#kisame hosigaki x reader
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cicadas in the background
"Fresh air, scenic views, and a beautiful lake offer a perfect retreat when you need to escape life's troubles. But your peace, however, is shattered when rowdy campers move into the cabin next to yours and an eerie presence in the lake takes a keen interest in you."
pairing: modern au kisame hosigaki x gn!reader for: the Cabin event! word count: 12ishk tw: nsft, body parts are named and described, but i have two versions of the smut section for afab and amab,! there's a divider to warn you! its the first full smut i've ever written so i apologize if it's lacking (or too much!) like reading on ao3?: here u go tags: blood, murder off-page technically, smut, breif? description of being drugged/lingering effects of a sleep medication reader took, bullying, animal death and gore (rip to a frog), uuuh being peeped on in the shower, if there's any i miss pls let me know i'm terrible at it notes: this is kind of a super modern au, with a heavy southern US lens, so take the setting with a grain of salt also thank u to mel for beta reading part of this for me :'>
The sunâs rays reach through the water, warm and easy as they ride the breeze-driven waves of the lakeâs surface. Their strength wanes the further down they stretch, lost to the gloom further out in the water. Here in the shallows, though, the water weeds eagerly drink it up and grow lush along the muddy bottom. And in turn, schools of glittering silver minnows dart in and out of the greenery.
Itâs so alive. And quiet.
None of the noise above the water reaches your ears. When you donât move, you can hear the rushing of your blood. Your lungs acheâhave been achingâfor fresh air for a few minutes now. But youâve finally settled at the bottom, a foot of blue-green water above your head, a large rock in your lap to keep you down, and the minnows that startle easily gather around you. You are so much bigger than themâthey swim over and under your calves and duck close under your chin, looking for any place to hide from larger fish.
The bluegills, with their sunny bellies lurk further away. Wary of how you loom over the minnows. Their spiny fins look deadly compared to the small, rounded ones that propel the smaller fish. When they swoop close, trying to snatch a minnow, the sunlight catches on their scales, highlighting the vibrant red oranges of their bellies. They certainly look more predatory than the minnows. But you know the spines and bright colors are more defensive than offensive. Bluegills might be dangerous in the shallows, but in deeper water, theyâre on the menu.
Finally, your lungs giveâyour ribs convulsing once in warning. The movement sends the minnows scattering. Pushing the heavy rock away, youâre suddenly at the surface.
Everything is overwhelming the moment you break the surface. Annual cicadas buzzâloud, high-pitched, and fast. The sunshine is blindly bright. Birds call back and forth. And a squad of vehicles crunches over the gravel path to the campgroundâs main office, the driver of the last one smacking their horn in a quick burst that startles you.
You push your goggles up onto your forehead, blinking hard against the fresh air. The sight of others surprises you. It shouldnât.
The lake isnât massive, certainly nowhere near the scale considered âimpressive,â but itâs big enough that while you can see from one side to the other, you canât swim across without some kind of endurance training. There are waterways leading to and from the lake, namely a deeper stream which feeds into a river boaters like to take. You spent your first night here tracing a map of all the connections until your finger found the ocean.
The lake prohibits fishing, and only the campground owner is allowed to use motorized boats on the water. You hauled yourself onto the dock. The sign at the end of it announces the swimming hoursâbetween noon and 4 pm. Only four hours. The strange rules cut down a lot of peopleâs summer plans at the lake.
Your towel is sun-warm, dry, and fluffy. You arenât quite ready to leave the lake yet, though swimming hours are almost over. Instead, you drape the towel over your shoulders and let your legs dangle in the cool water. Water bugs skate over the placid waterâs surface, elegantly moving in patterns that you donât understand but admire all the same.
The new arrivals are loud and excited behind you. Their car doors slam and you hear them joking together. Though theyâre too far away for you to make out what theyâre saying.
You turn your head, catching sight of the tail end of the group. A short redhead and a taller blond seem to bicker, their stances tense in the office doorway. Theyâre close, though, nearly nose-to-nose. Your weight shifts, leaning a little closer, trying to see their faces better.
Something closes around your ankle, still in the water. Warm, alive, and strong. It tugs and youâre jerked forward on the dock; the wood scraping against the exposed underside of your thighs. You shriek and jerk back.
For a split second, youâre hindered, and youâre certain that whatever has a hold of you isnât going to let go. But then it releases and you tumble backward. Your skull cracks against the dock with a sharp stab of pain.
You scramble to your feet. When you look at your ankle, you donât see anything. Not a mark or a scratch. Your heart pounds wild and scared in your chest. Laughter breaks out from behind you. The blond, his long hair covering half his face, has seen you freak out. Embarrassment warms your cheeks.
His laugh breaks your fear. You feel silly. A curious fish had probably just gotten too close to your ankle. You exhale, fingers twisting in the comfort of your towel. Itâs time to get out, anyway.
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The office is small, the tiled floor a dingy white with tread marks a person could spend days scrubbing and theyâd still be there. Pictures of the campgrounds, guests, posters, and lists of information cover the walls.
Half the office is a store. A big display fridge hums in the back, hosting neatly organized rows of beverages and cold things. Someone neatly stacked bags of ice in the bottom. Canned goods and snacks with long shelf lives take up space on a single display rack. Thereâs a window unit propped up by a ten-gallon bucket next to the fridge and from the sound of it, catches the water dripping from the A/C as well.
But despite the constant noise, itâs quiet in here. The group earlier cleared out. The only person left is the campgroundâs owner. He stands behind the counter that also serves as his desk. You watch him from the corner of your eye while browsing the snacks offered on display. He writes on a piece of paper in slow, smooth movements while the other hand holds a paper fan.
How heâs hot in this little building is beyond you. Then again, youâre in nothing but your bathing suit and a towel, a coin purse in your hand.
You bought groceries before you came, of course. Easy to make camp fair you can make on one of the many grills outside or on the single hotplate in your cabin. Snacks included. Thereâs no need for you to be in here.
Except that youâre nosy. You havenât seen anyone else in the campground since arriving. The strangers that stopped by didnât exactly look like camper material either. Itâs a benign sort of curiosity. Something new to poke at more than a real need to know.
You need a plan of actionâ way to ask the dark-haired man who his previous guests were. When you checked in, you got the impression he was not a talkative person. Shamefully, you canât recall his name until you spot the nameplate on the counter by the register.
Itachi Uchiha. Certainly an interesting name.
Your stalling comes to an end when he glances up, his dark eyes meeting yours over the top of the display shelves. You duck your head with a silent curse. Grabbing the first thing you can reach, you head to the counter with it.
âDid you find everything okay?â Heâs soft-spoken and reserved, his question a rehearsed line more than genuine care.
âYeah, was just looking for a quick snack. Worked up an appetite swimming,â you lie, putting the treat down.
He sets his pen aside and his long, pale fingers clack against an old registerâs keys. The total reads in dim green numbers on a tiny screen that faces toward you. Youâre a little disappointed that heâs more focused on his job than continuing the conversation. But you accept it without complaint, handing the due amount over.
âYou stayed out there longer than usual,â he says after a beat longer. The register closes with a scrape of metal against metal. Thereâs a change in his tone, something more amused. âThe sign says swimming is closed at 4 pm.â
Your eyes cut away from the path of the creases in Itachiâs face, floundering to focus on anything except him. You almost miss seeing of the upturned corner of his mouth. The big window behind him, decorated with receipts, old order forms, and sticky notes, has a clear view of the lake. And the dock you spend most of the swimming hours on.
âDid I? Sorry, itâs easy to lose track of time out here!â As you apologize, your eyes find the analog clock on the wall above the entrance door. Itâs almost five oâclockâan hour over.
âTry not to make a habit of it,â Itachi says, not unkindly. He leaves your purchase for you to collect and resumes writing.
However, youâre not quite ready to let the conversation end. âIs it a slow week? Itâs pretty empty for a weekend, isnât it?â
âNo. Weâre out of the way. Locals give us the most business in the fall.â
âOh. Was that group earlier local, then?â
The sound of pen scratching paper pauses.
You look back and find him watching you, face impassive. It makes your mouth go dry, but you press on. âThey seemed pretty lively, huh?â
âThey are. You would be wise to stay out of their way while theyâre here,â he answers after another beat. The way he says it makes you feel like the kid who isnât in on the joke.
âNoted.â You take the packaged snack off the counter. The plastic crinkles under your grip. âHave a good day, Itachi.â
He doesnât return the sentiment.
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The cabins donât have private showers. The campground shares a bathhouse instead. Fours stalls for toilets on one side of the building. Four enclosed stalls for somewhat private showering on the other side. Then a heated bath in the other half of the building. Being the only camper these past two days has felt like a luxury.
Well, luxury is a bit of a stretch.
Like the campground office-store, the bathhouse is an older building. You can only assume that only the most pressing repairs get done around here. Spiderwebs are in every nook and cranny of the place with new ones every day. There are small floodlights on either side of the door and in the dusky haze of evening, the spiders have a veritable feast gathering at their doorsteps.
For you, however, itâs like walking through a bait ball on land and the bait gets its revenge. Youâve made it mostly intact this trip, but when you open the bathhouse door, you duck as a heavy-shelled beetle goes sailing past your head.
The inside of the bathhouse is a little unsettling. The walls are the same thick white-painted cement blocks as the outside and the floor is bare concrete. Both of which make it echo. The showers donât drain well and underneath the smell of harsh cleaning chemicals is the faint scent of stagnant water. There are four yellow fluorescent lights on the ceiling and one of them flickers at random intervals like some Morse code in its dying days.
But this being your third night visiting, you have outgrown your fear of it. You set your travel bag of non-essentials on the ledge above a sink before taking the shower at the end of the line. It has the best water pressure out of the four. But it lacks the coat hooks the other ones have. You balance your clean pajamas and towel over the stall door and your bathroom caddy sits on the ground.
Calling the bathhouse luxury is a stretch indeed.
You strip out of your bathing suit. A small amount of lake debris has gathered under the elastic band. The water is lukewarm when you first turn it on. You hold a hand under the spray, waiting for it to warm, shifting from one foot to the other on the plastic slip-resistant mat on the floor.
The lake will be colder than this with the cooling nighttime temperatures. Itâs unfortunate the swimming hours are so short. The chorus of small frogs, crickets, and katydids is peaceful compared to their daytime counterparts. If the night is clear and the wind is still, the lakeâs surface calms enough it reflects the night sky. It would be like swimming through the stars themselves.
However, you would hate to ruin the wildlifeâs routines. You snort quietly to yourself once you step into the now steaming water. If you were a raccoon, the last thing you would want is to come to the lakeâs banks to wash your breakfast and see some half-naked fleshy thing swimming at your table.
You snort at the mental image.
