#ombree:fics

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary:  She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring.  He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a  world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and  love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States  Period.

Chapter 22 The Hate

Only the dead have seen the end of war.

Injured and broken down. Bandaged and scarred. He’s all of these things but his heart still beats, and his lungs still manage to fill themselves with air. They’ve urged him to rest, and they’ve urged him to let his body heal. Those blacks and those purple liter his skin. They linger upon his knuckles. They are painted across his being that tries to hide beneath the gauze.

He has no desire to leave from where he sits. He has no want to go forth and give command.

Yes—he just wants to stay right here.

Summers heat has bathed the earth. It’s brought with it fresh earthly scents unlike the copper that lingers within his nose. He’s been washed clean, and soaked within so many things. Yet, that smell stays with him no matter which room he enters.

His arm lays in a sling. They could have healed it. They could have done more for him, but he pushed and he fought because it wasn’t him he wanted their attention on. Healing him had been the last of his concerns. There had been so much priority for him and so much less upon her.

His body still remembers the weight—it remembers every harsh movement and every misstep she took. The weight of her conviction to keep going as she walked within a world she was never meant to stand upon clings to his muscles, and it holds the loss of her as she fell forward tumbling from him with no desire to let it release.

They had found him—his men had found them.

They had come rushing and letting out the loudest of yells. Their footsteps could be felt beneath him as he collided with the earth not moments after she had. None of it had mattered because as he laid there she was all he could take in. His vision had come and gone as it pleased but it didn’t lessen the way he begged his hand to reach out for hers even when he knew it couldn’t.

She was hurt—she had been so hurt.

And he could do nothing about it but sit there doing his damnedest to focus his vision upon her.

No amount of heart was going to make his body move. And no amount of heart was going to help her even if he could.

The events which should have led to him returning home is unknown. He just remembers the startle and the disquietude. No weapon within his grasp and the lack of understanding of where he was and how he had gotten there. The familiar paintings upon the wall or that vanity his wife seemed to adore brought forth no reassurance.

All of these things brought no comfort—no thought that he was home. None of it had eased him—it had sent him through the wildest of panics.

She didn’t lay beside him, and he questioned it all.

The way his body tumbled over and the way he had curled within a ball. Gasping out and shutting his eyes deep within the pain. Those footsteps upon such once known floors thudding and making him desperate. They had come clamoring in and even under the gaze of such familiar faces it hadn’t eased him in the slightest. It had sent him spiraling and seeking to escape. His back pressed against the paper doors that lead to the engawa and his fingers desperate to reach underneath the robes to his side.

All of it had been so overwhelming—it suffocated him, and sent him desperate to escape, and then all at once he’s stilled because there’s a hand reaching out and taking a hold of him.

That voice had been stern and those eyes had glowed as if to assert themselves as dominate.

Sasuke-sama. You must calm down.

That heartbeat within his ears and that swallow painfully slow down his throat. Heat upon his skin, and then the waves of pain right behind it. They were upon him just moments later. Wild and without remorse he pushed them off, and then she had grabbed his attention again all at once.

You have to calm down—what would she think seeing you like this.

The world had gone black just as he had spilled his insides upon the floor only to come back to the ceiling he should have known above. Numb. Everything feels numb as his fingers reflexively move and then linger across the sheets to feel upon his face. His vision isn’t normal—neither is that gauze upon his eye.

It’s tired and worn. Heavy and clouded.

The firmest of presses had been against his shoulder and then upon his back as his body rose. The pain had still been there but lighter than the last. The panic is hidden beneath so many questions as his mind feels even hazier than his vision. There’s the longest of sounds ringing in his ears and that slow turn of his head doesn’t make it any easier.

There had so much discomfort.

Lips had moved and he couldn’t hear the sound he knew should have been there. He knows this woman. He’s known her for a long time now. She had given up so much with the war, and yet here she is still going and being where she doesn’t even need to be. He would never ask more from her nor her family.

And if he’s breathing that means he, too, has so much more to see of it.

He had been overwhelmed before this battle, overwhelmed within the battle, and now, more than ever, he is overwhelmed as the expectations rise, and new responsibilities sit upon his doorstep.

They all wait for him outside. They await his next move, and his word of what is to come next. They had won the battle over Otogakure but for so much more than it had been worth. Victory had been what it was called but it had truly been a loss. They had stood their ground and the cost had been so much more then they should have paid.

Fickle. That had been the truth behind this victory.

His uncle lay in wait to be buried. His wife lay within their room without wake.

This emptiness inside him is feeding his soul. He has to stay grounded beside her, but he finds himself locked with the walls of his home unable to find the will. That feeling that had consumed him couldn’t drag him back. If he did there would be no guarantee he could reign supreme over it once again—not with her like she is.

The gauze is wrapped so thick upon her skin. She has color once again but even that’s not enough to comfort him. Those pale rose colored strands aren’t the vibrancy of spring, and those viridian haven’t looked his way in so many days.

Had this victory, in name only, been worth this? Had it been worth the lives of his people, and the lives of his men? Had all of it been worth it?

No. None of this had been worth it.

He had told them before they had marched out—before they had made their way to Otogakure—to remember their worth. He had wanted them to remember why it is that they continued to leave their loved ones, and why it is that they continue to never see the end of the war.

Do you think we are condemned to hell? Looking for hope. I know it can be hard to see.

All of them had been looking for hope. They had looked forward believing their leader would bring them to the days of peace. It had been hard to see them then and now, more than ever, even he questions if they exist. After all that they had been through, after this last battle, could he truly call upon them again? Would they trust a leader who had marched them to their graves after reminding them that they truly were worth more than the dust they had been born from?

Destined to die from the moment of our birth—do not forget everything you are worth.

Sometimes they all need reminders of what they are worth.

Yet, as he sits here staring down at his wife who has yet to awaken he cannot find his own. He cannot see why it is they should follow him after this last battle, and why all of his birthright is meant to lay within his hands. This new will Madara had demanded had been their downfall.

It had weakened their hearts, and weakened their spirits. It had taken more than it had given, and it had all been in selfishness. He knows selfishness because that was the only thing that had kept him alive in this last stand off with death. How could he have dared to put their lives before the underworld for such a thing?

No more dreams are lost in time. No more lives will be lost in stride. The cruelest of irony lays upon those words.

Half lidded eyes and the smallest curve of his lips washes across his face. It’s bitter, and churlish at its best. Slowly shifting his leg out from under him he feels the pain biting upon such movements. The way his chest moves summons forth the urge to cough out. He’s shown enough weakness in his home he cannot show them even more.

Hadn’t he had enough of this?

Kiestuma Senju—he had looked down upon that man in the moment of his victory. He had mocked that man as he reigned supreme, and claimed that such a man was not worthy of his wife. There was no denying how much he had truly felt that in that moment.

Yet, who was he to look down upon someone who had given it all? Worth—the level in which a person or thing deserves to be valued.

Sasuke Uchiha had deemed himself so worthy of her. How could he be worthy when he couldn’t even keep her safe?

That promise had been made with every intent, and yet he had failed her regardless. So much feeling and heart lingered upon such promises. Just like he had put forth so much feeling to make sure his men knew of their own place. All of that heart he had put forward had been for nothing.

—because he wasn’t worth anything at all.

Hadn’t he had enough yet?

“She would be so displeased to see you sitting beside her like this.”

The turn of his head subtle but quick in holding the eyes of the woman upon the door. The inhale she takes makes it clear she’s disappointed but it doesn’t lessen the smallest of smiles upon her face. Why Hikaku’s wife continued to give to this war when it had only brought her harm he couldn’t fathom.

Her steps are soft as she takes her place across from him, “I promised you she would be fine didn’t I?” she’s not looking at him—no she’s looking so adoringly at his wife.

The words are upon the tip of his tongue. He wants to tell her he can’t believe that until she finally opens those wide doe eyes. He can’t trust that she’s not lost to him as well.

In more then one way, and it had been entirely by his own hand.

“I would never lie to you. By the time you woke up she was out of danger.” his eyes follow the way she brushes his wife’s hair from her forehead, “I’m surprised she had lasted as long as she had with such little chakra—but she’s regained color, and it looks like the fevers finally gone. All good signs.”

Still he gives no response as he watches her go about changing the gauze, “We would of liked to give her more attention but with so many of you injured we had to be sparring.” it’s a whisper as she continues replacing the gauze and dabbing the wounds with a cloth.

The shift of his eyes comes at the widow saying such a thing—he had done this to all of them. This is what marked him as being unfit to lead and unworthy of being their heir.

It’s a moment of silence from her as she finishes looking over his wife, and then a momentary lack of movement that has him bringing his eyes back to her and it’s in that moment he feels himself unsure of what she’s doing. Obsidian gaze so firmly upon his lone obsidian. The shift of his jaw comes at such a look. She’s searching him but he doesn’t know for what. The flare of her nose comes with a deep inhale, and it leaves him questioning if she’s found what she was looking for.

“Do you think this is okay? Do you think this is right?” it’s the barest of whispers as if speaking any louder would disturb his wife.

The flutter of his lid comes as the confusion decorates him in pinched brows and the deep set of his mouth.

“You think it’s okay for you to sit here like this? Sitting here wallowing in self pity, and self loathing? You think that is what you should be doing?”

Feeding and shaping. Feeding, and reaping.

It takes a lot to take the beating.

Once it’s done he’ll be deaf from all the internal screaming.

Had he truly had enough yet?

“I don’t know what happened, nor do I care, but how dare you.” her voice is tight within a hiss.

All this emptiness feeding upon his soul.

He knows this all to well because it happened when his mother passed.

“My husband and I put all of our faith in you—I continued to put my faith in you along with my children. How dare you do this to him, to me, and to my children—” his eyes are widening as her eyes begin to glass over, “but more importantly how dare you do this to her.”

Has he had enough?

“How dare you take her love and turn it into something like this.” the twist of her fingers within her kimono makes her frustration all the more real, “How dare you use her to make excuses so you can hide in this room and ignore your responsibilities.”

“She is my wife—what am I to do but stay by her side!?” the words finally find their way off the tip of his tongue hot and sharp, “Would you not stay by Hikaku’s side?”

Wide doe eyes grace him and then the tear falls and with it comes the smallest shake of her head “I would never use my husband like this. I would never lower him down so far.” her words are just as sharp and make it clear she cares little for his title of heir in this moment.

All this emptiness is devouring his soul. Just like when his father had passed.

It’ll never leave if you let it win.

Has he had enough of this?

“Get out!”

“No. I am forever in debt to your wife for being there when I needed someone most—when Hikaku could not comfort me from his grave.” her voice has finally begun to rise with each word she speaks, “I will not allow you to take your love for her and turn it into hate!”

His words are caught deep within the base of his throat. He could choke upon them as this woman rises before him with her hands twisted within fists and her gaze down upon him.

Feeding. Shaping.

“I knew you were better than this! He knew you were better than this! She knows you’re better than this! She would never allow you to sit in here like this. It would crush her! She would blame herself for you being like this! She would—she would—she would absolutely hate to see you in such a state!” her form shakes as she lets her voice out louder as if he is too far away to hear her, “She would do everything possible to try and take your pain onto herself just so you wouldn’t sit in here with such loathing!”

Reaping. Emptiness.

Just like when his brother had betrayed him and took up sides with the Senju.

“Wake up! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop wasting how much we cherish you like this!”

Had he? He had. He has. He truly has had enough of this.

“I came here to check on her one last time, and make sure for myself that she would be alright. I hoped she would be awake by now—but she isn’t and instead I get to see you like this. Be a man and a proper husband to her.” the tightening of her voice has returned and makes it all the more clear she’s barely containing her lividity.

He feels as if he’s been hit. It’s as if she’s struck him down, and thrown him deep within the river just beyond the village, and all that comes with it is panic, fear, trepidation, and consternation. He’s quick to move and get to his feet even as his body cries out with waves of pain at moving so fast, “What do you mean one last time?” his mouth is going dry—what has he done?

“We are leaving. I had hoped to tell her myself. I am moving in with my mother so I can have help with the children. Sakura-sama has been so good to me—I hate to leave her, and you. I hate to leave this village. This is home, but I need to protect my children first and foremost. I will not allow them to become warriors in their father’s place.”

“I would never ask that from you.” his voice shakes weak and desperate.

“The future is forever unclear. You say this now—but what of their own free will? If I take them from here they will not be surrounded by this—this need to take up arms.” she’s turning and then there’s a pause at the door as he tries to make his way to stop her, “Please tell her I will write to her. Please tell her thank you from the bottom of my heart—and thank you for doing all you can and will continue to do for my family even as I selfishly run. I lost Hikaku, but I cannot lose them too.” the tightening of her fingers upon the wood make it clear she cannot look at him as she says these things.

Just as he thinks she will leave his home and the will to stop her has left she turns to him with that smile she had come with upon her face, “My husband cherished you so much, and I, just as he did do as well. Please take care of her, Sasuke-sama.”

Shifting his weight does nothing to ease the waves of pain that come upon his body with so much movement, “I—I will. Please write her—and know you will forever be welcome home.”

His wife had created a home for this woman. This widow had come not just out of obligation for her clan but out of the love she had for his wife. She had come here knowing she was leaving, and that she needed to say goodbye. He cannot stop her with such determination, and such honesty.

She doesn’t do this for any other reason than out of the love she has for her children.

The Uchiha love deeply, and he expects nothing less.

Turning his head he can’t help but take in the ethereal woman that is his wife. Even with such acts occurring around her she sleeps so deeply. Even hurt, and held together with gauze she is still the spring nymph he has locked within his mind. It makes him all the more uneasy—he’ll have to leave her to rest. He needs to bury his uncle without her, and he needs to take control of his clan here and now.

Sometimes he needed a reminder of what he was worth.

Sakura Uchiha is the life, and the love of his people. Taking her love—no, not hers this isn’t just a one-sided feeling—to take his love for her and turn it into such loathing would truly crush her.

He had built her up as such and to lower her would be shameful. He would no longer shame her in such an unsightly way. He needed to go forth and give his people their right to mourn. He needed to ease their hearts filled with unease, and uncertainty.

Footsteps slow he makes his way back to her side. His skin brushes against her hand. It lays so still and without movement upon the sheets as the other lay tucked and in a sling matching his own. The curl of his fingers upon two of her own is firm. It’s a gentle squeeze as his thumb brushes against her bruised knuckles.

The inhale is deep as he takes this moment before he’ll leave her side. He may be battered and bruised. He may be injured and still in need of healing—but the world stopped for no man.

Yes. He had, had enough. So rise up from the ground because no more dreams will be lost in time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Slowly the ceiling comes into view and there’s a dryness to her throat. Her muscles ache and she can’t be certain if it’s from injury or from lack of use. Turning her head she can’t help but hope he’s laying beside her—and yet he isn’t.

The nuzzle of her pillow makes her fingers twitch before she starts to push herself up. Their home is quiet and she can’t help but take in the sound of the birds singing their praises of the sun. Clearing her throat her lungs feel full making her muscles twitch at such a harsh movement.

Her mind feels as though its in the clouds and as she forces herself upon her feet shaky and reaching for the engawa only floods her with a sense of calm. There’s no explanation for such a thing when she couldn’t be of help to her husband—and yet there’s this feeling within her chest that there’s no need to worry.

Her fingers struggle for only a moment to slide the door open, and just like as her husband does she seeks to remain calm within the presence of his garden. This place is something he found so much silent joy within and she too longs now to look upon it.

Easing herself down is rough and lopsided. It’s not elegant in the slightest but she manages and she sits with her legs dangling over the edge. She’s still feels fatigue, but she has far more chakra than she had that day—how many had passed as she slept away?

That summer sun is warm and so inviting. It has her rolling her head back and taking all of its rays in. Her skin feels dirty but that breeze keeps that summer heat from being too overwhelming. She’ll need to get back on her feet soon. There’s no doubt her husband is already doing whatever he can for his clan.

There’s only the smallest bit of hope he’s not back upon the battlefield so soon.

The swing of her legs makes it clear how tight her muscles are. The discomfort isn’t enough to stop that slow sway, though. A hum raspy and rough upon her throat falls. She can’t remember her final moments upon the battlefield clearly but there is one thing she can remember.

That world was a place her husband had ventured too many times before and during their marriage, and she had but just a taste. Those sleepless nights he had are all the more clear. This weight upon her shoulders. This is what weighed her husband down without remorse—this was but just a piece of what had made him who he was today.

At some point or another she had allowed herself to become naive. She had taken the occupation to be a medical shinobi but she had been but a mockery. Avoiding the front lines had been something she had been so good about. She had stayed within neutral villages and hospitals never truly understanding the struggle of the shinobi she had treated.

All of her morals had been childish. She now could say she understood their side. She had looked down upon them all at some point for taking lives, but how many times had she not done the same?

They hadn’t been her first kill. They hadn’t been her second. They certainly hadn’t been her third.

That realization is all too heartbreaking.

Never had she spared a single thought for those she had attacked as she made her way through Kusagakure to get to her father. Not once had she taken into consideration the lives she was altering when she had told her husband how to take Tanigakure. Not a single tear had been shed as she fought her way to get to her husband.

No—it was the minute she had beaten those men down out of fear that it had truly dawned on her that she was no better. She had at some point placed herself upon a pedestal as if what she did was so much better—as if she was a better human being.

She was no different from them.

They hadn’t killed all that had opposed them because they had wanted to. They had done it because it was their lives on the line.

She had been far worse—she had helped to conquer and she had helped to bring civilians to their knees.

She had built up excuses for herself.

There’s a bitter laugh that has her pressing her hand against her chest at the soreness within her lungs at such a reaction.

No—she needed to be more honest. She hadn’t even done that.

She had just ignored it, pretended it wasn’t a thing, and never took a moment to consider anyone but herself.

She had been self-centered.

At some point she had thought she understood her husband. Understanding hatred had only made her realize how much he had been hurt. She had understood so little. Only a piece of him had been considered and yet she had asked for him to love her. She still has so much to learn and this was but another piece of him she had finally understood.

Her husband and all of those around her carried such heavy burdens upon their shoulders, and she had subconsciously placed all of her own upon their shoulders as well.

Facing that burden, and accepting it.

Taking that weight upon her own shoulders—and sharing the burden along with her husband.

That is what those families deserved. She was not saintly. She was not pure by any means. She had decorated herself as such and yet she had been just a dirty as the rest of them. At no point should she have ever judged them—at no point should she have allowed herself to dance with naivety.

The press of her fingers upon her arm is warm, and the lower of her head comes to follow it.

How many people had come to hate her for taking their loved ones? Their friend? Their child?

She won’t let herself cry—that would be cruel to them. She won’t beg them for forgiveness. At some point she’ll have to stand before King Yan and await his judgment upon her for such cruelty.

Healing, and saving others isn’t going to help her escape her day before him. She had gone far beyond protecting herself in the face of being tortured. Her own friends, and family wouldn’t dare judge her for such things, and that’s why she has to be the one responsible for judging herself.

Her husband would simply seek to give her comfort—protect her from herself after doing such a thing.

He would never judge her. He would never hold her accountable. Holding herself accountable. Recognizing the people she had hurt.

It won’t end with those men. There will be others, and she’ll have to carry that burden within the future.

She is the one who has to do those things.

Her fingers move with the slowest of movements pulling upon the sleeping robe and exposing her arm. It’s with caution she removes the sling. She won’t heal the wound completely. She’ll leave the ache, and she’ll leave it with the dull pain. Its not enough to repent but she wants to make sure she remembers this clearly. Remembers that she too is no better than them.

That warmth that comes from the wood of the engawa sends the oddest of sensations upon her finger tips. She can’t help but take hold of her bicep as she takes in that fresh scent within the small breeze.

Those men had been so cruel playing with her—but at some point they too had to of been decent people.

They too had loved ones who would no longer be able to hold them.

The curve of her mouth is small and hinted upon the corners. Her husband had probably felt that moment so many times. Felt like he was going to die and in panic gone too far. He, too, at some point had lost himself in the fear.

That is how he’s survived up until now, and she wouldn’t dare judge him for such a thing again.

She wouldn’t judge the Senju, and she wouldn’t judge the Uchiha. She wouldn’t judge Kakashi, and she wouldn’t judge Naruto. They all deserved nothing but understanding.

Her own cousin fought on the front lines—she should have learned this lesson forever ago.

“S-Sakura-sama!”

The call of her name has her turning and the drop of her mouth in curiosity. How long had she been out to raise such concern? Viridan barely have time to trail the wood or the paper doors. They immediately make their way to those obsidian she loves so much.

The lift of her cheeks and that spread of her mouth is no longer subtle upon the corners of her mouth. He’s hesitating, and there’s something that crosses his face that she wishes she could understand. She’s sure that’s another piece she’ll come to learn of one day. They have so much to discuss, but there’s something far more important she has to do right in this moment.

“Welcome home.” her voice is soft as her shoulders roll up, “Sasuke-kun.”

Her desire to welcome him home had been what had pushed her to make her way to him. It had pushed her to defend herself and kill those men. It had given her the drive she had needed.

She had meant it when she told him she would welcome him home, and she will do it every chance that comes her way. She will make sure he knows that there is a home for him to go to when the weight upon his shoulders is too much. She’s here to help hold that burden with him, and she does so gladly.

He doesn’t have to carry it by himself any longer.

She had said she would take all of his pain if she could—and this is just the start of it. She’ll take his burden and she’ll share his pain so he doesn’t have to bare it all alone ever again.

He’s so slow in making his way to her. He needs to be healed. That gauze upon his eye, and that sling that his hand rests in. She couldn’t do it before but she’ll do her best to do it now. She doesn’t have all of her chakra back but to give to him is what she does best.

“Leave.” his voice sounds so weak compared to his usual strong tone and immediately she thinks he’s speaking to her.

Heavy and large the oxygen sits in her throat. The way in which her heartaches at such words has that calm washed from her instantly. This was punishment for the cruelty she had caused him in that world she had naively walked upon. This was something she deserved for her lack of understanding.

The maids rushing from their sides does little to ease her belief that command is for her as they just stare at one another. Viridian to obsidian. Eyes holding and staying upon the other without the ability to remove themselves from the other. This man before her had seen the acts of war. This man had been molded and reshaped to adapt to the chaos she had turned a blind eye to. Hardened and sculpted by the flames that spread around him.

That shift of his weight cannot be missed, and neither can the way his throat moves as he swallows as if he is uncomfortable. This discomfort is her fault. To explain herself and to make her feelings clear is all she can do, but that does not mean he has to listen to her.

“You are free to leave. You are a prisoner of war no longer. There will be no act against you for this.” the way in which his eyes have left her as he speaks makes him look so weak and exhausted.

The panic is overflowing. It’s overflowing and it’s covering all it can touch like that of a bath left to fill for too long. He is releasing her. He is allowing her to leave his side with no punishment, and that alone is a punishment in itself. He is casting her aside because of what she has done, and once again there is no one to blame but herself. This heavyheartness is entirely done by her own actions, thoughts, and hands.

Helping the enemy is treason. Healing the other side had hurt this family she had gained through marriage.

“But understand this is the only time I will grant this. This is the only time I will allow it.” there’s a firmness to the way he says these words and the smallest of shakes to his shoulders.

That timber of his lip makes her open her mouth to respond—to desire to tell him this is not what she wants—but as he speaks again she cannot find the strength to speak such words, “Also understand—I will not give up.”

It’s those eyes finally back upon her own that makes her ache. It’s the way he looks like he has lost everything and there is nothing left for him to protect. He says all these things, and he grants her such will of her own at what price? What price is he paying to say such things?

Had they truly been so far apart that he thinks in such ways? Had she led him to this conclusion?

Had that divide between them never been crossed? It had been such a great divide.

The burn within her mouth is only second to that of her eyes. This man she had learned to love was slipping through her fingers. He was not of two sides. He was not a coin. He was so much more complex than that, and yet he is but a man.

Just an ordinary man like any other. Not a myth or a legend.

This eye contact they hold she cannot maintain it. The flutter of lashes is her enemy as the drops fall and she wishes she could hide. He says he will not give up—but what does that mean?

What does this man mean when he says he will not give up? Does he mean for his clan? Does he mean for victory? He didn’t need to tell her such things. Sasuke Uchiha is a man of his word. He speaks when he wants to be heard, and when he wants his thoughts to be made clear. The smallest of hope wishes to romanticize such a conviction—to believe it’s not about those things he holds onto with such pride, but instead about them.

“And if I chose to stay?” that break within her voice is harmful and shows so much of her own insecurities and faults.

It shows to much of herself. It shows the way this hurts and it shows how weak she truly is against the tide of life. A strong and supportive wife she had wished to become, and all those efforts were for nothing. All those efforts were but wasted attempts to hide that she was not fit for him, and he not for her. She recognizes these things but that’s not stopping the build up of tears or the way she tightens her hold upon her arm, “If—if I don’t want to lose my family?”

My husband—my husband is a good man.

“Your family will not be harmed. I told you there will be no acts against you.” that exhaustion is back within his tone and she’s sure if she looked at him he would be shaking his head.

She can’t look at him, though, because if she does it’ll hurt more. It’ll break that small fragment of hope. He says this as if he isn’t her family. He speaks as though she only talks of her mother, and those locked away in Konoha. Had she truly allowed herself to believe they were family when he did not?

That is the deepest of wounds he could inflict, and he had done so. It’s deeper than his sword could have touched. Would him thrusting it within her being back on the battlefield have been better? That shake of her head comes and that crumbling before him is inescapable, “Were we never family? Was it so wrong of me to believe otherwise?”

She thinks she’s heard her name but she can’t even begin to process it as she sits here curling within herself for allowing herself to of been so naive—for hoping so much.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to lose my home. I don’t want—” that selfishness from deep within her core just continues to pour out, and there’s no sense within her to hold her tongue and take this is stride.

She knew this was a possibility, and she knows she has no right to hurt in this way. She had committed treason on the battlefield and he was being so much kinder than he should have. Before this battle they may have been family and she’ll hold onto such disillusion because that is all she’ll have left. She wants to believe that more than anything.

He’s kind. He tries to do everything for our clan. Our family.

He could use her to make a public example. He could kill her here and now. He could go after her mother, and he could go after the rest of her family. He could do so many things right now and he is allowing her to leave without any of those consequences.

There was no hearing his footsteps and no way for her to prepare for him to wrap his arm around her as he presses her against him. It sends that panic rippling through her that he intends to remove her from his home here and now as she acts so shamefully before him. She won’t stop him. She cannot stop him. She deserves all of this.

It’s the softest of whispers within her ear. The gentlest of soothing sounds meant to comfort her as he presses his face against her own. Her heart, and her mind cannot make sense of it but it doesn’t lessen the ease it provides for her. Once again he’s showing that kindness the world neglects to accept and believe exists. He should be disgusted with her for her treason, and yet he is doing his best to comfort her.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” that question is filled with an ache she cannot understand.

She can barely understand the question, “I have no right to ask for such things—but what can I do when what I want is here?”

“I thought you would leave.” that press of his forehead to her shoulder comes with such admission and it stills her being and makes her cries lock within her throat.

He thought that she would leave his side. He thought if he gave her the option—gave her a choice—she would choose to leave his side. This man was not punishing her as he should have been. He was allowing her to freely choose where she wished to be, “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Why would you not leave?” he says something so simple, and yet there’s so much hidden behind that question.

Here in her act of treason he is acting as if he has wronged her. He is acting as if what had transpired had not been because she hadn’t been clear with her intent. He’s placed all the blame of what had happened upon his own shoulders instead of where it rightfully belongs.

“I have not been a prisoner of war in such a long time. You are my husband, and I am your wife, Sasuke-kun.” it’s the barest of whispers but it holds such fragility, and fear that what she thinks he’s admitting to may not be what it seems.

This could be just one of the many misunderstandings they’ve had. Just another moment in which they’re divided and clouded with uncertainty in what the other is saying, “I wouldn’t have given up.” Those five words have her turning to him to take him just as much into her as he has brought her to him, “I would done whatever it took to regain your hand—to make you my wife.”

It’s his face in hers hands, and god does it hurt to see him in such a state. Seeing him so battered and bruised. So broken, and worn. It had been about them, and not about this clan. It had been about trying to maintain their marriage even if she left his side. He had agonized over this as she slept and recovered. He had lived in such a world of unknown over what would transpire between them. Yet, here she sat wallowing in her insecurities and he had been awaiting for her to come to while bathing in his own.

Running her fingers within his hair is such a habitual action as the wind comes softly across their skin. He had been so scared of losing her. He had feared her leaving his side even after she had told him she loved him with all of her heart he thought she could disappear at a moments notice. All of those insecurities were just a reminder of what he has lost already. He feels such fear and he believes in such possibilities because they have been done before.

She will uproot them every time they bloom. This fear of loss just shows how much he feels. When he had first come within the room to find her on the engawa she had welcomed him home, and she will welcome him home once again, “Welcome home, Sasuke-kun.”

“I am home.”

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Chapter 20 The Faith

Her legs are moving before she can even think. Her husband needs her and she cannot stand idly as he's being attacked before her eyes, and sent out of her reach. It's only a few steps before it's all brought to a halt as her name is called out. Kakashi's fingers are held stretched out before her with eyes holding a plea.

"Sakura you have to help Naruto. We need to get the beast locked back inside him and we can't do that if he's dead." there's a graveness to Kakashi's voice that does nothing to ease her.

"But, Sasuke-kun, he—"

"He's been doing this for a long time. He can defend himself." the frustration is evident upon every word as his fingers fall tightening within a fist at his side, "If you go there you'll get in the way."

They're in a stare down and she knows what he says is right, but that doesn't mean she can't try. It doesn't mean she can't provide support for her husband. If he were to die—if she let's him die what good is she to him?

There had been so much hurt, and so much distress brought by her hand alone. The look that had flashed across his face had made it completely clear she had been the one to wound him deeply. They needed to talk. She had to make him listen, and understand that she hadn't done this to stand against him.

She believes in the world that he can bring.

Even after he's pointed his blade her way she cannot think otherwise. Because cruel men don't look like that—cruel men with damned intentions don't hurt like that.

This had become a slaughter, and she needed him to see that. They weren't fighting to bring peace. They were fighting to murder.

A glance upon the blonde's slow and shallow breathing has her lips trembling. He's dying. This man who had pulled her from her anguish inside Konohagakure is dying, and her husband, the one she is bound to, is fighting against a man who does so in her name. Here and now she has to make a choice, and has to stick to a faith.

She can run to Sasuke's aid and walk away from this man who needs her, or she can believe in her husband's strength, and heal the blonde.

The swallow she makes burns her throat as it goes down. Her eyes burn equally as they hold back tears of frustration—can she live with herself? That's what this comes down too. Regardless of which decision she makes she has to live with these choices, and be able to look at herself within the mirror everyday knowing who she's picked, and who she's left waiting.

Or even worse dying.

Every second she wastes leaves her with less time on both ends. To stand. To wait. To sit here contemplating her choices when it should be obvious what she should do.

Her husband is a man who's done this since he was a child. This male of lead colored hair wasn't wrong.

How many times had she not seen him off before now? How many times had he not come home to her? How many times before their marriage had he come home broken?

Was her faith in him truly so little now that she's witnessed what happens to him when he's left her side?

Fists tighten, and her legs are moving as she gets beside the blonde. She has to get him stable and get him moving. They've wounded him gravely and left him with such little chakra. Palms press against his chest and that green glow comes over where she lays them. The pressure she applies makes his muscles twitch but causes no sign of waking.

Her husband was going to kill this man while he lay here already weak and dying if she hadn't come—if she hadn't stood against him—he would have done it.

The shake of her head comes—because no, it wasn't that simple for him. Her husband had been questioning. He was hesitating. She had seen for herself how fast he could be when he intended to harm. He didn't think twice. He didn't have a falter to his step, and here he had.

She says she loves him, and that he is home. She says that to hurt her husband is to hurt her as well, and yet she had hurt him in so many ways just now. There had been a lack of trust, and a lack of belief in him. Her husband was a lot of things. He was so many things. She had questioned him for the briefest of moments. Believed he was capable of striking this man down without care—without feeling.

Believed for those few moments—those few minutes in time—that he was capable of killing someone defenseless and unable to protect themselves. How can she ask of him to listen to her when she allowed herself to think so little of him and who he was?

Sasuke Uchiha was not that kind of man.

How was she to ask him to listen and hear her out—to understand her—when she hadn't tried to understand him just the same? Standing before him, and standing seemingly against him. Countless times she had proclaimed how kind he was. She had said so to her mother with such conviction, and yet when tested she couldn't prove it to even herself.

When had her husband ever taken a step without determination? When had he ever faltered before her like he had now? He hadn't. Not once. Not once had her husband done such a thing. If he desired something he made it occur. If he intended to speak—to be heard—he did. He was so many things, but he was not a man who acted without thought.

Her husband was not a cruel man. He did not find peace in the killing of others. He did not battle as if he was seeking pleasure. He fought because he wanted to protect.

A shuddered breath. The closing of lids.

Hatred. The word itself is heavy. It weighs you down, and yet so many people feel that, you know?

The ache within her chest. The hurt that follows behind it.

He doesn't leave her side because he wants to. He doesn't go forth upon the front lines because he wants to. He leaves because he's desperate to protect. He fights because he's desperate to hold onto what little he has left. He tries so hard. He tries with everything that he possibly can.

He shoulders all the responsibility everyone has put upon his shoulders, and in the moment where he needed someone to believe, someone to hold faith, she had failed to give him such.

The shake of her small frame. The bite upon her lip.

"My husband—my husband is a good man." it's the barest of whispers, "He's kind. He tries to do everything for our clan. Our family." she wants to beg this man before her to not think so ill of Sasuke, "So please, please, don't think ill of him."

She cannot even look at him as fingers come over her own. She has to concentrate and yet this is all she can think about—all she can feel—because her husband is hurt, and therefore, she is hurt too, "He loves. I swear he does—he's not this being he's been painted as." the tears fall unable to be stopped as they land upon this man she's trying to save, and upon the hand meant to comfort her.

"You don't have to try and explain."

Her eyes find his, "I do. I need you to understand. To understand him." the urge to hide her face as she cries before this man is there but she can't, and she won't because saving Naruto is the priority not her pride, "All of us have put our hopes upon his shoulders—he's weighed down by all of our selfishness, and yet—"

The hand upon her head causes her words to become stuck within the base of her throat, "Sakura." there's a tilt of his head and a squeeze upon her fingers, "He is a half of you is he not? He couldn't be if he was truly what everyone's said. You don't have to prove it to me. You don't have to prove it to anyone. As long as you know who he is that is all that matters."

