Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.
Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hovering👀), so much dirty talk (he’s feral but sweet), overstimulation.
Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess about🙂↕️ honestly I don’t even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth 🫶🏼
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You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clark’s giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.
A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.
“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.
He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.
Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.
“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”
He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like he’s been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.
“I’ve been infected,” he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. “Some kind of … alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... It’s messing with my head, my body, I…”
He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like he’s trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.
“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.
He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.
God, if only you knew.
“I tried to wait it out,” he groans, fists now in his hair. “I swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours … tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.”
Your breath catches in your throat, somehow understanding what this was about.
“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city … I can hear you breathing … your heartbeat. I didn’t want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can see–dammit … I’m sorry–“
He stumbles backward like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.
“You know can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”
Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like he’s trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.
“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain, ”you step forward, slowly, gently. “It’s not like we haven’t–“
“No you don’t get it!” He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the block heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry darling … you just don’t get it … you have no idea what it’s like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you … I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I can’t think straight,” he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.
You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course you’ve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when he’s needy. But this? This is feral. You’ve never seen him like this.
But you’re willing to do anything to help him. Always.
“Clark… you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.
He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.
“I do … I always do. Especially now. Because I’m not going to touch you like I should. I’m not going to make it about you. I’m going to use you. Because you’re the only one who can fix me … you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I can’t even think straight unless I’m inside you … I need you so bad, darling, I’m shaking–“ He cries, an actual tear comes out his desperate eyes.
You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.
Because of you.
You finally cross the space left, and he doesn’t stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.
You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still can’t let himself go.
“I love you, I’m sorry–” he blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched while he fought the urge to do it again, harder. “God I love you … and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore I’d never touch you like this. Unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please … tell me you want this too. Say yes, or I’ll leave. I swear I will.”
He nods, frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.
“I’ll leave if you tell me to,” he breathes. “I’ll fly through a mountain. I’ll bury myself in the ocean. Just don’t say yes unless you want this. I’m barely holding on– if you say it, I won’t be able to stop.”
You want him. God you always want him.
The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if he’s not your Clark now. Even if he won’t take care of you like he always does. Even if you can’t breathe or move after. Because you love him too.
“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want … I can take it.”
It’s over.
The moment you say yes there’s no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.
His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs your skin on his or he’ll die. Your panties don’t even last two seconds before they fly away too.
His lips hit yours. Tongue desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.
“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart … I’m so sorry I can’t help you first … but I need you … I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”
He knows it hurts you when he doesn’t prepare you properly, when he doesn’t make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you …but he can’t right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears it’s dripping on the carpet.
“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it … please.”
He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll care about that later.
Right now he is just muscle in front of you.
His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.
You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it. You still want him to rearrange your guts.
“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”
He’s not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like he’s lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming.
You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.
He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”
He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap … raw, hard, you let out a strangled scream.
One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.
You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers ‘I love you’ ‘thank you’ ‘sorry’ like some sort of chant. Like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you have sex.
Your breath leaves you in a gasp, your bare back against the cold plaster, legs around his waist, and arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.
“Just like that … you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart … you’re doing so good … fuck, you were made for this … made for me.”
His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like he’s possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.
And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.
“I love you … I’m sorry … I love you …I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”
You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening.
He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.
Still fucking you.
Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does, not to you, not to him.
So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.
And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and he’s fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
His cock twitches inside you. He’s already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But he’s holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You can’t.
“Fuck Clark … I’m gonna–“
“Yes? do it … darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you … cum all over this cock baby I got you.”
Your body breaks before you can breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, clenching down on him, while you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.
He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.
“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me … Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you …. let me have you–“
“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.
He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.
He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.
Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.
“…Are you okay?”
You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.
But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.
You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.
Still needing you.
“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”
“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.
But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?
He melts.
You usually go multiple rounds, but he’s softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he can’t believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.
He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, he’s on top of you again. And god he’s heavy. Solid. He doesn’t even hold his weight like he usually does because all he’s thinking about is fucking you senseless.
