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chaewberry · 12 hours ago

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kiss and forgive? forgive and kiss?

pairing; uchiha shisui x reader word count; 2.2k tags; humor, mild hurt/comfort, the vibes started off whimsical before it veered off-course, idiots in love, uchiha shisui is a little shit, fighting and making up. read on AO3!

“Aren’t you taking this a bit too far?”

The hard candy clacked around in his mouth. Shisui leaned forward, smiling down at the grandma who had sauntered over and shoved 1.500 yen down the jar that had been placed in front of him and another additional 1.000 yen into the open space of his yukata when she leaned up to plant a wet, soggy kiss to his cheek. He beamed down at her as she pinched both his cheeks before going on her way.

Shisui had never felt more like a whore than he did now — looking across, however, from his place behind the cardboard counter that was standing upright merely by thoughts and prayers as well as a shit ton of superglue to keep it all together, he was pleased to note that not only was your jar only up to the on-third of his, but that you were also the only one out of the three doctors situated there to be receiving such low clientele.

Shisui, meanwhile, was thriving. He was like a cacti; endurable and adaptable.

You, on the other hand, were a hibiscus; pleasant to the eye but fragile to keep upright.

He swiveled back to Itachi. “That’s mean — what is there to take far? I am simply a responsible clan member doing his duty in raising money for our clan. That is all I’m doing.”

“Your shift ended half an hour ago.” Calling what they were doing a shift was exaggerating. Then again, Itachi never did anything half-assed.

“So? I’m filling in for Kindaichi. His wife is pregnant, we can’t have him going around kissing random people!”

For better or for worse, Itachi knew who Shisui was, right down to his core he knew. It was a mercy that he decided not to bring the filth stewing up from beneath the older man’s guts into the surface. Shisui would only be too glad to offer an admittance and that, in return, would open yet another can of worms that neither one of them wanted to deal with at the particular moment.

So Itachi left his cousin in peace, giving him a wide berth as he hung back and watched as yet another grandmother waltzed up to them, dragging a spluttering and unwilling would-be-bride behind her towards Shisui. It was the fourth time this night, not counting the two previous days, and as expected Shisui laughed and haggled and teased his way out of every single attempt of getting 1.500 yen plus the prize of a bride.

Shisui waved away the young woman as she left, dragging a protesting grandma behind her. He fished out the money that had been shoved down his yukata, almost making a show out of it, and put it in the jar. Covertly, he looked back to the booth situated at the other side just in time to see you bend down. There was a little girl no older than six in front of you, all cute and chubby cheeks, wide smile and sparkling eyes. She was jumping on her feet, beckoning you to lean down by waving a tiny fist that held a red hard candy on a stick.

You got on your knees - Shisui could hear the loud, awkward laugh you offered the girl and her parents, trying to shove the short skirt of your dress down to cover up the indecently ripped tights that hugged and squeezed at your thighs - and wrapped your arms around her, not touching but hovering your arms there, kind of, like you were scared of her more than she should be of you.

Clearly, the young girl had no such reservations, jumping on you with her arms around your neck and giving you the wettest possible smacking kiss on the cheeks possible. It rivaled all the grandmas Shisui had come up to his booth to date.

Vomit and thinly veiled disgust traveled up and down his sternum.

You probably smelled like hospitals and cleaning supplies and bad memories associated with needles. That kid should be running away screaming her head off instead of smooching up to you. There was a needle sticker stuck to one of your cheeks and a small sized bite on your left cheek.

Those kids were savages.

“Dude, fix your face.”

Shisui blinked, batting away the snapping fingers that were dangerously close to plucking his one remaining eye out of his skull. Genma had the nerve to look mildly offended, though the shit eating grin that soon spread to his face attested to being anything but.

“What?”

“What,” repeated Genma. “What what ? You were zoning out.” He shamelessly gave his amusement way to show clearly on his face, hands shoved in the pockets of his uniform, senbom clicking between his teeth and lips.

Genma smirked as he handed Shisui some crumpled bills. “Wanna plant one on you — the nastiest, the better.”

Shisui laughed. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Rude bastard, aren’t you?” Genma clicked his senbon with his teeth three times in succession before snatching up the money back. “Fine. I was taking pity on you since you had that weird, constipated look on your face, but now I’m giving this money to those deserving.”

“Hmm, and where would that be? Raido?”

Genma raised an eyebrow. “Is this how you’re going to be? Really?” he stole a glance at the opposite booth. “You do know she’s just scared, right? I mean -”

“You’re obstructing business,” Shisui interrupted. He pointed behind Genma, where the line of was getting progressively longer; young people with their hearts on their sleeves lining up for the second, third time, old cougars with sticky red lipstick and with blood on their nails, ready to pay for more than a simple kiss from the young men and women behind the particular booth, kids who were dared to line up, kids who did out of their own free will.

“Okay,” Genma said, “I’ll leave — but you have to come to the pub with me."

Shisui paused. The woman behind Genma let out a scandalized gasp, her face growing beat red, eyes darting between the two men.

“You are so not my type.” Shisui endeavored to blow a kiss towards his friend and would have winked too if it were not for the fact that such actions would be rendered useless now that he had one eye.

You hadn’t stopped laughing all night when he tried that with you and Shisui should have been more aggrieved at his mistake than flustered, but your naked body was plastered right on top of him, both tacky with sweat, and the warmth was mingling with the aftermath of sticky pleasure, eyes struggling to remains awake as you patted his head.

