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uchihashisuii · 2 months

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first. | Obito/Shisui

for a prompt on my twitter: An awkward kiss given after a first date. as per usual i lost the plot a bit lmao. vague handwaving??? jonin!obito au??? idk roll with it

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It had started off great. Stars aligning for once, allowing Obito to take Shisui out properly for the first time - schedules cleared, missions off the table. He’s been nervous since he was born, but there’s something soothing when it comes to Shisui. Had made it easier, when he’d picked at the dirt beneath his nails and refused to make eye contact, flush burning his face and asking with a damned stutter of all things if he could take the younger Uchiha out.

(Shisui had laughed, not unkindly. Breezy and loud, smiling like the sun with closed eyes and white teeth flashing. Had said yes, of course, like he hadn't just shifted Obito’s entire world on its axis.)

Nothing terribly original, truth be told. Good dinner at a nice restaurant, wine flowing as freely as the conversation; neither of them had minded it was a bit mundane. A shinobi could use some more of it, probably. ‘Normal’ things, like a pleasant meal and the time and headspace to laugh at stupid shit. Made you forget, at least briefly, about the kinds of things that can break a man; whether it’s the blood and the endless fighting, or the struggle between clan-family-village-hierarchy. Made even easier, with Shisui at his side.

He has this knack to befriend just about anyone - either with his utter charm and quick wit, or by the finely honed ability to make anyone smile. He’s lovely, and kind, and Obito very nearly forgets about his errant woes just by being near him. For a time, at least - distracted as he is by Shisui’s laughter, by the way his hands move when he speaks, and the way he watches rapt when Obito lets his own thoughts slip free, hanging on his every word. As though he were worth the time. It causes a warmth in his chest, something beneath his ribs clenching tighter by the minute.

It’s a shame the evening went a bit to hell.

He’d felt like a teenager, sneaking off with a stashed bottle of wine into the forests outside the village walls. Shisui at his side, hands linked behind his head and staring at the stars with a whimsical smile curving his mouth. Wandering into the shadows beneath the high trees to find a hidden grove, just outside Uchiha lands. Obito had bought two bottles, had even grinned when Shisui suggested they take a walk; still he can't shake the feeling of doing something wrong. A feeling that’s dogged his heels since childhood; the perpetually misbehaved idiot.

(Shisui makes him forget about the lack of self-worth that drags him down to the depths. Someway, somehow, able to sense when Obito’s on the edge of losing his temper or his mind. Hand clenched into a fist tight enough his knuckles bleed white, yearning to prove himself - Shisui is there with a smile, a distraction or words of encouragement. It’s - nice. It’s more than he deserves.)

Moonlight bleeds pale across the trees, lending an otherworldly feel to the forests he knows as well as the back of his hand. Obito sits beside Shisui where he lay flat on his back, head cushioned by an arm and hair shifting in the breeze. Free of his hitae-ate, he looks almost younger. Smaller, even. Like there isn't as much responsibility on his shoulders, like - like he’s just a man, relaxed and happy, at Obito’s side.

He takes a deep pull from the bottle, glancing away so his flush isn't visible. Probably fails.

He’s working up the courage to lay at his side, maybe even brush Shisui’s hand with his own before he actually combusts, when he feels it.

Eyes on him. He’s honed in on the sensation - Shisui feels it, too; he doesn't sit up, does not reach for the tanto Obito knows he has hidden under his shirt. Doesn't so much as lose his smile - but his body goes motionless as still water, the mirth in his eyes vanishing as they spin red, his gaze sharpening to a point as he sweeps his eyes across the treeline.

Obito thinks he feels his dick twitch. Not the time.

He huffs a put-upon sigh, takes another pull from the wine. It lingers in the back of his throat, bitter as tears. Hopes for a moment that it’ll come out unscathed, groans deeper when he knows it probably won't. Obito goes to his feet in one fluid motion, rolling his neck and shifting to a low stance. He sees Shisui move to kneeling at his side, one hand lifting to form a sign - and disappears in a flicker.

He hears what he thinks might be a choking gasp break through the night, sharingan alighting until he can spot three people in the treeline. He narrows his eyes, spots the telltale glint of a hitae-ate - struck through, a deserter. Another sigh, accompanied by a roll of his eyes so grand he can practically hear it. Two missing nin, two Uchiha.

