#this is an unedited thread nothing has been cut out and the 'I miss you all!' is the last post in the channel to date | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sukirichi · 3 years

Text

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo-satoru-x-reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader romance #gojo x reader romance #gojo x reader imagines #gojo satoru x reader imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #gojo-satoru-x-reader smut #suki: 500 milestone event #suki: scheduled

2K notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 3 years

Note

Aaaaand part 6 ideas - I think the timing works out and Starfall is coming. Lucien says he can’t come (a calculated lie), but Elain sends down the bond that she went to that shop along the sidra to wear under her dress. They manage to secure a private balcony. Smut ensues.

You know, I thought about doing a serial where like, Elain accidentally accepts the bond and her and Lucien hate fuck for a while before they get to know each other, but I guess we're doing this instead.

Time has no meaning in this ficlet, do not ask me about the timeline or seasons, they change based on a whim and my needs so anyway WELCOME TO COLD WEATHER AGAIN (I think? I'm unsure when Starfall actually is? And honestly, it doesn't matter).

This is, as per usual, NSFW, 18+ and unedited beyond me just glancing at it to make sure there were no red squiggles in word.

He hadn’t meant to be gone for so long. Spring had fallen to shit and what was supposed to be a two-week stay had morphed into months of trying to convince Tamlin to eat, to legislate, and enforce his border all while Tamlin used him as his personal punching bag. Lucien was exhausted and irritated when Feyre’s invitation for Starfall dropped in his lap.

No I don’t want to go to a party, he thought privately, quickly scrawling back a much politer response. What he wanted was a week of uninterrupted alone time with his mate in which he did every filthy thing he’d been fantasizing about while she begged him for more. Lucien could still taste her in his mouth, could still smell her in the air. She was a brand on his skin, a ghost trailing him everywhere he went. He wondered about her constantly. Was she thinking about him? Did she miss him? Want to see him?

Lucien hoped openly declining an opportunity to see Elain might spur her into reaching out to him in their game and admitting she not only wanted him, but she needed him, too. He was playing aloof, like always but she was just silent. He couldn’t pretend that didn’t disappoint him.

Feyre sent back her disappointment two days later and let the invitation open if he changed his mind. She swore up and down Cassian wanted to chat with him and perhaps the General did. Their friendship was an odd one but comforting and a little familiar. Of all of Rhysand’s inner circle, Lucien liked Cassian best.

He was walking to the stables to patrol Tamlin’s border when a vision slithered down the bond. Elain, standing in front of a mirror, wearing a gown that seemed to be made of pure starlight. Silver and low cut, with capped sleeves and a skin colored lining made it seem as though she only wore the glittering diamonds and nothing else. His mouth went dry at the sight. Had she meant to send it?

Yes. A note followed the image, appearing in the air before him.

Starfall?

That was all she’d written. She might have written pages and pages, for the effect that one word had. Lucien tugged his response back, a resounding yes, absolutely, if I have to crawl I will— and turned abruptly to let Tamlin know he was officially retiring from Spring, and to write if he needed any more assistance.

Back in Velaris, Lucien paid an obscenely large amount of money to secure one of the last private balconies in Velaris. It was far from where Rhysand and his ilk would watch, but still very much out in the open. The edge of the balcony, cut from smooth, gray stone, was thick enough he could hoist Elain up and fuck her brainless if he wanted to.

Lucien very, very much did.

The day before Starfall, Lucien sent Elain only the address and nothing else. There would be no polite teasing, no stolen glances. They would be together…maybe even talk and get to know each other outside of just kissing and touching. The thought of hearing her speak excited him more than anything else, though seeing her stripped of her dress was a very close second.

He dressed in a jacket of silver and trimmed in white to match the fitted white pants he’d worn. He’d neatly combed his hair and tied it off his face after debating for too long whether he ought to leave it down or not. He slipped on clean, black boots that hugged his calves, slipped a knife inside his boot just in case, and forewent wearing any other weaponry.

He’d just made it to the balcony he’d rented when the glass, double doors that led from the building they and others were borrowing, opened, and Elain stepped out. Lucien made no show of dropping to his knee, one hand pressed against his chest, jaw hanging open. He’d lost all rational ability to speak or stand when Elain, his goddess, stepped onto the balcony, a vision in silver stars.

Her cheeks darkened with what he hoped was pleasure, though she made a big show of rolling her eyes. “You’re dramatic,” she accused as he staggered back to his feet.

“Absurd. You’re beautiful,” he replied, caressing those same, heated cheeks. He suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of marring one inch of her body and wondered if perhaps they’d just have a nice, romantic evening with nothing else between them.

She walked to the balcony, illuminated beneath floating fae lights. Lucien stood beside her, resting one of his hands over her own, unable to resist. She smiled faintly at the touch and pressed her shoulder against his.

“I missed you,” she told him without looking up, her eyes still firmly focused on the city below. His heart pounded in his chest at the admission.

“Not half as much as I missed you,” he promised, squeezing her hand. A smile bloomed fully on her face, lighting her up like the sun across the sea and Lucien thought he was ruined entirely for anyone else, regardless of what happened between them.

She turned, suddenly, her sweet smile morphing into something wicked. His body instantly tightened as anticipating thrilled up his spine. What was she thinking? She ran her hands up his chest, dragging her eyes up with them until they were firmly focused on his lips. She didn’t need to ask him to kiss her. He’d happily spend the rest of his life attached at the mouth if she wanted.

That first, sweeping kiss wrecked all Lucien’s promises to himself. She tasted like citrus coated in honey and somehow like sunshine. He was frantic, unable to get enough and all at once, desperate for more. His tongue caressed her own, licking in time with the hips he was grinding into her beautiful gown.

Elain broke the kiss with a gasp, her fingers yanking on the laces of his pants. “Before everything starts,” she said, making quick work of them. He began hiking up her dress but Elain swatted his hands away.

“The first time you have me will be private,” she informed him, her brown eyes glittering with promise. “And somewhere nice.”

He started to ask what her plan was, then, but Elain dropped to her knees and Lucien’s head immediately emptied. The last remaining shred of rationality snarled at the sight of her kneeling when he thought it ought to have been him while the animal that typical slumbered in his chest roared with appreciation at the sight of his mate eye level with his cock.

“I borrowed one of Nesta’s dirtier books,” Elain informed him, her breath curling along the skin of his hard, twitching cock. “I don’t suppose this requires any amount of skill.”

Lucien took a shallow breath as her hand cupped the base of him. She ran her tongue up the broad side of his shaft and he reached for the railing behind him in an effort to keep himself steady.

She hummed softly to herself, pumping him once. She could have done only that and nothing else and he’d have come quickly, undone at just the sight of her. She glanced up at him, her lips moistened, her eyes mischievous.

“Will you beg, Lucien?” She asked.

“Would you like me to?” He choked in response. She smiled, lowered her mouth, and sucked just the tip of his erection into her mouth. Lucien concentrated all his effort on remaining utterly still despite his body’s urge to thrust into her mouth and fuck her throat. It was her first time, he reminded himself. He didn’t need to scare her.

“Yes,” she replied, withdrawing her pretty little lips to lick his head like a piece of candy. Lucien groaned loudly.

“Elain, please—”

His words choked into another groan of need as she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed and her hand making up the difference. Her mouth was hot and wet and utterly intoxicating in its softness. Lucien was desperate and somehow building hotly towards release despite how little time and effort she’d put into the act of sucking him.

She hummed again, the noise vibrating along his skin and settling in his tightening sac. Saliva from her mouth pooled around her hand, making it easier for her glide up and down the length of him as she licked and sucked.

First time? His mind demanded, unable to believe she hadn’t done this before. Had it been so long since someone took him in their mouth that he’d forgotten? Was the act made better when it was his mate who sucked?

Shut the fuck up, the animal in his chest demanded of his wild, out of control thoughts. Lucien’s hips jerked a little as he built higher, fire racing through his blood.

“Elain,” he gasped, unsure what else to say. She quickened her pace and Lucien hung by a thread just long enough to offer a warning. “I’m going to come, Elain—”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t withdraw and a moment later Lucien exploded into a million pieces, yelling so loud he was sure Feyre heard him, wherever she was. He pumped hot into her mouth and Elain, the angel, took all of it without moving her mouth. She waited until he relaxed to withdraw, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You,” he gasped, pulling her to her feet so he could kiss her. “Next, you next—”

A shooting star streaked through the sky and Elain twisted in his arms, her swollen, red lips parted with delight. Lucien quickly pulled up his pants and retied them, swallowing against the aftershock of his release.

“Another day,” she replied, letting him pull her against him, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. He kissed the top of her head, aware of what she’d done.

She’d put him in a situation that forced him to see her again.

Did she not know Lucien wanted to see her all the time?

She wiggled a little, sighing sweetly, content in his arms.

He’d show her what he meant.

#elucien fic #elucien smut #elucien prompt #elucien #PART SEVEN #????????#do we want to see them do it or like....#are we all good

78 notes · View notes

clariverse · 4 years

Text

Writer In Motion: Week One

This month alongside NaNo, I’m doing something I’ve been wanting to do ever since I started this blog: writing and editing a short story, and blogging along about my process. I’m happy to be doing so as a part of Writer In Motion, a community and a challenge designed to do exactly that—with the extra of connecting with CPs and editors along the way.

This week the event kicked off with the picture prompt below.

Image by engin akyurt from Pixabay, posted on Writer In Motion Blog by editor Jeni Chappelle

Upon seeing that picture, I didn’t have a story right away—but I knew beyond a doubt two things. One, that light is a cloud spirit returning home to her skies. And two, that girl who holds her hand is a giant, from a nation that builds its cities to reach for the skies, and once when she was a child she tore the spirit from her home.

For some reason, my mind went to cold and mountains, which doesn’t exactly make sense with the actual picture—but that’s just something I decided to roll with. A prompt is a point of departure rather than a destination, and I’m letting the story speak.

In retrospective, taking a walk and writing this whole thing on my phone with my fingers freezing off might’ve had something to do with the cold thing.

Either way, just like that, I had a sentence. And another one. One. The Giant climbs the mountain one narrow, cut-into-the-slope stair at a time, carrying in her arms a dying spirit of the skies. Two. On the eve of the equinox, the Spirit fell from the skies to make true a wish made by a child.

From there, the way those sentences worked—each in its own tense, slightly different in tone and emotion—told me this story would be a bit of an experiment. I would tell of their relationship, the Giant’s and the Spirit’s, through a series of very short vignettes, all woven through with the story of their journey up a mountain, to the tower so high up it crosses from one realm to the next.

And so I had all I needed.

Keep reading for the first, unedited, untouched draft, and some preliminary to-edit notes to myself.

So Far Untitled: Draft One

The Giant climbs the mountain one narrow, cut-into-the-slope stair at a time, carrying in her arms a dying spirit of the skies. She pushes against the chilling wind and raindrops swirling before her face, her heart drumming the rhythm, almost there, almost there.

On the eve of the equinox, the Spirit fell from the skies to make true a wish made by a child.

More stairs than she can count up the mountain, the Giant pauses to look back, for the first time since she started the climb. Far below, the stairs disappear in the ocean of white, where islands of smaller mountaintops peek through the clouds and early snowflakes await to flutter their way down down down to the giants’ cities invisible to her faraway eye. Up ahead, the stairs lead into the quiet mist of further heights, to new, thinner clouds caught against the sharp peaks. She still has ways to go.

On their first dawn, the child cried not to be alone, and the Spirit held her hand.

Step, step, step. The Giant hums to herself a song in a voice made hoarse by the cold, and it’s an upbeat song, a hymn to the adventurers designed to bring spring into one’s step and courage to one’s heart.

“We’re almost there”, she tells the Spirit.

The Spirit says nothing.

On the night of their first year, the Spirit said, you’re growing up.

And the child, as children may, said, Not fast enough.

The Giant reaches the top cold and tired. Her fingers might as well be blocks of stone, even shielded from the worst cold by the furs she had wrapped around the half-conscious spirit in her arms. She spots the tower, up ahead, almost there: a structure of metal and hard work rising up to pierce the sky, built to withstand millennia by the giants of the old. The stories say they lived for hundreds, thousands of years: the thought, even through the cold, makes the Giant’s heart flutter with excitement. Oh how wonderful it would be, to live that long, to live forever. But perhaps so lonely, too.

On the last day of their fifteenth spring, the Spirit’s eyes fluttered closed.

I am tired, she only said.

The Giant climbs the tower with what feels like the last of her strength. She carries the Spirit in a makeshift sash across her chest, like one might carry a baby, and if there wasn’t for the scarf wrapped tight around her face, her lips would be brushing against the softest of curls she’d ever touched.

Quietly, the Spirit stirs. She senses the closeness of her skies, of the home she’s already thought lost.

“We’re almost there,” the Giant coos.

“I will miss you,” the Spirit whimpers.

On the birthday of the giants’ matriarch, the evening festive and alive with colour, the Spirit feared. And the child who was growing up held her close, and she stroke her hair and she whispered small poems into her ear, and she said, Please don’t leave me.

The tower pierces the skies. Too tall to climb in full, it enters the realm of the spirits with a sharp peak, one bright with snow and stardust, but the Giant doesn’t see it all. She stops when the clouds swirl closer with the wind, excited and concerned to meet their long-lost denizen.

And she says to the wind and the cold and the heights, “She’s going to be alright.”

On the morning of summer solstice, when the child was a child no longer and the Spirit had paled to an ashen shade, she admitted, I will extinguish like stars before the sun.

