#ss retsuden countdown

[pinkhairedlily]

Wading through each shelf, feet kicking the rested dust, stealing glimpses through the gaps of the sinewy spines — they feel transtemporal. It’s a specific replica of their genin days, back when it seemed they were too eager for a ‘mission accomplished’, but she was only too focused on catching Sasuke’s attention. Naive, head over heels, in love.

She’s still the same girl, just with several upgrades, she surmises. Not that she isn’t eager now; after all, Naruto’s life is at stake.

Sakura just wants to bide her time in their quick library research. It’s not every day she gets to be with her husband, much more so when it comes to missions.

So she savors this sight, this moment, this time. Even when it meant suffocating from cobwebs and molds and probably a century old layer of dust. She’s too busy /seeing/ her husband.

Him in a bright blob of orange jumpsuit. His shoulder length hair. His chakra signature, carefully hidden, but memorized by her. His steady gaze as it finds her in between a stack of books. His mouth which she misses.

“You found anything?” he says in a low voice. That kind of tone sends shivers down her spine.

Oh kami, Uchiha Sakura, you’re on active duty. Calm your pseudo teenager hormones, she chastises herself. “Poison recipes. Could help Naruto die faster if I want a capital punishment. The cure’s probably on the other side.”

“Hn. I only have ten minutes left, and the other inmates will start wondering.” He walks to her side of the shelf.

She shrugs. “I also have a scheduled appointment. This is just actually my only free time.”

Sasuke raises his brows. “The prisoners?”

“Yes. Most of them scheduled an appointment with me, quick check up and everything. Even though you just had a system sponsored one last week.”

Sakura recognizes the quick flash of agitation on Sasuke’s face.

“Those scumbags.”

“It’s all right anata. I’ll go through them quickly so I can catch up on rest.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Frustration spills over in his voice. “They’re men.”

“So?”

Sasuke backs her against the wall, his lone arm finding its place above her head. Sakura has to look up to meet his intense embers.

“I’m a man too, Sakura. Your husband.” Each word is a weighted plea, and her body responds accordingly, willing to cave in. “Don’t you know the things I want to do to you right now?”

She lets her hands cup his face, introducing gentleness where there’s currently gaunt and grime. “I’m your wife. You’re the only one who can do things to me.”

Sasuke responds like a bush lit on fire. Rough, all consuming, burning. It only takes five minutes to reacquaint each other’s skin with their imprint, and five minutes more to leave lasting marks in places only they are allowed to see.

Within ten minutes, that certain corner of the library is rid of cobwebs and cleared of dust, having found new homes on the back of prison fabric and doctor’s robes.

[pinkhairedlily]

Haruno Sakura was full of contradictions. 

The same gentle hands that heal can shatter a body’s innards in one punch. Delicate, spring features — rose and jade — a front to her loudmouth tendencies. A lonely girl surrounded by friends and family.

Sasuke wished he could stay next to her and never leave.

She hated snakes. 

Mostly because of Orochimaru. And the cursed mark seal. And how it took him away from her when youth was a folly.

She made sure of it when he tried to coax a friend of Aoda to slither next to her on the forest floor, a harmless garter snake which almost mimics the green of her eyes. It took a while before she truly saw it. The thing moved through the undergrowth and broke its camouflage in the verdant blades of the grass. Sasuke almost felt the warmth and softness of her ankle when she drove the kunai into the snake’s head.

Pitiful.

She broke down after seeing the dotted blood on the leaves. Hacking sobs and wheezing breaths punctuated the silence of the canopy. He can hear her grief just like how the roots of century old trees drink her tears. The sight seemed foreign to Sasuke. After the war, Sakura never let anyone have a glimpse of her vulnerability or her indecisiveness or her fragility. Only to him did she show her soul, bared in all its naked honesty.

The garter snake disappeared quickly while Aoda spewed profanities. Sasuke only smirked in half satisfaction, half relief.

“And you’re wasting precious remaining time on this nonsense!” It was the last of Aoda’s admonitions to him. The fondness of a summon towards its master peeked through during that moment; they needn’t say more. 

Later on, he would send out his favorite hawks. They were familiar with her scent and she with them. At first, it was a reunion, a denial, and she welcomed them like a distant memory coming alive in front of her. She’d give them pecks on top of their heads, and they would ruffle their feathers to hide the embarrassment. She’d laugh — it always sounded like stardust — and then she’d give them treats. 