It’s a formality more than anything else. He can't even manage the capacity to give a shit about why they’re here, what Konoha did to dishonor them or whatever, blah blah blah. It’s been a long day, week, year; he’s more annoyed than anything, as he snags a few kunai from the pouch around his thigh and sends them singing towards the deepest shadows with a flick of his wrist.

“I was having a nice night, man,” he grumbles as he hears a body drop, scrubbing a palm down the side of his face. Shisui’s laughter dances on the breeze, landing at Obito’s side with a ripple of air and a bright smile. He looks up at Obito with a grin turned wry, single brow arched.

“Is that right?” He asks, sounding far too pleased with himself and if that doesn't make something in Obito’s gut clench.

He looks away, crushes some grass beneath the toe of his shoe. He feels about fourteen again, but without goggles and a loud mouth to hide behind this time. He’s a bit miffed about the interruption, struggles to find the silver lining as he realizes this is just yet another failure notched on a long list.

He’s too deep in his own head to fully register Shisui stepping in front of him, though he’s embarrassed to realize he jolts a bit when he feels a palm sliding along his scarred cheek. Obito blinks to see Shisui with a ponderous look in his eye, brows slightly furrowed and smile wiped clean.

Obito swallows around the lump in his throat, is already opening his mouth to say something halfway clever, maybe take a step back (run run run away, that’s all he seems to do when he’s under any sort of emotional strain, isn't it? must be an Uchiha thing) in order to regain his bearings - when Shisui steps closer, bridging the gap. Fingertips dancing over the line of Obito’s jaw, watching him with dark eyes that see far too much.

He has to shift himself up on his toes to reach him, which Obito makes a mental note to dedicate proper brainspace to at a later date. For the moment, however, his entire mind is wiped clean at the first touch of pressure on his mouth, and out of the blue Shisui is kissing him.

The pound of his heart is nearly audible. Obito goes still as stone, hands clenching at his sides. It takes an extra moment or three for him to remember to close his eyes, a thousand differing emotions and sensations beating down into his skull - a shudder runs down his spine, and he realizes Shisui is kissing him.

His palms find Shisui’s hips, rocking him forward to press into his chest. Obito tilts his head down, closes the distance between them; he can feel Shisui smile, pressed intimately like a secret to his mouth. It’s chaste, just a small press of their lips; but even still Obito sighs quietly at the feeling, and lets himself drown beneath it.

Shisui traces aimless patterns on his cheek, puts his entire self into it; lips parting and coming together again, a lazy cascade of kisses that has Obito wondering if Shisui can feel the heat of his flushed face. Thinks for a moment that he should probably be embarrassed about it, and swiftly shuts those thoughts down in favor of memorizing how Shisui’s mouth feels against his own.

“I had a nice night, too,” Shisui eventually whispers, breath mingling with his own and Obito can feel the burning in his chest increase twofold. He nods, wordless, and covers Shisui’s mouth with his own once more.

#obishi #shiobi #shisui uchiha #obito uchiha #obito x shisui #shisui x obito #uchiha obito #uchiha shisui #naruto #jules writes

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uchihashisuii · 2 months

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late night. | Shisui/OFC

surprise, bitch Shisui/Akari drabble from a request on twitter<3

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Returning to the village late at night from a too-long mission is cathartic, in its own way. Even with exhaustion burrowing deep down to his bones until he can feel the weight of every breath, the struggle to put one foot in front of the other rather than risk a sloppy shunshin. It’s almost worth it, with the streets quiet enough that all Shisui can hear is his own breathing; a blanket of calm permeates the air, indolent, as the handful of jonin meandering from rooftop to rooftop give him a quick nod as he passes. Late enough that it could be considered morning, quiet enough it feels like a dream.

He doesn’t have to worry about questions dogging his heels from other nin, doesn’t have to stop and smile and promise his aunty he’ll be there for dinner later in the week (he will, always). All Shisui has to think about is ducking his head into the Hokage’s office, giving a quick report that he was successful on his mission, and then he can fall into bed and sleep for about twenty hours. He’ll have a proper write-up tomorrow, when he can see straight and jumpstart his brain into working once again. For now, he drags his feet homeward, desperate enough for the familiar sight and smell and feel of hearth and home that he can practically taste it.

