#fic!pinkhairedlily

[pinkhairedlily]

what did you ask for? (to be with you)

A GIFT FOR @canariie | AO3 LINK

Hitsugaya stares at her as if she’s speaking in tongues. He turns his attention back to the more scenic sight, missing the look Hinamori gives him. She’ll describe it as longing, in a much later time when they’re all grown up. Today, as they finish dinner with his grandmother, she’ll break the news. It will be the first time that he'll become uncomfortable with winter. His seasons, previously enjoyed with performative nonchalance, will lose color and comparatively feel dull than any others before.

“Hurry!”

Hinamori can barely keep up with Hitsugaya’s strong, nimble limbs. She might be older (if we assume by height), but their ages might not be too far apart for her to be breathless like this.

It’s the cold, Her exhale immediately gets lost in the curtain of thick fog. She relies on her feet and muscle memory and the numerous indentations left by fellow dwellers to not veer off the trail. At the peak, there is a statue, and while West Rukongai does not necessarily worship, there is a belief that the stones molded into shape will grant your prayers, only that you have to climb it on the first day of snowfall.

Which turned out to be in the negatives today.

And yet, Hitsugaya is conquering the cotton killer fluff with a sleeveless undershirt and blind faith. He is warm where she is cold, and this natural affinity to adapt in harsh conditions stirs a foreign envy in her.

“Slowpoke!” His voice almost a howl. “We need to get back before my afternoon nap!”

“Shut up!” She yells back. It’s her folly, she guesses, to miss the crevice and slip against the crack. It’s a steep fall, her mind registers. I’ll probably die.

Calloused hand thrusts out from the icy veil to grab her wrist, followed by a grin so cheeky it can only be from someone indomitable.

When they reached the top, his sight was first grabbed by the sea of clouds while hers was the statue. It was simply a pile of rocks stacked on top of one another in dubious balance, but it managed to weather the biting wind, as well as the gasping heat and the torrential rains that came seasons before. Hinamori held her head down and prayed to this resilient structure.

“What did you ask for?”

“Be like this statue,” she replies, a bit lost in thought, “despite the changes.”

Hitsugaya stares at her as if she’s speaking in tongues. “You should have asked for a good harvest and lots of watermelons!” He sticks out his tongue in usual childhood annoyance and turns his attention back to the more scenic sight, missing the look Hinamori gives him. She’ll describe it as longing, in a much later time when they’re all grown up.

But today, as they finish dinner with his grandmother, she’ll break the news. “I’m going to Soul Society.”

It will be the first time that Hitsugaya becomes uncomfortable with winter. His seasons, previously enjoyed with performative nonchalance, will lose color and comparatively feel dull than any others before.

When Rangiku, his future lieutenant and his would-be confidante, finally sniffs him out due to his uncontrollable reishi, Hitsugaya sets in plan his destiny in Seireitei. After all, Hinamori wasn’t the only one to make a wish to that statue on that day.

A childhood plea but a sincere intention all the same.

To be together, even for a little longer. Despite the changes.

—--------------------

“Do you have a gift for me, Captain Histugaya?” Rangiku plays up her doe eyes at him.

He closes the file on his desk. “No, I don’t believe in consumerism.”

“Oh come on, it’s Christmas in the human world. You should at least live a little.”

“Said someone who left me with a mountain of administrative tasks to be done. Because of you, I can’t live a little.”

Rangiku claps her hands together and leans towards the door for an unexisting sound. “Yeah? No, I’ll be out in like five seconds tops!” She turns her attention back to him, though one foot is already near the exit. “Captain, I forgot I have a very important appointment to go to. Bye!”

He rolls his eyes, partly annoyed, but mostly relieved he can finally enjoy some moment of silence. Seconds into that serene atmosphere, consecutive knocks arrive at his space.

“Matsumoto—!”

“—Shiro-kun! Oh, did I catch you at a bad time?” Hinamori steps out of the doorframe, her small frame accentuated by the absent Gotei regalia. Her hair, usually held in a low bun, is loose, silky black strands settling just below her shoulders. She wears clothes which his lieutenant might describe as cozy conservative, and carries a wicker basket as if the season outside is the tranquil spring. Against the stark rigidity of his bureaucratic office, she stands in contrast.

“No,” he manages to say. It takes him a minute but he reaches her side, a few inches short below her height, and takes the basket out of her hands. “Is this lunch? Don’t tell me you feel sorry for me?”

“Well, Rangiku passed by our division and asked me to give you a lending hand,” she chuckles.

“And you were able to prepare all this food in under ten minutes?”

She shrugs and pretends not to notice the absurd logistics of her excuse, but Hitsugaya lets it pass. It benefits him to not ask questions and simply revel in her presence. 

It’s a spread of all his favorite things, most notably natto and watermelon slices, while she takes out a box of tuna onigiri, freshly baked cookies and green tea. Quintessential Momo.

Like the olden days, they eventually settle into that easy familiarity. With the basket emptied and thermos dried out, Momo pulls out another surprise.

It’s a miniature of the West Rukongai forest inside a glass ball.

“I had it customized.” She beams widely. “Go on, shake it.”

Hitsugaya smirks at the almost childlike gesture but indulges her anyway. Flurries of white envelopes all space, mimicking winter in the place they first called home. A snow globe.

“It’s—” he chokes up, “—it’s all right.”

“You should sound more awed, you know.”

“This is my best effort, Momo.”

He swears he hears Hyourinmaru laugh alongside Hinamori. It takes a lot of effort to stay unaffected even though his heart almost feels like leaping off the very same cliff he once saved her from. He takes several breaths, waiting until the snow settles on the bottom, before he takes out his gift.

“Here.” He pulls out a knitted red scarf from the bag and scoots closer to her. She must have sensed his hesitancy or he might have hallucinated the way she leaned closer to him so he could wrap the scarf around her neck. His fingers linger on both ends of the fabric. “Since you always have a cold bug.”

The scarf’s color bounces off Hinamori’s cheeks. In a quieter voice, “Th-Thanks, Shiro.”

Still holding on, he replies, “It’s Captain Hitsugaya to you.”

“—Hey Toshiro, I’m really sorry! I came back early to help—” 

They scramble away to the farthest corner possible in the short time Rangiku shows up.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” His lieutenant zeroes in on the bright color. “That’s a pretty nice scarf, Momo-chan. It perfectly suits you.” 

Hinamori rushes to the door in haste without glancing at him. “No worries, I was just leaving. I only brought him a meal.” She stops just before the doorframe swallows her. “Thank you, Shiro-kun.”

He can hear the smile in that last word, and ever so deftly, his lieutenant catches it too, even the subtle lift of his lips in cognizance.

“I thought you didn’t believe in consumerism, huh?” Rangiku presses.

“You mentioned helping?”

—--------------------

“This is a character development,” Rangiku brandishes Hitsugaya as if he’s a centerpiece.

“The last time I invited him, he stayed holed up in my room,” Ichigo echoes. “It’s a good thing you could come, Hitsugaya.”

He could only grumble. He hates crowds, but even more so crowds during Christmas. Humans are so obsessed with ephemeral things like celebrations. His displeasure, however, does not dampen their rowdy party: Ichigo, Orihime, Chad, Uryuu, Rukia, Renji. Rangiku, Kira, Shinji, and Hinamori. A mismatched group but still whole, before the world crashes down on them the next few months.

He carefully side-eyes his childhood friend. She looks better, happier even, ever since Shinji arrived. In place of her long hair is a short bob underneath a dark plum beret. She doesn’t wear the scarf he gave ages ago, not after he stabbed her, not after that time when he thought he lost her. The snow globe is tucked in the first drawer of his table. He takes a peek every morning and watches that side of the world stuck in time.

“You’re gonna fall behind.” It’s Hinamori’s voice. They’ve kept their distance, described at best as amicable, recognizing each other’s presence only through a nod of a head, so this is her first direct reference to him with the many layers of conversation peeled back bare.

Hitsugaya freezes on his heels while the rest of the people move forward. Someone ahead of them shouts, spotting a celebrity, and the number triples in seconds. He wants to go to her.

“Captain—” Hinamori resists the surge of movement. “Shiro-kun, what are you doing?” She shoulders her way against bulky figures, but she’s too petite and she stumbles backward to be engulfed by the sea of motions.

His instinct kicks in and he catches her, his grip finding anchor on her waist. He pulls her to the curb where there’s enough space to breathe. “Shinji or Rukia must have noticed our reishi separating from their group. They’ll find us soon.”

He glances at her and finds her unshaken. In the chaos, she lost her beret, and all of her hair is now swaying in the night breeze. “That’s all right.”

“It’s my fault. I don’t know what came over me.”

“No worries. It’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“To be away from the crowd. It’s more peaceful in this corner.”

Hitsugaya nods. “It’s good that you could come.”

“Ah I was peer-pressured mostly by Renji and Rangiku,” she softly laughs. “Captain Shinji also said it would be nice to go out and have fun.”

He sighs, “Too bad you couldn’t have fun now.”

She lightly shoves him, still laughing against her mittens. “Don’t be silly. I’m having fun now. I’m with you.”

He hears his own sharp intake of breath and his eyes hyperfixate on the minute details of her face, the way her eyes remain on the streets, how the changing lights reflect on her irises, her lips chapped from the cold, the little braid behind her ear. “Momo, you should stop doing that.”

She turns to him slowly, and he realizes how red her cheeks are. “Doing what?” She must be so cold.

“Making my heart—”

“Hey you two!” Ichigo shouts across the street. Beside him is Chad who basically towers over everyone and ultimately serves as their beacon for direction.

 “Oh they found us. You were right, Shiro.” She suddenly scrambles to get to them. 

“Wait for me, Momo.” Hitsugaya grabs her hand just before she ventures into the moving cluster of humans. “I might get lost again.” He sees Shinji catching his act, smirking as he confirms his long thought out theories about the two of them.

He plans to let go of Hinamori before they reach the whole group, but the tower clock suddenly strikes twelve, followed by a clamoring of bells and fireworks. Squeezed against warm bodies, it registers to Hitsugaya and Hinamori that everyone is kissing.

Someone nudges him forward. “Yo dude, you should kiss your date. It’s tradition.”

He’s suddenly weightless, reeled in by some force of gravity. In hindsight, he should’ve let go of Momo, shoved her backwards, or redirected his body as if in battle. But this is human world, and he is riding on some ephemeral happiness, and so he stumbles against her, shoulder to shoulder, and his lips graze her cheek.

He waits for a slap, a reprimand, but Hinamori looks out of breath as well. He loosens his grip, gives her an out if she wants to, but it’s her fingers that wrap against his this time.

“They’re looking for us.”

“Momo.”

“Hmm?”

“I— Someone pushed me—”

“I know. I saw.”

“Huh?

“I saw it, Shiro-kun,” she smiles, “so please don’t say sorry.” 

She saw, Hitsugaya thought, which meant she had every chance to move. “Huh?” This won’t be the last time he’ll be out of words in front of her.

“Merry Christmas, Captain Hitsugaya.” Then she lets go of his hand.

—--------------------

“Humans are sure fond of merrymaking.”

They find themselves in the same place many years after, when the worst was finally over and the aftermath of the battles have become simply a memory, navigating the maps of human bodies and still finding a place beside each other. Hinamori thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle—to come out of the wreckage and remain unchanged (in whatever this is, she adds in her head).

They decided, on a whim, to visit the human world. Spontaneity is a foreign concept, both of them so used to rigidity of routines and structures, but somehow there has always been an exception in moments where it concerns the other. The group they went with before is leading their separate lives. They are busy making memories and seizing the present, heightened from the cusp of losing the privilege of existing. 

It is this sentiment that they are riding tonight—the possibility of missing a chance—though this, they may never admit out loud.

“Are you regretting it now, Shiro-kun?”

“The crowd, yes,” he replies in all honesty, brows furrowed, lips in a tight line. Then he glances at her and everything softens with a rare smile. “That doesn’t include you.”

“Good, I really wanted to see the fireworks,” she reasons.

“Haven’t Shinji taken you several times?”

“They’re always different. They change colors, sometimes they have patterns too.”