On the morning of summer solstice, when the leaves on the trees were bright, the child who was no longer a child said, Tell me what I can do.

Having unwrapped the furs and kissed the Spirit’s forehead, the Giant gives her to the clouds. She watches as the winds take hold of the Spirit’s pale curls, as they tug at her sweater—the one the Giant made her, purple and blue and silver like the evening—and, finally, lift her up to where the heights chatter in voices of all the others, welcome back home.

And it’s now, not when her knees had started hurting or the Spirit had been so silent in her arms, or the elders of the city warned her she might not return from the mountain, that the Giant cries.

She doesn’t say it because she can’t find her voice. But she holds the Spirit’s hand as the clouds light up, and for a moment it’s like holding a torch, like touching a star. And she puts in that touch all she needs to say, such a fragile mortal thought: Don’t forget me.

She watches as the light flashes once more and goes out, the touch gone from her still-reaching hand. But as she sighs and nods to herself, ready to start her climb down and only hoping the cold and the exhaustion would catch up with her somewhere far enough for the Spirit not to have to witness it, the sky lights up again.

The Spirit reaches with a hand no longer so pale, smiling that lopsided smile of hers that sends the Giant’s chest fluttering. And as the wind calms and the voices of the other spirits sing a quiet song of gratitude and a welcome, she makes a wish of her own: stay with me.

To-edit notes

I’ll be working on proper edits during next week, before sending the draft over to CPs for two more editing rounds, but I want to note some of my thoughts/concerns while this is still hot off the presses. - Pacing—is there discrepancy between the two threads (present and past)? - Tension should be rising; there should exist some sense of rising action and a climax. Definitely needs work. - narrative voice and POV—too distant? Could use more voice/characterisation for both of them - Could also use a stronger sense of the world, and better descriptions, especially of the lights - Does the kind of their relationship need specifying? This might be something to ask CPs, I wonder about impressions - the experiment with alternating timelines—I know it works for me in novels, but did it work here, with such tiny word count? Also probably a question for CPs, but maybe I can consider how I’d go about rewriting it into a single timeline (the present story) with the other one woven in as traditional backstory. Alternatively, would it work better all in a single tense, but keeping the dual timeline? - Emotion—always a big one. I’m not that great at feeling things myself, so it’s always a struggle to tell whether I’m giving enough to the reader. - Titles are a thing. Maybe think of one.

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writer in motion #work in progress #violetvineyard #wip #writers of tumblr #writers #writer #amwriting #ontheporch #prompt #draft #short story #the giant and the spirit

6 notes · View notes

fallenidol-453 · 5 years

Text

31 Days of Unedited Writing, Days 1-6

Fuck it, I’m doing it. Six samples of both original and fanfiction work under the cut.

I’m not sure how i’m going to complete this challenge this year, but if I have to write something every day then so be it.

Day 1: Original Fiction, code name Grisaverse

“You are not wearing that to the masque!”

“It’s the only fancy outfit I have, Luc!”

Rowena cocked her head at the shouting coming down the hallway. Well, this was odd. Davaros and Lukasz never fought in her general vicinity, much less at the screeching tones she heard now. She marched up to the heavy wooden door that led to the room Davaros converted into a lover’s nest and pushed it open.

Both men were standing in front of an opened wardrobe. Davaros was wearing a black robe, but Rowena didn’t pay attention to it because that was all he wore. Lukasz stood in front of him, his face flushed with embarrassment. He was pulling his hair in exasperation when the door opened, hinges squealing loudly.

“That’s enough, you two!” she shouted. Both men stopped stared at her. “What’s this fuss about?”

“Luc doesn’t like my outfit—" Davaros whined.

“It’s not appropriate for a masque!” Lukasz exclaimed over him.

He sounded afraid. Why would he be afraid of an outfit?

Day 2: Original Fiction, code name After the End

“I… I was hoping you would help me identify the owner of a pendant in my possession.”

He reached into his robes, pulled out Gera’s pendant, and closed his fingers over it. The grooves in the metal and the sharp inlaid gems dug into his palm.

“My oldest sister would have been the person to ask about this; old jewelry and determining their age was her passion,” Heloise replied. She held her hand out. “Give it to me. Maybe I can put what little she taught me to good use.”

Slowly, Hri extended his hand toward Heloise and opened his fist. The pendant was gem side down, exposing the plain gold back side. His hand shook as Heloise gingerly picked it up; he didn’t want to part with it.

“Your Majesty, I think you misinterpreted my question. I seek help identifying the owner of the pendant,” Hri explained. Heloise looked at him sharply, but she gave a nod for him to continue. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “A soldier died under my care during our kingdoms’… petty dispute. Shortly before he died, he asked me to give that to his sister Helle. I’ve held onto it ever since.”

Heloise examined the pendant by the light of the fire. It was missing three gems from the outer circle, and the ribbon that it was threaded on had long lost its silky feel and shiny white color. She absently traced the grooves and ridges with a thumb and held up the white ribbon with her free hand.

“My family called me Helle, but…” Heloise replied, her voice trailing off. She traced the grooves and ridges of the pendant and eventually found her voice. “Do you remember what this soldier looked like?”

“Young. Twenty or younger at least. I mistook them for a child soldier at first,” Hri admitted. “He had light brown hair and brown eyes. There was a mole on his left cheek. If he had been able to stand at all, he would’ve been as tall as me, maybe an inch taller.”

Day 3: Fanfiction, 1789: Les amants de la Bastile

The idea of being his mistress is repulsive, his offer of a luxurious life in England even more so, but she’ll stay alive. That’s what matters the most.

But she refuses to let this be a one-sided deal, and she aims the pistol Ronan gave her at his face.

“My father and sister. I want them to come with us.”

“There won’t be enough room—”

Her hand jerks and she steadies her grip by holding the gun with both hands. It’s not loaded, but it’s the threat that counts.

“They come with me or I won’t come to your bed.”

“Y-Yes.” Artois replies. Olympe hears him take a step back and relishes the squeak in his voice. “They will come with us.”

Day 4: Fanfiction, Last Knights

Lilly doesn’t miss the healing split lip on Hannah’s mouth or the long-sleeved fashions she wears despite the warm spring weather. She herself still has night terrors of her kidnapping by Gezza Mott’s men and her time in the brothel. She may not have had to lie with any man, with the price to take her virginity being astronomically high enough that only the Emperor could have afforded it, but she wasn’t blind to the activities going on behind closed doors.

Day 5: Fanfiction, Elisabeth

The tug of the noose is a sweet relief until he hears the Judge’s demanding voice asking the question that has haunted him for eternity: But why, Lucheni? Why did you kill the Empress Elisabeth?

Lucheni is both alive and dead, cutting down his “dead” body while shooting out mocking answers. They are different every time; sometimes he tells the Judge to kiss his ass and others he tells them to go fuck themselves.

But when answers and his pathetic excuses aren’t enough, all he can do is tell the story. The ghosts are his to manipulate like puppets. They sing in sweet, discordant voices like buzzing insects in a hellish choir; courtier and family members alike screech into nothingness about their beloved or hated empress.

Elisabeth herself may have watched once upon a time, outlined in a light too great for Lucheni’s eyes, but it has been too long since he tempted her spirit to come before the crowd.

Day 6: Original Fiction, code name Unremembered

The basement is warm, and good beer is being served. All around the table, we sit and laugh. There are papers scattered on the table in front of us, but nothing is on them.

Maryse and Johanna laugh and kiss while sharing an apple, and Rurik sits across from me. His face is unblemished; the knife attack that took his eye was nothing but a distant memory of an event that will never happen here.

Catrin is face down on the table next to Rurik, already drunk. Sev is trying get her to dance, but they're unsteady on their feet. They laugh as they collapse in a chair next to her, and says something to her that's heavily slurred. Clara and Roran are joking and arguing about the beer at the next table, their voices loud and drunk and jovial.

Even Ilya and Henryk are relaxed. They sit on the other side of the room, counting the flowers that came from Henryk's mother's shop. They are not plotting how to carry out the assassination of Allegra's father. They might leave later and go dancing at one of the clubs that still allows entries for foreigners.

There is no threat outside.

No one will discover us.

There is no assassination to plan.

The door opens quietly, and I look to see Allegra step inside.

So, she has died as well. They finally caught the woman whose act of patricide ended the war.

There’s no need to ask how she died. She is wearing her finest coat over her plump frame and a beautiful hat over her blonde curls, but the shadows of bullet holes cover her body.

She sits apart from us, beer in hand, and quietly waits for someone.

#31 days of unedited writing #julia's writing adventures #after the end ref #grisaverse ref

4 notes · View notes

moeruhoshi · 5 years

Text

Unfinished and unedited WIP i dont know what to fucking do with--its been so long and i still can’t come up with an endiiiiing

Her father had locked her away so many years ago, after the death of her mother, not wanting to bother himself with even so much a sight of his grieving daughter. She was sent off to a castle no longer in use, dreary and dread, archbishops and dukes residing here many years ago. A staff was employed to keep her healthy and alive; the only traits her father cared for until she was ready to send away, again, for marriage. Pleasantly enough, her mother’s things were also sent out of the castle along with her; books, clothing, bedsheets, crowns. Lucy had the spirit of her mother by her side, not that it helped much to dampen her feelings of loss and loneliness.

And as she grew older, the staff grew smaller and smaller, soon she was all who was left, goodbyes pardoned for the poor who received illness or were ordered to return to the capital. Lucy enjoyed taking care of herself, being able to do as she liked when she liked, although etiquette still burned true in her veins. Unlearning the proper ways to stand, eat, and walk were ones hard to reprogram. She wondered someday if her father would even send for her, or continue to keep her far beneath his reach in an old castle left to perish empty and alone. Someone back home was at least thinking of her, or else food deliveries were sure to stop.

“See you again, Princess!” Zoldeo waved as he drove away her cart, Lucy waving back, sighing to herself as she was once again left without company. The two always had somewhat pleasant conversations as they moved her grains, potatoes, and other perishables from the cart and into her kitchen, his tales usually of the constant buzzing lifestyle in the center of the kingdom. Lucy missed the busyness of the streets, horse hooves on cobblestones, children laughing and begging their parents for a treat. She missed the festivals and fireworks, or really any sound that wasn’t constant flourishing wind. She never braved leaving her home farther than the garden she created in fear of getting lost in the surrounding woods without a guide to help her find her way.

The princess turned on her heel as the servant was now out of sight, flinching as the leaves rustled behind her back. It was probably a bunny, she assured herself, hoping to be able to treat it with a carrot if it trusted her scent enough. A whimper revealed itself, whoever behind the leaves unable to breach them.

“H-Hello?” Lucy called as she edged closer to the boundary of the trees, peering ever so slightly into the shaded area. She gasped, eyes casting over an injured dragon nearly a foot or so taller than her, wings furled trying to hide the gash on his side that only continued to drip blood into the grass.

“Oh goodness, are you alright?!” She asked as she stepped over the shrubbery to observe him more closely. He growled as she tried to carelessly touch his scales, Lucy backing away with an apology.

“Let me help you, okay? I promise I’ll be gentle,” She smiled softly, holding out a hand for him to sniff in acquaintance. His snout pat her palm as he accepted her scent, gruffing in approval to allow her to continue. Lucy thanked him as he pulled away his wing, eyes wide as she took in the entirety of his injuries.

“Let me see your eyes,” She mumbled to his craning head, their deep yellow muddled and shaky. “Poisoned...”

“Well, you’re lucky to have made it so close to my home,” She scratched the underside of his chin lightly. “Do you think you can walk? I’d be able to help you much more if you come inside. I’ve studied my mother's medicine books, so I should be of some help,”

It was a rather grueling task, one Lucy would be grateful to never have to do again. She helped the dragon to his feet, wincing as he did, apologizing for stirring his pain. They hobbled around the side of her castle and aimed for the much grander front entrance through which he’d be able to fit. They plopped against the harder tile floor, Lucy groaning as she fell to her back by his side, wiping the sweat having trailed from her hairline.

“I have not carried so much as an apple basket compared to even the slightest bit of you, Sir Dragon,” She puffed, receiving only but a glance as he adjusted himself. The foyer was quite large, stairs coming from either the west and east wing to meet at the center of the palace, a large painting of the late queen hanging above them. She moved to close the large wooden doors, dragon curled in the middle of the room.

“Not as comfortable as it could be, I know,” She spoke more to herself than the dragon, if he could even understand what she was saying as she moved to ascend her staircase. “I’m much more comfortable having you move again once we close that awful wound. Let me gather some supplies and hurry before that gets anymore infected.”

There was only so much the princess could do in this empty home of hers, reading being the most common and effective escape. Books were able to take her to far away lands, lead her on adventures with the friends she made every page, find ways out of sticky situations and conquer villains thought to have been unbeatable. After reading all the fictional books she could get her hands on, there were those of a more boring genre but provided Lucy with valuable information. She enjoyed those on gardening and apothecary, taking into account which plants outside were safe for her to eat and those she could turn into salves or soaps, ointments to ale ailments she may mysteriously encounter. She collected jars of her creations, reusing ones from her jams and marmalades, Zoldeo often arriving with empty ones she had asked for. Bandages and thick thread as well, she had a knack for sewing dresses and attempted her hand at a pillow suture, just in case. The stories she read were wonderful at sending the message to be prepared. Of course Lucy just liked learning in general and was glad if any of her skills could come in handy; but having to care for a dragon may not have been one she anticipated.