But when they kept coming in with empty talons, the memories started fading away and she resorted to ignoring them. Now, they were just birds perching on the open window of her office, interested in all the shiny things on the one side of her desk. A crystal pen. A snowball paperweight. Sasuke’s hitai-ate.

He thought she’d give this cat away. Fuwa, a black domestic short-haired, had wandered into her unit one stormy night with a gouged eye. It scratched her when she tried petting it, but she didn’t stop until she managed to heal it. She was covered in deep claw-induced lacerations and bite marks, but she was happy.

“You’re just like him,” she told Fuwa who slowly made his way to rub his damp head against her palm. “You’re…just…like…Sasuke-kun.”

That night, she slept with the cat cradled in her arms. He soaked it in — all of her warmth, her languid breath, the length of her limbs, the vibration of her snores, the feel of her hair — before he finally went away.

After all, a soul can only linger for at most one hundred days on Earth, and then it was time to cross over. Sasuke wished he could stay for one hundred years more. 

He felt himself fading little by little, his connections to otherworldly creatures fraying. Today Sasuke was just a passing breeze attempting to hold Sakura’s hand in the middle of the market. She stopped by a plant vendor and eyed a pot of camellias.

“That one please.” The ring he hastily made on his deathbed glinted against the sifting sunshine. He never had the chance to marry her, but she wore it like they did.

The plant vendor came back and gave her a different pot, still a camellia, but this one had a budding flower.

“Beautiful,” Sakura whispered.

She carefully secured it in the crook of her arm while the other hand stretched out its fingers. It was an unconscious tick, a fading remnant of what once was, when another hand would clasp and fill the spaces, and they would walk together through the crowd.

Sasuke held her hand even if he was merely a gust of wind. Standing next to her like this was his only wish. 

He could do it forever. He would like to do it forever.

But it was time to go.

Haruno Sakura was full of contradictions. The same gentle hands that heal can shatter a body’s innards in one punch. Delicate, spring features — rose and jade — a front to her loudmouth tendencies. A lonely girl surrounded by friends and family. The other half of her heart still beating while the other half died.

[pinkhairedlily]

SS Retsuden Countdown | D-2

Prompt: Corona borealis - Your hands are my pride

Sakura glances at the clock for the umpteenth time. 6:00 PM. The newly bought hydrangeas cluster together in the middle of a table where three plates are laid down. She makes sure to include Sasuke tonight. Somehow, she gets a strong inkling. She just knows. Like how one would smell rain before it drops.

The door swings open to reveal a five-year old Sarada and Inojin. 

“Hey, you’re late today.” Her daughter sports a rigid scowl and a furrow in her brows which mimics Sakura’s own and — oh — she spots the fist and the fresh scratches.

Inojin shuffles awkwardly by the entrance, nodding an acknowledgment to Sakura, but refusing to meet her questioning gaze. He digs for something in his pocket and grabs Sarada’s arm before she goes inside her safe space.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Inojin tells her. He forces the thing in her hand and disappears just as quickly. 

It’s a handkerchief.

The moment the door closes, Sarada bursts into tears. Sakura gathers her angel in her arms and waits until the bawling subsides into steady sobs.

“Someone beat you at the academy?” she prods. Sarada’s ruthless competitiveness sometimes gets the better of her.

Sarada shakes her head. In between heaves, she tries to explain, “Some kids by the park said some bad things about Papa.” She liberally uses Inojin’s handkerchief to wipe her tears.

Sakura feels an ache in her chest. She’s supposed to be prepared for this, but a child, even of Sarada’s lineage, is still a child. She wonders if she failed as a mother because of this. “What did they say, my love?”

“They said Papa is not a true person!” Another batch of tears starts to pool in her eyes. “Because he’s missing an arm! His body parts are not complete.”

“And do you believe them?”

Sarada vigorously shakes her head. “Papa….Papa’s hand! Papa’s hand cooks my favorite. His hand ties my hair. His hand tucks me in bed. Papa’s hand always hugs Mama when he goes away. Papa’s hand holds my hand.” She starts to bawl again, this time because she misses her father.

Sakura feels like crying too, but she helps her daughter wipe her tears for now. There’s only room for one crybaby in this house. “Yes, Papa’s hand — it’s our pride right?”

Sarada burrows her face further in her mother’s arms. “I miss Papa.”

“Me too,” Sakura says in Sarada’s hair. “Listen, why don’t you wash up before we eat dinner? Then I’ll teach you simple seals.”

Ever the studious child, Sarada lights up at the treat. She quickly saunters to the bath as Sakura contemplates putting away the third plate.

