Chapter Text
The morning was fresh. Crisp air, cool breeze. Unforgivingly normal.
Kisame’s head still ached—a dull, lingering after-effect from the sake. Or maybe it wasn’t just the sake. Maybe it was the sheer weight of everything else, but—he did not look at her.
Nope.
Not a glance.
Not when she moved effortlessly through her morning routine. Not when she tucked her hair behind her ear. Not when she adjusted the sleeves of her cloak with careful precision.
Nothing.
Because if he did look at her, he might actually have to acknowledge—
Nope. Nope.
Kisame cleared his throat, pushing himself up.
“Itachi-san,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go buy us some breakfast.”
A pause.
Then—Itachi turned toward him.
Slow. Measured.
A flicker of amusement—just barely—before she lowered her lashes.
“…Running away so soon?”
Kisame choked on air.
His brain short-circuited.
She did NOT just say that.
His fingers twitched. His pride flared.
Alright. Fine.
Kisame, for the first time in his life, attempted to tease back.
He smirked. “Tch. What, you miss me already?”
Silence.
Then—Itachi tilted her head.
Kisame’s smirk faltered.
Oh, no.
She wasn’t backing down.
She wasn’t brushing it off.
She was leaning into it .
“Hm.” She exhaled, voice dipping just enough—soft, lazy, unreadable.
“…Should I?”
Kisame’s soul ascended.
ABORT.
This was a mistake. A critical failure.
He was not winning this.
Itachi turned away, utterly unbothered, as if she hadn’t just ended his entire bloodline.
She adjusted the sleeve of her cloak, completely calm, and murmured—
“Don’t get lost, Kisame.”
Kisame stormed out.
And behind him—Itachi chuckled.
The village square was already awake. Shops opening, vendors setting up, the scent of fresh rice and roasted fish drifting through the morning air.
Kisame took his time.
Not because he needed to—but because he wasn’t ready to go back yet.
But eventually—he did.
Eventually—he sat across from her, plates between them, tea steeping in their cups.
And he still didn’t look at her.
Nope.
Not even once.
Not even when she took slow sips of tea, when the quiet clink of her cup against the table filled the air.
Not even when he could feel her gaze flicker to him, just slightly.
He was not falling for that again.
So, naturally—he did the only thing a man could do after being destroyed at dawn.
He changed the subject.
“So,” he muttered, swirling his tea. “What do you think? What’s so important that Pein summoned us so abruptly—abandoning our next mission?”
Itachi took a slow sip.
Unbothered.
As if last night and this morning hadn’t left Kisame’s entire existence in flames.
“Hm.” She placed the cup down gently.
Then—her lashes lowered slightly.
“…I imagine we’ll find out soon.”
Kisame stared.
Then exhaled sharply.
Of course she gave a cryptic answer.
Of course this morning wasn’t going to be normal.
He wasn’t surviving today, was he?
The road stretched long beneath them. Kisame rolled his shoulders, still feeling the slight stiffness from the battle before. They had eaten. They had walked. They hadn’t spoken about anything that mattered.
The teasing was over. Now, it was just silence.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. But it wasn’t calm, either.
It was… something else.
Then—they saw it.
A lone estate.
Bloodied.
The windows shattered. The door barely hanging onto its frame. The surrounding walls were stained with dark, dried streaks.
A massacre.
Political assassination, most likely. A rival faction, a personal vendetta—it didn’t matter.
Kisame barely spared it a glance, stepping around a body slumped against the threshold. He’d seen it before. He’d done it before.
They should’ve just kept walking.
But—Itachi stopped.
Kisame frowned, glancing over his shoulder.
She stood still—staring.
Her gaze followed the destruction too long.
Then—she turned, stepping inside.
Kisame let out a quiet breath, muttered a curse, and followed.
It smelled like death.
The stench of blood clung to the air, thick and iron-strong, lingering like a ghost.
Kisame walked over the bodies without a second thought, scanning the scene out of habit. It was sloppy. Amateur. Too much damage, too much destruction for a professional hit.
Whoever did this wanted to send a message.
His foot nudged a body—he glanced down.
Slashed throat.
A quick death. At least they didn’t suffer.
And then—
Itachi stopped again.
Her gaze locked on something.
Kisame followed it.
And there it was.
A man—likely the target—his throat cut clean through.
But next to him—
Kisame’s breath hitched.
A child.
Small. Barely six, maybe seven. A fresh wound cut across his stomach, the blood long dried, his tiny body curled up—as if he’d died reaching for his father.
A beat.
A silence that rang too loud.
Itachi knelt.
Slow. Controlled.
Kisame swallowed.
The air was too still.
Something about the way she lowered herself, settled into the position, didn’t move—
It twisted something deep in his chest.
She wasn’t just looking at the bodies.
She was seeing them.
Kisame exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking between the dead father, the dead son, and the still, too-quiet figure beside them.
“Hm.” His voice was casual. Too casual. “I’d have done a cleaner job.”
No response.
He forced a smirk.
“Well. At least, that was before I met you, Itachi-san.” He glanced back at the child. “If this job was ours, I’m sure the kiddo would’ve survived.”
Still—nothing.
His smirk faded.
His chest tightened.
“…Right?”
The silence stretched.
Finally—she spoke.
“Would he?”
Kisame frowned.
Itachi still staring at the child.
“Would he have survived?” she murmured.
Kisame exhaled sharply, crossing his arms.
“Tch. What, are we really doing this?” His voice dipped, just slightly, irritation lacing the edges. “Itachi-san—how many times are we gonna have this conversation?”
No response.
Just her staring.
Kisame’s jaw clenched.
“It doesn’t matter how many you spare,” he said, voice rougher now. “There will always be someone else who won’t.”
Still—she didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Kisame stepped closer, staring down at her.
“You risked yourself too many times for this, Itachi-san,” he muttered. “Your job. Your life.” A pause. “For what?”
Finally—she turned.
Her gaze lifted.
Something cold.
Something dangerous.
“You’ve already decided this world is cruel,” she said, voice smooth. “So why should you care if I decide otherwise?”
Kisame stilled.
Something in his chest coiled.
Because this—
This was different.
She had never—
She always brushed it off. Always let it go. Always let the silence win.
But now?
She was fighting him.
Not with blades.
Not with jutsu.
But with words.
And for the first time—Kisame didn’t know how to block.
His fingers curled at his sides.
“Because it’s pointless,” he snapped, sharper than he meant. “You really think sparing one life makes a damn difference?”
A pause.
Then—Itachi’s lashes lowered.
And then—
Soft.
Quiet.
Final.
“…I think it made a difference to them.”
A sharp twist in his chest.
Something ugly.
Something painful.
Kisame inhaled, his jaw tight.
A long silence.
Then—he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
“…Tch. That’s a foolish dream, Itachi-san.”
He knew what was coming. He felt it.
It wasn’t the first time she stopped like this. Wasn’t the first time he had to watch her stare at the dead like she was seeing herself in them.
And normally—normally—she would say nothing.
She would stand up, brush the dust off her cloak, and walk forward.
But today—she didn’t move.
Itachi’s lips parted.
A slow inhale.
Then—she looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And asked the one thing that shattered him.
“Then why did you offer it to me?”
The world stopped.
Kisame’s stomach dropped.
His breath hitched.
No.
No, don’t do this, Itachi-san.
Not here. Not now.
Not after last night.
His jaw clenched, the memory of what he had said—of what he had admitted—slamming into him at full force.
“If you ever wanted to walk away… you wouldn’t have to do it alone.”
He had said that. He had meant it.
But now?
Now, in the light of day, with her staring at him like that—like she was actually considering it—
He wanted to take it back.
So he did.
A scoff. Dismissive. Sharp.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Itachi-san. I was drunk.”
The lie slid off his tongue smoothly. Too smoothly.
Like he had done it a thousand times before.
Like he hadn’t meant every damn word.
Itachi’s head tilted slightly. Her gaze sharpened—not accusing. Not angry.
Just… knowing.
Like she could see right through him.
Like she already knew the truth.
And then—she said it.
“You hate liars, don’t you?”
Kisame stopped breathing.
His entire body tensed, heat flashing through his chest too fast, too much, too painful.
She was right.
And he hated that she was right.
She wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t demanding an answer.
She didn’t have to.
Because they both knew.
Kisame exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, forcing a smirk. Fake. Forced.
Then—he turned.
Started walking.
And didn’t look back.
“Don’t push this, Itachi-san.”
Because if she did—if she made him admit it—
Then he couldn’t pretend anymore.
Couldn’t pretend that being with her wasn’t changing him.
Couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t the only person left who made him feel human.
Couldn’t pretend that he didn’t mean it.
That he didn’t want her to take his offer.
That if she ever did decide to walk away…
He would follow.
And that?
That was too much.
So he walked.
Because if he stopped—
If he turned back—
If he saw her face one more time…
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.
Kisame walked.
Didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down.
Just kept moving.
Footsteps followed.
Soft. Steady. Controlled.
Itachi.
She had stood up. Had fallen into step beside him without a word.
Like always.
Like nothing had changed.
But Kisame knew better.
Something had.
The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
And then—finally—she spoke.
“Kisame.”
His jaw tightened.
Her voice was smooth, steady, almost indifferent—almost.
“We are damned.”
She wasn’t asking.
She wasn’t wondering.
She was stating a fact.
A simple truth, laid bare between them.
He huffed, shaking his head.
“Tch. Always so dramatic, Itachi-san.”
But she didn’t react. Didn’t tease back.
Just kept walking.
Then—softly—
“You know it, too.”
Kisame’s smirk faltered.
His fingers twitched.
Because she was right.
They had done too much. Seen too much. Left too many bodies behind.
If hell was real, it was waiting for them with open arms.