After a long day of sunscreen, lake water, and sweat showers feel rewarding. Like youâve earned it. It certainly feels that way as you scrub the grime from your skin.
You want to soak in the bath tonight too. With the group Itachi warned you about coming in, you arenât sure you want to be caught naked out there. You would stick to showering for the rest of your stay, but tonight you were going to take full advantage of the bathhouse.
Perhaps, though, you arenât quite used to the hollow feeling of the building yet. Or maybe youâre still unnerved by the fish biting at your ankle.
It starts with a fleeting thought. Just a passing whisper from your mind that maybe you arenât alone. Your chest tightens and the hand scrubbing soap against your skin jerks.
You huff at yourself, trying to be rational. The only other person on the grounds is Itachi, and you have yet to bump into him at the bathhouse. There isnât anyone else here. But the baby hairs on the back of your neck raise. It feels like someone is trying to stare a hole into your back.
Your heart pounds in your chest. Like a child too afraid to look under the bed, youâre struck with the idea that when you turn, there will be someone standing right behind youâbreathing down your neck. The feelings increase with the staccato of your heartbeats. Until finally you cannot stand it anymore and you twist, eyes wide to meetânothing.
Thereâs absolutely nothing and no one behind you. You almost roll your eyes at yourself, exhaling with relief. Though, you peek over the top of the stall door, just to confirm that youâre alone in the bathhouse. Your mind is on edge. After the bath, youâll go back to your cabin and go to bed at a decent hour rather than stay up reading to lamplight.
Youâve just stepped back into the warmth of the shower spray when the bathhouse door creaks open.
Everything inside you comes to a screeching halt. Your heart slams against your rib cage like a panicked, trapped bird. Terror floods your system like a bucket of ice-cold water. Thoughts fly through your brain, too frantic to focus long enough to hold on to one. You need to pull clothes on, need to find something to defend yourself. You need toâyou donât know what you need to do in this situation.
You stand there helpless, naked as the day you were born, with no idea what to do now that someone has come into the bathhouse with you. Youâre so scared that you canât move.
Instead, you listen. It feels like youâre going to burst an eardrum with how hard you strain to catch a noise. Itâs hard to hear over the shower and after a few minutes of gathering courage, you snake a hand out to turn the water off.
You stand there listening for so long, staring at the wall of the shower, that your vision blurs and you get light-headed.
There isnât a single sound except your frantic heart and the gurgle of water doing down the pipes. After far too long, you try to rationalize it. The door isnât heavy, made to be easily accessible. In theory, a breeze could blow it open.
If it opened at all. Itâs entirely possible you imagined it.
Your sleep schedule still isnât great. The stress from the city, from being let goâmaybe itâs affecting you more than you originally thought. Staying up late reading horror novels isnât helping either.
You take a shaky inhale, trying to force your nerves to calm. Everything is fine, youâre fine. You turn, reaching your hand out for your towel. You meet the gaze of someone very tall. His eyes are small, beady, and bloodshot, and staring at you.
The sight of a face peeping over the shower stallâs door, gray-blue and cast in the shadow of a flickering fluorescent light, sucks all the air from your lungs. There are markings on the personâs cheeks, sharp and angular, but you canât quite make them out. Dark blue hair drips with water, wild despite being soaked.
It seems like everything stops, coming to a deathly stand-still before you scream. It rips so violently from your throat, tearing at the soft flesh of your esophagus, that it throws you back. Your eyes shut tightly when your back hits the steam-wet cement brick wall, hands flying to cover yourself.
Thereâs noise, the sound of things falling on the floor, the startled shuffling backwardâthen barely covered laughter just as the bathhouse door creaks open and close again.
Itâs the laugh that catches you off-guard. You hear it over the scream dying in your mouth. And when your teeth clack together, you begin to put things together. You feel stupid in an instant. The bastards confirm it when you hear their laughter further away, muffled by the bathhouse walls.
The group Itachi warned you about.
They must have come back while you were in the shower. How they figured out you were in here is beyond you, but isnât hard to guess with how small the campground is.
Where they had gotten it or why they had put a stupidâif realisticâHalloween mask on to scare you is also beyond rational thought. But after seeing your little freak out on the dock, you wouldnât put it past them to dress up like some swamp creature to scare you.
From the two you had seen, they were at least your age or older. Adults acting like jerk teenagers had you cross. Angrily, you dry yourself and throw on your pajamas.
You donât bother going through with the bath or the rest of your nightly routine. Instead, you stalk from the bathhouse, across the gravel road and to the big cabin a couple of cars are now parked outside of. The blond man stands at the door, his arms braced on the lip of the door to hold himself upright while he teased someone inside. Water drips from his long yellow hair.
You clear your throat loud and ugly. It catches the blondâs attention quickly. He glances at you over his shoulder, his brows furrowed in apparent confusion. A second later, recognition flashes across his face and he turns to you, his lips parting in a smileâa greeting on the tip of his tongue. But youâre not having it.
âListen, pal, I do not care what you and your little friends do but do not fuck with me,â you steel your nerves as you bite out your words.
He hunches his shoulders at the threat, his expression dropping into something hostile. âExcuse me?â
âYour pranks arenât funny. Iâll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine, okay?â You donât give him the benefit of the doubt.
âWhat are you even talking about? Back the hell up,â he snaps back. Thereâs a nasal grunt at the end of his sentences.
It irks you that heâs playing dumb.
You catch sight of red hair coming up behind him. Youâve told him off, but you donât think you can handle reinforcements. So you give him one more warning look, tug your bathroom caddy close, and stomp the few feet to your own cabin.
Neighbors. Great.
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The windows of your little cabin rattling from something loud and heavy scares you awake. You scramble in your sheets, heart pounding before you free yourself of fabric and realize itâs music. It comes through the panes of glass muffled, but you can hear it now that youâre conscious. Itâs full of drums and rage against society.
It sounds goodâwould have sounded good if it werenât seven in the morning.
You groan into your hands, far too tired to be awake. Considering how late your neighbors got in last night, itâs surprising theyâre up so early. But theyâre obviously making it your problem as well.
The music continues to blast at top volume for the hour it takes to get your day started. Thereâs a pause after breakfast where the mirror stops shaking. It gives you a clear view of your bloodshot eyes and puffy eye bags. The respite of silence is short-lived. You bite down on your toothbrush when pop music takes the place of heavy metal.
It goes through several more changes, ranging from country music to techno before it quiets downs again. Youâve put on a cute, comfy outfit for the day, draped a towel over your shoulder, and picked out an easy-to-read book to lounge on the dock with.
You brace yourself, hand on the door handle, for just a moment before stepping into the summer day. Itâs hot but lacks the humidity from previous days. The sun shines brightly overhead, with only a few puffy clouds drifting through the blue, blue sky. Cicadas call from the trees. This is your vacation. Your new camping neighbors cannot take this from you.
In the next second, pushing the door open just a little more to step out fully, youâre doused in freezing cold water. Itâs such a stark difference in temperatures that it burns. You scream, unable to hold it back. Your muscles lock up from the shock, and you canât dodge the bucket when it comes down too. It thunks against your skull, still a quarter of the way full. It hurts like a bitch and nearly knocks you off your feet.
You grit your teeth, pushing through the tightness of your shocked muscles and the ringing in your ears. Your neighbors laugh, loud and mean. Youâre grateful, in a terrible way, that no one can see the tears among the rest of the water dripping down your face.
âThatâs who youâre wasting your time on?â an unfamiliar voice asks, clearly unimpressed.
You glance up, seeing a man with stitching tattoos peeking out from under the sleeveless shirt he wears. Saying he looks intimidating is an understatement. He sits on an ice chest, a speaker crooning something low next to him. The two heâs speaking toâthe blond from before and a taller, silver-haired manâclearly donât hear him.
Your teeth chatter, your mouth twisting into something you hope is unpleasant.
The youthful-looking man with the dull, apathetic eyes is there too, pulling something from the trunk of his car. âChildren will act accordingly.â
You blink, droplets of water falling from your lashes, before looking away from them. Despite the warm air, you shiver with cold. The water has soaked your towel too. But your book is dry.
Your book is dry. The vitriolic heat burning your tongue cools when you register that fact.
From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a silhouette at the edge of the office building. Itachi stands outside, leaning against the white-painted brick. You canât see his face clearly from where you stand, but you feel his disappointed gaze.
It reeks of âI told you so.â Your gaze drops. The last thing you want is to be kicked out of the campgrounds and have your getaway cut short by your own behavior. When you look back up, heâs gone.
You shoot a glare at the four men gathered in front of the cabin next to yours. The blond shifts his weight to a leg, jutting a hip out. He grins, smug. Heâd be handsome if the back of your head didnât ache and your skin wasnât just now thawing out.
âDeidara, leave it,â the redhead says sharply. Like calling back a dog.
He snorts and you bite back something mean. Your book is dry and in an hour on the dock, so will you. However, you take their plastic blue bucket. If they want it back, theyâll have to really fight for it.
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The sunshine is warm on your back, the gentle lapping of water against the shore soothing you into a comforting feeling. You think about getting in once swimming hours open, but hesitate, thinking about whatever touched your foot yesterday. But itâs your lovely neighbors dragging kayaks out onto the water that makes up your mind for you.
Youâve made it halfway through your book before Deidara seeks you out again.
âYou look like you recovered from your shower this morning!â Thereâs a surprising friendliness in his voice when he calls your name.
Your fingers tighten around the edge of your book, the paper giving slightly. Heâs under dressed to be kayaking in deep waterânot a life jacket in sight. His shoulders are already turning red. You wonder where he learned your name from. Had Itachi told him?
âI have. Thanks for the concern.â You are far less inviting.
It doesnât deter him. He dips his paddle in the water, bringing the bright orange kayak closer. The nose of it bumps into a wooden pole and you feel the vibration through the dock.
âOh, thatâs where that thing went,â he says once heâs closer. âSmart.â
Your eyes follow his gaze, landing on the blue bucket. Youâve filled it with ice from the office, drinks buried in it to keep them cold. Irritation pops between your teeth when you say, âIt works great. Keeps things real cold.â
âYou donât sayâŚâ Itâs unfair how pretty he is, with his mouth cocked to the side in that smug way of his. âWhat are you reading?â
âA book.â
âYouâre a straightforward one, arenât you?â
His grin only grows wider. You think of the knot on the back of your head. Your eyes drop and you turn the page of your book, not reading the words.
âWe got off on the wrong foot but look, Iâm willing to forgive and forget, alright?â he offers, like youâve asked for it.
You have to bite back an ugly remark. He shifts in his seat. The squeak of his water shoes against the kayak is loud in the silence. Even the cicadas have gone quiet, as if silencing themselves to spectate this uncomfortable encounter. You turn another page.
Deidara isnât good at silence. He shows you so in the next moment when his paddle comes up and knocks your book from your hands. It was spared from the prank this morning, but it is the sole victim this afternoon. It lands with a splash on the other side of the blond.