He chuckles beside her, and something behind him catches her attention. Stragglers hang thin strips of paper with their handwriting on the bare branches of a large tree. Hinamori tugs on Hitsugaya’s sleeve, and he catches her off guard by holding her hand and pulling her to the activity area.

“I might lose you,” he says under his breath. (Did you know, Momo, it was the same words he uttered when he faced Aizen and when he battled without Hyourinmaru? He could never lose you.)

She looks at the writings holding the people’s many wishes into the universe for the coming year. Human lives are short compared to those like them who could live out centuries. The intentions varied from simple (‘I want a boyfriend!’) to more complex ones (‘I want to be finally happy’). Hinamori considers how happiness is subjective across souls, and how, right at this moment, she could describe herself as happy.

“What are you writing?” Hitsugaya asks her. “I already put mine up.”

“Huh?” She surveys the papers in front of them. “That’s unfair, I didn’t get to see it.”

“I don’t think you need to see it.” He turns a shade of red. “It’s personal.”

She relents with a sigh. “You probably wrote longer nap times.” She turns her back on him as she quickly scribbles the first thought that comes. Hitsugaya tries to appear uninterested but she can see him in her periphery stealing glances over her shoulder. It’s a good thing that she remains taller than him.

“Ha! Done!”

“Well, that’s unfair,” he echoes.

Their banter gets interrupted by a loud trumpet, followed by a clock ticking down to midnight.

“Oh, it’s happening!”

The lights on the ground turn off to emphasize the dark night sky. 

“Ten…night…eight…seven…”

Hitsugaya chooses to set his gaze on her. “Did you remember that tradition..?”

“Six…five…four…”

“Yeah, I remember.” Hinamori tears her eyes from the sky and stares back at him against the darkness.

“Two…one… Happy New Year!”

“Can I kiss you?”

She sees Hitsugaya’s face lean in just as the fireworks start their ephemeral performance. The air is crisp with winter air and firecracker smoke, and she’s combusting when his lips find hers underneath the bursts of light.

He pulls away in mere seconds, and she can see the gears of his mind work towards an overdrive. He is second guessing and wondering if it was enough, if he could ever be enough, and she wants to tell him—

“Yes.” And she pulls him to her again and kisses him back with certainty. When it’s all over, the people have scattered, the sky has retreated to its shadows, and she’s still in his arms.

“Happy New Year, Momo.”

—--------------------

Hinamori finds it’s the afterparty she looks forward to the most. Long after all the plates have been washed, the cups flipped to dry, and the doors locked, the silence basks in the traces left from the evening’s friendly noise.

They managed to clear majority of the clutter, but strips and pieces of litter remain scattered about—ribbons, gift wraps, firecracker ashes—a nice chore best reserved for the first day of the new year.

“Our dear hostess must be tired.” Hitsugaya’s hands ease on her shoulders and massage the tight knots that have accumulated over the day. 

“Come on Shiro. I know the kids drained your energy today.” She stifles the bubbling laughter from a recent memory of when Renji’s and Ichigo’s respective toddlers ran amok across the courtyard and Hitsugaya had to chase them off his rock installations.

“They’re not toddlers.”

“And they’re also still kids.”

The winter breeze lands on her skin and she shivers at the contact. Her husband pulls her to the kotatsu, entangling her legs with his underneath, a fairly good excuse to just snuggle and burrow and pretend to hibernate (at least until the weekend’s over).

They’re sitting across the wide windows where they’re afforded a rare view of a perfect night sky, a blank charcoal slate after being painted with bursts of colors from earlier festivities. The moon and stars are cruising in a silent voyage to an audience of two. 

Well, three.

Hotaru manages to crawl on Hitsugaya’s lap and juts out his nose for a boop. He brings with him Hinamori’s red scarf, frayed from several wears, and is now his favorite blanket. She reaches over and indulges their blind, snow-colored cat. Seemingly happy, his paws start making biscuits while his purrs lull them into a much awaited slumber.

Soon enough, the heavens open up to a muted shower of snow. It is a familiar sight, a nostalgic picture of their childhood home, a picture contained in a glass globe from a long ago gift.

Hinamori almost falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, but her eyes quickly catch the stroke of bright light across the sky.

“Momo, make a wish,” Hitsugaya whispers against her hair.

A moment passes. “Done.”

“So, what did you wish for?”

She looks at him, baffled. “You always ask for that!”

“I can’t help it if I’m curious.”

“No.”

He changes tactics. “Okay, I’ll offer you an olive branch. One wish of mine to one of yours.”

“That’s unfair. I always wish for the same thing.”

“Since when?”

“Since we went on that mountain.” Hinamori considers the length of time she knows him, the gravity of memories and circumstance, and the very privilege of having that prayer answered. “I asked for the very same thing I’m wishing for right now.”

She sees how he recalls the moment, watches how the playfulness of his features soften into that of understanding and gratefulness. It had been that long.

“To let us stay in each other’s lives, not for a while, but longer, maybe forever-kind-of-long.”

To be together, even for a little longer. Despite the changes.

“Hmm.” He smiles and then chuckles. “Did you know I asked whatever god there was that day to let me stay with you? It was selfish and unreasonable, especially knowing you really wanted to go. After you left, it sought out many other mountains. I looked for the rest of the shrines, all the genuine and the makeshift, and prayed the same prayer. It turned out I managed to get through to at least one god.”

She could only stare in disbelief. “Wow.”

“What—you never thought I had it in me?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “You were always so tenacious, Shiro.”

“We have this year.” He leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips. “And the next and next and next and next.”

“And the rest of our lives.”

@hitsuhina-week

#hitsuhina #hinamori momo #toushirou hitsugaya #hitsugaya #hinamori #bleach fanfic #bleach fic #hitsuhina gift exchange 2023 #fic!pinkhairedlily #fic!pseudolily #sorry this got delayed so much #a belated happy 2024 to all (but not for me regretfully)

[keithisbae1]

Noted With Thanks

He doesn't get her.

The way she was giggling at his lame pick up lines. He had better. The fact she accepted his rose, didn't he give her one like that yesterday only for her to throw it in the trash?

And how she was giggling acting all flustered and blushing. She wasn't really taking an interest in him, was she?

"What makes him so special?" Itachi and Shisui stopped mid conversation following his gaze. Ah so that was what was making the youngest Uchiha pissed. 

The new doctor taking his teammate out. Apparently he was quite the flirt like Sasuke, no wonder he seemed so annoyed.

Well it may be a date, it may not be.

It wasn't any of their business.

"Maybe he flirts better than you?" Shisui shrugged with a smug smile enjoying his torment. "And who knows, he might actually be interested in her."

This caused Sasuke to glare at the man, they knew how serious he was about her.

So it was okay for this guy to flirt around and he can get a date. But if he does it, he gets a punch to the face? How unfair was that?

"You should ask him how he does it, then who knows you might actually get somewhere with Sakura." Itachi scolded Shisui because knowing his brother, he might actually do that.

And sure enough he did, as Shisui found a little note thanking him for the idea.

This wasn't the first time Shisui gave a dumb idea to Sasuke (without meaning to) nor would it be the last.

And as for the plan succeeding... let's not go there.

#jealous rtn Sasuke #don't think I've written that before #send me a made up fic title #this is for pinkhairedlily #keith's snippets #sssnippetaday #sssnippet #charasaku #sasuke uchiha x sakura haruno #sasusaku #road to ninja #road to ninja sasusaku

[canariie]

in law out(ing)

Rating: T

Synopsis: But what puzzled Toushiro more (and it was really too early for this), was that he was holding two fishing poles and wearing rubber boots.

“Why are you here?” Toushiro whispered venomously.

“Get ready! We’re going to the living world to fish!” Shinji responded cheekily, thrusting a pole and pair of boots in Toushiro’s unexpecting hands, as if that were answer enough.

“And why are we doing this?” he asked dubiously, inspecting the tools in his hands.

“Because we got to go when the fish are ‘bout to wake up!” Shinji rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going to bond today! I got a whole list of activities for us to do.”

Toushiro muttered, “Is this your idea of bonding?”

…

Toushiro and Shinji have a day off to bond together (at Momo’s behest).

Word Count: 4290 words

Setting:  established relationship, many decades after the last Bleach chapter  

Prompt: @hitsuhina-week‘s Hitsuhina 2022 Gift Exchange

Authour’s Note: I’m so sorry that this is late! This is for @pinkhairedlily who requested Toushiro asking Shinji for Momo’s hand in marriage!

I kind of stepped back from the prompt a little bit but I do sincerly hope you enjoy it! I will admit, I am nervous because this is my first time writing Shinji and thinking of him (which is a lot harder than I thought), but it was a fun process.

Also shout out to Fuji Kaze’s Shinunoga E-Wa for being the unexpected mood setter!

— 

“Hitsugaya-taicho, I have a favour to ask…” Momo drawled out, as she snuggled into her boyfriend’s side. It was a cold winter night and the two were sitting in bed, reading their respective books. Momo had introduced Toushiro to the concept of reading before bed and he had to admit that he had been enjoying the latest titles she bought for him in the real world. Before they went to sleep, she would eagerly ask him what he thought until he would have to gently remind her to go to sleep if it were too late.

But tonight, it seemed like she had other things on her mind. Ah the captain’s title... Hinamori must really want something.

“What is it?”

“I know there is a captain’s day off at the end of the week…” she said softly as she traced patterns on his collarbone. “I think it’d be nice if you would spend it with Hirako-taicho.”

“No.”

“But Hitsugaya-kun,” Well there goes the title—it was nice while it lasted.

“I already have plans,” he defended, continuing to read his book.

“What plans?”

“To…read,” he said, turning a page for emphasis.

Momo arched her eyebrow. “Rangiku-san told me that you were excited for the day off so you could catch up on archiving old reports…”

“Those are valid plans for a day off.”

The book was gently taken from his hands, and he looked up to see Momo leaning over him as she held his face in her hands. “Toushiro,” she whispered with such intensity that it made his mind stutter, especially as she leant over, her long hair cascading around him like a curtain.

“I know you two have not always seen eye to eye...” He scoffed, but Momo continued undeterred. “However, I think if you spent a little time with each other outside of work, you could get to know each other better.”

She moved closer until Toushiro could see sparks flicker in her brown eyes, and feel warmth shoot down his core.

“You are my most important person and it would mean the world to me if you got along better with my captain.”

Toushiro raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Momo rolled her eyes. “The last one didn’t count.”

He said nothing, but Momo knew he was thinking it deeply over. She kissed his cheek. “Please?”

Toushiro knew that Momo knew exactly what she was doing. But even he had to admit that her words stirred something inside him. Toushiro sighed in defeat.

Momo smiled, knowing she had gotten him to cave in. She dipped down and kissed him deeply, melting into him and making him see warm sparks behind his eyes.

“Most important person, huh?” he breathed when they separated.  

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, what of it?”

Momo yelped as Toushiro pulled her waist down, until she was cradled by him in his lap.

He bent down, his eyes deepening to a dark emerald. “You have always been my most important person—even before I knew it.”

Momo blushed, a silly smile on her face as she tucked her face into his neck.

He sighed in faux lament, “But—know that you owe me.”

She smiled with a knowing glint in her eyes, pulling his face down towards hers. “I’m sure I can think of a way to make it up.”

---

Toushiro grumbled as a loud knocking persisted at his door. It was his day off and he had been hoping to sleep in. He glared out his window, where it was still completely pitch black outside—but that did not deter the loud noise.

“What is it?” Toushiro growled as he stumbled out of bed and pulled the door roughly aside.

He had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

The fifth captain, Shinji Hirako, stood in front of him with a maddingly toothy grin. But what puzzled Toushiro more (and it was really too early for this), was that he was holding two fishing poles and wearing rubber boots.

“Why are you here?” Toushiro whispered venomously.

“Get ready! We’re going to the living world to fish!” Shinji responded cheekily, thrusting a pole and pair of boots in Toushiro’s unexpecting hands, as if that were answer enough.

“And why are we doing this?” he asked dubiously, inspecting the tools in his hands.

“Because we got to go when the fish are ‘bout to wake up!” Shinji rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going to bond today! I got a whole list of activities for us to do.”

