pairing: sasori x sakura
prompt: soulmate au where you are colorblind to a specific color until you meet your soulmate
genre: light angst // unrequited feelings // drama
word count: 1,685
summary: “Deep down inside, don’t you want to be like me?” No. No, she did not want to be like him. She would never be like him.
a/n: I have no idea where this came from, but I am all about the angst right now and this pairing seemed perfect for it. This story is unbeta’d so any mistakes are my own. I hope you all enjoy!
Since the day Sakura Haruno was born, she cannot see the color red.
And it’s a pity, really, because despite being able to wear her family crest in any variation of shade, Ino insists that she compliment the Haruno emblem with red because absolutely nothing else would match her bottle green eyes and bubblegum pink hair.
So, Sakura puts all of the trust that her little ten-year-old body could muster into her best friend and they go to the store together, sifting through the clothing racks, pulling out different tunics and blouses that are nothing but boring, dull shades of gray in Sakura’s eyes.
But, it will work out in the end because eventually, she will meet her soulmate and as soon as she looks them in the eye, all the varying shades of crimson, red, and garnet will bleed back into her life, and it’ll be just perfect.
Because that’s what soulmates are: perfect.
And everything will be right in the world, just like in those stories that her mother tells her about.
…Right?
-o-
They learn about the history of soulmates in the academy.
Iruka-sensei shares with them a vague history of it all; too many adages about humanity and hubris. About how mankind was always too selfish for their own good and the greed that had festered over the years could have been the potential cause of it all.
The absurd thing is, not a single one of those proverbs or sayings could accurately describe why it happened or where it began. Did the gods craft this for them? Was this a punishment? A gift?
No one had the correct answers. Whatever is written in scrolls and textbooks over the last century are assumptions and attempts at categorization. They can only learn from the past and what is going on in the present, what happens in the here and now, and write their own version of the events in journals in hopes that it might help others in the future.
There are a few things that they do know for sure:
It is possible for one to never to find their soulmate.
If one soulmate dies, the other is not necessarily subject to the same fate.
And, it is different for everyone; how soulmates are discovered, found, and chosen. More often than not, it depends on the region that one is born into.
In Konoha, they are color blind to a specific hue.
In Iwagakure, they feel their soulmate’s pain, sometimes sharing the same scars of past missions and battles.
In Suna, there is a black spot marring the skin where their soulmate is supposed to touch them for the first time. After the initial contact, it fades back into their bodies as if it were never there in the first place.
When their introductory lessons are over, Sakura can’t help but feel a little relieved.
She doesn’t think that she would particularly like a physical mark maiming her skin or some ambiguous words etched into her arm that may or may not lead her to the person she would spend the rest of her life with.
She may be biased more towards her village for obvious reasons, but overall, she doesn’t mind being blind to shades of red because there will be no doubt when the time comes.
When those new colors dance into her vision, Sakura will know precisely who her soulmate is, and they can be together without any misgivings or uncertainties.
-o-
Over the years, things change. People, places, and settings. They all change.
Long gone were the academy days and her dreaming of the infinitely perfect meet-cute with her soulmate.
It’s not to say that Sakura hates the idea of soulmates. That’s the exact opposite, actually. She cares a little too much, and there are far too many instances throughout her childhood in which she had been so bitterly envious of those around her who found their soulmates easily.
TenTen and Neji have been together for years, even before the academy, and for Naruto, all it took was one quick look at the stuttering Hinata before his screeching of, “I finally know what color the sky is! Dattebayo!” was heard around the village.
She knew that people felt sorry for her – mostly her parents and Ino – and that was because, with the more time that passed, Sakura became increasingly aware that her soulmate was most likely not a member of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.
Though one’s soulmate didn’t necessarily have to be a member of the same village, it’s a commonality that occurs more often than not, and she can’t help but feel horribly cheated by the discovery.
Sakura puts a lot of time into becoming a strong shinobi after that. With Naruto’s departure for further training and Sasuke’s defection, it was time for her to put silly dreams aside and work on becoming stronger.