He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.
“Shhh … don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart … so good for me… just need one more.”
You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.
None of you cares.
“You’re so wet … so perfect” he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. “I didn’t even give you time to come down … didn’t even let you breathe and you still take me so well”
He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he looses it.
You’re suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.
You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.
It’s not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.
Your head starts spinning.
“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”
His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.
You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.
“I’m sorry … I can’t … can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.
His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.
“It’s okay, you’re just … you’re so big …so heavy.”
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just … I don’t want to let you go–”
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”
His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. He’s not really letting you go. Not all the way. He’s still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.
He doesn’t know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. He’s not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.
And you like it, god you love it.
“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just- I can’t…”
“I know darling, I know … just a little more,” he groans. “One more please. You can take it …you’re doing so good.” He soothes, but he can’t slow down, not when you’re clenching him like that.
He picks up the pace.
“C-Clark … please, I’m gonna-“
“I’ve got you, darling …I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”
You see white this time. You’re not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and you’d give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.
And he does.
He fucks you like you’re his last breath.
Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching … he keeps going.
You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.
All while he keeps saying, “Just one more … just let me stay inside you a little longer… please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it … this is the last time I promise…”
Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.
Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comes…
You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.
“Fuck me harder.”
You beg, even when you can’t feel it anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder … deeper.
And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I just need you so fucking much … I love you I love you I love you—”
You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.
You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know time’s passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly it’s more like he’s just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.
By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you … you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.
Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.
You’re draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didn’t cause all the pain in your body.
You’re still trembling a little. Just from… after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.
Worth it.
Clark kisses your temple. He hasn’t stopped kissing you every few minutes. It’s like he’s trying to apologize without saying it. Like he’s trying to prove that he’s still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.
Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.
“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.
“Clark … you broke a lot more than my window.”
You both start giggling … glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.
“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”
“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”
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I created a blog dedicated to Superman, where I’ll be posting my writing for him from now on 🫶🏼 so if you wanna check it out, go to -> @404superman
Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3
Kisame never minded the rain, had been born and raised in and around water. He loved that about Amegakure, felt more at home here than he’d ever done in Kiri.
There was just something honest about it, the way its drops washed away every lie, every chance of deceit. Where one could easily hide in the neverending fog of Kiri, they’d have to bare themselves to the world in the rain of Amegakure.
.
It was close to nightfall by the time he made it out of the hidden village.
Kisame could have easily found a bed there, but he wanted to get out, clear his head, and think about the offer he received.
As a Rogue-Nin, he didn’t have that much to choose from. A hidden life, or a life of being chased. He’d never been one to hide away but he was getting older. Maybe he’d one day get tired of hunting down criminals for bounty or fight those who hunt him. Maybe one day he’d want to have a family too.
If Kisame accepted Pain’s offer, he wouldn’t have to worry about money for a while, but the Akatsuki didn’t sound like a group he could walk away from as easily as he did with Kirigakure.
He paused in his musings, forcing the thoughts from his mind to enjoy the wet squelch of his sandals, the cool feeling of rain soaking through his clothes. If there was a river nearby he could take a dip later after he found a bed to sleep in.
-
Lanterns bravely defied the rain, their soft light ready to fight the coming darkness.
It looked warm and welcoming and Kisame spontaneously decided that he would stay here for the night. He moved through the crowd of people, eyes focused on the signs, looking for an Inn. When he stopped in front of one, something tumbled into his side.
When he looked down, two curious bright eyes peered up at him. A child, maybe three years old. Kisame frowned, and waited for the crying that usually followed when small children took sight of his features.
Instead, the kid started beaming, reaching for him with chubby fingers.
“Fishy!” It cried out joyfully. “Big Fishy!”
“Oh, Suzume!” Two arms swooped in and pulled the child away from his leg. It was a young woman, visibly related to the child.
“I am so sorry.” You apologized, not meeting his eye. You were pretty, not unlike a water lily that bloomed in murky water.