Toushiro muttered, “Is this an idea your idea of bonding?”

“This is mandatory for all officers in the Fifth Division. But I’d never wake my darling lieutenant this early—I’d give her another hour at least.”

Toushiro scowled deeply. “Don’t call her darling,” he said darkly—before slamming the door shut.

---

Toushiro had never seen the water so early in the morning. It was twilight, the sky blurring into a gentle blue. There was a sense that the sun was edging onto the horizon, but it still felt far and distant.

After they had stopped for coffee (which the older captain had the decency to pay for since Toushiro was still in a foul mood from being groused so early in the morning without warning), even he had to begrudgingly admit, that it was quite serene.

He did not expect the fifth division captain to have an itinerary for the day. Toushiro’s plans for the day was to just hop over to the Fifth, ask the captain to accompany him for tea (in front of Momo so she could see that yes, he was making an attempt at interaction) and finish that up in an hour and a half max—so he could go and work on archiving old reports the rest of the day.

Because to be frank, Toushiro would have rather spent the day off with Momo. They hadn’t had time alone to go out for a long time and that for him was a much more desirable way to spend his time off.

Instead, he was sitting in a fold out chair, clutching a fishing pole on a wooden dock at five in the morning as Shinji explained the wisdom of fishing.

“The key is to be patient. They’ll come to you but ya got to wait—otherwise you’ll miss your chance,” the blond captain explained as he raised his pole and swung, the line flying through air before making a gentle plop in the water.

Toushiro restrained himself from rolling his eyes but followed similarly.  

“When ya reel the rod, keep the line taut. If you do it too quickly, the fish can break away and ya lose the line,” Shinji demonstrated by pulling taut the line of the string. The older captain was lounging in his chair, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and leg crossed over knee, the perfect pose of relaxation.

“If we rush,” Shinji continued, “we get ahead of ourselves—which only hurts in the long run.”

Toushiro found himself drifting back to the war in the sky as he stared at the ripples in the water. It had been years, but time only eased the pain—it did not erase it. Though they were high up in the clouds, fighting an invisible battle, at that moment it was a grounding in reality.

He had been younger, rash and naïve. He thought he could kill Soul Society’s traitorous felon.

He was gravely mistaken.

Toushiro despised Aizen with every aching bone in his body. But he loathed himself more for being goaded into swinging the first blade. Feeling rage boil into him, all he could see was red as he rushed at Aizen first.

“When did you get so wise?” Toushiro asked sarcastically. He pulled at the rod—nothing yet.

Shinji laughed shortly. “Years of exile—gives ya time to think.” He took a sip of coffee. “We tried many things, wore many hats—all to survive. And one of them was fishing.”

Shinji leaned over and stage whispered, “We weren’t exactly earning money in conventional ways,” he tightened the lock of the pole shrugging his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion, “so we learned new skills.”

“Unfortunately, Hiyori can’t sit still for a minute—so she was banned from all fishing trips,” Shinji explained with faux diplomacy.

With his brief interactions with the short woman, Toushiro was not surprised.

And back in the battle, she had paid for her rashness. Though they didn’t know each other, the enemy of an enemy was an ally—and in that moment he could feel blood run cold seeing her severed half fall through the sky. In the end, it was all a cruel reminder and prelude to his own downfall.

Shinji watched the tent captain, whose eyes were distant and out on the horizon. He had a feeling of what was going through the young man’s head. It reminded the older captain of a time, very soon after the first war had finished, that those eyes held a similar pain.

Shinji stifled a yawn as he headed back to the Fifth Division headquarters. It was late into the night and he had just returned from the World of Living. Kyoraku-soutaicho insisted on a channel of constant communication with the Vizards that were still in the living world, so he sent Shinji on diplomatic visits. But the blond captain knew that behind smiles and pleasant reason, it was just to keep aware of possible treachery. Though many of them were working for the Thirteen Division Guards, there was always some underlying suspicion.

Well—it didn’t bother him too much. It was an excuse to go to the Living World during working hours.

He opened the door and immediately wished he had arrived later.

The white-haired captain didn’t notice Shinij. He was standing behind Momo’s desk, who was fast asleep, a brush in her hands and head resting on paperwork. Shinji watched as the young boy placed a blanket over her shoulders, barely touching her, before shifting the candle flame away from her.

The lone light of the room casted dark shadows over Toushiro’s face, obscuring his eyes from Shinji.  

He looked up, and at the sight of the Fifth captain his teal eyes went wide, like a deer in headlights.

“Can I help you?” Shinji asked to cut the tension in the room.

And just like the flicker of the shadow, the tenth captain narrowed his eyes, the shock completely gone. “Are you working her late?”

Shinji wanted to roll his eyes but held back, knowing that probably wouldn’t bode well with the other captain. “No. I told her those could be finished tomorrow.”

Toushiro nodded, still holding his glare at Shinji. A moment of silence. “I dropped off the reports for you to sign,” he said shortly, which made Shinji think if it was deliberate the young captain came late, since those weren’t due for a couple days. Toushiro made his way towards the exit, arms tucked into his sleeves, leaving no more room for conversation.

“Aren’t ya going to Matsumoto’s party?” Shinji asked. The tenth division lieutenant had invited people to go out to drink to celebrate the news of Renjii and Rukia’s engagement.

The white-haired boy stopped. “No.” Toushiro looked over his shoulder. “It’d be better if I didn’t go.”

Shinji waited until he left before he made his way over to his vice-captain, gently shaking her awake.

“Hmm, Taicho?” she mumbled, sleep still evident in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask ya the same thing,” he responded, pulling the brush out of her hand. “C’mon—let’s take you home.”

Momo made no protest as she stood up, her short hair sticking out in various directions that reminded Shinji of a dry paint brush.

“Someone from tenth division dropped the reports over—you won’t have to go tomorrow morning to pick them up.”

“Oh okay…” Momo looked down, pursing her lips in confusion. “Taicho, did you put this over me?” She asked as she shifted the blanket, looking at it forlornly.

He looked at her, contemplating how much to say. “No, I didn’t.”

“…okay,” she said, sounding more awake but further away than before.

Seeing how her shoulders deflated, he gently led her up out of her seat. “How about we stop by to say hi at Matsumoto’s—and if ya don’t want to stick around, I’ll walk you back,” Shinji remarked as he blew out the candle.

For Shinji, who was returning to an old post after many years, he knew it wasn’t his place to be involved. He was just relearning the ropes with a new lieutenant following behind his back. Besides getting over the urge to resist looking over his shoulder, he and Momo were still learning to be in each other’s presence.

There were bumps in the road, of course. (He still never could forget the dubious look she gave him when he suggested to cut her hair—the first time that she had shown such strong disbelief outside of her usual polite diplomacy.) The beginning was just making sure not to step too far out of line with each other. But the line gradually faded, and they fell into a routine together. Now, he considered himself lucky to have a competent soldier like her working beside him.

A slight tug at the pole broke Shinji from his revere, pulling him forward at the edge of his chair.

“Look, look!”

Toushiro could only watch as Shinji steadily reeled in the line, the fish thrashing about and sending waves through the water. It slipped out of the water just as the sun broke the horizon, the scales of the fish glistening in a yellow glow.

“See—what’d I tell ya?” He grinning holding up the fish before depositing it in his bucket.

Toushiro looked to his own pole and pulled on it, but only string came with the bait missing from the hook.

“Well…we can’t be prodigies at everything,” Shinji said flippantly.

---

Toushiro didn’t know what sort of itinerary the Fifth Captain had for the day. The white-haired man was dragged to random locations around Karakura Town: the barber shop (“this is where I learned to cut hair!” Shinji pointed out while he sat for a quick trim), the hardware store (“Kensei needed a new grate for his BBQ” the blond man defended at Toushiro’s raised eyebrow), a bookstore (Toushiro looked away in embarrassment as Shinji picked up Yadamoru-taicho’s magazine subscription) and the post office (“Need to check my PO box if anything’s come in,” he claimed, peering in the box and pulling out a wad of bills). Shinji seemed to have a secret agenda because he kept on picking things up at small shops along the way. But if Toushiro hadn’t known better—it was as if the man were doing his errands for the day and just having him tag along.

The bell chimed as they entered an unassuming record store. There were rows of wooden boxes, teeming with layers of records. Faded posters were pasted on every inch of the wall to the point that one couldn’t recognize the original wall colour. An old man smiled warmly at them from behind the counter as Shinji greeted him like he were family.

“This is one of the greatest secrets in this town—the man, Jiro-san, knows every single thing about every record in this store,” Shinji said with distinct glee in his voice before starting to peruse the albums. “I try to bring Momo here every other month—to get new music for the office.”

Toushiro felt his interest pique. For the most part, he had remained silent for the day as Hirako had talked enough about random facts and snippets of his human life to fill the gap. Besides offering a few signs of acknowledgment, Toushiro was happy to have Hirako lead the conversation, so he didn’t have to.

But hearing Momo’s name reminded him that this man had a close relationship with her—and it started at the time that his own relationship with her was strained.

He remembered those initial childish feelings of jealousy, seeming to try to find fault in everything of the new captain. From his asymmetrical haircut to his unsettling smile and tongue piercing, Toushiro didn’t understand how such a sleazy looking character could lead a division, let alone bring Momo out from her lowest point. He knew that it wasn’t smooth in the beginning. But Toushiro watched from a distance as Momo seemed to brighten more and more until she was back to her cheerful self—now with the addition of brazenly admonishing her captain. He was in awe of how quickly she became confident but more so, how comfortable she was with this foreign character.

“How often did you come?” Toushiro asked, trying to not to show too much interest.

Shinji continued on as held an album up, inspecting its tracklist. “Well, Momo wasn’t initially a fan of listening to music in the office. But once I got her started on some Ella Fitzgerald, she started to dig it more. Now she sometimes comes on her own to get records. She’ll surprise me with her own choices—I tell ya’ she’s got an ear for talent. I even got her to agree to go to a jazz festival with the rest of us this summer.”

Toushiro had his back turned, looking down at the labels but not quite seeing their names.

“How did you get her to open up?”

Shinji raised an eyebrow, looking behind him to see the white-haired man staring intently at the music. If he hadn’t seen the rigidity of his back, it may have seemed normal.

Shinji sighed.

“I was just there,” he simply said. “I didn’t leave.”

He watched as the younger man tense up further, before briskly putting down the album and walking out of the store. “I’ll be outside,” Shinji heard called out before the ring of the bell chimed in the silence that ensued at the sudden departure.

Shinji wasn’t surprised, and looking back maybe he could have chosen his words better. But he knew this was something long brewing and coming. He pulled out his phone, typing out a quick text message, as he called out to the store owner. “Jiro-san, I’ll be taking these! You keep me informed of any new vinyl shipments when you get some! My daughter will pick them up.”

--

Shinji found him outside, sitting on the bench in the park, with his hands tucked deep into his jacket. The only signs of life were the soft white puffs of air that he breathed out from above his scarf. Shinji walked over, the grocery bags swinging against his knee and it was only when he was in front of the man that Toushiro seemed to come out of a daze. Toushiro wordlessly accepted the coffee Shinji offered before his turquoise eyes brightened in recognition at the packet in the older man’s other hand.

“Those are the ones that Matsumoto likes…”

Shinji sat down and opened the orange packet. “Yeah, these cookies are really addicting. I introduced them to Momo last time we visited the World of the Living and we haven’t stopped eating them. She must’ve given them to Matsumoto.” He gestured the open packet to the young man, who took the cookie quietly.

They drank their coffee in silence. The golden string lights around them began to flicker as the sky turned to dusk, and like clockwork, it lightly began to snow. Families emerged around the winter street food vendors, talking animatedly as young children ran around, leaving prints in the snow build up.

Shinji could tell Toushiro wanted to say something because his eyes would flit over to him and he’d open his mouth before closing it. But Shinji paid no mind and continued to drink his coffee. He was in no rush at all, he was just waiting for what he knew the young man would say.

“I was jealous of you,” Toushiro finally confessed in a low voice, “of how you were able to make her smile again. You picked her up—when I was the one that hurt her the most.”

