hiiii can you please write sarada asking about the old team 7? ;_; i have team 7 feels.
AN: YES. this prompt kind of deviated, hahaha, but i wrote while thinking of this lovely artwork by @ssilcatt
“i did it for my team,” she murmurs in the mirror.
carmine eyes stare back at her. and this—this wouldn’t be such a surprise.
but she blinks, and her eyes pinwheel, and a black cherry blossom forms in the dead center of her eyes.
“for my team,” she whispers, again, touching the edge of the cool glass, the words lodged in her throat. “for my team.”
“papa,” sarada says later that evening, careful, even. “what was team seven like?”
he looks up from whatever scroll he’s reading, and assesses her silently. if she looks carefully, she can see hints of lilac in his left eye, and she swallows at the thought of cherry blossoms in the center of her own. “why?”
her hand is quick to hold up the photo of team seven as genin.
(team seven, who would grow up to save the world in the fourth shinobi war, frozen in time as twelve year olds with scowls and smiles and petulant brattiness.)
“i’ve only ever heard mama’s side of the story,” she explains, and taps a finger over her father’s scowl. “but never yours.”
“well,” papa says after a beat, accepting her flimsy excuse. he puts down his scroll, and sarada knows this is a cue to take the seat next to him. “i imagine what most of your mother has told you is true. what would you like to know?”
“most is true, yes,” she says, and she fiddles with the edges of the photo. “what…what did—what does—team seven mean to you?”
he considers this for a moment, and she pauses, takes in a breath. “family.”
family.
“you know that next to you,” papa says, and she continues to stare at the photograph, careful to mask the impact of his words, “your mother and the two other idiots in this photo matter the most to me.”
“yes,” she says. family, family, family. she traces over her father’s furrowed brows, and struggles to keep her voice level, light. “you don’t look particularly happy here, though.”
he snorts, and she sees a small, immeasurably fond smile form at the edge of his lips. she imagines it’s a smile that has to deal with time and growth and a depth she sometimes fears she will never be able to touch. “i agree,” papa says. “but, thankfully, things have changed now.”
she nods, and she thinks about the stories she knows in and out, from the seventh and mama and even the history textbooks they teach in the academy.
but she’s searching for something she can’t find right now—reassurance, maybe, a kind of safety—so she sits next to papa and lets out a breath.
“now,” he says, and sarada looks up at her father, watches the way the evening light rests on his back. “now, you know i would sacrifice the world for them, and for you.”
in her dreams, mitsuki and boruto bleed until a river of red runs over the grass. there’s the thick, coppery scent of it in the air, and sarada feels it pool around her ankles, feels the panic rise in her chest and her body turning because she needs to do something otherwise we’re dead, we’re done for—
“sarada!”
she wakes with a gasp, and there mama is, holding her shoulders. she goes to turn on the light, and sarada takes in a breath, squeezes her eyes shut until she knows they’re black again.
“sarada,” mama says again when she comes back, and puts her arms around her. mama has always been like this: warm, strong, firm. sarada clings to her, and knows there are tears on her face.
papa comes into the room too, and sarada feels his hand on her shoulder.
“shhh,” mama says, and she knows she’s crying now. “everything will be okay.”
papa’s arm wraps around her, and sarada doesn’t know how long they stay there like that, only knows that mama and papa hold her until her breathing slows and she falls back into sleep, eyes drifting shut.
family, sarada thinks until she can’t think anymore. this is family and they are family and we are all family.
i did it for my team.
boruto asks her how she’s doing a week later in the library, and sarada freezes.
“fine,” she says quickly, clipped, and he opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off. “you haven’t told anyone, yet, right?”
he nods, and she feels herself relax.
“whatcha reading there,” boruto says, after a silence, and he looks over the desk.
she closes the book, but not too quickly as to arouse suspicion. “nothing.”
“geez, sara-chan,” he says, and he looks into her eyes, sincere. she swallows, and resists the urge to blink. “you’re sure you’re okay.”
“sure,” she says, the lie leaving her easily. she also taps the back of her hardcover book, and another lie finds itself out of her. “leave me in peace to read about poisons, okay? otherwise i’ll start getting some ideas.”