And yet—
“We’re not going to fight for a spot in heaven.”
It wasn’t a question.
Kisame let out a low chuckle.
“You got that right.”
Another pause.
Then—
“Then why not savor this life while we have it?”
Kisame turned his head, finally looking at her.
And Itachi—Itachi was watching the road ahead, her face calm, unreadable, her purple nails tapping idly against her sleeve.
Like she wasn’t casually rebranding their entire existence.
His brows raised slightly.
“That so?”
“Hn.” She nodded. “If we are devils, then let us be devils with purpose.”
Kisame’s smirk widened, curiosity flickering in his sharp eyes.
“You got a plan, Itachi-san?”
She glanced at him then, a slow, deliberate look.
“You said it yourself once, didn’t you? The strong devour the weak. The world is cruel.”
Kisame hummed. He did say that.
She tilted her head slightly.
“Then let’s decide who gets devoured.”
The air around them shifted.
Kisame stopped walking.
Turned. Looked at her fully.
Because that—that was something new.
For the first time, she wasn’t just brushing things off with cryptic words.
For the first time—she was choosing.
Deciding.
Giving them a purpose, a reason to be the devils they already were.
And the worst part?
It made sense. Too much sense.
Kisame exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw.
“So, what? We only take the scumbags now?” His voice was light, almost teasing.
Itachi’s lashes lowered slightly.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Kisame chuckled, rolling his shoulders.
“Tch. Never thought you’d start preaching morality to me, Itachi-san.”
She blinked at him, expression still calm.
“Morality is a construct. Justice is a choice.”
Kisame grinned.
There it was.
That was the Itachi he knew.
He let out a slow, deep breath, stretching his arms behind his head as he started walking again.
“Alright then,” he mused, voice thoughtful. “Devils with a cause. Sounds like fun.”
Itachi hummed in agreement, following beside him.
And for the first time in years—
Kisame felt like they were walking toward something, instead of just running from their sins.
The sun hung high, burning away the mist.
Two figures walked side by side.
One—tall, broad, a beast of a man, sword slung over his back.
The other—smaller, poised, deadly quiet, crimson eyes unreadable.
They didn’t look back.
The past was set in blood.
And ahead?
Their future was theirs to decide.
——-
The dim glow of torches flickered along the stone walls as two figures strolled into the hideout—side by side.
Kisame rolled his shoulders, arms behind his head, Samehada slung lazily over his back. Itachi walked beside him, silent, composed, her posture as effortless as ever.
And yet—
The second they entered—every single pair of eyes turned to them.
A slow, synchronized shift.
A pause.
And then—
💥 Deidara smirked, the first to break the silence. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up, yeah.”
🎭 Sasori, barely looking up from repairing one of his puppets. “Took your time. What, had a late night?”
🔪 Hidan, grinning way too wide: “Or an early morning?”
💰 Kakuzu, barely even glancing up from counting his ryo: “If this is going where I think it’s going, I want in on the betting pool.”
Before Kisame could even react—
👺 Tobi shot up from his seat, throwing his hands in the air. “OH, TOBI KNOWS THIS ONE!”
👺 Tobi, clapping excitedly: “KISAME-SENPAI, DID YOU BRING BACK SOUVENIRS?!”
💥 Deidara, wheezing: “Tobi, what the hell are you—”
👺 Tobi, nodding sagely: “LIKE A MAGNET OR A LITTLE KEYCHAIN! SOMETHING TO REMEMBER YOUR TRIP!”
🔪 Hidan, smirking: “Tch. Pretty sure the only souvenir they brought back was each other.”
💥 Deidara, cackling: “Wait, wait—so what was it, yeah? A romantic getaway? A second honeymoon?”
🎭 Sasori, smirking. “Oh, please. We all know Kisame spent half the time carrying her bags.”
Kisame twitched.
Itachi—without breaking stride—tilted her head slightly. Cool, collected, completely unbothered.
🐦⬛“Hmm. We did stay in an inn.”
Silence.
A pause.
Then—absolute chaos.
💥 Deidara whistled. “Shit, I should’ve put more on last night, yeah.”
🔪 Hidan, gleeful: “HAH! I KNEW IT!”
💰 Kakuzu, sighing: “Looks like I’m collecting from Sasori.”
🎭 Sasori, narrowing his eyes. “Tch. No way. No proof.”
💥 Deidara, cackling: “Oh, come on, yeah. Look at ‘em! They’re practically glowing.”
🦈 Kisame froze. Glowing?!
👺 Tobi, dramatically clutching his chest. “OH NO, SENPAI, YOU DIDN’T EVEN BRING ME A POSTCARD?!”
Hidan threw an arm around Kisame’s shoulders, laughing like a lunatic.
🔪 Hidan: “So, tell me, how was she? Was she—”
A sword swung.
Samehada sliced through the air, missing Hidan’s neck by a hair’s breadth.
Or—so it seemed.
Because his head was already flying off his shoulders.
🔪 Hidan’s head, hitting the ground with a dull thud: “OH YOU BASTARD—”
💰 Kakuzu, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For f*ck’s sake.”
🔪 Hidan’s head, rolling slightly: “DAMN IT, KAKUZU, PUT ME BACK TOGETHER—”
💰 Kakuzu, completely deadpan: “No.”
🔪 Hidan, incredulous: “WHAT?!”
💰 Kakuzu, staring at Kisame. “If you’re going to keep cutting him apart, I’m going to start charging you for the stitches.”
Laughter erupted.
Deidara was wiping away actual tears.
Sasori was smirking, shaking his head.
Even Zetsu’s white half was cackling.
And then—
The real kicker.
🔥 Pein, rubbing his temples: “…At least pretend to be professionals.”
Silence.
Then—
💥 Deidara: “Boss, you’re grinning.”
🔥 Pein, deadpan: “No, I’m not.”
💥 Deidara, laughing: “Yeah, you are, yeah.”
🔥 Pein, sighing. “Let’s… just start the meeting.”
And just like that—Kisame’s patience was officially dead.
As the laughter died down, Itachi moved smoothly across the room and sat down beside Konan, who had been silently observing the chaos.
Konan tilted her head slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in her golden eyes.
☁️“You know, Itachi,” she said quietly, just for her ears. “You’re taking this joke too far.”
Because of course. Konan didn’t believe it.
She knew these idiots too well. The others were just harassing Kisame for sport.
Itachi was just playing along.
Right?
Right?
Konan expected a simple response. Maybe a dismissive Hn.
Instead—
Itachi took a slow sip of her tea.
Then—she murmured, just loud enough for Kisame to hear:
🐦⬛“Hmm. Wasn’t much of a joke at the time.”
Silence.
Kisame choked.
On absolutely nothing.
Dead. He was dead.
And then—chaos.
🔪 Hidan, practically convulsing: “OH—HOLY SH*T—DID YOU HEAR THAT?!”
💥 Deidara, banging the table: “THAT’S IT, I’M RAISING THE BET, YEAH.”
🎭 Sasori, smug as hell: “I told you. He was doomed the second she agreed to dinner.”
💰 Kakuzu, already writing in a ledger: “I don’t know who’s worse, you degenerates betting on this or Itachi for making it happen.”
🔪 Hidan, wheezing: “SHE DIDN’T EVEN DENY IT, BRO.”
💥 Deidara, gesturing wildly: “LOOK AT HIM—HE CAN’T EVEN TALK, YEAH.”
🦈 Kisame, eyes twitching: “I CAN AND I’M ABOUT TO KILL ALL OF YOU.”
💰 Kakuzu, unbothered: “Not before I collect my winnings.”
🔪 Hidan, wiping tears of joy: “Damn, Itachi, was he good or what?”
Kisame lunged at Hidan.
Hidan cackled like a madman.
💰 Kakuzu, sighing, already reaching for his thread: “Oh, for f*ck’s sake, NOT AGAIN—”
🔥 Pein, finally losing patience: “Enough.”
Silence. Absolute silence.
And then—
👺 Tobi, very loudly, clapping his hands together: “SOOOO—WHEN’S THE WEDDING?!”
💥 Deidara wheezed: “TOBI—”
🔪 Hidan screamed: “HOLY SH*T—TOBI, I’M GONNA KISS YOU.”
💰 Kakuzu, flatly: “If you do, I will kill you.”
💥 Deidara, barely breathing: “Bro—BRO—WE GOTTA POOL TO SEE WHO’S THE BEST MAN, YEAH.”
🎭 Sasori, nodding sagely: “I nominate myself.”
🦈 Kisame, absolutely seething: “I HATE ALL OF YOU.”
👺Tobi, gasping dramatically: “DOES THIS MEAN KISAME-SENPAI IS MY DAD NOW?!”
Kisame lunged at him.
Tobi screeched.
Zetsu was physically shaking.
🔥 Pein, fully regretting his existence: “For the love of—” He exhaled sharply. Rubbed his temples. And, against all odds, muttered under his breath:
“At least we know they’re bonding.”
Konan. Snorted.
And just like that—the entire room collapsed.
Even Zetsu f*cking laughed.
Kisame was done. Finished. Itachi had doomed him forever.
And she?
Didn’t even blink. Just calmly lifted her tea to her lips. Completely. Unbothered.
Kisame buried his face in his hands.
He was going to strangle her. Right here. Right now.
Konan exhaled. Slowly. She closed her eyes.
☁️“…You enjoy making his life difficult, don’t you?”
Itachi sipped her tea, unfazed.
🐦⬛“Perhaps.”
And Pein—oh, Pein had officially lost control of the Akatsuki.
After a couple minutes.
🔥 Pein cleared his throat.
The murmurs, the laughter, the chaos—all of it died.
Zetsu steps forward.
🌿 White Zetsu, grinning: “Well, we got some news.”