âAre you fucking kidding me?â you snarl at him.
âHey, I didnât mean for it to go in the watââ
You donât touch himâa fact you repeat adamantly later. When Deidaraâs kayak suddenly flips, his single cornflower blue eye widening in alarm, you arenât even close to him.
Your hand reels back in a fist, ready to slug him, but you donât touch him. Something grabs the lip of the opening of the kayakâyou see pale blue, the arc of water droplets catching sunlight like gemsâand flips the little boat.
Itâs chaos from there. It happens so fast you can do nothing but watch. You donât feel afraid while he thrashes under the surface, kicking up water and mud.
When Deidara breaks the surface, heâs screaming. Red slashes mar his chest. Theyâre horrible. The edges of the skin are ragged. Parts of it flap with his panic, barely remaining connected to him. He scrambles to climb atop the flipped kayak, yelling at you.
You think of the knot on the back of your head. It hurts.
Itâs Deidaraâs friends that save him, eventually. The silver-haired man, Hidan you learn, paddles up, teasing him for being scared of little lake fish. Until he sees the blood. Itâs not worry that he uses when he hauls the blond out of the water, though. He seems annoyed at the blood being spilled everywhere, and that Deidara wonât stop screaming that it was a person down there.
The man turns on you until Deidara says it wasnât you. It doesnât look like Hidan believes him, but he also canât believe someone like you could do that kind of damage.
You suggest a hospital, but they both shut the idea down quickly. The other two arrive and they go into the office building, Itachi holding the door open for them. He watches you with his dark eyes.
You feel like he blames you. A part of you blames yourself as well. You should have reached out to help him at least.
You pick up the plastic handle of the bucket and go back home to the cabin.
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The evening is quieter. Thereâs a bullfrog croaking outside your window, cracked just enough to let an unusually cool breeze in.
Youâre watching one of the movies you downloaded on your laptop. Itâs an old, black-and-white film. Itâs entertaining despite its age, but you think youâre made of stronger stuff than to be scared by it. Especially during this scene, where the lead actress is just swimming. Beautiful, of course, with perfectly practiced flips in the water.
Peopleâs fascination with the underwater world hasnât changed. You included.
The music changes, sharp and threatening as it pans away from the woman and to the monster lurking in the thick netting of green water weeds.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three gentle but obvious taps against your door startle you. Made of stronger stuff indeed. Your first thought is your neighbors, your mouth set into a thin line. But you havenât heard a peep from them all evening. You give your unexpected visitor the silence treatment, hoping theyâd get the hint and leave.
Knock, knock, knock.
Or not.
Youâre aware of yourself. Guilt makes you defensive. You should have reached for Deidara, tried to help him somehow. Acknowledging youâre being cagey doesnât help, though.
Finally, you sigh and call out, âWhat do you want?â
Silence is the response. It extends for so long that it makes you uneasy. You pause your movie and sit up on the bed. The bullfrog croaks, deep and bassy outside the window. A voice answers just as you're about to stand and move toward the door.
âI have your book.â The voice is raspy, roughâout of practice.
Your heart pounds in your chest, quick like a frightened bird. You like to think youâre good at picking up on voices, and this one is entirely unfamiliar. Your tongue swipes over your lips. âThank youâŚ?â
You arenât sure what youâre supposed to say. It feels wrong, somehow. After everything today, you hadnât had the chance to worry about the book you had lost. The book Deidara had knocked into the lake.
There isnât an answer to the drawn-out pause left for them to give their name. In fact, there isnât any noise on the other side of the door. It makes your mouth go dry and your stomach queasy. Youâre filled with so much anxiety itâs hard to breathe. It presses in on you, suffocating. Until you get to your feet and go to the door.
This is stupid. You know itâs stupid. Youâd be snarking at the character on-screen that opening the door is an incredibly stupid idea. But not knowing feels so much worse.
You open the cabin door, just a crack to peek. Thereâs no one there.
Chagrin floods your cheeks. You arenât familiar with your neighbors. Thatâs all. One of Deidaraâs friends must have returned the book in apology.
The book in question is set in front of the door. Its pages are sun-dried and stiff with water damage. The cheap ink has bled, smearing a lot of the words. But itâs kind of sweet that they returned the book after everything. You flip to the page you had been reading when it was knocked from your hands, then nearly drop it.
The pages here are soaked red, glued together by something thicker than water.
.đ đ đ đ đ. The week will end soon.
You try not to let it loom over you, but itâs thereâin the quiet gaps between cicada songs and in the stagnant heat of the day. But it is most obvious in the âNo Swimmingâ sign Itachi posted after Deidaraâs accident. You can only watch the minnows darting underwater like quicksilver now. Itâs an unsatisfactory goodbye.
You stop, sweat dripping from every roll and crinkle in your skin, to uncap your water bottle before downing half of it. The handle of the blue plastic bucket sits in the bend of your elbow, half-full of lakeside debris: fallen leaves, twigs, some acorns, little round pebbles. Things for you to shift through later and make little handmade things for souvenirs. Most campsites are strongly against the practice, but Itachi is indifferent.
You hadnât planned to take this hike around the lake, but youâve already made it to the other side. A sigh leaves your lips when you toss the water bottle back into the bucket. Youâre being avoidant as well. Your âneighborsâ are still around. Theyâve pestered you about everything from borrowing your grill lighter to trying to bully you into drinking with them.
Deidara, with white bandages peeking out from under his shirt, has been the most persistent. Itâs flattering, in a vain way, to have the blondâs attention. But you arenât stupid enough to get involved with whatever that group has going on.
If you let him hit? You would never live it down.
You shudder at the phantom catcalling and jeering as you come up to a bend in the trail. Thereâs running water here, one of the streams that cut away from the main lake. Further down, you can see a bridge that goes over it.
You hear the sound of splashing above the babbling of the stream. Itâs not obvious and if you hadnât stopped you donât think you would have heard it. You listen to the noise for a while before curiosity gets the better of you.
Youâre so nosy.
Stepping off the path, into unmaintained woodland doesnât feel as foreboding as it should, considering all the stories that come from doing something like this. The sun is too bright, too warm, and the shade too thin to be anything but pleasant to step into. But your gut still tightens. Something brushes against the back of your mind, warning you it could be an animal you donât want to startle.
But youâre already so close to the source of the splashing. The undergrowth here is denser, the trees coming together in thick green webs of leaves. You peek through them, eyes wide as movement catches your attention immediately. The person on the side, down in the stream rips the breath from your lungs.
The overhead foliage blankets the stream in shadow, dark and dampâa contrast to the warm sunlight caressing your back. While you watch him, a peculiar mix of emotions stirs within. Despite the well-defined muscles, he looks almost sickly, as if he might be unwell. His cheeks are hollow, his face is made up of harsh angles, and his skin is a soft, pale blue-gray that seems more pronounced in the shade.
You watch the water roll up his arms and over his shoulders in wild arcs. Standing with his legs apart and bent at the waist, he appears entirely absorbed in his task, his hands chasing something unseen in the murky water.
Each movement causes the muscles under his skin to ripple. His tall frame moves with a sense of purpose, exuding both grace and strength. Thereâs something captivating about his presence, an allure that draws you in despite the uncertainty.
A bolt of fear strikes like lightning as you catch sight of his face. Youâve seen him before. Youâre the one peeping now, it seems. You should leaveâthe thought nags at you, screaming in the back of your skull. Whoever, whatever he is, you know heâs dangerous. The shark-like appearance cannot be a coincidence. But a part of you refuses to move. Rooted to the ground, you watch the flex of his biceps, lick your lips at the downward turn of his mouth while he concentrates hard on his task.
Youâre fascinated by something so different.
His hands snap out again, closing around something finally by the grin that flashes across his face. Porcelain white teeth, pointed and sharp, catching a sliver of sunshine.
The tiny body of a muddy green frog almost escapes his palms, flinging itself desperately from the giant that holds it. He moves with it, refusing to let it go. You watch, mouth parted, though you arenât breathing anymore. The man, his eyes gleaming, presses his hands together.
Squeezing and squeezing untilâthereâs an awful popping sound and pink-stained water drips between the manâs fingers. Itâs terrible what heâs done with that handsome grin on his face.
Then he tosses the dead thing toward the bank below you. Two little raccoons, too small to be on their own chitter in excitement. They run forward to where the frogâs guts spill into the mud, squabbling over it before their fighting tears the body in half. They feast like theyâre starving.
Itâs gross and makes your stomach queasy. But it offers understanding. Heâs feeding them. In an archaic, far too gruesome way, but feeding the animals nonetheless.
Your eyes leave the small raccoons, returning to the strange man. Heâs looking at you now, too. His grin is gone, faded into a thin frown. Youâve been caught, the blood draining from your face.
Neither of you make the first move.
The baby raccoons, licking their lips after their frog, chatter at him from the waterâs edge. They slap the surface, splashing each other by accident when he ignores them. Theyâre impatient and demanding. The shark-man glances between them and you. Contemplating, he shifts his weight, disturbing the flow of water around his calves. Itâs a tiny movement, barely anything at all, but it causes you to flinch back. And the frown on his face deepens.
âWhat are you lurking like a pervert for?â he calls out, a lilt of sarcasm in his voice.
His strikingly recognizable voice. Youâre relieved, somewhat, to know he can speak. Then feel stupid for the assumption he couldnât. âYouâre one to talk.â
âMe? No no, I would never go around peeping at people like that,â he responds quickly. As if heâs eager to be talking with you. âEspecially not you. Not with how much you go around shrieking.â
Your stomach twists itself into knots. It strangles the butterflies. This feels surreal to you. You shouldnât, but you find yourself pushing back the branches of the trees to ease yourself down the slope of the bank, the temperature dropping when the sun can no longer touch you. The little raccoons scamper away with unwelcoming hisses when they spot you.
âThank you, for bringing my book back,â you say before trepidation can stop you. You can feel it in your gut that getting closer is a bad idea.
The man doesnât move from his spot in the stream. His expression shifts from his half-smug teasing to more of a question. Itâs reflected when he speaks again, âWhat book?â
âThe one that fell into the lake. I recognize your voice.â
âJust from hearing it one time, huh? You sure?â
âI can remember voices pretty okay and yours is veryâwell everything about you kind of stands out.â
He pauses for a heartbeat, various emotions flickering across his face before he chuckles, âIâll take that as a compliment from you.â
Oh.
Your stomach swoops in a distinctly different way from fear this time. It shocks you. Somehow youâve inched closer and mud wells up around the soles of your sandals. Your throat bobs when you swallow your nerves down.
âWhatâs your name?â you ask him the words a little strained with how tight your throat is.
His sharp, beady eyes observe you intently. Again you find that as unnerving as his gaze is, you donât dislike it.