“Fishy!” Suzume kept exclaiming, struggling against the arms keeping her away.
“You like fish?” Kisame asked, watched with quiet satisfaction as your eyes finally flew up to his face, and widened at his sight. For some, it was his Hitai-ate, clearly crossed through, for others his animalistic features. He wondered what it was that scared you.
“I love Fish!” The child beamed up at him, not the least bit scared. “My favorite are sharks! Then dolphins. Whales are cool too! And Jellyfish!”
“Why do you like sharks?”
“They are so funny!” Suzume giggled and turned her face to you. “Right, Onee-chan?”
You didn’t answer, your eyes still on him as if you were searching for something.
“Are you looking for a place to sleep?”
“What if I am?”
You nod to the sign above the door. “Old Man Koda rips people off. Our place might not be as big but our prices are honest.”
He’d be a fool to say no to that offer and while Kisame Hoshigake might be known as many things, he’d never been a fool.
-
Kisame hears the pitter-patter of quick little feet before he sees her.
Suzume fails to hide herself, a chubby shadow betraying her efforts to be secretive.
“Fishy?” She asks, whispers way too loudly. “Can I bathe with you? I can scrub your back.”
He wouldn’t have minded a similar offer from her big sister, but he grins at the little girls eagerness. Kisame pushes open the door to Suzume already beaming up at him.
In her arms is a stuffed toy that has seen better days. The shark has lost most of it’s filling and its felt teeth are no longer white but a dirty grey.
“This is Mr. Mimi.” Suzume explains and steps inside the little washroom. “He watches over me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” Suzume nods her head eagerly, walks up to the bathtub and climbs up, takes a seat on the rim. Her movements tell him that this isn’t the first time she’s scrubbed someone’s back.
“Do you bath with your sister?”
“Yes.” She nods. “You have to get into the water.”
“You don’t need to scrub my back.” He tells her, keeping his towel securely around his waist as he takes a seat in the tub. It’s too small for him, but he folds his legs under him and grins up at Suzume. “You can just tell me about Mr. Mimi.”
-
By the time you step inside the washroom, it’s clear that you must have looked for your sister everywhere. Your hair has turned into a frizzy halo around your head as if you pulled at it in desperation and your eyes are red from unshed tears.
“Suzume!” You cry out when you spot her, still sitting on the rim of the bathtub, chubby feet dangling in the cooling water, Mr. Mimi secure in her grasp. “What are you doing?”
“She wanted to scrub my back.” Kisame offers with a grin. “I could barely keep her at bay.”
“I was telling him about Mr. Mimi.” Suzume squirms in your hold. “I’m not done yet.”
“Yes, you are. You should be in bed. And you can’t bother our guests! You know that.”
“But! Mr. Fishy!” Suzume starts crying. “I’m not done yet.”
“Relax, Kiddo.” Suzume immediately stops her wailing at his words. “You can tell me in the morning.”
-
Kisame finds you in the kitchen after that, a pot of curry bubbling in front of you.
“I am sorry about my sister.” You say without looking at you. “She’s normally not that clingy.”
“It’s fine.” He takes a seat at the table, his eyes on your back.
You’re not Shinobi, but you have some sense of Chakra Control. He can taste it like he can taste the possibility of a great fight or the deceit of a stranger.
“You’re not Shinobi.” He’s not asking, but you nod. “Not anymore. My parents took me from the Academy at eleven when my little brother was born. He needed a lot of care and it was cheaper to have me care for him.”
“How do you make money?”
You shrug and put a plate in front of him. He digs in with a quick “Itadakimasu”. It’s delicious.
“I house travelers like you. I mend clothes, bake, whatever needs to be done. I’m not eligible for missions because I never properly graduated, but we make do.”
“Your brother?”
“Dead.”
“Your parents?”
“What do you think?” Your voice is sharp now. He shrugs like you did before.
Why is he even that interested in you? You’re not the first pretty girl he’s seen on his travels.