🌿 Black Zetsu, voice even: “We were considering a candidate to replace Orochimaru.”
A pause.
🌿 White Zetsu: “The target we found was a rogue shinobi. Strong. But when we arrived, we didn’t find him. We found his corpse. And a message.”
🌱 Zetsu (Black half, voice light but deadly): “A warning. Left behind for us.”
That caught their attention.
🎭 Sasori, voice sharpening: “And the message?”
🌿 Zetsu (Black half, darkly): “‘Not interested in recruitment. But if you’d like to negotiate, we’ll be seeing you soon.’”
The words sent a ripple through the group.
A challenge.
No—a provocation.
That got their attention.
A flicker of interest sparked in several pairs of eyes.
🌿 White Zetsu, voice steady: “They know about us.”
The words were calm. Controlled. But the weight behind them was anything but.
“Not just that we exist—but details.”
“Our structure. Our goals. Our pairs.”
“Enough to predict our movements—enough to strike first.”
Silence.
Then—
🔪 Hidan, snorting: “Pfft. So what? They wanna play games with us? Let’s just hunt the bastards down.”
💥 Deidara, smirking: “Yeah, yeah. Blow ‘em to hell. Problem solved.”
🎭 Sasori, calmly: “That’s reckless.”
💥 Deidara, shrugging: “So? Reckless works.”
🔥 Pein: “Until we understand the full extent of this threat, Akatsuki stays low and close to each other.”
Pein’s gaze swept over them.
“No unnecessary destruction.”
💥 Deidara, crossing arms: “You’re taking away all the fun, leader.”
🔥 Pein, coldly: “I don’t care.”
🔥 “No reckless kills.”
Hidan groaned dramatically.
🔥 “No side bounty jobs.”
Kakuzu sighed loudly.
A pause.
Pein closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if considering.
Then—he opened them.
🔥 “Zetsu will continue tracking this other organization. If they are as calculated as they seem, they will move again soon—and we will be ready.”
A pause.
🔥 “However—we cannot reject clients.”
A shift.
🔥 “We have a high-paying mission request. It’s not far from here. Routine work—political assassination, elimination of a high-value target. No large-scale destruction.”
His gaze flicked to one side of the room.
🔥 “And since we need this handled with efficiency—without collateral damage—”
A slight smirk curled his lips.
🔥 “Kisame. Itachi. You’re taking it.”
A beat.
Then—
🦈 Kisame exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Figured.”
🐦⬛ Itachi, calm as ever: “Understood.”
The decision was made.
No further argument.
As Kisame and Itachi left the hideout, the air between them was quiet.
Then—
Kisame, smirking: “So, what do you think?”
Itachi, without looking at him: “About what?”
Kisame: “Oh, I dunno. The ‘new friends’ we apparently have.”
Itachi, voice unreadable: “I think we’ll meet them sooner than expected.”
Kisame chuckled. “Tch. And here I was hoping for a nice, peaceful mission.”
A slow exhale from Itachi: “…We don’t get those.”
The client is a high-ranking corrupt noble from a smaller, neutral nation. He has requested an assassination—but not just any. His own brother is leading a rebellion against him, trying to overthrow his rule and expose his dealings. The irony? He is as corrupt as his brother.
The client wants Akatsuki to eliminate his brother and the rebellion leaders before they gain traction.
The estate was quiet. Too quiet.
Kisame cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as they strolled through the grand double doors. The scent of incense and expensive wine lingered in the air. Velvet carpets. Golden chandeliers. A place built on blood money.
Itachi walked beside him, silent, measured, as always. Her fingers lightly trailed along the banister—elegant, deliberate. She already knew.
Kisame grinned, inhaling deeply. “Damn. Fancy place.” His hand settled lazily over Samehada’s hilt. “I wonder if they have private hot springs here.”
A shift in the air.
A flicker of movement.
Then—steel flashed.
Several dozen figures dropped from the balconies, blades gleaming, boots slamming against the marble floor.
Kisame sighed. “Right on time.”
And then—the killing began.
Blood sprayed against the pristine white columns.
Itachi moved like a ghost in the wind. Silent. Unstoppable. A single flick of her wrist—and three men fell.
Her kunai cut through a throat. A body slumped. She didn’t pause. Didn’t waste a movement. Shurikens spun through the air, embedding itself between multiple man’s ribs—perfect kills.
Another dozen turned to run—mistake.
Kisame was already there.
Samehada sang through the air, tearing into flesh. Blood sprayed as bodies hit the floor, one after another.
It wasn’t a battle.
It wasn’t even a challenge.
It was a massacre.
A desperate scream echoed from the far end of the hall—some guards trying to flee.
Itachi exhaled slowly, then lifted her hand—
A single, effortless seal.
A burst of flames erupted across the corridor.
Fire ball jutsu.
Their scream was swallowed by the fire before it could even finish.
Then their main target—didn’t have a chance to scream.
Silence followed. Not a single survivor. It was over in minutes.
They stepped outside.
Blood pooled across the marble floors, seeping into the cracks, soaking into the silk rugs. The scent of iron and burning flesh clung to the air.
And then—they walked.
Leaving only silence and death in their wake.
The night air was cool, crisp against the blood still drying on their skin. The faint scent of burning bodies lingered behind them. Kisame exhaled deeply, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they stepped out into the courtyard. “Ahhh, that was a damn workout.”
Then—A slow clap.
A voice rang out through the open air.
“Disappointing. I betted on a faster time.”
They both stopped.
Across the courtyard, six figures lounged against the stone railing—completely unbothered. Relaxed. Too relaxed. Like they had been waiting.
Kisame’s gaze flickered between them, his grin stretching wider.
“Well, well.” He let out a low chuckle. “Looks like we’ve got fans.”
The second figure, a man with shaggy brown hair and a jagged scar running down his cheek, leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles.
“Well, at least they sent the duo we wanted.” His tone was casual, almost amused. “Predictable.”
Itachi’s fingers twitched slightly at her side. That was not a good sign.
Kisame, ever the social butterfly, grinned. “Tch. Well, now I’m curious. Who exactly are you bastards?”
The third one, the youngest-looking of the group—blonde hair, sharp green eyes—sighed dramatically.
“We’re the Blight.” He gestured lazily toward the others. “New management, new order. The future rulers of this little world.”
Kisame’s grin sharpened. “Oh, so you’re the idiots gunning for us.”
“Gunning for you?” The fourth one scoffed. He was older, broad-shouldered, a scarred-up veteran with a sword slung across his back. “Nah, man. We’re wiping you out. One pair at a time.”
“Starting with you.”
Kisame let out a sharp laugh. “Tch. Ambitious.”
The third one, the blonde, suddenly tilted his head, looking them over with something close to pity.
“Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Y’know, I always thought Akatsuki was overhyped. But seeing you two up close?” He snorted. “A group with your strength—and your resources—and the best you could come up with was matching cloaks?”
He gestured at their tattered, bloodstained Akatsuki cloaks with a slow shake of his head.
“Really. Why the hell did your boss waste money on fashion?”
Kisame let out a bark of laughter.
“I like the drip,” he shot back. “You got a problem with our aesthetic?”
The fifth one, a woman with dark eyes and long braided hair, smirked. “Well, it’s just funny, don’t you think? Fancy coats, cool little rings, some big, scary leader who acts like a god—” She exhaled. “And yet, here you are. Outnumbered.”
She leaned forward slightly, voice almost teasing.
“You Akatsuki pairs always work in twos. That’s your mistake.” She gestured behind her at her group. “See, we don’t do that. We move as a unit.”
The blonde chimed in, grinning. “And that’s why you’re about to get wiped off the damn map.”
Itachi tilted her head slightly. Finally, she spoke.
“Hm.” A slow blink. “Overconfident.”
The leader—a man with silver-streaked black hair and two mismatched eyes—finally stood, stretching. He was tall, effortlessly relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that marked him as dangerous.
“We’re not overconfident.” His voice was smooth. Even. “We just know how this ends.”
He took a step forward, and the others followed.
“Your leader wants world domination,” he continued. “We do, too. Difference is—” He tilted his head. “—we actually have a plan.”
He flicked his wrist. A blade slid into his hand.
“And that plan?” His smile widened. “Starts with making an example out of you two.”
The scarred swordsman smirked, dragging his own weapon from its sheath. “Your boss is gonna love what we send back.”
The blonde one grinned, sharp and wicked. “A bloodied Samehada for him to mourn…”
The woman with braids leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “…and a fresh pair of Sharingan.”
She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her gaze dragging over Itachi like a predator sizing up prey.
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head.
“A real kunoichi has her own style.” Her smirk deepened, voice turning sharp. “Her own mark. Her own presence.” A slow glance up and down. “Not just some oversized rag to hide behind.”
A slow grin. Taunting. Competitive.
Her fingers flexed over the hilt of her blade—long, sharp nails painted a deep, gleaming crimson.
“Shame, though.” She tilted her head, lazily dragging a slow glance over Itachi’s hands. “That purple looks good on you.” A smirk, dangerous. “Not that it’ll matter once I cut through you.”
Kisame raised a brow. Well. That was new.
Her smirk sharpened as she curled her fingers, tapping the hilt of her ninjatō.
“Hmph. But don’t worry—” she tilted her head, eyes glinting with something wicked, “I’ll tear through that cloak myself soon enough.”
Kisame choked.
On absolutely nothing.
Oh, Hidan would have lived for this.
He cleared his throat, dragging a hand down his face.
“Tch. The hell is this? Am I still drunk, or did this just turn into a damn kunoichi fashion debate and a strip threat?”
The woman grinned wider.
“Oh, come on.” She exhaled, smirking. “You sure you don’t wanna watch? Might be the last time you see your girlfriend before she’s stripped to nothing.”