The tears are falling faster, and there's no stopping it as her nose scrunches up and her mouth trembles, "He is my home."

"And, he is a good home to have." the way in which he closes his eyes sends a shake throughout her being, "You remind me so much of my wife. Rin and you—you hold the courage to know what not to fear when so many do not."

The widening of her viridian is slow as she takes in these words. They're heavy but full of heart. They hold a softness upon the outside and a strength below the surface. He can say these words to her because he knows. Kakashi doesn't need her to explain that her husband isn't the monstrous myth that cloaks him. He doesn't want her to explain that her husband is a good man, either. He understand this all too well and he speaks from experience—from the misunderstandings that have come upon himself with the cruelty of war.

Because he has a home too. He has a wife who is home to him, and therefore another half of him.

There's no words of gratitude. It lingers in the silence and shows through the smallest nod of her head. Her eyes flicker upon the male who's breathing still remains shallow even after she's brought his bleeding to a stop, and mended his skin back together.

Fingers slide out from under her own, and the comforting ones that remain. The inhale she takes is deep before she slowly works to give back what was taken. He needs chakra and she'll give as much of it as she can. She'll bring this man back from the brink of death, and make him able to stand once again.

Her skin tingles as she gives as much of herself as she can. The minutes are ticking but she can't move any faster than she is. This is a delicate process and one that needed the time it was taking. Her muscles are twitching from the pressure she's applying but she's been trained for this.

She's been trained to heal. To keep them all fighting.

Every minute that continues to tick by has her feeling weaker. He needs so much and it's all the more evident by the coloring upon his face. He's so weak in this state. She cannot possible give him all that he's lost, but just as her husband continues to try she, too, will continue to give whatever she can.

"Sakura, take a break." his thumb rubs against her hand as she shakes her head 'no' at such a request.

The chaos of war is loud, and it only continues to escalate as they sit here bringing the blonde back upon the field. Breaks are not an option. They need him now, and the longer she takes the worse the fighting seems to get all around them. It's those very sounds that fuels her desire to work harder. The cries that haunt the air she's sure will stay with her for longer than she could ever believe. The earth that shakes below without her assistance is something that makes her stomach twist. It has everything to do with that beast being free, and even more to do with the Uchiha leader.

Madara.

The loss of his brother had pushed him too far. This was a man who had turned his love into hate. That was why he was no longer the man she had known in those last two years.

Could Sasuke handle losing another? Could he handle the possibility of losing all three of his remaining family members so close together? No one should ever have to have such a thing fall upon their shoulders.

She was defying him, and yet she wants to save him. She wants to keep him from passing just as his brother had, and his father right before this. Another crash miles away and the vibrations it causes has her faltering and tumbling over. The sweat drips down and her breathing is escalating.

Just a little more. She just needs to push a little more.

The fingers behind her make her jump, and then calm as she realizes it's just Kakashi here to help her steady herself. Her body has become so weak—so tired. It's exhausting. All of this is exhausting.

War was such a tiring thing. It broke the body, and wounded the mind. Shaky hands press down upon the blondes chest once again. Those hands upon her shoulders are welcoming as he keeps her firm and in place. The hair upon the back of her neck is standing and she's trying to keep her breathing even. That breathing, though, is only getting deeper and heavier as she continues to pump her chakra into Naruto.

Time feels so slow in this process, and the slower it drags the more the world seems to blur. How much more can he take? How much more does she have to give? She's running low herself, and the lower she goes the more she'll truly get in her husband's way. She'll keep going, though, because she made this choice. So when it's done and she cannot hold herself up she can only hope she's done enough. Her stomach turns and nausea fills her throat.

Her lids are heavy and as she raises them slowly she takes in Naruto's face. She makes sure she watches the even rise and fall of his chest, and she gazes over the color that's come back over his skin.

Frustration plagues her and then all at once there's the twitch of his lids, and then that slow rise as those azure make themselves known. There's the flutter of her heart but there's no energy in her to let it show. He's waking and that means she's accomplished what she's sought to do. She can save what little chakra she has left to heal her husband.

Yes. She can finally make her way to them—to Sasuke and Kiestuma.

Keistuma had said he would protect her. He believed her to be forced into coming on the front lines, and of being treated poorly by this family given to her through marriage. She had to talk to him just as much as she had to talk to her husband. She needed him to see, and to understand that she had no intention of leaving Sasuke.

He needed to know the Uchiha had never lied to her. They hadn't made her stray from her beliefs—no, in fact, they had strengthened them.

"Slowly, Naruto." it's the softest of tones as she dares to press her hand against him.

"What happened?" the stiffness of his voice is evident but it doesn't lessen the smallest bit of joy it gives her.

"Madara has taken the nine tails from you." the gentlest of squeezes comes upon her shoulder as Kakashi chooses to take the lead.

Shifting slightly there's the slow raise of his hand as he flexes his fingers before him. There's a touch of melancholy to his actions that has that small joy she had felt falter in seconds. Inhaling is all she can do to try and settle her nerves as she takes the hand that's offered to her. The nausea is still lingering but she has to leave their sides.

She gives herself one more second to try and settle her nerves. They will go to Madara, and they will seal that beast back within Naruto. They will go against her husband's uncle. They will go against her family once again.

Fingers curl lightly, and while she has no right to ask for such things after what has happened she can't help but try, "Please—don't kill him."

Slowly the blonde is rising and his hands settle within his lap, "Sakura-chan, I—"

"Sasuke-kun, he's lost a lot. Madara is all he has left."

They're quiet and then there's the feeling of fingers within her hair as if to comfort her. They can't guarantee her anything. They can't make a baseless promise. To go against Madara was to kill or be killed. There's no denying it. Even more so there is no mistaking it.

She knows what she's asking can't be granted—Sasuke will lose another.

"We will do everything we can."

That small whisper is enough to make her look upon him with the widest of eyes. He's trying to give her hope in a place where it can't be found. The smallest tilt of her head is all she can give as acknowledgment. This small comfort he's trying to give is more than enough. This man of lead colored hair—he is still looking to provide her with comfort even when she should be the smallest of priorities.

"Please be safe—Sasuke-kun needs me." she knows they'll try to dissuade her if she stays among them any longer.

Her feet start to move and she doesn't get far. The grip upon her wrist makes it all the more clear, "I told you. You'll get in his way if you go now." his voice is so even and unlike his whisper just before.

She won't look at him. There's a truth behind his words, and a cowardice deep within herself in this moment. She's asking them to take care of Madara on her behalf instead of going forward and insuring he lives to see the days to come herself.

Her mouth tightens.

Kakashi has to understand. He, too, has a spouse. He, too, understands this importance in seeking out your other half—of seeking out home. That small comfort and hope he had given her is what fuels these actions—this single look she turns to give him. This look of her's is one that she hopes will make him see and realize why she has to go to her husband.

There's that shift upon his face, and the way that eye of his widens. He knows his own wife wouldn't hesitate. She wouldn't be stopped. If his wife was in her position, and he were in Sasuke's there is no doubt she would go to him no matter the cost.

Because he knows the meaning behind a union—behind a joining of two. They are but one half of the other.

That's why when she feels his fingers slacken upon her wrist she goes for it here and now. She rushes forward into the trees without wasting a second even if her body is weak in these moments.

He won't stop her, and there's that shout that makes it clear he won't let Naruto come for her either. She won't look back again. She can't look back again. She has to move forward and stand firm in what she has chosen today. The wisdom and strength Kakashi had spoken of in his attempt to comfort her had been mostly true.

Although, she hopes the next time they have a moment together she can correct him on one small thing.

Marriage had not taught her what not to fear. It had taught her to run straight at it.

He's smashed within the terrain. The ache of it all and the break of his weakened rib cage the last thing he can fathom as he stares up at this man. The grip upon his collar hoisting his face closer as those teeth grind together is strong within it's hold. If he lived and walked away from this would the man before him be what he will become?

Would he be overrun with malice? Would he be warped by this loss of her?

Those facial features—they're so twisted. Those brows are pinched together tightly and his eyes are sharp with wild grief—what does this man have to grieve? They've successfully taken everything from him.

"You've poisoned her." the spit that flies from this man's mouth makes his skin twitch.

He has no response to give—he's done nothing of the sort. She had made her choice.

He's pulled to his feet forcefully and barely able to gain his footing. Everything feels so heavy. All of his muscles, and all of his limbs. They're not responding to what he's willing them to do. The release of his collar comes but those fingers within his hair are harsher still.

"You are a criminal," his pugnacious actions are followed with so much venom upon every syllable, "and you will die like one!"

The fist that collides up into his chin sends his head back and the tremor it sends through out his being sends him into a state of deliriousness. The world is spinning and that taste of iron makes him question if he's bitten through his tongue.

One fist, and then two pound his already weak and broken ribcage—it's one more hit, and then it's another within his stomach.

He's going to die. This man is going to kill him.

He'll finally see his mother. He'll finally see his father. He'll look upon them written in shame—he hasn't done enough to give them peace.

Yet, he can't find it in him to even defend himself to provide that for them.

Would his form, bloody and bruised, send his mother into panic? Or would she turn from him, disgusted, as she should?

Would his loss of will to continue forward cause his father to worry? Or would he find him repulsive for letting a woman cause his end?

The taste of dirt comes within his mouth as he's smashed down upon the earth once more, "You took her from us—You took her from me!"

He wants to laugh. He wants to let it out from deep within his chest. He had never taken anything from this man.

The world is spinning and the nausea he's acquired from the pain is within his mouth. Where is the strength he is meant to hold as an heir in these moments?

Had the sky always looked so dark? Had it always looked like this?

When did his body start to feel so light? Is this what dying felt like? Is this how he made others feel?

"What could you possibly know of her?"

What did he know of this nymph of spring? What did he truly know of who she was?

This woman.

She blossomed in times of adversity. She held a strength so different from the strength of men and battle. She sought to give affection. She wanted to give more than she received. She never asks for anything while he asks for everything. She smiles from deep within herself.

She loves deeply.

She had never chosen them over him. She had just wanted him to open his eyes.

"I will be the one who brings her home."

To accept that what he was doing was not in the name of war.

This was a slaughter—it was wrong. This was not what they fought for. There was no victory in this.

"I will take her from this cruel life."

This was cruel.

Cruel to his people. Cruel to the enemy. Cruel to all of them—and he had been willing to do it just because he had been told to.

"I will be the one who makes her happy."

This answer seems so simple and yet he had been the one who had taken it in so deeply. He had taken everything as betrayal and turned against her.

He was the one who had wronged her. He had made her unhappy.

Oxygen struggles to make its way into his lungs—it burns. He is deep within a cliff broken into by his body. That last kick had sent him flying hard and fast. It held so many of this man's feelings for his dear wife.

His wife.

This man continues to speak of her as if she has no will of her own. He continues to speak of her as if she is but a mere object—Sasuke had treated her just the same.

A prize to be won. A treasure meant to be polished and shown.

She would never be happy with such a thing. She would want more—she deserves more than to be reduced to this. He can't die like this. He can't watch her be reduced to such a thing.

She is worth so much more.

His ears can barely catch the jutsu before he's smashed within the earth even more. What oxygen he's managing might not be enough but he's willing to do whatever he has to.

Kisetsuma's voice can barely be heard behind the earth that's covering him. It's muffled but it's just the push he needs, "I am going to marry her, and remove that sickening last name of yours."

The fire burns hot scorching his lips, and fingers as it collides against the earth. It's a desperate tactic, but all the more worth it as it makes its way out and releases him from this grave this man had sought to keep him deep within.

It's a wheeze of air, and absolutely oxygen deprived but the smirk that stretches across his lips makes the taunt all the more amplified, "She will never be your wife."

That speed that had left him has returned. His body no longer feeling the weight of his shattered resolve. He's injured and in need of repair, but that won't stop him. He'll die before he lets his wife fall into this man's hands. He won't let her live a life like this.

He'll die trying. He does so gladly.

He will push himself beyond his limits. He will make sure that her future stays safely within her own hands.

It's a clash of arms and the grabbing of fists. One attack after another. Each one giving and each one returning. His body has suffered. His mind has suffered more. He must return the favor.

It's a promise of a lifetime he gives to himself.

His voice cries out. The force at which they go echos within the air and forever changing this earth. This was a battle for more than just ideals. It had started out for all the wrong reasons. It had come with the pain of losing one of their own.

It had been out at the edge—that moon reflecting before him.

He'll give his life. He won't let this new dream fall apart.

This is the end—

[ombreecha]

Lights Out

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Rated: T/Slight M Prompt: Incubus!Cloud and Aerith

Sheltered. Protected. Held up and bathed in light.

That’s the only world she’s ever known. Her mischievousness kept at bad in fear of making her adoptive mother worry. Fear in making the wrong move and causing her a panic she never meant to cause. She’s been blessed far more than those around her in this small town.

Her world is like that of a greenery. Delicate and handled with care whilst being stowed behind glass walls meant to protect yet provide her with the warmth of the sun. Maybe that’s why she’s grown so fond of this hobby—of those flowers that she waters daily and then plucks to sell for the simple price of one gil.

In before dark and kept away from whatever haunts within the night. Twenty-two and still treated as if a small child—too naive and too pure to handle the cruelty she can’t see.

She knows this woman who has raised her with such warmth and protection means no harm. She knows the people within this small town mean no harm just the same as they treat her no different.

That’s why when the lights turn on shining down upon those brick roads she makes her way home—because she’s not meant to know what goes bump in the night. It’s something she doesn’t know, and something she doesn’t understand. She only longs to see the good around her.

So that’s why when she gets her first true scare at night, because she’s lingered too long in the market place, she rushes home. She can’t help but feel like she’s being silly and proving them right. Her mother almost confused by how disheveled she looks as she rushes in the door and locks it shut.

Muffled apologies is all she provides trying to take back the concern lingering in her mother’s eyes before heading up the staircase with fingers pressed upon the wall to steady herself.

Silly. That’s what she’s being because she’s an adult and she can’t allow herself to just accept being naive.

Impressive eyes. She’s sure she had seen them.

Yet, they were gone the moment she looked over her shoulder. They were impressive and yet haunting.

It’s with the smallest of breaths and those heavy lids that she lays there almost chastising herself, and then the sweep of her lids falling to lay still as sleep over takes her. It’s a dream because those eyes she saw are staring down at her, and she’s already decided they didn’t exist. She’s a twenty-two year old girl with a rampant imagination.

The thud of her heart against her chest doesn’t produce even the smallest of stirring. Maybe it’s that mischievousness she’s locked away finally coming to the surface. All she knows is she’s curious as this man sits above her. There’s no question about where his hands are going—she wants to see what’s going to happen next in this dream of hers as he slides them upon her skin. She feels warm as he presses himself closer to her. The feel of his hair as it touches her only sends the smallest feelings through her.

Is this just some simple childish curiosity—or is it temptation? Excitement? Perhaps it’s thrill?

She’s twenty-two. She’s not stupid. She knows what’s coming when he slides her legs up. No. This behavior isn’t one expected of her. Her letting some man she doesn’t know touch her in such a way isn’t what’s expected of her. Her brain tells her that she shouldn’t be doing this. That her mother would be disappointed—it’s just a dream though, remember?

That’s right. This is just a dream. No one has to know.

What she doesn’t expect is her bodies own reaction to this heavy petting he’s providing. Those fingers behind her night clothes. That breath against her ear. That mouth he just pressed firmly against her own.

She wants to see what it’s like to no longer be trapped behind glass walls while the sun bathes her.

That’s why. Yes, that’s why she reacts without shame. That’s why she’s letting herself no longer be the innocent daughter, and the naive girl in town who sells flowers. That’s why she’s reacting by letting her voice out when she rolls her head back as he slides inside her.

He’s gorgeous.

This man she’s conjured up inside her head is something she’s sure is only in those books she hides beneath her bed. This man and his impressive eyes. This man and his blonde hair that she touches as she slides her hand upon his face before he takes her lips once again—and it’s here she wakes up drenched in sweat with her limbs tangled within bed sheets.

Out of breath. She feels completely out of breath. Shooting up from her bed doesn’t help.

It’s hard to look her mom in the eye. It’s hard to look anyone in the eye. That’s why when they call her name she barely notices. She barely hears them. She doesn’t want to hear them.

She feels like those eyes of his are everywhere, but they’re not because it’s just a dream.

That’s why when the day is over and as she’s shutting the light off she doesn’t know why she’s getting so excited once again. She doesn’t know why she’s anticipating something—

because it’s just a dream. If it’s a dream she doesn’t want it to stop.

And it doesn’t. It doesn’t stop. It keeps happening. He continues to ravishing her within her bed. He continues to make her head toss against the sheets. He continues to press those hands against her skin.

What embarrassment she had felt that first morning after has long since left her days into this. It’s disappeared within the air. She feels almost brazen about what comes the moment the lights are turned off.

He continues for weeks having his way with her, and her enjoying her way with him. He’s silently teaching her things. He barely makes a sound with only the occasional breathy groan, and subtle noise. He’s treating her how she longs to be treated. As an adult—as a woman. Not a little girl.

He’s letting her try her hand at so many things.

That’s why when the lights go out and she lays down she closes her eyes quickly longing for sleep to over take her—yet, he doesn’t come.

He doesn’t come the next day either.

When she’s waking up there’s disappointment to follow. The days that follow only make it grow. They make her question why she’s not having those dreams she doesn’t dare speak of. They make her question what she’s done. She remembers this man she’s made up perfectly, but he’s no longer waiting for her within the night.

She’s trapped. She’s trapped inside those glass walls once again.

The frustration is building. It’s festering up, and then it’s blowing over when she accidentally drenches herself with the watering hose.

She’s throwing it and swinging her arms. She’s cursing upon every breath she takes and then there’s the tears that follow after.

Perhaps she truly is a child. She’s throwing such a tantrum over things that don’t exist.

Over things that never happened. Over things she’s conjured within her own mind.

She doesn’t have the energy after such an act. She’s only lucky her mother didn’t see her acting in such a way. Although, she’s sure her mother had looked upon her face noticing her eyes puff from such a burst of frustration—such a down pour of tears—over literally nothing.

The lights turning off no longer give her comfort. Her head against her pillow no longer provides the relief she had been receiving. No. None of it. It’s not the same.

She’s not the same.

So when she closes her eyes with lids heavy and worn she doesn’t expect after a week of him disappearing to see him again.

She doesn’t expect him to give her the lightest of shakes. It makes her question if it’s normal to wake up inside of a dream. It makes her wonder why he’s sitting upon her bed instead of doing what they’ve always done. He just sits there with those ever impressive blue eyes staring down at her. It’s as if he’s looking for something. It’s as if he’s trying to find something upon her face—and then for the first time she watches as his lips move and he says her name.

Aerith.

She doesn’t recall ever telling him such a thing, but he’s a figment of her imagination, of course he knows it. As she sits up at the call of her name, which is nothing more than the barest of whispers in the night, his hand is there sliding against her leg and up her thigh.

That excitement he brings still comes from such a thing. Yet, somethings not right.

It’s obvious in the way he stops her hand from come to touch him, gripping it firmly. The shake of his head comes, and then that’s when she feels her breathing stop. Is this figment of her imagination rejecting her now?

How does this happen?

“Why?”

“I’m dangerous.” his response is immediate, and cold upon the ears.

“I don’t underst—”

“That’s the precisely why I stopped coming to you.” that gaze of his is pure steel as if to ward her away.

This man before her is the only one to ever make her feel as if he sees her as a woman. Not a child. She’ll be damned if she doesn’t get a reason, “Why?”

There’s a momentary silence. A second of time in which she watches the hesitation upon his brows before she feels her breath catch in her throat as his lips come to her ear.

That whisper in her ear doesn’t help to regain her ability to breathe. It only makes it more prolonged. She barely even notices when he stands up from her bedside.

“B-but—” she dares to try to find the words to respond to such a claim.

I’m an incubus.

It’s those footsteps he takes towards her window that make her jump with a startle to try and stop him. Her grip upon his wrist there as she haphazardly tries to get off her bed slamming her knees upon the floor, “Wait—please.”

What protected world had she been in? Was this what her mother had tried to protect her from? She clearly couldn’t have known this is what haunts the night. She still doesn’t even full grasp what he means when he says he’s an incubus—her imagination had truly run rampant in her desire to be seen as an equal. As an adult.

As a woman.

“Why me?” her voice sounds so small in this moment, and it eats away at her that she’s being looked upon as if she is no more than a child—after everything they’ve done.

The banging upon her door startles her further. Hearing her mother’s raised and concerned voice just makes everything feel so much more overwhelming. He’s kneeling and then it’s with another whisper within her ear that she feels her heart pound against her chest. The nod of his head comes and it’s as she turns to answer her mother’s frantic banging that he’s gone.

Easing her mother isn’t hard. A simple excuse of falling off the bed seems to placate her easily. It’s weeks after that, that she doesn’t turn the lights out.

It had to of been a dream. Yet, it’s perfectly clear it wasn’t.

She’s spent those nights with the lights on crying wondering everything. Questioning all that knows. It’s then when she finally decides to accept it and turn the lights out she’s not prepared for him to be standing there at her window.

As if he’s been waiting.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Author Note: Ayyyyye, dooooooooooope I'm still alive. Somehow? My dudes I'm officially 27 today haha and so with this birthday I present to you chapter 19. I've been up to my eyeballs in foam, glue, and more with Katsucon being next week. I wasn't about to not keep my word though, and so here we are. I get to dip my feet deeper into ol' maidhood, and you get new content.

Anyways. . .Man I'm gonna eat some motherfuckin tiramisu to celebrate when I get back from Katsucon and it's gonna be fuckin great #inserttonythetigerhere

Until then, please get some cake or whatever the fuck ya'll like. I love celebrating with you guys even if I can't IRL until after my shoots. Fanfiction is a pretty sweet way to celebrate yisssss.

Chapter 19 The Pandemonium 

Exhausted and worn she’s fallen with her hands digging within the earth. Those scarlet locks the only thing vibrant in this state. It’s those strands that keep him connected to the present.

The oxygen she’s taking in makes it perfectly clear how much this task has drained her. The nine tails is no longer bound by the Uzumaki. They’ve seized him and taken control. 

Words linger upon his tongue never entering the air even as he watches Obito reach down and grip a hold of her arm. After everything she’s done to remove the tailed beast they’re still not done with her. There’s a part of him that feels the need to stop this—there’s something eating away at him as he watches this.



This feels wrong, but this is what Madara demands.
 All of this feels like it’s too much.

What they’re doing right now—could you possibly say this was right?

Was this what their ideals had turned into? Had they become as cruel as the Senju and Uzumaki who had painted their love in the blood of others?

Were they truly any different? Were they not one and the same using such methods?

“You know what you have to do.”

He doesn’t need to be reminded of what’s expected from him. He remembers the words scrawled upon the scroll. He knows what his part in this is. Yet, it doesn’t lessen the way this continues to dig further and further upon his moral compass.

Hesitant. Unsure. He’s of two minds. Yet, he gives that nod of his head.

The way this man drags off his teammate has him wanting to reach out—to yell for him to stop.

To extend his hand and take a hold of her. Protect her. To save her.

He won’t. He can’t. To do so would be to go against what Madara has already put into motion. The way their treating her—she’s no more than a tool.

She was a person. She held a heart. She held a purpose beyond that of a tool. She was no different from him or them.

She had a worth beyond this plan.

“Sasuke! Help me!” her hand flies out as if to reach for him before being yanked without care.

As if she is nothing more than an object.

She’s never dared to say his name without a horrific attached. No apology he gives will ever be enough for what he’s allowing them to do—for allowing this person who had stood beside him unwavering and all on her own to be used so maliciously.

And now against her own will.

The scream she produces and the desperation that echos with the night haunts him. It twists him in uncomfortable ways. Refusing to lift a finger as she tries in vain to stay only makes this feel even more disgusting—more sickening.

He can do nothing. He is not the leader of their clan. He is just an heir meant to inherit the throne.

That’s how he’ll battle the guilt—the wrongfulness of his part in this. He’ll cling to the fact he’s not in control.

Inhaling deeply and removing his eyes from her only increases the disgust before he casts his eyes upon the male who can no longer defend himself.

Step after step—each one slow and careful. Naruto Uzumaki is no longer a threat. He’s on the verge death after having lost the nine tailed beast. Madara had gotten what he had wanted. Obito had succeeded and now all that’s left was to finally be rid of the blonde.

Yes.

Madara demands this. He orders it.
He will follow his leader down this road.

He’ll further dirty his already scuffed moral compass. He’ll ignore the increasing cracks that form upon it. He’ll ignore the voices screaming within his head. 



It’s bittersweet as he watches the weak rise and fall of his chest. He’s known this boy since he could remember. Their mothers had been close friends—a war separated them but they defied refusing to lessen their bond. It was overlooked and it was ignored all because she was a direct heir.



Whispers had filled the funeral when she had passed. —they had mocked and made claims no child should hear.

If she hadn’t been friends with that Uzumaki maybe she’d have lived.


Maybe she wouldn’t have left her children behind.

Traitor.



His tongue slides against the roof of his mouth. The resentment from that time has lessened over the years. It has become a dull ache.

This boy hadn’t harmed his mother—no, she just happened to be on her way home from visiting them when she was murdered in the name of war. Senju and Uzumaki were one and the same to him. They stole his mother from him, and robbed him equally of his father. The days where they played in their garden were nothing now. 



Could you have called them friends? 
Naruto had chosen the Senju, and he had chosen the Uchiha.
 They knew nothing of each other now outside of the battlefield.


No. They were never friends.
Their mothers were, but they, they, were never friends.



What would his mother say if she saw him preparing to kill her bestfriend’s son? 

His throat constricts at the thought. He loved his mother far more than that. He would do whatever it took to avenge her.

He feels lost in time—if he waited here forever would this feeling die? 
Would this sudden fear that his mother will forsake him disappear?

 He won’t cry if he kills this boy his mother had doted on as a child.

He won’t regret this.


They had tried to kill each other plenty of times before this—
Never had they been so close.



This is different. This situation is real. He’s going to kill this man—he’s going to kill Naruto Uzumaki.
He’s going to kill someone his mother had cherished.

She’d understand. She’d know he was doing what was right by her brother’s decree. There would be no shame upon her face for doing what he needed to in times of war. Fingers curl around the hilt of his sword and as it clicks from its hold it’s slide is slow and steady. That floral pendent his wife had given him swaying equally as slow with such movements. 



“Sasuke-kun! Stop!”



Freezing he can’t help but follow the call of her voice—how? How had she found him deep within the chaos? The grip upon his sword becomes loose as he takes her in. She’s out of breath and followed behind.

Seeing someone so close to her makes his grip tighten once more until he can clearly see who is with her—this man had made it clear he adored his wife during the festival.



“This is war Sakura.” 



Can she see how conflicted he is in this moment? Can she see how much it’s twisting him to know he’s going to kill someone so precious to his mother? 
Can she see the way his moral compass is spinning erratically?

Does she see the disgust brewing inside for himself? Does she know he’s dying inside?



Those even steps are there and there’s no missing the wounds she’s suffered on the battlefield. They’re not serious. They’re not fatal—but there is blood, and discoloration upon her skin and that’s terrifying enough.

It’s around her throat, and so many other places.

But as terrifying as that is there is something far more frightening in this moment that he’s clinging to. Is this where her love came to a halt?

She’s stopping him. She’s keeping him from slaying the enemy. They knew each other. Naruto had said it right before her dance. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t meddled and now it’s clear he should have. 

Had they always been close even before she became his wife?
Was he also cherished by her as well?

Naruto had gained his mother’s affection and now he would take Sakura’s from him just the same.

This. This is what hurts. This is what makes him question what he’s done to deserve his enemy taking everything from him. All of this—everything he’s ever lost—was thanks to the Senju and Uzumaki.

He loathes himself or being so weak. For playing into such thoughts—but how could he not?

He had reached out for her when he had known better. He had known not to give her any part of him. He had—he had given in to her. He had fallen for the anguish he had put her through. He had been desperate to fix all the cruel things he had done to this woman he had finally begun to see as his wife.

He rightfully deserved such things—yet the self pity in him refuses to accept that. He had lost so much already and the world was continuing to take everything from him.

He hates this blonde. Because projecting his self hatred onto him is easier to accept.

Fingers tighten around the hilt only to loosen a moment later. He wants to scream at her—she’s the one being cruel now.

How can she stand with them when she said she supported him? She’s not with him—she’s betraying him.

She is the one who’s cruel for coming into his world and lowering his guard. She’s the one who had made claims she wasn’t intending to keep in this moment.

She is the one he had desired to go further down the road of life with and now they were diverging.

He’ll loathe her too instead of overcoming his own faults—his own disgust for what he’s willingly becoming.

If it wasn’t for her he wouldn’t feel like this.

His mouth has gone dry as he tries to keep himself composed. She’s ruined him. She has completely destroyed it all. He wants to take back everything he’s ever tried to do and every attempt he had made to understand her better. He wants to take back believing she had become an Uchiha.

—as if it had been her birthright. As if she had loved him deeply.

He had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this. All of it had been decided for him.

He wasn’t given a choice in any of this. Yet, he had been the one to let her in.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good enough for her to put him before the enemy.

The tightening of his jaw slackens and then the control he always seems to have in place breaks in two. There’s no way to stop the way his eyes flutter and the way his mouth quivers alongside his heart that drops so painfully within his being. His eyes descend from her to the dirt below only to clamp down in an effort to keep himself together.

“S-Sasuke-kun?”

Teeth dig painfully into his bottom lip as she speaks—she sounds as if she’s panicking. She has no reason to be panicking. She’s not the one being betrayed. She’s not the one being cast aside—he’s not the one abandoning her.

It’s just her pushing him away for the family that came before him.

He had wanted a family with her—he had wanted her to be he one that brought a new life into his world.

He had wanted her.

His eyes snap open and it’s here and now that he realizes he has to stop her. He had done what his leader had told him not to—there’s was no guarantee she wasn’t carrying his heir.

He would not have her rip more from him.

Hands shake. Palms sweaty. Eyes burning. Sword raised high.

She had dug her roots deep—she had squeezed through iron and pushed through stone.

He would cut them down. He had said he would not gaze upon her with these eyes so many feared.

He had been wrong.

He can barely hold his sword still—his heart is loud and the trepidation it sends throughout his body only seeks to send his mind further into the confusion and loathing that’s painted within him.

“You don’t have to do this! Sasuke-kun, please!”

That’s all she has to say to dislodge his voice from the bottom of his throat—it’s filled with petulance soaked in disquietude, “Shut up!”

The way she shrinks back before him sends his heart aching before him, “Not another word—not from you!”

“S-Sasuke-kun—This isn’t war! This is a slaughter.”

He’s seen this look upon her face before. He saw it when he murdered that medic so long ago. He saw it upon that woman’s face when she begged him to give mercy. She’s covered in terror as if he’s already run her through—

He can’t take her back—not when she’ll betray him again. If he can’t have her he’ll be damned if the Senju will.

Can she see how he’s vacillating as she protects Naruto? Can she see how much her choices have completely twisted his world?

Does she know how much he’s dying inside?

He won’t cry if he kills her. He’ll rebuild what she’s dug her roots into.
Their ideals had truly been far too different—

He’ll burn everything down.

His spring wife is daring a step closer and those fingers that had brought him comfort within their two years are raising. She’s stopped all at once with a hand on her wrist.

Yes. He’ll burn it down to the ground.

“This isn’t her betraying you.” there’s an exhaustion in those words as that male he had trusted in Konohagakure to keep his wife safe restricts her from coming closer. 



Here she is against him—not with him. Yet, this man claims otherwise.



He is a criminal without a crime. His good fortune had run out this time. There’s always a reason. There’s not always a rhyme to follow behind it. Those eyes of hers are glowing and just as equally those viridian are showing all that she intends.

She stands before him unable to compromise. That much is clear.

When he was already so hesitant and so lost in the direction his leader was taking them she does this to him. She sends him over the edge, and she casts him aside. Why should he care if the Uchiha are no better than the Senju?

Why should he care?

“Sasuke-kun.”



He’s not crying. He won’t do so in front of her again.



Those shallow breaths, and those twitches that come from her muscles. Tense cannot even begin to describe this moment between them. He’s out of time. He must make a choice, he must follow a faith, and he must cast this ache aside and move forward. Not once has she ever stood before him quiet like this, “Sasuke-kun!” 



No he’s certainly not crying.
 But he is most definitely dying. 



He’s absolutely running out of time. He’s lost in time and he’s certain this ache will never die. He’s truly a criminal. 
—and he holds all of their crimes. He is the one meant to be the example. He is the one meant to show his people where to go.

He’s choosing his leader. He’s choosing what he knows is wrong.

He’ll choose anything that’ll hurt her the way she’s hurting him right now.



She’s never turned against him. She’s never been one to lie. That look upon her face—the tightening of her jaw, and that gaze that bleeds through the night—she’s always been honest and she’s always held her heart upon her sleeve.

It’s the joining of two people. A union. A marriage.



He can question it all, and yet he knows he won’t find the answer of how they now stare back at each other at odds. This woman was his wife, and the one he meant to keep beside him. This woman was one he had allowed himself to trust, and the one he had wanted to bring new life into the world.



This woman.
 He trusts her.
 That’s what makes this bittersweet.



She loves him. 
 Deeply. 
She asked for his love to be just as deep.



He had agreed and allowed himself to feel such a way when he decided that the Uchiha clan was just as much her birthright.


He had trusted her. He had felt so much pride in her.

If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so.

He knows this battle is wrong—he knows it’s exactly what she says. This is a slaughter. There’s no denying the claim. This was no longer war. This blood bath while great and one of the largest was no battle. She was here to rein him in. She was here to make sure he didn’t falter and head down the wrong path. She was the voice that would lead him back from the chaos.

She was the voice inside his head as Karin was dragged from him.

Could he kill her? Could he kill what he had allowed her to obtain? Could he close her out as he had when they first met?

To anger and fight Madara would be to go against the Uchiha. Could he go against his leader? Could he go against his family?


Isn’t that what he is expecting of her?


A shift of his foot and the fall of his crimson from her viridian comes. He doesn’t know what the answer is. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to pick.

Would following her down this unknown road be the right choice? Would he regret not killing Naruto down the line? Would he forever harbor feelings of distrust because of what she’s doing now?

Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?

His hand wavers and with it his sword scrapes the earth. He’s at the end of the line. Alone in his head—waiting for something divine to answer him. Drowning in silence he prays to make it through. Out on the edge as all these things echo internally.

The storm winds are blowing. His dreams are falling apart. Just like her.

He’s crying internally. Because he cannot do this—he cannot harden himself to do what he has to.

