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cherry-writes-stuff · 2 months ago

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complete guide; how to move on from your ex (failure guaranteed!).

pairing; shisui uchiha x reader. word count; 3.2k tags; breaking up and getting back together, explicit sexual content, from lovers to exs back to lovers again, humor, civilian reader. chapter; 3/6 read chapter one (01) / read chapter two (02).

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“I have a problem,” you said one afternoon, lounging in the bathtub with Kenji bracketing your body in between his legs and trying to arrange your shampooed hair into feathered wings.

He chortled at your words, tagging at your hair a bit too sharply as he flattened your hair into a drooping wing. “Just one, darling?” he asked — and promptly received a slap for his transgressions, because fuck him.

You turned to face him. “No, listen to me. This is a real emergency.”

With an expression that borderline screamed skepticism - which Kenji just about managed to hide - he sat back against the tab and bequeathed you an indulgent smile, splaying out his arms out of the tab, dripping water down on the tiles.

You two had been pruning in the water for approximately thirty minutes now — the water would have long gone cold if not for his chakra keeping it at boiling temperature.

The most mortifying fact is; you two hadn’t even fucked. Kenji found you face planted on the couch after he broke into your house using a secondary key you have hidden underneath a flower pot that used to have lavender hanging from your door and simply decided to be the uninvited guest of the evening. He had laid down right on top of you, doing nothing but breathing and slowly crushing to a pulp when he suggested you two take a bath.

You agreed, because of course he’d bathe you and if you weren’t alone you knew you couldn’t be bothered after four consecutive shifts.

But the fact remained; you two were now close enough to consider doing such filthy, disgusting acts of domestication in a purely platonic sense and without the main bonus of fucking until either the old man huffed and puffed his way through a cramp or you being so satiated that you either passed out or lost feelings in your cunt was a withering concern at the forefront of your mind.

Unfortunately, the lack of alarm bells in your brain have proven once again that the only person you could trust was your estranged mother and not, in fact, your own self. The verbal smackdown you’d receive and, so, the utterly debilitating mortification that would surely follow if you were to confide in that woman would suffice to set your mind straight and your reasoning down to the correct path of somber celibacy and an ascetic way of life for the remainder of your miserable years.

“My ears are in your esteemed servitude.”

Right.

You turned your back to him, shoulders coming up to your ears as you pondered on how to say it. At the end, you decided to just simply rip the bandaid off. “Rin invited me to her babyshower.”

In truth, this was an under explanation of how the events folded out, but you would be damned if you said the truth; that Rin had indeed invited you to her babyshower, but this invitation took place not in the recent present or recent past, but four months prior, when Shisui still prowled around inside the walls of your apartment that Rin, too, once felt comfortable breaking into.

You had found her one morning just as the dawn was breaking out into the sky, cracking eggs into a pan and flipping sizzling sausages for breakfast before instructing you to squeeze some fresh orange juice for you, her, and Shisui who was snoring away inside your bedroom.

You had not been surprised by her appearance nor were you alarmed at the inordinate familiarity in which she moved about; she wasn’t the first Uchiha to have done so, after all. Sasuke had broken in one night to steal Shisui’s tanto, and then there was Obito’s unfortunate mishap where his ability had catapulted him to where his closest relative was — Shisui, who was lounging on the floor in your living room.

It made for an amusing spectacle. You could only thank your lucky stars you were appropriately dressed for the impromptu visit, accept Obito’s mortified apologies, and move on with your life as it were.

Itachi, bless him, was the only one with enough cultivated manners to bother to knock.

Kenji hummed his way through your word vomit, lifting you up from the bathtub to wash away the shampoo from your hair, pinching your nose closed so that you didn’t breath water not unlike a child would before wrapping your body and hair with towels and carrying you to the bed and dumping you on the mattress with an endearing detachedness.

“What’s your point?” he asked, not unkindly, at the end of your tirade while he rubbed your hair with the towel to soak up all the excess water before it dripped down on the wooden floorboards.

“My point is,” you started — and then paused, because how could you possibly even begin to explain the hot mess you consistently found yourself in, as if life was playing hot potato with dealing out misfortunes and yours were the only blessedly wretched hands life could fill.

But nevertheless you told him; Rin barging into your office, throwing food at your face and some kind of hellish fruit juice combination that had you running to the toilet no less than three times in the span of an hour before sitting you down to remind you - not ask, but remind you - that you were in fact going to be present to her babyshower that Saturday, six p.m sharp. The or else remained unsaid and, having made her point, she left you to stew in your apparent misery — but not before taking the initiative to grant you one last metaphorical slap in the face because fuck you, that’s why, and grabbing the cigarette pack you had left lying on your desk on her way out. You had the distinct pleasure of watching her throwing it into the trash, seconds before a nurse threw vomit soiled paper towels on top of it.

Here, Kenji made a faint sound of approval. As if he weren’t the one to offer up a cigarette whenever you asked.

He had more or less dressed you himself by now, starting with putting your underwear on, pausing to caress the back of your thighs as you described with explicit detail how gut wrenching the juice cleanse was - “I’m pretty sure she put something in that shit, for sure” - and then sitting you up to cover up your upper body with a shirt. His eyes had started to lose focus by that point and you had to deftly twist a nipple or two to get him back on track.