Kisame twitched.
Ohhh, that was a challenge.
His sharp-toothed grin stretched wider. “Hah. Bold of you to assume you’ll live long enough to try.”
She laughed. Low. Dangerous.
“Oh, I know I will.” A pause.
Then—her grin turned sharp as steel.
“But you? Oof.” A mockingly slow shake of her head. “I’d love to see you mourn your little love.”
Kisame’s grip on Samehada flexed.
Then—he grinned: “Tch. Hidan would love this.”
The leader didn’t miss a beat.
“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll be sending more soon enough.”
The scarred swordsman chuckled. “After this, next on the list? A head and five hearts.”
Kisame’s brow twitched.
Hidan and Kakuzu.
These bastards weren’t just talking. They were planning.
Itachi, meanwhile, didn’t react. Didn’t so much as shift her posture.
But—Kisame felt it.
That subtle shift in the air.
And so did everyone.
Because their grin—their taunting, overconfident amusement—faltered.
Just slightly.
And then—Itachi finally spoke.
Calm. Collected. Devoid of emotion.
“You talk too much.”
The air dropped.
The leader chuckled. “Oh? And what’s up with that?”
Itachi’s gaze flickered—deep red, spinning dangerously slow.
“…Fools who underestimate their opponents rarely live to regret it.”
Silence.
And then—They moved.
Not reckless. Not aggressive. Planned.
Kisame immediately shifted his stance, instincts flaring as the group fanned out.
A perfect, coordinated assault.
Their movements weren’t wild, weren’t testing—they knew exactly what they were doing.
Shit.
This wasn’t just some cocky mercenary group.
This was a team.
A real team. The kind that fought together for years.
A flicker of chakra behind him—
Kisame spun—Samehada rushed up to block—
But a shockwave tore through the air—not chakra, but pure force.
A blast—thunderous, concussive—sent him flying.
He barely had time to register the impact before his back slammed through a stone pillar—cracking it—before his body crashed into the next wall with a brutal crunch.
A seismic jutsu. An impact force-based technique, not unlike the destructive shockwaves of the Eight Gates.
His breath punched out of him—his grip on Samehada nearly slipped.
He could already tell.
That wasn’t just brute strength. That was a calculated technique.
The moment he staggered up, two figures flickered into his peripheral.
Shit.
He pushed off the rubble—Too late.
A second attacker was already moving—no chakra signatures.
But Kisame saw it too late—
A ripple of something twisted in the air—
A flash of metal—Then pain.
Something slammed through his shoulder—not a blade, not a kunai—something sharp, something light, something fast.
Kisame hissed through clenched teeth.
A f*cking sniper.
A second wound bloomed before he could react—a needle-thin blade tearing straight through his bicep, passing clean through.
The third figure landed smoothly a few meters away—casually adjusting a long-barreled crossbow.
A long-range combatant. A damn marksman.
Three against one.
Kisame barely had time to process before the third one rushed forward.
His instincts roared—Samehada came up to parry—
But this one didn’t dodge.
Didn’t block.
Instead—
His body twisted—a liquid, unpredictable shift—
Like water.
Kisame’s brain barely caught up before something cold and slick wrapped around his ankle.
A flicker of realization—
Shit.
Then—the third one yanked.
Kisame hit the ground.
Not hard—soft. Too soft.
Water.
A rapidly expanding pool of water beneath him.
Not a normal technique. Not just a water-style user.
Kisame’s eyes flickered up, scanning the fluid movement of the shinobi—his liquid shift, the way he barely had a physical form.
A seismic jutsu user, a long-range sniper , and— A water-form shinobi.
One of those rare bastards who could dissolve their own body into water.
No wonder they were so damn confident.
He grinned.
“Well, well,” he mused, blood dripping from his shoulder as he planted a foot down, forcing himself to stay upright.
“You guys actually know how to pick a fight.”
——
Meanwhile—
Itachi moved.
Her Sharingan flickered—taking in every movement, every shift in chakra, every flicker of intent.
The first opponent struck instantly.
Her blade—a razor-thin ninjatō—came down in an arc, fast, precise—
But Itachi was already moving.
A kunai deflected the strike, shifting the momentum—but the second enemy was already at her side.
A chakra-sealing jutsu.
Her Sharingan saw it before it activated—a specialized sealing array forming beneath her.
A trap seal.
Itachi’s muscles coiled—she moved in an instant, pivoting mid-air—
But the third enemy was waiting.
A vision-blocking jutsu.
A thick, unnatural black fog burst into the air—not just smoke.
This wasn’t ordinary mist.
Itachi’s Sharingan flickered, attempting to pierce through—but nothing.
Her vision snapped into total darkness.
A pure, chakra-based interference technique.
A genjutsu disruptor.
But then—footsteps. Movement. Coordination.
It wasn’t just a smokescreen.
They could see.
Her fingers twitched. Her mind calculated.
It only blinded her.
Not just her eyes. Her chakra perception. Her senses.
Her entire understanding of the battlefield was being suppressed.
And then—the blade came.
Fast. Precise. Unrelenting.
The weapon master was already on her again—this time, without her vision, without her precognition, she was relying purely on instinct.
A downward strike—She parried.
A twist—She barely sidestepped.
Then—A knee to her ribs.
Hard. Brutal.
She twisted mid-air, absorbing most of the impact, but still felt it.
Damn.
A chakra-sealing specialist.
A vision-blocking jutsu and genjutsu disruptor.
A taijutsu and weapons master.
They weren’t just skilled.
They were built to counter her.
Itachi landed smoothly, pivoting, adjusting.
Her Sharingan was useless against the black fog.
Her chakra control was worthless against a sealing master.
And her precision meant nothing against an opponent who thrived in pure taijutsu and swordsmanship, she doesn't stand a chance in this fog.
They had planned this.
They had studied her.
Her fingers twitched.
She had been playing defensively. Calculating. Analyzing.
But now—she understood.
Her Sharingan swirled.
Even if she couldn’t see them—
She could outthink them.
She lifted her hand.
And flicked her fingers.
And just like that—The real fight began.
—--
Kisame understood.
This wasn’t a simple ambush. They knew how to kill him.
His grip on Samehada tightened. Three versus one.
He had fought worse odds.
But these bastards—they were built for this.
They weren’t just strong.
They countered him. Perfectly.
He was a water-style monster—so they sent someone who could manipulate water better than him.
He was an unstoppable force on the ground—so they sent a seismic user to rip the battlefield out from under him.
He was a close-range combatant—so they sent a long-range sniper to keep him at bay.
Kisame gritted his teeth.
This was bad.
Kisame barely had time to react before the ground split apart beneath him. A seismic tremor ripped through the battlefield, a deliberate, calculated disruption meant to unbalance him. He pushed off, forcing himself airborne—only for a high-speed chakra bullet to slice past his cheek, missing his skull by mere inches. The sniper. His instincts screamed, urging him to move, to dodge, to counter—
But the moment his feet touched the ground, water surged up like tendrils, wrapping around his ankles with an iron grip. A sharp yank—he was dragged down. Kisame’s breath hitched. The third opponent—a water-form shinobi. The bastard wasn’t using water like him—he became the water itself. The realization was instant, but before he could even react, another shot tore into his ribs, sending shockwaves of pain through his torso.
The perfect counter.
He tried to twist free, but the water tightened around him like a living vice, pulling him under. The sniper had him locked from a distance. The seismic-user ensured there was no stable ground. And this water bastard—this bastard was actually trying to drown him.
For the first time in years, Kisame felt something cold crawl up his spine.
So that’s why they were so confident.
But if they thought this was enough to kill him—
They had no idea what they were dealing with.
A slow, dark grin spread across his face. He stopped fighting. Stopped struggling. Let himself sink. The water shinobi hesitated—a mistake. Kisame’s gills flared open. He inhaled deep, letting the water fill his lungs, and suddenly—he was not drowning.
He was feeding.
His chakra surged, monstrous and unrelenting, and then—he merged.
His body expanded, transformed, fused with Samehada. His skin darkened to scales, his limbs elongated, his form twisted into something truly monstrous—a shark demon, massive and overwhelming. The moment he fully transformed, the ocean around him obeyed.
The water shinobi barely had time to react before Kisame’s clawed hand tore through him, shredding through liquid and flesh alike. A brutal, merciless execution. Blood bloomed in the water, dissolving in thick, crimson clouds. The sniper’s next shot was coming, Kisame could feel it, but he didn’t dodge—
He swallowed it whole.
The seismic-user panicked. His hands moved in a rapid flurry of signs, preparing another attack—but there was no ground left. No terrain to rip apart, no stability to anchor his jutsu. There was only ocean. And in the ocean—Kisame was God.
His tail whipped, sending a crushing wave barreling toward the sniper. The bastard tried to leap away, tried to find anything to grab onto, but there was nothing. Kisame was on him in an instant, jaws snapping around his torso, fangs piercing flesh and armor like paper. The sniper let out a strangled gasp before being ripped apart.
One left.
The seismic-user scrambled, clawing at the shifting waters, trying to form another hand seal—but it was too late. Kisame’s massive clawed hand swung down, grasping the man’s skull, dragging him beneath the surface. The last thing the bastard saw was glowing, inhuman eyes staring straight into his soul.
Then—darkness.
The ocean settled.
The bodies floated.
And Kisame rose.
The transformation faded, his body shrinking back into itself. His gills burned. His lungs ached. His muscles screamed. The strength that had surged through him moments ago had drained completely.
He stumbled. His knees buckled.
F*ck.
That was… too close.
He fell to all fours, Samehada digging into the dirt beside him. His breath was ragged, his vision blurred, his body trembling from the sheer exertion.