He watched as she came back with an armful of jars and white rolls, setting them down in front of him before she made her way towards her kitchen, telling him she would be needing a water and rags as well.

“I’m glad it’s just us here, otherwise I’m sure someone would have a fit over the mess I’m about to make,” She laughed, setting down the sloshing bucket next to his side. The cut wasn’t long but it appeared deep, or along an artery that more speedily exposed him to the effects of the poison. She took a mortar and pestle, picking dried leaves out of several jars to crush them together in almost a near fine powder.

“I’m going to mix this into the water to help clean out anything that might be in your wound,” She explained, popping open another jar with sticky white paste. “Now, is it alright if I help you fall asleep?”

He gruffed and shook his head, almost glaring at the blonde for suggesting what could be an opportunity for her to easily betray him, relationship too new for his trust.

“That’s alright,” She chuckled, smearing the paste below his nostrils with her thumb. “This should help ease the sting of me clearing your injury, don’t lick it or you will fall asleep,”

“Now please, try not to hurt me while I do this,” She sighed with a nervous smile, petting the dragon from the base of a horn down his neck, satisfied as he released a small purr. She took one of the few clean rags she brought with her, dipping it into the water before ringing it out above the jagged cut. He howled, tail thwomping against the floor as she continued, gobs of clustered blood sticking to leaves and small twigs, some small pebbles and rocks flooding out.

“Shh, it’s okay,” She reassured him as she cleaned around the wound as well before preparing to stitch him up. The dragon whimpered as she pressed the edges together, dipping her needle into the remaining water before piercing through his scaled appearance. Luckily more was closer to the soft underbelly of his skin, making it a slightly faster process but still uncomfortable as he continued to cry out.

“Now this,” She gestured to another jar of thicker, gloopy looking ointment. “Will help heal you faster, I’ll apply it everyday until there’s nothing but a scar,”

Lucy smiled as he became dazed, head falling by her side as she washed away the remaining blood and brushed her fingers carefully over the stitching. She stood up after pasting his bandages on, sighing at the bloody slosh around them, pushing up her sleeves as she went to retrieve fresh water and a mop.

“Let’s make you something to eat, something to get rid of that poison, hmm? Not too much, I don’t want your stomach pressing on your wound.” She huffed and wiped the sweat from her brow, the dragon having laid still while she cleaned up the aftermath. He furled his wings as she walked away, returning some time later with a grunt or two, heaving a pot of stew in front of him.

“You sure are making the lady sweat, Sir Dragon. I hope it’s not too hot, but I’m sure you won’t mind it. You breathe fire, don’t you?” She smiled as he nodded, dipping into the pot with a sniff. “There are a lot of herbs, to help get rid of those nasty toxins. I’d hate to know whoever tried to hurt you. Not a hunter I hope?” He shook his head, mildly lapping at the soup to curb his hunger.

“Something else in the woods?” She gasped as he nodded, Lucy’s hand stroking softly against the scales of his neck as she watched him eat. “Goodness, I’ll do my best to be careful going outside, hopefully whatever it was has already gone away.”

“It has gotten quite late, I didn’t even notice the time,” She yawned gracefully behind her hand after returning from the kitchen again. The dragon had curled in on himself, eye glancing as she gave him one last scratch for the day.

“Will you be alright sleeping by yourself? Do you need a blanket?” His chest seemed to rise with a chuckle and another shake of his head, his eyes closing as they rested against his claws.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need anything...do you have a name? I think it’s a bit rude to simply call you ‘Dragon’. Although I doubt you can answer,” She giggled, kneeling to his side. “Shall I call you Gonzales?”

He seemed to turn sour at the name, disagreeing instantly as she pouted.

“No one likes that name, I personally think it’s cute,” She humphed. “How about... Kaen? It means flame,”

He shook his head again, gesturing to a tapestry hanging above her with a large sun needlepointed into it.

“The sun? Taiyo?”

He disagreed, continuing to nod towards the tapestry in suggestion.

“Summer, maybe? Natsu?” She laughed as he nodded, clapping her hands together. “Natsu it is! Well then, goodnight, Natsu.”

Lucy gave him a chaste kiss upon the tip of his snout before gracefully taking her leave to her room upstairs, happy to finally take off her dampened dress.

She yawned as the sun shone brightly on her edge of the woods, coaxing her to move out of bed and get ready for the day. The princess dressed in much lighter clothing this time, excited as she skipped down her stairs to the one she was taking care of.

“Good morning, Natsu!” She chirped as she opened the curtains, the dragon grunting as the sunlight flooded in. “Its a bit improper to be so loud, but I never get to greet anyone in the morning.” The princess sighed as he lifted himself for her to inspect his eyes.

“Oh good, they’re not so red anymore. I’ll make us some breakfast and then give you a bath, hmm? That should help make you feel better. Some more ointment and fresh bandages too.”

Natsu seemed too tired to care either way as she walked off to conduct their day. He lazily opened an eye as she came back with another soup again in its large pot, listing their ingredients and their benefits before going to fetch a bucket of water, bringing down a whole collection of jars again to mix bubbly water and began to scrub him with a content smile.

“Do you like that? What a good boy,” She giggled as he purred, Lucy brushing along his tail, the dragon wagging it and turning to nudge her with his snout. The bristles continued to stimulate his scales, Natsu almost ready to roll over at the tickling sensation. He licked her cheek lightly as she moved along his back and over the patterned spikes, Lucy laughing and caressing his head as it rested on her shoulder. He mumbled and pressed against her as she made her way up his horns, sighing delightfully.

“Now that we’re done,” The blonde hummed as she pasted on his clean bandages. “Would you like to hear a story?”

“This one is one of my favorites,” Lucy sighed as she set down a stack of books she was all too eager to bring down and share with the dragon. “Although I don’t think you’d be too happy that the prince tries to defeat the dragon, hmm?” She giggled as he shook his head.

“It’s a lovely story I always thought, my mother would read it to me whenever I was upset. I think it’s wonderful when he rescues his princess at the end,”

“Oh, goodness, I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” She smiled as she stood from her place at his side, taking the edges of her skirt to offer a deep curtesy.

“Princess Lucy Heartfilia of Fiore,” His eyes seemed to widen as she bowed to him. “My father sent me here after mother died, if you’re curious why I’m so far from home.” The conversation fell short as she sat back down, pulling a book from the stack as she turned to him with a smile.

“Now, this is a story about my best friends. My mother wrote it for me,”

And so, Lucy spent her days eager to finally wake up with someone by her side, not literally but caring for the dragon was enough to fill the loneliness she had been experiencing all these years. They would eat together and she would redress his wound, occasionally give him baths as well. The two spent most of their time curled with Lucy leaning against his neck, the princess going on to read him each of her favorite books, dramatizing the adventures and trying her best to make them come to life, thoroughly embarrassed when all the dragon would do was look at her. He always looked like he was on the verge of speaking, which made Lucy curious and a bit upset, she missed the ability to speak with another person, but Natsu responded well enough. There were nights she fell asleep in the middle of reading, curled against the dragon, his tail moving to act as a blanket. She’d wake up dreary and warm, quick to apologize for drooling on his scales. He’d greet her each morning with a lick to her cheek, Lucy giggling as she pushed his slobbering tongue away. It had been almost a month since their meeting, Natsu nearly healed, Lucy’s salve working wonders and herbs working quickly to flush the toxins out of his system.

“Good morning, Natsu,” Lucy yawned delicately behind her hand as she made her way down the stairs, stopping halfway as she saw him padding around more actively, looking antsy as he eyed the drawn curtains.

“Oh, would you like to go outside? I’m sure you’re tired of staying cooped up in here, and your wound has just about healed!” Lucy smiled as she walked towards the large door.

#fairy tail #fairy tail nalu #nalu #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #natsu and lucy #natsu x lucy #lucy and natsu #lucy x natsu #nalu fanfiction #nalu fan fiction #nalu fanfic #nalu fan fic #nalu princess x dragon

44 notes · View notes

kuriquinn · 5 years

Text

An Inch of Gold [32/34]

Blanket Disclaimer

Author’s Note: Updating now because I have a headache and might not have the energy to do it at 9. As usual, unedited until I can get to it, and you can read the whole fic from the beginning on FFnet, Ao3 or wattpad.

Also, I’m not saying you should be familiar with my story Samsara for this chapter, but it will offer some perspective/Easter eggs.

When Sarada wakes, she is floating.

It takes longer than she would like to force her eyes open, and when she does she feels only confusion. The world around her is lit by a dim violet light, but everything beyond it is a black, overwhelming darkness.

Am I…am I dead…?

She remembers a knife and then falling, and then…nothing.

I must have hit the ground. I have to be dead.

Slowly, she sits up, frowning at the water surrounding her, rippling outward. Somehow, it doesn’t soak her skin or clothes, almost like it’s not really water but someone’s abstract concept of it. As she gets to her feet, it falls away from her, leaving no trace of it beyond the sensation of silken sheet sliding away.

The air suddenly feels heavy, and she tenses. Whirling around, she is shocked to see Teisōko standing beside her, also looking utterly unharmed.

No! She should be dead! I felt her die…!

The other girl looks as if she is as confused as Sarada, but it lasts less time.

“You!” she hisses, and lunges, eyes narrowed and palm flat for a blow to the throat.

Sarada braces her feet in the ankle length water, hoping she won’t slip, and prepares for the incoming blow. Which is why she is shocked as the other girl is suddenly stumbling into the water behind her with an ungainly splash.

Did she…miss? No, that’s not it. She went right through!

“What?” Sarada whispers, staring down at her hands. They seem solid enough to her, but…

“Fighting one another is useless,” a cool voice says, echoing within the vast expanse of distant black. “Your minds and souls are beyond your physical bodies.”

Sarada whips around to face the owner of the voice, and Teisōko jumps to her feet as well, as if expecting an attack. Neither of them is quiet expecting the sight before them.

A woman and a man stand before them, having appeared out of nowhere. The woman is petite, with grey eyes and dark skin, dressed in pale colours but for a blood red obi tied in the front. Sloe black hair is arranged in a complicated headpiece, and a pink cherry blossom kanzashi that look very similar to one that Sarada’s mother has.

Maybe my mind is compensating? Sarada wonders, but when she studies the man, she decides she would never have been able to imagine him.

Beside the woman, he is much taller, and unsmiling beneath dark, wild hair. Somehow, he looms like a shadow even though he wears all white. Six magatama border his robe, reminding her of giant versions of a Sharingan’s tomoe. And speaking of a Sharingan…

He has it! And it looks exactly like Papa’s!

“Who are you?” Teisōko demands, getting to her feet to face the strangers. Sarada would like to ask the same thing, but something stops her.

There’s something…about these two…

The man looks down his nose at Teisōko. “I was, I am, I will be the grasping, devouring shadow of despair.”

“I was, I am, I will be the given sacrifice to bring about hope,” the woman intones.

“We are the avatars of time and space, though the faces we have chosen are borrowed.”

“We have taken forms you can grasp so that we can speak, though it limits us.”

“We can no longer see the consequences of what it to come and can only offer counsel.”

“But that…” Sarada begins, “that doesn’t answer. Who are you?”

“Don’t you know, little one?” the woman asks her with a motherly smile. “Did your Papa never tell you our story?”

Sarada tenses, and a memory surfaces from so long ago she had forgotten until now, her father’s voice washing over her.

“…Indra was wounded in battle and used the last of his strength to bring himself far away from Asura and his father. He found himself lying on a shore in a distant land, weakened and unable to heal himself. It seemed, for a time, that he was meant to die.”

“Did he die, Papa?”

“No. He was found one day by a very young girl with a kind heart, who took pity on him.”

“What was her name?”

“…Shachi.”

Sarada’s eyes widen. “Then you’re…!”

“The progenitors of the Uchiha,” Teisōko says, her fists clenching. Rage and hatred spark in her eyes, but being insubstantial, there is nothing she can do about it.

Not that she could, anyway, Sarada thinks vaguely, staring up at the tall man with renewed unease. The stories about him are terrifying, and she can see why when he levels a cold glance at Teisōko.

“By your actions, you have destabilized time,” he says flatly. “It ought to have corrected itself, the way most time loops do, however your battle broke through many times and caused more damage than expected.”

“Everything is unravelling,” the female avatar—or, Shachi—laments. “All of time and space will soon cease to exist, if not for you two. The forces of Hope—"

“—and Despair.”

“I don’t understand,” Sarada says. It’s the second time they’ve used those words, giving them some reverence that she can’t parse.

“Every living creature has a destiny that contains infinite possibilities. Those have been all but erased now.”

“Your presence outside of your time frayed the web of time; travelling through so many, you might as well have cut the threads completely,” Indra continues. “You must both make a choice, which will determine the fate of this world and where you go from here.”

“You mean we’re not dead yet?” Sarada questions, something like hope flaring in her stomach.

“You are beyond the state of life or death,” Shachi tells her. “For now. But your choices may change that.”

“Choices?”

“Will you walk the Path of Needles, or the Path of Thorns?” Indra asks.

Teisōko sneers. “Is that meant to be a riddle?”

“These are the paths that remain to you both,” Shachi explains. “But know that even if you choose to walk the same path, your eventual fate will not necessarily be the same.”

“You may also abstain,” Indra says, “but then you will remain in this realm for eternity, never able to move on.” He frowns. “I do not recommend that option.”

Shachi’s expression is sad and she bows her head.

