#blorbo of all time for forever you go you funky little shark with attachment issues

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 8: In a Week

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: Summertime settles around the torn home, and Kisame tries to ignore blood in the water and docile prey. But rot and decay can spread with wounds left alone, so, what is he to do about the wretchedness of domestic life?

Author's Note: The song for this chapter is In a Week by Hozier and Karen Crowley, lyrics not complete.

I woke up at 5am because my cat woke me up at 4 and I couldn't go back sleep and I started writing and now it's 5pm and I have a full chapter written and rewritten here you go. Take it. Takeittakeittakeittakeittakeit

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I have never known peace

Like the damp grass that yields to me

I have never known hunger

Like these insects that feast on me

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Alone, at the edge of the universe, humming a tune…

The ocean sighs, waves in...and out...as breaths of air from Aphrodite’s yearning lungs. It matches her own.

In…

...

Out…

It’s almost like it babbles with laughter underneath the surface, soft and distant after being carried from so far away. It speaks, too, but so hushed she can hardly recognize words let alone decipher them. Then, there are four rings: rusty orange, dusty turquoise, glittering amber, bright crimson. She’s caressed by four hands whom the jewels belong to: one cupping her left hand with its palm; one gripping her shoulder; one fluttering on the side of her neck; one holding her right hand. Reverence. Possession. Caution. Calm. She sees not their bodies, but she knows them. Her eyes are locked ahead in a trance. The sky is such a light blue it may be closer to white, and the water froths in the same pearly shade.

In…

...

Out…

Is this heaven? She had given up the idea long ago. Heaven doesn’t exist for people like her. Omniscience tells her she is alone on this unending beach, just her and the touches of a hand. The water draws ever closer to her bare feet.

In…

A gasp. She is awake.

Two birds twitter back and forth on a branch outside, framed by a cracked open window. They hobble and hop around one another, arguing, till a third joins in and pulls away her mate. The maturing leaves rustle in a perfect summer breeze, a last echo of the waves in her mind. Wide but sleepy eyes flicker, taking in the graceful flow of a thin curtain overhead, shifting like a white flag in the wind. The traveler blinks. Her hands are folded underneath a knit blanket, and she feels her untied hair sprawl over a pillow beneath her head. The fabric beneath her smells of age, but nothing unpleasant such to betray its prior years of neglect. It’s almost like she’s a child again and just spent the night at Grandpa’s house. It’s almost as if it was all just a dream.

The sensation of peace soaks into her as long as she can manage, her heart itself taking a sigh of relief for this respite.

In…

…

Out.

...But it’s time she grows up and inspects that pounding sound a room or two away. The last bird remaining sings, alone and longing as the dreamer picks herself up from the couch and sleepwalks into a new day.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A thousand teeth

And yours among them, I know

Our hungers appeased

Our heartbeats becoming slow

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The tall man still has blue skin as she approaches from behind, even more clearly now with his cloak off and headband set onto the folded clouds upon the kitchen counter. A muscular arm wipes the sweat off his forehead, tank top thin enough to betray each movement of his back to do so. He looks over his shoulder and the woman jumps— just a little. Surprise takes him first, too, then his common sense.

“Oh, you’re awake.” So she is. He wields the hammer with a bit of guilt, raising it from his hip in display. “Hopefully it isn’t my fault.” Her heart flutters as he stops his handiwork to face her, the organ still sore from all the efforts it had to go through these past few days. Sheepishly, shark teeth grin. “You can at least tell me if it bothered you… Much preferred over how quiet you are.”

Self-consciousness kicks in as commanded, and her cheeks prickle redder. “Sorry.”

He blinks. Geez… How does someone get so sensitive as this? He can’t imagine going on the way his ward must. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he corrects.

“Oh.” … “Sorry.”

“At this point I’m of a mind you’re mocking me.”

She has to bite her lip to not say sorry again. A moment of internal admonishment, and then her shy gaze finally works its way upward off the polished floorboards. The height of Kisame against the backdrop of kitchen windows is like looking up at a redwood in midday, sunrays split at his hair and cascading past till its faded at her feet. They lock eyes, for just a moment, as the two lovebirds from before dance behind his head and away into the forest. The singing of the third is still heard, desperate but unwavering, and it wakes up her ears to what she isn’t hearing:

“...The drip is gone.”

His frown revises into a grin. “Ah, yes. Hopefully you weren’t attached to it.” Taking the man literally, the house host shakes her head no.

“You fixed it for me?” The answer is obvious, but he finds this polite opportunity to take credit nice.