And it still wasn’t over.
Because as the blood mixed with the water, seeping into the battlefield—he could feel it.
More chakra. More movement.
More enemies.
And from the other side—Itachi.
Still fighting.
Still alive.
—--
A flick of her wrist—a sharp pulse of chakra—and a katana materialized in Itachi’s grasp. The steel gleamed under the faint moonlight, the air still, a breath before the storm.
Then—a blur.
The kunoichi was fast. The instant Itachi lunged, the woman met her blade-for-blade, her ninjatō clashing against the katana with a metallic screech. Sparks crackled between them as they twisted and weaved through the exchange, each strike precise, each movement calculated.
But Itachi’s vision blurred due to the black fog. Her Sharingan pulsed, straining against the thick, inky darkness that cloaked the battlefield. A presence—the disruptor. Blocking her sight, reducing her greatest advantage to nothing.
Then—pain.
A sharp, hot sting. Fabric tore.
She felt it. The kunoichi’s blade slicing through the loose folds of her Akatsuki cloak, cutting clean through the fabric, unraveling it like silk.
Itachi gritted her teeth, forcing her focus back to the blade-lock—
Shkk.
Another slice.
Another tear.
Then—a laugh. Low. Taunting.
The kunoichi was doing this on purpose.
"Ah, there it is,” the woman cooed. “Knew you had a body under there.”
Itachi’s cloak fell away. Her arms—exposed. The kunoichi grinned, taking a step back to admire her work.
“Tch. What a waste,” she hummed, tilting her head. “Hiding all that under a tasteless cloak.”
Itachi exhaled slowly. She was never competitive.
But this b*tch.
Fine. She would entertain her.
But only once.
Because the longer she stayed locked in this mockery of a duel, the more chakra the sealing specialist would drain from her.
No more playing. She ended it.
A surge of chakra. A shift in the air. And then—Susanoo erupted into existence.
The colossal ribcage of golden energy engulfed her in an instant, expanding outward—growing. Solidifying.
Panic.
The kunoichi’s mocking grin vanished.
The disruptor immediately began strengthening the vision block, thickening the darkness. Itachi narrowed her eyes—then lifted the Yata Mirror. The other two threw their best ninjutsu attacks towards her.
A shockwave rippled outward.
The kunoichi’s next attack bounced off the shield.
The disruptor released another pulse—thickening the black fog, trying to mask their movements—
Itachi inhaled.
And then—exhaled.
A massive fireball tore through the battlefield, its heat distorting the air.
Not to hit them. To make them move. To force them into visibility.
And they did.
The disruptor flickered into sight—just for a second.
A second was enough.
Itachi drove the Totsuka Blade forward.
A whisper of wind. A flash of steel. The disruptor’s body froze. His eyes widened.
The blade pierced his chest—and he was gone.
Sealed.
The black fog vanished.
The chakra-sealing specialist staggered into sight—wide-eyed, pale.
Itachi’s gaze flicked toward him.
He barely had time to blink before Amaterasu ignited him from head to toe.
He didn’t even scream.
And then—Only one remained.
The kunoichi—panting, gripping her ninjatō so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Itachi deactivated the Susanoo. The golden energy dispersed, fading into the night. She bent down, slowly picking up her katana from where it had fallen.
Then—her gaze lifted.
Cool. Collected. Unbothered.
"Now—" she murmured, rolling her shoulders slightly.
"Let’s see who the better kunoichi is."
The kunoichi growled. Then—they clashed.
Steel met steel in a deadly dance, katana against ninjatō, both relentless, both unforgiving. The kunoichi was strong, precise, deadly with a blade. But Itachi was faster. Sharper. More patient.
A feint. A shift. A perfectly timed parry.
And then—Itachi’s katana found its mark.
Straight through the kunoichi’s chest.
The woman choked, her body shuddering.
Itachi leaned in slightly.
Her voice—smooth. Quiet. Icy.
"Looks like I’ll be keeping my cloak on after all.”
The woman’s breath hitched, rage flickering in her eyes—desperate, furious, knowing she was about to die at the hands of the woman she mocked.
Itachi loomed over her—unbothered, unreadable, unstoppable.
Then—a slow blink.
“You really shouldn’t have taunted my boyfriend.”
A sharp inhale—realization, horror, disbelief—before the light flickered out in her eyes.
Itachi yanked her katana free, flicking the blood off the blade.
Itachi exhaled.
Not competitive. Never competitive.
But this one?
This one had it coming.
Then—her own knees buckled.
The exhaustion crashed down all at once, her vision tilting.
Her katana slipped from her grip.
The world spun.
Her body swayed—And then—
She dropped.
The battlefield was silent.
The bodies lay motionless. The air—thick with smoke, the stench of blood, and the lingering heat of battle. Kisame, bruised, battered, and completely spent, forced his body forward. A limp. A stagger. A crawl.
His muscles screamed. His chakra—nearly gone. But his grin?
Still there.
He dragged himself forward, pushing past a slumped corpse, before his gaze finally landed on her.
Itachi.
Flat on her back, katana loose in her hand, chest rising and falling slowly.
Alive. Barely.
Kisame exhaled sharply. "Tch."
He collapsed onto his side next to her, resting his weight on his elbow, before rolling onto his back with a pained grunt.
A moment of silence.
A single breath.
Kisame mutters, “Damn… We should be dead.”
Itachi, still staring at the wreckage, replies, “We should.”
A pause. Then Kisame exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Tch. Guess that means we’re just too damn stubborn to die.”
Itachi tilts her head slightly, a small, knowing look, before she responds, “…Or we simply haven’t burned enough yet.”
Then—Kisame snorted.
"Y’know, these idiots died nameless."
Kisame smirked, breath still uneven. “Tch. At least when we die—” He tilted his head back, “We’ll be remembered as legends… with our cloaks.”
Itachi, still lying motionless, blinked up at the dark sky. Then, after a pause—
“Hm.”
Kisame turned his head slightly, watching as she flexed her fingers, still stained with blood.
“Maybe I should start using a katana more often,” she mused, voice as calm as ever. “Can’t die being famous for only the Devil’s Eyes.”
Kisame let out a hoarse, exhausted laugh. “Sh*t, Itachi-san. That’s the most egotistical thing you’ve ever said.”
Itachi tilted her head slightly, completely unbothered. “It’s called reputation management.”
A chuckle. Then—another.
Itachi rarely laughed. But when she did—when it was real— it was something dangerous.
They had survived.
And the reality of that should have sobered him.
But instead—
His blood was still running too damn hot.
Kisame turned his head. His gaze flickered.
It was still her.
But something was different.
The way her lips parted slightly, breath still unsteady. The way her torn, bloodstained clothes barely clung to her. The way her damn eyes watched him.
Not indifferent. Not cold.
Something else.
Something that understood—they could have died today.
Something that understood—they didn’t.
And now? What the hell else was there to do but burn?
He let out a slow, exhausted breath, a half-hearted smirk tugging at his lips.
“Well…” he muttered, voice ragged. “Guess we really are gonna burn in hell, huh?”
It was meant as a joke. A throwaway. A filler for the silence.
But then—
She moved.
Not slow. Not hesitant.
Itachi—bruised, battered, victorious—pushed herself up, slid onto her knees, and reached for him.
Not delicate. Not soft.
A claim. A choice. A fire set to the kindling of something they had never dared touch.
His breath was uneven—lungs still burning from the battle, from the sheer brutality of survival.
And yet—
That wasn’t why his pulse was slamming against his ribs.
Because in the next beat—he felt it.
Her presence.
Close. Too close.
A shift in weight. A shift in gravity.
Kisame’s breath hitched.
A slow, controlled pressure—her knees, bracketing his waist.
He stiffened.
His fingers twitched. His throat went dry.
This was different.
It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a test. It wasn’t something to laugh off with a smirk and a witty remark.
No.
This was a line crossed.
And Itachi—cold, unreadable, untouchable—was the one stepping over it.
“…Itachi-san—”
She didn’t let him finish.
A single, slender finger pressed against his lips.
The touch was barely there—but it commanded everything.
His words. His breath. His next move.
Her gaze burned through him—quiet, unreadable, knowing.
And then—She leaned in.
Her lips brushed against his ear, a whisper—dark, dangerous, final.
“Then let’s make sure it’s worth it.”
A beat.
Then—
Kisame grinned.
Slow. Sharp. Something lethal.
His hands moved.
And before she could react—
He grabbed her waist and flipped her beneath him.
Not soft. Not careful. Not anymore.
Itachi’s breath hitched.
And his voice?
Low, rough, edged in something raw.
“You’re gonna regret that, Itachi-san.”
And just like that—
Hell took them both.
The battlefield faded.
The bodies. The blood. The ruins of the dead estate.
None of it mattered.
Because this?
This was war.
Not of bloodshed. Not of steel and fire.
But of something far more ruthless.
Not warmth. Not light.
Not something meant to comfort.
Something meant to destroy.
And they let it.
Because devils didn’t fear the flames.
They became them.
—--
Silence.
Kisame rolled onto his back, wheezing.
His body was wrecked. His muscles screamed. His head spun.
And he wasn’t sure if it was from nearly dying in battle—Or from whatever the hell just happened between them.
Because that had not been fast.
He turned his head slightly—And she was still catching her breath.
Itachi Uchiha, stoic, untouchable, legendary—was wrecked.
Her shoulders rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, but control wasn’t enough to mask the raw exhaustion. Strands of dark hair clung to her skin, damp with sweat. Her fingers curled faintly against the ground—a small, involuntary motion.
She was completely, utterly spent.
And for the first time—so was he.
Kisame just stared.
His pulse was still not normal. His mind was not okay.
What the hell was that?
He blinked. Twice.