âIf I tell you, Iâll have to kill you,â he says, his tone light. The way he smiles at you is not comforting.
âIs that code for you donât have one?â Itâs half-playful and wholly unsure. Is it rude to ask another being if they have a name? You offer your own name in the next breath.
He takes it, chewing on it a few times like heâs deciding if he likes it or not.
Suddenly, youâre the frog. Your heartbeat is frantic in your chest once more, desperate for something youâre not sure about. And blindly you think youâre leaping toward the threat when he says your name a final time, his tongue swiping across his blue lips.
âKisame,â he tells you.
âKisame,â you murmur, holding the word too gently. âA little on the nose isnât it?â
âYou shouldnât be so relaxed,â he warns you. âI really could kill you.â
Heâs serious. You can feel it in how he looks at you. In the cool shade of the trees crowding too close with the cicada still silent, you know he can. Still, your mouth opens your mouth to protest. Maybe youâre still the desperate frog, jumping the wrong way.
But you hesitate. And he latches onto that hesitation.
You see his plan in the wicked curve of his grin returning before he does it. But you still squeal when he lungs forward, his big arms scooping up water and splashing you in a great wave. The bucket slips from the crook of your arm, cracking against the mud.
His hand, rough but warm, brushes against the exposed small of your back when you turn, fleeing up the side of the bank like a drowned rat. His booming laughter follows on your heels when you return to your cabin.
Your heart is pounding and you stupidly want to see him again.
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The first mistake you make is with Deidara.
Youâre outside cutting up pieces of your favorite fruit. Fresh and in season, itâs quite a treat. The juice slips down your knife and onto your fingers. You donât the like the stickiness as much but tolerate it for your snack. The cicadas are at full volume again and sitting beside you is your journal, with glue drying leaves to one of the pages.
Itâs a nice day, with a light breeze that occasionally sweeps past you. It makes you drowsy.
You watch the lake. After meeting him, youâre certain it was Kisame that grabbed your foot and injured Deidara. Every disturbance on the water makes you hopeful. Disappointment fills your chest when nothing comes from it. Your ride these up-and-down mood swings for most of the day.
You have to wonder if Itachi knows about Kisame. Is that why he put up the sign? Youâre itching to ask, but if he doesnât youâd sound out of your mind. Or be exposing Kisameâs existence. Which feels worse than being called crazy.
You donât want to admit thereâs selfishness at play too. A part of you resists the idea of sharing the secret you now know. You want to keep Kisame for yourself.
You pop another slice of fruit into your mouth, swiping away the juice that dribbles down your chin with the back of a hand. Thereâs another disturbance on the water, right next to the dock thatâs more agitatedâ
A figure steps in front of you with a grunt of your name, blocking the view. You sit up in your chair, snorting as you meet Deidaraâs gaze. He holds it for a second before darting away. His painted nails tug at his shirt, pulling it up to cover the stark white bandages.
He opens his mouth once, twice, before he finally says, âHey.â
You chew the flesh of another slice of fruit, holding your gaze on him. When you swallow you drop your eyes to watch the blade of the knife cut another one. âWhat do you need Deidara?â
âI donât need anything,â he snaps back too quickly. âCanât a guy just say hi to his neighbor?â
âThen, hi.â
âYou donât have to say it like that.â
You stop what youâre doing, lips pressing into a flat line. Deidaraâs gaze doesnât waver when you meet it this time. A muscle in his jaw twitches. The mutual annoyance feels heavier than the humidity in the air.
Youâre being unfair to him and you know it. The first night they were here you had torn out of the bathhouse, picking a fight with them. But it had been Kisame who had been peeping on you, youâre sure of it despite his denial.
But everything else he had done himself. He didnât deserve the apology on the tip of your tongue.
âYou like art?â he tries again, smoothing the irritation from his expression. You glance at the journal he gestures to.
âYeah.â You canât make yourself happy with the conversation change.
âI do art,â Deidara continues as if youâve asked. âNot any of this kid stuff, of course. I have an appreciation for finer art. The kind of beauty you can only see for a fleeting moment before itâs gone, the aftermath of it vibrating through you.â
Heâs animated, his hands moving as he speaks. Whatever heâs talking about, itâs obvious itâs his passion. But youâre stuck on the fact he called your glued-on leaves and scribbles âkid stuff.â Deidara always has a haughty air to him, but itâs most apparent in this aspect.
You have to hide the scowl in the corner of your mouth. But itâs pointless when you say, âSo like fireworks?â
Deidara catches you immediately. He scents the mockery in words like blood in the water. His eye flashes, dangerous and scorned.
âIâll have to show you what I mean sometime,â he offers, challenging.
âMaybe,â you reply. He frowns at the rejection.
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The second mistake you make is not locking the door to your cabin.
Well, itâs more so that youâre listening to that damn fluttery feeling in your stomach. You nearly vomit twice from the nerves before you settle onto the bedâitâs neatly made up and smells of air freshener to hide a week worthâs of you.
Your laptop is open, the fans whirring while another black-and-white movie plays on-screen. Itâs the sequel to the previous one you watched.
You canât focus on it, though. Picking at your nails, chewing on the inside of your lip, and glancing like a fugitive at the door takes up more of your attention. For once, you hate the isolation of the campground. Youâd be less nervous if your phone had a connection to the outside so you could doom scroll the hours away.
Music from your neighbors rumbles through the walls. Itâs nowhere near the volume of their first full day here, but tonight itâs full of spite and bass again. Occasionally you hear one of them belting out the lyrics.
You bite down a tad too hard on the tender flesh inside your mouth. The taste of copper spreads across the tip of your tongue.
A scream rips through the quiet hum of the window unit and the night chirping outside. Itâs so sudden it startles you, your heart jumping into your throat before you realize itâs the movie. You reach over and turn the sound down, scoffing at yourself. âJesus, the volume is all over the place.â
âThatâs what you get for pirating bad movies.â
He doesnât give you the chance to scream, a hand clapping down over your mouth. Panic and terror rips through your system, eyes rolling wild while you try to pry his hand off. The bed dips behind you and then youâre pulled up, back pressed up against a damp chest.
Kisameâs laughter rolls over your ears, rumbles against your back. And your heart beats hard for a reason different from fear. When you stop struggling he eases his hand away and then drops something on the bed in front of you. Shiny blue plastic reflects a warped version of yourself, Kisame wrapped around you. A crack splits the image in half.
Itâs filled to the brim with leaf litter.
How he came in through the door without you noticing is a mystery. Itâs closed when you glance toward it.
âIâm starting to think youâre leaving excuses to see me again.â Kisameâs thumbs press into the skin of your arms. He hasnât let fully let you go yet.
Your breathing steadies. âWhat?â
Lips ghost over the shell of your ear. âYou keep leaving trash in my lake.â
âThatâs not fair,â you start to say, then think better of it. Looking away from his plastic reflection, turning your head to look at him. Heâs startling close. âThe bucket technically isnât even mine and you turned the water into a bloodbath so I couldnât get my book back.â
âOh, I suppose that too,â he says with an edged humor.
Your brows furrow. Then you realize what he means. Laughter, surprised and jittery tumbles out of your mouth. âNot a fan of him either, huh?â
âSomething like that, yeah.â
âSomeone has to like him, with all the confidence heâs got.â
âBut not you.â There are teeth in his statement.
âDefinitely not me.â
Kisame grunts in response. Heâs warm against you, sturdy. And you find that youâve relaxed into him. He notices it too, his muscles tensing. For a second you think heâs pushing you awayâexcept heâs moving the little blue bucket heâs returned. It finds a new place on the windowsill by the bed.
You find yourself rearranged as well, scooted to the side so Kisame can sit on the bed next to you. Itâs a tight fit. He takes up so much spaceâeven more when he leans into you.
âWhat are you watching?â he asks, drawing your attention to movie still playing.
Warm embarrassment floods your system. You flounder for words, only to mumble, âA bad sequel.â He snorts and you offer, âYou wanna finish it with me? Or⌠do you need go back into the lake?â
Kisame watches you for breath, considering. âYouâre awfully comfortable next to someone who could kill you.â
That gives you pause. The words you want to say are sticky in your throat. Theyâll choke you if you try to speak them to life.
You like that heâs dangerous. You like his sharp teeth. You like the way his fingers have inched under your shirt to trace the line of your spineâ
âThat doesnât answer the question. Do you dry out on land?â you refocus the conversation.
âIâll be fine for a couple of hours,â he chuckles, low and raspy.
âGood then buckle up for a feature film from the 1950s.â You give him another pause to change his mind. But when he leans back, his hands behind his head, you settle in next to him.
His brows raise when the antagonist appears on-screen. The costumeâa feat of practical effects for itâs time but now barely believableâis awkward on land and even more so when it swoops the female lead for the movie up. Another loud shriek crackles out of the speakers.
Youâre deathly quiet while it plays outâa back-and-forth between the hero and the monster before it escapes out to sea. The main couple embrace after the ordeal, but thereâs still a third of the movie to go so itâs not over.
Kisame sits with you while it plays out. His mouth closed, eyes intent on the screen. He knows quite a bit for not being human. You wonder if he was one once, or if he learned everything somewhere.
âDoes Itachi know about you?â You break the comfortable silence when the credits begin to roll. Somehow the two of you have become entangled, hands touching places bordering overly-friendly.
âYou ask a lot of questions.â Kisame is quick to answer, a hand sliding a little lower on your hip. His nails scrape at the sensitive flesh, not friendly at all. âYou worried heâd see you with a swamp monster?â
âNot at all,â you say just as easily.
He hesitates at the elastic band of your pj bottoms. Teases the flesh of your hip. âHe does. We haveâŚan arrangement of sorts.â
The question must be plain on your face because Kisame laughs. It makes your heart squeeze and a heat flare between your thighs.
âIâm not fucking him,â he says just as plainly, his grin half-feral at the expression you must be making. âDonât let him fool you. Itachiâs more dangerous than I am. But he hates getting his hands dirty. Sharks gotta eat. He keeps the lake mostly free of shitheads.â
You swallow thickly. His tone is light, joking, but his gaze is sharp. Testing.
âIs he how you know so much about everything?â you ask, voice quiet. Trying to keep the mental images from rushing to the forefront of your mind.
You know youâve made a mistake when his expression clouds, dark and stormy. âNo.â He pulls away so quickly it leaves you cold and falling onto the blanket. âMovieâs over. Try to pick a better one next time.â
Kisame slips out of the cabin as quietly as he came in. He takes the heat of the summer night with him.
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The third mistake you make is drowning in desperation.
The sun burns hot outside, the humidity is the worst itâs been all week. Cicadas scream, loud and wretched in their search for a mate.