That concept of him and her. It’s blowing away.

And he hates himself for it—he places such hate upon her to make it easier to live with.



It’s that lack of time that seeks to make it clear he’s lowered himself upon the battlefield. It’s that pounding of his chest and that pain deep within his gut. This man. This Senju always catches him when he’s bewitched, and it just proves she would be his end. 



It’s her voice that makes his eyes force themselves open as the contents of his stomach cover the grown and upon his person. The gravel and stone he had set to walk upon with her has given him padding but scratched all that it could touch—

he’s here. 



The force is harsh and enough to send his head back and mind reeling. That punch has made his mind halt to two simple questions—what was he doing here, and was this ever even truly a war?



It’s the collapse of waves echoing out internally.
 Why does his heart feel like it’ll break further than just in two?



“Kisetsuma-san!”



He cannot control the roll of his head and that blur of his eyes. She’ll leave him and there’s nothing he can do. She’ll return to this man who sought her out so violently. 

He can’t protect her—he can’t protect any of them.



“It’s okay.” there’s so much warmth in Kisetsuma’s words for his wife, “We’ll take you back here and now. I’ll protect you from him.”



He feels it deep within—



“Kisetsuma-san, what are you—?”



“I won’t let the Uchiha hold you any longer. You will no longer be a prisoner of war.” 



This exchange. 
 It’s the death of a desire—



The vexation. The distress. The exasperation. The absolute loss.


It’s her choice. It’s always been her choice.



She could hate him. She said she loved him.
 She’s slipping through his fingers. This man will take her even though they—



“Kisetsuma I am not a prisoner—”



“What lies have they been feeding you all this time? These Uchiha—they’ve done everything they can to turn you against your family and friends”



—even though he’s the one she said she loved with all of her heart. He must confess that he feels like a—

“I will protect you.”



Monster.

All of that loathing, and poisonous vexation he’s placing upon everyone but himself. It’s revolting.



He’s barely aware of what he’s even doing. Everything in his world has fallen out of reach. He can’t protect her. He can’t protect the Uchiha. He can’t even protect himself. He’s lost his sword somewhere. He’s lost the ability to feel just the same. He’s lost his mother. He’s lost his father. He’s lost his brother. He’s lost his uncle. He’s lost his grandfather.

—and now he’s losing his wife and any possibility of a child. He’s losing the possibility of a family.

His heads thrown back as this Senju strikes him once again, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing his own fist right within their jaw. Dirt finds its way deep within his nails as he twists to make himself rise.

“Sasuke-kun move!” her voice is shaking, and terror-stricken as it comes within his ears.

She’s calling out to him—if he caught sight of her right now would she be in tears? Hadn’t she abandoned him already? Why is she calling out for him at all? She had chosen to protect Naruto over standing beside him.

She had chosen them over him.

He’s managed to do as she’s plead out, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s raising his hands up and lacing his fingers together before bringing it down upon this Senju’s back and preparing to raise another fist. All of these things are barbaric. All of these things aren’t strategy. They’re literally beating each other down. They’re doing everything in their power to harm the other.

She’s clouded all of his judgment with her abandonment—that’s what he tells himself when he feels that foot connect with his stomach before the ground shakes with an almost godly force. It’s enough to make them both halt and look to her.

She’s taken her arm back, and that male of silver stands beside her ready to attack, “Don’t touch my husband.” her breathing is erratic as if she’s been sent over the edge just the same.

It’s enough though to send his mind back into pandemonium. She’s claiming him. She’s making her position as his wife clear—even though she stood against him.

Even though she—

“Don’t you want to come home?”

His knees are weak but he’s pushing himself up. There’s a stagger to his stance, but he’s not backing down. There’s swelling in his left eye, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at her with his right just the same. Pressing his hand against a tree he’s steadying himself even more, “Sakura.”

“He is my home—” her voice has broke and it’s as those fingers twist within the fabric of her warn torn clothes against her chest that she finds it once again, “To hurt him is to hurt a part of me!”

He’s still and there’s the lightest of feelings within his chest—this woman saw him as home. It hadn’t just been him looking to her for that feeling of home. These words. These feelings.

They’re a lie.

He can’t trust what she says. She’ll trick him once more.

She’ll lower his defenses and then twist the knife she’s dug between his shoulder blades deeper.

How can she say these things?

Yet, here she is. Here she is making her feelings clear even to this man who had sought her out. She had said she loved him with all of her heart—and that’s what makes his mouth drop. She felt that his pain would harm her just the same. She saw him as a direct part of herself.

Is this what marriage was? A union? A joining of two?

His fingers curl into a fist and his teeth grind together—he had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this—but he definitely wanted her. He wanted to keep his trust in her. He wanted to keep that unbelievable pride for her.

He wanted to have a family with this woman. He wanted to continue walking down this road with her. He wanted to travel through the gravel and stone. He wanted to come back to that world of spring she makes a possibility—yes, he wanted her.

God, does he want her.

He can’t. He won’t.

Because it’s all a lie. Everything this woman spills is for show and not out of love. If she had loved him she wouldn’t turn against him at a time like this.

Yes. She’s brought him into complete disarray.

His mind had broken out into pandemonium—and she almost sadistically continues to shove him into it further without remorse.

He can barely hear her. All he hears is noise. It’s loud. It’s hot upon his ears. It’s too much to take in. Shaky fingers hesitate to raise. Lightning flickers upon the tips. To reach for her out of comfort or in an attempt to harm her he’s unsure. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

She’s thoroughly split him in two. He’s of two hearts.

It all truly echos internally. 
Failure. Just like him.

He can’t find such things like that right now—she’s completely out of arms reach as his head cracks against the tree he had used for support, and his body is thrown up within the air. The instinct to defend himself is there but it doesn’t lessen the blow of being tossed across the battle field as he seeks to shield himself with his arms.

Her voice is so much further now than it ever had been—it’s masked and drowned out. He’s crying.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Chapter 18 The Land

The march of his men is fluid and in rhythm. There's no hesitation to their steps. This military symmetry is practiced and done without thought. Those before him are willing to stake their lives on this battle. These are the ones willing to come when he calls, and await the time when they can be of use. They will take back Otogakure.

They will do as their leader orders. They will slaughter the Senju and Uzumaki that dare to stand before them.

The deepest of inhales fills his lungs as he steadies his nerves and prepares to brief those before him. A hum falls from him, unheard, as he clears his throat to rid himself of the anxiety. That anxiety had vanished in the morning. Then it had returned as the maids adorned him for battle. An inhale follows it giving him the strength to stand just as firm as those before him. He cannot let his voice waver. He cannot allow them to witness even the smallest amount of hesitation within him. This is where they would need him to be the commander they had placed their hopes upon, and that is what he would give them. He would not fail them when they needed him most. He would not give them any reason to doubt.

He would be the rightful heir he was meant to be— Yet, his hands have the subtlest of trembles.

"Do you think we are condemned to hell? Looking for hope—I know it can be hard to see. We've tried so hard but can we truly not save us from ourselves? Destined to die from the moment of our birth. . .do not forget everything you are worth."

The press of his fingers digs into his palms as he lets his voice fill the shrine. There's no missing that flicker of emotion upon their faces—anger, pride, loss, and so much more. It's quick, and washed off moments later locked behind years of training—but it doesn't lessen the fact it was there. He needs to raise their spirits, and wash away their fears. Building them up, and leading them forward. That's why he exists.

He will remind them why it is they fight.

"It's obvious the future isn't what we thought it would be. We may be born of the dust, and one day we will return—but we won't leave until this new will is done."

They respond with a call. His hand raises and with a fluid motion he points to them. There is no need to remind them—remind them of the losses they've sustained, but he does. He does remind them of the loved ones no longer standing beside them. They are just as important. Even if those before him know this it is his duty to make sure they are thought of in times when those still alive need strength.

Their voices escalate in response as they call out to him once more.

He makes sure that he reminds them that they are the Uchiha Clan, and there is no other clan that carries pride in the way they do.

"We are the young—we are the generation able in body and mind—so rise up from the ground because no more dreams will be lost in time. No more lives will be lost without stride. Our voices will be unified."

Their voices resonate in unison—loud, and singular to make it clear they've heard him.

He will give them the strength to look forward. He will raise their hearts before they walk upon the gates of hell.

The brief movement of pale pink and bodies that follow behind catch his attention. None of those who had answered him dare a glance as the newly entered take their places. They hold their gaze strong upon him and only him. Steps strong, but slow in stride take her up the steps to him. The brush of her fingers dances upon his own tickling the skin. Grasping his hand almost gingerly she raises them above their heads. She's taking the throne here and now. His wife is staking her claim, and her title. He doesn't need to look at her to know there is a confidence that wasn't present before today. This woman truly knew her place, and it's the voices that erupt at this display that make it clear they, too, know of her place beside him.

There was no question from her. There is no question from them. There is no question from him.

She was—no, she is—an Uchiha.

The squeeze upon his fingers as she leads their hands back to their sides coaxes him to gaze upon her. She looks prepared to travel. There's hesitation, and then those viridian make their way to him, "He has summoned me to lead your medics into battle."

The air lingers at the base of his throat unwilling to travel down within his lungs. The grip he has upon her hand tightens instinctively as his jaw tightens and his teeth grind together. He knows he cannot over turn this decision. This was a direct command. This was one thing beyond his current power—he was not the head of their clan just yet.

It's her thumb rubbing against his own in slow soft circular movements that allows the air to finally make its way to his lungs. The slow drop of her lids follows those coaxing movements. There's no need for words between them. Even if he did have the power to overturn it she would never agree. The softest of noises falls from her, "I will welcome you home."

Reassurance lingers in those five little words, and it's all he needs to hear before he's leading them down the steps of the shrine. This shrine had been where they had wed, it had been where she came to pray with the children to give their offerings to Chang'e, it is where he had sought her out after his uncle had departed from this world, and now this shrine is where she reaffirmed that promise to welcome him home.

She had said just the same the night before. She had said it to ease him after they had shared a moment of husband and wife. They had basked in a morning with that same ease as she stayed nestled beside him. She had granted him comfort after he had made it clear she wasn't just a title. No, she truly was his wife.

She says them now to grant him confidence—to grant him the strength to face his responsibilities. She does this for him after he has done the same for his men.

The march of his men has resumed as they set out for Otogakure, and beyond their gates. She lingers behind among the medics that follow. Their steps are the only thing that haunts the air was they head for their destination. They how the strength, and the will to complete this mission. They'll meet with others in the days to come, and then with their leader they will take back Otogakure.

No prisoners. They will stand victorious.

They have marched for days, and they have met with familiar faces. Those close and those distant in relation have come to aid the leading Uchiha. Their steps never falter. Their exhaustion is never seen. It's hidden behind stone faces. Locked away by the years of battle they've endured. The tension has continued to grow as their numbers build—Uchiha, and Hyuuga alike. Those rhythmic steps only seem to make the world around them grow darker even when the sun has them sweating. The gravity is almost too much to bear as they march behind the Uchiha leader.

They don't even take the time to do more than realign. She's following suit no matter the disquietude that tugs upon her conscious. This nervosity—is this what those bathed in war have learned to overcome?

It's as they stand face to face with the Senju, and Uzumaki days later that she feels the way her nervosity becomes heavier pressing her against the Earth's terrain. This would be where she was tested. Her husband stands behind their leader among the most trusted. Glancing among them all it's become clear that Shisui has stayed back from the frontlines. He won't be here to watch over her when her husband and her separate upon the battlefield. Viridian don't miss the blonde standing just across the way among the enemy, either.

He fought on the side of the Senju, Naruto Uzumaki.

The tension in the air is enough to suffocate them all. It will only take the call of the leaders before them to have them at each others throats.

"Madara. We do not have to do this. Izuna has—"

"Hashirama you would do well to hold your tongue." the way Madara hisses sends them all stilling.

The balance is tipping. The scales are changing.

"Is there no way to settle this peacefully?" the tone in which this Senju leader asks for peace resonates in a plea.

"Bring me Tobirama's head." there is no amount of forgiveness to be found in this request.

This request is cruel, and it's here and now that she realizes she's made a grave mistake. Her husband had filled his men with strength, and she had sought to make sure she stood beside him properly when he had.

This wasn't war—this was about to become a slaughter.

This fight was revenge cloaked as a battle meant to end a war. It was a personal fight between two powerful men—It was nothing more than that.

"I cannot give you his head—I will give my own." he speaks strongly and filled with resolve.

This offer hangs upon their shoulders as they wait to see if Madara will take the attempted peace offering.

It's only a second, and then a third. Her palms sweat within her gloves. They clench and unclench as if it will release her from the overwhelming anxiety brought by this two very powerful men. Almost scared to breath she swallows hard and feels the way the hair on the back of her neck stands up. This feeling is no different to when one has cold water poured upon them—there was never a reason to watch. Did anyone actually believe that Madara would take the offering? Madara had made his demands clear, and he would not negotiate his terms.

He would take nothing less.

The roll of Madara's head comes allowing him to gaze upon the sky. It's exhausting seeing these powerful men play this useless game. It's almost frightening watching two men play with the lives around them for the sake of their greed. Yes, there is only the wait for when the blood bath begins.

Her fingers tighten within a fist. The sound of leather stretching is loud within her ears. She watches the way this man moves, and then there's the way her heart drops at how he shifts. She doesn't need to be beside him to know he's loosened up his neck. That roll of his shoulders and that tilt of his head are entirely meant for removing the stiffness within his muscles.

Every subtle movement is a warning that it will only escalate from here. The way his arms fold across his chest and the way he stands so firm has her swallowing. The way in which he has made no attempt to respond, and left them all waiting—watching—for when the negotiating ends, and the battle begins sends an even greater nervosity through her being.

All of these things are so simple. So ordinary. So nonthreatening. So peace like. Yet, there was never any true desire for peace let alone negotiating.

Heart stopped. Mouth falling. He's gone in an instant—and back before she can even question it.

This will become the new Diyu—a new land of the dead.

He's landed within the army and she barely has time to catch Hashirama going after him. The Senju are thrown as if they were but objects in his way—tossed aside and unimportant to one so powerful such as him. The way the earth shakes below her makes her head whip, completely unprepared, as they all rush in. Feet slam against the ground and shake the earth under the combined force. There's panic and all she can do is hope to catch a single glimpse of her husband before he's rushed forth and begun his own assault.

This is the world her husband lives within.

This is chaos. This. Is. War.

The sound of her heart is only second to the scream that echoes out upon them. A kunai flies past her an almost fatal reminder to keep herself focused. Feet shuffle and she's pivoting as fast as she can to avoid the enemy's attempt at using her body to create rubble from the ground beneath her feet. The dirt disperses up and there's that moment of eye contact before she's flipping herself back and onto her hands.

If a medical ninja should die who would treat the injured?

Strike after strike. It's only one Senju at first and then two. She's never been on the front lines. The sidelines had been her place before today. There's no time to take it all in. Evasion is her priority—if she should die so fast then why had she bothered to come? Her hands would heal their injured. Her personal feelings no longer mattered. They had called upon her to keep them moving, and moving she would keep them.

The medical ninja should never be hit by the enemies attacks.

Fingers grip a hold of the fist meant to deliver a blow and it's only a moment later that she's swinging her leg and connecting it with the second enemy. She barely has time to think before she feels another right behind her—she'll be overwhelmed in no time. This isn't a simple sparing session with Tsunade.

No amount of practice could have prepared her for this moment. Sakura Uchiha was no longer upon the sidelines.

Her voice is loud and it's only moments later she's throwing the unfortunate enemy forward and into the other. The twist of her hips comes and her fist is connecting with the ground opening it wide and shattering the playing field within her grasp. She's rising slowly and there's no mistake she's captured all of their attention with her outward display of strength. Brows pinch and finally her eyes find his.

Wide and holding that beautiful color of deep rich red—his sharingan has found her with this display even while locked into a battle with Naruto. None had been prepared for this show of strength—they had whispered of it and seen the aftermath.

They had yet to see it first hand. To see him home will be by her hand.

They're attacking each other—yet, it's with the oddest of kid gloves. It is almost as if he knows something is off about this particular stand off.

It's as if he knows of what Madara had planned.

There's the careful way at which he is always lingering back. This man and him had fought so many times before now. May it be in some unspoken good sport, or with literal intent to end the other he couldn't decide here and now. Perhaps he didn't want to know.

They only stilled briefly to take in his wife's display of power upon the field before the blonde had taken off and sought to distance himself even further.

The faster he ends this and corners the blonde the faster he can return to her side. His leader had made the plan and intent clear. No matter what happens they are to take the beast that lays sealed within this man. If they can accomplish this, the war will be over.

Peace can be obtained.

All he has to do is kill him after it's all said and done. And yet, he's not exactly doing what he knows he needs to.

Hearing his leader demand the head of the Senju leader's brother in payment for the loss of his own had held a malice that he had known Madara could possess, but not one he had seen. His leader was known for his power. Madara's very name held more control than his had ever obtained. That rawness, and that malicious intent had not been something even he was used too.

Izuna's death had affected him deeply. It had affected Madara even deeper.

His brother may not be dead—he is just a traitor—but he understands. He knows how such loss can twist the way you view the world.

The way in which one views theirself.

Izuna had kept a balance. He had maintained the way they ran things, and how a show of power was conducted. Without him there was nothing to maintain that. There was no limiter to keep Madara in check. Madara would not rest until he had felt his brother had been avenged—until the Senju had paid dearly.

He doesn't blame his leader. No—he can't blame him because he knows those malicious feelings all too well.

The difference lies in how he had kept his locked away and beyond the sight of others outside of a battle. He had never brought it before a meeting or within negotiations.

Losing all of his siblings. Losing his nephew to the opposing side. The death of his brother-in-law. The death of his father.

Madara had lost even more than he had.

That's what pushes him to close the gap between him and Naruto. Following his leader, and his demands was what was expected. He had never truly questioned Madara before. There had never been a reason to hesitate. He knew the intent behind this man's actions—he wanted to give the Uchiha peace by any means necessary.

He didn't want anyone else to lose what he had lost. Every member was family even if not a direct link.

That's why sacrifices had to be made. That's why morals had to be cast aside. Some had to die if they were going to save all.

Yet—he is questioning things. He's hesitant in how his leader has told them to kill everyone. There was no desire for prisoners. There was no need for spoils. Madara was seeking to completely extinguish the Senju, and Uzumaki.

Hesitation makes him miss when normally he would not. He had raised the morale of his men, and marched them to this point. Yet, every time he hears a scream there's that sinking within him. There's this thought that it's one of his. There's this wonder if he's simply marched them before the gates of hell.

He's lost inside.

He has a feeling there's something more. Beyond the doubt, and beyond the sea of burning tears. He should have said more, told his men more, and made it clear how much their desire to fight beside him means to him. There's hope they understand. Hope that they know he would never intentionally walk them to their graves.

Never would he lead them to Yomi-no-kuni. Never would he spend their life so carelessly—so knowingly.

Yet, he had—and he had allowed his wife to give him confidence in doing so unknowingly. How could he not hear their screams and believe he had walked them within the land of the dead?

It's a clash of his sword upon a kunai, and they're going deeper within Otogakure. The deeper they go the further he is from his wife. The further they go the deeper into the city he becomes. All he has to do is release himself from his hesitance and he can stop the distance this creates.

Madara had reason. Madara was reason.

They're airborne and then deep into the trees. Had they planned to separate him from the larger forces? Were they luring him into a trap? Was this boy who had never dabbled in such tactics pulling him further along and into a mass awaiting him?

No—it wouldn't work on him.

That hesitation is cast aside as he uses force to send them upon the forest floor. It's a connection of fists, and then a spree of dodging. There's something odd lingering in those eyes staring back at him. He has yet to say a word this whole time. Was it because he was close to his wife?

The swing of his sword comes and the force makes it clear he's no longer willing to play within doubt. He would not harm her family, but he could not guarantee her friends. The mission before him would be done. Hurting his wife is the last thing he wants to do, but if it means giving the world rest from this war he would be willing to ask for forgiveness later.

There is no playful quips. No attempt at a spar. He's out to land blows with intent to harm, and Naruto is doing everything he can to escape them all. None of it makes sense. Any other time he would attempt to harm him back—he hasn't attempted a single blow.

Naruto Uzumaki is all defense. Patient, and keeping himself from getting too close.

Perhaps the blonde should have tried—if he had he wouldn't be pinned to that tree with a slam of his head against the bark.

There is an anger decorating his face, and within his eyes. The cause of such vexation is unknown. They've done this so many times before, and never once had he given him such a look. Any other time before now those eyes had always held a touch of amusement at these little matches.

Not this time. No—definitely not this time.

Foreboding. Those eyes make it clear something isn't normal.

This time make sure they're all dead—

Something isn't right.

—before you leave.

Panic. It's beneath the surface and just under the nerves. Deep in the muscle, and strong within the tissue.

"Fight back." his voice is tighter than he'd like to show—this isn't how he wants to win.

The reply is instant, "No."

"Why aren't you fighting back?" a hiss falls whilst his fingers tighten upon the blonde's collar yanking the male forward.

The way in which the blonde's features contour has him pushing him back against the tree. He expects more from this man. He expects a show of strength, and a determination unrivaled among his own. He expects this man to put forth the effort. He's showing none.

He's refusing to fight. What right does he have to do such a thing?

If they had the right to refuse this war wouldn't have lasted this long.

"Is this how far we've fallen Sasuke?" his features don't contrast with the raucousness of his voice.

It's enough to make him want to be the one creating distance between them. There's an accusation behind such a tone. The grip upon his arm tightens as if to hold him from doing so. Who was he to question if they've fallen? There is no falling where they stand right now. This male knows just as well as him there is no true hero in war. There is only survival. There is only pushing forward to see your goals obtained.

There is only making sure you walk away from the land of the dead.

They were no longer little boys. They were no longer children. They understood the world they lived in. These boys had become men. They had aged. Their once small, and childish shoulders had become stronger, and firmer as they grew. There is no other path than this for the likes of them. Years had transpired since their times playing tag. Too many months to count had come and gone since their naive times of running without a care. All those days from long in the past were just that—the past.

Sasuke, meet Naruto—I hope you'll become wonderful friends.

That feeling. That foreboding is lingering. It's caused the firm press of his lips as they stare at one another. Why did this man not understand?

You'll do that for me won't you?

The Senju, and Uzumaki were getting what they deserved. They had brought this all upon themselves. They proclaimed love, and yet they took without remorse well before now. He understands completely. To fail in this mission would be to let down the generation meant to take their place. It would allow them to grow up without their fathers, and even more without their mothers.

He knows that feeling all too well. He knows what it's like to be without a hand to hold —to be without a mother.

He hadn't been able to hold onto his mother.

All that panic below the skin. It's finding it's way up and out through his being. He can't let it show. He won't let it show. Sasuke Uchiha refuses to let this man know he's hesitating—Sasuke Uchiha is no different than his uncle.

He is an avenger.

I hope you can be good friends just like his mother, and I.

It's such warm memory. It's such a warm thought—and it's the only one he's being granted. The chains have come and they've bound the blonde successfully. He knows that vibrant red anywhere.

That's right she, too, is an Uzumaki. Karin Uzumaki can use the Adamantine Sealing Chains. This is how they will take the beast that sits bound to another from her clan. Obito has done his portion. He's kept Karin from harm, and now he will protect her as she takes what will give them the power to stop this war.

Mother. Something isn't right.

He's gone and out of her sight, and it takes everything in her to keep from following after him. She's needed here where his men are being brought down. They're fighting hard to defend their homes, and those they stand beside. Twisting herself allows her to doge one of the attacks before another one lands and a gasp of a cry is let out. The senbon needles have plunged deep. She knows better than to immediately yank them free but that reaction is powered by instinct.

These men live for this. It's death before dishonor, and just the same she is following their shadows. Hands stretched out and glowing upon their torn skin. Repairing what once has been. She can break the laws her team is bound to.

She doesn't because that's not her role in this.

She had avoided the land of death before dishonor. Always staying on the sidelines, and standing within camps far from the chaos. Those fires that warm the skin, and that sweat that sinks itself within the wounds is something she had only ever experienced once. It had been the last thing she had wanted. She had been forcibly thrusted into it by the act of wrong time and wrong place.

Those memories are never truly far. They are always just below the surface.

It had taught her. It had molded her. It had shown her what it meant to be unfortunate in a world that had brought so much misfortune to those around her.

She couldn't bring her father home—she could only gaze as that light left his eyes.

There was no stopping the way war had cast a shadow upon her small insignificant village, and upon her loved ones.

To love someone. To be in love with someone. To love with all of your being.

It's a fearful thing—because death can touch that which you love.

That's right. She couldn't bring her father home —but she hopelessly wants to bring home Sasuke.

She wants to bring him, and his men back home. Yes. That's her role. That is what she is here for.

Their blood may define them but they are more than that which binds them. That's why she tells them to stand even when she disagrees with all that's before her. These men aren't finished yet. Respecting their pride, and their honor is all she can do—to do it is a service to not only her husband but to those awaiting their return.

Everyone had someone waiting from them far from the Diyu. The land of the dead was not meant to hold so many.

Shifting her foot and raising her arms up has almost costed her gravely. That sword is too close for comfort. That sword does little in stopping her from lunging forward in an effort to protect herself. She's rusty and without practice but carries all the will necessary to hit her mark. The biggest tragedy is how much she's holding herself back. There is no malice and no ill intent behind her actions.

Just the desire to bring her clan home from this manslaughter. No—perhaps the tragedy lies in the what ifs.

Or maybe it's the almosts that bury them deeper before the gods that must weep for them?

This was brought about by the schemes of men. Potential wasted and their dearly held ideology nothing but a sham.

These men used to be alive, but now it's as though their mythic. They used to have the desire for peace, but it's clear both sides have lost such hopes. The times have shifted and this war is stronger than ever. It holds battles of no remorse, and no care for their own loved ones.

Perhaps they had already died. If they were alive wouldn't they be able to see that which she sees?

She bows before neither of these so called men.

Knuckles collide and the grip upon her wrist is tight. There's no time to be wasted as she's rushing forward and pushing them within the ground. Hands upon the newest one injured and a slice across her cheek are a reminder that, yes, she is alive. There's so much frustration on this land, erratic and fast paced. That restraint she's been exercising falters as she thrusts her fist forward and breaks the air filled with such hate. She knows she's gone too far as they skid across this wasteland—she had just wanted to defend herself.

They may have words of law, but the sword holds order.

Turning. Twisting. The flood. The gateway to the heart. Eyes unsure of where to stop.

All of this around her is a world unlike any other. Lungs cease to have air and she feels so mentally off kilter as another body liters the floor just within her line of sight. There's a level of hysteria—a madness—so unlike the loss of a patient after they've come off the battlefield. To witness such acts against mankind consistently must alter the way they viewed the world.

Altered the way they hope for better times.

This is only her second time having to gaze upon the brutality as it occurs. Her husband had grown upon such dead land, and so had those who had answered his call to stand beside him. How much tragedy had they withstood only to become pawns in the personal struggles of their leaders?

They're falling so fast around her.

Knees scrape against the terrain as hands apply pressure to their wound. They're bleeding out, and it's painting her within it's color with their attempts to stop her. Frantic fingers tug upon her own before pressing against her arms and chest as if it would be enough to free them. This wound has made them far to weak to accomplish such things.

Could they even see her? Could they even recognize she was on their side in the grip of death?

The whimper of a child grabs her attention and halts her fingers. Unforgivable. That man has slain a child, and in return another has grappled upon their back digging their kunai deep inside the offender's neck. Heavy breathing and the immediate need to keep them alive overcomes everything. There's no saving them when they've been cut so deep, but she's unwilling to stop her attempts. She just has to save this man before she can attend to the child. Iron floods all of her senses, and her devotion to save this man has caused her to miss the shadow looming from behind. Turning her head her fingers halt in their healing—can't it all just stop?

No remorse. No regret. There's no place for that.

The land is rained upon in blood—perhaps Huangdi has slain Chiyou once again? No—the Gods would not allow a repeat of such a battle.

So she wishes to believe. Yet, look at where she stands.

That's how she pushes off the dead child, and disregards the man she had tried in vain to save. Overwhelmed and overflowing in ache. This cruelty both sides show makes everything about this sick.

She became a medic to save lives, not to steal them away. That hope. That belief. It feels so out of reach as she swings her leg forward and collides it against the opposing Senju's throat. She's not wishing to deal lethal damage. All of this is done as a means to defend her and her wounded. Her principles are screaming to find a way to make it stop—to find a way to halt this blood bath.

How can she when her family is the one that refused to speak? She might be his wife, but she holds no power upon this land.

Only those who have stood upon it hold any true power. He's stood here for years.

Couldn't he halt their weapons? If Sasuke spoke wouldn't they listen?

The crash of her heel against the earth sends it rolling. It sends the embers out into the sky and their flags waving. Reminding herself to breath is all she can manage as that wire wraps around her. Flesh cut and tight within its pull.

Startle decorates her as she gazes at who has brought her to her knees. There's a burn and a choke as the desperation piles itself up. Stopping them. Stopping the battle. That's all she can think to do. She can't do that if she lets this man kill her. Healing them takes too long. It just prolongs it all.

Sending them back out moments after their defeat. She can't bring them home if it all ends here.

They're dragging her by the throat and that desperation has her fingers covered by leather and blood scratching to pry it off. Digging her feet deep against the ground is meant to keep them from having complete control. There's no thought to use her monstrous strength. Just the will to live hot and heavy upon her knee jerk reactions. One more wire wraps upon her and takes away her hand pulling it in another direction. Tears burn within her eyes and brows pinch as she flexes her bicep to gain some kind of upper hand. Her leg is the next one out from under her allowing her skin to scrape across the land.

The attempt to speak and yell for them to stop is silenced with just a twist of their wrists. Pulled from all directions they're taking her down. Three against one and the constriction of blood makes her scattered mind disperse even further.

They'll rip her apart. She cannot even begin to draw back.

Air gone. Eyes unable to close. Fingers against wire.

It's slack and that inhale is full of regret as it leaves her coughing upon the dirt. Sweat slides down her face as the mantra to keep breathing echoes within her ears. Heavy attempts for oxygen begin and her heart drums against her chest. Fingers press painfully against it as if it'll keep it locked under her rib cage. Another shadow covers the ground before her and the reaction is immediate. That monstrous strength has made its way back and has her shoving herself back as a means of defending herself once again.

"Sakura." her name is spoken with so much comfort unlike all that chaos that has been ringing within her ears.

That heart beat heavy against her chest flutters for an entirely different reason. It's not out of fear. It's not out of the desperation. It beats because this is the first real familiar face among the many fighting around her since it had escalated to this point. Hazy in thought there's the question of how he had come to stop them from ripping her apart. She wants to question it, but she can't seem to stay focused long enough to utter such a thing. Fingers shake as they reach to take the one extended out to her. They're on different sides. He shouldn't be helping her.

Perhaps it's the gods—they've called in a favor.

Lips part as her raspy tone calls out, "Kakashi-san?"

"I made it to you just in time." she can barely catch what he says as she's helped upon her feet, "We have to move. They'll kill Naruto."

That's all he has to say and she's stumbling behind, "This isn't a battle anymore." her legs feel weak and her throat sore but that's the last thing she can think about when he tells her Naruto might die.

That ankle that throbs is the least of their concerns.

"We had gotten word before this—your husband intends to kill him while he's down."

Two head towards them but it doesn't slow down their steps. Vaulting over them keeps her from losing pace even as he's able to run past them in ease, "What do you mean?"

"Madara intends to take the nine tails from—Naruto." the flip back he makes has her skidding to a stop "Your husband has been—instructed" the kunai he's pulled out soar making his own men disperse to avoid harm, "to kill him once it's done so we can't take the nine-tails back."

He's taken off again and it doesn't take but a second before she's right back beside him passing the mass of men, and passing the mass of children brought to appease their leader's desires, and worldly views.

Madara truly had no intent at seeking peace.

He wants the Senju wiped from the earth. And her husband is meant to assist.

Death is to come before dishonor, and yet how does this not dishonor what her husband seeks? Her husband lived for his people, and he lived for his clan. Could they stop him when he follows it so resolutely? Her husband's shadow is long since gone. There's no doubt he intends to do as he's been told.

She'll plead with him. She'll beg him to stand down. Sakura will do whatever it takes to try and make him understand. This isn't a battle. It hasn't been a battle since the moment Madara had sent word to gather. This was personally driven with no hope for peace. Sasuke was more than the flesh that binds him. He was more than the eyes that mark him. He was more than just his birth. He had told his men to remember their worth. When was the last time he remembered his own? When was the last time he was just Sasuke, and not Uchiha?

Surely, he would listen. Surely, he would take what she says into account. Surely, he would trust in his wife.

But to have agreed with such methods and madness— Perhaps it's that which buries them in the end.

Surely, he remembers just as well what he is truly worth— and will stand against the sword that orders.

[ombreecha]

Too Good

Series: Endurance Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: M Prompt: my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick AU Notes: I’ve literally been saving this prompt since like September of last year. The first time I saw it I just fuckin knew I had to do it at some point. You can thank @kingofthesharingan​ and my weekly NSFW Monday too because Monday sucks so why not make it a day to look forward to.

Chilled air, and puffs of white coat everything in sight. Her hands are gloved but that doesn’t stop her from rubbing them together to provide herself with more heat. Christmas is around the corner and the company party is even closer. It’s her first time attending. Anxious? Absolutely. Scared? Beyond her wildest dreams.

Her seniority with the company wasn’t high. Six months she’s been employed by Uchiha Corp, and it’s been a blessing if anything. Her boss is a lovely woman. When she had been interviewed the woman had held such stiff air about her. Poised. Serious. Collected.

Mikoto Uchiha was anything but stiff, serious—let alone collected. They couldn’t be further from the truth. Now as for poised? Absolutely. The woman had some serious elegance to her. It made it perfectly clear that she had been breed for such things. She can’t help but look up to this woman who had so much on her plate, and still managed to be kind, charismatic, and loving.

What she hadn’t expected though was how much her boss had begun to push. What was her boss pushing? How perfect her son was for her. There’s a burn upon her ears. Every time she brings this boy up she can’t help but feel embarrassed. There’s no doubt that Mikoto had probably raised a wonderful son—but she’s not entirely sure about anyone born with a silver spoon in their mouth.

That’s not even bringing for the possible conflict of interest that lies in such relationships. She likes her job. The last thing she needs is for it to be ripped out from under her all over some rich kid who may or may not be attractive.

She’s not doubting Mikoto’s genes—but she just can’t help but be skeptical. There is such a thing as too good to be true.