Then, slowly—
Painfully—
He dragged a hand over his face.
"Damn, Itachi-san." His voice was hoarse. "I dunno if I nearly died fighting those bastards—"
A sharp exhale.
"—or from you."
Then—Itachi, still catching her breath, voice low, steady—
"Yet you’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
Not soft. Not comforting. A fact. A challenge. A smirk without smiling.
Kisame twitched.
His brain short-circuited.
EXCUSE ME?
Oh. Oh, she was ruthless.
Because what the actual hell?
Just minutes ago—minutes—she had been completely out of her depth. She had barely been able to breathe, let alone speak.
And now she was suddenly playing it cool?
As if she hadn’t been gripping onto him like he was the only thing grounding her the whole time?
As if she hadn’t been gasping, trembling, biting her lip because it actually hurt earlier?
Now she was acting like she wasn’t affected?
Like she wasn’t still wrecked, still catching her breath, still visibly recovering?
He turned his head toward her, slowly, excruciatingly, trying to process the absolute whiplash of this situation.
"…That’s it?"
A pause.
A slow, deep inhale.
She tilted her head, cool, composed.
Like she hadn’t just—
Like they hadn’t just—
Kisame exhaled a sharp, incredulous laugh.
He let his head fall back against the ground, dragging a hand over his face.
“Unbelievable.”
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her again or shake her.
Then—movement.
Itachi sat up first. A slow, calculated motion. Not rushed. Not strained. Just… done.
She gathered what remained of her shredded clothes, stood, and without hesitation, began walking back toward the estate.
Kisame gawked.
Did she—?
Was she seriously—?!
"Oi, oi, wait a damn second—" Kisame pushed himself up too fast—
And immediately regretted it.
Pain slammed into every part of his existence. His entire body protested violently. His knees almost gave out.
Damn, she really did kill me.
"Tch—!" He groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. "Where the hell are you going?"
Itachi didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around.
Her voice, calm as ever: "To the estate. The hot springs should still be intact."
A pause.
Then—She glanced over her shoulder.
And dropped the final nuke on his soul: "I need sake."
Kisame stared.
Absolutely, completely dead inside.
And then—she added, offhand, with a touch of amusement—
"And you should stretch more."
Kisame’s soul ascended to another plane of existence.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
No words came out.
He felt physically, emotionally, and spiritually defeated.
He was in love with a menace.
They walked right back inside.
Through the desecrated halls. Past the bodies. Through the carnage they left behind—until they reached the hot spring.
Kisame spotted something as they stepped inside.
A bottle.
A half-full bottle of sake—forgotten in the corner by some poor bastard.
He grabbed it without a word.
“Guess the gods aren’t totally against us after all.”
Steam curled around them as they stepped into the dimly lit bathhouse. Water still ran. Heat still radiated.
They stripped what was left of their ruined clothes.
And then—they sank in.
The water was scalding. Burning. It soaked into their wounds. Into their sins.
But they didn’t flinch. They just sat there. Sake bottle resting between them.
Kisame popped the cap. Poured two cups.
Silence.
Kisame exhaled. Leaned back.
“Tch. You ever think about what’s next, Itachi-san?”
Itachi hummed. Took another sip of sake.
“We burn.”
Kisame snorted.
“Damn right.”
Itachi lifted her cup. Took a sip. Let the burn slide down her throat.
Then—
A low, quiet murmur.
"Mm. Could use a better vintage."
Kisame snorted. Took a swig straight from the bottle.
"Tch. We’ll rob a richer bastard next time."
No regrets. No remorse. Just two devils, sipping sake in a bloodstained temple, knowing damn well they’re going straight to hell.
The bathhouse was silent. Steam curled through the air, the warmth settling into their exhausted bodies.
For once—blessed silence.
Until—the rings pulsed.
A sharp, sudden flicker of chakra.
And then—
Akatsuki’s holographic meeting blinked into existence.
Right there. Above the hot spring.
Kisame froze.
Itachi blinked, without hesitation—submerged deeper into the water.
Now, only her head was visible above the surface.
A long, agonizing silence.
🔥 Pein’s voice, cold and monotone: “You were expected back at the hideout hours ago.”
☁️ Beside him, Konan’s brows furrowed. “We assumed something happened. You encountered another enemy?”
A pause.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Then—realization.
Her head tilted.
☁️ “…Wait. Where are you?”
💥 Deidara, squinting: “Wait a damn second—”
💰Kakuzu, horrified: “Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”
🎭 Sasori, unimpressed: “Of course.”
🔪 Hidan, eyes going wide, then—grinning: “YOU’RE IN A HOT SPRING?!”
👺 Tobi, innocent voice: “Senpai…! Is this your honeymoon?!”
🔪 Hidan, CACKLING: “WHAT THE HELL AM I LOOKING AT?!”
🔥 Pein, looking completely done. “…You’re bathing. With sake.”
Kisame SNAPPED.
🦈 “IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!”
💥 Deidara, tears streaming: “THEN STAND UP AND PROVE IT, YEAH.”
Kisame CHOKED.
He turned—and Itachi, the absolute menace, had not moved a single damn muscle.
Completely unbothered.
Only her head above the water.
🐦⬛ “…No.”
🌿 Zetsu (White half, laughing): “Well, well. Guess we have our answer.”
🔪 Hidan, losing his mind: “HAH. SHE DIDN’T EVEN DENY IT.”
💥 Deidara, wheezing: “HOLY SH*T, KISAME. YOU LUCKY, SHARKY BASTARD—”
☁️ Konan, clutching her forehead, absolutely DONE: “I—No. I refuse to be part of this conversation.”
🔥 Pein, expression blank: “Too late.”
☁️ Konan, glaring at Itachi: “You. You were supposed to be the responsible one.”
🐦⬛ Itachi, still unmoved, sipping her sake: “Was I?”
💥 Deidara, still laughing his lungs out: “HOLY SH*T, EVEN KONAN’S LOSING IT, YEAH.”
🔪 Hidan, grinning ear to ear: “Nah, nah, I’m with Deidara. She won’t stand? That’s ADMISSION OF GUILT.”
💰 Kakuzu, rubbing his temples: “I can’t believe this is what my life has come to.”
🎭 Sasori, crossing his arms: “I believe my winnings are due.”
🔥 Pein, rubbing his temples: “You’re all insufferable.”
🔪 Hidan, cackling: “But seriously—Kisame, my man. Did ya have fun, huh? Or was it more like a religious experience?”
Kisame buried his face in his hands.
🦈 “I should have let the other terrorists live.”
A pause.
🦈 “They promised to deliver Hidan’s head.”
🔪 Hidan, offended: “HEY—”
💥 Deidara, dying: “I CAN’T—”
🎭 Sasori, shaking his head: “Tragic.”
👺 Tobi, suddenly perking up: “DOES THIS MEAN YOU’RE OFFICIALLY DATING NOW?!”
🔥 Pein, dangerously close to snapping: “ENOUGH.”
The laughter slowly died down, but the smug smirks remained.
🦈 Kisame, desperate. “Tch. Forget this—listen, we just wiped out that other terrorist group we talked about today. Six of them. They weren’t just mercenaries—they were organized. Well-trained. Knew how to counter us.”
Silence.
🦈 “We walked straight into their damn ambush. They knew we were coming. Separated us, countered our fighting styles perfectly.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Shit nearly went south.”
Another pause.
🦈 “But we took them out. All of them. Consider the threat cleared.”
☁️ Konan, sharp-eyed: “You’re sure?”
🔥 Pein, monotone: “No survivors?”
🦈 Kisame smirked. “Tch. None.”
A beat.
🌿 Zetsu’s black half, musing: “Impressive.”
🌿 Zetsu’s white half, whistling: “You’re sure they were strong? The ones I tracked weren’t pushovers.”
🦈 Kisame scoffed. “Oh, they weren’t weak.” He exhaled, stretching his shoulders. “Bastards nearly damn killed us.”
🔥 Pein, eyes narrowing slightly: “Elaborate.”
🦈 “Three were on me, three were on Itachi. They countered us perfectly.”
☁️ Konan, sharp-eyed: “How?”
🦈 “Mine? Seismic jutsu—bastard kept the ground shifting, made it impossible to get solid footing. Sniper—kept me pinned from a distance. And the last? A damn water-form user. Every time I landed a hit, he turned into water and reformed.” Kisame sighed. “Bastard nearly drowned me when I merged with Samehada.”
A slight pause.
🌑 Zetsu’s black half, intrigued: “A sniper, a terrain manipulator, and an intangible fighter?”
🔥 Pein, silent for a moment.
☁️ Konan, frowning slightly: “They knew who they were fighting.”
🦈 Kisame nodded, “Same with Itachi’s side. Chakra-sealing specialist, a disruptor that blocked vision, and a taijutsu weapons master.” His grin sharpened. “That last one? Precise as hell—shredded her cloak apart, every strike landing exactly where she wanted. I don’t think she missed a single damn hit.”
A pause.
💥 Deidara’s smirk faded slightly. “Wait… you’re saying she lost the cloak?”
🎭 Sasori, eyes narrowing slightly: “Tch. Then she was actually pushed.”
🌿 Zetsu’s black half, intrigued: “Hmph. That’s rare.”
🦈 Kisame immediately cut in. “Anyway—”
🔥 Pein: “You won!?”
🌿 Zetsu’s black half, approving: “Hmph. If they were that strong, that’s impressive.”
🔪 Hidan, snickering: “Or maybe Itachi fought harder once her clothes got torn.”
🐦⬛ Itachi finally looked up. Calm. Unimpressed.
A pause.
Then—
🐦⬛“Hidan.”
🔪 Hidan’s grin slightly faltered: “Yeah?”
Her voice was smooth. Steady. Absolute.