He should just take you to his room - which coincidentally belongs to you anyway - and get this over with. Tomorrow he can leave with a clearer mind and never think of you again.
But he doesn’t.
Kisame sleeps alone, dreams of rainy days and the gleaming white of a water lily in a murky pond.
-
“Fishy!” Suzume lands heavy on his chest, beams into his face as he blinks.
“It’s way to early.” Kisame grunts and she giggles, tugs at the blanket covering him.
“I gotta tell you about Mr. Mimi!” Suzume exclaims eagerly, climbs under his blanket before he can protest. She’s fast when she wants to be.
That’s how you find them half an hour later, Suzume snuggled into his side, waving Mr. Mimi around as she tells him her dreams while he dozes.
You make breakfast and keep quiet over it, speak only through short glances.
Kisame should get going. Pain didn’t give him an ultimatum, but he’s not someone you keep waiting.
Instead he grabs his trusted sword and a scroll filled with Kunai.
“Is there a place we can train?” He asks. Your eyes are big as you nod. But you don’t disagree, walk him down the street and to a field. The grass is slick with rain, the thick droplets have already soaked through his clothes but neither you nor Suzume seem to mind.
“I don’t know the rules.” Kisame points out gruffly. “But can’t you retake the exam? Become a Genin at any age?”
“Who would look after Suzume?” You ask back and he shrugs, unable to speak. Instead he grabs a bigger branch, cuts away with his Kunai until the shape roughly resembles one and presses it into Suzume’s hands.
“Watch me closely, Drop.” Kisame taps one finger against her temple when she furrows her brows in confusion. “Don’t think. Just watch.”
-
After one week he corners you in the kitchen at night. He doesn’t have to say the words, can already see the answers in your eyes.
Pain can wait a little longer for an answer.
After one month he starts telling you about Kirigakure. The kind of jobs he takes.
Kisame would never say it out loud - doesn’t have to - but there’s a different kind of honesty to his words when he’s with you, alone, only the rain clothing them.
Two months in and he can feel it, the fire in his bones that makes him restless. Kisame’s never been good at staying in one place - never mind that it’s dangerous for someone like him. He needs the constant thrill that only dangerous missions bring.
Kisame’s not surprised that you can read him before he has to say it.
“You should leave.” You point out one night, your head on his chest. “Make some money. You still need to pay your bill with me.”
“And here I thought I paid you off with my body.” He jokes but his humor falls flat.
“Kisame.” You sit up to look down at him. He can barely make out your shape, but he’s grown to memorize you, the curve of your lips, and the swell of your cheeks. “I will never hold you back. If you need to go, you need to go. Besides, I’m almost bored of you anyway.”
“That’s a lie.” He points out and you sigh. “Yeah. But still. I understand. You did enough for us already. We will be fine.”
He doesn’t believe it. Not because he hasn’t seen your progress or has watched Suzume grow from misusing a wooden Kunai to handling a real one, but because it would mean that he no longer has a place with you, will no longer be needed.
Kisame didn’t know he could need to be needed until he was.
So he bows his head and tells you.
-
In the morning he grabs his stuff and pats away Suzume’s tears.
“Hush.” He says, voice gruff. “I’ll be back soon. Look out for your sister. Keep yourself safe.”
“I’ll miss you.” She hugs his leg with all the strength of an almost four year old kid.
“I’ll miss you too.”
You hug him too, but it’s not the same as it is at night. You don’t give yourself up as wholly as you do in the darkness, hold back so much of yourself that it feels like hugging a stranger.
Nothing is certain in a world like theirs, but maybe, just maybe, Pain could bring forth a different one. One where Suzume doesn’t have to learn how to kill. One where you don’t have to be afraid of strangers. One where he can come back to you and stay, knowing no harm will follow him home.
-
Years have carved their marks into his skin.
Suzume will graduate soon, will wear her Hitai-ate with pride.