Shinji knew there was hurt on both sides. It didn’t take a genius to know that while his lieutenant was adjusting to being back to work, there was still something missing. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked outside at the snow. When there were joint meetings, he would catch her looking towards the tenth company, her sad eyes following the young captain around.

“It wasn’t only me,” Shinji replied. “Matsumoto was always there. Kira & Renji too.” He paused and looked at him straight in the eyes. “But she really wasn’t her full self until you two reconciled.”

“Hirako…”

“Forget your self-pity parade—it’ll do ya no good,” Shinji said, not unkindly. “I’ve been there—it damn hurts, I know. But ya hurt the people you care about more with your absence than with your actions.”

Toushiro stared at Shinji as he took a long sip of coffee. “Get up and move on from your past mistakes; that’s what it means to be a man.” He found himself remembering the way he held Hiyori’s body in his hands, feeling like his world was on a precipice. Never had he ever felt in that moment, the strongest desire to reverse everything, to reverse time itself, before they had changed, before he had ruined their lives forever. It was only when she had hit him with his slipper at his bowed head, that he could see the stupidity in his own wallowing—something he had seen in the young captain too.

“But ya have to promise me one thing—you won’t leave her again,” Shinji spoke with such solemnity that Toushiro’s emerald eyes hardened in determination.

“I won’t.”

The blond man shrugged his shoulder. “Then ya don’t need to apologize to me for nothing.”

Toushiro regarded the man for a long time, before nodding in acceptance.

“Thank you Hirako…for everything.” He had said it so quietly that Shinji thought he almost imagined it.

He smiled in smug satisfaction. “I now give you permission to marry my daughter.”

The young captain scowled, his face turning dark like a thunder cloud. “She is not your daughter.”

“Regardless, you still have my permission,” Shinji waved away.

“Hiarko-taicho!”

The two captains turned to see the fifth division lieutenant running towards them through the crowd, her long hair flowing behind her. Shinji held back a smirk as he watched the young captain stare at the girl in her human clothes, a warm red coat on top of a white dress.

“Hitsugaya-taicho…? What are you doing here?” Momo asked, a furrow in her eyebrows as she looked in confusion between her boyfriend and captain. “I thought I was just meeting Hirako-taicho? You sent a text saying to dress up?”

Shinji applauded himself inwardly for the look on the young captain’s face was priceless.

Before he could say anything else, Shinji gently led his vice-captain away. “Momo, you finished all the reports right?”

“Yes, I made sure to do so, but Taicho why did you call me here?” She looked back at the 10th captain, biting her lip in concern. “Is everything alright with Hitsugaya-kun?”

He could feel the smile slide onto his face at the expression of worry on her face. “Nothing wrong at all—just some good man to man bonding.”

Momo raised an eyebrow dubiously at her captain to which he replied. “I played nice—don’t worry.” He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Go spend the rest of the evening with him. I’ll see you in office on Monday.”

She looked up, her brown eyes in question as she smoothed out her hair. “But what about working tomorrow?”

Shinji threw his thumb back and rolled his eyes in faux exasperation. “You’ve worked enough to take some time off. He’ll sulk if I don’t let you off.”

Momo broke out into a huge grin, her brown eyes twinkling like the glowing lights. “Really?” She paused, as if reconsidering. “But what about the other reports?”

“I’ll go and finish them—you’ve worked enough.”

“Thank you Taicho!” Momo beamed which made him ruffle her hair again as she protested. “You’ve picked a good one—he cares for you.” At this, Momo blushed until her face turned as red as her coat. “Thank you Taicho for agreeing to spend time with him,” she said earnestly. “It really means a lot to me.”

He shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “Ya owe me—I get to choose the music for the next two weeks!”

Momo flashed a brilliant smile. “You got a deal!”

Toushiro smiled as his girlfriend rushed back to him with a bounce in her steps. “I just got a text from Matsumoto saying she booked us a place for tonight? Did Hirako have anything to do about it?” He asked as he tightened the scarf around her neck that had come loose in her run.

“Hirako-taicho,” Momo corrected. “But yes, he said I can have the weekend off so we can spend time together in the human world! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Toushiro took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “Come on—let’s get out of here. There’s a bookstore I want to show you,” he said smiling as her eyes widened in glee, before jumping into a long set of questions on how his day was. And as he answered them, he thought that maybe it wasn’t that bad a day after all.

—

Authour’s Note: So, when I first received the prompt I had to think about it a lot because to be frank, I don’t think Toushiro would ever actually ask Shinji for Momo’s hand in marriage. I think Shinji would just appoint himself to give it hahaha (I also believe that it is referenced that Shinji refers to Momo as his daughter in the novel We do KNOT always love you. I’ll try to find the link soon and update it here)

I’m nervous with this one but I hope people at least enjoyed seeing how the two closest men to Momo see each other (and in a way respect each other) when it comes to her well-being. I definitely enjoyed writing Shinji! It gave me a reason to be antagonistic towards Toushiro in a playful manner but give advice in a straight forward, not unkind way. But I definitely think I still need to practice writing him. I also really enjoyed writing all his errands haha

Hope you enjoyed it!

#hitsuhina #hitsuhina gift exchange 2022 #canariie: my fics #shinji hirako #toushiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #but also the music of the moment was the on hold music as I try to change my flight hahaha #also another reason to finish this soon!! #but i really hope you liked it! #pinkhairedlily

[bleachbleachbleach]

Fic: 4 a.m. bloom

[Read on AO3]

Characters: Hinamori (POV), Hitsugaya Timeline: 4 months into Hinamori's vice-captaincy Word Count: ~6700 Tags: Pre-series, Rukongai, Junrinan lore, Shinigami/zanpakutou bond, I will continue to reify condor!Tobiume at every opportunity, Eldercare, For the sake of soul society, Gotei melancholia Notes: Written for @pinkhairedlily for the 2023 @hitsuhina-week Gift Exchange, combining the prompts “hinamori embracing leadership roles in her division” and “momo character study with a sprinkle of toshiro”! <3 (Though there are probably at least 4 tablespoons of Hitsugaya in this, rather than a spinkle.) I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Another homecoming. Hinamori recognizes that lieutenancy is more a beginning than an achievement, but some missions make that clearer than others. Tobiume is blooming, Hinamori has work to do in Junrinan, and Hitsugaya has some difficult questions for her.

Hitsugaya is a difficult question.

--

“I miss this,” she says, even though she hadn’t meant to. Then she has to ask, “Do you?”

“I don’t live here anymore, either,” Hitsugaya says.

Hinamori does not know whether that means of course or stop.

#hinamori momo #hitsugaya toushirou #momo hinamori #hitsugaya toshiro #toshiro hitsugaya #sir i hate your name #bleach fanfic #1970s aerospace corruption schemes #burdock agenda #pinkhairedlily #no brain just bleach #happeeeee holidays all!

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

I'm Back

Hello everyone,

As the title says, I'm back from my mini hiatus. While I'm really happy to see some familiar faces on my dashboard (missed you all! <3), I cannot say I have come back as refreshed as I'd hoped. It was one thing after another irl - sickness (which I've recovered from), keeping up to date with current world events, and work stuff.

However, as I promised to host the Hitsuhina Gift Exhange, I won't prolong my break and will make sure the event happens (thank you to @canariie, @pinkhairedlily, @whipplefilter, and @hesitationss for signing up, I'll be sending each of you messages soon).

I'll slowly make my way through my notifications and the dashboard, and I have a fic that I'll be posting tomorrow if all goes to plan so keep an eye out :D I may not be on here as often throughout December, but I'm still around and glad to be back!

#personal #my posts

[pinkhairedlily]

perks of a wallflower

for sasusaku shoujo week 2023. prompts: high school, festivals, love confessions, accidental kiss, kabedon, wallflower. sasuke first person pov

here's an accompaniment to your reading

I, Uchiha Sasuke, seventeen years of age, only want nothing but peace in the last year of my high school life. So far, I have been successful ducking away from high-energy (like Uzumaki Naruto who I think takes five energy drinks in a day the way he’s always loud-mouthed and laughing and screaming in the hallways), and high-activity people (like Haruno Sakura, student council member since freshman and is now the current president. She probably has magical time management skills because I don’t know how she can fit everything in her schedule).

I am simply content in acing the expectations set by my family name.

Excellent grades.

First place in exams.

Official representative in academic competitions.

The successor of the alumnus with distinction, Uchiha Itachi.

The official top rank nobody in Konoha High, in other words.

Except I’m not.

Not really.

Not when President Sakura is always near second to me, short only by one point or two. And maybe it’s because she’s juggling everything in those two dainty hands of hers that she can’t be perfect all the time.

It’s not that I pay attention. It’s just that her hands are tiny.

And soft.

She grabbed my arm when classes broke for lunch one time and told me to go to the clinic.

“You’re hot.”

I wouldn’t know how to respond if I wasn’t running a 40 degree. “Gee, thanks,” I sloppily replied.

“No, but really. You need to go to the doctor.” Her face was painted with concern. There was nothing different about it; she dons this exact same expression to all her constituents. 

It was the fact that she saw me, in the midst of class, battling a fever I thought I perfectly hid.

She didn’t wait for my response then. She dragged me towards the room, and pulled me into her orbit.

There’s a phenomenon called Zero Shadow Day when the sun is at the zenith and its rays fall perpendicular to an object. The shadow, usually cast behind it, falls directly under. Being skin-close to her is exactly that kind of phenomenon; I become engulfed in her.

My brother never fell in love in high school, but I did with Haruno Sakura.

xxxx

“Sasuke, you still don’t have a role.” The teacher taps his pen on the bound script. “Naruto beat you in signing up for the tree.”

“We have district finals!” screams the blonde baseball captain.

I clear my throat, but it just attracts even more unwanted attention. “What’s left?”

A beat passes which is more suffocating than the irritated throat I have now. “An understudy.”

“Great—”

“—of the princess.”

I could hear the blonde stifle his laughter behind me.

“Okay,” I sigh, “so long as the real princess shows up.”

After rehearsals, the prince comes up to me and taps my shoulder. I wish she wouldn’t untether me from the ground.

“I know you’re only doing this because they made it mandatory for graduation, but I’m still glad you’re with us,” Sakura says with a grin. 

“Yeah, sure.”

Shouldn’t I have more words in my arsenal?

“Do you want some bread with mulberry jam? I finished half of it already.”

“That’s a lot.”

“I tend to devour food when I’m nervous.”

“Nice.”

That’s a horrible reply, Uchiha Sasuke.

xxxx

It’s a slow rehearsal, but I’m privileged to endure the multiple ‘back-to-the-start’ behind the curtains, against the wall, mindlessly scrolling through pages of dialogue. A big  figure surprises me out of my musings—and oh my God, why is Sakura so close?

“I need my personal space,” I manage to croak out, but that made me sound more like a douchebag than a guy panicking over his crush standing a few inches away from him. It’s hard to breathe but I somehow manage to smell the faint jasmine in her hair and the strawberry on her lips.

Sakura complies in good spirit, rather too quickly for my liking (aren’t you panicking @/self?!). “Just practicing for the last scene.”

“I’m a spare.”

“You never know when it’ll come in handy, Sasuke. Besides, familiarizing this proximity lessens the ick-factor for you eventually.”

I’m pretty flexible when her mouth curls up in corners. The bound papers fall to my side, as a prop, as it should be, and I retrace the steps she took earlier. In my hazy vision, she wavers in her stance when in fact she stays rooted on the floor. It’s me who’s losing footing.

I reach her, approximately three inches away, and I breathe her in again uninhibited, along with her verdant eyes that learned not to look away. It’s a role I’m supposed to play. “This close?”

Her green eyes capture me in still frame. My mind makes up the vision of her throat closing up and her breath hitching. “Closer.”

My foot feels like lead. It’s just one step, I tell myself.

“—Break time’s over everyone!”

xxxx

My luck strikes on the day of the cultural festival wherein our little production happens to be the culminating activity in the gala night. This is so much fun (sarcastic).

Normally, I wouldn’t get too hung up about this, considering I am only an understudy, but lo and behold, the teacher informs me thirty minutes before the second act that the princess is sick.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean by 'the princess is sick'?”