Though she tells herself she’s putting all of her time into drills, lessons, and hospital work to be able to hold her own – to show Naruto and Kakashi that she deserves to be a member of Team Seven, to bring Sasuke home – there is always that traitorous little voice in the back of her mind which whispers to her late at night.
It tells her that the stronger she becomes, the more missions she can take, and the further she can go.
And, maybe, just maybe, she can find her soulmate along the way.
-o-
She doesn’t sleep much over the course of those two and a half years.
If anyone asked, Sakura blamed it on her rigorous tutelage under Lady Tsunade and not on the gnawing loneliness that ached in her chest.
-o-
When Naruto comes home, things get easier.
Sakura breathes easier.
And though the desire to find her soulmate still weighs heavily on her shoulders, Sakura still has her friends, family, and her team.
Things just feel so overwhelmingly right when they complete that bell test for the second time that, if only just for a moment, Sakura believes even if she were to never meet her soulmate, she’ll turn out just fine.
-o-
It isn’t long after, that Gaara goes missing.
What starts off as a day filled with her reprimanding Naruto because he couldn’t and wouldn’t pick a mission for their team due to his stubbornness and desire for a sense of danger, turns into them running through the dry, arid Suna desert with such desperation that it’s almost painful.
And this…
This.
In a country that is not her own, amongst enemies that are trying to capture and kill a friend, is where she finds her soulmate.
Sakura doesn’t realize it at first, because when she and Lady Chiyo force themselves through walls made of rock and stone, he is hidden inside a puppet.
But after, when she smashes that same puppet down to splinters and slivers of wood, he emerges with nothing but a cold, cruel smirk on his face and contempt in those gray eyes.
Her world shifts on its axis.
Lady Chiyo is taken aback by the fact that he looks as if he hasn’t aged more than a day since she last saw him.
And Sakura…
Sakura is lost in the vivacity of his short, mousy red hair.
-o-
Sasori has no outward reaction to her and Sakura later finds out that is because he no longer has a human body.
“My heart is just like this body,” he tells them.
Emotionless. Cold. Hollow.
If Sakura felt embittered in her younger years, it’s nothing in comparison to the spitefulness she feels now. It is not fair. The chance of having a real relationship with her soulmate is stolen out from underneath her feet without her even realizing it.
Fleetingly, she wonders where his soulmark was on his original body. Just where had the black spot been that announced him as her own?
She doesn’t have time to ask, to divulge further into the madness that is Sasori of the Red Sand.
There is a fight to win and a Kazekage to save, and Sakura is nothing but a conundrum of animosity, resentment, and unhinged loathing.
She fights and defends and bleeds – has blood always been that dark? – and Sakura gives all that she has to give to keep herself and Lady Chiyo alive.
She can’t tell him; she won’t tell him because this was the path he chose. He is no longer human, and though she would like to believe that Sasori is capable of redemption, Sakura knows better than to let herself think that he wants to be redeemed.
“I’ve killed hundreds of people,” he sneers when they have him trapped, his core impaled. “She would be no different from the rest.”
And Sakura believes him, but she isn’t scared of him. Not like this.
“Deep down inside, don’t you want to be like me?”
No.
No, she did not want to be like him. She would never be like him.
-o-
As Sakura watches the last remnants of life drain from his emotionless eyes, a part of her dies along with him.
And silently, she weeps for herself, for Sasori, and for the injustice of it all.
But mostly, she just cries because she was never given the chance to get to know him.
-o-
Over the next few years, there are a few select people that she tells.
Her parents hold her close, worried for what is to become of their daughter.
Naruto and Kakashi both give her pitying glances, but they do not change their attitudes with the knowledge. They will always be her surrogate family and they silently vow to never leave her side.
And Ino...
Sakura and Ino huddle together late one night and just cry. Earth shattering sobs and broken, pain filled wails that leave them feeling empty, but content when they are finished.
Sakura will be alright.
She will pull through.
-o-
In hindsight, Sakura really should thank Ino for forcing her to go shopping all those years ago.
Here’s my first contribution for MultiSakuMonth!
I wasn’t going to post anything for SasoSaku, but I got so inspired and I had this idea in my head and it took over. Please forgive any mistakes, I wrote it in a few hours. I’m not even sure it makes sense, but I pushed it out anyway.