He doesn’t bother locking the door, not in a village like this. Leans against the wall as he toes off his sandals, fingers tugging lazily at his holster until he can pull it over his head and drop the worn leather on the kitchen table. Remnants of earlier inhabitants occupy every corner; a stack of dishes litter the sink, a half dozen kunai spread across the tabletop to wink in the moonlight that spills from the open window. A forgotten book, cover a deep red and spine well-worn. Shisui cocks a brow at that, wonders briefly what could have possibly occurred that had Akari strolling down memory lane. Considers it for a moment, with scarred fingers that drag softly, lovingly, across the top; lifting it open for a moment, smiling at the sight of messages and letters passed, a single pressed flower sticking out between two worn pages. Remembers belatedly from his still-weary mind that she sleeps nearby, close enough to touch.

The book is forgotten as he moves down the hall on muscle memory alone, shadows pulling at his every footfall. The bedroom door is already open when he steps inside, and even in the dark of night still he can see her splayed across the mattress, blankets tangled around bare legs and hair an utter mess. His smile turns tender as he watches her breathe, eyes not once leaving her face as he plucks at his clothes and tosses them somewhere in the vicinity of the hamper - she’ll grouse about it in the morning, but for now he needs her in his arms nearly desperately.

Shisui takes his place at her side, selfishly burrowing above her. Arm across her stomach until he can curve a palm over her hip, nose buried in the crook of her neck; his eyes fall shut even as Akari goes still the moment he touches her, wide awake the moment she feels him. He doesn’t care if he woke her up, doesn’t care that his hands are cold and that she’s already whispering his name in that exasperated huff, sleep still clinging to her with lazy hands. She grumbles in his direction, rolling over until he’s pressed to her chest, hand coming up to tangle in his riot of curls. Her eyes are still closed, small pinch between her brows; he doesn't have to see her face to know, and he smiles into the kiss he presses, whisper-soft, to the line of her jaw.

She’s warm, enveloping him in her errant affection as their legs tangle together. Her heart beats steady and sure beneath his ear, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“You’re late,” Akari whispers into the quiet, voice low and rough from disuse. She lifts a hand to ruffle her hair, leans down to kiss his forehead but misses and lands her mouth somewhere beside an eyebrow instead, all affection and no bite.

“Only a little,” he argues, half-heartedly. Feels her soft scoff that pushes her breast further into his skin and he could die a happy man, right here and right now.

Death is cruel indeed, when Akari shifts until he’s no longer cradled in her arms. Shisui pouts hard enough he’s certain she can hear it, laying flat on his back as she leans above him on an elbow, hair fluffed out around her ears and a frown twisting her mouth.

“Two weeks, that’s what you said.” Her tone makes him fidget, glancing away from the smudged shadows lingering beneath her eyes to instead look to where her hand in clenched into a fist on the pillow. Part of him wants to crack wise about a worried girlfriend left at home, another part almost wants to assure her that hey - they’re shinobi. Par for the course in the uncertainty of their lives; shit happens, missions go long. He knows that’ll earn him a swift kick to the shin and a potentially cold night spent alone on the couch, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Biggest part of him wants to pull her down to his chest, ignore her words and her grousing that he loves so much because he’s here in bed with her; he’s home and she’s here and she smells nice and feels nice and holy fuck he’s tired.

He does none of that. Instead he tilts his head, mouth curved into a pout as he looks up at her. Feels like he’s kicking a foot in the dirt, hand caught in the cookie jar. “I know what I -”

“It’s been five.”

His sigh is heavy enough to drown him. “I’m sorry, you know I couldn’t get word out or -”

His world darkens further. Hands cup his cheeks as a weight falls over him. Akari shifts, quick as the seasoned ANBU she is, to straddle his hips and hold him like he’s something precious. She breathes him in, and kisses his words as they come. “Welcome home,” she whispers into his mouth, lips brushing softly over his.

Shisui’s breath comes out in a gust, muscles relaxing until he sinks further into the mattress. He brings his hands up to grip her hips, dragging her down until he can swallow all of her complaints. “Good to be back.”

#shisui x oc #shisui uchiha #uchiha shisui #naruto #naruto oc #jules writes #akari #shikari

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uchihashisuii · 8 months

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Check out these INCREDIBLE previews of what delights await you in the Thread of Fate tarot project!!!

This set of cards brought to you by the ever-amazing @/kunpotato_ (Twitter) @uchihashisuii @akevikun

PRE-ORDERS CLOSE SEPTEMBER 7th, 2023!!!