“fine,” he says, and there’s his bright smile again. “see you later—training at three, right?”
“right,” she says, and she waits until he leaves to examine the fine print on the page again.
the most advanced stage of sharingan, the paragraph reads, is the mangekyo sharingan, an eye that grants users specialized abilities like kamui, amaterasu, and susanoo in addition to the sharingan’s normal powers.
although the uchiha have ultimate knowledge on their dojustu, it is generally acknowledged that the acquisition of the mangekyo is extremely rare and often done in terrible circumstances . it is an eye that many have killed for, even among family members, and that, with no doubt, many will continue to kill for.
associated with evil and power, the mangekyo is an eye shrouded in a dark, bloody history and clan family.
sarada leaves the library that day with an itch in her eyes, and an indisputable urge to vomit.
it’s a secret she keeps for the next two weeks. mama and papa both know something is wrong since she woke up that night crying, and sarada knows they’ll find out anyway, eventually.
she thinks about the possible situations that could reveal it—about konohamaru-sensei disclosing the mission report to her parents, about papa putting boruto in a genjutsu and seeing everything, about mama wheedling it out of mitsuki with clever wordgames.
and she dreams of situations when they’re all in trouble, when she has no choice but to invoke a terrible, consuming power to save them all again.
what she doesn’t suspect is the seventh intruding on her private training time.
“boo!” shouts a voice behind her after she’s just finished practicing her throwing, and sarada screams, curses, until she sees the seventh.
it’s just the hokage, she thinks, and she takes a breath, lets the shuriken drop out of her hand.
“sar—” the seventh pauses.
his eyes don’t leave her face, frozen, and they widen, fill with something akin to wonder and deep dread. sarada freezes, and realizes—
her mangekyo is still on.
she was practicing her shuriken throwing with her new eyes on a whim because she knew she’d be alone, and she was focusing so intensely she didn’t think anyone could come—this is bad, this is bad, this is very very bad.
the eyes the seventh knows her clan has killed for, the eyes she knows secretly papa never wanted her to have, the eyes she knows mama has to heal when they all too often lose control.
“please don’t tell them,” she says automatically, and she hates how shaky she sounds. sarada looks down, closes her eyes, feels things shift back. she looks up at the seventh, and takes in a breath. “don’t tell my parents.”
“you—“ the seventh says. his mouth is gaping. “the mangekyo, sarada.”
“i know,” she says, and she begins to clean her things up, feeling an irrational panic rise in her.
the shock on his face, the dread, that confirmed her worst fears—that these are the eyes of a monster, not welcome in her village, rooted in a bloody, dark history. and yes, papa has them, but how many taunts did she endure when she was younger, for having a traitor father? for having a father who left his team to pursue power, to pursue the eyes that could destroy nations?
these goddamn eyes, sarada thinks, and now she rides on a wave of anger.
these goddamn eyes, that let her kill for the first time on their last mission.
that evening, her team and the entirety of team seven is gathered at the uchiha home.
sarada comes out of her room in her uniform and sits opposite her parent’s team, opposite the titans that the world owes its current existence to. she folds her hands in her lap, and boruto and mitsuki both touch her shoulder briefly.
“what happened,” says the seventh, sans greeting, “in the last mission, sarada, that wasn’t in the report?”
“we were cornered,” she begins, and she feels boruto and mistuki nod beside her. konohamaru-sensei stands behind them, and she imagines the worry in his eyes.
“we were cornered,” she continues, taking a breath, “and my teammates were injured, badly. i was worried they would bleed out, and there were still three or so enemies. it was a trap. konohamaru-sensei had his own half of the ambush to deal with, so i was left alone with three rogues. one said she wanted my eyes.”
she doesn’t trust herself to look at her parents now, and she drops her gaze to her lap.
red rivers running over green grass.
“i knew i had to fight,” she says. “i—i thought my team and i would die. boruto and mitsuki continued to bleed, and i had to do something. for my team.”
she looks up, and feels her eyes pinwheel. “then this happened,” she says, and she feels team seven drink her appearance in. she feels the curiosity, the surprise, the hints of pain.