“This is nonsense,” Teisōko spits out. “I will not remain a prisoner here! Death or no, I intend to be free.” She takes a step forward, bearing her teeth at them. “I have suffered under too many needles in my life. A thorn’s pain is fleeting.”

Indra studies her. “Is that your choice?”

“Yes,” she says, resolute. “I will walk the Path of Thorns.”

“So be it,” Shachi says gravely.

Indra approaches Teisōko, his face unreadable, while she glares up at him. Then, he nods.

“You will gain what you desire,” he tells her. “The pain you have lived with for so long will be at an end.”

Then, he suddenly reaches out, and his hand goes right through her forehead. Unlike earlier, when Teisōko passed through Sarada harmlessly, his action brings with it pain. Teisōko’s eyes go wide and she screams, a shrill, agonized sounds that has Sarada clapping her hands over her ears.

Indra appears unmoved by her distress, because he only draws back after several long drawn out seconds, his movements unconcerned and languid. In his hand, he cups something gleaming, red and insubstantial. It looks a little like a Sharingan, but Sarada can’t be sure.

As soon as Indra steps back, Teisōko—empty-eyed and limp—falls to her knees. An instant later, she vanishes completely.

“What just happened?!” Sarada demands. She doesn’t care about the other woman—she’s been trying the entire day to kill her—but her fate suggests Sarada’s future might not fare much better.

“She went on,” Shachi tells her gravely.

“Went on? Where is ‘went on’?”

“This we cannot say,” Indra tells her, studying his hand; whatever he took from Teisōko gleams from within his fingers. “Our knowledge is limited by these forms.”

“Her suffering was momentary,” Shachi tells her. “Will you choose the same?”

Chills reverberate up Sarada’s spine, and she takes a step back.

Choose the same? And end up…just disappearing?

The avatars are watching her expectantly, and she swallows nervously. If only she could have more time to think about it. Of course, she could always choose to stay here, then she will have an eternity of time to think.

“Can you…can you give me a hint about my choices?” she asks tentatively.

Shachi looks almost amused. “There is not much that we can see. These forms are limited.”

“But is there’s anything you can tell me?”

“The other one was not given a choice,” Indra points out.

“The other one did not think to ask,” Shachi replies serenely. “Impulsive decisions are a quality the Uchiha have always had. Too often it has been the source of their undoing.”

This time something like guilt flashes across Indra’s face, but it happens so fast that Sarada isn’t sure if that’s what she actually saw.

“Hn.” The man folds his arms, but he doesn’t argue. Then he closes his eyes, and concentrates. After a beat, he says, “The timeline remains clouded. I see stone faces sundered and only the Wielder of the Pure Eye standing between salvation and the end of an era.”

“Two pillars crumble,” Shachi adds. “Sun and Moon vanish, and the Earth is shrouded in darkness.”

Sarada’s mouth goes dry.

That didn’t answer my question at all! It’s just vague words and ambiguous forecasting!

“You’re not going to tell me which path leads to all that, I’m guessing?” she manages with a pained smile.

“We do not know,” Shachi says. “We are—”

“Limited, I know,” Sarada sighs. She thinks it might have been better not to have gotten that hint. At least she would have felt less pressure.

Alright, so…Path of Needles or Path of Thorns…

As painful as Teisoko’s end looked, it might be a relief after everything Sarada has gone through today. It’s a tempting thought, to just be finished. As Teisōko said, a prick of a thorn is nothing.

Then again, the avatars said she might not end up with the same fate as Teisōko even if she chose the same option. What if her fate is destined to be worse? What if instead of ‘going on’, she’s just erased from everything completely? What if ‘going on’ means being erased from everything?

And beyond that—though she’s exhausted to her very soul, her decision cannot just be about her. It concerns time. Either everything will become completely unravelled and vanish, or there’s something bad coming in the future.

Assuming their predictions are literal and not just speculation, Sarada muses. They said themselves they can’t see everything. That could be part of a larger picture. Think! Path of Needles or Path of Thorns!

Neither sound like pleasant options. It’s natural to think only of the damage they might both do, but what if she considers other qualities?

Thorns protect, Sarada thinks. They keep flowers from being eaten or destroyed. And needles…well, needles can be used as weapons. So, one of them defends, the other attacks? No. Wait, needles have another function!

She is the daughter of a medic, after all, and has seen first hand the good that needles can do. They are used to give people life-saving cures, to transfer blood or chakra, to mend flesh as well as fabric.

Like maybe…the fabric of time? Sarada wonders. It can’t be that easy!

She wants nothing more than to heal the timeline from the damage that’s been caused, and it’s tempting to choose the option that is in line with the metaphor. But then again…

Needles are as bad as thorns, because once they’ve punched a hole in something, the hole stays there. At least in terms of fabric. If it’s skin, I suppose the skin heals over. But then, the same can be said for a wound from thorns—

“Ugh!”

Her eyes clench shut, and her hands ball into fists, frustration and fear surging through her.

With every further thought, she gets drawn further into a study of riddle and wordplay. Trying to see beyond the meaning of the two words is paralysing her here. Perhaps she is destined to stay her forever after all…

No! Sarada decides, her eyes snapping open. No, I will not stay here! If there’s even a chance of making sure Mama and Papa, and their past selves, and everyone have a future, I have to make a choice.

It seems she is going to have to take a page out of Boruto’s book and just go with instinct.

“Alright,” she says, squaring her shoulders and taking a step forward. She fixes Indra with a defiant look, not quite as fierce as Teisoko’s, but still somewhat insolent. “I’ve made my choice.”

“Speak it, then.”

“I choose—”

ナルト

There is nothing but white in Sarada’s field of vision, and a splitting pain in her forehead. Someone’s voice—someone she should recognise—echoes in her mind.

You walk with gods, little one. Mind your step.

Awareness returns to her then, the feel of air rushing past her and her eyes spring open. She stares up in dismay at the cliff that is getting steadily further away from her, her right hand clawing at it in futile desperation.

Her body begins to flip in the air, and she’s already been here before, hasn’t she? Only this time, her reactions are dulled from the lingering unconsciousness, and the ground is getting closer and closer.

“Sarada!”

Almost the instant she hears her name, something seizes her hand in a strong hold.

Blinking up in shock, she stares at the swirling portal in front of her, the violet chakra mingling with orange and green fire. She’s hanging below the rip in the sky and can’t see beyond the portal, but the hand holding hers is unquestionably her father’s.

“Papa!” she calls in amazement and relief.

“You have to…haul yourself up,” he shouts to her, and she hears a strain in his voice. It’s as if he is in great pain. “We’re already using…everything we have…to keep the portal open.”

Her eyes flick to the swirling flame, and notes with concern that it seems to pulsate, growing smaller one minute, before widening again. Each time it happens, the diameter shrinks.

“I’ll…I’ll try!” Sarada says, although even as she does, she feels weakness disperse over her entire body. She’s already put her body through so much today, she doesn’t know if she has the strength for this. With her other arm hanging uselessly by her side, and the kunai still buried in her gut, pulling herself up the length of his arm seems impossible.

“Hold on, Sarada!” she hears Boruto yell from somewhere beyond the rushing sound of the portal.

A half-second later, his father’s past-self adds, “Come on, Sarada! You can do it!”

“Yeah, Sarada! Come on!” the past Sakura calls.

“Don’t you dare give up!”

Her head snaps upward at the order from the young Sasuke Uchiha—the repressed, stubborn boy who has been avoiding acknowledging any connection to her all day—and resolve floods through her.

I won’t give up!

Gritting her teeth, she strains upward, throwing her energy into the most difficult one-handed pull-up ever. Her joints scream, and her bones shake, and she concentrates all of her chakra to her hand. She has to be careful, not wanting to accidentally shatter the bones in her father’s arm or disintegrate her own muscles from the force.

There’s no time to inch her way up with her fingers and so, with a final wordless scream, she swings herself until she can get the momentum to throw herself up.

Flying upward, she has a vague sense of colours and shapes before her, coalescing into familiar figures.

Papa with his arm out to her, Mama and Uncle Naruto on either side of him, their Byakugō and Senjutsu respectively activated, and their hands on his shoulders. In the background, their past selves and Sarada’s team watch anxiously.

The portal is closing faster now, and Sarada lingers for a moment in the air, weightless and completely conscious that if she doesn’t grab hold of her father’s upper arm at just the right moment, she’s done for—a stain on the ground, left to rot somewhere in the past.

She reaches out—

And misses.

Sarada inhales in disbelieving desperation, sensing the exact moment when her body begins to shift from its upward current to the pressure of gravity. There are cries of disbelief from her loved ones—

And then, out of nowhere, two arms thrust through the portal and wrap around her—several times over.

I know these arms! Sarada thinks with giddy relief, eyes snapping through the portal to stare at her teammate.

Sarada doesn’t have long to take notice of him—expression of concentration on his face, and a strange blue chakra crackling over the surface of his skin—before she is being pulled forward into the swirling, violet vortex.

She is back in the dank underground cavern again.

“Now!” she hears Uncle Naruto yell, and then her mother gives a snarl of effort.

The portal snaps shut behind Sarada just as she clears the threshold, slicing neatly through the heel of her sandal. She is dizzy and has the confusing sense of falling into a heap of bodies—Boruto is shouting her name, Mitsuki’s arms retract—and then suddenly Aunt Hinata calls out, “It’s coming!”

Sarada becomes aware of a growing roar, and a suffocating wave of energy moving forward.

Before she can regain her wits, someone—Konohamaru—grabs a hold of her. The past versions of Team 7 are urging their future selves to their feet, Kakashi ushers Boruto and Mitsuki back, and Papa is opening another portal just behind them. A vast sea of sand appears beyond the barrier, and he snaps, “Everyone, go!”

Genin and jōnin, past and present, make a beeline for the opening. Carried carefully by her instructor, she stares in wide-eyed horror over his shoulder as an explosion of golden chakra barrels toward them.

Only in the instant just before it hits them does the portal snap closed.

Silence hangs over them, feeling abrupt and uncomfortable in the wake of the roaring noise, like a thread suddenly snapped off in the middle. It lingers for several moments, like a breath being held in at the highest point of its inhalation.

Sands swirls around them, an endless desert stretching out upon every horizon.

Then the reality of things sets in.

“Phew!” Uncle Naruto exhales, falling to one knee.

Papa staggers backward, looking like he’s about to pass out, but Mama catches hold of him, her arm scooped around his shoulders. Both of them have blood on their faces, she notices with concern, but despite radiating exhaustion, there’s an instant of that nameless something passing through them.

Warmth floods through her.

They’re okay. Everyone’s okay.

On the heels of that relief, awareness of her body returns to her. Along with the searing pain in her abdomen. She coughs then, blood slipping over her lips, and the world tilts to on side.

“Sarada!” Konohamaru sets her down on the ground. Instantly Mama is by her side, a little slower than normal, a little paler; Papa also tries to stagger toward her, but his legs give out beneath him. Boruto and Mitsuki try approach, but Kakashi and Aunt Hinata hold them and her parents past squad back.

A warm hand rests on Sarada’s front, and the tingling sensation of her mother’s healing chakra radiates through her. Mama is straining more than usual, as if eking out every last shred of healing chakra. Sarada can barely see the diamond-shaped marking on her forehead anhymore.

“Mama…don’t worry about me…” she mumbles nonsensically, but her mother just mutter something under her breath as she carefully removes the kunai.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, and your chakra is completely tapped out,” she tells her in a quiet, soothing voice. “But you’ll be alright.” She looks up at Papa. “She’ll be alright.”

Loud cheering breaks out then; squinting beyond her mother’s body, Sarada watches Boruto and the young Naruto high-five each other.

“She did it! We did it!”

They clap each other on the back, and young Sakura squeals with glee and hugs young Sasuke around the neck, while he gasps for breath. He doesn’t push her away though, Sarada notices. Aunt Hinata hurries over to Uncle Naruto, and he kisses her in front of everyone, earning a raised eyebrow from Kakashi and an embarrassed chuckle from Konohamaru.

Then Sarada, the once mortal wound in her belly, still tender but mostly healed, is pulled up and into Mama’s arms. Relieved and exhausted, tears gathering in her eyes, and Sarada presses her face into her mother’s soft curves. Papa finally manages to get to them and falls into a sitting position beside them, breathing hard. His eyes remain rivetted on Sarada, however, like he’s evaluating every bruise and scratch that hasn’t yet been healed.

“Your arm,” he says, a statement and a question.

She shrugs her left shoulder, barely feeling that movement anywhere below her elbow. She knows she won’t get anymore use out of it until Mama has the strength back to fix it. “Now we match.”

His mouth quirks a bit upward at that.

“—did it! We did it! We did i—wait,” Boruto cuts off, and then frowns. “We did do it, right? We won’t stop existing when we portal back to our own times?”

“Will we even be able to get back to our times?” young Naruto wants to know, looking suddenly worried.

“Well, there’s one way to check,” Kakashi says.

He bites into his thumb, pulling out a scroll with the other, and pressing it to the ground. “Kuchioyse no jutsu!”

There’s an explosion of dust, and when it clears, Pakkun the Ninja Hound sits in front of them.

He squints up at Kakashi. “Well, boss, this looks…um…slightly better than where you were before.” His eyes linger on the barren wasteland. “Not much better, though.”

“Of course!” Sakura cries. “They’re linked in our present! So, Pakkun should be able to get us back to our time, which means it’s still there!”