Pairing: SasoSaku
Rating: M(ish)?
Words: 2,559
Her fists could break mountains while his puppets tore through a battlefield.
She would heal him, her touch gently caressing his skin.
She was refined, built and brought up exactly how he wanted her to be.
But — she was still her own person, a kinetic ball of energy that would lash out at the world in a hellfire mess of emotion.
As they fought together, an unstoppable duo, their game would start.
It was in her anger (especially towards him) that he found her most beautiful. Her eyebrows would scrunch and her face would twist as she fought her truth. Her beliefs were strong, so strong that sometimes she couldn’t contain herself. Her raw, viable emotions were painfully apparent, but it’s what made her endearing. Sakura Haruno always fascinated him, his fascination started the day she was brought to his lonely home when he was twelve, puffy faced and red-rimmed eyes from crying.
“Sasori, you’re in charge of this girl. She came from Konoha in the exchange unit program. I take it this won’t be an issue?” the Kazekage’s advisor questioned him, a mere child himself.
He looked over the…Pink haired girl.
She couldn’t have been much younger than him, maybe a year at most.
“Is she any good?”
The advisor handed over her file, “exemplary grades. Excellent chakra control. I can assume they wanted one less orphan to subsidize and sent her here.”
Sasori eyed her again, unimpressed. She was small, frail, boyishly thin, and didn’t look like she could harm a fly.
Though it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice.
“Fine.”
At first glance she looked like any other girl, but when he sat her down in the silence of his studio — she remained frigid and unresponsive, refusing to look at him. Sasori, with an apathetic face stood in front of her and found her beauty. Her eyes glimmered with a renewed vigor for life that wasn’t beat out of her yet, and her skin was remarkably clean and hued in the prettiest color of pink. Her button nose led to wide-cheeks and a dainty pointed chin. Silently, his eyes swept down her slim neck — her worn clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in a week, and he reached forward to skim the back of his fingers against her shoulder.
She didn’t budge, but swallowed.
“Don’t be scared,” he tried to reassure her, for reasons beyond him.
Sakura looked at his dozens of paintings and half worked sculptures, but her eyes rested on the two puppets under his studio lights.
Her gaze was stuck there in wonder, and she asked him a question that changed his entire perception of her, “…those your parents, aren’t they?”
The normally stoic child doubled back from this foreign girl, in awe that she picked up on it so quickly.
She turned to look at him, sympathy for him abundant in her face, when she was the one scorn to the desert by her village.
Sasori saw a new girl in front of him, one with such high perception and intelligence he was thoroughly impressed.
“Take your shirt off,” he commanded.
Sakura tilted her head, but his serious expression forced her to reconcile with the request.
When she did, her bandaged chest was minimal — and he memorized her body.
Perfect.
“Sit still.”
He grabbed his sketchbook and pulled a stool in front of this odd girl.
And so he sketched the first drawing of hundreds that would litter their home.
Sasori of the Red Sand quickly found his muse that morning, which most artists search their entire lives for.
Their game was complex and simple all at once. An oxymoron in it’s purest form.
It started on their first meeting, where Sakura would impress him — and each time she impressed him he would gift her with something. Whether it be knowledge, a jutsu, healing, or affection — she strived to be the greatest. It helped mold her to his liking, and she took to this game eagerly — quickly understanding that she could become great. Like a pet eager to please it’s master, Sakura understood the terms of the game well. Most teachers wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like her, a fiery female that drew forth the best in people — even him. Her chakra control was all he needed. After an exasperating spar session on her thirteen birthday when she took him to the ground, the warmth between her thighs settling on him — he decided to teach her how to utilize her chakra to become explosive. It was a technique he witnessed Tsunade Senju use once, and as a legendary puppeteer he easily saw how she mended her chakra to be so destructive.
Like a fish in water, Sakura took to the method.
When she destroyed one of his puppets, he knew it had been the right decision.
They trained day in and out.
They became friends.
Sometimes he questioned the line of visibility that was their relationship.
He hated it, but he became thoroughly attached to Sakura.
He knew on her fifteenth birthday that…Changes were happening.