You slept like shit after Kisame left. Your morning is filled with a back-and-forth of what you wanted to do and what you should do. Itâs a game of tug-of-war within your mind and it shows in the shadows under your eyes.
Thereâs an ugly sense of longing in your chest you canât let go of. Even when the handsome lines of Kisameâs face clashes with the vivid imagination of him knelt over a body, tearing into the gore of it with his sharp teeth. There has to be something wrong with you. Losing your job couldnât have driven you to this in a week, could it?
You need to see him again. Before you go home.
Your despair must ooze from your pores, acting like blood in the water to those in the campground. Like with the lake, thereâs a new sign at the start of the trail that goes around the lake. The one where that leads to the stream you first found Kisame in the stream. You can see it the moment you step outside, the sweltering heat swarming close to your body.
Your âneighborsâ are out too. Hidan and that tattooed man haul packs of beer from the back of their truck. More than four men should have. You would have ignored them like you intend to ignore the sign, but Hidan makes an effort to catch your attention with a wave. He grins too widely to be well-meaning.
Your mouth forms a thin line. It just feels offâwrong.
Before you reach the trail, Itachi steps out of the office. His expression is unmoving as he approaches you. Your intentions are obvious. Your feet are still pointed toward the trail. He is not surprised.
âYouâre causing trouble,â he says, stopping a foot away from you.
You bite the inside of your lip before you answer, âI havenât done anything.â
His dark eyes watch you with a sense of apathy. You feel it in how he talks to you. He isnât telling you this out of annoyance or anger. Not even out of worry. Itâs as if he doesnât care one way or the other but he knows heâll have to deal with the aftermath no matter what.
Through sheer respect, you donât try to step around him. Youâve wasted the morning though, you canât just stand here.
âItâs a bad idea,â he warns again. His voice is softer. It almost makes you want to listen to him.
But your heart doesnât want to. It bares its teeth with a petulance. âIâm grown. I donât need to be told what to do.â
âThen let me suggest you go home before you get yourself hurt,â he intones.
Cicadas scream from the tree line behind him even louder. Furious with how long theyâve been alone, their cries unanswered. It constricts around your bones. âAre you kicking me out then?â He stares at you, silent. âI paid for the week. Iâm staying until that time is up.â
âYour time is up tomorrow morning.â
Sharply you inhale. Itâs a truth you donât want to hear. It sits like rot at the forefront of your mind. Itachi doesnât say more when you ignore himâdoesnât stop you when you walk past his âTrail Closed for Maintenanceâ sign.
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The emptiness in the cabin reflects the feeling in your chest. Itâs pathetic, mourning like a lovesick teenager again. But you know whatâs waiting for you when you go home to your tiny apartment in the city. Bills will be due. Your bank account will be empty. And youâd have to start looking for a new job.
Youâve packed away your things and tucked all but the bare essentials into your car. You want to make another trip around the lake before you leave in the morning. Just one more chance to see him again.
There hadnât been a sign of him yesterday.
And here you are with a puffy, wet face from hurting your own feelings. Sleep canât come fast enough. Stupidlyâso undeniably idioticallyâyouâve left the cabin door unlocked again.
Your âneighborsâ are playing their music impossibly loud again. The glass in the windows rattles. Curling in tighter around yourself you cover your ears. It sounds so angry you canât stand it. Itâs too much noise. Too much emptiness.
Too much everything for your sad little self.
Eventually, you have to get up and dig through your bag in the car to find a sleep aid. Deidara sits on the porch outside the other cabin, drinking. Itâs too dark to see properly but you can feel the heat of his stare. It burns into you long after you get back into bed.
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The laughing is what wakes you.
It feels like youâve only just closed your eyes when the drunken snorts and giggles of men too old for it pulls them open again.
The handle turns. The door swings open. The sleep medication you took slows your reflexes, your understanding.
For a long, sluggish moment your heart flutters between your ribs.
But then the figure in the doorway splits in two and they step fully into the cabin. Pale yellow and silver catch the dim moonlight. A single, pretty blue eye meets your gaze. A mean sneer mars his expression as he looks down at you.
Deidara crouches to your level, his breath fanning over your face reeks of alcohol. Amusement is tucked into his words when he coos, âAw look at you, hm? Did our music keep you awake?â
The nasally grunt at the ends of his words makes it hard to focus on anything else. What had he said? You blink hard, trying to remember. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, dry. A soft hand brushes against your cheek.
Your nose scrunches, a low warble leaving your lips as you pull away. Hidan cackles behind him.
âTheyâre so fucking over you,â he scoffs. âLetâs just toss them.â
âShame,â Deidara huffs. âWould have loved to show you my art.â
Your vision swims, sleep trying to pull you back down. You remember the conversation about his art though, and snort. âFireworks.â
The taller man finds this hilarious, nearly folding in half laughing at his friendâs expense. You arenât sure why. The blondâs expression is thunderousâugly and mean. You hate it.
You hate the way he digs his fingers into your face more.
âLetâs see if a dip in the lake will make you a little less bitchy,â Deidara hisses, spittal flying from his lips and hitting your face.
The sleep aid dulls your fear and thatâs terribly dangerous. It doesnât make sense to you at first. Why are they here? Why is Deidara so mean to you? Your head spins and you canât think straight.
Youâre still so sluggish when he pulls you from the bed, locking his arms under your armpits. Itâs uncomfortable and you weakly protest. But it doesnât hit you just how bad the situation is until Hidan takes hold of your legs.
Youâre so fucking stupid. Everything goes sideways as you fight against them; slow, uncoordinated kicks of your legs and slurred screams. You didnât lock the door..
They donât have any trouble carrying you to the dock between them. Nor do they struggle when they throw you. You hear them laughing, mean, and loud again. The late-night cicadas laugh right along with them when your head goes under.
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The lake water is cold. Itâs a shock to your muddled brain.
Your muscles lock tight, refusing to move at the sudden drop in temperature. Itâs not terrifying at first. Just cold. Your vision blurs in the dark water, and the moon becomes a hazy image as you sink downward.
Down, down, down.
You donât even need a rock to sink you to the bottom this time.
Then your body releases you from the shock, limbs unlocking with a rough beat of your heart and your lungs swelling to take a breath.
Except youâre underwater and instead of oxygen your lungs fill with the lake itself. Itâs painful and so much worse than you ever imagined drawing would be. It feels like someoneâs shoved sandpaper down your throat, into your chest and itâs grinding the soft tissue away in there. Your heart hammers as panic bursts awake under your skin.
How stupid this all is. Youâve drugged yourselfâDeidara probably hasnât even realized. You flail weakly in the darkness. You canât see the moon above the surface anymore. Thereâs no way to tell which way is up and which way is down under water like this.
Pain sears, angry, and bright in your chest as your body coughs harshly to try to expel the water. There is nothing but water around you, though.
You want to scream.
Youâre going to drown.
Going to die.
Something collides with your torso, even in the water it feels like youâve been rag-dolled. Your head snaps back on your neck and everything from your lungs is forced out with no time to inhale more water. Youâre terrifiedâso incredibly disoriented. Has your soul been ripped from your body? Are you dead?
Your head breaks the surface. Warm night air kisses your face, your cheeks, your mouth. Dazed you see stars above you, twinkling next to the half-moon above you. Silhouettes of clouds drift lazy and unhurried under them.
Itâs so pretty.
A wretched sob breaks free from your chest, hacking up lake water with it. Strong hands, clawed and webbed heaves your body up and dumps you on a dock. Itâs not the sun-weathered one with smoothed wood. Itâs older. It leans to one side, the dark wood splintering and covered in moss.
You cough and gag up water, whoeverâwhateverâsaved you keeping a hand on your back. Itâs horrible. It hurts going out as much as it did going in. Your mind is still foggy, slowed by the sleep aid you had taken.
Finally, when you arenât vomiting up water, you look at your savior. You recognize him instantly, though heâs differentâmonstrous in the most basic meaning of the word.
Kisame looms over you on the old dock, his pitch-colored eyes glinting. He is, for certain, more shark than human at this point.
Heâs horrifying at first glance. His sharp features merge with a more streamlined shark body. Muscles ripple beneath scale-like patterns down his biceps and forearms, bent to accommodate the fins that sprout from them. Gills at his neck pulsate rhythmically, wet and sticky above water. A massive dorsal fin goes down his back and to a tail that stirs in the lake.
But you know itâs Kisame. You know it from the fluttering beats of your heart thatâs been yearning to see him again. Heâs saved you from drowning.
He jerks backward when you lift a shaky, uncoordinated hand to his face. You gently cup his jaw, not letting him avoid you. Your thumb brushes a serrated tooth. A pearl of blood beads instantly. His pupils shrink.
Thereâs so much you want to sayâso much you need to confess.
Somewhere on the other side of the lake, Deidara is shouting. He sounds like heâs in a panic. An ungodly sound rips from Kisameâs chest. His webbed hand pushes you down, not unkindly.
âStay,â he says. When you donât fight him, he slips off the dock and back into the water.
You sit there, shivering in your soaked clothes feeling like youâve been drug through hell. Itâs less than a minute later when you hear the first scream.
smut warning! afab body parts named and described here! scroll down to the next divider for amab!
The screaming continues even after the cicadas fall quiet. The first one you heard ended quickly. Whoever it was died choking on their own blood. You want to pretend you donât know who it is.
But you know both the victims and the attacker.
You should leave. Itachiâs office should have a radio or satellite phoneâ some way to reach help. You donât like Deidara, but you donât want him and his friends to die. Your stomach somersaults unpleasantly at the thought.
Getting to your feet has you wheezing by the end of it. You wobble on the first step but can make it to the second step without tipping over. You take a deep breath, you can do this.
On the third, however, your foot goes through the wood. You go down with it, the soft skin of your thigh snagging on the edge of the broken board. It happens so fast you donât have a chance to even think about screaming. And when you realize whatâs happened, you have to bite it back to keep quiet.
Katydids and frogs chirp back and forth while you cry, scooting back to pull your leg out of the hole to look at the damage. Youâre bleeding but itâs not gushing blood. Itâs hard to tell just how bad it is in the half-moon lighting.
You waste too much time.
A hand closes around your ankle, too close to the edge of the rotting dock. Lacking the claws and webbing between his fingers this time, and strong. He tugs you forward on the dock, the wood scraping against the exposed underside of your thighs.
Kisame doesnât leave you wondering this time. He lifts himself out of the lake, meeting your body with his own.
Despite being in the water, the blood hasnât washed off. Itâs deep red, staining from his mouth and down his chest. It rolls downward to his naked hips. The sight plucks a cord of fear down your spine.
Just as youâre staring at the blood on him, Kisame is staring at the blood on you. His hand drags upward, over your calf. When he brushes his thumb over the scratch on your thigh you wince, but keep quiet. Thereâs a fear inside you that youâll trigger something predatory if you make a noise.