“And once he gets his second wind, Sasuke can bring us back to where we belong,” Uncle Naruto says as he and Aunt Hinata stand up. Boruto has thrown himself at his mother, wrapping an arm around her waist, and then moving aside so that she can offer Mitsuki a hug as well. Uncle Naruto puts a hand on either boy’s head.

“Honestly, Sarada, how many times am I going to have to fix your arms today,” Mama scolds lightly, but there’s no real annoyance in it.

“Hopefully no more,” she replies gamely, and grins up at her teammates. “Mitsuki…you saved me.”

“Well, you and Boruto and Konohamaru-sensei had an eventful day,” he replies mildly. “I felt it was my turn.”

“Don’t act like it’s nothing!” Boruto guffaws.

“And here I thought it was only Boruto you would risk your life for,” Sarada teases, survival and adrenaline making her giddy.

“Well, you are one of my teammates.”

“Such a fine display of comradery,” Konohamaru murmurs, eyes teary and a fist clenched. “It makes your sensei proud.”

“What happened before we found you?” Papa wants to know, and it’s obvious he’s asking about Teisōko, and whether she’s still wandering around somewhere in the past.

Everyone, including the dog, is watching her now with expectation.

With the adults recovering themselves, there’s not much else to do but tell them. Slowly, and pausing every now and then to allow for outraged exclamations or questions, she explains about following Teisōko through different time periods, and their long battle. All the while, the adults fan out amongst one another, checking wounds and healing one another—or at least trying to.

Mama appears to be tapped out after whatever she did earlier, and fixing Sarada as well as she could, but between Aunt Hinata and Uncle Kakashi’s basic healing abilities, they help stabilize her. Colour returns to her face, but the Byakugo doesn’t, and Sarada thinks Mama might be a little weak for the next few days.

Sarada finally ends her story with her last desperate vault towards Teisōko, before trailing off. Her mind feels like it’s garbled somehow, a snarl in a thread.

“That’s the last thing I remember,” she says, frowning. She has the distinct feeling that time passed between her last attack on Teisoko and being rescued from her fall off the cliff but can’t call it up despite every effort.

Mama squints at her. “Well, you definitely have a concussion. That could explain you blacking out for a bit. It will be a while before I can check for sure, but we should be safe if we treat it as that.”

“You must have done something badass,” Boruto says, punching his fist in the air. “You came back, but that Teisōko chick didn’t.”

“That might not be a good thing,” Mitsuki points out. “If she’s somewhere in the past, she could still cause damage.”

“No, she’s dead,” Sarada says, earning surprised looks. “I don’t…I don’t remember how, but I’m sure she is.”

“I bet you took her out, huh?” young Naruto says. “You gave her the old one-two, right?”

He mimes boxing motions, and Boruto shoots him a disparaging look. “You’re so lame.”

“Is it possible she’s been placed under a genjutsu?” Sakura wants to know, inching a little closer to the Uchiha family.

Papa gets up, shaking his head at Mama when she makes a motion to help him, and studies Sarada. “If there is, it’s not one that I can sense. Most likely my wife is right—it’s a concussion.”

Sakura gasps a little, gazing up at Papa with shining eyes.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers to Sasuke, whose face has gone furiously red. “He said ‘my wife’.”

“Tch.”

“Speaking of genjutsu, though,” Papa says, eyes focussing on the two genin in front of him, showing no sign of having noticed the interaction, “if it wasn’t, it means someone else might have gotten involved in matters.”

He takes a few steps toward the past version of him and his wife, until he is gazing down at Sakura. Sasuke glares at his adult self, and Sarada gets the distinct impression he doesn’t like his future self. Papa either doesn’t notice the look, or doesn’t care, because his attention is on Sakura.

“When I was trapped in the time barrier, I saw how Jikken was defeated. That was no ordinary crow. There was no time to speak of it before, but…there is something I need to know.”

Sakura’s eyes widen at being addressed so seriously by any version of Sasuke, and then when he kneels down in front of her so that they are at eye-level, her face goes as red as her tunic and her eyes flick away from his.

“I…I…”

“If you’ll allow it,” he adds. “Please.”

At which point, Sakura promptly faints.

As her teammates hurry to catch her before she hits the ground, Mama sighs. “Darling, it’s really not fair of you to do that...”

Papa has the decency to look confused.

つづ��

Yeah, I totally pulled a Kishimoto and brought in the Mysterious Other Worldly Figure Meeting. That happened. And yet another Uchiha is undone by their impulsive, ask-no-questions personality...arrogance has a cost :P

And for those of you freaking out that the scene cut off just before Sarada made her choice...that’s done on purpose. The two choices she is given lead to two story branches, the canonverse (Path of Thorns) which will follow the Boruto: Next Generations canon, and my headcanon verse (Path of Needles). I might write an introduction to both of those where you actually get to see the choice, but for this fic, I left it ambiguous so the reader could decide which path she chose.

(Full list/chronology of both series will be updated on 'Series Chronologie’ page, as I'm in the process of making sure all the stories that should be there are there.)

Yosh! One more chapter and an epilogue!

栗

33 notes · View notes

kittyanonymity · 6 years

Text

Jack of All Trades... 1

...Master of None: Iwa

*UNEDITED, NOT BETA’D, BASIC BITCH VERSION PLEASE BE NICE*

*Notes: So, uh hi there! This is my first foray back into fanfics after many, many years away. I’ve always had problems finishing things, so I stopped when I realized that back in high school. This is the first time I’m publicly posting a Naruto fic since roughly... my sophomore year of high school? So about 9 years I think? Anyway this was an idea I had about if Sakura’s mother was from Uzushio, and then I decided to also make her dad.. from another clan too. They spend a lot of time traveling between the different countries, and Sakura makes LOTS of friends!! And learns lots of stuff from many people!! And she will FIGHT YOU IF YOU ARE MEAN TO OTHERS FOR NO GOOD REASON!!

So, yeah. Enjoy, hopefully!

ALSO huge shoutout to @the-formerone for allowing me to use the Nobi name for Sakura’s mother!!! You’re the best, and I love everything you write! <3 The ideas for the sound and dancing in Iwa was courtesy of @dimancheetoile! She was fantastic in helping me figure out how to make Iwa stand out from the rest of the countries!

Haruno Sakura is 3 years old, and she is surrounded by stones.

For as long as she can remember, her parents have kept themselves and her sequestered in their little wagon, traveling, and selling their wares. Her father was a skilled potter, and her mother’s beautiful calligraphy strokes brought them a substantial amount of money. For the first time that Sakura knows, they have spent more than 5 days in a place.

The place they’re living for now is brown; but like the tan kind of brown that she doesn’t really like. The golden yellow grass is kind of pretty though, and the bamboo is nice. There is some sound that bounces off the high mountains, but Sakura can’t tell what it is since she’s too far from the source.

Her mother had a tight look in her eyes when she told Sakura they were in Iwagakure. She told Sakura to be very careful of any adults she encountered. She smiled, nodding, because of course! Strangers were bad, bad, bad! That was the first rule of being a big girl!

After saying so, Sakura’s mother allowed her to go to the small playground nearby, keeping her within her line of sight. Sakura was having a good time, threading the longer strands of grass together, and she turned to show her mother; but now, her mother wasn’t alone. A strange man with a big red hat and red samurai armor stood talking to her.

And that was when the first rock flew.

So now, Sakura was surrounded by rocks. Small to medium sized stones lay around the young girl as she lay on the ground in shock. Several little girls sneered down at her, rubbing their feet in her hair, and mocking her; she couldn’t tell what they were saying beyond the static in her ears.

The pain registered in the next second, and Sakura wailed. Moisture ran down her face, and as she reached up to wipe it away, her tiny hands came away red. A terror filled scream left the girl, and her attackers stumbled back at the severity. Her mother was next to her in an instant, the strange red man with her.

He immediately set to rounding the vicious children up, while her mother scooped her up in her arms.

Sakura could not stop wailing, her breaths shaky and uneven, and she soon found herself hiccuping, shaking in her mother’s arms; her small fingers curled tightly in her mother’s long bright red hair.

Haruno Namika left the area swiftly, offering Han a hasty farewell, her daughter cradled in her arms. She needed to get to the wagon. The first aid kit was there. She had privacy.

The red haired woman scaled their wagon quickly as she came to it, pushing the tarp aside, and sealing it once she was inside. Her meeting with Han had been cut short; she’d have to wait for him to find her again. Once upon a time, they had been good friends. But it was nowhere near as important as her daughter.

Namika grit her teeth as she thought about what had happened. She had seen the 3 little girls gathering rocks, but she couldn’t have known what they’d been planning; and all cause her daughter looked so different?? What was wrong with children these days?!

As she wrote out some seals with her right hand, Namika grabbed for the medicine pouch her husband kept nearby, shaking it open as she finally finished her stasis seal. Placing the paper on her daughter’s chest, Namika activated it with a small amount of chakra, and watched as the blood stopped flowing from Sakura’s head wound.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed Sakura had fallen unconscious from the shock of everything, not wanting her to be awake for the cleaning process. Frowning, Namika began cleaning the blood from her daughter’s hair and skin.

Sakura hadn’t experienced any conflict in her short 3 years, not for anything. She’d certainly never been around such violence like what had happened; they hadn’t been robbed by bandits since she’d been born after all (not that any robbery attempts were successful at least). Gods, what was Katsumi going to say? Her husband was a soft, rather silly man, but when his temper showed, it showed. And she certainly couldn’t let him kill children. That was… frowned upon now that the third war had ended. (Though if you asked her, children should have never been on the battlefield in the first place, thank you.)

Namika finished applying the healing salve to Sakura’s head before covering it with gauze. With a quick glance around, Namika placed a stifling seal on the floor of the wagon, muffling her chakra. Once placed she let her hand glow with her minimum amount of chakra, a faint green encasing her hand. With a trained eye, she placed her hand against Sakura’s temple, searching for any internal damage she may have missed. Finding none, Namika let her chakra fizzle out quickly, and then removed the stifling seal.

Physically, Sakura would be fine; but Namika knew. Sakura was as much Uzushio as the rest of her family had been; camaraderie ran in her veins, like her very blood. Acts like this never occurred on Uzushio when Namika was young; and Sakura had never encountered such open hostility towards her for seemingly no reason.

She was worried about what this was going to do to her daughter mentally.

Namika jumped as the flap of the wagon came open, but sighed in relief when her husband’s white hair and green eyes welcomed her. Katsumi was at her side in an instant, hands hovering over their daughter.

“Who?”

Namika placed her hand in his gently, pulling it to her; his other hand held Sakura’s.

“Some little brats at the playground; they’re too young to be maimed.” Her eyes grew misty, and she grit her teeth, “They threw stones at her, because she doesn’t look like them, they said.”

Katsumi’s hand tightened on hers, and Namika took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“I’m concerned how this is going to affect her mental state, Katsu. Uzushio children aren’t used to such…” Namika’s face screwed up in disgust, “such violence, outside of the battlefield. And Sakura may have never seen Uzushio, but she embodies it as much as any of the others did.”

Katsumi hummed softly in acknowledgment, stroking his daughter’s hand absently.

“I remember the stories you tell, Mika.” His voice was soft in the dim light of the wagon, and finally he turned to look at her. “We will just have to see to her properly. Perhaps get into contact with your old mentor, and see if she has advice.”

Namika nodded, resting her head on Katsumi’s shoulder. Katsumi closed his eyes, before leaning down and kissing the crown of her head, and Namika felt herself blush even now.

“You two are everything to me, Mika, I’m sure you know. So I will do anything that you require of me; even if it means ferrying a message to the princess.”

Namika sighed, feeling a headache form. “Not… not yet. I want to see if she exhibits any symptoms before bringing it to Shishou.” Katsumi smiled slightly to himself before holding his wife tighter.

“As you wish, dear.”

———————————————

The next time Sakura went to the park, her mother stayed very close to her, keeping a sharp eye on anyone who came near her. Sakura loved her mother so much; she was beautiful, and strong, and so kind. Sakura knows in her heart she couldn’t be loved more.

But she wants to try and make friends.

And her wonderful mother keeps scaring everyone!

With a huff, Sakura walks her way to her mother, a sloppy, golden grass bracelet clutched in her little hand.

“Mama if I give you this bracelet will you stop staring at all my maybe friends?”

Namika looked a little shocked at Sakura’s question, and she starts to worry that she did something BAD when the woman starts laughing. Her mother takes the tiny bracelet, before reaching out and ruffling Sakura’s hair. She nods her head to the sandbox.

“Go play squirt.”

Sakura smiles and hugs her mother before dashing away. Something wiggles in her foot, and Sakura drops to the ground, tearing her sandal off and staring at her foot in a very clinical manner. There is nothing there. She shakes her shoe even though she can’t see anything, but nothing falls out.

Sakura frowns to herself, then decides to take her other shoe off so that she doesn’t get sand in them; she walks over to the sandbox, leaving her shoes outside it, before plopping to her knees and beginning to play. She can hear the sounds from the mountains again; it almost sounds like singing. With a small smile, Sakura hums along under her breath.

She’s not sure how long she’s there before he finds her.

“Wow, your hair really is like they say, yeah.”

Sakura whirls around, terrified it’s gonna be those girls all over again; instead, she finds a curious looking blonde boy, who is also turning a furious shade of red. Sakura smiles hesitantly.

“What-what about my hair?”

The boy fidgets with his shirt, blue eyes darting around.