⭐ https://P4Pzines.com ⭐

#oh shit das me #check out this incredible project! we all worked v hard on it and the end product is fantastic #naruto #anime #jules writes

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uchihashisuii · 9 months

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Thread of Fate is a Founders-centric tarot project featuring a spectacular, full-size zine + merch AND a 78-card tarot deck!

From the events that birthed the warring clans to the explosive conclusion of Madara’s machinations, join us in a journey across time as we explore tarot through the themes inherent in the Founders of Konoha!!!

PRE-ORDERS are open August 1st to September 7th, 2023 !!!

⭐ P4Pzines.com⭐

***Product descriptions below the cut.***

Zine Only-

⭐ 170+ page zine ⭐ Softcover ⭐ A5 size ⭐ Digital PDF included ⭐ FREE digital-only side zine (another 100 pages of content!)

Applicable stretch goals: ⭐ FREE A5 print ⭐ Die-cut sticker

Flat Merch Bundle-

Includes: ⭐ 12-month calendar! - A5, 26 full-color pages, staple bound ⭐ Letter-size gold foil print ⭐ (2) Letter-size art prints ⭐ (5) A5 art prints ⭐ (2) 5"x7" (12.7*17.8cm) Sticker sheets

Applicable stretch goals: ⭐ Bookmark with tassel, 5" x 1.5" (12.7cm*3.8cm) ⭐ Die-cut sticker, 2" (5cm)

3-D Merch Bundle-

Includes: ⭐ "Main four" acrylic charm, double-sided, with double-sided epoxy 2.5" (6.35cm) ⭐ (2) Hard enamel pins with rubber clutches, 1.5" x .9" (3.8*2.2cm) ⭐ Omamori with (2) wooden charms ⭐ (4) Tinplate button pins, 1.25" (32mm) ⭐ Golden metal bookmark, 4.5" x 2" (11.5cm*5cm)

Applicable stretch goals: ⭐ Mito acrylic charm, double-sided, with double-sided epoxy, 2.5" (6.35cm) ⭐ Die-cut sticker, 2" (5cm)

Tarot Deck-

Includes: ⭐ Full (78) card tarot deck (350gsm, matte laminate, gilded edging) ⭐ Rigid 2-lid box with gold foil ⭐ Mini guidebook ⭐ FREE velvet tarot bag with gold foil stamping!

Applicable stretch goals: ⭐ Gold foiled card edges ⭐ (3) Additional "bookend" cards ⭐ Die-cut sticker, 2" (5cm)

Tarot Deck + Merch Bundle- (zine sold separately)

Includes: ⭐ FREE 23.6" (60cm) square tarot cloth (Only available in this bundle!!!) ⭐ FREE velvet tarot bag with gold foil stamping! ⭐ Full (78) card tarot deck (350gsm, matte laminate, gilded edging) ⭐ Rigid 2-lid box with gold foil ⭐ Mini guidebook ⭐ 12-month calendar! - A5, 26 full-color pages, staple bound ⭐ Letter-size gold foil print ⭐ (2) Letter-size art prints ⭐ (5) A5 art prints ⭐ (2) 5"x7" (12.7*17.8cm) Sticker sheets ⭐ "Main four" acrylic charm, double-sided, with double-sided epoxy ⭐ (2) Hard enamel pins with rubber clutches, 1.5" x .9"(3.8*2.2cm) ⭐ Omamori with (2) wooden charms ⭐ (4) Tinplate button pins, 1.35" (32mm) ⭐ Golden metal bookmark, 4.5" x 2" (11.5cm*5cm)

Applicable stretch goals: ⭐ Mito acrylic charm, double-sided, with double-sided epoxy, 2.5" (6.35cm) ⭐ Gold foiled card edges ⭐ (3) Additional "bookend" cards ⭐ Bookmark with tassel, 5" x 1.5" (12.7cm*3.8cm) ⭐ Die-cut sticker, 2" (5cm)

#hey look i contributed to this #its! really very cool! and yall should check it out!#jules writes #naruto

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uchihashisuii · 9 months

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to listen, to suffer. (to entrust unto tomorrow)

Summary: "Have you slept?" Joshua asks, voice hushed as to not break the facade of peace that permeates the air. Because of course he begins with that; Phoenix is ever the healer, the caregiver, the protector. Concerned only for the well-being of those around him and not a whit for his own ills or pains. | Spoilers abound!