The commute home isn’t long and the only positive is the subway is heated. The rock of the train car isn’t bad. It’s become a part of her daily life, and while at first she had struggled when she moved her it’s barely even felt. All she knows is she needs a good night rest before she attends this company party—and meets this all too talked about son.

There’s a thick swallow and a groan as she remembers her bosses teasing. She had supposedly spoken just as much about her to him as well. There’s no way he wasn’t dreading this as much as herself. Hopefully. Okay. So, she’s not so sure. She’s heard a lot but that doesn’t mean she knows anything about this kid outside of the boasts coming from an obviously proud mother.

A groan escapes her lips as she peels her heels off her feet and leaves them scattered about in the entry way. Her bag hits the floor not far behind as she seeks to get herself relaxed and comfortable. Swapping from suit to a night shirt she’s dug from the bottom drawer is easily done. A bowl of ice cream, and some television is just the right combination to washing away the office tension from her shoulders.

A hum, and a flicker through channels as she lays upon the couch as unladylike as possible. If only her boss could see her now. Yeah—her boss has probably painted her as so much more than she really was. Fingers roll through her hair before swiping her phone right off coffee table. That thought right there has brought back the tension in full force. Groaning is all she can do as she flips through the screen.

Swinging her leg over the other she can’t stop the habitual light motion that follows. There’s always one way to get herself relaxed and she’s not afraid to use it. Puffing her cheeks she’s tapping away at the keyboard. The individual she’s texting would most likely fall into the category of a one night stand. It had been just the fix she had needed months ago. Work was at an all time high in the stress department had the time and one thing lead to another—she had ended up in a bar for a quick drink before heading home when he had run into her at the counter.

No names exchanged. Just clothes hitting the floor and him pressing her against her bed. Her mother taught her better sure, but sometimes a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. It had been exciting. Sloppy, and intoxicated, as well, but exciting nonetheless. Humming is all she can do as she thinks back to that moment. They hadn’t met back up since that first time. They still refrained from exchanging names, but what they did exchange was numbers. Once in a while she’ll shoot him a text requesting a simple picture because that’s what gets her through the stress at work anymore.

She says it’s simple, but never in her wildest dreams would she had thought this boy would comply. —and he does every single time. No questions asked.

It’s an odd little arrangement, if she’s being honest, considering the lack of personal information, but she’s not complaining. It keeps things from being messy and god knows she’ll probably never run into him again unless they set it up. All of this is good enough for her.

So when her phone goes off there’s the smallest of smiles spreading across his face. It had been more than good and maybe that’s what had pushed her to ask for it the first time, and the time after that—and that’s whats gotten her brazen enough to ask for it whenever she’s needing some alone time.

Dick pics weren’t exactly something she was notorious for requesting. —but she’d be damned if she didn’t ask him for one once in a while.

That quick look over and she’s feeling warm. It’s not hard to just think of the way his hands had gone over her skin, or how his breath had been right against her ear before he made his way down.  Sliding his fingers upon her stomach and then wrapping around the around the band of her panties he had tugged them up at first which she hadn’t been prepared for, and then in only another moment—a second—she could feel his tongue going over the fabric and against where she wanted him most. The tug upon them had her hips lifting to give him an easier time to remove them. Lips against her thigh and the way he slid them down her legs had her panting.

He hadn’t been shy when he had thrown them behind him and across the room. All of this is vivid and she’s already accepted it’ll be a long time coming before she’ll stop using that one night as her primary masturbation material. That’s all she has to tell herself when she’s dipped her own hand underneath her panties.

Her fingers can’t possibly replicate the way his tongue had dipped in between her folds, nor could they give the exact same feeling that came with he had slid it over her clit. It’ll do though—she doesn’t need much. The buck of her hips is all too remembered. He had slide his hands up her sides and pressed his hands flat against her pelvis to keep her steady as he continue to have his fill of her.

Her neck stretches back letting her head roll against the couch cushion. Lips open and a moan escapes her as she starts with one finger working herself slow and evenly. It wasn’t as frenzied as he had been. Starved is what she would of considered him in that moment. Sliding her tongue against the roof of her mouth is barely noted as she takes another glance upon the requested picture of the night.

It’s got her hot and ready as she thinks of how it had slide inside of her. That first initial penetration was always the most satisfying. Filling her up, and with her leg draped over his shoulder. He wasn’t loud but those hot breaths back upon her skin had been more than enough. He spoke on grunts and the occasional groan as he started out slow.

Adding another finger doesn’t do him justice but she, just as with everything else, had accepted she would never be able to replicate the way he had felt. None of that stops her from enjoying what she’s doing to herself nonetheless. When she quickens her fingers pace she’s arching and letting out hot breaths. She’s enjoying herself far too much—thank god for this man and his dick pictures.

The release she feels is bittersweet to a point. It’s explosive because she’s picturing him slamming into her and nibbling upon her ear, and then it’s over all too soon. The way she rolls her head back as she rides it out reminds her briefly of the fact her fingers are much too small compared to him literally filling her up and stretching her up. That thought right there has her riding it out longer before settling her hips down upon the couch.

Catching her breath she brings her hand from out of her underwear and swings herself forward. Clean up is quick and simple, and damn does she feel better. Who cares about the company party? She got off and that’s all she cares about in this moment before shutting the lights out and nestling into bed.

The next day isn’t bad. A shower, brushed teeth, and a small look within the mirror has her ready for whatever happens. All she’s gotta do is politely reject whoever her bosses son is. This little arrangement of hers is more than enough.

Heels click against the office floor and the filing of her paperwork is for the most part easily accomplished even if their filing system needs some serious work.  The occasional glance over her wrist watch comes as the clock ticks closer and closer to the company party.

The press of her finger hitting the final punch upon her time card for the week is oddly satisfying, and so as she follows behind others to one of their many large meeting spaces she can’t help but feel like all that anxiety had been for nothing. Scared? What’s there to be scared of?

Mingling is easy. She gets along with most of her coworkers and thankfully she’s yet to run into her boss let alone her son. The foods decent, and the drinks refreshing. She’d never drink heavily in front of her coworkers so she goes for the simple things like hard cider and sipping on water.

Just as she’s locked in a conversation with a boy of obsidian hair and one of the biggest smiles she’s ever seen fingers have made their way upon her shoulder. The turn of her head comes and there’s no surprise to be had when it’s her boss.

Smiling is easy especially with a woman like Mikoto before you. She brightened a room, and the smile she’s always got upon her own lips is contagious.

“Ah, Sakura-san I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” there’s the smallest of laughs and then a step back from her as she seeks to introduce someone behind her—no doubt the son.

“Sorry I hadn’t seen you with there being so many of us.” the smile she has is genuine and then as her eyes move see this highly praised son does it start to slip from her lips.

One moment, and then two. They’re just starting at each other—and for the love of god tell her she’s just seeing things. Tell her that this man before her isn’t the same man from months ago. Tell her that she’s lost her mind and that she’s obviously seeing things.

Those lips of his are tilting upon the corners and then there's the hooding of his eyes as they trail from her feet up to her eyes once again. He’s analyzing her as much as she is him—perhaps he doesn’t remember her. Maybe, just maybe, she’s the only one recognizing the situation at hand.

If you had told her, her one night stand would have been with her bosses son she would of laughed in your face.

Equally though if you had told her she’d been requesting dick pics from her bosses soon she would told you that only happened in those romance novels she had loved in college.

The swallow she makes is thick. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling in her chest.

“Sakura-san, are you okay?” there’s concern etched within the question.

Flickering her eyes from one pair of obsidian to the other and she’s plastering the fakest of customer service smiles upon her face. Working at a Starbucks part-time had served her well for moments like this.

“I’m perfectly fine.” she gives a nod of her head and then sets her eyes back upon this man she had literally just the night before masturbated to.

Those lips are shifting into the truest of smirks. He’s not letting it just rest upon the corners. His shoes are firm with each step and then with an ease and grace she can’t remember him having outside of the rough and exciting moments in bed so many months ago does he grab her hand and bring it up to his lips.

Her cheeks are warm and she wants to bury herself right here and right now. Anywhere but here would be an absolute blessing—but that’s not an option because god literally seems to be enjoying himself with this little stunt.

“My mother’s told me so much about you, Haruno Sakura-san.” he hasn’t let go of her hand, and he’s not released her eyes either.

There’s a hesitation and then the forceful removal of her eyes as her fingers grip upon her pencil skirt. If the earth would please just open up right here, and right now that would be amazing.  She’s not asking for a lot. Just a simple miracle in which she’s swallowed whole—and not exactly like she had been months ago by this man staring so smitten down at her.

“Likewise, Uchiha Sasuke-san.”

[ombreecha]

Feelings, and Heart

Series: Same Skies Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: T Prompt: I thought I lost you @sasusakusss , and 100% inspired @yomi-gaeru Note: Totes didn’t know what to do with this and then I saw Yomi-Gaeru’s fanart His Side of the Story and got the angst and feels to do this request.

To need was never a question. To want was something even less. He had a singular goal. One simple, and yet undeniably complex goal. Nothing but that was the forefront. The only concern. The only thing that held tight within his mind.

Feelings. They’re a disgusting and very human thing. He couldn’t be human with a goal that twist moral compasses and moral lines.

They’re messy. They get in the way. They unnecessary for his goal. His plan. His future.

That’s why he can’t let them tie him up, and tie him down. That’s why he’s moving forward and cut all those disgusting and so very human things away.

Because that’s what he has to do as an avenger—that’s what he was meant for. Title of heir be gone, and in it’s place that of one meant to get revenge for those who could no longer.

He doesn’t need a lot to do this. He doesn’t want for something messy or disgusting. What he will do is simple cause and effect. Complex in how it will be achieved and nothing short or less.

To inflict a punishment or penalty—that’s what he was born to do.

That heart he’s built walls around. It’s been barricaded to perfection. It’s just another thing that’s so undeniably messy, and meant to get in his way. It’ll slow down his foot work. It’ll tamper with his mind. It’ll make him hesitate when he swings his sword—and when those eyes glow.

That’s why he keeps it locked up tight with no key.

He’s not a little boy anymore. His feet are no longer small and seeking to carry him away. His hands aren’t too small to wrap around the hilt of his sword as he stands firm against those who decided to misjudge their place. There’s no more heart as he stares down the road littered with bodies—he’s the one creating them.

This hatred may be heavy, but it’s lighter than just letting go. It’s a purpose and a line cut in the sand. He stepped over it long ago. Nothing and no one would shake this resolve. This determination.

This calling.

No—he doesn’t need much. All that’s required is power. He’s sold himself long ago. This is all that he could want for. Power was but a construct brought by mortal minds. All one needed to defeat and to complete this calling of his.

Without feelings he won’t revert to that child crying and submerged in terror. Without heart he won’t tremble as he cuts another person’s loved one down. He’s lost too much. They can all feel the way he does, and when the time comes they too can follow the path he’s walked.

They’ll just have to gain even more power than even he has. They’ll have to sell more than what he has—if they even have anything more to give. —because he’s given away every part of himself in the name of this goal.

He is the heir to the Uchiha clan. He is Sasuke Uchiha, and he is an avenger.

Sasuke Uchiha is powerful.

So when this woman he’s thrown aside and left upon the bench yells to him it’s an issue on a deeper scale. When this woman who begged for him to stay before he abandoned them sits here begging once again makes his foot shift it’s a problem. When this woman who cried back then is crying once more and it produces a tremble he has to suppress he knows immediately she’s a complication.

That beat inside his chest isn’t meant to take place from a simple show of tears. He’s seen so many of them now. They’re there when he cuts the next obstacle out of his way, and in the memories he’s had to push aside. Tears—they’re a display so disgusting and revolting.

Such messy things.

He cut his bond with her so this wouldn’t happen. He cut her out, and threw her away as if she was nothing—so when she sits there and cries it’s something that shouldn’t affect him.

She meant nothing then, and she’ll mean nothing now. He doesn’t need her tears.

There’s no reason why her eyes should glow through such tears. He’s the one with power, and eyes that could do so much more. He could turn her world, and warp it till she broke and crumbled. Yet, he hasn’t done it yet. It hurts when she looks at him like that. His heart shouldn’t waver nor sink from those viridian. It’s heavy and without place. It holds no right to be where it sits—it should be locked away and yet those viridian are peering deep within.

It’s enough to rile him up. Send his mind running. He’s got to do what he has too. He can’t let this woman keep him from his goal. He’s given up everything for it—he can’t let her take it away with words, and looks.

That’s why he turns from her and shows his back. He needs to remind her she’s unimportant. That she is no one in his world, and will never be someone in his world.

That’s why when his fingers curl within his palm and his other hand twists within his shirt he’s vexed. He’s angry and knows there’s no choice, but to get rid of her here and now. If she doesn’t exist she can never stop him. She can never make him waver.

He had been too kind back then. Too kind in letting her live.

He’s older now. Wiser even more. So he knows he’ll kill her once and for all.

She’ll never be important. He threw her away just as he had his title of heir—but it seems she’s far too stubborn to know what’s best for her.

Perhaps that’s what has him twist quickly, and rush forward without remorse. She never expects it, and neither do the others. He has no time to play romance—he has no future with that.

Now she doesn’t either as her blood spills like an old bitter wine. Soaking and spilling from here his hand sits protruding from her chest.

Those tears just keep falling though—and that mouth keeps moving.

He was powerful that’s what he thought. He was Sasuke Uchiha, and Sasuke Uchiha held power.

That’s what he believes—wants to believe. Yet, he isn’t to want for anything more than just power.

Needs and wants—she had caused this disgusting mess. These so very human emotions.

They’re so unnecessary. More so than even herself.

She would of taken all of his pain onto herself if she could have. That’s what she claims.

This woman needs to be buried deep within the earth. Why was she so annoy—

Startled.

He is alarmed and unprepared so when he shoots up within his bed, and his fingers twist almost painfully within the sheets he’s not sure what to make of it all. His breathing has escalated, and then there’s the sweat that drips from his head. The desperate attempt for oxygen has him shaking before he feels the press of fingers upon his back.

“Anata?” that voice of hers sounds so similar to when she had cried for him to stop—frightened and pained.

The drag of his eyes comes so slow as if staring at her will turn these sheets red—redder than even that of his birthright. Vision shaky but daring a glance. She’s exactly as she should be wrapped within the sheet he’s clutched upon for dear life. There’s nothing within her chest.

His hand hasn’t ripped through her without remorse for the sake of his vendettas, “What’s wrong?”

All too familiar and close those fingers are grabbing a hold of his face with nothing else but him holding her attention. The press of his head against her chest as him all the more startled.

Feelings. They’re messy and so very human. He had finally allowed himself to feel something and be tied down.

He was tied to her in a way that could never be changed—the wedding band upon his lone figure proof enough.

Heart. It caused him to hesitate, and it was heavy in its place. He had finally lowered the walls and welcome her within them.

Given her a key he didn’t even know there was—perhaps it had always existed since that night she had begged him to stay.

She had been something—and that’s why he releases his grip from the sheets to press his fingers upon her back.

He had lost one of his hands in which to hold onto her. If he had not let go of her once before telling himself repeatedly she had been always been something perhaps he’d still have two.

“It’ll be okay.” her voice is low as she seeks to comfort him and give more of herself to him.

He had sold his soul, and he had soul his being. She was giving him everything she could just the same.

Selling everything she had down to her name.

She was the someone who gave more than even he could. That’s why she’s here beside him. Unwavering, and firm.

He had thought he lost her. His mind had twisted and turned just like what he could do to others with a simple glance. Karmatic in reminding him his blessings, and what all he should consider himself lucky to have gained.

He had lost it all—and he could have lost her too thanks to him being an avenger.

The words are coming up and no voice behind it to follow. Just a shift of his mouth—I thought I lost you.

[ombreecha]

Annoying

Series: Lifetimes Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: T Prompt: who the fuck cares—continuation of Pretty p.s I may have been listening to dis sweet ass OVERWERK Daft Punk Anthology remix while writing this #omfgkillmeplease #refusetoconfirmordenyit #weallknowiwasOTL p.s.s Ceejles bomb art is to blame for this

The temperature is changing and the colder it gets the more he despises his commute to work. The huff he’s letting out is visible for just moments before disappearing. He’s later than he normally is with the holiday season coming in and there’s no doubt she’d be up and getting ready for class.

He doesn’t see her as often as one would expect—they’re on completely different schedules.

Months ago Naruto had come upon his door step asking for the favor of a lifetime. He had asked him to let this complete stranger move into his home with a cat no less.

He had pegged her as absolute trouble. He had been right. She’s not a bad kind of trouble, but she’s trouble nonetheless.

Steps crunching in snow and his wad of money tucked deep within his apron. That last customer just wouldn’t leave. That customer was the bad kind of trouble. Smitten with his looks and an immunity to alcohol like no other—it was beyond annoying.

The twist of his door knob has him rolling his shoulders and shrugging off his winter jacket. The lights are off and it’s with a yawn escaping that he’s leaving his shoes at the door way and making his way down the hall. Fingers work upon the aprons knot and the ball of fur upon his feet is almost comforting at this point. The nuzzle against his leg signals the end of the second roommate he had been completely unaware of as it saunters its way down the hall. He’d find it odd at this stage if her cat wasn’t greeting him.

Apron discarded upon the table and keys following come in. A shower is all he seeks to warm himself before he crawls deep within the comforter. Footsteps heavy against the wood flooring and the turn of the door knob. His brains completely shut itself down as he scratches at his stomach from underneath his shirt blankly taking in this woman of trouble clad in one of his many towels bent over the counter and brushing her teeth. The slowest of movements comes with his intrusion as they make eye contact with each other in the mirror. His eyes are the first to leave slowly trailing down her—

“You’re home late.” she’s muffled with her tooth brush deep inside her mouth as she looks over her shoulder at him.

He doesn’t walk in on her usually. He can’t even begin to process how this is going to go down.

It’s eight in the morning and all he cares about is getting his long awaited shower and nuzzling deep within his comforter—her cat is absolutely going to join him.

He’s started leaving his door cracked for that exact reason. This woman can’t be normal.

Wouldn’t most women be screaming at someone just walking in?

Why is his shirt half way up? Oh that’s right he was scratching his stomach before he found himself hazily staring her down in just a towel. Has he even looked at her face?

No. He definitely isn’t looking at her face. He’s looking at her—

A hum is falling from him in the realization, and his lips are moving without even so much as a thought, “Take your time.”

Their roommates no longer strangers. It’s inappropriate to stand here any longer and take in this girl he’s still figuring out like this. It’s been months since she’s moved in. He’s not complaining at the sight. He’s far from complaining and that’s the issue here.

Cause she’s absolute trouble.

He’s finally dug his hand out from under his shirt as he sits on the living room couch barely awake, and barely aware of the cat that’s sitting upon his lap letting out the lightest and steadiest of purrs. The hand on his shoulder has him jumping at the touch and his eyes opening and seeing a pair of vibrant viridian gazing back down at him.

“I’m headed to class. Go grab your shower, Sasuke-kun.” she’s whispering as if it’ll wake him up more than her touch already has.

Lose pale rose not held back by a braid are still wet and tickling his cheek. She’s far to close—she has no concept of personal space he swears to god, but just as quickly as their tickling his cheek their gone once again.

Out of the house with a click of the door and he’s sitting there suddenly all too aware of him passing out on the couch. The scoop of the animal is lazy but doesn’t cause a fuss. She had claimed Dorie was well behaved, and she hadn’t lied. Another yawn uncontrolled and he’s completely dismissing the bath. His beds waiting and Dorie is more than ready for a nap.

A shift of the comforter and a stretch upon the bed before he’s finally pressing his head deep upon the pillow. There’s the smallest of thoughts to place his phone on the charger but its dismissed a second later. Sleep is all that matters.

And, god was her ass nice. Ugh—she’s annoying.

The hours are there, and then he feels himself shifting just slightly catching on quickly there’s something between his legs upon the comforter. The cat hasn’t left him, and so as he reaches for his phone and pulls it from his work pants he barely questions anything. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept long, but the blinding light from his screen says otherwise. It’s two in the afternoon, and if he’s figured out her schedule as much as he thinks he has he knows she’ll be home from class shortly.

Pushing up on his forearms he’s reaching for the charger he had neglected to use. He’ll need it charged for work, and that shower he had intended to take absolutely is a need now. Sliding his legs around the cat comes, and it’s only moments later that he sees it’s back is humped up as he stretches and lets out its own yawn.

Head under the shower head, and body warmed by the hot water he feels himself relax and the grogginess of sleep washing off the longer he stands there. Lather, rinse, repeat before he’s shutting the water off and stepping out onto the mat. Another yawn comes but it’s not the same as those that had come right after work.

It’s as he’s changing that he hears her call announcing she’s home, and only a bit more before he’s walking out in a fresh pair of sweats and a hoodie. He’s far from put together but he’s got a bit longer to relax before he needs to head out and he’ll take a moment to enjoy some coffee.

He hasn’t spared her a glance. This is how they’ve been since she moved in. It’s not always silent. They speak decently to one another, but they don’t go out of their way to interrupt the other’s routine. The burning sensation from his mug feels good against his finger tips as he tilts the coffee pot over to pour what he essentially considers crack in a cup.

He doesn’t need his hood up but it makes him feel warmer. Their heat is on, and she’s good about not touching the thermostat—he’s pretty sure it’s more about the fact nothing seems to disturb this woman. He’s never really seen her bundle up in their home, and that’s good enough for him.

Steps soft he’s coming around the sofa with his crack in a cup in hand. Nestling into the couch it’s a quick glance at her sitting on the opposite side. There’s the sudden realization she’s wears glasses—does that mean she wears contacts? Then there’s the sudden dip of his eyes that grazes her cleavage in that definitely out of season red tank top.

Did tank tops usually dip that far? Since when did they—

Oh, no he’s ogling his roommate of all people. This has to stop.

His eyes flicker to the turned off television and then the feeling of something small and warm upon his lap follows it. Fingers brush against the cats head and it’s purrs are the only thing filling this room. Perhaps she has the right idea. Out of season or not this hoodie feels far too warm all of sudden.

He’s blaming it on work, and lack of sleep mentally, but then his eyes are trailing across the coffee table, down to the floor and then following up her exposed leg, and past the brief appearance of light pink shorts mostly hidden by the large college book. The grip upon the handle of his mug tightens as they trail up once again and then there’s the briefest of shifts from her as she props her head against her hand. It’s more than enough to scare him to look away and take one more drink.

Tugging upon the hood his fingers dip within it’s collar giving it the smallest of tugs as if it’ll cool him a bit more. It’s the dead of winter, and yet he’s overheating.

She’s annoying. But, god was the view nice.

His throat constricts, and his cheeks heat in response. Eyes run for the wall—he wants to look anywhere but at her.

Shaking his head he tries to clear it of such indecent thoughts. Leaning forward he watches about shifting the cat too much as he grabs a hold of the remote and turns it on. A click here, and few more there. He has a thing for trashy television, and so when it falls on Judge Judy he feels relief because this will keep him focused on something other than this roommate of his.

His mother taught him better—she’d scold him for such behavior. He’s an adult, and a man though—that’s the lamest of excuses but it sounds nice in his head regardless.

The focus he has on his show keeps him from barely noting the way the couch dips occasionally as she shifts or readjusts. He may have mistakenly caught another glance of her. Bent forward as she scribbled upon a loose piece of paper nonetheless. The clearing of his throat comes after that particular moment. He himself shifts just a bit on the couch as the television regains his attention. Chin against the palm of his hand, and then a bit later the run of his fingers through the back of his head.

It’s all clean and all clear. His wandering mind hasn’t regained control, and then all of a sudden she’s standing up and that isn’t subtle at all. Obsidian immediately move to her and watches the way she lays the large and heavy book upon the coffee table. Her arms are rising and then there’s the tilt upon the balls of her feet. The curve of her back follows and the slow rise of her tank top doesn’t lag behind as she tilts one way, and then the other.

She’s annoying—this woman is annoying. What the fuck.

It’s not a question it’s a statement. Just what the fuck was she doing to him? He didn’t have these issues before he agreed to let her move in and now things feel like their not as simple. This is all he needs to flick the television off and pick the cat up from his lap leaving his coffee mug upon the coffee table. He has to leave for work shortly. There’s no time for this.

She’s not even doing anything. Yet, by god is she annoying.

The switch in clothes comes and the grip upon his apron isn’t all that gentle as he works to tie it together tight. Dorie rubs against his leg just as they had earlier this morning when he had arrived home and then it’s her voice behind him capturing his attention. She’s bending down and scrooping the ball of fur up, “Stay warm, and have a good time at work.”

The blankest of stares is upon his face as he takes in her face and the way her mouth moves. His lips press firmly together, and then shift of his mouth comes. A swallow and finally he answers her, “Ah, yeah.” the nod of his head follows.

Turning he’s grabbing his coat and sliding it on before heading out the door and trekking through the chilled air to begin his evening. Hands stuffed in his coat pockets and chin buried within the collar a huff of frustration leaves him.

Life used to be simple. She’s absolute trouble.

[ombreecha]

Down Below

Series: Lifetimes Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rated: T Prompt: Pirates and Mermaids

Waters down below and salt within the air. The rolling of the waves against the wood and the shift of the vessel beneath the worn and heavy boots weathered from the sea. Ghosts linger upon the crew’s tongues. Wild tall tales and masts that stand even taller all they know as they sail forward.

He’s done this a long time—long enough to have become crueler with every run in.

Sea serpents challenging within the storm. Kraken awakened and ready to drag them down below. Siren’s coaxing luring them away. Sea beasts employed when they had killed one too many of the Siren. Mermaids—they’re devilfish.

The grind of his teeth comes at such a thought, and yet here they are hunting one.

Guards of the fountain of youth. He doesn’t need more than their tears.

The call of one his crew has him turning and regarding them silently. He’s the captain of this vessel. They’re curious as to what has put them in search of something so dangerous.

This is one of selfish intent—it’s not of their business. They’re his crew. They’ll do as he says.

—Or they’ll find themselves overboard.

A wave of his hand is all he intends to give. He pays them all well enough in the spoils that have come a long the way. There’s a time limit to this journey upon the sea. They have to act quickly. They have no time to take in the feelings of such devilfish.

They’re far from home but it still feels close. His mother awaits back on shores too man miles to count. He’ll bring her the fountain of youth. He’ll help her over come her illnesses or fall into an ambiance of nothing left.

The night is dark but the stars make it easy to know where they’re heading. The city they search for is one that protects these devilfish when they deem it fit to masquerade as humans. Disgusting—they’re regarded as beauties that lure men into their arms only to drag them down below the waters surface. He’ll be damned if he falls for such trickery.

The creak beneath his books comes as he releases his hold upon the edge his ship and makes for his cabin. They’ve got more than enough nights before they’ll dock, and flood their city. Sleep is all that can be done here. The sea is calm and that means the majority of them can rest at ease.

He trusts his men to get them there safe. Under covers and under no light he settled. The map disregarded upon his desk. The shift of the boat beneath him barely felt, and that all too familiar sounds that come with living on waters. They’ve become calming over the years. He’s adjusted so much that sleeping and staying on shore feels off—oddly unsatisfying.

That won’t stop him from returning home.

His mother needs him and he’ll do whatever it takes to bring her the fountain of youth.

He can rid himself of concern once that’s done.

A wink or two is all he’s given before he’s brought about by the sound of thunder, and the light given off by lightning outside. His coat is the last thing as on his mind no less his hat as he shoves off the blankets and makes his way out upon the ship. His men are rushing and frantic to keep their ship from being over turned, and he’s right beside them pulling upon the ropes as they begin to slide back and forth.

Wet and soaked deep down to the bone. The waves come over the side of his ship spilling upon the wood. They’re being tossed so unforgiving, and the only thing they’ve got going for them is the lack of a sea monster. Their hands are tied up enough trying to keep themselves and the ship steady upon such violent waves.

Cracks of lightning don’t make it any less difficult.

One of his men is going over tripping and down below their scream a melody this late in the game. They’ll escape within the dawn—that’s the life they’ve lived.

No one can breath and it’s as the wave comes over that he’s rushing forward to stop another from falling over. He’s their captain and regardless of rumors there is honor among them. His hand’s grabbed a hold of their wrist and there’s the pull of his drenched shirt from behind—but no amount of honor or man power is stopping the wave that towards over them.

Eyes wide and a refusal to let go is what’s going to cost him dearly. His lungs are full and he feels the water rising above his head as he’s been thrown overboard. The crew member he had sought to keep from such fate can’t even be heard as he fights in vain to stay a float.

It’s like the breath before a dive—quick and gone just as fast had it had come.

That crushing sound from the sky above is the only thing he can take it as water comes within his nose. His men are seeking to retrieve them but that won’t be what happens.

There’s something twisting under his arms and around his torso—he’ll be dragged down below.

Fight or flight—he be damned before any of these creatures take him with them within the waters.

If only he could breath has he thrashes back against whatever holds him.

Fingers upon his eyes and that arm tightening around his torso. He’s whipped back and forth and his ship isn’t right before him any more it’s so much further away. It seems they won’t have to cause a ruckus within the city they had sought—a mermaids gone and come to him instead.

This is no time to see this as a victory. They have the upper hand.

He wants that quite silence from deep within his cabin. Yet, he’s twisting and pushing.

Washed away and submerged. That devilfish has lost her hold on him with such force. It’s not enough as the water over takes him and he finally finds some of that quite silence. Underneath such violent waves it’s so much calmer. All that energy, and all that strength is gone as he sinks further below. His hand reaches out as if he can just grab the surface.

Lids flutter down and an unforgivable acceptance comes over him He’s done this for such a long time—too long if he’s being honest.

This is his life though. This is the route he had taken. It’s a fitting end—but a sour one no less.

The fountain of youth wouldn’t come to his hands inside of a watery grave. There’s a terror when you go this far down. It’s dark and deep, and that light from the surface just continues to become dimmer as the body becomes heavier.

His eyes open wide and all it can take in is a bright blue. There’s something within his throat and it’s got him twisting as it constricts and expels the bitter sea water. The hack that comes has his body quaking. His limbs are exhausted and his mind fuzzy and the sea water continues to rise from his stomach.

“You wouldn’t have half of that in your system if you hadn’t fought with me so much.” a shadow follows the voice blowing the sun from him.

Fingers twist within the sand and come between his fingers. It sticks to his skin, and he’s oddly aware of his surroundings and how much him being on a shore doesn’t make sense. A look over his shoulder and all there is, is long pale rose and sea foam green. This woman—no she’s just masquerading before him.

She’ll never be a human. She’ll only be a disgusting imitation.

This creature breaths water, and air—no mere woman does that. They lure men deep into the water and drag them down below.

She will be no different.

Adrenalin has him before and dropping them to the floor. His fingers tight upon her throat, “What’s your game?”

There’s a pause from her—no, it—as if it’s contemplating the answer. They only know how to deceive and trick. Lids with lashes of pale pink dip down. It’s not even trying to fight back even as he sits atop of it aggressive and threatening.

“I’m playing at nothing, Captain.” her voice is tight with so much pressure upon it.

The flex of his fingers has him weary, and then those sea foam green emerge pointedly and unphased by this rough treatment.

“Why save me then?” he pushes down further as if to make a point before release some of the pressure upon her throat, “You obviously know who I am.”

“I’m not employed by the siren.” the response it gives makes him feel like it’s attempt casual conversation as he feels the way it’s throat moves as it swallows, “You’re but a man who had fallen overboard—title and reputation are nothing when you’re drowning.”

There’s a hiss and he’s reapplied the pressure—he would tolerate no such trickery, “Why did you save me?”

Those fingers wrap around his wrist before sliding up through the sand that covers his skin and clothes. He’s not allowing a response and there’s a mild curiosity of what kind of trickery it’ll attempt as it touches him. Those fingers press against his chest almost too comfortably making him release just a bit of the pressure upon her throat once more in wanting to know its response, “It’s better than you finding your end isn’t it?”

There’s a hesitance in what move to make next. This disgusting imitation could have dragged him deep into the water or left him as he slowly fell to the seas bottom—it didn’t.

There’s no explanation truly given with such a response. He knows there has to be some form of deception in this. It’s conjuring it up that has him hesitating. Slowly as if to make it apparent he won’t hesitate to grip her throat once more he releases her throat. Fingers float above it’s throat.

He can see why these creatures can lure men to their depths. Physically it’s ethereal and enticing with such a color palette—but it doesn’t lessen the disgust he feels for such a creature.

They’re dangerous. —but they also guard the fountain of youth.

Carefully he watches as it’s lips turn slowly, “I’m surprised you have so much energy to wrestle in the sand.”

He’s more than waterlogged, and as if because it’s spoken of the aches his muscles feel they make themselves prominent in their pulse. Knee shifting in the sand he’s rising above it. He needs away from it—the more he looks down upon it the more allure he’s finding.

He knows better.

Sitting up it raises it’s hands above their head stretching. The silence between them is thick on his end and almost airy on it’s. Eyes carefully watch as it makes it’s way to the shores edge, “There’s a town not to far from here.” it raises it’s hand within the general direction, “Be sure to be careful next time, Captain Sasuke Uchiha.”

The lowering if it’s lids comes as if to tease him, and then with a shift it’s facing the sea once more. He could stop this mermaid here and now but it would do him no good. There’s no way he could capture a tear in this scenario.

“Your name?” his voice his gruff and his throat burns at the use.

The spin upon it’s feet comes within the sand, “Sakura—safe travels.” a step within the water and then a turn back before it’s diving head first within the waters.

Irritation is bubbling within him at the antics of this mermaid. He’s lost his chance here, but there will be another mermaid after it. This is for the best. He knows what to expect with the next. It had saved him just the same, and so he wouldn’t bring further harm or threat to it.

For it’s own sake it had best never cross paths with him once again. Memaids. They’re truly devilfish.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period. 

Missed a chapter?

Chapter 14 The Days

Days turned into weeks.

There’s only the briefest of moments to recognize his time away from her. He has taken back territory, and he has come to the aid of those who needed it most within their clan. They are forever moving forward. They are there to help swing the the tides of battle, and help those exhausted and wounded. Any wounds gained in their efforts are easily handled with the aid of the vibrant redhead within his group.

He feels the pressure upon his shoulders with every altercation. He has to make sure he avoids harm.

The road traveled is far from home, and he can only allow fleeting thoughts upon her in these moments as they head for the next battle. He only dares to look back for a few seconds knowing his focus is needed on those seeking relief.

Their anniversary had come and gone. He had been deep within the throes of battle ripping his blade through those that desired to slaughter his clansmen in the name of war. It was only after the fighting had died down, and only after he had received treatment that he had realized it had even come.