“Her stomach pain has become unbearable so you need to do what you are tasked to do, Uchiha.”

“I am an understudy.”

“Of the princess.”

“....”

“The princess is just lying down most of the time for this act, Sasuke. Your dialogue is literally on the last part.”

Which I didn’t know by heart.

 I swear.

“Okay fine.”

The story is one you are already familiar with. The princess tries to escape her fate by going on an adventure but somehow gets cursed to fall asleep indefinitely until she is awakened by the true love’s kiss. We don’t know anything about the prince, but we know that it’s the person the princess loves the most.

It’s the opposite in my  case, as I lie rigid and stoic against the greatest battle waged in the princess’ journey. No one knows who I am, but I know who I love the most.

Sakura is cool, judging by the cheers and almost-fanchant screams in the audience. I keep my eyes shut (I don’t think I’ll ever recover when I find her hovering above me, inches away), and all sounds fall mute to my drowning ears.

I hear the strings of words I’ve memorized from behind the stage, even the liminal pauses in between where her breath rests. I think of the patterns in her footsteps—ten until she gets to my deathbed on the center of the stage. What I’m not prepared for is the graze of her stray strands against my cheek. I take my fill of her scent and all her emotions suspended in the silence she closes the distance in.

There’s a slight shift in the background. A raucous scraping against the wooden stage, and I zero in on Naruto moving a little earlier than expected, and one of his very very long branches hit Sakura on the back.

A yelp becomes the next line.

I open my eyes the exact moment I taste strawberry.

xxxx

The cultural festival ends with the traditional dance around the bonfire.

It’s momentous in the sense that anyone can get a free pass to spill their guts in the dancing flames to their person of affections and expertly hide their pained expressions in the shadows.

I choose the bright lit classroom on the fourth floor where President Sakura spends the last hour of the night as my tragedy milieu.

For some weird reason, I kept the costume on, minus the hair in case this Ancient Greek montage goes either way. I am Snow White with the same ebony hair and pale skin. I offer an apple sans the poison and apologize.

“The great Uchiha Sasuke saying sorry!” She shrugs and bites down on the apple. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s angry?”

“The student body thinks I defiled the perfect prince.”

She shakes her head, breaking in a chuckle, “It was theater, and they were just overreacting.”

“Still, I don’t think it’s proper.” I brace for the truth. “It might have been your first kiss and I took it away.”

“It’s all right. Maybe it’s the same for you? Aren’t you bothered by it?”

It’s hard to focus and stay serious when Sakura is ahead of me in her nonchalant grace, eating my attention away in every bite. “I’m all right with you as my first kiss.” Maybe if I tell the truth, she wouldn’t hear it over the mulch.

She wipes the juice from her lips as they transform into a smile. “Then that makes the two of us.”

I’m the one who chokes on the imaginary fruit. “What?”

“I said that makes the two of us.” No more munching this time.

I think I’m having problem swallowing. No way. All those people, and she likes me?

And I think I said my thoughts out loud.

She laughs, and the melody turns her redder than the almost fully consumed apple in her hand.

“Are you still playing along?” I seldom have my heart on my sleeve, but I’m wearing mine on the roses embroidered on the chest.

“It’s not part of the script, Sasuke.” The pale core of the apple makes a stark contrast against her cheeks.

“I like you.” I tell her the lines I rehearsed over and over again this past year. “It’s not part of the dialogue.”

“You look so silly saying that in a princess dress.” She laughs again, and this time she couldn’t stop. I’m not sure if this is going the right way. “You know, I’m not sure if you’d notice, but that only means I did a good job hiding it.”

What’s the proper response for that? “My head hurts.”

My disconnected reply does not deter her own confession. “I like you, Sasuke.” Her gaze lands on anywhere but me. “For a long time now. How else would I know you have a fever that day?”

Actors get stuck on lines. They forget the next words. Some people depend on off-stage prompters, others improvise. I’m not an actor, no matter how much I practice and make up scenarios which I would rather describe as overthinking, but I choose the latter.

My steps are still too heavy for all the nervousness that holds me down, but I reach her soon enough. “I think the student council president deserves a last dance for her last cultural festival.”

She quickly finds her spaces within the expanse of my arms. Maybe that’s what happens when I’ve carved out the place for her.

“This is not part of the play,” I whisper.

“It is,” she replies, “The teacher just cut it out because of the runtime.”

She steps on the hem of my dress, and the resulting sidestepping makes her double down in another fit of laughter. She’s closer to me now, much closer than the three inches we practiced.

“Oh Sasuke, I have another confession.”

I don’t think I’m  ready—

“It wasn’t Naruto’s fault.” She’s breathless. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“Oh.”

I make a step, an attempt at fumbling. She holds me steady at my waist. I learn that my hands can cradle her entire face while hers seep cold against the fabric of my dress. This time, I taste apples as I bend down. “This one isn’t too.”

I, Uchiha Sasuke, want nothing but peace in the last year of my high school life. So far, I managed to find and keep it.

ao3 link | buy me coffee ☕

#sasusaku #ss shoujo week 2023 #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #ss fic #high school au #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily

[pinkhairedlily]

the warmest place in the world

SUMMARY:

I have said I love you. You have said I love you too. The grand climax is over. The tumultuous journey is past and we have arrived in calm waters. It's mundane, ordinary, and silent. But between us, each day, in silent, smallest declarations, we still say, I love you. I love you. I love you.

(in which Hitsugaya and Hinamori are married)

gift for @ryomaunnie 🎁🎄 | @hitsuhina-week

a/n: sorry this got delayed so much!!! i hope i gave justice to your prompt of hh married/domestic life 🥺 belated happy holidays to the community. may you thrive and heal and live gently this 2023 🤍

Hinamori Momo was a winter bride.

One would think it was an inadequate choice; she was always bright and sunny, the very manifestation of a summer’s day.

But warmth has always been indispensable to the cold.

Like her to him. The love of his life. The fire to his ice. His red thread of fate.

She said I do to him under the curtain of snow, and Hitsugaya kissed his wife’s red button nose.

He kisses it all the same on slow mornings when the sun creeps on the Seiretei horizon, limbs all splayed out on the cotton covers, chasing shadows in the crook of each other’s embrace.

He touches it on nights he captures her lips and lets himself melt all over. Momo is my wife, he tells himself as she settles against his chest. Momo is my wife, he repeats again when he wakes up with her hair on his cheeks. Momo is my wife, like a prayer that came true.

— — —

“Which side of the bed do you want, Shiro?” Momo asks as she surveys the bare room. On one side, the window shares the view of the overgrowth. Rose vines and yellow bells fight for space on sparse earth while poison ivy rests comfortably on the concrete walls of the house. It will take some time to tame their backdoor wilderness, but Hitsugaya can see that it would be a beautiful garden in the care of her hands.

“I’ll take the one facing the wall Momo.”

A smile grows from his statement. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

"No take backs."

He smirks. "I don't do that."

"You'll roll me over!"

He holds up a pinky. She always made him do this when they were younger. "Promise. Stop being so insufferable. You're so cute when you're adamant."

"Ugh, so sappy all of a sudden." She giggles — that's all he wants to hear really — and laughter fills the crevices of the old house.

Under the futon that night, surrounded with boxes both closed and halfway open, Momo stares out the curtainless window to the unobstructed view of the full moon. She falls asleep after the fifth shooting star.

Meanwhile, Hitsugaya has the perfect perspective of her face; how she surrenders to the drowse, how her breathing evens out, and how she smiles in her dreams. Not all nights are like this.

Sometimes, the dreams are nightmares.

And he refuses to touch her in the aftermath.

He can vividly feel his hand — Hyourinmaru — go through her chest. His quickening pulse matches the spewing blood from her body. When it's emptied, there's a hollow instead of where her heart should be.

He goes frigid, his own pulse also frozen in shock, despair, some kind of indescribable grief. Then he jolts out of that plane when he feels her, the present her, draw his arm around her body. Calm and steady, her . In between the void and wakefulness, she forgives him.

Figures lost in crowd, that's what they look like on market days. She reaches out to him in the sea of bodies, intertwining his fingers with hers. It's a mindless gesture for Momo, but Hitsugaya feels tethered.

His hand in her. His soul is anchored.

———

"Tadaima."

10:07. Hitsugaya left Karakura around that time. Ichigo is boisterous, the usual, but even more so with the second addition to their family.

They broke the news over Orihime's okonamiyaki. A hefty dash of Ichigo's tears made it into the cooking. She made sure to pack portions for Hinamori.

Who happens to be burning her own okonamiyaki in the kitchen.

"Ah. I messed it up." She's near tears. "Did you have dinner yet, Shiro?"

He places the package on the counter and wounds his arm around her waist. She curls further into herself, sobs on the verge of escaping every limb, but he holds her close and whispers into her ear. "Yeah you burned it but I think it's still edible."

Still entangled with her, he samples a small part from the smoking brown concoction on the stove. Placid reaction gives way to strong grimace. "See, edible."

Momo groans. "I hate you Shiro."

"I love you Momo." His laughter resounds against her untangled hair. Smooth, flowing strands shaking as sobs transform into fits of amusement.

She faces him after a while. "Did you bring earth food?"

He nods. "It's not your favorite pizza, but Orihime's cooking is better than most."

"What did she cook?"

"Okonomiyaki." Her face falls flat from the sudden reminder of her failure. It disappears from his view when he pulls her in for a tight embrace.

Like earlier, his voice travels through her strands, wind to the leaves, water to sand, "Listen. You may not perfect every dish. You may mess up some things. You may not know how to repair the heater. Or keep planks straight when you hammer them in. Dogs may not like you. But you brew the best tea and coffee. You knit the warmest scarves. You sow the most beautiful flowers. The cats love to rub against you. You are my wife and I love you for all that you are."

"You talk so much," she groans against his shoulder. "I'm just hungry."

They laugh again, just as easily.

———

"Good... morning, taichou."

Normally, it would be Matsumoto slumped against Hitsugaya's shoulders, but on rare occasions that he would go drinking with Shinji (forced really) and his circle, Hitsugaya would always, always, return home intoxicated beyond his limits.

And her captain would always, always, bring this drunken stupor to her doorstep.

Even when they were still branding themselves as childhood best friends ("Of course, we would look out for each other.") When they were sidestepping the line that separates friendly concern to affection. A series of drunken declarations when he thought she was asleep, forgotten in the wake of the mornings as he casually slipped, unaffected, nonchalant, almost stoic from her quarters. ("Do you know, Momo, that I like you? I like you. I like you very, very, very much. I don't know what to do with these feelings. Momo, how do I tell you?") When they thought it was their best, well-kept secret in Soul Society. ("Way to announce you're mine, Shiro, banging on my door like that at 2 AM, calling me your darling?!") It was the best, well-shared secret.

"Hirako, you dumbassss. Why did you bring me to Momo? I'm a mess, look at me," Hitsugaya drawls over his words.

"Don't puke on her when you kiss, all right." Shinji winks at his lieutenant and bids adieu effectively in the dead silence of the night.

"I'm not gonna kisssss yew." Hitsugaya raises his palm and slaps it across his chest. "I am a good sssenpai. And a taichou. And I will not take advantage of yew."

"Shut up and go inside already."

He spots the gold band when she pulls his arm. He's sniffling by the time he makes it to their kitchen.

"Why did I wait so long?"

"Wait to come home?" Hinamori patiently goes through the same motions he does when she's drunk. Boil water. Brew some tea. Sober up.

"Wait to tell you I love you." His sniffles are louder, close to sobbing. "I've always wanted you to be my wife. Gods, I'm so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"I won't disagree with you on this." This happens every time, and each repeat just makes her fonder of him.

And yes, more annoyed.

But he's endearing when he's moping so he gets a pass.

He clutches her hand tightly. "Is he a good man? Does he love you more than I do? Are you happy?"

Hinamori leans in closer to his space. From this distance, she can smell the alcohol mingling with fresh pine and snow she associates him with. Her palms cup his drooping, tear-stricken face.

"He is a good man that loves me so much and makes me happy every day. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then she kisses him as he does on nights she doubts his love. A seal of sorts, a magic touch that dispels the stormy clouds, a kiss.