As an artist he was keen on details, and he could sculpt her body with his eyes closed — so when he noticed her breasts swell miraculously over night and her hips widen, it became distracting. When they would walk in the village men’s eyes would drag and linger as they passed. An odd, stuffy feeling grew in his chest — but he ignored it for the time being. That year he taught her how to create poisons and antidotes, which she learned with a guarded expression, wondering what she did to deserve such rare knowledge — something so precious to him.
“You’re acting funny,” she accused him, stopping her ministrations on the herbs.
“How so?”
“I didn’t do anything worthy of learning this. So I’m wondering why you’re teaching me this for free,” she didn’t play around with words like most women, and he was grateful for that.
“You did,” Sasori said calmly, turning to her, “you’re a woman now. I think that’s deserving enough.”
She scoffed at him, “that’s not only sexist, but annoying. Every female turns into a woman. Tell me the real reason.”
He didn’t want to tell her that he loved her, if that was the correct word.
Sasori wasn’t sure what love really was, maybe he saw a glimpse of it as a child — but he found himself in an odd predicament. As an artist he found his muse, but as a man there was a new emotion that he was trying to overcome that he didn’t fully understand. This confusion became painfully transparent when he heard her the other night making odd noises, and when he crept over to inspect — her door was cracked open, and on her futon she had one hand in her shorts and the other in her shirt, playing with herself.
He wasn’t acquainted with women, he didn’t find the use in sexual activity — it seemed too distracting and impractical, so this was new for him to see.
And the cheeky girl knew he was there, she flicked her gaze to the door, and he swore in the moonlight he could see the barest smirk on her face. His member stirred to life, and he watched his subordinate touch herself. Slowly, and in pure fascination, he licked his palm and gripped himself beneath his pants. They masturbated to the thought of each other — the only thing stopping them was a door, but the thrill of it was much more enticing.
“You knew I was watching you the other night,” Sasori continued working, stating it matter-of-fact.
Sakura blushed, clenching her thighs at the memory, “no—“
“Don’t lie to me,” this time he looked at her, eyes smoldering.
She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t find it in her to lie to him, “I did.”
“I didn’t take you for that kind of girl.”
“I’m not a lifeless puppet,” she threw at him, making him jostle in annoyance,“I’m human — and I’m going to have urges like any other person.”
He didn’t bait her anger any further, “that’s fine. And I was impressed by your bravado, hence why I’m teaching you my pois—“
“You liked watching me, didn’t you?” she leaned on the counter, smirk back on her face.
Sasori hated when she had the upper hand, and he looked away from her, “Sakura—“
“Just tell me, Sasori-sama,” she teased him, inching closer.
This wouldn’t do.
If this foreign brat thought she held power over him, he would make her think twice.
He kissed her.
She was sweet and fresh, like a mint tea in the dreaded summer months in this horrid village. And just like mint tea, she served as a refreshment, a small break in the longevity of his days when he wasn’t creating his pieces.
Fueled with years of repressed sexual urges, their hormones flared as he lifted her onto the work bench, her thighs hugged his middle and he pressed against her, nimble hands treading over her bare stomach. He could sense her fear, and he told her everyday to not fear anyone or anything, but her hesitation drenched the heat of the moment.
Both of their lips bruised, they relented their assault — wondering where this could lead.
“I…I need to go,” Sakura murmured before scooting off the table and leaving him for the rest of the day.
And with an unsightly hard on, at that.
Their game continued, but from that point on it morphed from him mentoring her, to how far they could test one another. They would each impress one another, and when that happened lust would glimmer in their eyes and they would find their hands and mouths sneaking over one another’s body later on, only to forcibly stop themselves.
They were saving that moment for a sublime test of their game.
The only time they weren’t playing the game was when she would sneak into his room late at night and cuddle beside him. Two teenagers used as weapons and tools for the sake of their village. Two people caught in a storm, unsure of where to go.
When they became partners, the game only intensified.
Paired as possibly the most lethal duo to emerge from Sunagakure — they were sent on reserved missions that a normal team couldn’t possibly take. When Konoha sent a letter requesting Sakura’s skills back in Konoha after hearing about her wide ranging success as a prominent kunoichi and healer, the Kazekage and council adamantly refused.