“flowers,” mama says, after the silence. her voice almost breaks. “cherry blossoms.”
sarada drops her gaze to her lap again, and nods. “cherry blossoms.”
“i killed them,” sarada says to her hands. “the rogues, i mean. i killed two of them with ameterasu, i think it’s called. then i extinguished the flames. the third one,” she says, and now her voice shakes, “was harder, but i managed with a chidori through her chest. the one that wanted my eyes. what happened on this mission, seventh, was that i acquired this new, terrible power, and i used it to kill three people.”
“sarada,” mama says, “you did it to protect your team.”
“yes,” she says. “but there are lots of ways i could have done that, that didn’t involve these eyes and flames that burn forever. i—i read about the history of these eyes. i know the people that have held them. uchiha madara, uchiha izuna, uchiha shin. and i know the ways people have acquired these eyes.”
“paths of tragedy,” kakashi oji-san says, and sarada nods.
“i am sorry for keeping this from the village,” she says, and she bows her head. “i—”
“there’s no need to apologize, sarada,” kakashi oji-san says, and she looks up. she sees how mama and papa and the seventh all stand tall, watching her without any judgement, and how kakashi oji-san smiles at her.
sarada pauses.
“this does complicate things for the village,” the seventh says, and he nods. “these eyes haven’t been seen since your father and kakashi-sensei. but what’s most important here is that you continue to grow like you have.
“this isn’t a tragedy, sarada—you did it for your team.”
you did it for your family.
sarada sees the old team seven gathered together, with mama in the middle like in the photograph from twenty years ago, and wants to cry at the sincerity in the seventh’s eyes.
“you did it out of love.”
the seventh lays down some ground rules after that—no one is to know of this yet, least of all anyone outside the village, the team is mandated to train together with sarada’s new skillset, and sarada herself will train with her father or kakashi oji-san to get a new grasp on her power.
the seventh leaves her with a fist bump, and kakashi oji-san ruffles her hair. her team promises to train tomorrow, and sarada is left sitting opposite her parents.
“you should have told us earlier,” papa says, gentle.
“yes,” she says, and she’s still in shock by how well they took all this. how when mama and papa heard, there was—there was no judgement, no shame in their eyes. there was no bloody, dark history that shrouded their faces—only a deep concern, from a deep love for their daughter.
sarada feels her shoulders begin to shake. “i’m sorry. i was scared. i know how these eyes have affected the uchiha’s past, and i had killed someone and i—”
“i’m sorry,” she whispers, tears dropping onto the fabric of her shorts after a silence, and her parents come to her side.
mama holds her too tight, and sarada buries her face into her neck. “you aren’t terrible, sarada,” mama says. “and your power isn’t terrible. there is no shame in this. you protected, and you fought, and you are brave and strong and good.”
“you are the first in the clan to awaken the sharingan out of love,” papa says, and sarada feels his hand on her back, resting over the crest the three of them share. “you are something amazing, sarada. someone the uchiha would have been, and are, immensely proud of.”
sarada can feel mama nodding, and she pulls away to wipe at her eyes.
“i’m sorry,” she says, and her parents take her hands.
“there is no shame or terror in this,” papa says. “you have your power, and you use it for good.”
“you use it for love,” mama says, and sarada senses this is a new history they are building—a history not built on power and killing and bloodline limits and all the trappings of a shinobi world, but on protection and family and love and a world infinitely more human.
when she looks at herself in the mirror again later that night, there is no fear or disgust when her eyes spiral.
she doesn’t see a monster or a weapon.
she sees a girl who loves, who has eyes the color of her father’s and the shape of her mother’s, who has something beautiful lodged in the center of her pupil.
pinkiddo replied to your post “i’m… still not over them having a baby together, sorry.”
saaaame but im also still not over that sasuke is a father.... We've always known that sakura has maternal instincts so sakura being a mother is no surprise... But they have this precious bean, and wow, his daughter calls him papa. PAPA. Papa ;____;
Yes, papa. I love it because it sounds more ‘soft’ than just saying dad. (In English, at least.)
pinkiddo said: btw is this conspuu
pinkiddo said: BTW CAN U INCLUDE THE OT3 SHOPPING SCENE
pinkiddo said: PLS CONTINUE WHERE IS THE PART 2 HEY CONTINUE
1) …. the lines blurred when i wrote the au fic. so maybe.