"Momo, you're a married woman."

"And you're my husband, Hitsugaya-taichou."

———

The snipping of scissors molds with the hummingbirds perched on the blossoming dogwood.

Silver specks litter the hardwood floor. Momo's barefoot protrudes through the strands, his shoulders as her balance.

Her tongue peeks out in concentration as she trims the lengthened threads. It's easy to fall asleep on this cool, spring day while her fingers conduct an orchestra with his hair.

"Do you want an undercut?"

"Please don't make me look like Ichigo or Renji."

"Kira and Yumichika said it's fashionable."

"So why don't they say that to Byakuya?"

"Byakuya has a distinct style."

"And I don't? I'm offended."

"I think you look good in any hair."

"That's what wives say."

She brandishes a mirror in front of him. A relieved sigh leaves him when he sees no noticeable changes. "Great job, Ms. Hinamori. I'll give you a tip."

She kneels in front of him and rests her head on his lap. Her hair falls like waves on the side of his leg. Untangled in her braid, it's a shiny mane. They slip when he twirls his finger around them. "Cut my hair too, Shiro."

"Rukia-style? Or Yumichika?"

"Just don't shave me."

Cut hairs all gone and away and napes exposed to the blossom breeze, they spend the fading afternoon in the awning of the garden. Momo is asleep in his arms, her face dotted with pink petals, and the leaves playing across her features.

Hitsugaya mindlessly traces circles on her arm, navigating to her stomach where a shawl is splayed over. She knitted this some shinigami years ago and the fabric seems to call for his touch. To trace the same shape over and over until he feels the indentation. The slight slope he might miss in passing.

Adrift petals lay their rest right where his hand stopped orbiting.

"Momo?"

She only smiles and places her hand over his, flowers blooming in between the spaces of their fingertips.

"Shiro?"

His throat is heavy. "I'm gonna be a good father." He kisses the crown of her head, and they snuggle closer until twilight takes over the sky.

———

Fireflies are luminescent under the bridge. The river murmurs in the dark, continuing their voyage to the sea with the green attraction fading in their reflection, a memory drowned.

Momo wanted to rest. Rukia warned her about sore feet and wonky legs in the last few months of the pregnancy.

Hitsugaya would have wanted to carry her back home, if she let him. He's sulking from her stubbornness.

"It's peaceful tonight." Momo breathes in the changing summer air. Autumn has started to dispel its first notes.

"It's peaceful," Hitsugaya echoes. He embraces her from behind, his hands crossed like a prayer over her stomach. "I'm glad it's peaceful."

"But what if there's war again?"

It's not as if Hitsugaya hadn't thought of this already. It haunted his nights. It's a possibility on the back of his head when he attends council meetings, signs paperworks, reads reports. Always on the lookout for the first triggers.

It's a hard thing to keep — peace.

"Then there's another reason to fight for." But sometimes, it comes by easy. "For now, this is peace to me."

The fireflies steer towards their direction. Alight and luminous, their reflections are carried by the currents, a memory in voyage.

———

"Cold!!!!" Hanami bolts through the door. A child around five with brown hair covered in snow and teal irises that are so honest and bare and earnest. There's unbridled happiness in her eyes.

"Can you at least tone down that blush whenever you come home from Byakuya's estate?" Hitsugaya sighs.

"That's because of cold, Shiro," Momo reasons out from the kitchen.

"He made me tea, Papa!"

"As he does to all his guests?"

"No! It's the special tea!" She sticks out her tongue at her father while she quickly shrugs off her outerwear. Then her little feet urgently pad off to settle beside him in the kotetsu. "When I grow up, I'm gonna marry Uncle Byakuya!"

"He's old, Hana-chan."

"No, he's not! He's still handsome!"

"You have poor taste in men, my silly girl."

Momo sweeps into the room with a tray of tea. "That's too bad. You don't have room for Mama's special tea?"

"I have, Mama. The snow outside evaporated the tea earlier." She pats the little space beside her. "Sit Mama! It's cold!"

Lulled in drowse by tea, the family lies side by side on the floor, legs all tangled up under the kotatsu, as the snowstorm builds to a precipice outside.

"Did you enjoy painting with Byakuya?" Hitsugaya asks the growing babe on his shoulder.

Hanami nods. "He was worried I'd get snowed in."

Momo blows raspberries on Hanami's hair. "Was it cold, Hana-chan?"

"Very! He made me wear another coat. It was difficult to walk." She mimics shaking terribly but only ends up laughing. It's contagious, feeling the giggles travel the course of her skin and limbs, and unto her parents.

"Papa never gets cold, right Mama?" Hanami places her hand over their entangled fingers on her stomach.

"No, he never does."

"Are you cold right now, Hana-chan? Do you want me to move away?" Hitsugaya almost shifts out of their hold, but his daughter plants him to his side.

"Silly Papa! You're always so warm." Her button nose red from the cold, and her cheeks flushed pink, Hanami pulls her parents closer to her. "This is the warmest place in the world."

#hitsuhina #hitsugaya toushirou #hinamori momo #momo #hitsugaya #hinamori #bleach fic #bleach #hitsuhina gift exchange 2022 #fic!pinkhairedlily #fic!pseudolily

[pinkhairedlily]

day 1/12 of maligAYAng pasko (christmas snippets) prompt: coffeehouse, sasusaku by @nabissante

“Iced americano, grande, for here.”

Her name’s Sakura, one of their cafe’s afternoon regulars. She’s easy to spot and remember with her pink hair and emerald eyes and her books that change cover every week. Other staff would have fought for this shift; these are the dead hours after all, when students are stuck in classes and office employees are in their cubicles. Silent, patient service for people with no time commitments.

That leaves him the indulgence of soaking in her presence on the corner table by the window. Too preoccupied in following the worlds in the pages to notice that her coffee has gone cold so he always offers to make them iced. They are nothing more than nods and gestures and good-afternoons and please-come-again.

She arrives between 1 and 2 PM and leaves exactly at 5 before the evening crowd drowns the line.

On this certain summer when the heat wave reached a new peak, she was late.

 2:30 PM. No walking cherry blossom on sight.

2:48 PM. Maybe she’s sick.

3:01 PM. She might have other important appointments.

3:27. She enters the cafe looking like summer itself with her yellow sundress and espadrilles, but her usually calm face contorts in thinly veiled annoyance from the person trailing behind her. 

They look like a mismatched couple of all sorts. Sakura heads to her designated spot but the businessman with his fancy envelope bag prefers to sit near the counter.

Sasuke doesn’t know what kind of urge comes over him, but he heads beside the source of Sakura’s affliction and places a ‘reserved’ sign on the surface he tapped a while ago. “This is taken, Sir. May I suggest the corner table by the window? The views of Hanami Park around this time are still beautiful.”

Behind the struggling businessman, Sakura peaks out and directs a smile at him. ‘Thank you.’

The meeting — or whatever that is — finishes in 10 minutes. Relief is plainly visible on her face when the stiff businessman exits the door. 

“May I get your order?”

“I already ordered one.” She points to the still-full, now-lukewarm americano in front of her and grimaces.

“So?”

“An affogato. I need something sweet.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks, Sasuke-kun.”

Maybe it’s the way she calls his name that makes him turn on his feels, his mouth agape. She is ready for the question he is yet to ask; her hand gestures to an invisible nametag on the upper left side of her chest.

“Ah.” It’s foolish to think there’s any other reason.

The following week, it’s someone more gentlemanly, could have easily passed off as noble or royalty, and Sakura feigns interest until the point where he starts caressing her hands. Hot cappuccino injures him, but it’s the dark stain on his crisp suit that angers him.

This is Sasuke’s first customer complaint, but it never gets written when you have a charming Sakura appeasing the pseudo-gentleman’s ego.

She couldn’t stop laughing when she finally had the table alone.

Sasuke deftly replaces her americano with affogato. “Just the way you like it.” 

The week after that, an avid car racer. Not hard to identify when he sports an F1 jacket while it’s almost 30 degrees outside. The facade breaks when Sasuke brings over a coffee table book on vintage cars (sure it’s just lying around somewhere), and the racer fails to read the captions.

“So you like vintage cars?” she asks over the dollop of ice cream on top of her lips.

“I don’t know a thing.” He crosses his arms and straightens his posture. “But I can read.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

“Oh shush. Scarlett is only human.”

Thirty minutes or more of mundane conversations of anything from books to customers to weirdest orders bookmarked Sasuke’s afternoon encounters with her. They border seamlessly on casual talk, never drifting on the personal, and this, he thinks, is the line that will forever bind them as strangers.

But that’s all right.

He likes talking to her. This much is good.

It becomes clear to Sasuke that it’s a ploy of Sakura’s machinations. Bad customer service drives away bad marriage prospects. The string of dates finally ends right before autumn with a four-eyed gamer who is more intent on convincing Sakura to shift to kindle and abandon paperbacks.

Of course, it’s a no. On both fronts.

“Do you like your work?”

Clients normally ask this, right? “Inasmuch as the pay lets me live.” Sasuke wonders if she’ll follow it up with a deeper probe, but she shifts, and so he buries the news. 

Why would he even tell her something so life-altering?

xxx

Her sundresses give way to knitted wear, and affogatos turn to hot lattes with a dash of cinnamon. It would surprise her, but Sasuke departs the counter to another staff. Since then, coffee has never tasted the same.

As the branches bare their leaves for snow, the cafe gets fuller. Sakura considers leaving early to give way for new customers. Her time spent inside drastically shortened right after his absence. Somehow, reading books on that quaint corner of the building isn’t enough.

She’s bookmarking the same page she is in two hours earlier when someone sits in front of her.

“Oh sorry, I’ll be leaving in a jiff,” she says without looking.

“Sakura.”

It’s her favorite barista. Dark hair tucked inside a bonnet. An affogato and hot americano in both hands. Tomato nose from the cold. And a book trapped in his chin.

“Sasuke-kun?”

“You’re on your way?”

Sakura settles back in, confused for a moment, but definitely torn between misplaced anger and …yearning. “No, not really. If you don’t mind.”

“How are you?” He slides the affogato to her side as he takes in his first sip.

“Where were you?” She doubles and then quickly recovers, “How are you, I mean?”

“I was busy opening a new cafe.” He looks fulfilled at his declaration.

“Oh wow. That’s big news. Congratulations!” She attempts an enthusiastic clap, but it sounds flat even to her own ears. His sudden appearance is overwhelming for her who got so used to it in the past few months to the point that she falls asleep to the rewind of their conversations in her head.

“I also wanted to prepare before dating someone.”

Did she hear that right?

Dating.

Could he even see how that affects her? Gut punch after gut punch for a thing she couldn’t quite name yet — didn’t want to name yet. 

Sakura was so intent on not getting married. Even had him looped in her plans to foil every blind date and in turn she was rewarded with this irrational fixation towards him.

“Oh, look at you. I hope it goes well.”

“I hope it does, but I don’t think it will.” He takes another sip, calm in his composure. “You see, I just gave her an affogato I brewed myself, but she’s not interested in drinking it.”

“That’s a pity —” She stands up in realization. “Huh?”

“I’m asking you on a date, Sakura.”

She slumps back to her seat in surrender. “You ghosted me.” Now it’s his turn to look equally dumbfounded.

“What? You weren’t interested.”

“Why would I endure long conversations with you when I cannot even stand 10-minute ones with those guys?”

“Because I’m your server?”

“Shut up.” Sakura laughs. “So are you taking me to dinner?”

“Yeah. I had to drink two americanos, but I think they only made me more nervous.”

#sasusaku #sssnippetaday #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #modern au #sasuke #sakura #ss fic #fic!pinkhairedlily

[pinkhairedlily]

The Day Sakura Stopped Being Human

Summary: Strong smell of tobacco cuts through the petrichor. The smoke comes from the branches above her. He’s tall, around nine feet, or probably more than that when he stands upright. Stories say they enjoy making people walk in circles. The only way to end it is to reverse one’s clothes. “You’re a kapre.” “And I heard you would like a smoke.” Rating: Teens and up

For Kakasaku Halloween Week 2022 @kkskevents | AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42752997

Sakura gives up lighting the candle. The wind is strong, and the rain seems to have no intention of letting up. It’s a good thing she deferred on buying flowers. She only had enough until next week. She tightens her hold on her umbrella as she feels the gusts come her way. No use; it bends upwards, drenching her from head to toe.

