain was like - cool, okay, she’s dead or flirting with other men.
Therapist: Okay. So and what happened really?
Jack: Nothing. She texted eventually when she went outside smoking with Dana. (stops) Well she didn’t smoke. That was when I heard she used to smoke - but okay, that’s a totally different conversation.
Therapist: (smiles) I see. So she texted and had fun. What did that to you?
Jack: I was relieved. And probably… I dunno, maybe a little overprotective.
Therapist: What does that mean exactly?
Jack: Told her I’d come and pick her up if she needed me to. Told her not to get in a car with strangers. Or with someone drunk.
Therapist: How did that go?
Jack: She told me she’s a grown woman.
Therapist: Which is fair.
Jack: And she told me she loved me.
Therapist: That must have been nice to hear.
Jack: (smiling shyly) Yeah. My favorite sentence honestly.
Therapist: I’m glad to hear that. (small pause) So she’s in the bar, obviously having the time of her life and you’re at home with your toddler and your spiraling thoughts.
Jack: Mhm.
Therapist: Does she know about this? You worrying so much about her?
Jack: Well… I’m not good in hiding it, so I guess - she knows about some of it. I… I don’t wanna put that on her.
Therapist: What would “putting that on her” mean?
Jack: Making her responsible for fixing it or… I dunno, making her feel like she has to reassure me all the time.
Therapist: But everyone needs reassurance now and then, Jack. Your wants and needs do matter too.
Jack: (rolls eyes) You always say that.
Therapist: Because it’s true.
Jack: Mhm, yeah, I know.
Therapist: Jack, when you worry about her what do you think that says about you?
Jack: I dunno. (frowns) That I catastrophize too much?
Therapist: Maybe. Anything else?
Jack: That… um… that I care?
Therapist: Exactly. (pauses) Do you think fear means you’re doing something wrong?
Jack: No, not wrong, just… feels unfair sometimes.
Therapist: To whom?
Jack: Her. She gets this guy who occasionally spirals because his brain remembers suddenly terrible things happened before her.
Therapist: That’s one way to look at it. To offer another way - she gets a man who lost deeply and still chose to love again. Chose to love her.
Jack: (looks down) Yeah, that… sounds nicer.
Therapist: Jack, I’m not saying this because it sounds nicer. I’m saying this because it’s true.
(Jack swallows hard, doesn’t reply.)
Therapist: Fear isn’t always a warning, you know. Sometimes it’s evidence of attachment. And from what I can tell - you are very much attached to this fiancee of yours.
(Jack can’t help but smile when he hears that word again.)
Jack: Yeah. (chuckles softly) Fuck, yeah, I am.
Therapist: So, when you find yourself struggling with spiraling thoughts again, just try and pause for a second. Breathe. And ask yourself “What do I actually know right now?”
(Jack doesn’t look convinced.)
Therapist: Your brain is very good at preparing for worst case scenarios. Which is a good thing working in emergency medicine.
Jack: (shrugs) Prepare for the worst and nothing can ever surprise you.
Therapist: Oh, I disagree. You seem awfully surprised whenever good stuff happens to you, Jack.
(Jack blinks.)
Therapist: So, when you find yourself in a situation like that again ask yourself “What evidence do I have that something is actually wrong?” And then “Is this about now or is this about before?” Because your brain learned that good things disappear. So you need to rewire that.
Jack: That sounds exhausting.
Therapist: But worthwhile. Trust me.
Jack: (sighs) Okay, I’ll try. Maybe starting with not assuming my fiancee died every time she needs five minutes to reply to my texts.
Therapist: That would be a wonderful place to start actually.
(Jack lets out a small laugh.)
Therapist: So have you already started planning the wedding?
Jack: God no. We’re only engaged for like five minutes.
Therapist: We already talked about how you would want to get married.
Jack: Um, no.
Therapist: (raises an eyebrow, browses through her notes) Yes, we did. I’m pretty sure.
Jack: No, we never talked about how I want to get married. We talked about how we want to get married. That’s a mutual decision, not mine alone.
(Therapist stops browsing her notes and looks up. Jack looks unbelievably smug.)
Therapist: For once I’m truly at loss for words, Jack.
Jack: (grins) Yeah. How does it feel to be on the other side of receiving comments?
Therapist: (laughs) That was a fair one, so I’ll let it slide.
(Both laugh.)
Therapist: Okay, so you and your fiancee talked about how you want to get married. Small affair, if I remember correctly. Not a hundred people watching.
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: So, if you already agreed on the framework - what are you waiting for?
(Jack stares at her.)
Jack: Um.
Therapist: It’s not a trick question, Jack. I’m really curious.
Jack: It’s just… um. We haven’t really talked about a wedding date or how we… how we actually wanna do it.
Therapist: Okay. So that’s one conversation you’re going to have pretty soon.
Jack: (rubs his neck) Yeah, I guess so.
(A long silence settles in.)
Jack: And um, we haven’t told her mom yet.
Therapist: Okay. Why?