Pairing: Dion Lesage/Joshua Rosfield

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1994

Content warning for introspection, romance, character study, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, and a first kiss long overdue

Author’s Note: rises from the ashes HEH with some brand new nonsense. you ever see two characters you Know are gonna be your faves and you're like. oh i'm gonna make them kiss. and then you discover there's actual substance for aforementioned faves and why they should kiss??? yeah as close to rapture as i'm ever gonna get i wanna thank not only god but jesus for all the joshua and dion content

also the summary lied to you its actually the morning but listen. listen. sunrise is more romantic than sunset fight me on that. plus using eve just sounded better

title is from answers from ffxiv cause i have a disease

Ao3 link

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With eyes turned eastward, Dion watches the darkened haze that drapes the world, a startling reflection of that which envelops his heart. Hours, days, weeks; time passes, but even years hence the results of his patricide and his ensuing loss of control will continue to dog his heels, to haunt his every thought.

The clawing shadows of agony swirl around him, enshrouding him; a burden he refuses to allow a moment's respite. For to refuse it, to ignore it - would be as forgetting what he had done. The blood of his father, his people, his home. Red-drenched gauntlets and the wind beneath Bahamut's wings buffeted by the anguished cries of those he swore to protect. Dion resolved himself to ridding Sanbreque of its poison, and instead took that which made her complete. Shining citadels and grand streets could be rebuilt - but one cannot hope to restore the laughter and strength of a people, the love of a father; on Dion's heart will the guilt ever weigh down.

He refuses to dwell on that which he has lost. No, his mind turns only to what he has taken. A home, a people, an emperor. Grieving stars shine through the haze, pinpricks of light weeping for what has been done. There is nothing he could do, no apology or deed grand enough to encapsulate the void of his sorrow, of his remorse.

Dion is not naive nor self-absorbed enough to think throwing himself unto his lance would absolve him, would pay the impossible due of his transgressions. He darent even hope for the opportunity. The unthinkable deeds have been done, and never once would he think himself worthy of forgiveness. There are none left in the ruins of his home even left to offer it. All that remains is the steadfast hope, the will to bring a better tomorrow, reflected in the haunted eyes of Phoenix and Ifrit. And it will cost his life -he hopes, he prays it does- but still he will take to the skies as Bahamut once more, grief punctuating every beat of his wings, as he bears on his back the hope for a future he does not deserve to see.

-----

Joshua finds him still deep in contemplation in the early hours, before the first rays of dawn could break across the horizon. There is a chill dancing about the air, breath fanning forward in pale wisps as they stand in comfortable silence, content to simply gaze out upon the world gone so utterly, ruinously wrong.

He tries not to dwell on it. Where heartbreak threatens to split him in twain, he remembers there is hope. In those surrounding him, in those that look to Ifrit and those whose hands may shape a brighter future. Maybe, even, some hope for him; just a little.

"Have you slept?" Joshua asks, voice hushed as to not break the facade of peace that permeates the air. Because of course he begins with that; Phoenix is ever the healer, the caregiver, the protector. Concerned only for the well-being of those around him and not a whit for his own ills or pains.

He cares too much for one so young, Dion remembers thinking when they met as children. This small boy, this Dominant of Fire, who kneeled in the dirt and coughed from the dust dispersed. Only stopping long enough to look annoyed about it, before using his abilities as Phoenix to heal the broken wing of a bird.

Who heals the healer? he thinks now. Certainly nobody he would even allow, insisting others be placed before himself. Dion believes, wholeheartedly, that he'd have made a fine Duke, were things - different. A man he would have been proud to stand beside, uniting their lands and ushering in an era of peace.

He'd left whimsical dreams behind long ago, the only thoughts left remaining were ones of how to ensure Sanbreque's victory and the survival of his people. But something about Joshua -his earnestness, his optimism, his very presence- makes Dion want to believe. Makes him think he's worthy of it.

"A scant couple of hours," is all Dion says in reply once he pulls himself from spiraling thoughts, unable to lie to one so gentle. Gazing out over the calm waters surrounding Ifrit's hideaway in staunch refusal to meet eyes too kind to be cast in his direction. To stare too long would prove his undoing, in more ways than he is comfortable putting a name to. Still, Joshua moves in his periphery, until the press of a bony elbow brushes into his forearm. When he glances a look, just as he expected, Dion cannot look away.

He's beautiful, in the calm of morning. No expectations, no fuss or hassle. The wind tussling his mussed hair, pale eyes bright with something warm. He belongs here, Dion thinks somewhat softly to himself. With the gossamer glow of sunrise bathing him in light, throwing his delicate angles into sharp relief. Impossibly long lashes of burnished gold brushing against the tops of his cheeks, mouth curving up into a secret smile that has Dion turning his attention swiftly elsewhere.