Time and elements have eaten away the letters on the stone on the fifth floor of a grave apartment. To a stranger, it’s unmarked. To her, it’s a brief interlude of sunshine. How cruel — to have someone’s life be remembered through a bunch of lines.

Sakura waits for the tears. It’s always better to cry when it’s raining.

Most funerals fall on rainy days. She wished it was like that when her parents died, but the actual forecast was sunny. Not too humid, not too hot. The perfect summer day on a beach. No rain fell that day so she couldn’t cry.

When she went home, she tried to make a meal for herself. There was leftover rice on the rice cooker. She heated a pan to fry an egg, the last one in the fridge. She cracked it just fine. She watched as the edges made small bubbles before turning brown and crisp, waited until all but the yolk cooked (she liked her eggs runny), then she tried to scoop it onto her plate. The bottom stuck, and the yellow spilled over.

Right, it was still food.

She turned off the gas, assumed her position at the table for the last 13 years, and ate. Fat teardrops slid on her cheek. The rice went bad and the egg was unseasoned. She missed her parents.

Present day Sakura pats the wet blades of grass off her clothes and finds shelter under the thick canopy of balete, a strangler tree. A line of them has taken residence along the walls of the cemetery. Stories about them are plentiful across places, from cities to mountains. No one dares to cut them down lest they invoke the wrath of its otherworldly residents.

She only sees them as trees. Good for the environment but parasitic. Eats up non-balete species easily. Might also eat up the graves in less than a century. Some part of her is grateful for them; they’re one of the reasons why lots at the back are cheap. But if she doesn’t pay the next installment next month, Mebuki and Kizahi’s bones will be replaced by someone else. (She hopes the balete grows overnight and takes over the whole place.)

Ironic considering how no one is visiting the dead when it’s All Souls Day. People pay for space and markers as grand tributes and never come back again. Some bullshit.

“I would kill for a smoke right now.”

Strong smell of tobacco cuts through the petrichor. It’s distinct from normal nicotine sticks or the trendy vape tools. The sharp scent brings her back to her auntie’s house in the province, stringing fresh tobacco leaves and hanging them up to dry. When the leaves roll up nicely, that’s when she knows she did a good job.

The smoke comes from the branches above her. She follows the trail of the roots and its draping limbs until she sees the rorschach blots of orange and red before they could disperse in ash gray wisps.

He’s tall, around nine feet, or probably more than that when he stands upright. Sakura sucks at metrics. His hairy legs dangle loose over the branch — it’s a wonder how the wood can hold its weight. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m not lost,” Sakura says out loud.

“Yes, I can see you.” She’s expecting a more guttural noise but his is flowy and clear, almost like how a violin would sound. “And yes, I haven’t played a prank on you yet although the desire is tempting.”

Stories say they enjoy making people walk in circles. The only way to end it is to reverse one’s clothes. “You’re a kapre.” A pervy one at that.

“And I heard you would like a smoke.”

He jumps down from his position with a loud thud and settles on the cradle of the humongous balete roots. Pretty sure his landing would have carved out a hole in the earth. Oddly enough, being at arm’s breadth from this supernatural creature doesn’t ignite fear in her. Paralysis, anxiety, cold, desperation, fight or flight — all of these abandoned her psyche.

She’s simply tired.

And she needs a smoke so bad.

The kapre opens his metal tin the size of her torso. She gingerly picks the one in the middle and cuts a third out of it; no way is she gonna smoke an arm-sized roll. That would be like contracting lung cancer in just two long drags.

She sits beside him, much more conscious of their size difference, and asks for a light. He leans in towards her roll, and that’s the only time she feels scared.

Because he doesn’t look like a kapre. He looks beautiful.

Oh, she underestimated her cockiness.

She coughs when the nicotine hits her lungs. His laughter is a rumble, quite a nice companion to the pitter-patter of rain, if only she isn’t fighting for her life being cool and unaffected. Sakura always had walls to build, but seconds only with him, and she’s a mess. Absurd.

“It had been a long time,” she says as an excuse.

“So you say.” He takes another long drag. That tobacco roll seems to never run out.

“You look more of a mix.”

“Please don’t loop me with the kinds of tikbalang - part horse, part human. They look horrendous.”

"True. The proportions don't match with them." Smoking gets easier. Familiarity, with something you hate and love, makes it difficult to forget. It's always in the back of one's head. "So what are you? An albino?"

The kapre considers the word for a moment and shrugs. "Probably."

Sakura sharply turns to his side. "Wait — your engkanto mom probably had an affair with a kapre!"

The creature smirks at her. "Hmm. Perceptive. You're right." He crosses his arms behind his head, and she finds it difficult to look away from the bulging veins of his biceps.

"I bet your whole kingdom is envious of you."

He laughs. "Oh it's the best of both worlds."

"I know I'm right. You look —" 

Beautiful.

"— so out of place." 

Sakura stares at him like he has grown two heads. How?

"The perfectionist engkantos think my height is an anomaly, and being five shades revokes your kapre citizenry." 

"Oh."

He takes a long drag again and puffs out circles. "Yes oh."

The end of her roll is succumbing to the cold, diffusing in wisps that join the fog of the rain. Sakura pulls her knees closer to her chest. "Is that why you're here?"

"To project my misery on people?" He scoffs. "Of course, you're right."

"What's the worst prank you did?" 

"I killed one."

She waits for her blood to run cold at the casual confession.

And waits and waits and waits. It doesn’t come. She remains the same nonchalant lady who entered the cemetery an hour ago.

Life, she realized, has numbed her to this point.

"Why?"

 “Why?”

The creature looks at her incredulously, probably in awe why she hasn’t bolted yet. He licks his lips and rests one side of his chin to his palm. Sakura realizes this is how he recalls things.

He describes a long object with his arms and swings it horizontally. “He wanted to take down my tree.”

“Can’t you transfer somewhere else? It’s easy to grow a balete tree. You just leave it be.”

“My father’s side sticks strictly to one. It’s hard to find empty lots right now where I’m at.”

“Your house literally grows through concrete.”

“It’s much of a hassle when you wake up every other day with your house cut down. You understand we operate on two different time frames? Your life expectancy is only a few years to us.”

Sakura nods. “So the roadworks also affect you?”

“This is why you never progress.”

“Says someone with backward filial beliefs.”

“Excuse you, we have a different worldview.”

“You’re weird.” Sakura’s shift in topic is jarring. “You’re easy to converse with.”

“The gravediggers don’t talk to me anymore.” He resumes his attention on his tobacco.

Meanwhile, Sakura’s is wet from the rain. The half-consumed roll rests on the soil, crushed by muddy rivulets. 

“So what’s your story, pinky?”

Sakura rests her back on the large trunk. “I’m visiting my parents.”

“At the height of a storm?” 

In her soaked bag, a phone rings. Three rounds of alarm, standard disaster notice. The automated voice reads, Warning. Red rainfall warning and signal number four in Konoha. Evacuate now. Another three rounds and then it falls silent.

Sakura nods. “It’s my last goodbye.”

“Going away?”

“You could put it like that. Our house is on mortgage, and some local officials want to demolish it for a right of way.”

“Roadworks?”

“Roadworks. It would have been done and sealed if they gave me money.” Sakura starts to chip off the sides of her nails. “But they said I’m the one who owes them. It turned into a screaming match, and then I got a blotter.”

“Rough life. So you’re wanted right now.”

She side-eyes him. “What? Afraid of me?”

The kapre laughs. “No, you’re cool. That’s a word you use, right?”

“My parents don’t know though so be a good kapre and keep mum.”

He puts out his tobacco against the trunk and scoots closer to her. Sakura is silently grateful for the warmth. She’s drenched and the cold is sinking into her bones. A little more and she’s sure to contract pneumonia.

But this creature, this man, is like a campfire on a beach in the middle of December. If someone would cover her with a blanket, she would instantly fall asleep.

“Don’t you have someone?”

She thinks of all the people she slept with. Her best friend turned stranger. The school librarian and the expulsion after the discovery. Random Tinder matches. The bakery boy who always gave her one extra pandesal. The man she thought of as the one but hid her from his family.

She has memories of heartbreak, of crying and thrashing and cursing, but the pain has left her for good.

“No. I’m the first one to always leave.”

“That’s a shame. You’re pretty.” A finger lifts the end of her ponytail. “But this makes everything easier.” 

“Are you hitting on me?” She flicks his large hand away.

His mouth curves upwards. A sneer. Menacing one. “Ah you’ve reached bottom rock if you think a kapre is a good prospect.”

Sakura drops the cool act and grunts. “I don’t think I’ll get married in this lifetime. Love is just too taxing.”

“But you’ve slept around.”

“Are you actually following me?”

“No, it’s a human thing to do. Sleep around. Some people do it on top of tombs.”

Sakura winces in disgust. “You’re such a voyeur.”

He holds up both of his hands. “Against my own will.”

The rain mercilessly keeps on, and the winds start to pick up speed. It’s chaos all over, but in her mind, Sakura is busy fondling sensations. Her fingers unconsciously trace the outline of her lips. “I miss kissing. Being kissed.” 

“Is that a request?”

She snaps as if waking from a trance. The giant is teasing her, but the question piqued her curiosity. While he trained his gaze elsewhere, she slipped her small body near his frame, using the roots as her leverage. She quickly captures his face with her small hands.

He’s surprised. Or he went into shock. Either way, he’s not moving.

“What would it be like,” she stares deep into his eyes, “to kiss you?”

It’s a litmus test.

This creature’s actually intelligent so he must have known by now why Sakura wants to be riled up. All that she has felt lately is emptiness. She’s not expecting much. It might be just like other kisses before him — mechanical, numb, unfeeling.

Under all of these, she’s just scared to admit she lost the capacity for emotions.

What would it be like to kiss you? A horrendous folklore creature? Will it give me disgust or fear?

Sakura’s lips are only a fraction of his mouth.

Something ignites — from him or her, she doesn’t know. It feels like she grew several feet tall, and his face somehow perfectly fits the cradle of her hands. And his mouth which tastes of nicotine and rain and mint is accurately slotted against hers. 

She shudders at the goosebumps that prick her skin. Figuring it’s just the cold, she inches closer until her hands reach his hairy chest. Those large hands find their way on her back and push her tighter against him.

She moans at the growing friction, inadvertently opening her mouth to his access. Tongue meets tongue and from there on out, everything is lost under the canopy of the straggler tree.

“You can shapeshift,” she notes after a long while.

The giant hums in agreement. “I’m a bit of everything, Sakura.”

She stills at the mention of her name. “How did you —”

The guilt on his face is an afterthought. “I told you. I’ll come back for you.”

Recollection comes to her in sweeping moments.

She remembers him.

She knows him.

These memories finally move to the forefront.

“Kakashi.”

Sakura utters the same name he gave so many years ago. A distant memory of her getting lost in a sea of legs. Grasping a hairy ankle. She held onto the hairs as the man walked and walked and walked. She woke up in a room bathed in blinding sunlight. She squinted a lot before finding focus on the giant man in front of her.

Silver hair, grey eyes, and a kind smile.

“Pretty.” She reached out with her short arms, and he crouched down to her level. Fingers squeezed the skin of his cheeks, making her giggle. “Pretty pretty pretty!” she kept repeating. 

In retrospect, this must have been the first time he was described like that. The man cried when he heard the word. Sakura didn't think much of it back then. She was too hungry to think straight.

Seeing her expression, he quickly led her to a table filled with food, and she took her favorite — a sweetened milk powder one ate through a straw called mikmik.

She also grabbed a Chuckie, a chocolate drink. Her classmates had this for snacks while she was stuck with diluted milk. 

"Thank you!" She minded her manners. Her mom says they can get you through life. "You have a nice house!"

The creature kept smiling. "What's your name?"

"Sakura!"

"That's a rare name."