Jack: She wants to tell her in person and we’re visiting them in a couple of weeks anyway. So we decided to wait for that.
Therapist: That sounds well thought through.
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: Is this the first time you are going to meet her mom?
Jack: (suddenly a little nervous) Yeah. And the rest of her family.
Therapist: That’s an exciting milestone in every relationship.
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: How do you feel about this?
Jack: Um. (rubs his thumb against his palm) Kinda nervous, maybe? Because… what if they don’t like me?
Therapist: Let’s play this through for a moment. What would change if her family doesn’t like you?
Jack: Um, well… um, maybe she rethinks her decision?
Therapist: Do you really think she would break off the engagement because of this?
(Jack shrugs.)
Jack: I… I don’t know.
Therapist: Did her family play a huge part in your relationship until now?
Jack: No. Not really.
Therapist: So, why do you think her family’s opinion of you would matter that much to her?
Jack: I… don’t know. I just… (rubs his neck again) … what if they hate me?
Therapist: Why would they hate you?
Jack: I mean - look at me. I’m older than her. I come with baggage.
Therapist: What do you mean by baggage?
Jack: Grief. Prosthetic leg. Probably some kind of emotional damage from Afghanistan and working in emergency medicine. What if they look at me and think: Really? That guy?
Therapist: Do you think your fiancee looks at you and thinks: that guy?!
Jack: No. She… she really loves me.
Therapist: Exactly. She loves you. Enough to say yes to forever.
(Jack smiles.)
Jack: Yes.
Therapist: Jack, someone can dislike you and it still changes nothing about how she feels about you. Your fiancee is a grown woman. She chose you.
(Jack looks down on his hands.)
Therapist: And from everything you’ve told me - she seems pretty all-in.
Jack: … yeah.
Therapist: So maybe this isn’t really about her family. Maybe this is about whether you fully believe you deserve this.
Jack: … yeah. Maybe. (takes a deep breath) That one hit home.
Therapist: Good.
Jack: (lets out a laugh) Jesus, you could apologize, you know?
Therapist: What for, Jack? That’s why we’re here, right?
Jack: Yeah, I know.
Therapist: So aside from your fear of world-ending hatred from her family against you - how do you feel about the trip?
Jack: Um, yeah, I think it’ll be pretty nice. It’s also kind of our first holidays as family. You know - going away for a couple of days with Lizzie.
Therapist: That’ll be exciting.
Jack: Yeah. (smiles) But can’t wait for a full week off, honestly. And… I kinda wanna see where she grew up.
Therapist: You’ll get to know sides of her you didn’t know yet. Everyone regresses a little when they’re back with their family.
Jack: That doesn’t sound too promising if I’m honest.
Therapist: It’ll be fine. Just expect family dynamics you’re probably not familiar with.
Jack: Okay, now I’m actually kind of scared.
Therapist: (laughs) But, speaking of family dynamic… did you tell your sister Janine about your engagement?
(Jack goes very still, looks at his hands. A long silence settles in.)
Jack: Um. No.
Therapist: Why not?
Jack: We didn’t talk much since… since… well… her visit.
Therapist: When you two fought about your fiancee.
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: Are you scared to tell her you got engaged?
Jack: (lets out a deep sigh) Honestly? A little. She’s got… strong opinions.
Therapist: From what’ve told me I do believe this in a heartbeat. But don’t you want your sister to know you’re starting a new chapter in life? She’s the only living member of your direct family, right?
Jack: (nods slowly) Yeah. I know. I should tell her.
Therapist: But you don’t want to.
Jack: Um. A part of me wants to. And the other part… doesn’t.
Therapist: Tell me about the part that doesn’t want to.
Jack: I don’t know. I’m just… tired.
Therapist: Tired?
Jack: Of defending my life. My choices. Her. I don’t wanna sit there and justify why I’m happy.
Therapist: That sounds reasonable.
Jack: Yeah. But… I also really want her to like this version of my life.
Therapist: Because?
Jack: Because I want my sister there, when I get married.
Therapist: So I guess you need to tell her soon.
Jack: (sighs deeply) Yeah.
(Jack is quiet for a while.)
Jack: Can we talk about something nice now?
Therapist: Do you try to avoid the topic?
Jack: (pouts) No. You just absolutely ruined my mood.
Therapist: (laughs) Jack, therapy is meant to make you uncomfortable. You know that. Because that’s where change happens.
Jack: Can it be comfortable for five minutes? Please?
Therapist: (laughing again) Okay, I cave but only because I’m still ridiculously proud of your progress lately. Tell me about the proposal. I want the full story.
(Jack smiles helplessly, already reaching for his phone.)
Jack: I know, I know, strict no-phone-zone, but I really need to show you pictures of the lake house. And the jetty. And maybe one of her in the dress with the ring.
Therapist: (smiles softly) Jack.
Jack: What? (pauses) She looked really pretty.
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You wanna keep reading? - Part 100: You can stop with that psychopathic stare of yours