It is a struggle, sometimes, to see Joshua. Unlearning habits take time, but Dion works at it even amidst the fire and flame. His entire life Dion has been defined by simple measures; he is a Dominant, he is crown prince, he is dragoon commander. He is Bahamut, and not simply Dion. A symbol of light, a means to protect the empire. Faceless. A beacon. Simple.

Joshua is not simple. And yet he is; he's merely a man, holding fast to his convictions and his heart. A man with a sweet smile and gentle hands, who loves as fierce as any wildfire. A kind man, who paradoxically keeps any and all at arm's length in the hope that weakness and vulnerability are kept carefully hidden beneath those carefree smiles.

It comes full circle as all at once the taste in his mouth is reminiscent of the ash that blanketed Sanbreque. Dion is no longer any of these things, and those childhood fantasies of finding someone who saw through the gilded silver veneer of an imperial Dominant to unfurl the man trapped beneath - perhaps now, at the end of all things, there is the chance to simply be. Be understood, be - Dion.

Simple, he thinks with a bitter quirk of his mouth, just as I wanted.

"It's a lovely morning," Joshua remarks at his side, leaning just so until he can brush his shoulder against Dion's. Expertly wielding word and action to pull Dion from distraction; his frown shifts into something softer, something worthy of a serene early morning at the side of someone precious.

When he turns to respond, it is to the sight of Joshua looking to him and not the view. Something clenches just beneath his ribs, and it is only in the quietude of an unassuming morning that Dion feels the world around him fall away, locking gaze with a still-smiling Phoenix.

Dion was never quite able to see himself in Joshua; too starkly different in method if not desire. But perhaps they're more similar than he first surmised, evidenced in the way the younger man studies him awash in the glow of sunrise, in the understanding clear as glass in those lovely eyes. The pressure that comes part and parcel in being fundamentally nothing more than a tool for your people, be it as weapon or shield. The trauma of a lost home, lost family. The guilt of bearing responsibility for so much loss, so much death and destruction. Dion finds himself reflected in those eyes, that have seen and wrought as much pain as he has. But even still, so too is there love, and acceptance, and maybe even peace.

"Lovely indeed," Dion whispers, eyes still locked on Joshua's and soft words nearly lost to the wind.

There are no further words, but none are quite needed. A grin, beautiful with closed eyes and full of teeth and tender joy, breaks across Joshua's face like the dawn. He laughs, very nearly shyly, and brings a hand to cover his mouth. As though he were embarrassed of his mirth, as though he wished to hide from Dion's searching expression.

It is not a morning for hiding, nor is it one for things left unsaid. Dion doesn't expect to see the next rising of the sun, and shrugs off the idea of his own indulgence. The world and his life have gone to hell, yet the rise of a new day is stunning to behold. Paling very nearly to the pink that dusts Joshua's cheeks, to the way nerves and delight seem to wash from him in near-tangible waves.

He's beautiful enough to break hearts, Dion thinks. In face and in soul both, in equal measure. His heart must feel much as he does right now; warmth from the gentle light of the sun, filtering through clouds to bathe them, for a moment, in something greater.

Dion feels nearly as shocked as Joshua looks when, not a heartbeat later, his gloved hand moves to curve over Joshua's elbow. The thrum of awareness carries between them, and yet again the world has gone quiet. Breath held, a moment in limbo; anticipation gathers heady around them. Dion cannot move further, cannot make his mouth work to tell Joshua above everything else I see you, I hear you. As you see me, as you hear me.

The linger does not last, Dion jolted from his yet once more spiraling thoughts to find Joshua cupping his cheek. Hand bare, his skin softer than silk. Thumb rubbing small circles beneath Dion's eye, lips parted and something familiarly unspoken dancing on the tip of his tongue. He runs warm, Dion realizes. Some quirk of Phoenix's power, perhaps; or maybe there is some merit to the rumors that all those from Rosalith have fire in their blood. Or perhaps, he thinks, when Joshua leans forward to close what distance lingers between them; perhaps it is simply Joshua. Sunlight manifest.