There would be time for that. He would make time for it.

He would make it up to her when he returned to her side—he does not know how but he can only hope there will be an answer once she is within his grasp.

The sky that shows forth the stars is all that lights the earth as they run to their next destination.

The idle chatter of the loudest member is only overpowered by the yells of their female teammate. Feelings of irritation cannot be found as he drowns them out, and there is no desire to break up their bickering. It’s the last thing he’s concerned with. There’s so many other—so many more pressing—matters that have his attention.

The smell of blood is thick within his nose and impossible to miss. It’s a mixture of his, and a mixture of those who dared to challenge him. The blade that had come across his arm, and the hand that had dug into his flesh—they leave another scar having been mended by the makeshift medic on their team.

It’s not the cleanest job, but it’ll do. It’s just another mark upon him to add to the list.

Legs burn within their overuse, and yet it does not make him allow the breaks requested by his team. He only sought to continue forward—he only sought to do whatever necessary to bring victory to his clan.

Sleep had always been far from his mind. It’s a secondary thought. He is not plagued with the haunting thoughts of slayed medics. He is not harmed inside that unconscious realm that sought to render him defenseless. There is only endless black within his dreams. It doesn’t lessen his exhaustion but it’s a welcomed change of pace, and one he finds himself silently thankful for.

The flutter of his lids comes with the sound of the earth shaking below him. How long had he slept, and when had the battle found its way to them? He’s groggy and he’s soaked within the remnants of sleep. The call of his name is the last thing from his mind as he scrapes his head against the earth rolling back and onto his feet. He’s barely got enough time to step back before the jutsu coming for him has hit the earth with the same force that had awoken him. These movements he’s done to remove himself from this danger has dislocated his thumb—it aches and it throbs but it is just one more thing pushed aside and ignored.

The sword that comes through the air slices the smallest of ebony strands as it soars through the air. Suigetsu never hesitates seeking to strike back unwilling to let his leader have this round. The smell of copper comes and then the dying of clothes soaked in blood. Another scream of his name and his ebony have vanished. Deep rich red are glowing as he’s moving forward fingers grabbing the face of the next shinobi’s audacious attack.

He is not kind. He is ruthless.

Electric lights from his fingers and the deafening shout that fills the air is only silenced by the blood that chokes and spills from the Senju’s mouth. Little care is shown to the body allowing it to drop as Jugo rushes forward decorated with manic wide eyes, and widening lips. They hold no fear even when woken with such tactics. Karin’s not far behind calculating and calling out the number of those that surround them—this is why he put this team together.

His team has defeated and killed far more than this. Every one of them has their use and every one of them performed their roll with ease.

They did not question. They simply reacted.

The thrust of his blade lodges itself underneath the final shinobi’s jaw. A sharp tug is all he has to give to have it split through the child’s face ending this small surprise attack upon them. There is no missing the fact that he has slain a child with equally as little care as the older male he had dropped to the ground right before.

He had no care for age—they were all the same.

Deep rich red turn and there is a shared look between them all. They need to moving forward—they were always moving forward. It does not matter how far the road goes. They will continue, and they will conquer. They will fight, and they will show no mercy for those in their way. Humor that falls from lips that hide the sharpest of teeth. His remark is not missed—Sasuke sees no reason to entertain him.

Their destroyed camp isn’t a concern. No. It’s being found sleeping at all that poses the concern. If there were enemies seeking to bury them within the earth while they slept then there was more to come.

His legs are rested but they still hold that ache. They’re still pulsing, and their still twitching. Karin’s voice is what breaks through muddled thoughts of what comes next. Brows pinch in hearing what she has to say, and how many lay just up ahead. His brothers-in-arms are up ahead, and yet the number of Senju far out numbers them. Lips press firm and the swallow that follows tightens his jaw. There’s less urgency and more caution as they go forward.

They cannot change the tide of battle here, but that does not mean they would not survey the damage received. They were too late, and there is no missing the Uchiha who have surrendered. Their hands are held behind their heads showing they have accepted defeat, and it only serves to make his fists curl and shake. His throat tightens, and then there is the turn of red to flicker towards his own—they’re not the eyes of an Uchiha.

This is a man who needs no introduction. Who didn’t know this man?

Tobirama Senju was well known for his belief that the Uchiha needed wiped from this earth.

The tilt of that mouth can be seen even from this distance as if challenging him to come forward and resume the barely held battle. The male with strands of white is proud in his stance as his arms cross upon his chest adorned in the colors of Senju.

The control needed to not take his bait is great, and the control needed to turn and return from the direction they’ve come is even greater. Accepting this loss is something he has not come to terms with—he’s stubborn when it comes to accepting a loss. The chase would soon begin and their speed quickens. They cannot take on this army even with the four of them. They are powerful, and they together could bring down a camp—an army is an entirely different story.

Retreat is something that only seeks to make his body flush with indignation.

Tobirama would not send all of them after them—he would only send what he thought was necessary. The terror that comes with the idea of being struck down in such a shameful manner—in retreating—is what makes him ignore the branch that cuts across his cheek. He could not let his pride get in the way of logic. He could not let himself take the chance. He couldn’t allow himself to become injured or dead from foolish pride.

She was waiting. She was always waiting.

She is the flower that bloomed in this time of difficulty. She is what lights the way home, and she is what will mend him from this shameful act.

The hiss that falls from his mouth brings their eyes to him. They know he’ll produce an order. They don’t need to ask. The humor once within the air is trapped within Suigetsu’s throat. The manic decoration has washed itself from Jugo’s features. Karin’s calls have quelled within whispers of how many linger behind them.

The could stop their retreat, and take care of the five the seek to close in upon them. They could crush their skulls, and rip their hearts from their chest. They could stain the earth with their blood, and bathe within victory.

They won’t—because others would be right behind them. There is more than five. It does not take a tracker to know they are being baited, and asked to stay and fight.

To do so meant death. His people needed him alive. She needed him to come home to her.

He would not abandon them in the name of pride, and he would not abandon her even as this pique settles itself deep within.

That welcomed dreamless sleep would disappear with this loss. They would drag him from what little peace he had found, and plunge him deep within his own fears. There is no denying what he cannot stop.  The small reprieve is gone and the vivid red that reeked of copper would coat it all.

“Juugo—Send out to see where the closest ally is.”

It’s the agitation laced within his whisper that has Juugo hesitating, and then the stop of his feet upon the next branch. No, he would not fight but he would give them distance until they could meet with others. He’s quick with his hand seals, and the intake of oxygen within his lungs puffs his chest.

He will set the forest ablaze.

He will burn it down to the ground if he has to. The fire that comes forward is strong and lights up the forest before them. He’s not stopping at one though. He intends to release another. The harsher the flame the more devastating the burns. It’s at the inhale of the second and the release that he flashes just beyond the hell he’s release from his lungs.

The taunt across this Senju’s lips, and the widening smirk is just another thing to snap at his resolve. It calls for him wish to lunge within the fiery embrace he’s given the forest. He had long since removed the Senju from his mind, and now it’s with that look that he’s resurfaced.

This man has continued forward and continues to bring his personal feelings to the battlefield. It lingers within the proud look across his features, and the curl of his fingers upon his arms as they come to cross over his chest. Fingers curl into a fist and his ebony widen as urgency to remove such a proud look upon his features digs at what little remaining resolve he can maintain.

The lips of his enemy moves, and it only seeks to light the fire of battle more vividly than even that of his flames.

He would show this man—no, he would show this child—that you did not come to him with such a look. He would tear it from his features, and he would dig his fingers deep within that mouth and remove the tongue that dared to mock him.

Coward. He had called him a coward.

The grit of his teeth comes and then the fingers of another wrap upon his shoulder. The whip of his head shows the startle that had shaken his heart at someone so close to him. He has lost sight of everything so easily before this Senju that sought to obtain her. The lavender that hold him are stern with no sense of humor present.

The tightening of Suigetsu’s fingers come, “We’ve have to go.”

He’s breathing in deep—an attempt to settle the irritation resting upon his chest. The lavender keep his steady, and then the silent agreement mixed with reluctance follows. There is no need to tell him twice, and they are moving again no longer allowing the flames to glow upon their skin that burn the trees down with no remorse.

They’re heading south east, and heading for safety. Shisui’s father would assist, and provide them with enough men to hold their ground for any who would make their way through the flames. It’s only a moment—seconds really—before he’s giving commands.

“We’ll use a kill and run tactic.” his voice is gruff—just another sign of his reluctance and spite for their retreat, “Create distance, strike, and then keep moving—one at a time.”

It’s a basic tactic but one that works. Speed was not equal among men, and never would be. Someone’s always faster—someone is always bound to separate themselves from the herd.

Strike them down, and then continue to make the herd separate in an effort to catch up. No sooner after the words have left him do lavender light with amusement as he shifts to turn back to who dared to catch up so quick. He’s lifting the sword as long and large as himself sliding it over the young child’s head who had pushed through the flames and allowed the fire to play across him. He’s had to put little effort in securing it around his throat before the yank of his hand comes effectively bring wide eyes and silencing any possible sound that could come. There’s no remorse, and there’s no time taken to see where the severed head falls as he sets to resume his steps at their leader’s side.

Rotation, and succession come with this tactic. Not once does the Senju who sought his spring wife make an appearance. There’s the sinking of his heart within his stomach in realizing that they had already battled. He had allowed this man to quake his being, and fallen in a battle of mental wills.

Coward he had called them—no, he had come to taunt him, and him alone.

He had allowed himself to almost take the bait. He would have taken the bait. He would have pushed forward within animalistic rage. He would have put them in a dangerous state, and jeopardized all their efforts in the name of pride.

He had mocked, and he had held judgment against this man who sought his wife. He had saw him as a child for bringing his personal feelings onto the battlefield, and yet he had almost done the same. He had almost lunged forward, and he had almost cross the fire he had created to give them time. It’s the grind of his teeth and the silence that comes as Karin tells them no others seek to follow. They did not seek to fall upon the forest floor lifeless and without a soul.

The bickering of this team that had become common place with this team never comes. They do not fall into place as the restrained vexation washes off him in waves. He’s trapped within his mind, and trapped within his loss. They have suffered a loss greater than just those who gave up willingly to the Senju.

They have defected—they have abandoned their brothers, their sisters, their wives, and their children.

They have tossed away their family thinking this to be the answer. They are tired of war, and they are tired of fighting. They are tired of Madara’s rule, and they seek out a peace brought by Senju hands.

They are willing to let the Senju dictate what comes next.

The power within his stride is set to relieve him from this submerge of bitter feelings. He needs to be clear of mind, and he needs to move forward passed these losses. His muscles resume their ache although dull, and almost numb. This would be just one of the many battles he’s lost. It would add to the list.

The battle may have been lost—but this war was far from over.

Deep within the setting sun they have made their way in. They have come upon Kagami’s camp. The distance had been further than expected, but they had made it. They are not expected, but they are welcomed. Ebony cannot stop themselves from running across those injured and wrapped within bandages. The exhaustion deep and set within their faces is unmissable. He is sure it’s upon his own features as well. The throbbing of his thumb is felt but still the furthest thing from his mind as he looks upon this camp. Kagami’s voice is what comes to break his eyes from these men who show relief with his presence.

“I thought it might be you making your way here.” he’s light in tone running his fingers within his dulling ebony.

It’s a shared look of ebony to ebony, and then the firm press of lips. The steps that follow are to give them privacy. They cannot afford to plunge their morale deeper with news of defection. This is all too familiar within the recent months, and only now does it seek to be problem. The number of those defecting is high and the number just continues to increase.

Where was their pride? Where was their hope for a better life with their loved ones? With their friends?

Had war truly weakened their pride? Had war truly become too much?
Had these endless years of battle finally taken their toll?

“There’s nothing we can do but look to the next battle.” the breath deep with discontent follows his words, “I’ll report the loss to Madara-sama.”

His face decorates in mild discomfort at the older Uchiha’s words as he comes to stand beside the table in the tent, “Where would you have us move to in the morning?”

The male fingers linger over the map before tapping it, “Head north. There’s a medic camp—your wife is there. I suggest getting decent first aid. You’re as good as ever at holding your own for long periods of time, but there’s no missing the exhaustion.”

“We’re in too deep for rest. We need to keep pushing forward.”

“I would never tell you how to run your missions, but I’m also not willing to sit by and watch you, of all people, possibly fall thanks to lack of care. Karin-san is decent, there’s no doubt, but you need proper healing, and rest. I couldn’t face your father if I turned a blind eye—No. I won’t face your father like that.”

Lids flutter closed and there’s no strength left to fight the feeling of fatigue that’s within every muscle, and every bone. This man would not take his stubbornness, and it’s with the older Uchiha’s voice that his lids are lifting to take him in once more, “How many have you taken down?”

“We have aided the capture of two territories, and destroyed three of their camps.” his voice is even and yet he too can hear just how worn out his tone is.

“Madara-sama will be please.” his features paint itself with the smallest of smiles before fingers come to rub the back of his neck.

“I’ll have them get you situated. . .They’re relieved that it was you who came upon us while we await our own medics. Going off everyone’s reaction seeing you helped with their morale.”

Silently he stands there taking in the older Uchiha’s words. It’s a subtle look his way—this man has been at war for longer than he’s been alive. They’re both experienced but he’s definitely wiser. This man fought beside his father and this man has done everything he can for his clan. He’s loyal, and he cares for his men. There’s a bitterness lingering in those last few words.

That bitterness isn’t directed to Sasuke. It’s a bitterness he holds for himself—he wants to be the one providing hope when his men have almost run out.

Lungs fill with air before he gives a nod of his head signaling his departure from the tent. The sky once colored by the setting sun now holds the depths of night. Wood burns giving those in the camp heat and light as they go another day away from home.

His team has resumed their flow within the camp, but there’s no missing the bruising, and the injuries they’ve sustained. These people sought to assist him, and sought to assist his clan. They did not agree with the Senju’s beliefs.

The world had been cruel to each of them throughout their lives, and they had persevered and made their way to this moment in time. They each held their own reasons. They each held their own ambition. They each walked beside him willingly with no thought to step from his side.

Peace brought by love can come in many forms.

The wind that blows through is strong, and the petals carried with it seem so out of place. They are light in color but unmistakable. Ebony look out to find the source, and it’s now he finds the tree that’s petals have fallen. This tree is old and it’s branches hang low. It’s trunk is twisted and turned, and it’s bloom had started to fall to the earth below well before now.

Subconsciously his jaw shifts and his mouth parts. This feeling isn’t one he’s sure of—he had felt it strongly as a child but it’s been such a long time since then. Slow and fluid his hand raises up to capture these petals that fall far too quickly to the ground. His skin is stained with the blood of his enemies—like an old bitter wine—and the sharp pain that comes with the movement of his thumb finally gains his attention.

The swelling is large upon the pad of his hand, and the twist of skin is almost enough to make him question if he’s actually broken it. The cool wind washes over him showing how heated his flesh had become.

One petal slides upon his hand sending an almost ticklish sensation through him. What should be such an easy action is strained as he tries to close his fingers upon this lone petal. The pain is sharp, and spikes up his arm as if a warning. Quelling the pain comes with a deep inhale as his heavy lids fall. Even breathing picks up the subtle floral scent in the air— it’s easily overpowered by the copper that lingers upon them all.

This was longing. It’s stronger than before—it’s as if he was that child waiting on his father’s return.

He longed for his spring nymph of a wife who was tucked away within a medic camp north of them. Sasuke can only wonder if this is what she felt when she awaited his return, and if this is what moved her to support him.

Sakura had found her way back to even after all of his cruelty had broken her down. She had asked for all of him in return.

He would give her all of him—he doesn’t know how or when, but he will.

One day.

She was an otherworldly being bewitching him with the tree he adored. There’s comfort in the fact that she’ll take care of him, and that she’ll look upon him with those glowing viridian soon enough.

Thunder cracks within the air bringing his ebony to fall upon this tree so out of place among the green that had already come to life. Rain intends to fall from the sky and yet it does not move him from this spot. Fingers come around his hand and vibrant red are what hold his.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she’s scolding and her brows are pinched with concern—they’re not pale pink, and her voice is not as high.

Her actions make the petal fall from his palm as she seeks to relocate his thumb. It’s a quick fluid motion, and another sharp pain that shoots throughout his arm and the twist of his skin is gone. The swelling remains.

The terror of his dreams will be there tonight, but the petals that seek to vanquish the coppery scent of blood upon them will linger, and provide comfort in the morning. They’ve suffered loss, but he will bring more success. They’ve been defeated, and he had been cowardly for not standing his ground in fear of death.

He will fight again tomorrow, and he will fight again within the days that come. He will bring pride back to those tired and exhausted in this camp—and to those back home.

He will give them hope. He will never stop moving forward.

The earth below is no longer damp and soaked from the thunderstorm that had struck the sky just days before. It’s rain had finally ceased as if it no longer had tears to shed. Fingers seek to shield her eyes as she dares a glance at the sun that has risen to bring warmth to everything the spring showers have touched. It’s rays are tender, and its heat is coaxing.

That fresh earth scent clings to all it touches. The wind that comes through is not harsh nor is it one laced in winter chill. It’s soothing against the skin seeking to immerse her within the trees—it’s a reminder that there were still surfaces untouched, and unplagued with war. Floral beds lay in wait for their turn to bloom, but have taken their places. Those that pull through have already come to life—they’ve come to remind them all of warmer days ahead.

Her tongue flicks across her top lip and then the sound of the grass crushed beneath her shoes enters her ears. She won’t leave the camps side for long. She needs a moment of peace, and a moment not filled with the injured. She needs a moment to bask within the spring. Deeper down these wooded plains she heads always keeping track of where she has been and where she needs to go.

Rising above the foliage she can’t help but count the petals. Eight to twelve petals a piece with no leaves in sight. White like the snow but so different from the snowdrops that hang low in the north.

It’s poisonous—like the petulant flower that had held so much control over her heart when she had sought to let another be her husband’s anchor to the world.

The woven basket touches the ground soon to be much heavier. The muddy cloak of cream brushes against her skin as she bends and seeks to get to work on uprooting this desired plant.

She could not trust another to grab her what she has sought. A skin irritant to the unknown, and the red that flowed through its stem, but another reason to give care. The sickness that flowed through her camp had begun. This was but another thing she sought to keep herself free from. Every part of her being is needed. She could not allow sickness to keep her from aiding them all.

Digging deep and giving care is easy. She’s been trained for this. Others had been trained for war. She had been trained to keep them all going.

To keep them all fighting. It’s cruel irony when she allows her mind to wander.

She’s diligent and completely focused. The brush of her wrist upon her forehead comes wiping the pale rose-colored strands from her sight as she continues to take what she thinks necessary. Every part of this plant is needed to ease the sick’s throats, fever, and aches.

Her gloves have become stained, but that is the least of her worries. Devising how she’ll use it is all she can think of until the shadow of another comes over her. Viridian widen and then the slow turn of her head comes to follow. Her voice is caught within her throat.

His figure is looming, and his presence is lethal.

He’s not here to hurt her—but he’s the last one she expected to check upon her.

“Sasuke-kun?” she’s unsure if she’s spoken loud enough, but the tilt of his head as he looks upon her makes it clear he’s heard her. He’s coming beside her and there’s no missing his eyes set with exhaustion, and the blood that’s clung to him. Viridian glow in seeing his thumb wrapped tightly and held in place. Every stain upon his skin is unmissed--it’s dried and no longer that deep rich red. Sasuke’s eyes have chosen to focus on what she’s uprooting for the wooded soil.

How many weeks had it been since she had wished to see him? Even covered in blood she’ll take him like this.

All of this is enough as long as his chest continues to move, and that heart continues to beat to a rhythm only it knows as normal. Unthinking she’s reaching out to take his hand and then it’s just before she touches she freezes. She’ll dye his skin with the red that thrives within the bloodroot—she’ll irritate the skin with it’s oil upon her gloves.

Her hand recedes and fingers work to tug the gloves from her hands, “Don’t touch it. It’s poisonous when handled incorrectly.” she’s explaining as he holds his eyes to her.

A hum low and showing understanding comes, and then they’re looking and holding an eye contact that only they know. They’re making no movement to touch or brush. They’re simply taking in the others presence.

Enchantment seems to dance within her viridian before she’s pushing up from her knees to stand. Fingers dance upon the baskets handle, but it’s grip never comes as he takes it with ease using the hand that had been harmed nonetheless. Thoughts are wandering to treatment and ease of pain and stiffness. It’s obvious there has been previous treatment, but she seeks to make sure there is nothing that remains.

This is why she had been given to him. This is what she is meant to do. She would make sure she provided more than just that in her support.

Silence sits comfortably between them as she takes him within her designated medical tent. Slender fingers dip within the bowl of water meant for cleansing, and she’s calling for another with a whisper. Her fingers are delicate with each turn of the bandage that hugs his skin, and then there’s the swelling that greets her. His features never change even with the tightening of his jaw as she seeks to see it’s ability to move.

His pale skin has turned bluish. Viridian are calculating the possible time in which previous treatment has occurred and almost as if dazed her voice whisper a single question, “How many days?”

His only response is but a deep inhale, and a tilt of his head as he looks from her.

He looks as if he’s filled with shame. He looks as if he has done something worthy of guilt. He looks as if he has done her wrong.

A swallow follows and that’s all she needs to know there’s lingering discomfort. It’s an easily treated injury. There’s no need for concern. The rest of him is an entirely different matter. It’s hard to disconcert what is his own blood and what is not. There’s no missing how warm his skin feels against her fingertips, and the cloth she uses to clean him. Sweat, dirt, and so much blood stains that pale skin of his.

Her hums have made their way into the tent. Bruising is found beneath his clothes. They’re light and just another thing she can mark down as nothing to be concerned with. Something holds his attention, and she knows it’s not her—she can only assume it’s what his next move will be.

Her fingers are out before him coaxing and seeking for him to take them. The question she had held still hung in the air. She hadn’t been only asking about the injuries.

How many days had he gone without sleep? How many days had he gone with his mind clouded by what was to come next?

How many days had he become restless, and uncertain? How many days had it been since they stood next to each other?

It’s night within the camp and it’s unlike any time before as he lays beside her inside of the tent as if they are inside the walls of their home. This is something she had never been given before. They had never truly crossed paths outside their home in the midst of the war torn lands. They had never lingered, and they had never stood beside each other inside a camp.

His blade swung through the air piercing the flesh far from where they held her. Her fingers glowed to signal the way to health, and home in protected camps.

The sleep he falls into is dark and dragging him beneath the earth. It’s etched across his face, and the dip of his brows. He’s twisting those fingers tight within the sheet that covers them, and those ebony strands stick to his forehead as the sweat rolls down his skin. Whatever had gripped him within their days apart he would not utter. He would not make a sound to alert her of his troubles. Those bags that had settle beneath his eyes had set thanks to those unspoken worries. He had been plagued with something before he had left, and it had taken root deep within him. She did not need him to tell her such. Fingers find their way deep within his hair to sooth and persuade those features to ease out of their tormented state. She had not lost as much sleep as he had. She would stay up with him as he fought through his night terrors.

The muffled cry outside her tent has her raising her viridian, and she’s gone only moments before it wakes her husband from his already overdue rest—terrors or not he needed whatever rest who could gain. Fingers grasp the fevered child’s hand, and she’s coaxing him away to provide care, and comfort—this child’s fever is high, and the vomit that covers him reeks.

A hand held up high, and the shake of her head is given to those apologizing for the disturbance they think this child has caused her. This child had fought just as her husband had. He had sought comfort in her the moment he had arrived, and comfort is what she would give him as she sought to ease that hoarse throat, and burning fever.

Time ticks by so slow, and yet so fast as she goes through the motions. She’s calculating and easing the muffled cries he gives. She wonders if this is what her husband had looked like sick, and fevered as a child. This child’s hair sticks upon his face just as her husband’s had deep within his tormented sleep—beyond her comfort.

Viridian cannot remove themselves from this child as she holds his hand, and it’s only the press upon her shoulder that finally breaks the spell.

Shisui. He had come looking for her.

He’s taking her place, and suggesting rest but a shake of her head makes it clear she has no time to bask within that comfort. Pushing the flap of the tent open brings light to her eyes making her wince. The night had come and gone, and yet she knows this is a sign of something far worse. The sun may feel warm, and its rays may be what coaxes her heart forward, but the coughs and scratchy throats around her make it clear there is worse to come.

The cool morning is upon them as the newly risen sun hangs upon the sky. It’s more than enough to get her heading out for more herbs.

If this continued—it would take them all. She could not let that happen.

The rules of her master are clear. She would be the last to fall. She would not let sickness enter her and take her from the care of those who needed her before being shoved out to perform miracles upon the battlefield.

Footsteps heavy, and a mind muddled with concern has her walking farther and longer than she should have allowed herself. There’s an overwhelming sensation that overtakes her as she comes before the floral bed far from the camp. The basket within her hands hits the ground, and all at once she feels the weight she’s pushed upon her shoulders lift.

She is not gifted in the language of flowers like that of her blonde best friend who she knows stands upon the battlefield. She is not knowledgeable in the way that, that woman is, and yet there is no denying the comfort she feels as she looks upon this field that bloomed. There’s no denying the comfort that comes from having her husband so close. There’s no denying the way her heart shakes as he sits there among the lavenders that dare to cast a glow of blue upon his clothes. There’s no denying the way he looks surrounded by the dwarf crested iris that have flourished and show victory in the early spring.

Those endless ebony seize control of her. This great divide that stands before them is growing smaller with each passing day even if he does not stand next to her. It grows shorter in distance and it shrinks beneath every step she takes to bring herself to him. The bags under his eyes still linger and those firm pressed lips make it clear he still will not tell her what lingers in his thoughts. She takes her place beside him pulling her knees to her chest as she bathes within the sun settled next to him.

“You weren’t there.” his voice is soft with lingering exhaustion.

“There’s a few cases of influenza in the camp. A child had gotten worse within the night.” she’s breathing out as she tightens her arms around her knees, “They may hold weapons, and run head first into battle, but they are still children. They long for someone to take care of them.”

Silence settles between them. None of what she has said is wrong, none of what she said is something he doesn’t know, and none of what she spoke of was something he didn’t understand. Her legs shift to lay upon the flowers beneath them. The horizon framed with trees holds her attention and it makes her lost in her thoughts once more.

“My mother would sleep at my bedside when I was sick.” his voice is thick between them sprouting desire to see what kind of face he makes when speaking of his mother.

Sasuke had never stopped looking her way—her words had retrieved his stolen attention.

He had been looking to find an answer, and to find a response. He was looking to respond to her unlike the times before now when he’d leave her guessing. He was responding as if he knew she had wondered about the woman who she was sure still protected him in death.

“She sounds just as a mother should.” her lips are curving within a smile enchanted by such a response from him.

His movements are sluggish by their lack of peace, and it’s only moments later does he lean his head upon her own, “She stood proudly beside my father. She was kind, and she would lay my worries to rest—she would. . .”

His words die upon his tongue as if he’s not sure how to describe this woman spoken of with a warmth he had buried behind walls for far too long. She wont press him to say more. He’s said what he can, and he’s making those small attempts that she knows hold hesitance. It’s clear the love he has for his mother, and it’s almost as if speaking so warmly has brought him peace for this small moment. His breathing is deepening and only moments later does it become clear that he has let himself fall within sleep. There’s a fear at moving him as he wakes so easily. Her movements are slow and carry forth all the hesitance she can muster after a sleepless night.

Peaceful. He looks peaceful as his chest moves slowly with each breath and a face no longer twisted in torment.

There’s guilt in having a moment like this with her husband. She wants more of these moments when he leans upon her to provide comfort where he cannot find it on the battlefield. Many could not dance in a moment of bliss like this. Many could not sit within the flowers that had blossomed upon the earth. Many could not entertain peace as she is being given here and now.

Her husband was truly kind.

Fingers wrap upon the stem of one of the many dwarf crested irises in bloom beside her. They pull with the slightest tug breaking the stem, and it’s with a kiss upon the white and orange mixed within the lavender that she presses it upon his lips. The nuzzle of her cheek against those ebony strands is all she could permit herself so far from home.

She would not allow herself the satisfaction of receiving more than this. While so many were hurt, and surrounded by pain she could not allow herself to fall deeper into bliss. She could not allow herself to feel such overwhelming comfort in this time of war. He had sought comfort, and she had been happy to give it to him. He had given her a chance to witness the warmth he held for his mother, and she could not be more thankful.

When they walk away from this field it will put them back within their roles. They will not have time for comfort. They will not have time to bask within the safety of each other. They will only give way to lingering looks, and brushes of fingers.

Three more days come and go from them after this moment. She is wrapped within her duties as a medic just as she knew she would be. He walks among those that have fought, and he is the leader she knows he has always been. There’s a care in every movement he makes. There’s a care for these children of war that she knows he has held long before she had ever been given the pleasure to witness it.

She will see him off, and then more days will stretch before them. They will be separated as they have grown accustomed too, and they will be without the comfort that, that floral field has allowed. He will be drenched within his own determination, and she will be drowned by her duties as a medic.

There is a horizon at the end of these travels. It’s there and it’s in the distance.

It’s only but a simple question of when. How many days?

There’s nothing cheap about the smile that’s decorated her lips as she sees him off again with his small team. The days have become lost and so has their anniversary.

She will return before him, and he will return behind her seeking peace from the field of battle.

Her fingers reach upon her neck and the clip is easily undone. The necklace hidden under her cheongsam slides from her neck and it’s here that she holds it out between them.

Her steps are soft as she comes closer to him, and her fingers boldly grab upon the hilt of his sword. He’s watching everything, and then a brush of his fingers come over her own as she wraps the chain securely on the hilt..

Viridian glow watching his finger upon the pendant and it’s as their breath mixes between them that she speaks low and just for him, “Happy anniversary.”

The way in which he holds the pendent within his hand shows more of that hesitance she expects. Viridian are prepared when his ebony make their way from the petals, and it’s with a smile that shines that she speaks once again, “It was my fathers. I hope it will provide you with comfort, and will protect you in the way that my father protected me—with love.”

The way his eyes widen and the way they shake with her feelings is something she knows she won’t be able to witness often. She takes it all in. This look upon his face is one she adds to the list of things she hopes to remember for as long as she walks this earth. It is much like the enchantment she felt when he kneeled beside her just days before this.

It’s magical. It’s witchcraft. It’s a level of sorcery she is sure only he possesses. It is just one more thing she loves about him. —because only he holds such a gift.

As if he has not bewitched her with such a look he steps forward and his forehead comes to touch upon her own. It’s a fluid motion without hesitance. His fingers brush across her jaw finding their way into her pale rose. There is a warmth where his fingers are. There is a warmth of a different kind in these actions. She almost dares to thinks that his lips will press upon her own, but all that comes with their lips so close is a whisper of gratitude—just as if he had been awake to witness why she would not dare press her own lips upon his in the field of dwarf crest irises.

Thank you—Sakura.

[ombreecha]

Flora verses Fauna

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Rated: T Prompt: Vampire!Cloud and Aerith; You can love her but you cannot keep her. Note: Yuuuuuuuume feels linger in all of this. Truest of true stories.

Lids fluttering and fingers helping to shield hover above his face. The sun is warm, and the sun is bright. He should still be sleeping, but thirst still reins even when the sun is up. The rumors are wrong—they just prefer the night. There’s nothing keeping them from roaming when the rest of the world steps loudly upon the earth.

Where he sleeps doesn’t matter to him as long as he’s close by. She’s the prey. She’s the victim. She’s the one he’s hunted. Smaragdine eyes, and warm chocolate hair. Soft pinks, and floras painted in yellows. Colors too bright compared to his own—they only match the blood that stains.

It’s undeniably true there is pain where there is beauty.

The deepest of breaths and then the rise. The shift of his head to look down upon her as she sits within the abandoned church. Taking her now would be easy. It would be simple. It would be the lion upon an antelope. The wolf to the lamb. He doesn’t, though. He wants to, though.

There’s something bittersweet about this particular hunt. There’s something sweet about how those fingers dig within the soil.

Tongue against teeth and the slow drag of his gaze from high above. Peeking and peering from that hole in this abandoned palace of God has become his life. He doesn’t follow her home. He doesn’t drag her within the ally. All he does is watch. He watches for her return the next day, and the day after that. He watches as goes about life so unaware—so unaware how he could end it all with the barest of efforts.

Caught and locked. Held down, and unable to be released. There’s a lock and key for the doorway between a man’s imagination, and his attainment.

That’s why he watches. That’s why he waits This woman. This girl. This flora verses the fauna.

Beastly as the rumors tell the tale. Greedy with hunger. Morals insignificant for one who travels through the world untouched. More beast than man—they’re disowned by God. There’s a hum at such a thought, and the follow of muted blues upon this flora as she walks between the pews.

Reason. Rhythm. Rhyme. None of it makes sense. It’s an essence. It’s a light.

This disgusting hesitation. This intense fascination. This greedy hunger for that exposed neck. He should have taken it the minute he saw her. He should have never staked out where she resides. He shouldn’t have watched with mild curiosity.

All of it had grown and all of it had coaxed him further along. Teasing, and haunting. That was what he was meant to do, and yet she had done it without so much of a glance his way—without so much of knowing he existed to devour her whole.

Human’s don’t interest him. Yet, she does. They’re food meant to sustain him. A meal and nothing more. She’s transcend such a thing. He had dabbled in taking her for far too long. He had thought to long on this particular kill. He had begun to question if he could sit here watching over here in this place disavowed by God. Watch her in God’s place just as God had deserted his kind.

She had become a radiant existence somewhere along the way. Flora had poison the fauna.

No one was untouchable—even with such a thought. That’s why he doesn’t enter her realm. That’s why he stays perched upon this rooftop. The hunger and the greedy are mighty. The desire even mightier. If he moves while she’s still lingering, while her scent still comes within his nose, there’s no doubt he’ll devour her.

Yes, this is how beasts are killed. This long exhausting journey, and she who existed as if to give him such insatiable thirst.

He doesn’t fear death—he welcomes it. He fears her, who had bewitched him so.

Heartbeat within his ears. That scent filling his nose. It’s calling and loud within his ears. This instinct. This craving. She’s harmed herself, and harmed her chances. He only has so much will power. Just another sign God had cruelly abandoned his kind. Sitting here being tempted and called. Sitting here being tormented and forced to battle against what he knows he should have done long ago, and what needs to be done to end it all so he can finally leave this place.

He’ll be driven into madness if he doesn’t eat as he desires too. That is as beasts do.

More, and more. He’ll want more. He won’t stop at just a taste. He’ll take too much—regret so much more.

