Warnings: Mention of intended violence, blood, rage, hate. The central theme is obsession, compulsion maybe?, borders mania and depression. I'm not sure yet.
Note: I wrote this AGES ago. I'm currently going through drafts, starting from the lower rung up. This is a practice draft of writing Itachi x OC. I don't have a ton of experience writing Itachi let alone Itachi x OC. Thought I'd post it just for the hell of it. I was writing with no plot in mind and this slowly started to develop. This is JUST a snippet of a draft, it's not complete. I would love constructive feedback, if you'd like to read more, etc. I'm unsure with this one. I might (will) rewrite the entire premise since I have a larger darker plot in mind. I def have a darker more savory plot in mind.
You were enveloped against his skin under a big warm thick blanket while it rains and he tells you he's not going anywhere, and lulls you to sleep. His scent is clean and musky and vaguely reminiscent of night fir trees. You bury your head in his neck and whisper that you're upset he has to leave, again, and he drapes his loose ebony strands over you to tease you. He doesn't make promises or lie that he will come back soon, he does give you loving assurances that you are his only one. His first love. His constant. His absolute. His only. Itachi's trust is something so powerful that the two of you have worked through for years. You believe him implicitly. You need him as fiercely as the blood narrowing through your veins, but you need his assurances and loyalty even more when he's gone. You need to stay calm for those nights when it's too quiet, too lonely, and the voices in your head are too loud. You feel a sick swoop of hate for Pein, for Leader sama, the man behind the militant group, behind your suffering. You feel a rush of HATRED at the politics of it all.. The circumstances. Itachi never argues with you, he doesn't give you flimsy ultimatums. You breathe out from your diaphragm and release all the curled up heat making its way up your throat in the form of a protest. You let it go. You push away all the distant noises of the grey morning and you focus instead on the drizzle of rain lashing against the side of your house. The house you put a down payment on this summer. The house which Itachi walked through for months, agonizing over the build and obsessing over which repairs needed to be handled first, examining every nook and cranny that needed a fresh paint job. He was a calculating one.
You didn't hope for it at first, from this man who was gone for longer than he stuck around, you didn't have any hope that he would agree to move into a new place with you, it was a big step. An even bigger risk to hope the house would draw him in and he would commit. But Itachi was very involved with drafting the plans for the house and he regularly stopped by to check on the construction, he even gave very pointed instructions and "tips" to the builders. You secretly found his critical nature endearing, and you hugged him every time he gave his opinion on cost effective plumbing.
Itachi reasoned with the real estate agent that the rest of his life was about to begin here, and every part of the house mattered.
The words he said were so promising, visions of pattering feet on rugs. Blunt and sweet. Angel curls and soft little lips of cherubs. Bells in a steepled churchyard.
Now he was going to wake up in another few hours, shower, and slip on that cursed, VILE, black cloak with the hideous red clouds and without a kiss or a bye, he was going to walk out the door. Quietly and calmly, as if he had all the time in the world...
You wanted to twist the white sheets around your arms and strangle yourself with it until it browned with crusted blood.
You shifted and turned to your side, away from the lying man sprawled listless over the blankets. Itachi was very thin but his limbs were long and he passively tossed in his deep slumber and took up most of the mattress. He had a very cozy upper body and curling against him was delicious...
You sat up and pulled your hair in a messy ponytail. The wood paneled floor was cold but didn't make any noise when you walked. Itachi had every floorboard tested when you first moved in. Now, you knew the reason was so daft and obvious that you felt stupid for ever thinking it was about quality. Itachi didn't want to wake you when he had to go on another death trap, and burden himself with another "bye for now I'll be back soon take care of yourself ok? Promise me you'll take care of yourself. Will you eat? You have to drink lots of water. Will you drink, exercise? I love you... I'll be safe. Don't cry ok?"
It was all theater at this point, this bastard with his sympathetic eyes and his sympathetic kisses and his sympathetic dick. You were so rabidly ready to strike his smug face open your fists were balled. Blood was surging up your temples as you slammed the coffee pot into the metal housing and heard a distinct click, or a crack. Great, just fucking great. After a few impatient flicks of the switch, you twisted the glass carafe out with a sharp tug and it flew across the room with a jolt, crashing against the wall. It shattered. Did you hurl it too hard..
Itachi would hear the glass and this would all unravel into a scene..
You walked over to the broken shards and knelt down, flinching as your padded slippers stepped on raw edges. You were so clumsy, this coffee maker was expensive and now.. there was a coffee stained mess. Nothing was more demoralizing than your incompetence first thing in the morning, with a coffee machine. Wasn't that the very definitive picture of a failed marriage?
You knelt down to pick up a stray glass piece, grieving over the sentimental coffee maker. It was a gift from Cousin Goro, who made it to the reception. He would have stayed into the honeymoon but Itachi had his ways, and Goro left tearfully, happy for the new blessed couple. Cousin Goro promised to visit for Christmas. Oh to cut cousin Goro open like a Christmas ham and chuck roast his meat over a spit. Would Itachi just trust you with a knife..
Itachi didn't trust you but he left you alone for weeks.
You cradled the delicate glass in your palm. The house was so quiet that only the comforting hum of the fridge pooled in your ears. You were reassuringly very alone, in your kitchen, you could do anything..
It rattled your nerves, that Itachi was still asleep, while you were bleeding out from your palm, it leaked into newly furbished carpet..
EDIT: I wasn't going to post this but a friend isn't feeling well and wanted to read a piece of something Itachi so for her💓I however care what you guys think so please give thoughts. Nice ones!! It's ok if you don't like it but do you think there needs to be more intensity? Is it too meh-y?
