dear someone,

All of them who were ninja passed through a lonesome corridor, leaving pieces of their innocence behind with no chance of retrieval. The village had not seen fit to hold them precious.

Sakura had been a child until she was twelve. And then she was a soldier.

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Sakura’s heart had always been a hero’s heart.

Of course the war had wounded it—all the lives she could not save weighed on her. She remembered everything keenly: the crimson that covered her like a second skin, the looks of hope that dying men turned upon her that slowly dimmed into despair, and then nothingness. She took each tragedy as a personal failing, a sin to redress for the rest of her life.

So it was that Haruno Sakura, greatest of healers, left Konoha after the Fourth Ninja War. They heard little word of her in the years since: only rumors of a grief-stricken healer who never stayed for long in a single place, pouring her chakra like water into the sick and wounded that she came across.

Year after year she drifted in loneliness, and year after year Sasuke’s heart grew ever more sure of its love.

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Read more here:

This was a legend far, far older than she was. Its origins were lost to time and repeated telling had muddied the details, but she could attest that most of it was real—after all, Sakura Haruno had contributed to its unweaving.

Because now, nothing remained of all the legend’s mysteries. Now, she slept in the tender embrace of an erstwhile terror, marveling at him: the way the light of dawn settled softly on this shapely mass of dreaming man, whose legs were tangled up with hers under the covers of their marriage bed.

She had conquered the beast, and the spoils were all hers.

Sakura could scarcely believe it, but here they were: released from the snare of enchantments, free to embark upon the rest of their lives unstoried.

But first there was the tale, the terrible tapestry before her touch had unraveled it. Thus we return to the beginning.

***

Once upon a time, a tyrant king ruled over his lands without mercy. He was as beautiful as he was cruel, with eyes clear and dark as a winter’s night, and pale unblemished skin. His stature was likewise unmatched. In all the land, there was no one who stood as his peer in strength and agility—who could mount a horse and wield a sword as well as he did.

The monarch’s name was Sasuke Uchiha.

All those who lived within his domain were compelled to bend to his will: from the lowliest peasant to the wealthiest noble. So absolute was his power that nothing mattered save what he wished—not even the most heartrending plea could move him, nor the most meritorious display of skill.

Or so the stories held.

But there came a time when an old sorceress knocked at the doors of his castle, seeking shelter. On a whim, the king allowed the crone entry, but soon turned her out upon seeing her face. She had given no name, but he thought he recognized her features—wasn’t this hag of the Senju, the ancient enemy of his house? So Sasuke sent his knights to whipping her, until her back was bloodied and shredded into ribbons. Then she was thrown out onto the road, to fend for herself against the king’s own hounds.

“Away with you, Senju scum! The likes of you have no claim to my hospitality!”

The woman met the despot’s gaze with a slippery smile, her eyes gleaming with foreknowledge.

“So be it, brat. But you will regret this.” Her tongue slid across her bloodstained bottom lip, erasing the red. She bared her teeth at Sasuke, and despite himself, he shivered in the face of her stare. “Your rottenness will become manifest, Uchiha boy: on your form and in your mind. You will wish, very dearly, that you did not cross me—oh! And you will find no salvation on your own!”

She laughed, sounding younger and more hale than her appearance suggested. The king and his guard knights stood frozen to the spot as she went on, “Nothing will ease your suffering henceforward… except if you find yourself a flower that willingly blooms in hell!”

The crone vanished after that, seemingly into the mist. As soon as she had gone, the king sank to the ground, bent by a sudden affliction. A yell tore itself out of his mouth as the cracking of bones commenced, twisting his tall frame into a wretched hunch. His fingers curled into his palms as he fought the urge to scratch at his skin, which was slowly being covered by coarse and wiry fur. He threw his head back, eyes flashing open to reveal the blood-red irises of a predator, framed by ghoulish yellow sclera.

“Damn you, Senju witch!” The sound that burst from his throat hardly sounded human. Sasuke thrashed and growled as his robes gave way to burgeoning flesh. Even the stoutest of his knights shrank back from him in terror.

“Damn you!”

The curse had begun.

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read the rest of it here:

All the moments that followed were painfully clear, unstinting in the details. Daylight had never been purer; she could see the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sun and the gradations of washed-out color in the spines of records piled upon the Hokage’s shelves.

And Sakura watched the spittle flying out of Naruto’s mouth and the tremble in his jaw—as he confirmed what she had already realized.

“He’s gone.”

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Read more on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50383546

warnings/tags:

major character death; mild sexual content (masturbation); angst; hurt/comfort; dealing with loss; introspection; Sakura-centric

It took several deviations from the clockwork routine of their days and the words themselves to fall from her lips for him to realize what she had been doing. The cloak on his back was new, his belly full from fare meticulously chosen and prepared for him, and Sakura's lips curved against the skin of his nape as she snuggled against him, a warm burden welcome in the chill of dusk.

"Happy birthday, my love," she sighed into his ear. Her breath was sweet like new wine, and though it was never in his nature to indulge, Sasuke reveled in it. Possessed by the moment, he turned and captured her mouth, drinking her in. All the sweetness of her, her unmistakable desire, her choice that she made daily more and more clear.