No sunlight to warm his scalp. No he’s done what he had prolonged. Entered her realm, and gave her a fright. Broken through the floor with such a landing, and footsteps even as he corners her.

Lion to the antelope. Wolf to the lamb.

Aged walling, and that bead of sweat that slides down her face as she stares up at him. Smaragdine eyes and warm chocolate far too coaxing. A radiant existence that won’t last another day. Terror across her face as he stares down so unrelenting. She’s brought this upon herself. He’ll still be alive by the end of it. She’ll still be dead before it’s over.

Grip tight upon her shoulders and his face far to close to hers. Inhalation. Deeply intoxicating, and all the more enticing. Tilt of his head and mouth opening ever so slowly. She’s trembling within his grasp, and the thrill it gives him is almost too much to bare. Closer and closer still. The taste of her sweat earthly and floral upon his tongue.  

All he has to do is step through to gain his attainment. A greed far too harsh too bare with that copper dancing upon all of his senses.

The swallow she makes is loud. His hold upon her becomes tighter. He’s aching—and he’s pulling away. He wants to devour her so much. He wants nothing more. He does. He does so much.

Teeth gritting and his forehead pressed against her own. She’s not speaking. She’s only shaking with fingers tightly gripping her dress. He wants to watch over this flora. He doesn’t want to stop watching as she goes about her day to day. So that’s why he tries in vain to rein himself in. It’s too late. He’ll fail, and then he’ll leave her upon that floral bed she had cared so much for—

Tripping upon his feet and falling back. Pushing her away is the last of his will as his fingers curl upon the broken down church pews. Connected stares as she presses her hands against her chest. She must realize there is no God to save her.

Watching her. Wanting her from afar. He had been so happy.

Now he’s in despair. He’s scared of what he’ll do to her. Everything had been so sweet until he had just tried to devour her whole. Her existence had been so comforting and quite even as it drove him insane.

Loving her from afar. Torturing himself with being so close and yet so far. Yes. He had been so happy within his masochistic paradise.

“Who are you?”

The rumors are wrong—they don’t devour because they do not feel. They devour because they don’t want to feel.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period. Missed a Chapter?

Chapter 12 The Answer

The amount of people who linger within the home of her cousin is more than she had imagined. They continue to give their praises, and they continue to give her tender squeezes upon her shoulder in thanks for the call to the spring that would surely come upon them. Her toes sit nestled within the water no longer hot and turned warm with time. The chill of the snow between her toes had been harsher than she had anticipated. Viridian move to gaze behind her looking for her husband sitting against the wall with a book in hand. He knows she is looking to him—it’s that flicker of his gaze that tells her so.

There is a call from the hall announcing Madara’s enter within this home that silences the room. Dragging her feet from the water meant to assist she stands. There is something within those hereditary endless ebony that she cannot place. It does not hold disgust, and it does not hold love. It’s that something in between that has her bare feet bringing her to stand before him. Sasuke has made only the smallest of sounds as he comes to stand beside her discarding his book.

This man holds so much power within her family brought by marriage.

This is a man who sends her husband to war, this is a man who had her plucked from her home, and this is a man who could alter everything with a wave of his hand. His name sends fear deep within the hearts of any who speak. His presence silences those who stand before him. His entire being commands and controls. This is a man who sends her husband to war, this is a man who had her plucked from her home, and this is a man who could alter everything with a wave of his hand.

This moment where she stands before him makes her lungs feel heavy. There’s no telling what he will say, and what he will do. There’s only hope floating upon a sea of fear that she has done nothing to bring shame upon this family, and shame upon her husband.

Hope. She dares to hope that she has pleased him—dares to hope that he looks upon her as those around her have.

Fingers raise from the man and it’s as they find their way to her head and pat upon her pale rose-colored hair that her viridian widen unprepared for the affectionate action. The firm press of his lips tilts gently, “Thank you for bringing a new form of pride to our family.”

Her eyes sting with new tears threatening to fall at the praise he has given her. Those simple words of praise hold no shame. There is no shame upon this family, nor her husband brought by her. There is a pride, and there is recognition. This man has felt pride from her traditions—from the family he has taken within that powerful grasp of his. This man who struck fear into the hearts of millions stands before her with that gentle curve of his lips, and eyes that hold no disgust—and it was caused by her.

Her traditions have done this. Her family has done this. She has done this—she alone has caused him to look at her family in this way.

Their worlds were separated. Yet, in this moment they are one.

This relief he’s brought her cleanses that hope once floating upon a sea of fear. This relief lifts her lungs, and soars her heart. There is no fear before this man so powerful. There is only the wish to show how much her heart feels in this moment.

Voice shaken with his words she speaks with as much heart as she can bare without shedding her tears, “Thank you so much for watching me—”

The voice is loud, and mischievous as it cuts her off, “Sakura-chan, don’t cry over that!” the laughs she lets fall cannot be contained letting the tears fall with the close of her lids.

“Naruto-san, hold your tongue, this is between clans.” the voice of one she has not met properly scolds bringing her to gaze up eyes of crimson, and hair of silver.

Fingers press against her back, and it makes pale rose dust her cheeks, “Sakura. Move so they can come in properly!” her mothers voice calls from across the already filled room.

She’s embarrassed by her lack of manners and following her husband’s lead to move aside she lets them enter fully within the living space. They don’t stay long, and yet she finds her gaze fleeting upon them even with each one giving her their own praise. Their names are but a blur, and their faces equally unable to keep her attention. It’s well after they leave that she takes the time to properly give her feet the healing they need. The festival is far from over tonight, and she would take this opportunity to give her time to her husband. She has been without him for longer than she had ever intended, and while it’s not as long as the war has taken him from her she has no intention of letting this opportunity slip from her grasp.

Her cousin teases her as she helps her within new clothes. Tenten does not give way to harsh words about the man that has killed those she sought to protect in the war. Instead, she gives way to idle curiosity. She gives the smallest of opinions—he might not be as bad as the stories claim.

The smile upon her face blossoms with those words. It produces a soaring heart that her cousin, who she was undeniably close to before her marriage, would say such things. The hanfu she has chosen for tonight is of the same viridian her mother had blessed her with, and a red that warms its surroundings with its color. Her cousin has been kind enough to leave her rose-colored strands mostly down to cover her neck from the cool air. The makeup she wears is light in comparison to the ritual she had performed. The fully painted face exchanged for that of something simpler—red upon her lids, eyes lined in black, and the slightest touch of red adorn her lips.

She’s before him as her mother places the cloak of gray with a fur lined hood upon her shoulders in hopes to keep her warm within their walk throughout the festival. His arms have sought their own warmth within his sleeves, but it does not stop him from giving his arm to her as they make their way out. The scent that he holds—that marks him as him—fills her nose, and has her giving a gentle squeeze upon his arm without thought. The children that run throughout this night circle around them in their play. Each set of eyes that falls to her gives her the gentlest of smiles and a nod. This husband of hers was so very much a man of few words. It’s something she has learned and expected within these almost two years.

Ah. That’s right, their anniversary was coming upon them.

This man of ebony has shifted within their walk. It seems she had let the realization fall from her lips in a hum. That forever firm press of his lips is present. The two years in which she had been bound to this man had been filled with tears. Her constant giving, and his constant taking was within every aspect of it. Yet, there is equally just as many smiles to go with each tear she’s shed.

Those small attempts of his. They lingered within each aspect of her marriage.

There’s another unintended squeeze upon his arm. Their marriage was far from perfect. He was doing all he knew how to do. He was taking the smallest of steps toward her. She could never ask for more. She would never ask for more. He was giving in the smallest of ways, but with the deepest of meanings. His bow to her today would mean more than he could ever imagine. It had given her strength. It had given her the chance to know that he, too, could look upon her with the same pride she did him. The pride he had held for his clan was now also being held for her.

They did not understand each other completely, but in that moment he and her had understood each enough.

There is a knowing look that decorates her face. She had forgiven him, and yet he was still silently, but surly apologizing to her. Little did he seem to realize there was no reason to continue these silent apologies. Soon after he had taken care of her in her shameful state that night she had forgiven him. Well before he had prepared her bath and gazed upon her from the side of the tub uttering words of apology she had forgiven him. Each apology he had ever given her she was answering. Each little thing he did was answered in forgiveness.

She would answer him again. This answer would not be forgiveness. This answer would be her looking to the future as they rebuilt their marriage. There’s hope he’ll hear this answer. There’s hope he will understand her once more.

The match she has acquired as she makes him hold the lantern she has purchased will light with that answer. He’s lowered the lantern so she can dip her hand within it lighting the candle. Her fingers brush his as they lower it to the river that runs within the village. The water is sharp in its chill upon their fingers. It’s as they slowly let it go to join the rest that float brightly upon the water that she looks to him, and he raises those endless ebony to her. Fingers softly take his, and it’s here that she becomes daring. Leaning forward she feels him taken back by her intrusion to his personal space. This reassuring squeeze upon his hand is entirely her, and entirely intended.

Her lips press against his cheek. His breath has become caught within his throat as she pulls back from him, “Happy New Year, Sasuke-kun. May the year bring peace with it.”

His pale complexion has given way to the palest of red upon his cheeks. This look is so incredibly boyish—so unlike the man, who held such lackadaisical attempt etched upon his face like a mask. He’s scowling and has removed his gaze from her, but it’s that squeeze upon her fingers that he now gives back that tells her he has heard her answer.

He has understood her once more.

They continue forward throughout the town as the fireworks shoot off. Her best friend with all her gorgeous blonde locks, and eyes of pale blue shift upon her husband with distaste. She does not let it stop her from pressing fingers upon his arm as they speak. Ino Yamanaka had always been one to tease, and protect her. She had always been one to stand beside her, and while she had not been there to protect her from the Uchiha, nor her father’s death she had made sure to come for her when she walked through the gates of Konohagakure. She had been there to give her congratulations upon hearing that the little girl she had protected in their youth had chosen to dance in the hopes for spring. This woman was an important part of her world, and now it’s with her viridian that she asks silently for her to welcome this man, who was now also an important part of her world.

Lee is no exception as they come across him not far from where they have left Ino. He too gives forth those same looks of distrust. This boy had shouted his love to her within their youth. He trained hard, and he strived to become a shinobi everyone could depend on. His heart was made of gold. She had never returned his feelings, but she did not belittle them either. She loved him in a way so different from his own. She loved him as a friend, and she loved him as a brother. He was forever tied to her by those labels, and so it’s with her gaze steady that she shares a tender smile his way with fingers giving him his own reassuring squeeze upon his arm. He does not need to worry over her with so much heart. Someone else would love him far more than she could. The man who stays silent behind her may be his enemy, but he is her husband, and he should give his trust in him. It won’t be today, but one day it will happen.

She is sure of that.

The hate those who love her feel towards her husband is reasonable. She, too, had once held such a look upon this man. He has killed many, and he fights against them even in the cease fire that comes with her traditions. Their distaste, their disgust, and their loathing of him would not vanish just because she stood beside him. It would take much more than that to make them accept him. There’s time to build those foundations though. There’s time for them to gain trust in his protection of her. There’s time for them to see the man he is behind the legend. There would be a moment in time for all of that.

Viridian find those of honey. It’s what makes her stop within her steps making her husband turn to her. Her mouth is parted, and it’s without thinking that she releases his arm to run forward. Her heart is loud as she stops before the woman of golden locks. Those honey-colored eyes have widened and her mouth has parted. It does not stop her from wrapping her arms around the woman. The woman has spoken her name in adoration as she returns the embrace with a squeeze before pulling apart.

“I didn’t think I’d get to see you before you left.” the woman’s fingers grasp her hood bringing it down to her shoulders.

“I’m sorry I did not come when you arrived in the village.” this woman was yet another who would surly hold disdain for her husband, and even with knowing that she steps back from her turning to introduce her husband, who has followed within his own pace, “Please, meet my husband.”

The honey and the endless ebony have met. There is a scowl deepening upon this woman’s face. It’s with the deepest of inhales that she cuts through the silence, “Sasuke-kun, this is Tsunade-shishou. She is the one who taught me all that I know.”

Her husband is as stoic as ever, but she knows that this woman has captured some form of interest when he does not bring his eyes to her. There’s a moment where she sees him part his mouth, and then the tightening of his jaw occurs showing him swallowing whatever he had intended to say. Ebony fall from the woman to gaze upon the ground fleetingly before coming back. He steps forward, and then gives a subtle nod of his head, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There’s that silent apology he gives. He’s giving it again. He knows this woman holds venom within her at the sight of him, and even now he washes it off. He knows this woman is important to her. He knows that she is adored by this woman. He is taking that small step forward, and that is what matters most.

It’s as not until they are giving farewells that his voice, smooth and deep, cuts through the air, “Thank you.”

The spring wife cannot stop her head from whipping to him in that gratitude. The blink that follows through is equally involuntary. It makes her drag her viridian from him to see the look that decorates the golden haired woman. Those honey-colored eyes of hers do not understand the gratitude.

She understands it though. He is thanking her for the time in which this woman had taught her, and he is thanking her for the time in which she had become important to her. The smile that blossoms from this gives forth the deepest of bliss.

They understand so little of each other, but it’s in this moment that they understand each other completely, and that is what matters most of all.

She is sure of that.

The gates are within the distance. They are finally within reach of their home. The travel was long, and the travel was exhausting. Her husband saw no need for breaks, and only with the slightest look would he finally give in. Just beyond those gates stood a place that she called home.

She had missed her home. She had missed her people.

Just beneath this cloak of cream sat the emblem of her clan. It had not had the chance to sit upon her back within her traditions. It’s within this deep blue cheongsam that she is able to display it once more.

The people that greet them beyond the gates do so with their smiles deep within their eyes. There are those who come before her as they walk through telling her of how beautiful her performance had been, and others that come to personally greet her husband’s return. It’s late within the day as dusk is settling over the horizon giving the sky those beautiful deep colors of purple, and peach, and even still the children flock to him. There are the few who pull upon her cheongsam making her kneel to drag her fingers within their locks playfully. He has picked one up—it’s Hikaku’s. He’s scolding them gently for being out late, and to return home. Not once does he release Hikaku’s child.

He brings Hikaku’s child back within his mother’s arms just a little ways from the doors that seek to greet them. The air still holds its chill, but it has lessened within the days after the new year. Snow still crunches beneath their shoes, and yet it is far less in supply.

The maids are there at the door way. They give a unified welcome home that rings within the air. She had heard many times that home was where the heart was, and it’s as they make their way within the bedroom and she’s left her bag to the left of the sliding doors that she decides they’re not wrong. These people had captured her heart just as her husband has. They intended to keep it locked here.

She welcomes that. She hopes for that.

Their sleeping attire has found its place upon their shoulders. They stand within the kitchen as she brews leaves for tea meant to help them sleep. The silence is comforting as she grabs forth cups. There are no glances his way as he cuts a single apple. They’ve fallen into place so effortlessly.

His fingers press upon her back as he brings the plate of apple slices to sit beside the awaiting cups. There is no need for words. Her fingers grab upon the cinnamon within the cupboard above her and give it a gentle shake upon the freshly cut fruit.

The warmth from the kettle radiates from it providing another form of comfort. She opens her mouth as her husband brings a single slice to her mouth. Biting down she lets the taste flood her tongue. He brings the half eaten slice to his own mouth swallowing it whole.

They bring their snack, and tea with them sitting upon the futon. The silence is not loud, nor is it deafening. It is the proof of their falling into place. She’s blowing upon his cup of tea meant to help with his sleep, and aches from travel. They had not shared much in conversation upon the road home. He longed for home just as much as she had. She had followed him with no desire to slow him down.

Home was truly where the heart was.

It’s as she cradles his cup out to him that she whispers within the quiet of their home, “This should help with any fatigue, and provide good sleep.”

“Ah.” he is gentle in taking the warm cup within his own fingers.

They sip upon their tea, and their fingers brush against each others as they take from the small plate of apple slices before he whispers within the silence, “Do all in your family have that enhanced strength?”

Her lips curve upon the rim of her cup taking in the warm liquid before answering his curiosity, “Chakra enhanced strength is something I learned from Tsunade-shishou, and isn’t something taught by family.”

“So, your dance was different from those in previous years?”

“You could say that. The movements were the same but the desperation, and force behind them was all my own. . . I wanted him to feel me wherever he may linger.”

His fingers stop within their motion to bring his cup to his lips as ebony look to her. It makes her bring her eyes to him as she feels the gravity of his gaze upon her, “Your father felt you. Whatever desperation you held he heard it. He stood among us to watch you.” his closeness comes with his words, and his forehead has pressed against her own, “We all felt you pleading for the spring on our behalf.”

Fingers tighten briefly upon the cup she holds upon her lap. There is no escaping the earthly aroma that comes from him so close to her and the pride that flows within his words, “Thank you.”

Viridian open slowly at the feel of his fingers within her locks that swim untamed, “What was Kizashi-san like?”

“Hm, to describe such an ornery man—he was like the warmth you feel from the early morning sun. He always smiled—not one of those small gentle ones—they were loud, and bright and it was so hard to be angry with someone who just brightened the room in the way he did.” she dares with the slowest of movements to let her fingers wander upon his mouth, “He is the kindest soul I have ever known. He loved and gave with no desire to receive anything back. No mistaking it, though, he had the worst jokes. Ah, he would have teased you endlessly for frowning so much.” the smallest of light laughs fall as her fingers curl under his chin to allow her thumb to rub against his pale cheek.

His eyes close before her and she takes that as his recognition of what she has said. It’s only a moment of time—seconds if she were being honest—before his voice low and soothing finally comes to her ears.

“Innocence, simplicity, and the nature of life.” She cannot stop the low and fatigued noise of confusion from coming from her mouth, “In my culture, that is what your name stands for. What had made them call you that?”

He’s spinning the smallest of strands upon his fingers. There is affection with each slow turn of his fingers to wrap them deeper within her rose-colored locks. She holds no hesitation in answering his innocent curiosity, “My name is brought by two cultures. It carries my mama’s culture with the meaning of power, feminine beauty, and sexuality, but looks and is spoken as the word brought about by my papa, and your culture.”

“It is the joining of two people.” his voice is low within her ears as their noses meet, “A union.”

The tire that has settled upon her does not stop her lips from curving into a smile at the gentle notion he is making of her parents, “A marriage.”

Roughened finger tips that still wrap within her pale locks brush against her cheek. This moment is entirely intimate. She welcomes it reveling within the aroma of her husband and their tea. It’s all calming, and warming her skin. There’s no missing the deep inhale he takes with how close they are. He looks soothed, and pleased. It’s not decorating his face openly, but there’s no missing it within the slightly parted mouth he has given into, and the close lids that hide his endless ebony.

Pleased—it is what she feels heavy upon her chest in witnessing such a thing.

“Sasuke-kun.” she muses quietly between them, “You need rest.”

There’s a knowing in his reluctance to pull from her as he goes back to sipping his tea. It’s that reluctance that makes her press her hand to his leg covered by the comforter upon them. Only the sounds of their sipping lingers within the room, and then as he takes her empty cup within his fingers and places it with the empty plate upon the tray beside him do they nestle deeper within their comfort of their futon.

Her fingers grasp his hand underneath the warmth of the comforter. They give way to soothing circles upon his calloused knuckles. It’s his voice tonight that gives her peace from her exhaustion, “You said you felt desperate—you’re not alone. I’ll make you believe you’re not alone.”

She can only wonder if the exhaustion has made his lips loose to say such a thing, “You’re so unbelievably kind.”

There’s a shift of his head upon the pillow as if to tell her she is wrong, “I will protect you.”

Their lids dip closed as they fall within their fatigue.

The only lingering thought she has is that she’ll cherish her name more than she had in the days before. Her husband had given a new meaning to her name. He had felt it showed the joining of her mother, and her father. That was something she had never thought deeply of, and he in that way that was entirely him, had decided.

There is certainty that he is right. She could not ask for more than what she has received. She had truly gained so much within their own marriage.

He was teaching her, and she was teaching him. They were growing together, and they were learning together.

He is not forced to leave her side immediately at the end of the cease fire and their return home. The village has made sure to keep them busy with his stay. She has set to take care of the villages finances, and he has set to take care of lingering trade issues for today. They speak informally as they had begun to before she had left his side in those weeks. They gaze upon each other no longer as strangers as they cross paths in taking care of all that they had left when they spent their time within Konohagakure.

There is no doubt that her hands are full as she goes through the books detailing all that they have spent within the year. Her handmaid is there to assist with such matters. He, though, is deep within the market discussing the issues that have caused a low supply of certain items.

The war had made things dangerous for those seeking to refill their stock.

There’s a nod of his head in understanding their frustrations. He knows this will not be an easy fix, and will be one that takes time while he leaves them for the frontlines. It only proves how much more he will have to do throughout this year. They do not blame him, and they give way to apologies for burdening him when they know he does all that he can to keep them safe from the Senju, and Uzumaki.

The most he can provide them is his own gratitude, and wishes to meet with them again once a better solution becomes more approachable. He instructs them to write up their routes, and where the most trouble seems to be. He will employ those he can to help bring in the supply as long as it does not harm their chances in battle.

It’s as he leaves that he takes in the white that falls lightly upon them. While his otherworldly wife had called for spring it still feels as though the spring will not grace them with it’s presence for weeks to come.

The smell of the food within the market only sets to make him wonder if she is still deep within the financial books back in their home. He remembers his wonder upon if she liked sweet things—she had liked her tea sweet he had learned that day, and the days to come. Sweet truly did fit the woman of pale rose-colored strands. He lingers within the stands eyeing that which fills his nose—would she like mochi, or maybe mitarashi dango? Perhaps daifuku?

“Get the mitarashi.”

Ebony widen finding themselves upon Hikaku’s wife. She holds the hand of her child so fond of him, and he cannot help but wonder how long she has watched him as he lingered upon what it is that his wife may like.

She can only give him the smallest of smiles, “She typically gets them when we get lunch together at the tea shop. She has quite the love for them, especially during hanami.”

There’s a tint of embarrassment upon him, and he questions if the heat he feels upon his cheeks is from the winter chill, or the woman giving way to things he had not known. This woman had spent far more time with his wife than he had—he has no reason to think she is wrong. They had become close while he was out to battle. They had held so much heart in the previous year during hatsumode.

He buys what she has told him to, and it’s as he carries her child upon his arm, and the bought dumplings within a bag in his other that they walk towards his home.

“You’re changing. Slowly.” there’s amusement in her voice.

His ebony keep themselves upon the road ahead, “I am the same as always.”

“There is a gentleness there that has not been there in a long time.” she has turned her gaze to him, “Would it be so wrong to change?”

That is what makes him stop within his walk to finally gaze upon this woman, who too had suffered loss not so long ago, “There is no room for such a thing in war.”

“There is always room for it. At first, I did not know how to handle your wife, but she quickly found her way to all of us. She had come for me when I needed someone most. She brings a calm with her that seems so foreign in times of war.” the mother weaves her fingers through her child’s hair, “I am forever in her debt for being the one to give me a shoulder to lean on when he had passed. I do not know if I could have picked myself up without her hand holding mine.”

It’s as she speaks that he feels the loss of her husband upon him just as harsh as it had been when he watched him fall in battle, “Your family has given us more than enough.”

“Don’t feel such pain in his absence. He fought beside you with pride—every single time. He gave himself to your service because he wanted nothing more. My husband cherished all of it.” it’s here that she takes her child from him with a warmth he knows he has felt with his mother, “There is a strength in all that she does. She has not come for just me. When you are gone she goes to others to give them the same hand she used to hold mine. We, Uchiha, love far deeper than anyone else. She may be one of marriage but she is no exception.”

“. . .I only seek to keep her safe.” he is hesitant within his reply—he does not know where this hesitation comes from.

“Is that not where love begins? The desire to keep one safely protected?” there is the softest of laughs that fall from her, “I do not know what has happened, nor do I know what it is you truly feel for her—only you can answer such things. There is admiration for her though. There is a greater care for her. That is plain for all to see.”

He can only swallow thickly as she give her farewells. He had been unable to give her a reply to what she had said—he finds himself unable to deny all that she has spoken. He does not know if he would call this love. He had not lied when he said he had sought to keep her safe. This woman, although only older than him by few years, seemed wise in all that she spoke. She had spoken with clarity, and she had spoken as if she, too, had been in these moments of uncertainty once upon a time.

These feelings were so foreign—just as foreign as the unearthly spring nymph that was his wife. Ebony glance upon the bag within his hand. She was a stubborn and proud woman—she was slowly regaining all that she was. He had needed her back, and he would continue to do what he could to help her regain that. She was still ethereal, otherworldly, and a nymph of spring—he still cannot see her as anything else even as they approach their second anniversary. She contrasted so much when she stood beside him—he would have it no other way. She smiled with such warmth from the bottom of her heart—he had begun to long for those looks.

The widow had spoke of how they had not known how to handle her. He, too, had not known, and was only now beginning to understand this spring nymph. The admiration she spoke of was true. He felt a pride with her beside him. He held her to new heights. He could only be thankful for those who treasured her in such adoration—was there any who did not?

His walk home is one filled with more of the same thoughts. The maids give their welcome, and he gives a nod as he passes them through the halls, and it is as he comes to find her deep within the stacks of books she is set to look over that he can only decide that the widow is right—perhaps this was the beginning of such things.

She seemed to not hear him within the door way. Those fingers of hers are deep within the rose-color strands as her other hand scribbles upon a book in front of her. She is within the warmth of the kotatsu, and it’s only as he comes around her to sit before her that she looks up.

“Ah, I’m sorry Sasuke-kun, welcome home. Let me—”

“Here.” he slides the bag before her making those viridian gaze with curiosity.

Her fingers take the bag within her hand and it is as she looks within it that her mouth parts just slightly, “How did you—”

“You like them, don’t you?” he cannot look at her, and yet he desires to see what expression decorates those features of hers.

“I do.” the warmth that he knows comes from deep within her is coating those words.

He cannot contain the ghosting smirk that is upon the corners of his lips in feeling that warmth. He feels that same heat upon his cheeks that he had when the widow had told him what it is she had liked. There is the most pleasing of sounds that comes from her that finally make him drag his gaze to her. This is a look he has not seen before as she eats one of the dumplings from the skewer. The look is that of a child—it is innocent, and holds strong satisfaction.

His fingers slide the book that she had been scribbling in as he had entered towards himself. She has gotten much of it done—far more than he would have within the hours she’s been at it.

“Sasuke-kun, would you like some?” viridian hold mirth within them as she holds out the bag for him to take one as well.

He gives a shake of his head with the smirk deepening as he sets his gaze back upon the book flipping through it’s pages. She is organized, and detailed within the pages she’s filled out. He finds he would have expected no less. She had shown her intelligence before, and this only serves to prove it once more. There’s a neatness to everything she does. She has never been one, he realizes, to leave her things in a mess. He cannot recall a time within his marriage when he had ever seen her do such a thing.

This is another thing he has learned—it was another thing he had overlooked.

Her handmaid is quick to bring tea to them both. The green liquid is hot and soothing to the tongue as they set about working. She flips through another book as his eyes look over one he too has pulled from the stacks. His eyes dance upon her with every nibble she takes of the mitarashi dangos. She is one to eat with her mouth closed. She sips softly from her tea. It’s all simple and it’s all ordinary, and yet he feels as though she eats far too proper. She bites her lip when she is in concentration, and her fingers glide upon pages as if everything she touches is sacred. Those pale rose-colored brows pinch together within her concentration, and the glow of her viridian are calculating as she adds the numbers in front of her together.

They had broken through the stare of strangers, and they had broken through conversation laced in formality. Yet, he does not know where her ideals lay. Does she truly support him, and those that follow his leader? The difference in their ideologies seemed so small, but he cannot stop himself from laying the brush within the ink to sit as he takes her in. What is it that she felt with this war?

“Sakura.”

Those concentrated brows of hers, and that lip she had bit into lessen immediately with his voice. He finds subtle enjoyment at her constant change in expression with just his voice. Viridian hold that same curiosity they had when he had slid the bag of dango before her.

“Yes, Sasuke-kun?”

“What do you want in this war?” ebony watch every fall of those thick lashes within her confusion. There’s a shift of her mouth as if she is contemplating what he has asked her.

“I want what everyone wants—peace.” her fingers lay her own brush within the bottle of ink as she gazes into his ebony.

“You do not agree with our methods.” he speaks low as his gaze falls from her for only the briefest of moments, “You believe in peace brought by love.”

Her fingers slide from the table to her lap as she gives a nod, “I do. That is why I support you and all that you do.” her words have made his ebony fall upon her again.

“You support me?” the words carry an uncertainty—they carry forth the wonder of what she means.

He is trying to understand her.

“Yes. I believe in a peace brought by love.” he does not need to see her fingers tucked underneath the kotatsu to know she is playing with them upon her lap in what he can only assume is nervousness, “I care for you deeply, and so, therefore, I believe in a peace brought by you.”

There’s that sense of pride heavy upon him with those words. There’s that bite of her lip and those pinched brows. There’s the shake of her head as if she has said something wrong, and in those few seconds he feels the pride fall from him as he reads regret thick upon her.

He feels the harsh swallow go down his esophagus as he takes his ebony from her to gaze upon the mats beneath them—she regrets saying such things to him.

“Sasuke-kun—please allow me to answer you properly.” her voice is strong and that is what makes him once more bring his eyes to her, “I love you—with all of my heart.” Endless ebony widen, and his lips give way to the slightest drop of his mouth as she continues forward with her confession, “Peace brought by love can come in many forms. It is because I love you that that I believe in a peace brought by you.” those fingers have come within the fabric of her kimono gripping it tightly as her cheeks light with a rose-colored tint far darker than her own locks.

The pride that had fallen in what he thought was regret has coated him once more. The regret he had saw was not regret in supporting him—it had been regret in not speaking her feelings clearly.

Had his wife always been so innocent? So flushed? So demure?

This confession she has given is one he was not prepared for. The pride that has swelled within him at it though is unmistakable. He realizes he is not startled by her words of love. He does not know how long he has thought she had come to care for him on this level. He does not know at what point within their marriage he had come to the conclusion that this woman before him, decorated in such innocence, had loved him. No—what has startled him was that he never thought he would hear them fall from her lips. He never thought there would be a time when Sakura Uchiha would allow herself to say the words out loud for him to hear.

“Thank you.” he cannot stop his fingers from pulling upon his fringe as if it will hide him from her as the gratitude leaves his lips.

Sasuke is the one who feels washed within the timid air around them. The timorousness lingers in each flicker of his eyes. The courage, and the nerve is there though—the courage to steal a look at her from beneath his fringe. He wants to look at her. He wants to see what face decorates her in this moment. He wants to see the face of this woman who allowed herself to say her love clearly.

It's now or never. He wants to know the secrets of her heart.

Her viridian are there to meet his endless ebony. They glow within this shared gaze.

The smile decorated upon her is tender, but wide. The smile that has found it’s way upon her features reaches her eyes and is genuine, and from her heart. It is from deep within her, and has given him the chance to see it—it’s the beaming smile within the photo lost within the remains of Tanigakure.

She had told him of what she wanted. She wanted peace, and he can only hope to give that to her. His new found motivation in the battles to come has become even stronger. He feels this pride upon him in thick waves. He feels this support that she has put in him, and that she looks to him to bring about a world that she believes in.

The Senju, and Uzumaki’s belief in a peace brought by love did not seem so ridiculous within these moments.

He would bring a peace brought by her love.

[ombreecha]

More

Clerith Week 2018 -late as fuck final edition- Day Seven: Interrupted Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Rated: M /// Plot? What Plot? Dedicated to my amazing clerith squad -- @stray-arrows @clerithraven @capuca @roseyrosho @stellanox @moldin  @aerithly and everyone else over at the Clerith Discord Server. Note: Ya’ll were good wholesome Christians and then I sadly I arrived. Also shout out to @clerithraven for deciding who was gonna go down on who.

Warm—it’s the only word he can come up with as he rolls his head back. Fingers curl and his mouth parts. Warm doesn’t even begin to cover this feeling. It’s so much more than that. It’s hotter than that—it’s scorching. The thud of his heartbeat pounds against his chest and vibrates in his ears. He’s been overtaken, he’s been brought into submission, and he’s lost all ability to stop this.

He barely has time to think with each little touch—there’s also those sounds she’s making. How had they gotten here? What had brought them to this point? Weren’t they about to go out for dinner with friends? Wouldn’t their friends be here soo—he can’t even finish the thought. She’s made him whip his head back and the harshest of breaths fall with it. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Those fingers continue to touch and squeeze. That tongue of hers is sliding and pressing in all of the right places. The desire to open his eyes is there but the ability is fleeting and out of arms reach as his breathing escalates and it’s what covers the air and the walls around them.

His ears twitch catching a noise coming from her—she’s pleased with his reaction. His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the counter top, and even as he tries to fill his lungs with air he struggles to keep himself grounded. The slow roll of his head comes once again as he dares to look down at her. He wants to touch her—he wants to brush her fringe from her face and see how much of him is inside of her mouth. He wants to see those doe-eyes looking up at him—god, even deep into their three years of dating they’re as impressive as ever. Shaky and hesitant a set of his fingers uncurl from the counter top. He doesn’t want to take her by surprise as he feels that tongue of hers curl around his tip. It’s enough to make him shudder and let out a constricted groan.

Fingers brush within her hair pulling her fringe back. His fingers are twisted in that warm chocolate—the grip is tight—and god he could come from seeing her lips wrapped around him like that. She hadn’t even pulled his pants down. All she had managed was to unzip him and pull him from his boxers. His breathing increases and becomes more labored the more he watches her lips slide up and down him. His breathing hitches as he watches her pull his cock out from her mouth and run her tongue along the slide of it. It takes him biting down upon his lip to keep him from letting out that throaty moan that is desperate and lingering in the base of his throat. She’s teasing as she keeps those impressive smaragdine locked on his cerulean and there’s no doubt in his mind she’s enjoying seeing him so flush and under her control.

Wide-eyed and completely overwhelmed he watches as she slowly slides him back into her mouth with those small fingers curled around the base. Hitting the back of her throat has him letting out a hiss and his fingers release his grip upon that warm chocolate he loves so much.

More. He wants more. He wants to feel her in other ways.

He wants her to touch him underneath these constricting clothes—he wants to touch her in every way possible.

The hotter he gets the more he feels like she’s suffocating him. There’s temptation to slide the zip up sweater off—she’ll smack his hand if he tries and the last thing he wants is for to have a reason to stop going down on him.