“Hmm. Maybe not tonight,” she says to no one in particular.

“What’s not for tonight?” replies a familiar voice.

Sakura wheels around and finds her husband crawling through the window. It’s unfair how he still manages to look put together after a mission and even in such weird positions. “Anata, you know there’s a door right?” Nonetheless, she enjoys the somersaults from the sight of him.

“I forgot where my key is,” he says with a hint of apology. “How did you know I’m back?”

Sakura shrugs. /I just know./

“Papa!” Sarada’s voice rings across the room, and she tumbles into his open embrace. Ah there’s that smile only they can see. It looks good on Sasuke — happiness and love and family. The dining table sits three tonight.

“Sarada?” 

“Yes Papa?”

Sasuke takes her scratched hand and places it on his palm. He lets his fingers cover her small knuckles. “Papa’s hand will always hold your hand.” He glances across the table at Sakura. “And Papa will always hug Mama with his one arm.”

Ah he heard all of it, Sakura thinks. 

“So take care of this hand and Mama’s hands, okay?” he tells Sarada.

“Why Papa?”

“Your hands are my pride too.”

---

buy me coffee? :)

[pinkhairedlily]

SS Retsuden Countdown | D-5

Prompt: Ophiuchus - I’d burn down the world for you.

The Cube, formally called the Konohagakure Prison, was razed down to the ground on the eve of summer solstice. It took a month before the flames were completely put out.

Survivors detailed the appearance of a sinkhole in the center lobby while others heard of a loud rumble akin to thunder passing through halls, before the big bang, the explosion that lit concrete and seals on fire.

Medical nin, soon to be hospital director, Haruno Sakura didn't make it. She was holding her routine rounds in the underground facility when the ceiling collapsed on her. And fifteen more levels of activated confinement seals. No one, on that particular floor, got out alive. 

Save for Uchiha Sasuke. 

The man on redemption. Or so they say.

His team advocated for him to the extent of Hatake Kakashi abdicating the hokage post in exchange for his release. The council did not budge. So they placed Hyuugas on the chair. They decided on death penalty. Naruto ran amok. They had to reduce it to solitary confinement for life.

He had no home anyway. Why resist?

Uchiha Sasuke. Bound and gagged with seals designed by Sakura else she watch him slowly die under torture. As if they haven't just gone to war. 

He did not come out unscathed. He was freed but both of his eyes were gouged out, leaving empty sockets to the bloodlust scavengers. His memories were wiped clean despite his strong affinity to genjutsu. He shouldn't succumb to such tricks so easily. 

But without sharingan and rinnegan, he was nothing. The Uchiha almost sounded like an afterthought.

He was only Sasuke. The blind. 

Naruto wanted him to stay for the state funeral. Haruno Sakura was deeply loved by the village, her bonds drifting even to the margins and corners of the world, and he had to be there to see her off. Even when Sasuke physically and figuratively couldn't. It escaped him — how this revered, genteel woman loved a criminal sealed underground with his sins as sole companions. 

Who was this Sakura exactly? What did she look like? How could he place her in his mind when it struggled with phantom memories? Was he even supposed to cry? Did he love her back? 

He just stood there as stiff as a stick figure, flanked by Kakashi and Naruto who seemed more like strangers in mourning, and he intruded on the funeral. He can smell the mildew and the damp twigs after a night of spring rain. It was an open space atop a hill or perhaps a forest clearing. 

The council decided to banish him after this stellar performance. He was the perfect scapegoat Konohagakure needed. His large bounty was the fitting distraction from the village's rotting affairs. Sasuke could smell the scent of an upheaval, and he wished the strangers luck.

He waited for his end. He expected to die on the road, but he passed a town safely. Then another. Then another. Then another. Time passed. He learned to map with his feet, and see with his ears and nose. The seasons melted into years, and Sasuke found himself seated on top of a hill where he built a small cabin.

That summer solstice, she found him. Sasuke thought it was the end of his borrowed life, but he woke up…. seeing again for the first time. With his memories back.

All of a sudden, Sasuke remembered how to breathe.

The crescent moon tattoo on the base of her neck greeted him like a smile. “Have you been waiting long Sasuke?” The shape moved with the cadence of her voice, and the long dormant impulse almost propelled him to dip his head and trace the outline with his lips.

Haruno Sakura was alive beside him.

“Took you long enough. I was getting kind of lonely,” he said. “Congratulations for the successful break-your-first-love-out-of-prison operation.”