“Uh, just that it was um… new, yeah.” He finally returned his eyes to her, to see the girl looking very confused. “I-I mean, um we don’t really get a lot of-of color here in Iwa, yeah. So you stand out, I guess?”

Eyes wide, Sakura’s hand raises to her head where a small bandage rests from her incident; was that why those girls had done that?? Shaking her head, Sakura smiled at the boy, welcoming and warm.

“Well thank you! You’re much nicer than the others!” Dusting her hands off, Sakura stands and sticks her hand out, “I’m Haruno Sakura! It’s nice to meet ya!”

Seemingly surprised by her enthusiasm, the boy reaches out and grips her by the forearm in a typical Iwa greeting, and he gives her a wide grin in return.

“I’m Deidara, yeah! Nice to meet ya!”

———————————————————

Deidara and Sakura are fast friends, and for the 8 months her family is in Iwa, they’re nigh inseparable. Deidara doesn’t look down on her for being younger, and he appreciates how bright she is. Through Deidara, Sakura learns about Iwa, and its people. He teaches her about the sounds she keeps hearing, and Sakura learns it’s music; she’d encountered people singing in the market early on in their friendship, but she’d had no idea it was so significant. She learns that Iwa was founded by the first Tsuchikage just after Konoha’s founding; they had decided that the other regions of the world couldn’t fall behind Fire Country, and were the first to band together and mimic Konoha. This helped ignite the fierce rivalry between Iwa and Konoha, Deidara said.

“It’s what led to the war, yeah.” Sakura frowned as she paused in the sand box and looked at her friend.

“War, Dei-chan?” Deidara was frowning to himself, continuing to mold his sandcastle, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Konoha and Iwa hate each other or something I guess? The war was over by the time I was born, but my uncles and my grandparents fought in it, yeah.” Sakura hummed in contemplation and returned to her own sand.

“I don’t think I like the sound of war, Dei-chan.”

“Me either, Kura.”

Deidara also teaches her about Iwa’s Bamboo Festival. While Iwa lacked basic vegetation such as bushes and trees, they had an abundance of bamboo. The legend was that just before the founding, the first Tsuchikage had pleaded with the heavens for a sign, something to inspire him for his village; a place where his people would be protected and could flourish. The surrounding mountain ranges were all lacking in any plant life, but a goddess blessed just one range with bamboo shoots, and beautiful golden grass; having heard the First’s pleas, she had 2 pandas lead the man to Iwa’s founding home. So every year at the height of their growth, Iwa decorates the bamboo shoots with beautiful ribbons, and lights, and offer tribute to the goddess who blessed their land. They sing her praises in song, and paint beautiful canvases with her likeness.

Deidara grinned broadly, leaning back to inspect his now nearly finished sand castle.

“It’s pretty much the biggest celebration besides the Gifting, yeah.” Sakura’s brows bunched as she worked to finish her castle.

“What’s the Gifting, Dei-chan??” Deidara laughed, his cheeks pinkening a bit.

“Well, families and friends exchange presents, and have a big dinner together, yeah! But it’s already passed.” Finally he looked at Sakura with a grin.

“I’ll just have to make sure to get you something awesome since you missed it, yeah!” Sakura laughed, a big smile crossing her face.

“Yeah! And I’ll give you something great too!”

Then one day, about 3 months into their friendship, she asks him why she can only play with him in the late afternoon.

Deidara grins real big and puffs out his chest.

“That’s cause I’m in the ninja academy, yeah!”

Sakura’s eyes grew wide in awe, “Wow, really?? Can you do any neat tricks, Dei-chan?”

Deidara flushes a little bit, red coloring his cheeks as he grins, “Yeah, I can do a couple! Watch this, Kura!”

So saying, Deidara puts his hands through the symbols for the academy henge, and Sakura watches, amazed, as his hair changes to black right in front of her. Deidara grins widely as Sakura rushes forward to investigate, turning his hair over in her hand.

“Whoa, Dei-chan, that’s amaze-amazin!” Sakura looks up at him quickly, eyes narrowed, “How’d you do it??” Deidara leaned back a bit, somewhat surprised at the almost… hungry look I’m Sakura’s eyes. He knew Sakura liked learning, but he’d never seen her look like that.

“Well, uh it’s chakra, yeah. Everyone’s got it ya know; yours probably just isn’t unlocked yet.” He grins, and pokes Sakura in the forehead, causing her to stagger back a little. Her face screws up in a pout as she glares at Deidara, and she puffs her cheeks out. “You’re still a baby, Kura~!” So saying, Deidara takes off running with a laugh; Sakura lets out an indignant screech, and follows closely after him.

She’s almost caught up to him when a hand catches the collar of her shirt. Sakura yelps as she is pulled back from the the force of her stopped momentum, and she trips over her feet, landing on her back side. They’ve at least let go and stepped back, which hadn’t happened last time she was accosted. She does not cry this time.

Then Deidara is there, standing to the side of her and snarling at the big kid who grabbed her. There are 2 children; the big one - the boy who grabbed her - and a girl about the same size as Deidara; who seemed to be yelling at him about something.

“Well I thought she-she was after you! How was I supposed to know?!”

“Because she’s not even 4, Kurotsuchi! What the hell, yeah!”

The big kid tenses as Deidara yells louder, and Sakura sees the girl’s, Kurotsuchi’s eyes shine with something that might be shame before the girl snorts; the look she gives Deidara is disdainful.

“Fine, play with the freak, see if we care! Freaks and failures belong together!”

Deidara flinches back like he’s been burned, and his eyes begin to water, and Sakura has had enough. She feels the wiggle in her feet again as she stands, but this time, it’s working its way up, up, all the way to her head. She feels strong; she’s never felt like this. She feels like she could destroy the world.

“You should apologize to Dei-chan, miss. That wasn’t nice.”

Sakura’s eyes do not leave the girl’s, and she’s not sure what she looks like right now cause Deidara is looking at her in what could be awe - or maybe fear? - and the big kid looks like he’s ready to pull the girl away any second. The girl named Kurotsuchi straightens her shoulders out, and crosses her arms.

“Why should I, pipsqueak? Don’t you know who I am?”

Sakura shakes her head, keeping her eyes locked with Kurotsuchi’s.

“I don’t care who you are; I don’t like you. But I can’t let you make fun of my friend like that. It’s wrong.” Sakura’s eyebrows lowered angrily, “Deidara’s a good friend, and he’s taught me lots of things. You’re just a bully for no good reason,” And recreating the expression she’d seen her mother make several times, Sakura raised her lip in what could only be a sneer, “And people who are mean for no good reason are trash.”

Kurotsuchi stares at her for awhile, eyes wide, but Sakura keeps watching her until the older girl lets out a frustrated sound and stalks off, the big kid following after her. Sakura watches them go until they’re out of sight, then she turns to Deidara.

Her friend has collapsed on his butt and is staring at her with a dopey smile on his face.

“Kura that was really cool, yeah.” Sakura smiles and sits down next to him, smoothing out her shorts.

“Only I can pick on you Dei-Chan,” She casts a glance in the direction the children left, and then looks back at him, “but never like that ok?”

Deidara smiles at her before reaching out and ruffling her hair.

“You got it, yeah. Hey, did you notice?”

“Hm?”

“You totally unlocked your chakra, yeah.”

“EH??!”

———————————————

When Sakura told Namika that she had unlocked her chakra, the woman turned white as a sheet before telling Sakura that she was super proud of her, but they needed to have a very important talk.

Sat in her mother’s lap, Sakura listened intently.

“But mommy, why does the seal go on?”

Namika sighed, stroking her daughter’s hair.

“Because honey, right now we can’t have too much chakra. Do you remember the story of Uzushio?”

Sakura beamed up at her mother, craning her head back to see her. “Yeah! That’s your home, mama!” Namika smiled and hugged her daughter close.

“Well, right now, all of Uzushio is a secret, right? And since I’m from Uzushio, you and your father are too. And we have to stay a secret for a while longer, but if we’re walking around with our massive chakra, people start to catch on to the secret. Ok?”

Namika watched her daughter think it over, before Sakura seemed to come to a conclusion, and looked back at her.

“Ok mama; but not forever, right? And not right now??”

Namika laughs, before tickling her daughter.

“That’s right, my little flower! Not forever, and not right now.”

————————————————-

Sometimes, Deidara can’t make it to the park to play. On these rare days, Namika lets Sakura walk around the market area where their wagon is with some pocket money. The first time this happens, Sakura is… wary, to say the least. Her first day at the playground some girls stoned her, and now she has to be by herself again? She’s only about a month into her friendship with Deidara when she ventures out the first time, and she’s very nervous. The market in Iwa is very active, and Sakura has to mind where she steps quite carefully; but the stalls all have so many amazing things, Sakura’s not sure where to start. While trying to decide what she wanted to buy, a commotion started up a few yards from her. Turning to the sound of cheering, Sakura tilted her head a bit before moving towards the crowd slowly forming. An enthusiastic song had started up among those watching, the clapping and chanting bringing a smile to Sakura’s face as she reached the front of the crowd.

There was a small group of people at the center of the crowd, maybe 3 or 4 of them, and they were… Dancing? Yes, Sakura was pretty sure they were dancing. They definitely weren’t hitting each other with those kicks they were swinging around, or flipping into anyone when they went forward or backward with their momentum. Sakura grinned and looked down at her feet in her thick shoes. It was technically autumn in Iwa right now, but it was only a mild chill despite the mountainous terrain. She was glad that the dancers toes wouldn’t get cold and fall off; but… could she do that? Move like they were?

Sakura grinned, joining in on the chanting and clapping, and bouncing along with the crowd as the dance got faster. It was mesmerizing to watch, and after that first time, Sakura looked forward to her days in the market, hoping to catch another dance. She found in the several times she went after that first day, that many people sang or hummed when they were out, and many people would join in in harmonization. There were rarely any words sang, mostly just pleasing vocalizations; Sakura learned that songs didn’t always need words, they just needed feelings. Whether it was leisure, or happiness, or even sadness, you could make it a song. After that first time, Sakura began humming to herself constantly.

During one such trip to the market, during her fourth month in Iwa, she was fortunate enough to catch another set of dancers as they prepared themselves, stretching out, and removing their shoes. With a bright smile, Sakura immediately headed over to the area to secure a good spot for herself, clutching the practice kunai her mother had let her buy. The dancers, 3 in total this time, were laughing with each other, and Sakura idly noticed that the one woman with sandy hair was missing an arm. Sakura didn’t worry too much though; the lady was clearly ok, smiling and laughing with everyone, so she must be fine with only having one arm, right? The child frowned to herself, thinking; pain wasn’t always physical, her mother had told her, so it was probably wrong to assume this lady had no pain. Nodding, Sakura smiled again, figuring that the woman was probably physically fine, even if she was not otherwise. Sakura hoped she knew how cool she was at least.

The woman was tall, well muscled, with her sandy hair styled in a wild way; Sakura couldn’t wait to see her dance. Bouncing in place, Sakura smiled as more people started to gather, and she was the first to start the clapping this time. The woman’s eyes found her the moment she started, and Sakura flushed when the woman grinned at her. The lady set the dance off with a resounding, ‘whoop’ and a flip, and the clapping and chanting grew in force. Sakura laughed as the woman did several flips in succession, and then her other 2 companions, an ebony haired woman and a tall red haired man, joined in.

Their dance was breathtaking.

Unable to help herself, Sakura lifted her tiny feet from side to side, bouncing as she did, trying to stay in time with the music and clapping. The woman paused to catch her breath, glancing over at the child absently, before grinning to herself as she noticed the girl bouncing; it looked like she wanted to… try the dance herself, actually. With the idea in mind, the wild woman threw herself back into the dance, the wide grin never leaving her face.

After what only felt like a few short moments, the dance slowed to an end, and Sakura couldn’t help but pout as the crowd dispersed; she resigned herself to heading home to her families’ wagon and showing her mother her purchase, and turned to leave.

“Oi, kiddo! Wait a second, pinky!”

With a jolt, Sakura whirled around to find the source of the voice, and was shocked to look up into the dark green eyes of the wild dancing woman. With a flush on her cheeks, Sakura bowed to the woman.

“I-I really loved your dance, miss! It was beautiful!” The woman threw her head back and laughed, her hand perched on her hip.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, kiddo! You looked like you wanted to join in yourself there for awhile, yeah.” Sparkles seemed to form in Sakura’s eyes at the lady’s words, and she clasped her hands together in front of her, bag tucked under arm.

“Oh, that sounds so fun! But…” Sakura frowned to herself, scuffing her shoe against the dirt, “but I don’t know how, miss. I’m not from here, and my family are only merchants; I don’t know the dance.” The woman raised an eyebrow, grin never faltering.

“So? Are you incapable of learning?”

Raising her head in surprise, Sakura stared at her for a moment before she grinned.

“I’m a great learner!” The woman laughed heartily, and ruffled her hair a bit.

“Well, then I’m Kairi. Nice to meet you kiddo.” Sakura smiled, bowing her head.

“Haruno Sakura, miss! It’s nice to meet you!” Kairi laughed again, and nodded towards the market.

“Let’s go find your parents, yeah. Maybe they’ll let me teach you a few things.” Unable to contain herself, Sakura let out a small squeak of excitement, grasping Kairi’s hand.

“They’re this way, Kairi-chan!” So saying, Sakura starts off at a brisk walk back towards the wagon, and makeshift storefront her parents have set up. Kairi keeps pace easily, amused by the tiny pink haired slip of a girl in front of her. Children rarely took an interest in the traditional Iwa dances; it was more of a pastime for shinobi and adults who needed to distract themselves from… other things.