“Among some other things,” he reveals humbly, returning to his chore. Despite himself, it hasn’t been so bad-- perhaps in part because he’s left to his own devices. Itachi, especially with proper tools, cooks marvelously, and it’s gratifying to have a bed to claim, in a space to call his own. He hammers more gently on the window frame to fix the new wood in place; it’ll take more time, but there’s less chance of spooking the lady. “You can’t actually own this place, can you? Not just with the story I’ve heard— you not being from here— but with how simply decrepit these conditions are.” Frankly, he’s not sure how even the zombie combo managed to tolerate it.

At first she just shakes her head again, but realizes his position turned away means she must speak. “I just found it. I got lost the second day I was traveling with them, and I took it as shelter.” A shrug. “No one’s shown up to claim it or yell at us, though.”

One eye of his pinches in confusion. “The hell did you manage to get lost with one S-rank missing-nin flogging each of your sides?”

“Got tired. Trailed behind.”

Oh gods above, he thinks.

“Well, when we travel, it’ll be different,” he promises in an exhale. She blinks.

“We?”

And Kisame stops again, the nail so tiny to her between his fingers, and he once more looks over his shoulder. “Ah. You really have just woken up. Itachi will explain that to you. It’s his idea, anyway.” He raises the hammer:

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of repairs taking the space where a conversation used to be gives the woman a good idea that perhaps this is her cue to part. She backs away, hands folded behind her as she can’t help but take in how— why, yes, it is— how different this place is. What was dull is now shiny, and what was rotten is now renewed. A search for the cracks in the ceiling finds none. Kisame can still feel her presence in the entryway, and so the hammer continues to falls soft, softer than its purpose requires.

“Sir?”

He grunts in recognition. Then, he feels her smile like sunshine upon his back.

“Thank you.”

Kisame glances just in time to see her wave— as kiddish and pure as a grown gal can manage— before the pale dress slips away to see the raven.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The hammer isn’t the thing making that sound this time, playing like a record in his ear. Guiltily, conflicted, he huffs under his breath at the empty space where she was.

“Of course, princess.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I have never known sleep

Like the slumber that creeps to me

I have never known color

Like this morning reveals to me

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The other man still wears his cloak, red clouds stark against the earth tones of picture frames and wooden chairs. Steam rises from his cup, dust motes waltzing in its spotlight, and it wafts around his face as he takes in a drink slow and steadying. Black, matte eyes take in the sight of her— her eager wave but nervous smile. How much does she remember? Probably just enough.

“You...your name is Itachi. Right?” the woman begins. Though several seats adorn the edges of the dining table, she takes none to join him. He notes her wariness.

“Yes. Apologies for not clarifying sooner.” She appears to shrug it off.

“No no, it’s okay. We both kinda...had a lot on our minds when you got here, I think?” Speaking of… “...Is...everything okay?” While the man nods, she still feels reason to clarify. “With the...bruise. I mean.” His gaze shifts just a touch down.

“It appears that way.”

And after a questioning hum, she looks too. After being such an ugly, clearly hand-shaped mark, it’s hardly like anything’s there at all. “...Woah. It really healed well for just one night, huh…?” It’s been a couple of nights, in actuality, but Itachi sees no harm in keeping her perspective as the truth. “Whatever your friend used was really powerful stuff, I guess.”

Another sip, unburdened and unrushed. “It wasn’t that. It was rest you needed.” This reply means she can’t dance around the questions any longer:

“Itachi," she says, now with a more personal weight she can place upon that infamous name, "Did...you make me go to sleep?”

Lids with full lashes close, and for a second there’s fear they’ll rise and reveal red once again. But this does not occur. He simply recomposes...and they open to the same shadowy tone. “Yes,” Itachi admits, if only because she will know regardless.

“Why?”

This isn’t something he takes joy in answering.

“To guarantee you rest.” To guarantee her compliance without further trauma, as they inspected and cared for her injury or any others. Her lips purse and brow curls, but another response will not be squeezed from the hypnotist. She requires a compromise, though, however how small:

“Will you warn me before you do it again? I-...I thought I was dying, for a second there…”

As Itachi is wont to do, he replies in silence, shutting his eyes once more...and nodding. A tiny relief feels like a boulder off her back, and it lets her move on.