But you canât stop the gasp when his rough lips meet the flesh of your thigh. Itâs just a brief kiss, tender and gentle before his tongue slips out to lick up the length of the wound. He hums, the sound and vibration going straight to your core. He leaves behind goosebumps and smears of red.
His touch drifts higher and higher until he pauses. Your stomach is tight in anticipation, breaths shallow. After a long minute, you meet his gaze, flesh burning under his scrutiny. Heâs waiting. And youâyouâre sick to death of waiting.
God, you are fucked. âDonât stop now.â
He grins, full of teeth. The sight of them between your legs, stained with blood, with a different kind of hunger sends a terrible sort of thrill through you.
His fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips to help him ease them down your legs. Kisame groans out loud when youâre exposed to him as if heâs been waiting for this too.
His thumbs part your sticky, slick folds. His warm breath sends a tremor up your spine. The millimeters of space between his mouth and your cunt feels too far and you canât wait. He meets your core with more force than intended because you buck your hips upward, needy and eager.
He chuckles into your wetness, flashing those sharp teeth so dangerously close to your sensitive flesh. The hand that pushes your hips down is gentle though, fingers kneading the heated skin in soothing circles.
âEasy,â he rasps.
You have to bite back a whine, grounding yourself by scraping your nails against the rotting dock underneath you.
His tongue meets you again, pressed flat through your folds. It drags a shivering moan out of you. Kisameâs answering groan makes you throb. Itâs embarrassing how wet you areâhow quickly your lower belly coils tight.
Heâs gentle at first, his mouth cautious on your puffy slit as he explores you. Like heâs savoring the flavor of you. One of your hands sinks downward, slipping through his wet hair, fingertips pressing against the back of his skull to push him into you.
âKisame,â you pant, âplease.â
He obliges, a thick arm sliding over your hips and tugging you closer to him, lifting your lower body slightly for better access. Your head tilts back, knocking against the rough wood. His tongue cuts through your wetness, sending sparks of electricity through your core as he teased your clit with skillful flicks. Each groan and gasp that leaves your lips makes him work harder.
Your inner muscles ache, clenching tightly around nothing. Kisame takes his time though, following his own sweet rhythm. You almost beg for him to touch you more, but before the words have the chance to form his fingers are inside you. Thick and skilled two of them stretch your hole, curling against your sensitive walls while his mouth suckles your clit.
He drags his tongue back and forth over your sensitive bud while his fingers maintain a steady rhythm, coaxing you ever closer to the edge. His finger finds the spot inside you that sends your hips bucking up in pleasure and an involuntary cry spills from your lips. You can feel Kisame's rumble of approval vibrating against your core as he licks and teases until you finally go limp, still panting heavily from the sheer intensity of your orgasm.
âNot bad,â he all but coos to you, letting your thighs drop.
Words die on your lips as he settles himself fully between your legs and seals his mouth against yours. The taste of yourself is heady and thick. You want to pull him closer, to delve into his mouth like he had done with your sex. But he pulls away before you have the chance.
You make a quiet sound of disappointment when he moves away. It morphs into a startled cry when, without warning, his hips buck forward and the thick head of his cock sinks into you. His fingers dig into the plush meat of your hips, holding you still so he can fuck himself into you. He splits you open, bigger than you expect.
Youâre over-filled by the time his hips lay flush against you. Your chest heaving between adjusting to him and fighting the pleasure wracking up your spine.
âBeen thinking about how good youâd feel since the first time I saw you,â Kisame says, voice husky and low with a teasing roll of his hips.
You manage a smile, trying to appear unaffected despite the heat coursing through your veins, âMe too.â
His expression is feral in the silvery moonlight, all teeth and pride. Red smears across his face, between your thighs. Kisame, even in his more human form, looks like a monster. It sends your heart fluttering something terrible.
There isnât time to admire him, though. You buck your hips, a whine on your lips. His length twitches inside you once before he answers, snapping his hips into you. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder and feels like he reaches even deeper inside you. Groans leave both of your mouths.
Itâs hard to think straight as he rocks into you, picking up the pace when your hand slips down to rub your clit. He presses into you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His sharp, sharp teeth graze the sensitive skin there and earns him a drawn-out moan, your walls fluttering around him.
âFuckâŚnot gonna last long,â Kisame pants into your ear. It almost sounds pleading.
âAlmost there,â you whine, your core tightening. Youâre so close.
His hips stutter a strangled moan slipping out of his mouth. His teeth press a bit harder into your throat and you feel him gush inside you. It sends you over the edge again, insides clamping down around him. Itâs quiet aside from the heated panting as you both try to recover and the lapping over the lake against the dock.
A soft-breathed moan wrings itself from your throat when Kisame pulls out. Warmth trickles out of you. But you canât focus on it because he kisses you againâsofter without an urgency. You still chase after him when he pulls away.
He tucks a grin into the corner of his mouth, trying to look serious. âYou need to go talk to Itachi.â
âItachi? Why?â you ask, eyebrows raising.
âHeâll walk you through what to say,â Kisame says hands sliding your shorts back up your legs. As if itâs the most simple thing in the world. His teeth flash in the silver moonlight, unable to help himself. âYou look fucked up. The police wonât question you too much.â
Itâs so stupid you laugh.
smut warning! amab body parts named and described here!
The screaming continues even after the cicadas fall quiet. The first one you heard ended quickly. Whoever it was died choking on their own blood. You want to pretend you donât know who it is.
But you know both the victims and the attacker.
You should leave. Itachi��s office should have a radio or satellite phoneâ some way to reach help. You donât like Deidara, but you donât want him and his friends to die. Your stomach somersaults unpleasantly at the thought.
Getting to your feet has you wheezing by the end of it. You wobble on the first step but can make it to the second step without tipping over. You take a deep breath, you can do this.
On the third, however, your foot goes through the wood. You go down with it, the soft skin of your thigh snagging on the edge of the broken board. It happens so fast you donât have a chance to even think about screaming. And when you realize whatâs happened, you have to bite it back to keep quiet.
Katydids and frogs chirp back and forth while you cry, scooting back to pull your leg out of the hole to look at the damage. Youâre bleeding but itâs not gushing blood. Itâs hard to tell just how bad it is in the half-moon lighting.
You waste too much time.
A hand closes around your ankle, too close to the edge of the rotting dock. Lacking the claws and webbing between his fingers this time, and strong. He tugs you forward on the dock, the wood scraping against the exposed underside of your thighs.
Kisame doesnât leave you wondering this time. He lifts himself out of the lake, meeting your body with his own.
Despite being in the water, the blood hasnât washed off. Itâs deep red, staining from his mouth and down his chest. It rolls downward to his naked hips. The sight plucks a cord of fear down your spine.
Just as youâre staring at the blood on him, Kisame is staring at the blood on you. His hand drags upward, over your calf. When he brushes his thumb over the scratch on your thigh you wince, but keep quiet. Thereâs a fear inside you that youâll trigger something predatory if you make a noise.
But you canât stop the gasp when his rough lips meet the flesh of your thigh. Itâs just a brief kiss, tender and gentle before his tongue slips out to lick up the length of the wound. He hums, the sound and vibration going straight to your core. He leaves behind goosebumps and smears of red.
His touch drifts higher and higher until he pauses. Your stomach is tight in anticipation, breaths shallow. After a long minute, you meet his gaze, flesh burning under his scrutiny. Heâs waiting. And youâyouâre sick to death of waiting.
God, you are fucked. âDonât stop now.â
He grins, full of teeth. The sight of them between your legs, stained with blood, with a different kind of hunger sends a terrible sort of thrill through you.
His fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts. You lift your hips to help him ease them down your legs. Kisame groans out loud when youâre exposed to him as if heâs been waiting for this too.
His thumb ghosts up the underside, until he reaches the head smearing the pearl of pre-cum. His warm breath sends a tremor up your spine. The millimeters of space between his mouth and your dick feels too far away and you canât wait. He barely has time to wrap his lips around his incredibly sharp teeth before you buck your hips upward, needy and eager.
He chuckles around your length, flashing those sharp teeth so dangerously close to your sensitive flesh. The hand that pushes your hips down is gentle though, fingers kneading the heated skin in soothing circles.
âEasy,â he rasps.
You have to bite back a whine, grounding yourself by scraping your nails against the rotting dock underneath you.
His cheeks hollow out, tongue dragging over you before swirling around the head. It drags a shivering moan out of you. Kisameâs answering groan makes you throb. Itâs embarrassing how hard you areâhow quickly your lower belly coils tight.
Heâs gentle at first, his mouth cautious on weeping cock as he explores you. Like heâs savoring the flavor of you. One of your hands sinks downward, slipping through his wet hair, fingertips pressing against the back of his skull to push him further down on you.
âKisame,â you pant, âplease.â
He obliges, a thick arm sliding over your hips and tugging you closer to him, lifting your lower body slightly for better access. Your head tilts back, knocking against the rough wood. His head bobs wetly over your length, sending sparks of electricity through you. Each groan and gasp that leaves your lips makes him work harder.
Your balls tighten, your hole clenching tightly around nothing. Kisame takes his time though, following his own sweet rhythm. You almost beg for him to touch you more, but before the words have the chance to form his fingers are inside you. Thick and skilled two of them stretch your hole, curling against your sensitive walls while his mouth sucks you in further, your tip touching the back of his throat.
He pulls back, inhaling softly and swiping his tongue over the slit of your cock head, while his fingers maintain a steady rhythm, coaxing you ever closer to the edge. His finger finds the spot inside you that sends your hips bucking up in pleasure and an involuntary cry spills from your lips. You can feel Kisame's rumble of approval vibrating around your length as he licks and teases, swallowing your cum until you finally go limp, still panting heavily from the sheer intensity of your orgasm.
âNot bad,â he all but coos to you, letting your thighs drop.
Words die on your lips as he settles himself fully between your legs and seals his mouth against yours. The taste of yourself is heady and thick. You want to pull him closer, to delve into his mouth like he had done with your sex. But he pulls away before you have the chance.
You make a quiet sound of disappointment when he moves away. It morphs into a startled cry when, without warning, his hips buck forward and the thick head of his cock sinks into you. His fingers dig into the plush meat of your hips, holding you still so he can fuck himself into you. He splits you open, bigger than you expect.
Youâre over-filled by the time his hips lay flush against you. Your chest heaving between adjusting to him and fighting the pleasure wracking up your spine.
âBeen thinking about how good youâd feel since the first time I saw you,â Kisame says, voice husky and low with a teasing roll of his hips.
You manage a smile, trying to appear unaffected despite the heat coursing through your veins, âMe too.â
His expression is feral in the silvery moonlight, all teeth and pride. Red smears across his face, between your thighs. Kisame, even in his more human form, looks like a monster. It sends your heart fluttering something terrible.