“Only love,” she corrected.

“Love of your life,” he teased, but he smoothed it over with, “As you are mine.”

“I told you I’d burn down the world for you.”

“The eyeballs part —”

“— too much?”

He shrugged. “It was the selling point.” He glanced at her and allowed himself to claim his prize. A kiss on the crescent moon. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Sakura’s gentle shove was not entirely gentle, and Sasuke tumbled to the ground. “Focus on the prize Sasuke.” She passed him a coat the color of midnight with scarlet clouds across the fabric. “Time for payback.”

[pinkhairedlily]

SS Retsuden Countdown | D-2 (late entry sheessshh)

Prompt: Corona borealis - Your hands are my pride 🔞

Summary: In a party. On a stage. Sasuke shows Sakura what his hands could do.

Sakura likes parties. It's where people let loose and let live in the guise of freedom under dim lights. She has rules when she joins one: dance with practiced moves, drink enough and not too much, grind a little. Just the perfect amount of vulnerability to show them she’s human. But all the same cool, everybody-wants-you, it girl. 

With Ino in tow, she becomes a mirrorball.

Maybe it's because of this that she's resistant in telling the world she's dating the uptight council president, Uchiha Sasuke. It’s not very on brand. She’s supposed to like jocks and MVP athletes, students who have more charm than brain cells, or men who would prefer her as eye candy than an armful of books. 

Quite frankly, Sasuke doesn’t fall short in the looks department. He’s on top of it. 

It’s just that he’s intimidating. And serious. And brooding. And grumpy. And he matches someone willing to sit in Uchiha family dinners with the pomp and grace of royalty and converse about trust funds. 

And yet — he chose her. 

One social science elective in fall, a project for two, library meetings blending into afternoon americanos. Then a class dinner after the semester. Sure, it was wholesome. He had a beer, she had a sangria, he slipped a casual ‘I like you’ over the rowdy laughter, and he held her hand under the table. She didn’t let go. She held on tighter. She felt dizzy then, as if he took her whole world and spun it around. She hoped it wouldn’t stop turning.

Now they have late nights drinking each other in. Under broken streetlights, against a tree, through pretend alleyways, in safe covers. Sasuke has become her most treasured secret.

“Why is he present tonight?” Sakura is seething. She can easily pick out Sasuke with his slicked back hair in the sea of bodies, dressed in white satin shirt that accentuates his eyes and leather pants that show off his build. He came to kill.

She tries to get his attention by staring, but of course, that was futile.  

Ino shrugs and sips her cocktail. “Rest easy, Sakura babe. I heard he lost a game against their adviser. Standing order to go enjoy himself before his last semester.” One brow shoots up in curiosity. “Fit is A-plus. If I’m not the love of your life, I would have pulled him already in the nearest bathroom stall.”

“Shut up Ino,” Sakura stomps both of her feet in annoyance. Everyone, everyone, is looking at him. “Can you like — scare him off or something?”

Ino’s smile increases a notch. “You’re so worked up. This is quite a funny scene to me. I finally saw the day where my unaffected Sakura got so possessive.”

Sakura takes the glass out of Ino’s hand and glares at her until she does the favor. Ino rolls her eyes and complies with her best friend’s plea for help.

All the lights come on bright as day and the ear-dumbing music dies down to silence. “As you may know, we have special guests tonight.” The host comes on stage with a set of peaches. “Everyone, let’s give it up for our seniors in Business Administration!”

“Shit,” Sakura and Ino say at the same time.

“They’re doing the peach game.” Ino points at the table on the side of the stage where pieces of the fruit are placed.

“Let’s call them up here, especially our very own student council president Uchiha Sasuke!”

Cheers and hoots ring across the place. In her periphery, Sakura sees him getting shoved in front. He begrudgingly gets on the stage along with ten others, sticking to the side instead of the center. The number and positioning is comforting, but Sasuke is unfortunately dazzling.

“He just stands out too much,” Ino says what Sakura is thinking. 

“Now that each of you has a fruit, your mission is to extract a small piece of pearl we injected inside. You have to…finger it.” This earns snickers from the crowd, and Sasuke almost looks like he’s about to pass out.

“Girl, don’t you think we should go in front?” The blonde doesn’t wait for Sakura’s answer, and she pulls him to the part of the stage directly in Sasuke’s line of sight.

“The pearl can be a cash prize, a key to a room, a free drink voucher, anything you like!” The host holds up a timer. “Fastest one wins — GO!”