The press of his mouth to Dion's feels startling natural. Much like in all other aspects Joshua is reserved, but not timid, when he kisses. Testing the waters, searching for an answer in Dion's reverent silence. And silent he remains; breath stopped short, a gentle gasp stolen with the rush of his pulse. Loud in his own ears, Dion hesitates for barely half a moment before he allows himself to simply feel.

Eyes slipping shut, Dion moves until he grips tight, certain, to Joshua's slim waist. Pulling him close with desperate, grasping fingertips until they are pressed tight enough they threaten to fold together into one. It's heady, made more intoxicant by the way he can feel more than hear the soft moan from Joshua, heat and desire making Dion's head spin. He breaks the kiss, basking and breathing, before pressing another, and another, to Joshua's pliant and waiting mouth.

He doesn't question, doesn't hesitate. Fate and the future are ever fickle, and whether he deserves even a moment's respite in a question he refuses to entertain at present. Instead Dion savors it, when he grips tight to the hair at Joshua's nape just to hear that sweet sound once more. Perhaps there is nothing that awaits him this day save further agony, perhaps only a quiet death is all he deserves. But for now he has Joshua in his arms, against his mouth. Swallowing down Dion's every small sound, holding tight and refusing to let go. He is no longer shy, no longer gentle; Joshua licks into his mouth and every slick glide of their tongues has Dion falling just that little bit further.

The sun finishes its ascent, blinding even to Dion's closed eyes. The warmth that surrounds him, that resides within him, echoes and builds with every harried pulse of his desperate heart, resonating like the beat of a firebird's wings.

#phoenixflare #dion lesage #joshua rosfield #dion x joshua #joshua x dion #ffxvi #final fantasy xvi #final fantasy 16 #jules writes

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uchihashisuii · 11 months

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Please welcome our contributors!!!

@uchihashisuii is a phenomenal author with an incredible skill for capturing emotion and crafting beautiful prose! 💖

Their favorite tarot card and aspect of the Founders arc are: "My favourite card is The Star - it brings hope, strength, and courage. Even in reverse it serves as a reminder that this, too, shall pass; all you need is a bit of resilience to persevere. My favourite theme in the Founders Arc is, above all, love. Love for family, friend, clan, village. Love is a wondrous and beautiful thing, but you must remember that it can harm as easily as it can heal."

⊱⊹⊰ Tumblr ⊱⊹⊰ Twitter ⊱⊹⊰ AO3 ⊱⊹⊰

@hkvz is a fabulous digital artist whose grasp of form and atmosphere bring their work to a whole new level! 💖

Their favorite tarot card is: "The hermit because I think it’s the most relevant in everyday life, at least for me. I find it’s meaning to be very comforting and all around just resonates with me."

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uchihashisuii · 1 year

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conflicting loyalties. | Shisui/OFC

whats up gamers its me, ya boi. back at it with Shisui and Akari nonsense, this time to fill a twitter request for “a kiss in another world”

im much more active on my twitter than on tumblr if you wanna come hang out<3

anyway genshin au go brrrrr i might be insane actually. shogunate samurai akari and resistance captain shisui imagine if i knew what i was DOING

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The rain is relentless on Yashiori. The storms a constant companion, flashes of lightning threatening to blind as Akari chances a moment of respite, head tilted back to gaze at the dismal sky until rain pours down her face like tears. Thunder rumbles deep in her bones, hand tightening sharply on her katana as she flicks the weapon sharply out to her side, blade stained red with the blood of rebellion. Lightning flashes on her steel, reminding her once more that the Shogun is Inazuma, omniscient gaze following her loyal soldiers even so far from the walls of Tenshukaku. She tries not to focus too hard on the sheer weight of it, uncomfortable and cloying and why is she questioning herself here, now?

It's a truth as bitter as any pill. She knows why her heart hesitates, even if her hands do not. The skirmish carries on around her, bloody and loud and nowhere near as glorious as these hotblooded sons of farmers probably expected it would be. There's no glory to be found as they fight the Vision hunters, outmanned and outskilled as they are. Akari can appreciate the conviction they so clearly possess, even in something as blasphemous as standing against the Almighty Shogun.

Yet surety in one's cause does not a victory bring. They're being slaughtered all the same.

A blur of movement on her right sends a sense of alarm skittering up her spine. Akari blinks the rain from her eyes and takes to a readied stance once more, hand steady on the hilt of her katana and body refusing to buckle beneath the weight of what might just be shame.