There isnât time to admire him, though. You buck your hips, a whine on your lips. His length twitches inside you once before he answers, snapping his hips into you. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder and feels like he reaches even deeper inside you. Groans leave both of your mouths.
Itâs hard to think straight as he rocks into you, picking up the pace when your hand slips down to jerk your dick, already half-hard again. He presses into you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His sharp, sharp teeth graze the sensitive skin there and earns him a drawn-out moan, your walls fluttering around him.
âFuckâŚnot gonna last long,â Kisame pants into your ear. It almost sounds pleading.
âAlmost there,â you whine, your walls tightening. Youâre so close.
His hips stutter a strangled moan slipping out of his mouth. His teeth press a bit harder into your throat, and you feel him gush inside you. It sends you over the edge again, insides clamping down around him. Your cock throbs again, cum coating your fingers. Itâs quiet aside from the heated panting as you both try to recover and the lapping over the lake against the dock.
A soft-breathed moan wrings itself from your throat when Kisame pulls out. Warmth trickles out of you. But you canât focus on it because he kisses you againâsofter without an urgency. You still chase after him when he pulls away.
He tucks a grin into the corner of his mouth, trying to look serious. âYou need to go talk to Itachi.â
âItachi? Why?â you ask, eyebrows raising.
âHeâll walk you through what to say,â Kisame says hands sliding your shorts back up your legs. As if itâs the most simple thing in the world. His teeth flash in the silver moonlight, unable to help himself. âYou look fucked up. The police wonât question you too much.â
Itâs so stupid you laugh.
#myfiction#kisame hosigaki x reader#reader-insert#x reader#naruto#naruto fanfic#daryascabin#the cabin fic event#sobs the header art and dividers are mine too pls ignore them#nsft
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THE CABIN MASTERLIST
ââ Who's surviving the night? Final descriptions/ titles subject to change at publication. All tags, descriptions, etc., are taken from the original author; please see individual posts for more information.
(back to the cabin door) (participation rules)
S L A S H E R
đŞ âSeason in Hellâ by @blondeboyfriend : Hyakunosuke Ogata (Golden Kamuy) - The summer camp you're working at is being terrorized by a unseen force that is picking off your fellow counselors one by one.
đŞ âUNTITLEDâ by @spiteless-xo : Eren Jaeger [maybe + Jean Kirstein] (Attack on Titan) - home invasion.
đŞ âUNTITLEDâ by @hash-slinging-slasher-trash : Tomura Shigaraki (My Hero Academia) - and the calls were coming from inside the house.
đŞ âThe Sleepoverâ by @stephisokay modern au Sabo x Reader Games, drinks, and sex are whatâs at your usual sleepover. In this sleepover, crushes, deception and corpses are additional and free!
S U P E R N A T U R A L / P S Y C H O L O G I C A L
đď¸ "Quiet Through the Trees" by @daryascurse(me): modern au Erwin Smith x Reader A haunted ranch and one lonely handsome farmhand - this could be the most intriguing airbnb listing you've seen.
đď¸ âThe Devil Pays Moreâ by @mochimooon : modern au Jean Kirstein x afab!Reader To bolster your resumĂŠ before your last year at university, you snag a summer internship at a local start-up. On the surface, everything appears standardâa cute colleague, a creepy boss, disappearing interns, a cultâ?
đď¸ âThem Changesâ by @rougepancake : Dio Brando x afab!Reader You and your⌠rather odd friend get snowed in a cabin together in the middle of summer. What you donât know is that heâs withholding some rather interesting information from you. Just what exactly have you gotten yourself into?
đď¸ âReigen Arataka: Your Lover, Your Preyâ by @arabaka : Arataka Reigen (Mob Psycho 100) x Reader Reader is a kitsune going through her first heat cycle; unfortunately, your boyfriend Reigen is asleep when it first strikes... Maybe you can get away with it... Just maybe...
đď¸ âUNTITLEDâ by @soleilnomoon : Izou (One Piece) - haunted / cursed mirror trope.
đď¸ âUNTITLEDâ by @kiirschtein : Megumi Fushiguro *aged up (Jujutsu Kaisen) - ghost boy starts to fall for the pretty new owner of the house heâs stuck in.
đď¸ âUNTITLEDâ by @stariwrites : Mikoto Suoh (K Project) - mayhem-causing vampire group; inspired by The Lost Boys. đď¸ âUNTITLEDâ by @mriachka : Quanxi (Chainsaw Man) - summer meet-cute which slowly descends into horror.
C R E A T U R E F E A T U R E
đ§đ˝ââď¸ "cicadas in the background" by @callmeburgor modern au Kisame Hosigaki x gn!Reader Fresh air, scenic views, and a beautiful lake offer a perfect retreat when you need to escape life's troubles. But your peace, however, is shattered when rowdy campers move into the cabin next to yours and an eerie presence in the lake takes a keen interest in you.
my blog is always 18+. please respect my rules and the rules of original writers when interacting. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.
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⧠Happy â§
 ⎠Kisame x you âŽ
18+; no big warnings on this one. this is a fluffy AU, aka Kisame being cute, reader being cute; weâve got a little bit of spice but nothing detailed or crazy - still 18+ though, mdni. Kakuzu makes an appearance for like five seconds, so shout out to daddy K. thereâs mentions of alcohol, breaking & entering, and cursing. also i didnât heavily edit this i was just vibing. okiii enjoy <3
Looking at you while you scooped another bite of ice cream into your mouth, Kisame rested his chin on his hand and smiled softly. You caught his eye and grinned before holding your spoon out to him.
âWant some?â
He shook his head and contented himself to watch you finish off the dessert. It was a newer place - you had dragged him here as soon as he got off work, complaining that you never got to see him anymore. A bold faced lie - Kisame had cut back hours ever since you both picked a date for the wedding, but he couldnât say no to those sad fucking eyes and those damned shorts you were wearing.
So now heâs here, at some fine eatery place, watching you eat ice cream, and honestly - heâs happy. The happiest heâs ever been, and sure Hidan can call him pussy whipped all he wants, but it didnât matter. Nothing compared to this. To you.
Kisameâs eyes flicked to the window behind you to watch a woman stumble past the restaurant, chuckling at the poor dude who followed after - her purse and heels in his hands. Youâd jerked your head around to see what was happening before turning toward him, grinning around the spoon in your mouth.
âDo you remember when we first met?â
Kisame snorted and pushed off the table to lean back in his chair. Of course he fucking remembered, you had literally burst into his life like some kind of malfunctioned wrecking ball.
It had been late on a Saturday night. Youâd drunkenly burst into his and Kakuzuâs old apartment, singing some obnoxious pop song heâs heard on the radio a thousand times. You had thought it was your friendâs place and it was one of the few times Kisame had forgotten to lock the door. He remembers your outfit vividly - you had been wearing one of the trashiest little club dresses heâd ever seen, heels dangling on your wrist, hair wild and messy. Your lipstick had been smeared and he remembers staring at your mouth a beat longer than socially appropriate.
Not that he was too concerned about being appropriate - you were the one breaking and entering.
He remembers the glittering jewelry on your ankle and your bare feet with tiny manicured nails. He remembers the way your dress clung to your hips and thighs. He remembers the fact that you seemed to be covered in body glitter and he remembers a lot of it sprinkling onto his freshly cleaned carpet, much to Kakuzuâs displeasure.
Kisame had thoroughly checked you out in the span of seconds - he was a guy with hormones and you were ... well. Attractive. And standing in his apartment. With barely any clothes on. Shedding glitter.
You had gaped at him in shock before choking your way through an apology, slurring your words in a way he privately described as adorable.
âOh my god, I am so sorry - youâre not who - wow, you live here? Thatâs ... great, this apartment is great, you look gre - nope. Not what I wanted to - okay! Um! Sorry, bye!â
Heâd been in a pair of low hanging sweats, casually getting ready for bed and didnât miss the way your eyes ... traveled ... before clicking his door shut behind you.
Heâd stood there in silence for a full minute before grinning, feeling very full of himself.
A couple of weeks went by before he sees you again, this time in the parking lot. After youâd broken in, something Kakuzu would not let him live down, Kisame had wanted to run back into you.
It had been late into the evening and heâd had spent way to much time at the office. Heâd been in a shit mood, ready to order some cheap Chinese food and pig out before passing the fuck out when he got distracted by yelling.
Loud, girlish yelling.
Kisame exited his car to see you screaming profanities that would make Hidan proud at what looked to be a very sorry looking man. Heâd had his hands up in an attempt to surrender but you and your vulgar threats werenât having any of it. Kisame could hear him talking which seemed to set you off more, and suddenly those same heels were in your grip, swinging at him with everything you had.
âGet out of here you sorry piece of shit - Iâll kill you! You ever come near her again and Iâll rip your limp little dick off - fucking asshole!â
The piece of shit in question scrambled away from you and your heels and ran to his car, yelling over his shoulder about calling the police on your crazy ass. Kisame vividly remembers you throwing your head back and laughing, yelling at him to do it asshole and see what happens.
In that moment, Kisame was in complete awe. Heâd seen some deranged shit in his day, his friends seemed to attract crazy like it was their fucking jobs, but heâd never seen anyone thoroughly beat someone with heels. He was pretty sure the dude left bleeding.
It was then you noticed him and once again, you were frozen in place at being caught in yet another bad moment. Kisame had idly wondered if this is how you always were, or if it was just shitty luck heâd caught you in ... strange situations like this twice.
Youâd both stared at each other for a beat before you cleared your throat and looked around awkwardly, face twisting into grimace.
âDid you - um. Did you ... see that?â
Kisame remembers looking back at the dudeâs car that was peeling out of the parking lot at a speed that wasnât legal and then back to you, amused.
âDidnât see a thing.â
Heâd walked with you into the building and you both entered the elevator in what should have been awkward silence but ... wasnât. The air between you two was quiet and comfortable, as if you both had known each other for years. Kisame had turned his head to fully look at you - the bikers shorts and worn sweatshirt you were wearing were surprisingly alluring. It was then he noticed you were barefoot again - your toes painted the most obnoxious color of gold heâd ever seen - and he couldnât help but chuckle. Youâd glanced at him, heels in hand, and started laughing too.
Your friendâs apartment was two doors down from his and youâd smiled and waved at him before entering, leaving him alone in the hallway - impressed and nursing the start of a crush.
Itâd be another couple of weeks before he saw you again.
But when he did, it was at the coffee shop next door to the apartment building, and you were being pestered by a dude that he would classify as a pussy. Youâd been sitting in a booth, legs crossed and bouncing in agitation - those damn heels strapped to your feet. Your polish wasnât gold anymore, but a pale pink, and your face was twisted with annoyance.