“So...I heard you wanted to take us somewhere?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And you haven't moved an inch

Such that I would not know

If you sleep always like this

The flesh calmly going cold

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gentle raindrops patter, light and quick like the notes of this piano she’s going to pick out. The dreamer can hardly believe it: no more needing to work in the bar just to touch one again, she will have a real-deal piano of her own. She missed her keyboard, sure, with its lightweight and flexibility, but nothing beats the weight of real black and white keys, the reverberations under her fingertips. It makes her giddy— so giddy, in fact, that she hasn’t asked the question of how a half-ton instrument it will be brought back home with them yet. The shark grins agreeably, twisting his head as he watches her hop from one overturned log to another on the outskirts of his reach, arms outstretched as if it really does help her balance. Her whimsical nature almost makes the apologia worthwhile, each tiny “sorry” as a splash sputters up to the edge his cloak every so often. It seems like not responding to it is the best strategy, as the woman merely keeps on as she was afterward, with more skipping and kicking of water with her muddied brown boots. Her sunhat does little to shield the weather, but she revels in the cool touch upon her cheeks. The ribbon flutters like butterfly wings.

He’ll swear he heard her laugh, somewhere along the way, hushed and secret but there all the same. He feels just a twinge of guilt, as certainly it was to be private, but he will keep her secret.

“How long did you say it was?” the woman asks, one foot now directly in front of the other in an imaginary tightrope. Kisame looks to his partner in amusement, searching for any tinge of annoyance as she asks for the third time since the adventure started. Itachi, however, has the patient of a saint.

“Much longer, Miss Takara. You should conserve your energy. We can’t have you falling behind.”

It may or may not pass over Itachi’s head, but it doesn’t his partner’s as the last sentence causes her to deflate. Gradually, arms lower and so does the smile, and as if in self-fulfilling prophesy, her steps nearly stop. Kisame slows to her speed, quite a feat with his stride being so much longer.

“It’s a metaphor,” he explains. “We aren’t really so daft as to let you do that.” But they did, he imagines her silent retort in those big, expressive eyes. “...We won’t let that happen. Still... not a bad idea to go at a pace you can maintain. We’ll be on the road a while for this gift of yours.” Success is found with his rewording of the situation, the woman’s face regaining a bit of its former levity as she nods to convey understanding.

He’s not a big fan of how quickly he’s grown loyal to that smile; Kisame mentally notes to pace himself. Beside him, Itachi nods in agreement, and the three continue on. Hours pass as she murmurs her joys— such as the petals that drift down and the bugs that sneak by in retreat. Sky becomes darker, and while the rain doesn’t worsen, it also does not cease. Instinctively, after such a long comradery, the Akatsuki can agree wordlessly that it is time to bunker down. It isn’t the destination that obtains their objective, after all, but their journey. At first, the woman attempts to apologize once, but it’s quickly diffused: no, she didn’t slow them. This was the most likely outcome. Yes, they are prepared for it. Don’t worry— certainly don’t say you’re sorry yet again. They step into the mouth of a cave, and after a moment of inspection, deem it worthy for their camp. Only one sleeping bag was brought, and she can’t insist it upon someone else, much to her dismay.

Rain glimmers like diamonds under the moonlight, and each one is fancied in her head as a sweet, short note as they hit the dirt. Itachi is further down than she, back upon the rock wall and eyes shut, while the swordsman across her leans with one arm over his knee, Samehada propped beside him, not watching the rainfall but beyond it.

“Mm?” Kisame acknowledges her question, returning a stare with his glance. “Someone has to keep watch, I’m not about to sleep. Don’t worry about me. Just go ahead and close your eyes, princess. No one needs to watch the watcher.” But even as she does as instructed, she cannot sleep. Beautiful as the night is, it’s too cold, and mist manages to find its way to her goosebumped skin.

No...she can’t show weakness now. Don’t climb in the blanket, don’t complain...—

But she can’t hide how she shivers.

Movements slow as molasses bring Kisame up from his seat. The woman not yet alerted to this change, he’s allowed to take the sight of her in without so much fidgeting. Why the hell is she like this…? Unfortunately, he knows why. He’s felt why.

Failure arises in his attempt to wrap his cloak around her shoulders without making her look at him; why is it so disconcerting to him whenever she just looks?

“What are you doing?”

He’s so close by in the middle of this swaddling of her. He can feel the warmth of her breath on his face. She can feel his on her own.

“You...don’t have to—”

“Stop.”

A pang of remorse but not regret as this word makes her freeze. So near to the swordsman, she can finally get a good look at his small eyes, see that it isn’t a command of his but a plea. There’s no disdain, just...sympathy. He’s on the wire with this, now, and the woman needs to listen and listen well if they’re both going to make it out of this with spirits intact.