Multitude of shouts ‘Go Sasuke’ irks Sakura. She almost opens her mouth to drown out the noise with her own voice. Surely, he’ll know her scream. He has been hearing it on most nights anyway.

But he finds her immediately. He smirks and complies with the theatrics.

“He’s looking at me,” Sakura says to Ino.

“Yeah, he is,” Ino grimaces. “Eeeewww. It's like being a bystander during sex. Let me look at Shikamaru instead.”

Sasuke takes his time. He’s uninterested in the competition. To Sakura, the room dwarfs down to only him and her. He flexes his hand before grappling the fruit. She doesn't have to squint to remember the thickness of his veins and how they pulse during the rush. 

He palms one side and under until the peach nearly bursts. Sakura can feel the phantom connection of him fondling her breasts, one mound after the other, rough hands against smooth skin. Each one fits his hand perfectly; when they let go, they leave handprints. She finds that he likes leaving traces of his touch.

He puts up one finger at first — tender and long — and dives into the bottom of the peach, coaxing its way into the fruit’s entrance. It opens up to him, dripping juices over his wrist. He catches her eyes as if he could hear her catching her breath.

Then he puts in another digit, and Sakura has to be conscious not to let out an ungodly moan. Sasuke plows through the ripe flesh, and the mics below the stage relay the pulpy sound of decimation.

He makes scissoring motions inside the fruit, probably finding where the goddamn pearl is, but it's her core who feels the motions. 

The tenacious nudge of his movements against her walls. The whispers and randomly placed kisses. The sound of her name leaving his perfect lips.

Sakura is near tears. The wanting is visceral — the way she is forced to see how he intends to pleasure her in a crowd of people she wants to please. Like she is being given an ultimatum.

Sasuke's fingers settle on a rhythm, thrusting and scissoring through the pulp and skin, until the small pearl finds its way in between. 

He's one of the last to find it, but he's unperturbed, taking his time instead to lick his hand clean.

Long enough for Sakura to pull him down the stage and give him a kiss. Hands entwined for everyone to see. /He's mine./

Long enough for the lights to black out and return to their flashy show.

Long enough for the booming bass to mask the hurried steps, a french exit.

In an abandoned stall. Against the door. One leg raised to give entry to the aching bulge. His peach-laced fingers in her mouth, sucking him clean. His fingers in her hair, pulling her in, taking all of her lips, her mouth, her tongue.

Sasuke doesn't have to rip her apart. He only has to set the thong aside and enter in one swift thrust.

"Hmm, you're wet." There's satisfaction in the remark.

"With your performance — who wouldn't?" She bites his neck at the overwhelming pleasure of contact. Funny when they already fucked before the party.

"That was only for you though." Sasuke breaks away for a second. "Is the peach game a tradition or is it intentionally made to embarrass me? They could have chosen a ripe persimmon —" 

"Uchiha, please shut up." She seals his ramblings with a flick of the tongue, and they both get lost in the ensuing waves of sensation.

He pulls up her other leg and wraps them both around his waist, giving his cock the right angle and tightness to thrust into. Sakura loves looking down on him as he starts to come undone. 

She shivers and then she breaks.

In the sweat drenched afterglow of nicotine and alcohol, he asks her, "What does it mean?" 

For someone who never runs out of excuses to wiggle out of her lovers' arms, she finds herself unable to dodge the question.

Sakura chooses to retreat further in his embrace, her legs still straddling him against the sink. "Hmm?"

"You gave me a verbal contract."

She remembers. She told him she'll only do this until he graduates, to preserve her reputation, to not taint her own, to let two different sides of the world stay where they should be.

"Yeah," she replies. "It still stands. No one saw us."

She didn't tell him she's scared. 

Scared of how much she loves him, and how it will eventually end.

"Everyone saw us." He's defiant. Those fingers that destroyed the peach wound themselves now around her wrists, planting them on the tiles. "Stop running away, Sakura. It only happens once for us."

"What is it?" She's in denial, and he's aware of it. His fingers let her go, only for his hands to settle on top of hers. She turns her palms over so he could hold them.

She has always lived on intimacy and affections, as if each touch pumps blood, gives her reason to go through one more night. One more day. She has always craved it. Sought it in the most opportune moments with the most random of people.

And now it has a name.

Uchiha Sasuke.

"This." He kisses her forehead, then her eyes, the tip of her nose. "This gold rush."

Sakura couldn't resist. She's being swept away.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42599475