He's fast. He'd always been fast. When they were children, running along the beaches and kicking up sand. Chasing waves and dreams, together always. Even through the storm, even after years, she recognizes him all the same. Shisui cuts across the two soldiers that flank her, throats slit before they'd even noticed the danger. They fall to their knees and Akari feels her temper rise, face-to-face with her now-enemy.

In the flash of lightning, she thinks his eyes might be red.

Steel rings against steel, too loud in her ears. The force of his attack makes her teeth rattle in her skull when she blocks, his entire weight thrown against her arm. Yet still Akari bares her teeth, gaining ground with a forceful shove to unsteady him in the sand. Shisui smirks, familiar with her tricks, and pivots to the side. The reminder of their shared and then broken past rises to the surface, a lash of pain across her heart that she does her damnedest to ignore. Knows that she fails, when she sees the mirror of agony break through his expression, mirrored back at her in his dark and lovely eyes.

How they always end up here is a mystery. One Akari refuses to solve. Opposite sides, equally skilled; they find one another on the battlefield and no matter the victor they always limp away. Their blades meet and he gains the upper hand, or she does, and somewhere along the way they devolve into weapons tossed aside in favor of bare knuckles and anger spit between clenched and bloodied teeth. Akari knows him far too well, Shisui sees all that she is and once was; it could end in no other way.

As such it doesn't surprise her when the blade of his sword cracks, his eyes widening for a split second before he aims a kick at her knee, taking away her balance before she has a chance to raise her sword and finish it -

(Would she, even if he hadn't? She knows the answer, refuses to name what it means.)

- and this his Vision blazes proudly to life, a hurried heat of pyro curling protectively around him like a shroud of molten fury, allowing him the time to find his footing. Akari snarls her fury, tossing her katana to the side -foolish, stupid; she'll always meet him on equal ground- and summons the call of lightning to her fingertips, electro Vision proudly hung at her shoulder pulsing in time with the storm.

Her breath comes heavy, annoyance boiling her blood. Shisui, infuriating fucking Shisui, merely smirks at her, rolling his shoulder back and taking the provided opportunity to catch his breath. He knows, they both know - if they meet head-on like this it ends disastrously for both of them, for everyone around them on the battlefield. Their gifted elements at odds with one another, to such a grand and catastrophic end. Akari's throat burns from the sheer rage behind her yell, hands clenching into fists as she sends the lightning gathered around her hands into the sky.

She can hear him laughing, over the din of the skirmish that still, impossibly,m continues around them. He knows they're at an impasse again, the pressure on the shoulders of a Shogunate samurai nigh impossible to bear why cant he shut up for five bloody minutes -

Akari passes through the fire before she'd even considered making such a move. It startles her just as much as it does Shisui, who stares at her with naked incredulity as he rocks back a step. The pyro dies around him, sentimental idiot that he is, and not a lick of flame touches her. She's almost rocked by such an observation, but frustration ultimately wins out.

His breath leaves him in a gust, the shock of her armored knee in his stomach enough to have his legs crumpling beneath him. Akari's grin is victorious, and not a moment is wasted as she follows him to the churned up sand and dirt. Her knees bracket his waist, hands at either side of his face. Shisui blinks, confounded at how she'd gotten him on his back, yet makes not a move against her.

She blocks the rain, and he gazes up at her unabashed with unblinking eyes. Even Akari can see the affection that still swirls within him, the agony of knowing it remains within her, too, enough to make her resolve shake. Not break, not buckle; but even through everything she mourns everything that was and what could have been.

Shisui opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn't give him the chance. Akari leans down and steals his words with her mouth, fingers raking through the sand at the first taste of him. It's familiar, and comfortable; he relaxes beneath her, hands coming up to cradle her hips with the softest sigh that she feels more than hears. His mouth is slick from rain and blood, and he feels nearly feverish from that bone-deep heat inherent in all pyro users. The sound that escapes her throat is nearly desperate, and in a moment of pure weakness she follows the press of his hands until he sits to full height, her dirtied and bruised hands fisting into a riot of curls.

A Shogunate samurai perches in the lap of a Resistance captain, beneath the ever-present storms of Yashiori. Akari presses her chest flush to Shisui's, and doesn't move away. The heat of his mouth is welcome, filling every craving she hasn't admitted to possessing. He still feels like home, and despite tasting of blood still she licks into his mouth, giving him her breath and taking what he offers in turn.

#shisui uchiha #shisui x oc #uchiha shisui #naruto #naruto oc #genshin impact #genshin #jules writes #akari #shikari

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