“Fine,” Genma said gravely, straightening out his clothes. “Be like that.”

With the money intended to steal Shisui’s purity in hand the shinobi with the senbon between his teeth turned around and left. Shisui followed him from his peripheral vision even as he leaned down to smooch a now flustered young woman, who looked more sad about missing out on seeing him lock lips with Genma rather than be happy that she was receiving her kiss from one of the village’s top five hotties.

Your words, not his.

Just as she scattered away from the booth, Shisui noticed Genma stalking at the opposite direction of where he should be going; the bar he usually frequented - exclusively for shinobi and kunoichi and served drinks that would even make the eccentric clientele swoon on their seats - was situated near the gates of the village and away from the main roads where civilians spilled out. Fights breaking out were frequent occurrences and Shisui had, on many occasions, been both the instigator and the jailer.

Genma, however, instead of fucking off as he should have, sauntered right in front of your kissing booth, his filthy, STD infested hands depositing a few bills more than necessary inside your jar.

Shisui, chained down by duty, leaned down to smack a loud kiss on his toddler cousin’s cheek, promising her that he would win her the stuffed prize that they were giving away at the kunai throwing competition tomorrow, and by the time she skipped off with her grandpa Shisui only barely managed to snag the tapering end of your stuttering laughter as you hid your face behind a hand, probably sweaty and clammy as you were wont to do when nervous.

The competition was ramping up

What is it exactly that you think you’re going to win? a voice taunted him, mellifluous, sweet, and overbearingly yours.

It stayed with him for the rest of the night, until the people thinned out and he could once again smell the air, free of any aftertaste of fried delicacies and sweets in the air that had been sold at the makeshift festival stalls throughout the day and well late at night.

His earning had been enough to warrant his desertion an hour before closing time — you, on the other hand, had given up halfway through the end and slinked off towards the bar with friends in tow. The distasteful glare you’d given your designated jar spoke volumes, and Shisui made sure he smiled all preen and proper at your poor attempt of evisceration through a mean glare. It was wrong of him to laugh at you, but your reproachful gaze did nothing to deter the giddiness that marred his heart.

You ass was halfway off the stool when he found you in the pub, one foot on the floor to keep you balanced and the other half hanging, half sitting sloppily on the stool. You didn’t bother changing out of the sultry doctor’s costume; skin tight dress with tights that were shredded in none of the inconspicuous places, a corset that was threatening to spill your tits all over the bar you were pressed up in a valiant struggle to stay upright. One of your heels had snapped off from the bottom of your shoes and was now laying discarded on the floor — the other one you had in hand, gripping it with enough force that had your knuckles whitened out and the woman behind the bar jittery.

Shisui tapped your shoulder, activated his sharingan — the look of apt displeasure that came over your face as you turned would now forever stay with him.

“Came to gloat?” you asked, turned your back to him. He grabbed the glass out of your hand just as you were about to down the shot, set it on the bar and slid it over to the edge, uncaring if it fell or not — too preoccupied with cupping your face in between his palms, feeling the roughness from years of training and the velvety supple skin of your cheeks underneath.

He studied your face, fingers curled behind your ears, his chakra swirling in his veins and pooling around his eyes.

The sticker that had been glued to your cheek by small, grabby and no doubt soggy hands was long gone, and the bite mark with a set of deciduous teeth had also faded. The last remnants of lipstick sticking to your lips disappearing with the tip of your tongue as you licked your lips, opened your mouth, trying to say something, trying and trying before ultimately giving up with a soft breath smelling of liqueur and whisky shots.

Your eyes shuttered closed and Shisui’s thumbs swept over your eyelid, felt your eyelashes tickling his skin, and swiped the smudged make up underneath.

“You want a kiss — the booth's closed,” you said at last, opening your eyes, blinking against the red glare of the sharingan. “Stop that too, you’ll be no use to your beloved village if you go half blind.”

Shisui laughed, “aren’t you tired of having the same argument?” he shook your head from side to side, fighting the urge to bite your lips raw and steal the oxygen from your very lungs. If he were a spore, he’d plant himself deep within the organs and thrive with your every breath. His teeth ached.

“Aren’t you tired of always nearly killing yourself”

“It’s called sacrificing oneself for something one believes in,” he answered cheekily; your anger didn't scare him as much as your indifference to his existence did. The past few days of silence from your end had left the air inside his house stagnant and stale.

“I wish this one you talk of had less belief in the system that is dead set on killing you and more credence in the notion of living happily ever after - I am only sorry I seem to not be enough to solidify that yet.”

You were raving up to go another round with him. “You never let anything go,” he voiced, sounding exasperatingly fond. Licking the whiskey from the back of your wrist wouldn’t be enough, Shisui felt too much like a little beast. Better to take you inside and shove his hand underneath your rib cage, push his body into yours and pin you down, kiss you until you were breathless and apologize even though it wasn’t your fault, it never once had been — but he was selfish when it came to you. Always was and always will be.

Shisui would rather die in front of you in white sheets drenched with his still warm blood and haunt you for the rest of your life than to abscond and perish at some corner of the world and be forgotten.

“You can’t be mad at me,” he nuzzled his cheek against yours, “I won the bet.”

Your hands pressed against his chest, grabbing at the fabric of his yukata in fistfuls.“We never agreed on the prize.”

“We’ll open up negotiations at home.”

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