Part of him feared she would leave him, but he never said anything about it.
Which is why now — as she’s carrying him on her back, trudging their way through the sand dunes in the hundreds of miles of Sand country, the poison is seeping through his body and he’s slipping into unconsciousness.
“You better stay awake! I’ll kill you if you fall asleep!” her harsh voice berated him. Contrary to that, tears are slipping down her cheeks — she knows he doesn’t have much time left.
These memories come back to him after six years because he’s dying.
But Kami she looked beautiful, like a poised puppet that would be in his memory for eternity, she twisted and fought her way to him. Sakura was the picture of grace as blood covered her body, those eyes that came to him on the first day crying were flooded with worry for him. They managed to take down an army that was leeching their way to Suna. It wasn’t easy task but they managed to do it.
They saved their damnable village, but at what cost?
Sasori didn’t see the blade coming from one of the last remaining soldiers, and before he could stop it with his puppet, the kunai pierced his stomach.
It was a delayed poison because he didn’t realize he was sick until they were halfway home, caught in a sandstorm. With no medical supplies, no herbs, barely any water — they were stuck. So Sakura decided she would carry him through the storm all the way home.
When did he become so weak?
“That’s it,” she growled. Deciding enough was enough, Sakura set him down and reserved a minuscule amount of chakra in her fist to create a trench to dodge the storm.
He can’t remember much from this point because he’s half unconscious. But Sasori reached forward and touched her cheek, his thumb wiping the blood off of her lip, “I’m proud of you.”
Sakura ignores him, she understands what he’s saying — “this isn’t a game anymore!” she cries.
“It never was,” he admits.
The irony of him dying by a poison is laughable, some poison master he is -- but Sakura refuses to let go, “no! I’m going to get you home, I promise!”
She uses the last of her chakra to push it into his chest, her soothing chakra makes it easier to pass. But then came pain, a bright red flash of pain that made him sweat and see white as she pulled the poison out of him. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and the sharp, unforgiving pain of the extraction continues until he passes out.
Somwhere in his dreams he comes to realize where his life might have been if not for Sakura stepping through the door to his home. He would probably be a criminal by now, wanted by not only Suna but the shinobi nations, his name printed in the bingo book.
She saved him twice now, he figures.
When he comes to, he’s in their home.
Unsure of how he got there, he can hear Sakura humming in his studio.
Weakly, Sasori wonders if this is his after-life. He wouldn’t mind it, because being here with her is his haven. For all the men and people he killed, he’s being given a blessed afterlife.
But he knows he’s alive when he sees her meticulously working on his favorite puppets. The same ones that resembled his parents and held him for years when no one else did. Her hair is in a bun and she’s wearing her spandex and a sports bra to fight the insatiable heat, but she’s there and feels his presence.
Silently, he walks over and sits behind her.
Neither say a word.
The sight of the three most important things in his life could bring him to tears, and he’s bursting with so much pride he wants to tell her — but instead he rests his forehead on her shoulder and murmurs a small, “thank you.”
She’s contemplating his thanks and stops working on the puppet, “…it was never a game to you?”
Silence. Then he answers with a simple, “never.”
The innocence of her gasp perfectly captures the innocence she tries to hide.
He kisses her neck, her shoulder, her arm until goosebumps rise on her skin.
In his weakened state he wants to show her his form of love.
She sets down the puppets and turns to face him, tears ashen in her eyes, “…don’t ever leave me.”
Sasori closes his eyes ad breathes against her skin, “I won’t.”
In hindsight, he should have known when they took each other’s virginity it would be the day after her seventeenth birthday. They’ve played their game for years, but he didn’t want to play anymore. She was his master piece, his crescendo in a life of loneliness, and she proved herself time and time again.
Their bodies are tired and worn by the time they’re done, and in the glowing light of his studio she kisses his lips, naked and cuddled to his side, “we should run away.”
The idea piques his interest, and he smiles down at his devilish muse, “tell me when.”
Sakura climbs on top of him and straddles his hips, ready to go again, “tonight.”
She’s testing him, and Sasori realized that with Sakura, there will always be a game to play.