If he could have it his way it would absolutely be reversed—he’d love to just hoist her up on this counter he’s trying to hold onto for dear life and have her turn into a puddle. He’d love to spread her legs and have her quiver when he swirls his tong—oh, god-fucking-dammit he almost wants to beg her to suck on him just like that again.

The squeeze she’s given him in response for his moan has him desperate to pull up up the sweater just to watch her continue to bob her head up and down his length, “Aerith, if you keep going I’m gonna come already.” he says in between shallow breaths.

All she gives him as a response is a hum that vibrates him and the slowest of movements in taking him deeper into her mouth. The slowed pace isn’t calming him down it’s exciting him and there’s zero doubt in his mind that she knows this.

She knows. She knows every place to touch, and every way to get him going—she knows that he loves watching him slide into her mouth.

What doesn’t this woman know?

If he’s lucky his friends won’t show—or they’ll say fuck the dinner completely. He doesn’t wanna go to start, and that was before she pressed him against the kitchen counter and started having her way with him. One hard suck and he’s throwing his head back and re-secured his hold onto the counter once again, “More—Please.”

Her response is a simple one of faster licks, and sucks and a rhythm equally increasing. The sounds of every thing she does to him are loud and in his ears—it’s got him wanting to drown in all of the heat she’s making him feel.

It’s all so wet and god-fucking-dammit is it making him feverish.

It’s got his mind desperate and coaxing him to just take her on this counter top. He wants to slide that cute white summer dress up her legs and have his way with her, he wants to see those cute panties that he knows she’s picked out, he wants to slide them down her legs, and more than anything he wants to feel how wet she is inside.

“Tell me what you want, Cloud.” she’s sliding her hand up his leg and underneath his shirt as she presses kisses along his length.

The voice she’s used is low and soft—but it doesn’t make it any less dangerous. That voice means she’s intending to drive him mad. The heat upon his cheeks comes knowing she won’t give him more till he answers, “I wanna go down on you—Let me taste you—please.”

Even after all this time speaking to her like this makes him flush with embarrassment—but she likes it and he wants to keep like this.

“We have a dinner with friends—you can’t eat just yet.” her voice is light as she slides her hand up his length and then flicks her tongue across his tip.

The whimper he lets out has him rolling his head back, “Please. Please, Aerith.” he’s hoarse and desperate.

“What else would you like?” she’s whispering out sliding him back inside her mouth only to slide it back out just as fast.

“Let me come inside you—I wanna feel you wrapped around me as I fill you up.” his words are just another whimper with heated breaths at each little lick, and slide within her mouth.

“We don’t have enough time for that either—would you like to come inside my mouth?” she’s playing him into her hand and coaxing him in the direction she likes, “I’ll let you do whatever you want when we get home.”

The strangled cry he lets out echos into the house, “Yes—please. I need it.”

His knuckles turn white before he finally releases the grip upon the counter. His fingers slide up his shirt finding those fingers sliding across his stomach, and the other set finds its way into that warm chocolate once again.

There’s a noise of surprise that comes from her as his hips twitch and jerk forward sending him deeper into her mouth. The moan he lets out comes and with it the whimpers just continue to fall. Those fingers once wrapped around his base release him as he pumps into her mouth and twist within his pants.

It doesn’t matter how good this feels he has to see the way he continues to thrust into her mouth almost unforgivably. It’s erotic, titillating, and lascivious. It’s one of his favorite things to watch—only second to watching the way his cock slides in and out of her from behind.  

Oh, god-fucking-dammit there’s no stopping him picturing her bent over this counter and him pushing up that white summer dress with that kind of thought. He’s on the verge of climax just thinking of the way she wraps around him so tightly as he slides out of her and that sinful noise she makes as if she’s begging for him not to slide out.

He’s close. So unbelievably close to filling her mouth and watching her swallow it all.

He knows he’ll end up jerking as far back into her mouth as possible when he spills—he can’t help himself.

He’s on the brink and he’s on the edge—and now he’s frozen and his throat has locked up.

His head whips to his left as they still to a complete stop. He can’t find his voice, but he can’t slow down his breathing either. It’s what fills the silence as her hands grip his own hand and leg tightly. She’s locked in silence as well with only the smallest of inhales following behind his own.

The can hear a muffled scream from behind the front door, and that’s all she need to hear before she’s clearing her throat and rising from her knees in a rush. She’s got him pressed against the counter hard as she tucks him back in and works to get his pants back in place. The whisper that comes out is soaked in panic, “Cloud, say something! Tell them we’ll be out in a minute!”

His hearts made it almost impossible to hear her—and it’s for all the wrong reasons.

There’s a tinge of anger at having been interrupted, and embarrassment close behind it.

“Be out in a minute!” he’s following behind her as she starts to make her way into the bathroom.

Fingers work hard to fix her hair he’s ruined in his desperate need to come and claim her mouth, and it’s only a moment later she’s turning to adjust his own clothes, “Don’t just follow me go keep them busy for a moment while I fix myself up.”

The rose upon her cheeks is all he needs to know that she’s found her embarrassment in being interrupted along side his own—if he had it his way he would open the door and tell them to fuck off before dragging her into their bedroom and having her exactly how he wanted.

No way in hell would she let him do that, though.

He’s quick to close the door behind him as he goes to make conversation—and by conversation he means to let them bullshit and him add a smartass comment here and there as it’s needed.

They say nothing immediately, and at first he can’t figure out why—until Barret brings his naivety down upon the floor, “What in the hell happen’ta you?”

One blink, and then two, and then it’s by the third he looks down confused only to see his clothes disheveled. That heat still can be felt on his cheeks too, if that wasn’t bad enough, “I was sleeping—you woke me up.”

“You lyin’ sack of shit. The fuck you take’n me for?” Cloud has never wanted to punch Barret in the face for calling him out as bad as he does right this minute—god as his witness.

The opportunity to defend himself doesn’t come though as the door behind him opens and Aerith’s coming beside him, “Tifa, Barret! It’s been too long!”

Cerulean can’t stop themselves from looking at her, and it’s all in this moment that he tries to figure out how in the hell she’s pulled off whatever wizard trick she’s performed in the short time she put herself back together. This woman was just down on her knees asking him if he wanted to come into her mouth—now she looks like she’s ready to enter the classiest of places without a hair in place.

A thick swallow comes as he continues to eye her. How many times has she not pulled this in their relationship? You’d think he would see it coming—but he never does and he’s always the one who gets caught. He shouldn’t be surprised she can pull herself together like this, but he is and that’s not ever going to change.

It’s the smallest of chatter and him tugging on his shirt to try and sort out his disheveled appearance before he’s following behind to make their way towards their vehicles. Fingers curl upon the door handle and it’s before he can even open it that he feels her hand upon his shoulder and her breath against her ear, “I’ll make sure to make it up to you tonight.”

He can only stare at her and all of a sudden he’s never been more determined to get through a dinner in record time in his life.

[ombreecha]

He Thinks

Clerith Week 2018 Day Two: Love Confession Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Pairing: Clerith Prompt: “I work at Starbucks and you come in so often that I know your daily order and write encouraging notes on your cup” au

The smell of coffee beans is strong as he works on unloading the truck. The cafe is busy and there’s no missing the way the workers do their best to keep up with the orders coming in. He’s simply the delivery man here to replenish their stock, but out of all his stops this is definitely the one he looks forward too the most.

He’s not sure if it’s that gorgeous warm chocolate hair locked in a tight braid, or if it’s those impressive smaragdine eyes that keep him coming back for more. There’s very few times he’s come and she’s not been working. The young barista always remembers his order and always has it ready before he’s off to his next delivery.

It had started over a year ago. She had come running back to grab a sleeve of cups from the top shelf. No matter how the woman tried—on the tips of her toes no less—she was unable to grab it. It was on the second jump she made that he reached above her head and pulled it down for her with ease. Maybe that had been his undoing. This woman had turned to him and that was the moment he saw those lips spread from their frustrated pout into that glowing smile he’s learned to associate with her—god, did he mention already how impressive those eyes had been?

Realizing he had been caught staring had been all he needed to remove his azure from her and mutter out the simple, “You’re welcome.”

Hours later she had taken his order and she had never forgotten it since. She knows he’s a fan of the blonde cappuccino—they have the running joke it’s because he’s a true blonde unlike the local dudes with dye jobs—but on the hottest of days she’ll spoil him with the iced variation. He’s not entirely sure how she notices when he’s needing an extra shot of espresso—are the bags under his eyes that noticeable?—but she does and she always makes sure to write something encouraging on his cup right under his name.

She was the one initiating their conversations. She always seemed to be the one running the show in this—wait what the hell was this even? He had contemplated that one time to many if he was being honest, but he still hadn’t found a real answer to it. He has no doubt they’re at least friends. They caught up with each other every time he delivered. She seemed to go out of her way to take her fifteen minute breaks right before he’d be on his way—or at least that’s what he tells himself.

At some point he knew that he held an interest in her. This woman was unlike the childhood best friend he lost touch with after high school. She’s not a first crush by any account, but he’s also twenty-four and he’s above crushes. He knows himself well enough to know that this is a woman he’d love to take out for dinner, or too a movie. The question, though, is if he’s let his imagination run wild.

—what’s that saying they always tell you? Oh, yeah. Don’t let your dreams be dreams kids.

Fuck. There he goes snorting at the thought.

As if on queue she’s running passed him and into the inventory room. There’s no missing how light she is on her feet even as she holds the bag of coffee beans and takes another order on her headset. She’s undeniably impressive at what she does as she recites the costs even with the touch screen not in front of her. Stopping just shy of being in her way he catches her mouthing a greeting his way before heading back up front with the needed coffee beans. Heat hits his cheeks and mentally he can’t help but scold himself—friendly reminder he’s not sixteen and this isn’t kindergarten.

He’s a grown ass man for god sake.

This woman’s always had this affect on him. He accepted it along ago, but that doesn’t mean it’s not embarrassing. It’s not as embarrassing as the time he choked and spit up his drink after hearing she was older than him—yeah, na that one had been pretty bad—or maybe not as embarrassing as the time he slipped and hit his ass on the pavement—god, he had never wanted to crawl in a hole and die so much—but it’s embarrassing nonetheless because friendly reminder he is, in fact, twenty-goddamn-four.

Shocking, really. Honestly, even he’s surprised he’s made it this far.

God, if his mother could see him now. Scratch that. It’s best his mother never knows just how ridiculous her child is.

The shipment’s not bad this round. It’s actually pretty light, but he takes his time. He wants to make sure she has a moment to take her break right before he leaves. He had made that mistake one time, and never again would he miss out on the opportunity to talk to her. The slower the store seems to become the more hopeful he’s becoming. He doesn’t have any true objective with these feelings—he, sure as hell, won’t be spilling them. That’s just another thing he’s accepted long ago. There’s no place for them and it’s already hard enough trying to explain to himself and not make excuses for why in the hell she talks to him to start.

Stepping into the back of the truck his fingers pull on the handle dragging the door down with a loud noise as it closes, and he gets the latch closed. Reaching into the driver side he grabs his clipboard, and pen before tucking the pen behind his ear. Walking in he sees her placing a lid on a cup, and he already knows it’s for him. Stepping firmly up to the counter he lays the clipboard down, “Aerith, could I get your signature?”

“Of course, Cloud.” she’s sporting that smile he likes so much, and it’s as he pulls the pen from behind his ear and hands it too her that he takes a moment to grab his drink.

Her signatures smooth, and just as girly as he had expected it the first time he had seen it. Her fingers have reached behind her and it’s here and now that he’s sure she’s going to take that fifteen minute break and see him off. Holding his cup up by the rim there’s curiosity in what today’s encouraging message will be.

Look for something positive in each day, even if some days you have to look harder than others.

Fingers press against his back and there’s no stopping the way he stills at the touch turning to see her standing beside him, “Cloud? You ready? I’m gonna take my break.”

The stammer he lets out only makes him all the more frustrated with himself, “Y-yeah. I’m ready.”

Even as he brings the cup to his lips and tastes the smooth blonde cappuccino he doesn’t remove his eyes from her. She’s walking in front of him and holding the door as they make their way to his delivery truck in the parking lot.

“That rush was crazy.” she’s letting out the smallest laughs as she takes the clip board from him to let him open the driver door.

“You have no clue how glad I am that I don’t have to deal with that kind of stuff.” he replies as he takes the clipboard back and throws it onto his seat. Pulling his cigarettes from his back pocket he continues to throw a glance her way.

“Still smoking I see.” she’s teasing him with that raised eyebrow and shift of her mouth.

He swallows thickly at this small little comment of hers. She’s never once made a comment about his smoking until now, “Does it bother you?”

“No, but you should consider quitting.” her fingers touch his arm and that has him hesitating to put the unlit cigarette in his mouth, “Ah—So Cloud—”

She’s rambling as she always does. He doesn’t mind. It’s just another one of those things she does that he enjoys. It’s how he finds out more about her without having to ask out of the blue. She never seems to hesitate to tell him how things are going for her. He’s learned her friends names over the last year, he knows she likes to garden, and he knows how much she likes to spend her time participating in habitat for humanity on the weekends. Part of him wonders if it’s not just been him letting his imagination run wild.

What if she has interest in him too? —she hasn’t let go of his arm.

Biting down on his lip he cannot stop himself from shaking his head. He’s being ridiculous. She’s just polite and if she feels anything it couldn’t possibly be anything on the romantic level. It’s that thought that has him lighting his cigarette finally and bringing the almost forgotten cup to his lips as he watches her do that habit of tucking a lock of hair behind her ear—does this woman have a clue how attractive she was even when doing these little things?

He thinks not. No. He knows she doesn’t.

This woman has never talked herself up in any way. She’s level headed, and she’s intelligent—and she’s definitely out of his league.

The sooner he throws away these feelings the better—before he makes a fool out of himself—but it’s been a year and he’s held onto them tight and there’s no denying the fact that today’s message upon his cup only furthers that belief. He’d definitely classify her as the positive in his mundane lifestyle. She’s a bright spot in an otherwise monotone world—he’ll never admit to to her though.

That’s a level of cheesy he’s just not willing to fall into. . .maybe.

Who the fuck was he kidding—he definitely isn’t willing to try some cheesy ass line like that on her.

He can see it now. She’d probably laugh her ass the whole way back into the building and he’d become to running joke for months to come. He’d never be able to deliver here again without needing to hide his face.

“You’re offly preoccupied today. Everything okay? I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said.” she’s finally released his arm as she comes to stand in front of him. It rings with humor but there’s definitely a touch of concern on every word.

“I think I’m in love with you.” he says far too calmly, and without much thought barely hearing a word she’s said in her concern.

Silence stretches between them and then all at once he realizes just what in the world he’s let fall from his mouth. The panic has him choking on his newest inhale of his cigarette and fingers gripping the cup tightly, “W-wait. I didn’t—I mean—Listen. Uh—Aerith, you see I—” he’s stammering and he’s definitely not holding it together with this little slip up.

Didn’t he just tell himself he wasn’t about cheesy pick up lines? Didn’t he already resign to never say a word about these feelings?

Goddamn, though, he’s never seen her eyes look at him like that—those impressive wide smaragdine doe-eyes haven’t left his face since he spoke. His regret is thick and he’s pretty sure that if god struck him down here and now he wouldn’t even be mad about it. He’ll never be able to show his face here again—not without shame and humiliation, and hoo boy does he have plenty of that right this minute.

Welp. Might as well write this one off.

Was that creepy? Fuck yeah, it was—god-fucking-dammit.

Oh, if his mother could absolutely see her mess of a son right this minute. God knows she’d wonder where she went wrong, and why her son is as awkward as he is.

The more he rambles and tries to cover up his confession the more continues to spill the most ridiculous of things, “I mean I think your eyes are impressive—but I mean I didn’t really intend to like tell you that—and oh, my fucking god why am I telling you this—I swear I didn’t mean it like that—I mean I did because you’re gorgeous seriously, oh god. . . oh my fucking god—” it’s all in one swift moment that he drops his coffee and slams his hand over his mouth.

He’s flushed. He’s absolutely certain that his face couldn’t be redder than it is now. He’s lost his free coffee. He’s covered in it as it splashed all over the pavement and himself after hitting the ground. He’s never going to be able to look her in the face again. He’s more than positive she’ll never speak to him again.

Oh my god. Fuck. Shit. Goddammit.

This—this right here—was embarrassment on a whole new level. If he died right here and now it would be a godsend—god isn’t that nice though. God has this habit of really just making sure when he fucks up he goes big before he goes home, and man this definitely is probably the top contender for biggest fuck up in his last twenty-four years of life. This woman has yet to say a single word since he started this babble train that just seeks to dig him further into this hole he’s made for himself.

In gods name what is that thudding noise? Oh yeah, haha it’s his goddamn heart.

He’s probably having a heart attack. —oh, he could only fucking wish for one right this moment.

Daring to slide his hand off his mouth, “Listen. . .just forget this. Forget I said anything at all, please.”

There’s no missing the way mouth opens and then closes. It’s another few seconds before she opens her mouth again, “Cloud, if this is how you feel why would I forget this—but more importantly why didn’t you ever text me if you had interest? I feel like I’ve been misunderstanding for a while now.”

He’s pretty sure he’s suffocating—what in the fuck is she talking about? He’s not even sure what to respond with because he doesn’t have her number. How was he supposed to text someone who never even gave him her number? His throat constricts as he attempts to find how words work once again, and then after a moment he finds it within the tight feeling lodged in his chest, “You never gave me your number?”

“I have! I write it on the bottom of your cup every time I make you, your drink. That’s why I always make your drink. I kept putting it on there hoping you would use it. I started seriously thinking you had zero interest and were just being nice to me.” her lips curve in a deep tilt showcasing her obvious displeasure at having to admit such a thing.

Azure dare to glance down at the mess upon the pavement and it’s as soon as he looks down that he sees black sharpie on the bottom of the cup. His mouth feels dry as he takes in her own confession. This can only go so many ways, and at the rate he’s going he’s going to completely destroy any type of chance he has with her at this point, “I swear I never saw it until now—but, uh, I mean—Do you. . . or I mean would you like to—maybe, sorta, kinda—” it takes a deep breath to dislodge the words he feels trapped at the base of his throat, “. . .go out with me?”

There’s no missing the way she falls into that habit of pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, and the way she shifts her weight on her feet. The silence is deafening and he’s pretty sure that’s the only answer he needs to know he’s completely fucked this up in every way. Azure watch as her fingers come over her face and it’s then that her voice fills in the silence, “I don’t know about maybes, sortas, or kindas, but I would absolutely love to go out with you.”

At first he questions if he’s heard her correctly, and then all at once after a moment of his own weight shifting from one foot to the other he finally realizes he’s learned to breath again, and he might not have a heart attack—oh, and yes he’s heard her correctly.

Her fingers grasp his, “Your cigarettes gone out, you need to clean yourself up, and need me to make you a new drink. Come on.”

He can’t think of a single time he’s ever seen her act so—so flustered? There’s not a complaint in sight, though, as she drags him back within the building. The clean up is fairly simple although his pants will have to actually end up in a washing machine when he gets home tonight to remove the splatter stains.

She’s standing by the door with his coffee in hand and there’s no missing his name and what looks to be ten digits on the cup. There’s no missing the red tint upon her cheeks as the look at each other and he makes his way to her. Taking the cup from her he watches her twist her fingers behind her back before stepping on those tip toes of hers. It’s soft and it’s quick as her lips connect with his cheek, “Drive safe, and be sure to text me.” her tone is higher than normal and he’s assuming it’s probably all the same nervousness he feels right this moment.

A nod of his head, and a bit to his lip has him finally heading out the door—he’s feeling rather smitten with himself underneath all the fired nerves if he’s being honest.

“Ah, and Cloud.” she’s called out, and looking over her shoulder at him having yet to make it back behind the counter, “I think I’m in love with you too.”

Those eyes of hers are as impressive as ever, and that smile is absolutely glowing. There’s humor coating this repeat of his confession back to him, and that’s fine because if it means she’ll look at him like that some more he’d take all of her teasing. She had wrote on his drink today to look for something positive in each day.

He didn’t have to look to hard today. This whole thing with her, embarrassing as it might be, was his positive for the day. —Yeah, he’s definitely in love with her.

[ombreecha]

At His Expense

Clerith Week 2018 Day One: Slice of Life Fandom: Final Fantasy Pairing: Clerith Prompt: You live in the apartment above me and your water pipe burst and is flooding into my apartment and you can hear me yelling so you come down to my apartment to see what’s going on and witness me standing in my kitchen/bathroom/whatever, holding an umbrella, screaming at the water pouring out of my ceiling and crying because I have no idea what to do and we both just kinda stand there in shock as my stuff gets ruined and you let me crash in your apartment until my apartment gets fixed because you feel bad AU

Fingers twist around the hot water knob before lingering in the water that pours out into the tub. That subtle change from cool to hot comes and it’s got him pressing the stopper down. The summer heat is thick in the air and it’s got his clothes sticking upon his skin. He’ll take this early dip into the upper eighties over the winter that finally seems to have found rest. The sound of the tub is all he hears at first and then there’s a noise he’s not familiar with. It sounds like something bursting but a quick glance upon the tub makes him question if he’s heard it at all.

The smallest hum falls before he’s pulling up his plain white shirt. The sound of the tub filling is overtaken once again but this time by something slightly louder than the last and of a completely different tune. It has his fingers freezing in their attempts to remove his shirt and his gaze steady on the door of his bathroom. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other comes and then no more than another second later another noise—so obviously female—grabs his attention. This ones lower than the last but it doesn’t lessen the obvious panic that seems to be going on in the apartment below him. The desire for a bath is an afterthought as curiosity has him shutting his bathwater off. The woman who lives below sounds as if she’s running a marathon and while he’s never been interested in his neighbors before there is concern growing with every noise she’s making.

Another scream from down below has him heading out of his bathroom, and out of his apartment. He’s not running, but his pace definitely isn’t one of leisure as he makes his way around the corner, and down the steps. The closer he gets the clearer he can hear her, and the more people seem to poke their head out to see what all the noise is about.

He feels like a deer in the midst of headlights as he stares at her door, and shifts his gaze to one of the few daring to take a peek. Their eyebrows raise and it’s a shrug of their shoulders that tells him there just as confused as he is. One deep breath in and he’s taking those even steps towards her door almost questioning if what he’s about to do could very well be bad news. Whatever has this woman upset has her sobbing, and that by itself is making this all the more daunting. This could be over literally anything. It’s one knock, then two, and it’s when she doesn’t answer on the third he feels himself begin to panic.

Fingers give a twist the door knob wondering if it might be locked. It’s smooth turn has him opening the door. One last look behind him at the few who dare to linger and look from their homes has him clearing his throat, “Hello?”

It’s her call for help that has him pushing forward now panicked that something has gone terribly wrong. Turning the corner his shoes hit water and it has him slamming his hand against the wall to steady himself. Azure take in the floor filling with water, and then it’s as they drag themselves from the floor that they meet a pair of smaragdine. He’s not entirely sure where his oxygen has gone, or why he’s staring her down, once again, like a deer in the headlights, but this is where he is, and this is what he’s doing—and goddammit what are words and where can he find them?

This woman’s seen better days. There’s no way she hadn’t with her currently soaked as she stands with an umbrella over her head and the ceiling dripping here, and pouring there. The damage is increasing, and it’s a few flutters of her lashes before she’s speaking again, “Well don’t just stand there! Help me!”

Her words startle him making him shift back, “R-right.” there’s a touch of embarrassment on him, but there’s no time for that.

Every second that passes her situations getting worse, and the last thing she needs is him just gawking at her as her world begins to flood—oh, god, that’s an understatement if there ever was one.

The only thing he knows at this moment is that she needs out of this apartment, and after that he can worry about shutting off the water. His shoes fill with water, and the way his shirt becomes soaked as he grabs her hand and begins to take her out of the room. She’s pulling back as if refusing to leave at first but it’s a single look from him to get her to cooperate.

Forty-five minutes deep, and it finally becomes clear it’s his water pipe that’s busted. His pipe has flooded her home, and there’s a dread in how this is going to affect his living here. He can’t possibly see her letting go of the fact that a good portion of her items in the kitchen are damaged, and would probably need replaced. Pinching the bridge of his nose is the only form of relief he can find as he speaks with their landlord over the phone. He’s doing his best to keep from letting his frustration show in front of his newly acquired guest, but it’s hard when they’re both soaked and freezing in his air conditioning.

Sliding his phone on the table is all he can do  as he sinks within the couch beside her, “He won’t be able to send someone over to look at it till tomorrow. I’ve got no water at this point, and well. . .you don’t exactly have a livable space.”

The air she lets out blows her bangs forward, and it’s has she slides the towel he’s lent her off her shoulders and holds it out to him that she finally speaks, “I guess I’ll start looking at a hotel for the night.”

There’s a touch of guilt even if this has been outside of his control. Swallowing thickly he dares to offer this complete stranger an alternative that he’s not even sure about himself, “Would you wanna stay here for the night?”

It’s all awkward. The entire way he said it was awkward. There was nothing not awkward about any of this—where’s his charm. . . oh yeah, he doesn’t have any.

“Ah, I don’t know. That seems like putting an awful lot on you.” she’s humming out between them as he takes the towel from her and runs it through his hair, “I mean you don’t even know my name—I don’t even know your name?”

He’s pausing and for whatever reason he feels his face heat up with embarrassment—because yeah, no, he is showing zero charm at this point and oh god this woman must think he’s a mess, “C-Cloud Strife.”

There’s silence between them at the drop of his name, and he doesn’t dare steal a glance at her. All at once the silence dies as she lets out a laugh, “I’m sorry—it’s just you seem so. . .nervous—” another laugh spills from her before she continues on, “I promise I won’t bite. My name’s Aerith Gainsborough.”

One blink, and then two, and the next thing he knows he gives a shake of his head as if processing the fact she’s laughing on his couch and calling him out for being nervous—nervous doesn’t even begin to cover what the hell he is in this moment.

As if on command he cannot stop himself from letting out a snort at the thought, and then he’s freezing and he’s whipping his head to her, and now she’s laughing harder. It’s addictive and he’s being swallowed by the flow she’s setting as he lets out a snicker trying his best to cover it up with the back of his hand.

“Honestly, though, I appreciate the offer but I couldn’t possibly trouble you further.” she’s soft in her words but there’s no stopping himself from finding himself trapped by the smaragdine.

“It’s no trouble. It’s the least I could do.” there’s a hesitation to these words, but they hold an entirely different aspect. He feels shy under her gaze and far more self-conscious than he should at the age of twenty-one.

She’s raising from her seat and stretching her arms above her head, “How about we get out of these clothes, and grab some dinner? We can figure it out from there?”

“I’ve probably got something in the closet you can borrow.” he’s following behind her in raising from the couch, and headed for the bedroom without a second thought.

He gives her the privacy of his room while he takes the bathroom to switch out of the saturated clothes. His clothes are baggy on her but they’re not bad. There’s something cute about the way she looks in his black sweats, and jean button up shirt. She’s rolling up the sleeves as he’s reaching for the worn out orange baseball cap from the coat rack, and it’s as he turns back to her to see her running her hands through her hair that he dares to let the smallest grin ghost across his lips, “Ready? What are you in the mood for Ms. Gainsborough?”

“Just Aerith is fine—hm, how about burgers, and shakes, Cloud?”

A tilt of his head and a nod is all he gives as he lets her take the lead, and head out first before turning and locked up his home. This woman has a bounce to her step, and it’s something he finds, surprisingly, enjoyable. Although there’s a certainty that there’s plenty of her humor to be had at his expense—that’s perfectly okay with him.

She seems to have no trouble taking control of the conversation, and allowing him to respond as he sees fit, and while there’s that touch of shy behind each response he’s finding these little things to his liking regardless. It’s not until they’re at the fast food joint, and in front of the counter that his mind completely freezes.

Was this a date? No—maybe? Yes?

He gives a shake of his head. He’s absolutely over-complicating something like this. They barely knew each other. There’s no way this is a date.

—but he sure as hell isn’t about to let her pay. His mother taught him better.

She barely has a chance to respond before he’s stepping forward and pulling his wallet out of his jeans, “Together. I’ll take—”

This woman is looking at him, and while the temptation to return her gaze is there he doesn’t dare too after having seized the moment to pay for dinner. Fingers slide his wallet back within his back pocket and it’s no sooner that she’s leaning into his view, “Hmm.”

Azure flutter for a moment at the look upon her face as she forces him to look back at her, “What?” he wants to pull away as his skin flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh, nothing.” there’s a linger amusement to this statement.

“Huh?” he’s not entirely sure what he’s missing.

What he does know is that this woman’s eyes are impressive—

He feels himself freeze in realizing what he’s let fill his head, and it’s only a moment later that he’s watching her lips widen into a smile, “No spacing out.”

This woman was dangerous. Absolutely. Entirely. Massively. —he’s not complaining, though.

This wasn’t a date, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make it a date.

She eats slow, and she chews with her mouth closed. She sips her shake quietly, and she likes to dip her fries in it. He cannot help himself from glancing at her, and every so often their eyes meet, and he immediately feels caught red handed. It causes her to let out the smallest of laughs between bites, and he’s almost positive that’s why he continues to do this. He wants to keep hearing that laugh.

“So. Cloud Strife. Tell me a little about yourself, hm?” those eyes of hers are make it clear there’s a tease behind saying his full name.

“Just Cloud is fine—” he’s clearing his throat, and using what she had said early.

Azure can’t seem to keep themselves from staring into those smaragdine filled with amusement. The smallest of smirks ghosts at the corners of his mouth before he takes a sip of his own drink.

It’s the second time tonight he’s decided he will gladly let her have her humor at his expense.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period. 

Chapter 10 The Mother & Father

There was reluctance in letting her pass through his gates without his protection. It had caused words to lump within his throat wishing to remove the approval he had given. He knows he cannot take this from her, and it’s only with the control he has learned to maintain throughout his years upon the earth that he keeps his thoughts from entering the air around them. He cannot allow his selfishness to get in the way. Her viridian had showed her joy at being picked, and who was he to ruin that joy? Who was he to give into the paranoia of her leaving his side?

Days into her leaving he feels his home becoming far too quiet with her no longer consistent presence. The silence has nothing to do with the loss of her chatter—she was loud in an entirely different way. Everything about her drew you to her. She could not be missed. She could not be silenced in presence alone. All of her called out to anyone who stood before her.

There is chiding within his mind that her leaving was no different than her medic relief—except she only had one Uchiha guarding her as she walked outside his walls now.

There is no camp filled with allies, and brothers-in-arms to protect her. He could not give her more with the battles that shook the world outside their home.

He would not allow himself to give into the thoughts that threaten him within. She had left calm and drenched in joy. She did not leave his side thick within disdain. She had not left his side filled with anguish. Their marriage was far from recovered and far from being what it should have been—no, what it could have been—but there would be time to build it to that state. Time would still allow him such things when the moment was right.

Shisui would protect her so that he could have those moments.

The hawk he sends forth from within his garden sends but a simple reply. Madara has called for him, and he is all to certain he knows what matter is to be discussed. He had blatantly disobeyed him in bedding the Uchiha woman—he had reprimanded, he had placed his wife before her, and he had attacked her in his demands for an apology no less. There would be punishment. He would accept it on behalf of himself, and his wife. She had continued forward, and she had swallowed herself for him. He would do so for her just as she had done for him. It would be another apology. It would be silent. It would be unheard. It would be unspoken, but it would be there within himself.

The hours that countdown his leave are barely felt, and the sleep he had managed to succumb to leaves just as fast. His bags are handle by maids and there’s a hint of longing within him as he wraps the bandages on his arms. It seeks to remind him she has left days prior. Careful soft fingers are not there to bring them around his knuckles. There’s no catching the hum that escapes him, and it’s as he heads for the gates that he catches himself noting her missing in wishing him safe travel.

There’s no denying how much she had become a part of his world. All of these things are small, but they're significant no less.

Only one of his best men comes to travel beside him leaving their home behind to attend to Madara’s call. He could only give her one to seek to her safety in travel and he would not grant himself anymore than he had granted her. She is traveling so much further than he is. He is but a day and a half from his destination. There is no doubt she should almost be within the gates of Konohagakure as he stepped foot within Madara’s home.

The sound of their feet hitting upon thick branches sets an even pace. The sun that had barely rose to wish them off only seeks to rise higher and light the way. This shinobi speaks with hope, and with underlying fears. It’s filled with the smallest desires. He is not one to truly join in but shares his own chuckle within the joke that spills out next. These moments are just as with his wife—small but no less significant.

They are a reminder and a sound one at that. This is what he fights for. He fights for their peace and for their clan. Ideology paints it as so much more. It paints it red and caked with dirt. It paints it as power verse love. It paints it into something so much darker and complex than it ever should have been. It was no doubt smaller when you got to its core, and dig through the layers of paint that have built up in these long ten years.

The home of their leader is large, and immaculate beyond conception following the traditional style they all modeled and practiced. The maid who greets them welcomes them with ease as they lower their hoods upon their shoulders. The cold no longer chills their faces, fingers, and bones as they are lead down the hall and into the room that holds Madara and his brother. They conversing only lowering their already hushed voices as they trail in.

Others sit within the room their presence unexpected but not unwelcome. Perhaps this meeting had not been as he believed. Perhaps the punishment he had willingly walked into was not meant to come.

It thickens the air with a touch of uncertainty and a chaste kiss of hesitation follows. Izuna casts a fleeting look his way before welcoming them. There is the idle chatter that comes as they stand within the room before making way to their seats. Sitting at his place among the table of Madara’s high rank makes his companion sit behind him in silence. He starts the meeting as though it is more official than Sasuke had realized. Their eyes fall upon their leader instructing them on matters concerning the peace talks. The update holds no useful information for men like himself, who were only of use in battle. Talks of peace were as misguided as the hope that love could be what brings it. All he needed was the thoughts and feelings of his clansmen and people to push him forward. He would wage war for them and allow others to dabble in such conversations.

“Sasuke-san, your wife is participating in the Lantern festival from what you’ve said?” Madara crosses his arms as he gives into the small detail among the table. His response is but a simple nod forward before Madara continues, “Since it’s Sakura-san it only seems fitting we shall attend after the meeting.”

He cannot stop himself from eyeing his leader with uncertainty. Never had there been genuine interest in the traditions outside of their own. There is a thick swallow to accompany the uncertainty weighing upon his chest, “Do not feel forced to attend.”

“Nonsense. After all, she has been providing medical relief for our men. The least we can do is watch her perform. I hear the ceremony for the coming of spring is one of a kind.” Madara’s voice is questionable as he leans upon the table with knuckles pressed against his chin.