2) ANOTHER DAY PERHAPS.
3) POSTED
another the man from uncle au
note: this is for pinkiddo and okashiras. i spammed them slowly with this fic yesterday. pls enjoy. the little additions. ;A; and yes, i know if you squint, you’ve probably read the same situation from a different fic i’ve written before. :))
"what are you doing?"
it's already been too long; his index had been staying at the same point of her leg for five seconds. but his touch still burned like ice, as they skimmed the back of her knee. if it weren't for his uncomfortable expression that was nearly identical to her own, she would've accused that he was enjoying her discomfort.
his hand reaches the rise of her thigh.
"trying not to get..."
sasuke exhales, acutely feeling the warmth from his breath on her belly.
"lost."
their gazes meet. and his fingers trace a line through her skin, before she raises her red skirt a bit higher to assist him. his eyes widens a bit at her audacity, before he finally locates the switch with a shaking left thumb.
one press, and he withdraws slowly, before stating the obvious.
"you're trembling"
"i'm nervous." her voice shakes midway, as she meets his assessing gaze.
but she's never been this nervous around him, not even when he looked at her during that fateful night, the way he was so attuned to her movements, not even when he demonstrated how lethal he could be, with these same gentle hands that could crush her throat if he so wishes.
"sakura, you’ll be alright."
"how do you know that?" sakura snaps at him, real anger brimming at the seams, because she knows what will happen today.
today will not be okay. and...
sasuke doesn't know.
"i'll be close."
everything in that last look had tried to reassure her, followed a soft brush of that damned thumb across her cheeks, before uzumaki's timely interruption finished their little moment..
x
sasuke, you bastard, cool your head. i was fooled too!
no. this is different. he hisses, as he locks on the scope on the special-issued firearm, and rubs that thin band of silver on his ring finger. it's not the same.
x
"i told you,"
amidst her chattering teeth and pounding head, she can hear his words over her damp ear. he's been wounded, dragged and probably chased after her for more than twenty-four hours, yet he's here.
"it's going to be alright"
she's trembling, breathing through her mouth, tasting both mud and blood on her tongue. they were recovering from their latest skirmish, and he cradled her in the middle of a forest under a raging rainstorm.
“yeah?”
this is the first time that she ever felt safe.
“yeah.”
sasuke lifts her up, and anchors her feet back to the ground.
for pinkiddo because u thirsty
note: i just realized that cry to me was also used in the movie dirty dancing to jump on someone. oh, oh, oh. and that probably brought an epiphany
the third bottle of keglevich was already thrown to the bucket when she finally left him in peace.
still, her drunken pout. that empty shot glass, and the knot of her brows - as she glided ( well, tried to ) to their bedroom - made him wary. this flighty and careless behavior is typical of a young girl who had just discovered the world at large from the other side of the iron curtain.
and just as he moved the black knight across, he hears the first burst of sax and song, destroying whatever quiet he had established.
cover or not, sasuke is not playing this game. her game.
inside this room, sakura is his charge, not (never) his fiancee.
"it ain't fun to dance alone." the girl slurs, cat eyes peering beneath the tinted glasses. she’s still awkwardly swaying to the soulful croon, before she anchors herself with her hands on the tops of his arms. "i need a partner."
"no."
"you can't dance?" she tilts her head, bright curls coiling at her throat. "or you won't?"
"both."
"ah." her laugh is dry, tired, before curling her fingers over his loose fists."but you will."
=
sakura finally learns, as she receives a familiar engagement heirloom from her...partner that to seduce an irate, noble spymaster, one must annoy the hell out of him -
( "oh, you don't want to dance."
she takes off her shades, and her simmering frustration seeps through her glare.
"...but you want to wrestle?"
her smile turns feral, enjoying his sudden panic.
"wait, i did not say--")
- and smash his spine to the nearest mahogany table.
lilmikomiko and pinkiddo bringing back my feels for UNCLE because Illya is a giant hot piece of awkwardness I want to ship Illya and Gaby but I want Illya for myself help me huhuhu