“Kairi, where are you off to?!”

Kairi and Sakura both stop, turning around to the new voice, and though Sakura recognizes the red haired man from the dance, Kairi can’t help but roll her eyes.

“I’m going to talk to the kid’s parents, Roshi. Butt out, yeah. I’ll be back.” Sakura smiled at the man, still clutching Kairi’s hand.

“I liked your dance, sir. It was lovely.” The man named Roshi spared her a glance before looking back at Kairi, seemingly dismissing her. Sakura’s smile fell a bit, and she glanced down at her shoes.

“Just make sure you come back soon so we can split the pot, Kairi; or I’ll take your share.” Having said his piece, Roshi turned around and walked away, back to the ebony haired woman. Kairi snarled after him.

“Like hell you will, yeah! One arm or no, I’ll beat your ass, Roshi, count on it!” A moment later, Kairi gasped, and looked down at Sakura who was staring at her in awe. Kairi offered a hesitant smile. “Sorry kiddo. He’s just… like that, yeah.” Sakura shook her head frantically, hair waving, and gave Kairi a wide grin.

“That’s ok, Kairi-chan! That was awesome! You really told him!” Kairi laughed, throwing her head back, before settling down.

“You’re quite the kid, yeah. Your mother’s probably amazing, huh?” Sakura nodded as they continued walking to the wagon.

“Yep! My mama is the absolute best ever! I think you’re gonna like her a whole lot.” Kairi let loose a couple chuckles but otherwise remained silent while Sakura let go of her hand to ascend the stairs into the wagon.

“Mama! There’s a nice dancing lady named miss Kairi here to talk to you! She wants to teach me how to dance.” Namika paused where she was preparing a scroll for a client, and Sakura frowned when her mother’s free hand began to tremble. Namika quickly placed her brush down, and wiped her hands on a cleaning cloth, pulling a smile to her face; but Sakura had seen her hesitation.

“If you’re too tired, mama, I can ask her to come back?” Namika smiled at Sakura, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“That’s ok, honey. I’m not tired.” With a huff of exertion, Namika rose to her feet, and Sakura smiled as she headed back outside in front of her mother.

“Kairi-chan, this is my wonderful mother, Haruno Namika!” A broad grin split the young girls lips, but Kairi was staring behind her like she’d seen a ghost.

“Hello… Kairi.”

“Namika? It’s really you?”

Sakura looked between the 2 adults in confusion, the shock on Kairi’s face, compared to the sad look in her mother’s eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Kairi.”

Tears rolled down Kairi’s face, and she stepped forward slowly, passing Sakura and wrapping Namika in a tight hug.

“I thought you’d died, yeah! And you were alive all this time?” Kairi pulled back, running her hands over Namika’s shoulders, and looking her over. Finally she looked her in the eyes. “Why didn’t you come back sooner?” Sakura’s mother smiled, but it was small, and Sakura wanted to cry at how upset her mother looked.

“I couldn’t, Kairi. Not… Not with everything that had happened. You lost your arm because of me. How could I show my face again after that?”

Kairi cupped Namika’s cheeks, forcing her to look her in the eyes.

“Nami, I never held it against you, yeah. If you only had just-”

“Mama, you know her already?” Both women jumped, looking down to Sakura; the girl was confused by the conversation, but was at least glad they knew each other. Namika wiped at the moisture gathered in her eyes, and moved away from Kairi, crouching down to Sakura’s level.

“Sakura, honey, Kairi was… mama’s special person for a long time when I was younger.” Namika smiled, playing with Sakura’s hair, “I loved her like I love your father.” Sakura’s eyes grew wide, and she looked between her mother and Kairi before grinning.

“You can love more than 1 person like that?? That’s awesome, mama!” Namika and Kairi both laughed softly to themselves, before Namika stood back up and turned towards Kairi.

“Would you like to come in for tea, Kai?” Sakura watched as Kairi’s eyes softened at her mother’s invitation, and smiled to herself. Kairi was kind, Sakura knew she had been right.

“Yeah, I think I’d really like that Nami.”

Katsumi came home to 2 women roaring in laughter, and his tiny toddler practicing flips.

Sakura’s dance training with Kairi began the next day.

_____________________________

It is the seventh month of their stay in Iwagakure when Sakura gets her seal. Namika and Katsumi had decided it be best to wait a few months to let Sakura’s chakra coils develop naturally before sealing her chakra.

The seal Namika eventually paints onto Sakura’s skin is her own personal blood based seal; it’s designed to be a chakra suppression matrix, but Namika has tweaked it for her daughter in a way that will allow her natural reserves to grow, while remaining suppressed. It is located down the middle of her back, easily hidden by her clothes.

Namika’s own seal is located on the roof of her mouth, and Katsumi’s is placed on the underside of his left arm. Sakura doesn’t know how long they’ve been there, but she feels almost like a ninja when they tell her that they trust her to know about it.

So the next time she sees Deidara after getting her seal, she nearly tackles him.

“Dei-chan, I’m gonna be a-a ninja!”

Deidara grins widely, and squeezes her with all his 6 year old might.

“You can do it, Kura, yeah!”

The encouragement of her only friend is all the motivation Sakura needs. Her mother gives her a small blue notebook to keep notes in; and then Deidara starts showing her the katas they’ve been learning at his academy. The stances are well balanced, movements meant to help keep you close to the ground; she draws diagrams and basic instructions for all of them, and then seperate ones for the dances she’s learned from Kairi over the last few months. It’s during one such little training period that Sakura asks Deidara why he wants to be a ninja.

“I wanna be the leader of the explosion corps! My mom-Well, my mom, she was the leader but, uh something happened, yeah.” Deidara tried to smile, and rubbed the back of his head, “But mostly, I just want people to respect me, and my art, yeah.”

Sakura broke her stance and wrapped her skinny arms around Deidara’s waist before giving him a big grin.

“People’ll respect you Dei-chan, I just know it! You’ll be great!” Her face turned thoughtful, “but what’s the explosion corps? How come you never told me about your art??”

A little shyly, maybe even a little fearfully, Deidara held his hand up, and Sakura’s eyes widened when the skin parted and a mouth smiled at her. She snatched Deidara’s hand, making the boy jump, as she studied the mouth in his hand. It had teeth, and a tongue and everything!!

“Dei-chan this is amazing!!!”

Deidara stares at her for a second before ducking his head, using his hair to hide his face.

“Thanks, Kura. Would uh… would you maybe want to come to dinner tonight? My mom really wants to meet you, yeah.” The boy is scuffing his shoes in the dust, staring at his feet. Sakura can’t help the grin that spreads over face.

“Of course Dei-chan! I’ll have to ask my mama though!” Deidara looked up at her, something almost like surprise on his face, before he smiled a bit and nodded.

“Yeah, and I’ll go with you to ask!”

She smiled up at him, before grasping his hand, and pulling him towards the sandbox.

“Come on, let’s play!”

_____________________________________

Namika tells Sakura to make sure she is home before 9, and with her approval, she and Deidara race off, with him leading her through the streets. Sakura notes that it’s not actually very far from the park, or market.

“So how have your dance lessons been, Kura? You never talk about them, yeah.” Sakura smiled a bit to herself, playing with the hem of her shirt.

“They’ve been good. My teacher’s really talented.” She purposefully hadn’t spoken to Deidara about Kairi that much. If she was being honest, it was really nice to not have to share the older woman’s attention. Kairi was strong in ways Sakura admired, just like her mother. It was selfish of her, but the idea of selfishness itself was fairly new to her anyway.

Deidara nods as he holds open the front door of a carved stone building.

“That’s good, yeah. You deserve a good teacher.” He lights up as they head up a flight of stairs to the second story of apartments, “Hey! Ya know, my mom dances too, and she’s really good. Maybe she can give you some tips too, yeah!” Sakura smiles and nods enthusiastically.

“Sure! That’d be great, Dei-chan!” They stop in front of a door, and Deidara digs a tiny key out of his pockets; unlocking the door, the 2 children step inside, and begin removing their shoes.

“Mom! I brought Kura-chan for dinner like you wanted, yeah!” Sakura places her shoes in the cubby, a small smile on her face.

“Finally, yeah! I thought I was gonna have to wring your little neck, kid.” Recognizing the voice, Sakura turns around with wide eyes in time to see Kairi walk out of the kitchen and into the front hallway. The woman’s eyes grow wide before she grins. Sakura smiles, and flings herself forward into Kairi’s waiting arms.

“Kairi-chan! You’re Dei-chan’s mama??” Kairi laughs, squeezing Sakura in a hug.

“Well, color me surprised, yeah.” She grins over at Deidara, who seemed smug, “You didn’t tell me your little friend ‘Kura-chan’ was actually Sakura, you stinker.” Deidara grinned cheekily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, yeah!” Sakura turned to look at Deidara with a grin.

“Dei-chan, you knew your mama was my teacher?” Deidara nodded, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Yup! Mom started talking about a little pink haired kid she was teaching, and well, uh…” His cheeks grew kind of pink as his arms dropped from behind his head, and he rubbed his cheek sheepishly, “There’s only one person with pink hair that I know, yeah.”

Sakura looked between Deidara and Kairi, noticing the similarities between the 2 now that they were in the same room; how could she not have seen it earlier? With a smile, Sakura reached over and grabbed Deidara’s hand, pulling him into the hug that Kairi had her cradled in. Sakura has only felt safer when with her parents, and she knows that she will love these 2 people for the rest of her life.

Dinner is a boisterous affair, with lots of talking and laughter, and Sakura can’t help but think that one day, when she’s a ninja herself, that she wants to gather all of her precious people under one roof for a big dinner like this. She grins secretly into her food while Deidara regales them with a tale of his from the academy.

She never wants this moment to end.

_____________________________________

It is just 3 weeks later, the middle of January, when her mother tells her they have to leave within the next week.

This time, Sakura cries; and that’s how Deidara finds her.

He takes the news about as well as she did, but Deidara valiantly holds off his tears; he’s already learned shinobi don’t cry. Not even when their best friend is leaving.

Sakura holds his hand while she gets control of her breathing, and rubs furiously at her eyes. “I’m-I’m gonna write you all the tah-time, Dei-chan, I promise. I’m gonna need-need your address though…”

Deidara nods, rubbing at his own eyes, before he grabs Sakura’s notebook and flips to an unmarked page. He scrawls his address across the top of the page before he hands it back to her.

“Here, Kura.” A wobbly grin stretched his lips, “But how am I gonna send you stuff, yeah?”

With a gasp, Sakura dug her hand into the pocket of her little pants, and produced a small scrap of paper. Deidara took it, examining it, and finding an address written in an elegant script.

“My mama says that you-you can send things here! My daddy checks it a lot since we don’t have a real house, and it’s the only way to con-con-tact our customers.” She smiled even as more tears slipped down her cheeks, “This way, when I become a really strong ninja, we can still be friends!”

Deidara nodded, stuffing the paper in his own pocket, and wrapping Sakura in a hug.

“I gotta make sure to teach you lots before you go, yeah. Oh! I can help you with the henge!”

Sakura gasped, “You-you think I could do it?”

Deidara nodded, his blonde hair shaking, “Definitely, yeah! I’ve never heard of someone unlocking their chakra so early. You’ve probably got great control, or something, yeah!”

Throwing her fist in the air, Sakura cheered, “If Dei-chan says so, I gotta try! Let’s do it!”

By the time Sakura is leaving, she can change her hair color like Deidara, and her mother is blown away at how well she does it. Deidara comes to see her one last time, right before she leaves, just after his mother has left. Kairi had come to see them off before being called away by the red haired man named Roshi. Sakura couldn’t help but feel sad for Kairi since it was obvious she didn’t want to see them leave.

“Oi, Kura, wait!”

Sakura turns from where she is helping her parents load up their wagon, and smiles as she sees Deidara running up to her. She runs to meet him.

“Dei-chan!”

Deidara bends over at the waist, his breaths coming in short huffs, before he straightens up and grins at her.

“Man, I really need to work on my stamina, yeah! I’m glad you’re still here Kura, I’ve got your gifting present for you!” He digs in his pocket before pulling out 2 objects, and Sakura gasps.

Both objects are white and plain, but Sakura is blown away by what she sees. One of them is a little white pendant of hardened clay with a bird etched into it; the detail is startling. The other one though, is super amazing.

“Dei-chan, I didn’t know you could make your art come to LIFE!” The little clay spider is about the size of the palm of her hand, and Sakura doesn’t flinch when it jumps to her arm and looks at her curiously. She smiles at it, and strokes its little back, noticing that the clay is still damp. “Hi little friend~! You’re really cute.”

Deidara coughs, and clears his throat, and Sakura looks back at him; he’s red again.

“That’s uh, one of the things I can do with my art, yeah. That little guy is gonna be your bodyguard from now on!” He gives her a wide grin, “Since I can’t be there to protect you, this guy will.” For a moment he grows a little serious, “If someone ever tries to hurt you Kura, give the spider a little chakra, throw it at somebody, and say Katsu, yeah. It’s got my chakra in it, so using yours will act as a catalyst.”

Sakura looked at him, a little horrified, “But I don’t wanna throw him at someone Dei-chan! He’s my precious friend!” Deidara laughed a little, and grinned at her again.

“Don’t worry, Kura, that’s what the pendant is for, yeah. As long as you’ve got it, these little guys can find you. If you have to use it, I can always send you another!” He stretched his arm out towards her, and his smile turned a little tight; his eyes were misty. “Until next time, yeah?”