“Senju will be everywhere since it’s held in their territory.” Obito’s voice rings throughout the room speaking of the obvious, and it’s as Sasuke gives a fleeting look upon the fellow Uchiha that he finds his brows pinched at the revelation.

It would be a ceasefire, and no doubt a time when they would hold to their words and walk among each other in celebration of this foreign New Year. If his brother were to appear would he be able to keep his word? The thought brings a bitter and foul taste into his mouth. He would have no choice but to tolerate his existence. The whispers of battle that would echo within his being—requesting and pleading for him to take revenge upon the traitor connected by blood—would be ignored.

Kagami gives forth a snort, “This wife of yours has made quite the name for herself after being just a woman of convenience.”

He does not answer with anything more than a look to the Uchiha boy decorated in a grin upon his lips. It’s as he threads his fingers to hold his chin that the slow desire to defend his wife from claims of convenience find their way into the air. He silences Izuna’s attempt to respond to Kagami, “My wife is not just one of convenience.”

It hushes the room, and it is Madara who lets a low hum fall within the silence, “I look forward to seeing such during the Lantern Festival.” their leader raises his head from his almost lackadaisical lean upon his knuckles. There is a look between him and his leader, and it’s then that he knows there is more for him after the meeting. He had not been wrong. His punishment was, in fact, before him.

He would take it gladly.

“Hiashi-san, and I will be attending to go over details of a possible peace treaty with Hashirama. Those of you who wish to attend the festivities held within Konohagakure are welcome but are to not raise arms or cause disturbance during the ceasefire under any circumstance.” his words hold command within them under the guise of simple conversation that no one dares to join, “Those of you who do not attend spend so with family, and friends. Even with the talk of peace in the air do not forget we are at war, and peace talks never signal the end until decisions and compromise on both sides have been met.”

Izuna leads in behind his brother with ease seeming to be the one who does not find his brothers rule silencing, “Sasuke-san, you especially must follow these commands. Itachi-san will most likely be at the negotiations and events. We cannot have them claiming we broke the ceasefire. Traitor or not.”

He cannot stop himself from gritting his teeth at the name of his traitor of a brother. He cannot stop the tightening of his threaded fingers whiten his knuckles. The clearing of his throat only tenses the air, “I understand.”

The meeting opens to any questions those attending have, and no one dares give way to any ill feelings they hold about the conditions set forth concerning the negotiations. Madara has no need to give them guarantees of what he will bring to the table. Their leader knows exactly what they demand, and knows exactly what they should receive.

It’s after the others have left, and it is just him and his companion that he dismisses him with orders to meet at the gate within the hour. He stands before his leader, and his leader’s brother—the only line still standing within his dominate family tree with the loss of his mother, father, and traitorous brother—ready to defend his choices and decisions to this point.

He stands ready to receive his punishment.

“She was not to your liking?” Madara’s voice gives no true question. He is making a statement more than anything and rhetorical one at that, “Or maybe your wife has something to do with it?”

Swallowing thickly he gives way to an answer, “It was my decision. She holds no control over what I do.”

“Sasuke. We understand there was a fight between the two of them.” Izuna crosses his arms upon his chest as he locks gazes with him choosing to lean upon the paper walls, “From what she’s told us you made her apologize to Sakura-san.”

His jaw tightens at the statement never wavering his ebony from the almost identical pair that looks to him, “I have made it clear since I was forced to marry her that there would be no ill will against her. I cannot have them look down upon her if I need her to lead them within my absence. Any ill will to her shows ill will to my leadership.”

His leader lets out the slightest of hums as if understanding his position. There is a moment of looks between the Uchiha brothers before gazing back upon him, “Tell me then what you choose to do from here.”

Ebony shift from his leader for the briefest of moments before looking back to him cautious of what to say next, “My parents did not live in adultery and I hold no plans—”

“So you hold no interest in having an heir?” Izuna’s voice holds no room for halfhearted explanations. It brings forth the memory of the otherworldly creature that is his wife holding a child of Uchiha blood as she comes to him—it remains an impossibility.

A flick of his tongue behind his teeth does little to restrain the lividity within his tone. It’s harsher than intended to those above him, “I did not choose this political marriage.”

Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?

There is no backing down from his position. He had done all that he had been asked of at this point with no hesitation. He had done everything to uphold his position as heir in the case of their passing. He had done all that he could for his clan repeatedly—time and time again. To commit adultery where his parents had not would shame not only his wife, but him, and those he lived to avenge. These were not choices he had made. If an heir was their concern they should have picked someone else to marry the ethereal woman that was his wife.

He was who they had chosen and he would follow his role properly. There would be no tolerance in his continued failure to be proper husband.

There is a shake to Madara’s head before he gives way to an exhale, “You cannot bed her, but you can continue as you are. I do this only out of respect for Mikoto. If it was anyone else there would be no choice in this matter. Disobedience would not be tolerated.”

There is anger and disdain for the man before him who continues to rule upon his choices as he sees fit. The claim of allowing him to forgo the adultery in the name of his mother—of his leader’s long since deceased sister—is all he needs to hear before dismissing himself to keep his anger within check. To anger and fight Madara would be to go against his clan, and he would never allow himself to do so. Doing so would be taking his brothers path. His clan and his people were forever the priority, and now even more so was she—he could not have punishment fall upon her for his choices.

Lucky—it’s how he should feel and yet, he does not.

Many who disobeyed Madara could not stand as tall as he does now heading for the gate with the snow that falls softly before him. His mother continues her protection of him. Bitterness rises in his chest at his need to still be protected. Fingers roughened through battle run through his hair as his scowl deepens. He was no longer a mere child of war. He was a man that was feared. He was a man that conquered. He had slaughtered those that would take the lives of his family, clan, and people who followed their beliefs. His strong stride stops before the gate taking in the cold air that seeks to chill his being. That same chilled air burns within his chest as the frosty air enters his lungs.

Ebony cannot stop themselves from looking upon the gray sky above that continues to give way to the winter season. He cannot stop the longing he holds for his mother. He would pray to her again when he returned home thanking her. He would thank her for all the protection she has ever given him, and all that she continues to give him. Even in death she stood there holding his hand. Even in death she would see to her child. Even when he had accepted punishment she would keep him from such harm.

A shudder leaves his mouth as he thinks of her. He could not ask her for advice, and he could not go to her when he had troubles. He could not truly hold her hand down this path. He could, though, continue to pave a way so others would not suffer the same loss he had. He could continue to make sure that young Uchiha children would never have to have their mother’s protection in death. He could give them something better. He could give them the ability to hold their mother’s hand within the world of the living.

He would give them the ability. He would give them the chance. He would win for them.

His fingers squeeze and it’s in that moment that he can truly feel her as if she stands beside him. He can feel her hand in his, and he can feel his chest tighten with her hand in his. Death was giving him this moment—it was giving him this precious moment to stand beside her.

His mother’s name carried the meaning of precious—she was undoubtedly precious.

A mother’s love was unbelievably deep. The spring wife had asked him if it was true that the Uchiha loved deeply. He even now does not know if that remains true, but he does know that his mother had loved him deeper than any ocean, and stronger than any fire. He knows that she would have done anything for him. He knows that she continues to do everything for him.

She had loved him. She had loved him so much. Never would she have willingly left his side. She would have continued to ease his heart, and she would have continued to erase his doubts.

She continues to do those things no matter how far he goes.

He truly had never been luckier.

Excitement does not begin to explain the feeling dancing within her heart as her mother, Shisui, and herself make their way to the gates. Her mother has fallen into bright spirits with the earthbound Uchiha male so unlike the stoic ones they knew far to frequently.

The chatter that overcomes them is easy to follow, and the conversations amusing. There are no disputes. There are no arguments over politics. There are no quarrels over ideals.

It’s peaceful. It’s welcomed. It’s what everyone should have. It’s proof that this could be something within their grasp if not for this war. It’s proof that a world of peace can truly exist in a world that only seemed to know war.

There is curiosity in how Konohagakure will look. Memories of her birthplace nonexistent within her mind. Far too young, and far too innocent she was back then to remember such things. Relatives had always come to them. They had never sought to visit, and as her age increased so did her distance with the place only newly born and newly welcomed into the world viridan had been given the privilege to see.

“Sakura-san, a friend of mine will be meeting us shortly. Do you mind if I take the time to speak with him?”

Her walk does not falter as she turns to look upon him, “Oh? You have company in Konohagakure?”

“We are separated by our ideals, but we still keep in touch.” he responds easily.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t.” she gives way to a smile as her viridian fall upon the gates once more.

Their steps take them closer. It’s impossible to miss her cousin’s wave, or the eye catching green clad male beside her. The smile that stretches upon her lips is large, and gives way to hurried steps wanting to be with them quicker. The scolding her mother speaks is ignored sprinting to wrap her arms around her cousin. There’s giggles and tight hugs. Her cousin’s voice is high as she tells her she missed her. The closeness they once had shared still within its rightful place even with their lives so separated.

It’s as they begin to catch up in hurried voices soaked with excitement that she hears the subtle interruption of her guard. He’s cleared his voice, “Ah, Sakura-san. I’d like you to meet my friend.”

Viridian full of interest turn to look at who it is that Shisui continues to hold close even as war separates them. She wonders if it is a Senju she had met in passing, or an Uzumaki she’s treated. It’s as those viridian turn that she cannot stop her smile from slipping. She cannot stop her eyes from becoming wide, and she cannot stop her heart from halting within its beat.

He’s all the familiar hereditary looks. Endless ebony strands with endless ebony eyes, and pale skin that contrasts almost painfully against her coloring. The lackadaisical look upon his face is all the more familiar, and it’s as her mind is running that she wonders if the Gods have played a cruel joke upon her.

She can only wonder if the Gods found humor in endlessly tormenting her.

“Sakura-san, meet Itachi. Itachi Uchiha.”

Her heart is held so painfully by these Gods intended to turn her world forever upside down and inside out. She cannot stop the twist of her surroundings bringing her back to her father’s body falling to the floor as she had gazes upon the man before her. She would never—could never—erase the look upon his face as her father fell before her. Such little care had been across those hereditary features.

Such little remorse. Such loss of heart. Such nonexistent feeling for those who hurt by his hand.

He no sooner would have discussed the weather with her as blood covered the floor and life fled from her father. This male held no remorse for his acts, and he had held no heart before her in a world filled with fire. He had looked as plainly at her now as he had back then.

The Gods must truly have found endless humor in her anguish.

Fingers curl within her palm as she feels her body set ablaze with a sense of loathing she did not know she could possess. This loathing that dares to possess her is volatile, seething, and unrelenting. Brows pinch, and her jaw tightens as these feelings bloom throughout her being in waves that desire to submerge this male, and herself. The fire that had torn Kusagakure asunder ghosts across her skin, and the wounds she had received as they had destroyed her home burn just as hot with each passing second. There is the hint upon her knuckles from where they had collided with the earth making it cry out. It echoes throughout the air unheard by all who stand with her. It echoes so loud she questions if she’ll go deaf.

“Sakura-chan?” the male clad in green calls out upon seeing her features change.

This man has captured her effortlessly, and it takes all the restraint she has to offer to keep her from lunging for his throat—so cruelly would she love to dig her fingers within his mouth to remove the lackadaisical expression from his features so painfully similar to her husband. There is recognition within those ebony. The recognition of that time comes with each small movement of his eyelids. The contempt she feels is begging for release at the base of her throat as she continues to hold the ebony within her viridian, and then all in a moment she feels the air slammed from her lungs. This man—this man before her—was her husband’s deeply loved sibling. The sibling so adored, and the sibling who had been the role model for her husband. This was the sibling he fought against. This was the traitor within their clan that had hurt her husband to depths that she could only now begin to understand. This sibling had hurt her husband, and slain her father. This man had brought so much pain within her world. He had brought her tears, and her husband’s hatred.

He was undeniably someone her husband had dared to love deeply, and in return he had brought it down without care.

For every moment her husband had dared to love this sibling had taught him betrayal. For every moment she had dared to believe that men of war were not inhumane he had proven it wrong eyes that held no heart.

The myths had done her husband no justice for this man stole all of it.

“Sakura, where are your manners?” her mother’s fingers have gripped her shoulder and it’s the only thing that makes her tear her gaze from him finally released from the chaos that was Kusagakure.

The wild beat of her heart is in full force as she desperately attempts to swallow the hurt, and loathing that threatens to drag her into turmoil. The tug upon her heart is laced with torment, and anguish. It’s far more powerful than what she could have thought possible. It’s far more petulant that she could have ever imagined. It’s far more deadly than she could have ever fathomed. It had come with an absolute vengeance for daring to think she could obtain any semblance of peace within this war. Bitter, and with eyes that dare to sting she feels the air constrict within her throat.

How much more could these people take from her? How much more could they ask of her? How much more? How much?

The desire that coaxes her heart could not be done.

Giving into the hatred, the anguish, and the raw lividity would alleviate such petulant torment, and yet, there is fear just on the other side. There is fear of her husband’s eyes upon her after hearing she had harmed the one he had dared to adore within his blissful innocence as a child. There is fear of her husband having to answer for attacking within Senju territory. There is fear that she will not come back from this raw lividity. There is fear that she will no longer no herself.

There is fear she will be the one without a heart. It is all too much—there is too much at stake.

Shisui shifts to move toward her with concern decorating him, “Sakura-san, are you alright?”

Fingers painfully press harder within her palm, nails digging into her skin as she attempts to speak without choking, “Excuse me, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sakura. Uchiha Sakura.”

His brow has raised at her name, and there is scrutiny within his ebony as he seems to digest her. Flickering his gaze to Shisui, “I’m sure you heard about Sasuke-san’s marriage. This is his wife.”

The lackadaisical expression has disappeared at her title and in its place startle has taken over his features. There’s no missing the tightening of his jaw, and the shift within his frame. The silence between them is loud, and it echos in her ears just as loud as the memory of her knuckles crashing down upon their earth the first time they had met.

“Sakura-san, you look pale? Are you exhausted from the travel?” fingers find their way upon her arm as obsidian try to obtain her viridian. He is giving her a way out, and she is no fool—she will absolutely take this moment to remove herself from this man.

“Please.” her voice comes out far more pained than she had intended, and it’s Shisui who places a hand upon her head, “I’m so very tired.”

She begs, and pleads to not let the tears fall that burn her eyes. Her mother’s frantic voice is but background noise as they excuse themselves, and head for her cousin’s home. The feel of those ebony upon her back as they leave him at the gate are impossible to ignore. It only seeks to further terrorize her heart. It only seeks to shake her being. It only seeks to allow her to dance within the idea of digging her hand deep within his—No. No, no, no she would not allow herself to soil her heart. She would not allow herself to become him.

Disgust—she feels it radiate within her being.

You never needed a reason to love. You only needed reason to hate, and hatred consumed.

This is what had consumed so many during the war. The sharp ache that had found a home within her heart only seeks to become stronger with such feelings and yet, she cannot bring herself to cast them aside.

What god had she angered to deserve such a thing? What cruelty had she committed to have her husband’s brother be the one who held no hesitation in cutting down her father? What misdeed did she perform to have him give so little care to those he murdered?

It’s within the room that her cousin had prepared that she finally lashes out as fingers come upon her hand, “Let go of me.” the words are bitter and venomous—they seek to hurt.

She wants to hurt. She wants everyone to feel what she has endured.

Who was she to be the only one to shelter pain? It’s not their fault though. They are not the ones who continued to pray upon her so cruelly.

“Sakura-san, what has you so upset?” the obsidian haired male had barely flinched at her vexation.

“Leave me. Go. Get away from me.” her voice is raising as she spouts each word, “All of you.” her viridian glow within her hatred as she looks upon those at the door who are painted in hurt, and shock upon her words.

They cannot understand her behavior. They cannot understand her vexation. They cannot understand her venom. She would never let them understand. She could not let them understand. She will not let them understand. None of them give way to movement, and it’s in that, that she feels the last of her snap with a hiss of her voice, “Go, I said!”

The echo of her cry within the home has washed away the excitement. It has brought with it anxiousness, and hurt that paints itself upon every wall, and every door. It paints the room and it paints their beings. It paints her so violently, and it paints her so unforgiving. The whispers that fill the air beyond those doors cannot be heard outside of muffled hums. The room has lost its warmth, but the chill is numb upon her skin as she sits within her terror. She cannot find a clear answer as she sits upon the floor with her knees pressed within her chest. The tears that had burned have found their way down.

Her mind runs, and even as it tumbles it shifts between thoughts so fast, and so carelessly she finds herself losing herself entirely. Panicked, and lost with such muddled thoughts she cannot stop herself from falling deeper down the rabbit hole that is hatred. She hates so much, and she cannot find the part of her that dared to love, and dared to find the answers so hopeful, and so wishful.

Who was more important in these moments? Her husband, or her father?

Who was to be the one that would decide what she did now? To do nothing would shame her father. To do anything would shame her husband—the title is bitter, and it holds so much disdain. Disdain that she did not know she could feel for him once again. Blaming him is unwarranted, but she cannot stop herself from doing so. Hating him would be easy in these moments. Hating him would make the choice easier. Hating him would bring honor to her fallen father.

Hating him could be so easy.

There is a pull on the hood of her cloak she had never removed. The fingers bring it down from its place in almost a tender motion. Her teeth grind at the touch, and lividity runs through her veins at someone disobeying her, “Itachi-san has angered you.”

Shisui’s voice is soft as he kneels behind her, “Go.”

“Sakura-san, I do not know what he has done to you. He’s hurt you somehow, but I cannot allow you to sit here like this. Sasuke-san—”

“Don’t you dare say that cruel man’s name.” her head has whipped to look at him so close to her. His eyes show he was not prepared for such a hostile reaction upon hearing her husband’s name, and then there is something that she cannot place that follows in its place.

“Sakura-san, who is being cruel right now?” his voice is even as the glow of her viridian gaze upon him with fury.

“All of you are cruel. You only seek to hurt everyone around you with this war. You only seek to destroy. You are mons—”

“Sakura-san!” she has never heard his voice raise in such anger in all the times they have traveled together. She has gone too far—she has bred such a response within her turmoil, “You dare to say we are cruel and yet, here you sit pushing everyone aside. You sit here and you cast your family, and mother within another room as if they are to blame. You take them for granted, and you cast them without care. I ask you again, who is being cruel right now?”

“I have lost everything.” her voice breaks within her withdraw from him, “Who else could be cruel enough to have me marry a man who’s sibling would kill my father?” the words are vulnerable and hit the air before she can stop them.

Fingers find their way within her rose-colored locks, “You know Sasuke-san was not the one who made that choice. You know Madara-sama held no part in Itachi-san killing your father. None of them could have known—just as Itachi-san could not have known that you had married his brother, and he had killed your father.” his voice has come down from the anger that had laced it. It’s pleading with her in a hushed tone, and seeking to console her, “All of us—Uchiha, Senju, and everyone else who fights—have killed someone, and hurt others with our actions. We do not know if those people will become close to us. None of us would ever wish to hurt those close to us. It is all we can do, though, as we put our lives on the line.”

The solemnity rings within the silence. She was the cruel one once more. She sat here blaming. She sat here hating. She sat here loathing. She was cursing them, and slandering them. She was taking her hurt out upon them all. She was the one with such little care. She was being selfish—but how long had she pushed herself to be selfless?

This was the harsh reality of war. War robbed loved ones. It made the light from their eyes vanish. It put hurt within the world around them. It took without remorse. It forced friends to clash, and—

It forced families to fight against each other.

“Has Sasuke-san, truly been cruel to you?” the question quakes her being. It sends anguish throughout her with the gravity of what she has said, and what she has called him.

Overwhelmed. Heart pounding. Heavy hearted.

Nothing can describe the unbelievable sadness that washes over her with that question.

If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so.

She had said that so easily. They had fought. They had disagreed. He had made her cry. He had been cold to her. Yet, never—not once in this marriage—had he ever been cruel. He did not do malicious things to her. He did not do things out of spite. He did not show disdain towards her.

That single statement had been true when she had spoken it. She wished to take his pain from him. This man fought to protect those that followed him. He fought for peace in his own way. He fought with no anchor in the world. He had been a victim of war just as much as she now was. He had truly lost those he loved deeply. This feeling—this moment—this hatred that she had allowed to consume her—this is what had made him who he was today. She had asked him to love her, and here with just a taste of that hatred his world was soaked in she had cursed and spoken harshly of him—of all of them.

How could she possibly ask him to love someone so cruel? How had this man survived to this day with such a feeling?

A shuddered breath. A silent cry. A whispered apology.

All of it is what fills this room as she is gathered within her guards arms. He is warm—all the things she was meant to be. He was calming—all of what she tried to be.

“Sasuke-san would punish me for letting you get hurt.” it’s his laugh that’s low and hinted upon every word that brings a smile to her tear stained face as she continues to battle the slowly dissipating turmoil.

“I’ll be sure to keep such a thing from him.”

Because, Sasuke Uchiha, would no doubt protect her.

It’s long after she has made her way from the room with her hand in his, long after she gives heavyhearted apologies to those she had spat venom at, and long after the warmth has found its way within her cousin’s home once more that she accepts that her pain is still there. There’s no denying it’s grip upon her. This was not something that could be rendered with reasoning. Her husband had traveled far down this path. He had hated, and he had been consumed for such a long time. He had been his brother for many. He had gazed down upon those he killed in the name of war with such a lack of care. He had hurt, and he had been hurt. She had barely walked a mile in his shoes, and she needed to travel so much further.

Compassion, and warmth were nothing without understanding. Understanding could not be found without feeling.

She held the poison that had infected so many firmly within her, and now she truly could understand why he held such little care for talks of peace. This rage. This hurt. This suffering. All of it could not be eased with just words. He sought out vengeance, and he sought to make sure none within his domain felt what he had felt. In his conquest he had cast aside the love he had dared to feel so deeply. He had pushed others aside, and now she, too, had done just the same. He had lashed out upon those who sought to help him, and now she, too, had done just the same. He had no longer sought to reach out for help, and she now, too, had refused to reach for a hand to save her from this poison so lethal.

He had truly gone the distance. She had truly been so blind. She had sought to understand. He had cast his eyes from a world of love long ago.

She understood.

The days that come after do not ease the spread of this poison called hatred, and it’s at night that she gazes upon the ceiling lost and flushed in lividity. Her heart is torn in two. She knows it is not her husband’s fault, but here she sits within the dead of the night blaming him silently. Shisui had never lied in what he had said. Her husband had been many things, but she would have never looked upon him as cruel. She was shifting blame. She was looking for a reason to hate.

That man was the one who had slain her father. Not her husband.

More acceptance comes within the following days. It does not ease her hatred for her husband’s sibling. Her husband’s involuntary reactions when his brother was mentioned are perfectly clear. She understands far more than she would have ever dreamed why he held such hostility when it came to his brother. This man had done so much to her husband.

What would her husband say if she dared to tell him that he had taken her father—his father-in-law—away from them?

Viridian never stop searching, and her mind has yet to stop running. She had sought out an answer for this hatred and these feelings within her anguish when she had fallen within this rabbit hole.

She will continue to search for the answer she had sought within her anguish. She has to keep searching. This is not just for husband. She has to find this answer for herself. This is also for her.

The lesson has been taught, and the feelings understood. There’s pain in knowing that she had unknowingly asked for so much from her husband the night they had fought when she had fallen before him. She had asked him for all of him, and now she truly held more of him than she ever felt possible. She had asked to be his anchor, and she had asked him for love. How could she ask him for love when now she knew how addictive this poison could be?

If she could not cure herself then she could not cure him.

Yet, forgiveness meant to accept her father’s death by a man so uncaring. She could not do such a thing. She would not do such a thing.

She would be selfish. Her husband’s selfishness now just another thing she could understand.

It’s three days deep, and then before she realizes it another two days have passed. Seven days come without warning, and then without even so much as a ‘hello’ it’s on the thirteen day that she unknowingly has come upon her answer.

Practice for the coming of spring has come to an end. Her muddled mind has continued to halt her progress. She is far from ready—she has let Itachi Uchiha continue to take things from her.

She’s letting him take this from her as well.

She expects to be scolded just as she has every day since this had begun. Fingers come upon her shoulder, and it’s what drags her eyes, stinging with unshed frustrated tears, to the male, who continues to be patient with her. Her jaw dips ready to give an apology, “Kakashi-san, I—”

He never once has blamed her for her lack of progress. She had dared to wonder if it was because they had known each other well before now. She had healed him. She had healed him several times. He had come to her when his wife had been harmed in combat. He had come to her when he would be passing through to his next battle.

Here they were now. Standing within this room so large with wooden floors. He’s yet to pry, and she’s yet to explain herself. There’s no mistake that he’s being bias and hoping whatever has her within its grips will work itself out. There’s no mistake that she needs to find her answer. She needs to find the cure.  

The sun that seeks to rest for the night paints the sky outside, and cast it’s dimming light within the room through the window. It provides no warmth outside of these walls. It could not fight off the chill outside that awaits her. Another set of fingers find their way to her shoulder, and there’s a comfort to these two men allowing her to work through her problems even as so much is placed upon her shoulder. Shisui, too, has been patient—she hopes it’s because he understands. Her bottom lip quivers as she seeks to finish what she had intended to say, but she’s rendered silent as the doors open. This person does not knock and his voice is loud.

This voice. It’s undeniably warm. It’s just as she recalls, and it brings her muddled mind to a halt.

She’s captured before she even knows it. Viridian flutter as she takes in the large grin she had only known once before. He’s all the bright blonde, and vibrant azure eyes she recalls deep within the forest. He’s all the warmth that the sun refused to give.

He is so much like the sun in the summer.

“Kakashi-sensei, how much lo—Sakura-chan?” the widening of those eyes so bright, and azure follow his question, and arms once placed behind his head begin their slow descend to his sides.

“Naruto-san?” she feels vulnerable in front of this man—and she cannot begin to understand why he has such a presence.

He’s next to her immediately with brows pinched in concern. She’s not sure if it was her face, or voice that gave away the mess that was her mind, and heart. They are enemies and yet, he comes to her side without thought. He comes to her as if they had known each other forever. He comes to her as if he is her friend.

She’s not sure what continues to make her follow in actions that her husband would scold her for, “I—Shisui, I want to go with him.”

Fingers tighten upon her shoulder as viridian make their way to ebony, “Sakura-san, I cannot leave you with him.”

“It’ll be fine.” there’s a shift in this male as breathes out, “I’ll take full responsibility should anything happen. Keep in mind that even as she wears the Uchiha crest this is neutral territory for now. No one would dare to harm her here. Not with the ceasefire approaching so close. She is, after all, our guest for the festival.”

Hesitation lingers but those fingers once so secure begin to lessen their pressure upon her shoulder, “Shisui. Please.”

Sakura cannot explain herself. She cannot begin to understand why there is so much comfort that comes from this man. She cannot understand why he does not say ‘no’ to her following behind him down these streets he knows so well, and that she’s begun to learn. He’s quiet at first and then he’s chattering away as if they are just as she had felt before—friends.

He doesn’t know her outside of that forest, and he does not know her outside of her last name. Still, he continues forward as if this is second nature to him.

When had she stopped moving forward? When had she—

He’s stopped before her his arms crossed upon his chest, “What’s wrong?”

Viridian flutter once more at this male so bold, and so overwhelming. She feels her eyes sting as all of her hatred, and all of her inner turmoil boil to the surface, “Do you hate?”

The words fall so easily, and the world seems to go quiet within her ears. There are lingering gazes among those that pass by but none seem to have caught what she had asked. His bottom lip falls open, and those azure eyes fall from her as they take in what she has asked. There’s a shame that comes over her drenching her to the core. It makes her want to take back what she has asked him. It makes her wish she had never given in to that presence he has so naturally—it’s so comforting.

Viridian watch as his mouth closes once more with lips pressed tightly together, and then only moments later does he open it again as determination radiates from him as brightly as his warmth.

“I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know who it is that you hate, but what I do know is that hatred hasn’t solved anything.” his fingers make their way to his pockets as he continues to look at her earnestly, “Has hatred solved anything for you?”

“No.”

“Hatred. The word itself is heavy. It weighs you down and yet, so many people feel that, you know? I fight to give people peace. I fight to bring these warring clans together, and get rid of hatred. If I let myself be weighed down who am I supposed to bring together? You have to believe there is good in people—otherwise, what am I fighting for?” his voice raises with each thought and it’s with each thought that viridian become wider, “Sakura-chan, what is your role? What do you fight for?”

“I fight to provide what others cannot. I want to heal people. I want to provide them with relief so that they can keep moving while so many of you take. I want—I want so much. I’m tired of fighting, and I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired—”

“Everyone’s tired.” azure seize her catching her voice within her throat, “How can you heal, and do what I can’t if your weighed down? Hatred breeds hatred. You can’t provide what you don’t give. This person you hate—has hating them made it easier? Has hating them made you better? Has it made you give up on peace? What peace do you fight for?”

The words fall far faster than she expects, and her voice is far stronger than she thought it could be, “I fight for a peace brought about by love, and yet how can I not hate someone who has taken everything from me? How can I not hate someone who has hurt so many.”

His mouth is left open, and his azure can only widen at her declaration. The silence that hangs within the air is thick and suffocating and yet, it’s as he lets out a huff of air that he cuts through it effortlessly, “It sounds to me like you’re just making excuses. Your husband, I’m assuming, fights in the war. He does exactly what you hate this person for to others. You know, it seems to me like your just looking for reasons to make hatred okay. I can’t stand people who do that. This is war. Don’t forget we don’t do this because we want to. You may have lost someone—who am I kidding we’ve all lost someone. Hating them for it isn’t going to bring them back. How are you honoring that person by hating them? Would they appreciate you taking your love for them and turning it into hate?”

Fingers twist within her clothing as she looks at him. Wide doe eyes cannot leave his face as she hears him louder, and clearer than she had ever thought possible.

This man. What had he lost in the war? Who had he lost in the war?

How had found this conclusion? Who had shown him the way when he was lost?

Her teeth grit, and it’s as she looks down at the ground that the tears dare to fall. Fingers make their way to her hair. There’s no soothing rubs like her husband had given as he washed her hair. The scent he has is so distinctly different from that of her husband. It’s no less comforting.

He wasn’t wrong. Nothing he had said was wrong, and he had made the answer seem so obvious. He had made all of it seem so unnecessary. She had accepted that she had started to shift the blame, and make reasons to hate her husband on behalf of his brother. She had accepted that was wrong. She had accepted it. She had understood it, and now this male so full of sun, and so full of warmth was bringing down the walls she had made deep within the night as she stared at the ceiling.

This answer he had given her. She needed to accept it.

She could not let that man take more from her.

He gives way to a whine, and a humor filled comment that has her letting out the smallest of laughs. He throws his hands behind his head with that large grin plastered back in its place she has come to associate as being entirely him. The walk back to her home, and it’s with Shisui running to her that she feels her mouth curve into a smile she hasn’t worn in days.

There’s hesitance across the Uchiha’s face, but all it takes is a look at her before those features once longed for fall into a sense of calm. Footsteps lead her forward and it’s now and it’s here that she feels herself finally looking down the path instead of back. .

The call of her mother comes just as she enters the entry way, and it’s as she makes her way to the room her mother stays within that she sees her mother holding up something that makes her heart drop. The pendent is unmistakable. It’s floral petals are pale except for one. That one lone petal is of a darker rosier shade. The chain hangs within her mother’s fingers, and it’s as her mother’s viridian look to her own that the widest of smiles breaks out.

There’s tears, and there’s broken laughter between the two. Her mother’s voice is hushed within this moment they share. Never had she mentioned to her in these days that the man who had taken her father was so close. She could not find it in herself to burden her mother so much. Fingers dance across her neck sending the smallest tickles down her.

“I don’t expect you to tell me what has you so upset. Just don’t forget that I am here, and so is your father. We love you, Sakura. Please don’t forget to lean on me, and never think you can’t lean on him. He would hate for you to carry everything on your own.” Her mother fluffs her hair as she says it all so quietly as if it’s a secret meant for them alone.

There’s no denying the tears that have fallen from those viridian her mother had been so kind as to share. Her hands are raising and she cannot stop herself from cupping her mother’s face a moment longer. She presses her forehead against her mothers and it’s as her mother’s fingers wrap around her wrists that they both cry whispering comfort to each other.

For every whispered affection another falls into place. For every affection action another follows right behind. Her heart seeks to apologize for being so selfish as to forget she has a parent right here, and another that truly had never left her.

The last whisper her mother gives before wrapping her within a hug is one she’s sure she’ll never be able to let go off. It brings pride back upon her, and the urgency to make it all true. She could not fail her father, and she could not fail her mother.

—He’s so proud of you, Sakura. He really is. We both are.

It’s as they walk to make their way towards the shinobi with locks with pale lead colored hair meant to assist with her practice that she tells the answer she’s found to Shisui, “I wish to speak with him. I wish to speak with my brother-in-law once more.”

He stops within his taken step to look at her. The Uchiha cannot stop his hesitation from showing—he’s held so much of that recently, “I’ll see what I can do, Sakura-san.”  

“Thank you.” the male of pale lead colored locks can only watch them as she stands before him. She turns to look at Shisui once more before she takes her leave, “When I had let hate fill me I told you I had lost everything.” her lips widen into a smile that she had just the day before relearned, “I was wrong. I have gained far more than I could have ever ask for.” the warmth that she was meant to give had found its way back to her face, and within her viridian.

She is beaming with hope, and she is beaming full of love that she wishes to give.

If there was one thing her father had taught her it was not to live in the past. Her father would not find honor in her staining her hands. Her father would not find happiness in her allowing such hate to fuel her. He would not find peace if she did not find prosperity in life.

Her father had been the kindest of people. He had been one of warmth, and sun—it’s clear now that is why she finds such comfort in the blonde. He had been the one to wipe her tears from her face, and pat her head when she stumbled. He cared so much for her. He had loved her, and in that love he had been the one to teach her the meaning of giving. He had been the one to teach her to love with no requirements.

Kizashi Haruno was unconditional in all that he did. He gave unconditionally. He loved unconditionally.

She, too, would love unconditionally. That is how she would honor him.

“You look troubled.”

She gives a shake of her head, “No. I’m just thankful to have a papa who still continues to love, and teach me even after he has left me.” there is a shudder that overcomes her as she speaks between soft smiles, “I will bring the spring for him. I will bring the spring to everyone—so they can feel the same love, and warmth I received from him. I will repay all of you for leading me back to him, and leading me back to who I am supposed to be.”

Her eyes shift to the male of pale lead hair beside her. They never falter in their walk having left Shisui shortly after her gratitude, “He’s proud of you.” his fingers fall within her hair affectionately.