🐦⬛“Jashin might bless you with immortality…”
A slight tilt of her head. A soft blink.
🐦⬛“But in Tsukuyomi—”
A pause.
🐦⬛“I will be your God.”
Silence.
🔪 Hidan swallowed.
🦈 Kisame, instantly grinning: “Ohhh, shit.”
💥 Deidara, laughing: “HA! Hidan, you dumbass, you picked the wrong one!”
🎭 Sasori, deadpan: “Should’ve stuck to mocking Kisame.”
💰 Kakuzu, sighing: “And now I have to hear you whine about nightmares for the next week.”
☁️ Konan, monotone but vaguely amused: “I warned you all before: Do not test her.”
🔪 Hidan, coughing, looking away: “Tch. Whatever.” (Definitely sweating.)
🐦⬛ Itachi sipped her sake, unbothered.
💥 Deidara, still laughing: “Hah! Damn, yeah. That’s gotta be the first time I’ve seen you shut up.”
🦈 Kisame, still grinning: “Tch. Glad to see I’m not the only one getting bullied around here.”
A pause.
Then—he exhaled. His grin faded slightly.
🦈 Then—his voice turned dry. “Oh—and apparently, our organization’s aesthetic is a joke.”
💥 Deidara, suddenly interested: “Wait, what?”
🦈 “Yeah. They mocked the cloaks. The rings. The entire branding.”
💥 Deidara, looking at his nails, insulted: “Tch. Artless bastards.”
🎭 Sasori, muttering: “Uncultured.”
💰 Kakuzu, unimpressed: “Fools. They clearly lacked vision.”
☁️ Konan, coolly adjusting her sleeve: “Hmph. A shame. If they had better taste…”
She took a slow sip of tea.
☁️ “…They might still be alive.”
Silence.
🌿 Zetsu’s white half, laughing: “Hah! She’s not wrong.”
🔪 Hidan, cackling: “HAHA! Oh, this is gold. What else did they say?”
🦈 Kisame scoffed. “They even called Pein ‘some big scary leader who acts like a god.’”
🔥 Pein, blank-faced: “…I am a god.”
🦈 Kisame sighed. “Right. But they didn’t think so.”
☁️ Konan, calmly setting down her tea: “And yet, they are dead, and he remains.”
A pause.
☁️ “Perhaps they should have reconsidered.”
🔥 Pein, mildly pleased: “Hmph.” He leaned back slightly. “A necessary correction.”
A beat.
🔥 Pein: “Anything else?”
🦈 “Tch. They planned to pick us off one pair at a time—sending back Samehada and a pair of Sharingan first.”
Silence.
🔥 Pein, exhaling: “…Seems I made the right choice sending you two.”
A pause.
🔥 Pein, deadpan: “Not that anyone here is paying attention to that.”
💥 Deidara, still wheezing: “Huh? Oh yeah, sure—good job, yeah.” waves a hand dismissively
🔪 Hidan, grinning: “Yeah, yeah, great work. Anyway, back to the real discussion—”
🎭 Sasori, waving a hand: “So, how long has this been going on?”
💰 Kakuzu, flipping through his notes: “Adjusting the betting pool for long-term relationships…”
🔪 Hidan, grinning: “Nah, that pool’s boring now. We gotta bet on the wedding date.”
🦈 Kisame, groaning, burying his face in his hands: “I hate this damn organization.”
🔥 Pein, officially at his limit: “This is the most embarrassing Akatsuki report in history.”
A pause.
Then—his voice dropped lower.
🔥 ”…And yet, somehow, I’m not surprised it was you two.”
And then—
💥 Deidara wheezed, clutching his stomach: “Boss, you’re killing me, yeah—”
🔪 Hidan, wiping an actual tear: “OH MY JASHIN, this is the best meeting we’ve ever had—”
💰 Kakuzu, sighing but smirking: “I can’t believe I lost money over this.”
🌱 Zetsu’s white half, chuckling: “This is better than actual missions.”
🌑 Zetsu’s black half: “Shame we can’t charge an entry fee.”
Konan, who had been silent through most of this, tilted her head slightly, glancing at Itachi.
☁️ Konan, voice genuinely curious: “Was it worth it?”
Silence.
Every head turned to Itachi.
She blinked. Calm. Composed. As unbothered as ever.
Then—she reached for the bottle of sake, took a slow sip—
And hummed.
💥 Deidara wheezed.
🔪 Hidan cackling on the floor.
🎭 Sasori muttered something about wasting his art on these fools.
💰 Kakuzu sighed like he had aged ten years.
🦈 Kisame, groaning: “I hate all of you.”
🔥 Pein, visibly restraining the urge to commit violence: “Meeting over. The next time we contact you, have your damn cloaks on.”
🐦⬛ Itachi, sipping sake, deadpan: “They’re torn.”
🔥 Pein, staring at her.
🔥 Pein, closing his eyes, exhaling slowly.
🔥 Pein, visibly contemplating genocide.
☁️ Konan, still in emotional crisis: “And don’t drink during a briefing.”
🎭 Sasori: “Where’re my winnings?!”
💰 Kakuzu, flatly: “Tch. Worth it.”
And then—
🔥 Pein, voice flat, deadly unimpressed:
“…For the record, we called to confirm your survival.” A pause. A slow blink.
🔥 “Not your devils’ night special.”
Silence.
🐦⬛ Itachi blinked.
🦈 Kisame opened his mouth—then closed it.
💥 Deidara HOWLED.
🔪 Hidan SCREAMED.
☁️ Konan choked on tea.
And then—
🔥 Pein, as the hologram flickers, drops the killing blow:
“…At this rate, I expect wedding invitations.”
💀💀💀💀💀
🦈 Kisame buried his face in his hands: “Damn. Guess I am really doomed.”
💥 Deidara FELL OFF HIS CHAIR.
🔪 Hidan WHEEZED.
💰 Kakuzu, already calculating wedding costs.
👺 Tobi, CLAPPING EXCITEDLY: “TOBI WANTS CAKE!!!”
🎭 Sasori, deadpan: “Tch. If they do, we’ll probably get summoned to the wedding over hologram, too.”
👺 Tobi, gasping: “Nooo! They will invite us! Tobi wants cake!”
🔪 Hidan, howling: “I’d officiate! ‘Til death do you part’ would hit so different.”
💰 Kakuzu monotone: “Considering who they are, that part is inevitable.”
💥 Deidara, wheezing: “Oh, yeah. Imagine Pein giving a wedding speech.”
🔥 Pein, officially done: “Absolutely not.”
💥 Deidara snorted. “Oh, come on, yeah. It’d be fitting. We already got front-row seats to their honeymoon.”
🔪 Hidan, cackling: “HELL YEAH, I WANNA BE THE PRIEST.”
💰 Kakuzu, grumbling: “Over my dead body.”
🔪 Hidan, gleeful: “THAT CAN BE ARRANGED.”
☁️ Konan, deeply invested:
“…How about a black wedding dress with red clouds embroidered… and black paper flowers?”
👺 Tobi, DELIGHTED: “TOBI LOVES THAT IDEA!!!”
💥 Deidara, wheezing: “Holy sh*t, Konan. You’re really going all in, yeah—”
☁️ Konan, flatly: “As a bridesmaid, I’ll ensure the aesthetic is flawless.”
👺 Tobi, clapping excitedly:
“TOBI WANTS TO THROW BLACK PAPER CONFETTI!!!”
🔥 Pein, dead inside: “I have no control over my own organization anymore.”
💥 Deidara, wheezing:
“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SAID ‘WEDDING INVITATIONS,’ YEAH—”
More chaos. More absolute hell.
And then—
🎭 Sasori, deadpan: “Tch. I just need to know—”
A pause.
🎭 “…Will there be enough seats for all my puppets?”
Silence.
🐦⬛ Itachi took another sip of sake.
A pause.
She set down her cup.
Then—
🐦⬛ “Hm…I’ll make sure to seat you next to Deidara.”
💰 Kakuzu blinked.
💥 Deidara CHOKED.
☁️ Konan snorted.
🔪 Hidan LOST IT.
🎭 Sasori, smirking: “Tch. I accept.”
💥 Deidara, panting: “BOSS, SHE FLIPPED IT. SHE ACTUALLY FLIPPED IT.”
🔥 Pein, dead inside, rubbing his temples:
“…No, really.”
🔥 A sigh. An exhale. Then—defeat.
🔥 “Itachi wins. We’re all just living in her reality.”
☁️ Konan, tired: “Finally, he gets it.”
👺 Tobi, delighted: “TOBI KNEW IT ALL ALONG!”
💥 Deidara, collapsing onto the table: “I CAN’T BELIEVE ITACHI-SAN JUST BEAT PEIN, YEAH.”
🔪 Hidan, wiping an actual tear: “The f***ing Uchiha menace. You really pulled it off, huh?”
🔥 Pein, facepalming: “I am the leader of a goddamn criminal organization… and I have lost.”
🐦⬛ Itachi, tilting her head, deadpan: “Hm. Took you long enough to realize.”
Akatsuki’s souls descended from their bodies 💀💀💀💀💀
A beat.
🐦⬛ Then, she dropped the final nuke: “Wanna switch nail polish color?” A pause. “Red fits my Sharingan better.” She glanced at Pein’s hand, then back up, eyes glinting.
🐦⬛ “And purple… suits your Rinnegan.”
SILENCE.
🔥 Pein, frozen. Processing. Absolute, earth-shattering defeat.
💥 Deidara wipes his literal tears.
🔪 Hidan dropped to the floor, laughing.
💰 Kakuzu actually broke the character, burst into laughter.
🎭 Sasori muttered something about wasted potential.
☁️ Konan gave up. Just… gave up.