How she had chosen him, above home and country and the comforts of the people she had known all her life.

At the thought, the taste in his mouth turned bitter, and mingled doubt and guilt gnawed at his insides. Sasuke pulled back from their kiss and averted his eyes; he simply did not have it in him to meet her wholehearted gaze—all the feeling that spills out of her unheeding.

“Sasuke-kun?”

Neither did he have it in him to explain, to carve out the ugly mass of all his misgivings to allay her curiosity. So he told her simply, “It’s all too much.”

I’m not worth all this, went unsaid.

Sakura, bless her heart, misunderstood. She did not see him the way he knew himself to be: the blackened ruin of a great house, nothing more. It was unfathomable, the way she could gently extricate herself from him and sit up, apology clear in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she began. Even then he longed to stop her—there is nothing to apologize for, I’m the one that’s all wrong—but he kept his silence. She looked so beautiful bent over him like this, haloed by the summer stars and the deep blue darkness of evening. “We’ll go slower, if you like. It’s just that I can’t help myself.” Her voice grew quieter as she went on, tinged by shyness, “I love you. I’ve been thinking—this is for all the birthdays I’ve missed.”

And then it all returned to him, all those birthdays he had made himself forget, being lost in the past or fallen headlong towards a future of hatred. She was telling him she remembered, marking them all for him, keeping him safe in her memory even in the darkest of moments.

It was all truly too much for him.

Thus Sasuke allowed his selfishness to take over, reclaiming the sweetness he had relinquished on her lips. His fingers threaded themselves into her hair, reaching for the light of stars that must have been caught in its silken lengths.

He pushed the thoughts of his own unworthiness aside and pulled away from Sakura only when they were well and truly breathless. The smile she gave him turned him bashful.

“Me too.” He cursed himself for his lack of eloquence; he could give her better. But there it was. “I love you too, I mean.”

Her eyes grew soft, and his wonder swelled within him.

She teases, “I thought you didn’t like sweets, Sasuke-kun.” He stares for a long moment, before he resumes eating his snack. He then tells her, almost too low and soft for the microphones to pick up, “Not if it’s you, or yours.”

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tags: modern AU, youtube AU, foodtuber!sakura, fluff and domesticity

ssmonth day 8: non-massacre

Sakura could not look at him; she felt as if she did not deserve it. All week, she was miserable from tiredness and overwork—and it followed that she was hard, and more than a little unkind. She unwittingly made Sasuke endure her anger and sullenness—her futile tears—for several days.

Now, the spell of wretched silence was over, but guilt has taken its place. She could not help but remember the promises she made on the day they were wed—that she would fill every single day with happiness, that there would be no regrets. Clearly, she had already failed; she was worthless—

“Sakura,” he broke through her self-recriminations, sitting beside her on the bathroom floor. He spoke in his gentlest tones, “Love, it’s alright. Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you tired?” She smiled bitterly, shaking her head. “All it took was a hard week to get me in this state. I’m no good, Sasuke-kun. It’s true what you said before. I- I’m annoying.”

“Maybe so.” He took one of her hands, and started drawing circles on the back of it with his thumb—their accustomed gesture of comfort. It took everything in her to not dissolve into tears once more. Sasuke continued, “But it’s not like I don’t understand.”

“You shouldn’t have to—”

“Sakura.” The certainty in his voice made her meet his eyes, and what she saw struck her speechless. He wore the same expression as on the day they spoke their vows—sweetest affection, tempered by determination—to love her for all that she was.

Our lovers have been unexpectedly set on each other’s path, and they wait for the encounter with bated breath. The walk from the bar to the booth would not take Sakura more than the briefest of moments, but to them it feels longer. The sight of the other had sent them down the glittering avenue of memory, as if to soften their hearts against the meeting to come.

Fondness begins to well up in each lonely heart. Could their parting have been a misunderstanding?

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tags: exes with residual feelings AU, mutual pining

ssmonth day 7: dear sasuke | this love is ours

With every letter that he sends her, he encloses a flower—from every region that he passes, from every clime. From her husband, Sakura receives: bluebells [for gratitude], yellow camellias [for his yearning heart], forget-me-nots [for his undying affection]. Sasuke sings her praises with each offering—edelweiss, honeysuckle, azalea. Cherry blossoms.

Sakura cherishes the scrolls for all this, but even more so, because she knows what else they mean. The way they remind her of their singular promise under a moonlit night—of the garden that will bloom between the two of them.

No battlefield will stand between us again.

They stand at the edge of a precipice—it is unthinkable to him that she has not noticed.

Sakura smiles at him, an accustomed gesture now. Her gaze carries a whole world in its midst, but unlike before, he does not count this a happy fact. What stares back at him from the depths of her eyes is alien; it demands things he does not quite know how to give.

Somewhere along the road, their loves have grown incongruous.

But he has to learn, right? Sasuke knows he would dissolve into her, dash his own self against her impossible demands—if it means he could stay with her forever, he would do it. To part with her could never be an option.

He watches her sleeping form, hand hovering over her own. The ruby ring he had given her the night before glints at him as if in mockery.