“Alright,” he drawled, pushing you gently to lie back down on the bed. He followed after you and laid his head on your stomach, his hands slipping underneath the shirt to draw circles at your sides. “I’m not seeing a pickle, so to say - she only invited you to her baby shower.”

You wanted to tear at your hair.

Of course, there’s more to this story than that you block-headed fuck!

Here’s what you didn’t dare speak into the soundless void that had eclipsed your bedroom; that you yourself had helped set up this party and had, in fact, completed all preparations regarding said occasion months prior. Months that, unfortunately, your relationship with your ex still stood on firm foundations and with no evident end in sight for the near future — thus, it was unfortunate also that that firm and solid foundations just so happened to crumble to ash and dust just weeks after.

In truth, the exemption of your presence at that baby shower had all but been assured.

Your perception when it came to human connections was so wrapped up in cynicism and self-contempt that it came to no surprise that your absence to a party you had helped plan with so much care had been perceived as a forgone conclusion to no one but yourself. Rin’s visit, while embarrassingly uncomfortable or uncomfortable embarrassing, also felt like a reprimand, as if she were chiding a child hiding inside a tightly sealed closet and was refusing to come out.

And, as if that weren’t enough.

“I’d love to meet Kenji as well.”

Now Kenji stops, face pressed up against your stomach. “There lies the pickle,” you admit, blinking down at the mess of black hair. The bastard is still stark naked, dripping water on your comforters and making absolutely no moves to rectify his transgressions for which you had every right to performa back alley vasectomy.

He detached himself from your body, pushing your shirt down to cover you with all the graces of a gentleman before getting up to dress himself, looking excessively - and almost infuriatingly - nonplussed by the turn of events, save for that little twitch at the corner of his lips.

“You’re not coming, of course,” you said, deciding once and for all for him.

The older man had the gall to laugh at that, and you found it wearying how you could immediately tell what manner of laugh it was. The exorbitant ease that filled the space between you two was perhaps one of the lesser evils in this relationship, inevitable as it was, yet it only worked to make your chest itch for some reason or another your subconscious state refused to ever acknowledge.

“No room for mistresses, is that it?”

“You wouldn’t be talking back to me if you were a mistress.”

He clicked his tongue, “wrong,” and sank back down on the bed right on top of you. The familiarity of the warm bloated body that was sinking you down was perhaps one of the primary reasons you tolerated such behaviour. “It is the mistresses who bark the most,” he smiled down at you, smoothing back the hair from your forehead. “And much like a mistress, I will soon find myself jilted by the lacking essence of love between us and abscond with a younger lover in order to procure your rage and jealousy.”

“By all means, do go on ahead.”

He sighed mournfully. “Giving me away? Now I have lost all value as a concubine.”

“Kenji, you’re not coming.”

“A devastating prospect,” he drawled, slowly, taking the unsuspecting double meaning in your words and running with it before leaning down to lick and bite the shell of your ear. “But never say never; as a mistress I have the right to act as coy as one can be, and as a concubine I have to use that coyness to satisfy you so that you don’t throw me away just yet.”

///

If your life was a novel, right now you’d be reading through one star and two star reviews calling that shit a cliche mess that left the reader with nothing but the mortification of second hand embarrassment and a vague sense that the author was simply inordinately tired and perhaps too unresourceful to grasp the mighty pen in order to even make an attempt at refining the finer points in the novel’s shitty plot.

Case in point; as you peered up at Kenji’s clean-shaven and well kept face, hand curled into a fist and poised to knock on Rin Uchiha’s door with a well wrapped gift at hand as well as an overpriced wine bottle, you had found that perhaps life, your life, had already given you everything it saw fit to give and was now nothing but a perennial circus, while you were nothing more than a juggling fool who’s very own soul was awaiting liberation.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Kenji rolled his eyes but his wide, razor sharp smile that nearly split his face in half served as quite an apt contradiction to his words. “Rin invited you because she actually likes you.”

You shuddered to think what Rin would do if she, in fact, didn’t like you. You wracked your brain to think back to the previous week; had you made a mistake during your shifts? Let a kid cry for too long before their surgery? Spread nefarious rumors about ghouls and ghosts inhabiting the morgue that would rise at night to eat delicious and nutritious baby brains during your watch over the child ward? Made an unsavoury face when Rin told you her latest lunch combination, peaches with ketchup?

Kenji was staring at you with no small amount of mirth in his eyes.

“Why did she invite you ?” you spat out, fingers curling around the teddy bear’s neck in a vice grip.

He hummed, blinking slowly as he pretended to ponder for an answer, the maddening fool that he was. “I’ll tell you,” he said, pushing back his hair from his face, “but you’re going to have to give me a kiss for that piece of intelligence.”

After the shit you two have done with each other, a kiss was an inconsiderably low price to pay.

“Whatever. I don’t care that much.”

Kenji laughed — at you, with you. “Liar.”

Always have been.