“No matter how hard you try…” Kisame murmurs, just loud enough for it to register. “You will never make yourself so small, so insignificant you will not exist. If that is fact— and it is fact— do so with no second guessing, alright? You exist. You will take up space… No matter how hard you try.” This is his truth. In a world of lies, existence is one of few realities everyone should know. Should honor. What’s been done to for him to doubt the the space he takes is obvious...what could a wee thing like her have done?

Whatever it is, it’s branded on her soul like a tattoo. She must question him. It is her curse. Surely his nickname for her isn’t out of respect.

“But am I a burden? Kisame?” Lips that surely have said no evil whisper his name, and he wonders if it stains upon her mouth.

“It doesn’t matter if you are.” Unable to take this anymore, the man begins to stand— but...but...a palm brushes onto his arm, begging he remain. Its fingers trail down grayed skin until tangled in his own. The ring is starkly cold against the rest of him.

“I have one condition,” she chooses to wager, for his coat. To be embarrassed is to be known, she repeats to herself. To be known is to be embarrassed. Life is short. There may be no third chance. Just take it. And as always, you can regret later.

So, hesitantly, she does accept his kindness on a stipulation of her own design. It is one that draws hesitation from Kisame as well.

“Share it. With me?” Don’t apologize. Do not apologize. Wait for his answer. Her fingertips bask in his presence. “You’re so warm—” Cease the explanation. It hurts to not reject yourself before he can...but...wait.

The seconds pass by like pressing your hand against a hot stove.

“...I’m not the kind of guy you should be vulnerable with.” It’s a halfhearted dismissal, and two words carry it to the grave.

“That’s okay.”

He keeps his mouth shut, lest he trip and cut her on his way down to her side. The heat of his body swathes, an immediate shield against the frost of night. Though the cloak is sized for him, it easily swallows the dreamer up, too, hardly needing his arm looping around her to keep it shut. And then, as they settle into this tiny corner of wilderness, so too does acceptance roost. It’s quiet, it’s peaceful, somehow tense yet nothing between them at all. Raw human need and emotion, hungry exchange but careful hands. Though he must keep his watch, he’d be looking to the rain anyways; it washes the earth like she briefly does his misdeeds. It should be no surprise to him that she gifts him the dignity she gifts everyone, but it still hitches his breath as the woman sings her lullaby of death and rot and flowers.

We lay here for years or for hours

Thrown here or found

To freeze or to thaw

So long, we'd become the flowers

Two corpses we were

Two corpses I saw

These lyrics speak to him as a consolation, a thank you. Two beings finding guilt in being alive, but compromising that yet they still must. The dewy grass seems to grow taller even as she speaks, and the birds of prey come lower from the treetops. Despite his best efforts, the rain can’t keep his mind from wandering.

And they'd find us in a week

When the weather gets hot

After the insects have made their claim

I'd be home with you

She’s a siren, and he sees her spell plain as day. Lying on a bed together, under sheets as white as snow: as immaculate as he imagines her soul to be, to be so trusting. Their hands lay between their faces, interlocked till they die.

I'd be home with you

With this repetition, the vision pierces him it too deeply. Abruptly, disappointingly, the swordsman stands straight up, hiding his startle and making the cloak flit like a wing till it unwraps him from her.

“I— heard something,” he lies. There’s so much empty space where he used to be; it quickly fills beside the woman with chill. “I’ll need to keep watch...Sorry,” he adds quietly, not daring to look back.

Though ignorant, the dreamer is not stupid. Irony makes her ache. Humanity makes her hope. But it’s his choice to make, that there is nothing to relish in forcing one stay. The tailless beast seems of single mind as he steps to the rocky mouth of their sanctuary, refusing to look back at the gaze he can still feel. He warned her already not to get too close. Whatever comes next will be her fault, he convinces himself, just as with everybody else. She isn’t special.

Then why does he care if she gets hurt?

“Close your eyes,” Hoshigaki Kisame requests once again. Don’t look at him like that. He is meant to die alone, and domestic living is too good for the likes of him. But even so, on the back of his lying tongue, the rogue dares to mouth her name:

“...Takara-hime.”

Maybe she has some terrible power, after all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After the foxes have known our taste

After the raven has had its say

I'd be home with you

I'd be home with you

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#akatsuki x reader #aswtn fic #kisame x reader #itachi x reader #implied hidan and kakuzu x reader but not enough to tag without being a rude tease #(weeping) i love kisame so much you guys #ive spent. so much time thinking about him #blorbo of all time for forever you go you funky little shark with attachment issues #songfic #akatsuki #naruto fanfiction