"Father says it matches my hair!" She points to another carton of chuckie. "Can I bring some for my parents, mister giant?"

He nods. "Call me Kakashi."

“When I grow up, I’m gonna marry you Kakashi!” She indulged in every treat at the table, and he let her. 

“Why?”

Sakura counted the reasons on her stubby fingers. “You’re pretty. You have food. You have a nice house.”

He laughed, and she felt the whole room rumble.

“I cannot keep you here. You should go home,” he said with fondness in his voice. “For now.”

Once again, she was wrapped around his ankle. When he stopped walking after a while, she knew it was goodbye.

“Will I see you again?” she asked him. “Thank you for feeding me, Kakashi!”

“Do you want to go back?”

Sakura didn’t know her answer would matter much.

“Yes!”

“Then I’ll come back for you.”

He dropped her off at the entrance of the cemetery from where she traced her steps back to their house. Haruno Sakura had been missing for a week.

x x x

Sakura still made no move to go away. She sits still on the damp root system and watches every microexpression on his face.

“Your parents made it hard to see you again. Had you visit a folk doctor and gave you some charm to ward me off.”

“Did you kill them?”

Kakashi twirls his finger in the air. “No. Road accidents aren’t my thing. Can’t say I wasn’t happy. That made it easier to see you from time to time.”

She weighs his words carefully. “Are you gonna kidnap me now?”

“Hmm, no need for that. You already took a puff out of my tobacco roll, and you kissed me.” He sounds so proud of himself. “I don’t think you need any more convincing.”

She feels an eerie pounding in her chest. The way she went from extreme butterflies (after a long drought) to desperation is whiplash. “Are there any more machinations in my life courtesy of you?”

“None really. I was merely a bystander, patiently waiting for the right time.”

“And now is?”

He smiles again but doesn’t answer. “I guess I need to give you the courtesy to choose. Come back to my home and I’ll make you stay missing.”

The courtesy to choose does not exist. She knows she has sold her soul to him the moment she grabbed food on his table. It’s a common warning — never accept any food or drink from these types of creatures. Once you do, you become one of them.

Kakashi only extended her grace period on earth.

Sakura closes her eyes in frustration.

“What happens if I say no?”

“You’ll just have to visit me every other day to keep me company.” She won’t get rid of him. She’s not entirely sure if she wants to get rid of him.

She thinks about their house along the railway tracks. Most furniture was already sold. The mountain of bills she stuffed in the trash can (tomorrow’s the collection day). Five disconnection notices. Three eggs past the expiration date. A rejection email for a job application. The crumpled recommendation slip inside her pocket. The bottle of pills she swiped at the public health office. 

She has prayed long and hard for this opportunity.

To disappear.

Sakura grabs Kakashi’s wrist and stares at him. “Come on then.”

She expects atmospheric pressure, the kind where you feel all sorts of weight push towards you and propel you in another dimension. It turns out to be as easy as stepping into a bridge and walking the whole way through.

She should have done this sooner.

Kakashi’s world is bathed in sunlight. Sakura immediately feels warmth travel the inches of her skin. A modest spire gate and a room that’s carved out from her memory.

It’s the bedroom she draws on the back of her notebook. Queen-sized bed with pastel green sheets, fluffy pillows, and a duvet. A bedside table with fresh chrysanthemums on a vase. A desk on the corner. A reading nook with built-in shelves around it.

“You’ve been preparing,” Sakura notes.

“I wanted to make you comfortable,” Kakashi replies. He takes her hand and leads her into the dining area. It’s exactly how she remembers it, filled to the brim with not a space uncovered with a dish. “This is now your world Sakura.”

She picks up a Chuckie carton. “Thank you, Kakashi.” And then she starts to cry.

#kakasaku #kakasaku week #haruno sakura #hatake kakashi #filipino folklore and mythology in a fic #sakura #kakashi #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily

[pinkhairedlily]

the nights have monsters (but i'm with you)

Hinamori Momo struggles to transition into a life after war. Sleepless for most nights and burdened with survivor’s guilt, her feet lead her to the person that could give her comfort, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. It’ll only take a few nights before her walls of pretense start to crumble, and she’ll be left to face the remains of her ghosts.

In an era of peace, the peacekeepers are restless.

Hinamori Momo struggles to transition into a life after war. Sleepless for most nights and burdened with survivor’s guilt, her feet lead her to the person that could give her comfort, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. It’ll only take a few nights before her walls of pretense start to crumble, and she’ll be left to face the remains of her ghosts.

For @soybeanprophecy 💛💐

#hitsuhina #hinamori momo #hitsugaya toushiro #hinamori #hitsugaya #bleach couples #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily #friends to lovers #canon compliant

[pinkhairedlily]

drowning in you

There’s always bound to be a moment that changes the trajectory of an elaborate sidestepping of the truth, and that finally comes for Hitsugaya and Hinamori through a drunken almost-one-night-stand, office confrontations, and the  unbecoming that feels like drowning.

Rated M (Mature) for obvious reasons.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41580675

FFnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14133943/1/drowning-in-you

#hitsuhina #hitsuhina fanfic #hitsugaya toushirou #hinamori momo #hitsugaya #hinamori #bleach fanfic #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily

[pinkhairedlily]

Summoning (Pareas carinatus)

Sasuke has a secret — one he doesn't give out easily. Not to his closest friends. Not even to his girlfriend, Sakura. It's a summoning privilege, a power he is yet to use, but tonight he lets it out. And he lets it play.

Rating: Explicit (mind the tags)

Snippet

Sasuke harbors a secret — one he doesn’t give out easily. Not even to his closest friends. Not even to his girlfriend, the prim and proper, manic pixie dream girl of Konoha, Haruno Sakura.

But he’s having a hard time keeping it under control lately, especially when the more wanton side of her started slipping through the cracks of her perfectly maintained facade. 

The shyness and awkwardness that accompanied all first times fell away quickly. The first bite has since then led to an insistent craving.

In all honesty, just the feel of her skin against him, under him, is more than enough for him. To watch her whimper and beg and scream for mercy is bliss already. To have her come undone over and over because of him is a lifetime of happiness.

She wanted more, it seems. Sakura can be very greedy when she wants to, relentless even. She’s never shy in making her intentions known, and she communicates it to him for several nights. Bringing his hand on her ass and showing him how to slap her unabashedly. Using his rope belt when he was on his avenger mission and tying it around her, leaving marks for him to soothe after. Pushing his head down deeper on her skin so his teeth leave marks when he gives her love bites. 

Letting him know she can bear the rough side of it. Raw, uncut, primal.

He cannot bear it any longer. He finds himself similarly slipping. His moans turning into a series of fricatives, her name another language on his lips when he peaks, his body finely attuned to her heat as his own drops into a shivering cold.

He asks her one time, as they bask in the afterglow, "What if I'm a monster?"

Sakura turns to him with furrowed brows. "Sasuke, we've been through this —" 

"— not figuratively."

"Then what?" 

Sasuke speaks in bated breath, the revelation already at the tip of his tongue. "What if I'm a monster — literally?"

Those jade eyes only wavered when it comes to her own self but never him. She always looks at him without her armor. Honesty. Sincerity. Love. He knew some time ago that Sakura would be his only constant. 

She reminds him again this time of her role in his life. "I've seen you at your worst. You couldn't go any further from this."

if you like this: buy me a coffee?

#sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily #snake sasuke and slug sakura

[pinkhairedlily]

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

Prompt: Corona borealis - Your hands are my pride 🔞

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

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

With Ino in tow, she becomes a mirrorball.

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

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

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

And yet — he chose her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shivers and then she breaks.

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

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

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

"You gave me a verbal contract."

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

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

She didn't tell him she's scared. 

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

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

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

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

And now it has a name.

Uchiha Sasuke.

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

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

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

#sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #ss retsuden countdown #fic!pseudolily #fic!pinkhairedlily

[pinkhairedlily]

when sasuke reaches his 30-year milestone in the acting industry, he obliges for a very rare, no holds barred interview.

per the usual, the questions touch on his earlier foray in indie screens where he had to go nude most of the time.

then onto his breakthrough role: a family drama with him as supporting lead, but the audience catches onto the unusual chemistry with another actor who plays his sister. haruno sakura. it was a commercial success, and it landed them bigger roles albeit not with each other.

they reunited in a romcom film that became cult classic. but then reel to real hopes sank when sakura announced her engagement to a director.

"did you ever catch feelings for your favorite leading lady? and by favorite, we mean egot legend sakura."

"wasn't it obvious?"

"you were always the private one. even tmz had a hard time finding dirt on you."

"i wasn't exactly quiet the whole time. i disappeared right after that, remember?"

"so are you that confirming your past 5-year hiatus on screen —"

"—that i was heartbroken."

"time didn't match."

"it wasn't on our side."

"this is quite a revelation. the gossip mill ran, but the two of you never confirmed this. we're so honored to hear the truth, sasuke."

"i promised a no-holds-barred after all."

"what now?"

"what about now?"

"well, her husband passed some years ago. she's single. she's accomplished. you're divorced. you teased about retiring for good. maybe it's time?"

"even though we're in our 50s?"

"why not?"

"can i let you in on a secret?"

"me and the 5 million people watching right now?"

"well, sakura is actually watching this from my living room right now, cuddled up with my cat, panther."

"goddamn."

"you're right. maybe the timing works this time."

"i want a wedding invitation!"

"sorry, it's already done."

#sasusaku #sssnippetaday #haruno sakura #uchiha sasuke #sakura #sasuke #naruto actors au #snippet!pinkhairedlily #ssthreadfic!pinkhairedlily #ss fic

[pinkhairedlily]

SS Retsuden Countdown | D-5

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

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

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

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

Save for Uchiha Sasuke. 

The man on redemption. Or so they say.

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

He had no home anyway. Why resist?

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

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

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

He was only Sasuke. The blind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of a sudden, Sasuke remembered how to breathe.

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

Haruno Sakura was alive beside him.

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

“Only love,” she corrected.

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

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

“The eyeballs part —”

“— too much?”

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

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

#sasusaku #ss retsuden countdown #sasuke retsuden #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #sssnippetaday #snippet!pinkhairedlily #will probably make this into a multichapter fic once retsuden countdown is over #akatsuki ss is always cool

[pinkhairedlily]

day 2/12 of maligAYAng pasko (christmas snippets) prompt: modern au + christmas date, sasusaku by @daffodeelily

For your listening pleasure

“Maybe we should go home,” Sasuke says through chattering teeth. 

There’s a long queue of people ahead of them to see the gigantic Christmas tree lighting. Sakura dragged him out of the warmth of his house for a ‘quick date’, one hour tops, promise, but that was three hours and four shopping bags ago and now his hair is soaked.

Sakura stomps in defiance, his ever stubborn spring girl. “Fifteen minutes more Sasuke!” She buries her face lower into her scarf and sniffles. 

Feeling sorry for her, as a boyfriend should, he grabs his heat pack and places it between her hands. Her brows furrow at this, but with his arms around himself, she couldn’t get to his pockets the normal way. He sticks out his tongue for a good measure.

His smug expression quickly wears off when she tickles him from behind, managing to thrust her hands inside his coat pockets. “This is better, Sasuke-kun.”

“Sakura. We’re in public.” Not that he wants her to move away. Any kind of warmth is welcome, especially when it comes from her. It’s just awkward walking in a pile of snow with a small pinkette wrapped around his back.

“Ten minutes more, my bubba lubba.”

She could be accurate if she wants to, and maybe it’s worth the wait to see her emerald eyes glisten brighter at the trail of lights turning on one after the other like endless trellis and draperies. Christmas carols spread across the atmosphere.

“Merry Christmas, Sasuke-kun!” She turns to him with a grin he’ll never get tired of.

A sprig of pine and mistletoe from someone’s festive hat catches his periphery, and he takes the chance to lean in and swallow her Rudolph-like nose in his mouth.

That earns him a jab at the ribs. “Eeew!”

“It looks so red!” 

“Just kiss me properly!” she whines.

He laughs while she shrinks into the cover of his wide poncho, hidden away from the rest of the world, as he brings down his lips to hers. This moment, under the snow, is theirs alone.

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