Sakura grasped his forearm in her own for a moment, before pulling him to her in a hug.

“I’ll miss you, Dei-chan. Be great, ok?”

Deidara returned the hug tightly, “I’ll miss you too, ya big baby. Try to do some growing up while you’re gone, yeah?” Sakura laughed into his chest as she pulled away, and looked at him with watery eyes.

“I will, and then I’ll kick your butt, Dei-chan!” Deidara laughed, and ruffled her hair.

“We’ll see about that, yeah! I’ve already got a head start on you, ya know!” They laughed together again, and Sakura’s father walked over, a small smile on his lips.

“Sakura, it’s time to go.” Sakura’s smile fell, and she looked between her father and Deidara, before grasping Deidara’s hands with her own.

“Friends forever, right?” She asked, her voice a little shaky. Deidara nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Definitely, yeah.”

Sakura hugged Deidara one last time before turning and climbing into her family’s wagon.

Katsumi glanced down at the boy his daughter had befriended, and smiled a bit to himself when the boy flushed and looked away.

“You have been good to my daughter, and you have my respect. You will make a fine shinobi one day, Deidara-kun.” With that, Katsumi turned and walked away, leaving Deidara standing there a little shocked. Katsumi boarded the wagon without another word, and Deidara watched as it set off. With a sigh, he turned and began walking away.

“Dei-chan!!”

Deidara turned in an instant to see Sakura waving something out the back of her wagon; a smile was on her face, and before he knew it, Deidara was running to catch up.

“This is for you! Sorry it’s not much! I’ll see you again one day! Bye!” So saying, Sakura released the red and gold ribbon, and Deidara jumped to catch it before the wind could steal it. Holding it in his hand, he looked from the ribbon to the departing wagon; his throat constricted tightly, and he raised his arm in a frantic wave.

“Thanks Kura! Be safe!”

With a smile, Sakura ducked back into her wagon, and Deidara watched as it rode out of the village border and then out of sight.

He did not wipe his tears away.

And he wouldn’t let his friend down.

______________________________________

Her mother says they’re going to Kirigakure next, and Sakura wonders why both of her parents look so tense. Their postures are stiff like rocks, and their eyes are sharp like they’ll cut her; they still smile and laugh with her, but Sakura is pretty sure her parents are… worried.

She doesn’t like it.

“Papa, why do you look like that?”

Her father looks at her in surprise before he laughs softly, his white hair falling back. Katsumi smiles at her, and gestures Sakura closer. She steps up to him, and he lifts her to the bench to sit next to him at the front of the wagon.

“What do you mean, petal?”

Sakura struggles with her words for a moment before deciding that asking straight out is best.

“Mama and you look all stiff. It’s uh, like… like the rocks form Iwa.” She looked up at her father, and seeing his confusion, amends her words, “It’s like you’re scared of the monsters under your bed.” Katsumi chuckles again and ruffles Sakura’s hair. Then he sighs, and pulls Sakura close to his side.

“Well, you know your mother is from Uzushio, yes?” Sakura nods, “Though she is not an Uzumaki, your mother’s family, the Nobi, were very influential in Uzushio. They were one of first clans wiped out when the island was attacked. The nation that led the attack on Uzushio was Kiri. Kiri was also the nation who killed my own clan; though really that was my clasmen’s fault.” Sakura turned to look up at her father with an exasperated look.

“But then why are we going there papa?? I don’t wanna!” Katsumi nodded with a sigh, hugging her close to him.

“Yes, we’re not fond of the idea either. But that’s where we must go so we can continue selling our things, my dear.” A small grin spreads over his face, “Plus, it will do you well to soak up as much knowledge from them as you can. The more knowledge you have, the better off you will be.” Sakura nodded, still not liking the idea of being in this Kiri village, but willing to accept it.

“Papa, will you tell me about your clan? Mama’s told me a lot about hers, but I don’t know much about yours.” Katsumi is silent for a moment, before he sighs and kisses the top of Sakura’s head.

“Once we are at the coast of Fire country, I will tell you; but not today, petal.” Sakura pouted, but she nodded.

It took them a total of 2 weeks travel to reach the coast.

And Sakura learns where her mother used to be called Nobi Namika, her father was once called Kaguya Katsumi.

#fanfic #Haruno Sakura centric #my fic #my writing #naruto fanfic

57 notes · View notes

diinofayce · 6 years

Text

Finger Painting - 6

This is for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction ‘s 3k Follower Writing Challenge! Congratulations on the followers and thank you for all the amazing stories. I’m going to make this a series, I’m not sure how long yet. I’m just gonna go for the ride and see where it takes us.

Pairing: College!Artist!Steve Rogers x Reader | College A/U, Non-canonical | Word Count: 2k | Warnings: some angst mostly fluff, unedited| A/N: sorry for the long wait and the shorter chapter. I’m feeling very overworked and burnt out lately| PREVIOUS CHAPTER

The coming week had been hard on everyone involved. Wanda was cleared to come home the day after the accident but Bucky was being forced to stay through at least the week. Wanda had been plagued with chronic migraines and had been back to the doctor a handful of times to get medication switched around until they finally found something that worked well enough for her. You weren’t sure how Bucky was even really holding up, the only person he was letting into his room was Steve and you hadn’t seen much of him either. The only contact you’d had with him had been the few PDFs of illustrations he’d sent to your school email for the project.

You sat in your living room with Natasha and Wanda, Wanda had her head in your lap and you were gently running your fingers through her hair and over her scalp in an attempt to sooth the headache she was overcome with currently. Natasha was curled up in their over sized and duct taped patched armchair, pouting as she stared out the window at the beautifully sunny day. She would normally be at volleyball practice and you weren’t sure what she was more bummed out about, not actually being able to be active in the sport she loved or not having an excuse to hang out with the coach she loved.

“Steve says Bucky is coming home today,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence that had engulfed the room.

“That’s good, I’m sure Barnes has been going nuts cooped up in the hospital room.” Nat said absentmindedly, a heavy sigh leaving her lips as she raked her fingers through her deep red hair.

“We should make brownies or something,” Wanda murmured, her eyes squeezed shut against the small bit of light that filtered in through the blinds. Natasha’s eyes flitted over to her friend before she stood and shut the blinds the rest of the way, cutting the light out of the room entirely.

“Bucky didn’t even want to see us at the hospital, he sure as hell doesn’t want us bringing him welcome home brownies,” Natasha answered venomously. You knew she was feeling put out from Bucky refusing to see them, Natasha had gone every day hoping he would just let her up to see him but to no avail.

“Nat,” you said softly, trying to calm her. “You know he just feels guilty and depressed. The accident lost him his arm and his scholarship, he’s worried he made you lose yours, and he’s worried Wanda is going to suffer for the rest of her life. He just needs time.”

“None of that is his fault!” Natasha argued, raising her voice slightly until Wanda noticably winced and Natasha reeled back looking at the two of you sheepishly. “He was stone sober that night, he didn’t have a drop of anything alcoholic. The asshole didn’t even have his lights on, there was nothing Bucky could have done.”

You nodded and patted Wanda’s shoulder softly so she could move and let you stand up. You crossed over to Natasha and took her hands in yours. “We can tell him that until we’re blue in the face, but if you were in Bucky’s place would you react any differently?”

Natasha sighed again and squeezed your hands. “No. I’d probably be worse,” Natasha admitted and you smiled sadly.

“We know,” you agreed teasingly, a light smile on your face. Natasha chuckled and pushed you away.

“Let’s make some fucking brownies.”

You got Wanda her medicine and a glass of water before getting to work with your roommates on a couple batches of brownies. It was nice and felt normal, like before the accident. The three of you turned on music softly in the background and even though it was much quieter than it normally would be, to take Wanda’s headache into consideration, you all still argued over what Pandora station to listen to like normal. It wasn’t abnormal for some sort of food fight to break out when they were all in the kitchen. Wanda had started it, tossing a small pinch of flour into Nat’s hair when Nat accidentally got melted chocolate on Wanda’s shirt. By the end of them making brownies there was more flour covering their kitchen and themselves than were actually in the brownies.

As the brownies baked in the oven the three of you set to work cleaning up your mess.

“Did you say Bucky lost his scholarship?” Wanda asked suddenly, looking up with you in confusion.

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah, Steve mentioned it in one of his emails. Said that’s one of the reasons Bucky is so depressed, he might not be able to come back to school next year.”

Natasha stopped wiping down the top of the refrigerator and looked at you. “Okay, first off, you and Steve are just speaking through emails? Are you not even texting? And secondly, how can they do that? Like, I understand taking the sports scholarship so that money is open for someone else, but how could they not give him some other sort of scholarship? Or like, some grants?”

You shrug and shake your head. “I have no idea how any of it works. But from what I got from Steve he’s going to have to apply for loans and stuff to be able to come back to school.”

“That’s bullshit,” Nat swore, turning back to her task at hand.

“Sam was saying that some of the bioengineering professors have been working on a prototype prosthetic for Bucky. Professor Stark has been working on line of medical prosthetics anyway and offered Bucky a free prototype,” Wanda said softly, scrubbing a splatter of chocolate off the door of the microwave.

You hummed in acknowledgment while sweeping the flour off the floor into a dust pan. The three of you continued to clean in silence, both Natasha and Wanda eventually having to take a break and go lay down for a bit. As you were pulling the brownies out of the oven you heard a soft knock come from your front door. Turning off the oven and leaving the brownie tin on a rack to cool you wiped your hands on your pants as you went to open your door.

“Oh! Hey neighbor,” you exclaimed in surprise at finding Steve at the other side of your door. “Did you bring Bucky home already?”

You stepped back to let Steve slip inside, he nodded with an exhausted sounding sigh. Closing the door behind him you followed him into your living area and sat next to him on the couch. You were selfishly delighted to see him, you hadn’t the entire week and you didn’t want to admit how much you missed him. You took a hard look at him, his blond hair dull and greasy, dark bags under his eyes, his clothing rumpled like he had been wearing the same outfit for more than a day.

“He came home last night, actually, but he was up all night with nightmares of the accident. I was up all night with him, Sam is staying with another classmate for the time being,” Steve explained running his hands over his face.

You reached forward and placed your hand on his knee, rubbing it softly in reassurance. “You’re a good friend, Steve. Bucky will be okay.”

A pink flush rose on Steve’s cheeks and he cleared his throat, threading his fingers with yours. “Yeah, thanks. Sorry I’ve been out of touch.”

You squeezed his hand and pulled back to stand and make your way to the kitchen. You started a pot of coffee and cut both of you a square of brownie. “You don’t have to apologize, Steve. I knew what was going on and to be honest I’ve been pretty busy with Natasha and Wanda as well,” you responded, bringing him a warm brownie on a napkin. He took it gratefully while looking a little abashed.

“How are they doing?” Steve asked taking a bite of the chocolate cake and groaning with approval. “This is so good.”

You laughed softly and took a bite of your own. “Thanks, they’re Wanda’s recipe. They’re doing about as good as can be expected. Wanda is getting a couple major headaches a day and Natasha is going stir crazy. Both had nightmares for a few days, but they seemed to have died down a bit.”

Steve leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, setting the brownie on his leg. “Buck has so much phantom pain, he’s maxed out on the pain medicine. I’m hoping that getting a prosthetic will help, but I have no idea how that works. Professor Stark was talking about attaching a permanent one to like his actual nerves and muscle tissue.”

You crossed your legs under you and rested your elbow on the back of the couch, your head leaning on your hand. “My brother just had a fiberglass leg that he took on and off, he still had phantom pain, but he always said the phantom itching was the worst.” You sighed, remembering the anger and the random outbursts your brother would have when he came home from his tour.

Steve opened one eye first to look at you, licking his lips before turning and looking at you fully with concern. “You’re speaking in past tense,” Steve noted and you pursed your lips, nodding slowly your hair falling in front of your face.

He had been honest with you about his mother, it was only fair. “Yeah, PTSD got the better of him. It’s way too common in returning soldiers and it isn’t addressed enough.” You took a deep breath and locked your eyes with his sea blue ones, you knew if you weren’t careful you’d drown in them. “It’s not easy taking care of someone with PTSD, either, though. You have to remember to take care of yourself.”

Steve looked at you sadly, knowing exactly how it felt to lose a family member and he scooted a bit closer to you subconsciously. He wanted to comfort you, and seek his own comfort in you, but he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. He smiled ruefully as you expressed your concern for his wellbeing, he could never get over how endlessly kind and patient you were. He admired how the next day after the accident you had taken it upon yourself to get a hold of everyone’s professors and the Dean, how you called the courts and explained what was happening and managed to get the court date for the incident with Brock pushed back. In the face of everything that was happening you were taking care of the girls and still able to worry about him.

“Bucky took care of me after my mom died and I had nothing. If I just let him be-” Steve started but you cut him off.

“I’m not saying don’t help take care of Bucky. I’m saying get some sleep and take a damn shower. You smell,” you teased, smiling brightly. Steve looked at you with a shocked surprise before breaking out in laughter. It felt good to laugh, it had felt like hadn’t done it in an eon.

You leaned finished your brownie and wiped the crumbs off of your shirt. “So, I have an idea to help Bucky get money to stay in school. How would you feel about changing directions with our project?”

#dragon's3k3c #steve rogers x reader #college au #college steve rogers #artist steve rogers #steve rogers fandom #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #avengers #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic

103 notes · View notes