She still calls him Fishy, still crawls onto his lap when he’s home. Still cries when he leaves eventually. She’s taken a special liking to Itachi too, has scrubbed his back in their bathtub and served him Dango on the few times he brought him over
Kisame blinks against the rain running down his face, doesn’t have to taste it to know it will be salty. Suzume will be heartbroken over Itachi’s death. If only he could keep it from her.
The closer they are getting to their goal, to the world that Pain has promised them, the less faith he has in it.
What good is a world that kills everything he loves?
Kisame’s never been a coward, but he’s no fool either. This will kill him, sooner or later.
-
You welcome him back with a smile and a kiss.
There’s something different about you, but you refuse to tell.
Suzume asks about Itachi and he lies through his teeth, if only to have one more day of peace.
It’s only after dinner, in the warmth of a shared bath, that he recognizes all the signs.
The swell of your belly, the new kind of smile you carry, the gentle way you press his hands to your lower stomach.
It’s the best thing that has ever happened to him, and he can’t even be happy about it.
Tomorrow he will have to leave again. They still have to capture the Eight-tails and the Nine-tails. Who knows when he will be back, if ever.
It’s a testament to your strength and not his that you don’t cry.
Calmly you ask for details, and hold him while he crumbles.
“So you lost faith.” You say quietly when he’s revealed even the last secret. “I can’t say I ever had any.”
“But Amegakure?”
“I don’t think that Amegakure will be able to rise because of violence or pain. Just think of yourself, what kept you here? Wasn’t it our kindness? Kindness will always be stronger than any pain.”
You cradle his face in your hands and look at him in a way he’s only ever seen you do. Like you know him better than he knows himself.
“If you can, come home. It doesn’t matter if we have to run our whole life. It will be a better life with you in it. If you can’t, I will accept it. I will raise this child to think of you with pride. This is the gift I have for you. Do with it what you will.”
He leaves in the morning. The sun isn’t up yet and neither are you.
No one knows what the future will bring. Either way, he’ll have to make a decision.
-.-
You pull Suzume from the Academy before she can graduate.
You resign from your position as a Chunin when your pregnancy becomes obvious.
Kisame has made sure to leave you money with every visit and your savings will take you a long way if you budget right.
In all of this, you keep hoping that he will return in time for the birth of his child.
But you give birth without him, Suzume the only one there to hold your hand through it.
As months turn into a year your hope changes.
You hope that he returns at all.
You hope that he’s still alive.
You hope that he was granted a quick death, that he was allowed to die with dignity.
-.-
The rain is more than welcome.
It washes the dried blood off his face. Most of it is his own.
Kisame still loved that about Amegakure, the way he knew he was coming home just by the rain alone. How it hugged him loosely as he walked through, called him home through the pitter-patter of raindrops.
-
Lanterns bravely defy the rain, their soft light ready to fight the coming darkness.
The village looks as warm and welcoming as the first night he walked through. Although much time has passed, barely anything has changed. When he stops to check his reflection in a window, something tumbles into his side.
When he looks down, two curious bright eyes peer up at him. A boy, maybe one year old, beams up at him, its smile filled with sharp teeth. He frowns, his heart shuddering with the implication.
The kid reaches for him with chubby fingers.
“Fishy!” He cries out joyfully. “Big Fishy!”
Kisame picks him up without a second thought, ignores the pain shooting through his back at the movement.
“Haruto!” Your voice breaks when you recognize him. A choked sob bursts from your lips, then you’re in his arms too, your momentum almost tipping him over.
“Onee-chan, where are you- Ni-san!” Now’s Suzume hanging off him too.
-
It’s way past his bedtime when Kisame finally puts Haruto down to sleep.
He cannot stop looking at him, cannot quell the guilt he feels for missing so many moments already. If things had been just a little bit different, he might never have come back at all.
“Let me look at your injuries.” You ask.
“How did I deserve you?” He asks instead. Your hair is in disarray, feeding Haruto dinner has left stains on your shirt, but you’re still his water lily, unblemished by the dirt of the world.
“By existing.” You tell him firmly, but your voice softens when you continue. “By coming home.”
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