âIf I have to tell you to go away again, I am going to shove my heels so far up your -â
Kisame had interrupted, giving the poor kid who couldnât take a hint one of his more heinous smiles, and placed a hand on the booth behind you right behind your head.
âHey babe, ready to go?â
The look you gave him would be seared into his brain for eternity. Your mouth had parted in surprise, eyes bright with confusion and recognition, before absolute delight took over. It had his mouth running dry, how happy you seemed to be to see him. Your lips, shiny with gloss, tilted into the biggest smile heâd ever seen on a person and you turned to the guy, cocking your head slightly.
âMmm, I donât know. You might need to ask my other boyfriend over here, heâs been making it difficult for me to leave.â
The jackass in question put his hands up in surrender and started to stutter his way through an apology - his beady little eyes flicking from Kisame to you. Youâd placed your elbow on the table and rested your chin in your hand, cocky little grin firmly in place. Kisame snorted.
âGood thing I got here when I did, kid. Those heels of hers have done terrible things to guys like you.â
Youâd gone so far as to wink at the man before he scampered off and then you turned towards Kisame - that same look of sheer delight on your face. Something warm started to spread through his chest, and he could feel the back of his neck start to heat up. You opened your mouth but turned your head when you saw your friend walk in, waving excitedly. Kisame took a step back to let you exit the booth and as you walked by him, youâd squeezed his forearm.
âThanks, stranger. I owe you one.â
With that, youâd gone with your friend and Kisame stood there for a moment, letting the heat on his neck cool, before getting in line to order his and Kakuzuâs coffee.
After the coffee shop incident, you seemed to pop up everywhere. Hallway, parking lot, lobby. Kisame wondered if you actually lived in his building or if you just visited a lot. Youâd always smile at him, pretty and glowing and so damn happy, and it never failed to make his chest stutter. Words were scarcely exchanged though, and Kisame had decided enough was enough.
He was going to take you to dinner.
Pretty barefoot girl, constantly showing up in his life, smiling at him like youâve known him forever - heâd take you out to dinner and find out exactly what flavor of lip gloss you used.
Also, your name.
Hopefully in that order.
Heâd run into you in the elevator a few days later, drunk and hysterically giggling with your friend. It wouldnât have been weird, but it was three in the afternoon. On a Tuesday.
You both were getting off when him and Kakuzu were getting on, and you had thrown your hands up when you saw him, heels clacking in the air.
âYo, itâs my stranger! Hey man!â
Kakuzu had blinked in surprise at how loud you were and Kisame choked back a laugh before stepping out of the way so you and your friend could exit, grinning at the disheveled sight of you. Youâd both stumbled out, and he felt that warmth in his chest again when you turned to face him, eyes glazed over from the alcohol.
âHey! I still owe you one!â
Kakuzu grumbled something under his breath and stepped into the elevator, holding the doors so theyâd stay open. Kisame glanced at him before looking at you, eyes making a slow journey down your chest to your thighs - all the way down to your bare feet. Your nails were red and the light from the hallway caught a tiny, silver toe ring. Heâd brought his gaze back up to your face and felt heat start to lazily swirl through him at the look you were giving him.
âIâll collect later.â
Your mouth parted and twisted into a wicked grin, lip gloss glittering, while your friend gasped and started laughing behind you. Kisame stepped onto the elevator and Kakuzu punched the ground level button before crossing his arms. The doors clicked shut and his roommate spoke.
âIf youâre going to fuck her, do it when Iâm not home.â
Two days later Kisame caught you doing laundry in the communal laundry room. His and Kakuzuâs washing machine was broken and so he was forced to use the communal washers - something he rarely did. Heâd found you loading one of the dryers, wearing those damn biker shorts again. Youâd stood when you heard him and smiled, eyes shining in surprise, before closing the dryer door.
âHey stranger.â
Kisame had cocked his head at you and dropped his laundry basket next to an empty washer.
âYou live here, girlie?â
Youâd laughed and shook your head. His heart, stupid thing, actually fluttered in his chest at the sound of it - and the skin on his neck started to heat up.
âNo, but my best friend does. You gonna snitch on me?â
Kisame had snorted and started loading the washer. You two were alone, neither of you in any kind of rush, and he decided he was going to make good on his promise to himself.
âNah - but that would mean Iâve done you two favors.â
âOh wow, so generous. So, big guy, how do I repay back this growing debt I owe you?
Kisame had smiled at you then, leaning back against the washer as it started to fill with water. He didnât miss the way you watched as he crossed his arms over his chest, before flicking your eyes up to meet his.
âLet me take you to dinner.â
Youâd blinked in surprise and turned your head to the side, fighting your own smile. Kisame took that time to trail his eyes down, slowly memorizing the way your thighs looked in your shorts and immediately zeroing on your ankle bracelet and pale purple polish. Heâd brought his head up in time to catch you turning back to look at him, lips curled in that cocky little grin from the coffee shop.
âAlright.â
And so it went.
One date turned into three and soon Kisame found himself holding you up by your legs against his door, tongue and lips and teeth working against yours fervently. Your tiny little dress had ridden all the way up, leaving your thighs bare for him to touch and squeeze. Your hair had come completely undone, your makeup was smeared, and the noises coming from your throat had his cock jumping in his pants. He could feel your heels scrapping against his back and it shot thrills up his spine - heâd wanted you like this for awhile now - panting and whimpering with those heels of yours digging into his back.
Heâd almost had you against the door that night - the alcohol from the club youâd taken him to was making his brain hazy - but you had arched against him and snarled the word bed into his ear while trying and failing to unbutton his shirt.
It had been rough and quick, the way he fucked you. Youâd been grinding on him for hours at the club, teasing him, laughing, and the shots youâd talked him into had him only thinking with his dick. Youâd both passed out soon after, clothes half on - shoes, phones, wallets, and jewelry all thrown across his room.
When Kisame woke the next day he had a mild ache behind his eyes and the taste of liquor on his tongue. It took him a moment to remember what happened. It took him another moment to realize you were still in his bed, passed out on top of the comforter, drooling all over his favorite pillow. Your leg was hooked around his and your hand was on his stomach, twitching as you slept. Heâd watched you for a moment, taking in the smeared lipstick and eyeliner that someone still looked good on you, before trying to locate his phone without moving too much.
Once heâd found it, Kisame zoned out - checking his work email and mindlessly scrolling - glad he at least had some sense to put it within reach last night. It wasnât long before you started to stir, body moving slowly against him. You woke up with a groan and buried your face into his pillow, no doubt getting makeup and glitter all over it. When youâd peeked up at him you both looked at each other in silence before you started giggling.
It was then Kisame realized he could probably wake up like this for the rest of his life.
The next time Kisame fucked you was later that same day. Kakuzu had been out on a business trip, so youâd stayed for breakfast. After showering and changing into some clothes Kisame had given you, youâd eaten eggs and toast in his kitchen and the two of you talked. And talked. And talked.
Eventually, talking turned to teasing which turned to flirting and soon Kisame had you sitting on the counter, lips on your neck, hands squeezing your thighs. Youâd been impatient, whining and clawing at him, but Kisame was having none of it. Heâd taken your wrists and pinned them to the counter next to your hips, holding you in place, mouth on your ear.
âYou need to settle down and let me take care of you, sweetheart.â
Youâd froze at his words, mouth running dry, and soon his head was between your thighs while his fingers worked absolute ecstasy into you. Kisame remembers making you come twice, right there on the countertop, before you were babbling and begging for him. Heâd carried you back to the bedroom then, and spent another hour worshiping you, before collapsing on top of you, spent and sated.
After that, the two of you were inseparable. Youâd constantly texted him - sexy little messages heâd read during meetings, dumb memes and corny pick up lines throughout the day, random thoughts and tidbits about your day - and heâd honestly felt like a teenager. Heâd call you anytime he was in the car and youâd both would talk endlessly about nothing. Weekly date nights turned into daily meetups. Coffee, dinner, a short walk - anything to spend time together.
Youâd introduced him to your best friend and heâd introduced you a reluctant Kakuzu, who didnât complain about you at all after youâd left - something Kisame considered a win. After that, youâd introduced him to the rest of your friends, your coworkers, and heâd even talked to your mom once on speakerphone.
Kisame was more ... hesitant about you meeting the rest of his friends - but as soon as Hidan heard about you beating some sad sack of shit with your heels he deemed you worthy of Kisameâs attention. Itachi had given him a nod of approval and Konan even hugged you when youâd said your farewells - which meant you had officially been accepted into the group.
It wasnât long before youâd slipped and called Kisame your boyfriend - which make his brain short circuit. Youâd looked ready to take it back before he had pulled you into his lap, suddenly frantic for you. Neither of you had initiated the talk, but somehow this was better. Boyfriend, girlfriend - the labels didnât matter too much to him but knowing youâd wanted a relationship - that you wanted something serious - had him light headed and spinning. Soon you were between his legs, mouth wrapped around his cock, and Kisame came with the words love you just on the tip of his tongue. Heâd choked them back and managed to keep it to himself for another month, before he couldnât take it anymore and whispered them against your forehead one night right outside of the restaurant you two had just left.
He remembers the way you looked up at him, that same look of shock on your face from the coffee shop all those months ago, before you were kissing him. Kissing and kissing and pulling his lips between your teeth, muttering something about getting the hell out of there before you had him on the street in front of God and everybody. Youâd rode him slow that night, teasing and unhurried, and afterwards youâd curled around him - your mouth on his ear.
âLove you too.â
Everything fell into place after that. Months turned into years and now you were there, in front of him, engagement ring sitting prettily on your finger. Youâd been laughing and scoffing as he reminisced about your first moments together, finishing up the bottle of wine youâd ordered.
âI never did finish repaying my debt to you - for not snitching on me.â You teased, sipping back the last of the wine, hiding a smile behind your glass.
Kisame snorted and reached into his jacket, nodding at the waiter who was making his way over.
âYou did when you agreed to marry me.â
The small, drunk smile you were sporting turned into a delighted grin, but before Kisame could grab the check from your waiter youâd snatched it effortlessly and placed your own card into the bill, blinking innocently. Kisame scowled and youâd shrugged, leaning back in your seat.
âLooks like you owe me now.â
Kisame felt heat flash through him at the way you were looking at him and leaned forward, grinning.
âYeah, sweetheart? And how do I repay back this growing debt?â
Your eyes lit up and you waved your hand nonchalantly with a shrug.
âI have a few ideas.â
#OKAY i'm never writing fluff like this again this was so hard but it wouldn't leave me alone so here it is#i love reading him as a softie in AUs but it's so hard to write i commend everyone around me who's written our boy in soft situations#kisame hoshigaki#kisame hoshigaki x reader#kisame hoshigaki x you#kisame fanfic#naruto fanfic#kisame hosigaki x y/n#kisame hoshigaki x oc#also i didn't know what to name this so if you hate the title guess what i do too LMAOO
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