🔥 Pein, staring at her, absolute defeat settling in: “…I hate you.”
🐦⬛ Itachi, cool, composed, sipping her sake: “No, you don’t.”
🔥 Pein, died inside, utterly done: disconnects.
💥 Deidara already thinking about grand firework finale.
🔪 Hidan is practicing “TIL DEATH DO YOU PART, B**CHES.”
💰 Kakuzu: Counting potential profits from wedding gifts.
🎭 Sasori invisions wedding entertainment (grand puppet hyper-realistic performance)
☁️ Konan is planning a veil made of reinforced origami.
👺 Tobi just wants cake and be the flower girl.
🌿 Zetsu dreaming about an ideal cursed-as-hell venue (dead battlefield, cracked earth, blackened trees, rivers of poison)
🦈 Kisame: A BROKEN, DEFEATED MAN.
🐦⬛ Itachi: Utterly victorious, sipping her sake, nails still flawless.
🔥 FINAL SCORE: Itachi Uchiha: Remains undefeated. 🔥🔥🔥
And with that—the holograms blinked out.
Silence.
Kisame exhaled, slumping deeper into the hot spring.
Steam curled lazily in the air.
Then—slowly—he turned to glare at Itachi.
She took another sip of sake.
Then—finally—
“Hmm. Wasn’t much of a joke at the time.”
Kisame DIED.
The final nail in his coffin. The execution of his remaining dignity. It was over.
Except—
Kisame wasn’t letting her get away with it this time.
Oh, no.
Not after what she just did to his life.
Until today, he hasn’t won a single time.
Sparring match? Itachi outmaneuvered him.
Genjutsu? He never stood a damn chance.
Battle strategies? She was always five steps ahead.
Even verbal fights? She cut him down with one-liners like a damn executioner.
But for the first time in his life…He actually has something over Itachi.
He is gonna break her cold facade—he is gonna shatter it, piece by piece.
Kisame knows exactly what he’s doing now.
Slowly—dangerously slowly—his grin curled wider.
His eyes flicked to her.
Calm. Collected. As if nothing happened.
But something had happened.
And unlike every single time before—this time, Itachi couldn’t just ignore it.
Kisame, smoothly: “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you, Itachi-san?”
Silence.
Kisame tapped a clawed finger against the edge of the spring.
Kisame, voice too casual, too smooth: “Guess you’re not as cold as you think…”
She didn’t look at him.
She was ignoring him.
Ohhh.
For the first time in his miserable, suffering existence—Itachi Uchiha was actively avoiding a conversation.
Kisame bit back a laugh.
Oh, he was gonna destroy her.
He stretched lazily, rolling his shoulders.
Kisame, watching her too closely: “You know...” A pause. “You’re actually pretty cute when you’re catching your breath.”
Silence. Absolute silence.
She didn’t react.
But he saw it.
The way her lips parted just barely.
The way her breath hitched for half a second.
Oh.
Ohhh, this was gold.
Then—he leaned in and flicked her forehead.
Not hard. Just enough.
Itachi, barely tilting her head, flatly: “…Was that necessary?”
Kisame chuckled lowly. Dark. Smug. Deadly amused.
Kisame, lazily: “Never seen that look on you before, Itachi-san.”
And that’s when he sees it.
The faintest inhale.
Ohhh, she felt that.
Kisame leaned back, stretched lazily, a slow grin curling at his lips.
Kisame, exhaling: “Hmm. Wasn’t much of a joke at the time.”
Silence. Then—A flicker.
Before Kisame could react—A kunai flew past his head.
Sharp. Precise. Dangerously close.
It embedded itself into the wooden frame behind him with a heavy thunk.
Kisame froze. Then—his grin widened.
She’s cracking.
His eyes flicked back to her.
Calm. As ever.
As if she hadn’t just thrown a goddamn kunai at his head.
Kisame, casual, raising a brow: “Oh? Did I touch a nerve?”
Itachi, flatly, sipping sake: “You talk too much.”
Kisame’s grin sharpened.
Ohhh, she was fighting back now.
Good.
Let’s see how long that lasts.
Kisame, stretching, smug: “You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you clueless before.”
Itachi, lifting a brow, flatly: “I wasn’t—”
Kisame, cutting her off, leaning in, smirking: “No, no, you were.” His grin widened, “And I gotta say… It was kinda hot, actually.”
Silence.
Not denial.
Not dismissal.
Silence.
Kisame, tilting his head, voice slow, smooth, merciless: “Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be the one guiding you through something.”
Another pause.
Then—Itachi finally turned to look at him.
Her stare was sharp, unimpressed. Unamused.
But she still wasn’t denying it.
Kisame grinned like the devil himself.
Oh, he was going to enjoy this.
Itachi, sharp: “Drop it.”
Kisame, grinning, raising a brow: “Drop what?”
She exhaled sharply.
A controlled breath.
Oh, she was fuming inside.
And now? Kisame let out a slow, smug exhale.
Then—casually as hell—
Kisame, smooth as silk: “You were right, though.”
Itachi, glancing at him, suspiciously: “…About what?”
Kisame, smirking: “I do need to stretch more.”
Silence. Absolute. Dead. Silence.
Oh, ho ho. This was it.
The tiniest, faintest dusting of color crept up her neck.
That was it.
That was a victory.
Kisame grinned.
Kisame, absolutely reveling in it: “Ohhh,” he drawled, eyes glinting with mischief. “You thought I didn’t catch that, huh?”
Itachi, flatly: “I’m leaving.”
Kisame let out a slow, smug exhale.
Ohhh, now she was running?
For the first time in history—Itachi Uchiha was fleeing.
Kisame, grinning: “Not before your sake, you’re not.”
And before she could react—
He grabbed the bottle straight from her hand.
She blinked.
Once. Twice.
Then—her eyes narrowed.
Oh. That got her.
Kisame just grinned.
A low, slow chuckle rumbled in his chest.
He lifted the bottle—
But instead of drinking from it—
He tilted it slightly—toward her lips.
Just slightly.
A silent command.
A challenge.
Drink.
Itachi’s lashes lowered.
For a moment—she just stared at him.
Then—without a word—
She leaned forward.
Lips brushed the rim of the bottle.
And—she drank.
Slow. Controlled. A long, steady sip.
But Kisame wasn’t looking at the bottle anymore.
He was watching her.
Watching every second.
The slow tilt of her throat.
The way her lips parted.
The controlled, steady swallow.
His grip tightened slightly around the bottle.
His pulse—steady, even.
But inside?
Something shifted.
Something snapped.
And this time—
He didn’t need permission.
His hand lifted.
Fingers curled against her jaw.
A grip—firm, possessive.
Before she could even register—
He kissed her.
Not hesitant. Not questioning. Not uncertain.
Firm. Decisive. A claim.
Itachi didn’t stop him.
Didn’t move away. Didn’t resist.
She let him.
Let him take.
Let him have.
Let herself be had.
Kisame’s lips pressed against hers—warm, searing, undeniable.
The taste of sake lingered between them—bitter, burning, intoxicating.
He deepened the kiss.
His other hand came up, still holding the sake bottle—grazing over her shoulder, pulling her in.
She allowed it. Let him break the last bit of distance. Let him destroy the last line between them.
And when he finally pulled back—
Itachi turned her head away. Fully.
Completely.
Defeated.
She didn’t say a word.
Didn’t look at him.
Didn’t fight back.
Just sat there.
Still. Silent. Conquered.
Kisame returned the bottle to her.
Kisame’s grin widened.
Oh no. He wasn’t done with her. Not yet.
His voice—low, taunting, smug as hell—
“You know, Itachi-san…”
Silence.
She didn’t turn. Didn’t react.
But he saw it.
The way her fingers tightened just slightly around the sake bottle.
Oh. She felt it coming.
Kisame, lazily stretching his arms, voice slow, deliberate:
“You really do learn fast.”
A pause. A breath.
Then—he leaned in, right beside her ear, his voice dropping to a low, knowing murmur:
“Think you can handle the advanced lessons?”
Silence.
Absolute. Catastrophic. Silence.
Then—
Itachi moved.
Fast. Fluid. Escaping.
She stood up—immediately. Too fast.
Kisame WHEEZED.
Oh, she was DONE.
She was RUNNING.
And just before she could disappear into the night—
His hand shot out.
Grab.
Catching her wrist.
Yank.
Itachi barely had a second to react—before she was suddenly back where she started.
Seated. Next to him. Firmly.
Kisame threw his arm over her shoulders, pulling her in close.
He leaned in, voice low, amused, utterly victorious:
“Relax. I’m just joking.”
A pause. A breath.
Then—the final, FINAL nail:
“I’ll let you rest.
Tonight.”
Silence.
Absolute. Complete. World-ending silence.
Then, completely off-hand:
“Though, I expect seeing your improvements tomorrow.”
Her hand twitched.
Her entire existence short-circuited.
Kisame exhaled—slow, deep, satisfied.
A dark smirk curled at his lips.
Relaxed. Smug. Victorious.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Tch.” His voice—taunting, deadly amused.
“I really thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
Silence.
Itachi’s lips parted slightly—Then closed.
No retort. No counter. She lost.
Her damn ears were red.
Silence stretched between them, the steam rising lazily from the water.
Itachi took another slow sip of sake.
Then—finally—she spoke.
“I hate you.”
Kisame smirked.
Slowly—he reached over.
Took the bottle from her hand.
Tipped it back—took a long, satisfied sip.
Then—just as effortlessly—he placed it back in her grasp.
His grip on her shoulder tightened. Just slightly.
Then—he exhaled.
And—without hesitation—
“No, you don’t.”
She said nothing. Didn’t argue. Didn’t correct him.
And Kisame?
Kisame grinned.
Because they both knew—he was right.