Your attempt to knock on the door was blocked once again by his hand which encompassed yours, squeezing in between the space of your fingers and bringing it up to his face. His lips brushed against your knuckles with a gross familiarity which wouldn’t have scandalised you as much if you two were confined within the safety of your apartment walls. Try as you might, his grip was relentless, never once giving you quarter and only gripping tightly the bones of your fingers in between his scarred knobs and marred flesh.

He tapped the door with the front of the expensive dressing shoes he was wearing, loud enough for it to be heard and for the murmuring inside the house to lag and stutter before picking up again with some vigour. You could hear a set of heavy footsteps coming closer to the door.

Your struggles to set yourself free were in vain — Kenji only responded at your huffing and puffing by merely starting to kiss each knuckle separately for some reason. An effect, probably, that stemmed from what could surely be described as a severe chronic illness of contemptible character.

Momentarily, you thought of bringing up the teddy bear to smack him in the face with it. “Bastard! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Providing some form of entertainment for the rest of the evening.” He tugged you closer, “keep whispering in my ear like that - do you know the picture we’re painting now?”

“Let go.”

“Hmm, don’t wanna.” He crowded you against the door and plastered his body against yours like an overzealous hooker, and just as soon as the heavy footsteps at the other end of the door paused, Kenji cast you down into further obscurity by smashing his lips against yours. His intentions could not be more palpable even if there wasn’t a tongue brushing up against yours, invading your mouth and wriggling around with a mania that ended up choking you — still, Kenji went on and on, wrapping his arms around your back and neck without even dropping the presents he brought. The teddy bear was crushed in between you two.

Providing entertainment my ass.

You were about to deliver on your promise about the back alley vasectomy when he abruptly let you go and stepped back, looking the picture of innocence as he fixed his clothes and hair.

You ignored his debauched chuckling in your attempts to pull yourself together; wiping away any excessive lipstick that was sure to be marking the area around your lips - having worn a darker shade for the occasion, you knew that a pristine appearance was anything but a pipe dream - and running a hand through your hair to make it appear less ruffled by the degeneracy of an impromptu make out session and more dishevelled by the last wispy winds winter had made sure to leave behind for beloved spring to find.

You spat out a stray hair you’d unsurprisingly managed to swallow during the whole ordeal. “Oh gods, how’s my face?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

The door all but swang open, signaling your doom.

“Doctor, you made it!”

Feeling the onslaught of a headache coming on, you tried to smile as cheerfully as you could. Obito, in all his glory, seemed to have been adorning a completely different pregnancy glow than that of his wife — looking well rested and certainly seemingly not lacking in any meals, his face glowed against the setting sun, eyes wide to match the smile stretched out on his face.

“Rin has been waiting and - oh, but what happened to your face?”

Feeling the tell tale signs of a blush settling nicely over every orifice on your body, you hastily side stepped by all but thrusting the gifts you were holding onto Obito’s arms.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad,” you said in lieu of greeting and took a step inside the warm house. Your heel almost slipped on the polished floors of the house, your eyes catching those of the fucking Hokage, sitting together with his wife in one of the couches. He smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before slipping back into conversation with Kushina.

From behind you, Obito had perked up again. “Oh, doc, really, you didn’t have to get us anything! A teddy bear and blankets and - wait, are those onesies? Wow, they’re so soft! And you even brought - Kenji?”

Immediately, the soft lull of conversation mingling inside the walls of the Uchiha home were brought to a pause and multiple pairs of eyes swivelled towards the door. You all but stepped aside from the door as if you were taking cover, all the while hastily explaining. “No, no. I didn’t bring him. We came separately. We just happened to run into each other at the door.”

The truth had never felt so sweet leaving your lips.

And then, just to make matters even more clear, “Rin invited him.”

Now, were you throwing a concerningly heavily pregnant woman under the line of fire? Indeed, you were — but amidst the seemingly cruel tactics of warfare one had to take into account that Rin was in fact an Uchiha and, furthermore, the one who was throwing this baby shower and thus, the one who had a particular say so with matters concerning the invite list. It was therefore impossible for anyone to get angry at Rin, and even less probable for anyone to start making a fuss at her unless they wanted to end up with a hole in their sternum by the end of the night.

Ergo, both you and Rin were safe. Ergo, the party could now go on.

Now, if someone wanted to get mad at Obito for not only allowing his wife to invite his cousin’s ex girlfriend and her fuckbuddy into the baby shower his beloved wife was throwing, they could go on ahead with your blessings.

“Kenji, yes, of course,” Obito chirped. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

For a particularly mortifying second you thought that Rin had been going around and making shop talk with the old grannies in the village — but then something equally, if not more, horrifying happened; Fugaku stepped up, levelling you with a mere dry look which, in truth, left a bitter taste of offense stuck on the gums of your bloodless mouth. He then extended a hand towards Kenji, and a feeling of dread which had been dogging your shadow ever since the goddamn invite to this accursed party was presented to you.

“Kenji,” Fugaku spoke in the most amicable tone that he could master - it was almost screaming of blatant favorability, truly - and went on, “I am glad that you could make it.”

#WHERE IS SHISUI RAGHHHHH

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