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Sunlight spilled through the wide windows, catching dust motes and the faint outline of the village beyond—rooftops rebuilt, streets repaved, scars plastered over with the optimism of time. Konoha looked peaceful these days.
That was the issue. Peace made people impatient.
Kakashi stood at the window, hands tucked into the billowing sleeves of his white haori, watching a group of young children walking home, excitedly and messily practicing the katas they had clearly learned that day. Their laughter carried faintly upward, bright and unafraid.
"They're not wrong," Shikamaru said from behind him.
He didn't turn. "About?"
"About being nervous."
Naruto shifted on his feet, uncomfortable in a way that he rarely showed. He'd faced gods with less uncertainty than this. "It's not like people are rioting," he said. "They're just… worried."
"That's worse," Shikamaru replied. "Riots burn out. Worry settles in."
Kakashi sighed. He had been feeling every one of his years lately. "They want reassurance."
"They want a story," Shikamaru corrected. "Right now, the story is: the man who helped almost destroy the world walks free under the Hokage's protection."
Naruto scowled. "That's not fair. Obito's been cooperating. He's only been out of prison for 3 months and he's been volunteering with the rebuild, he hasn't—"
"—done anything wrong since the war," Shikamaru finished. "I know. But that's not enough. Optics don't run on fairness, especially when the scale is tilted so far in such a shit direction."
Kakashi finally turned, eyes sharp. "Careful."
Shikamaru met his gaze without flinching. "You wanted me to be honest, Hokage-sama."
That was true enough. Kakashi had asked for logic, had asked for Shikamaru to look at their Obito… issue with all the ruthlessness of the Jōnin Commander, rather than the politeness of an advisor to the Hokage. All their previous approaches had gotten them nowhere - councils stalled, civilian representatives nodded politely and left unconvinced. Every week brought another anonymous letter demanding answers, justice, reassurance that the world wouldn't be brought to its knees again because they'd been merciful once.
Obito Uchiha was the easy—no, the inevitable target now that there was no other greater evil to defeat.
Naruto shoved his hands into his pockets, fidgety nature barely reigned in by the seriousness of their conversation. "So what, we lock him up again? Parade him through the village? That's not who we are."
"No," Kakashi said immediately. "We don't make an example of repetance by humiliation."
Shikamaru hummed. "Agreed. Which is why force won't work. Trials already happened. What's left is association."
Kakashi stiffened, already uneasy at the direction Shikamaru's suggestion was heading. "Association."
"People believe what they can see," Shikamaru began. "And what they can see right now is isolation. Obito lives on the edge of the village, speaks to no one but the shinobi he's assigned to work with, keeps his head down. Who's to say he's not biding his time, planning an even worse fate for Konoha?"
Naruto scoffed. "He's just… he wouldn't, he's just trying not to make things worse."
If only the blonde's blind trust in a former war criminal extended to the rest of the village.
"But he's not making anything better, either."
Silence stretched. Outside, the village bell chimed. Life, relentless and ordinary.
Naruto scratched the back of his neck, exasperated. "Okay, so, we help people see him differently? Like - give him a job that's public-facing. Think he'd like to work at the academy? Or—"
He grinned suddenly, the tension cracking just a little. "—or we could send him off to marry a princess or something. Make him into a househusband." Naruto snickered at his own joke, at the absurd imagery of the hardened Uchiha in an apron, baking a cake, baby on his hip.
The joke hung there.
Too long.
Naruto's smile faltered. "Uh. I was kidding. I don't think Konoha even has a princess, heh…"
Shikamary leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocusing, turning inward. Calculating. Kakashi felt the shift before he saw it, connected the dots in his own head before they could be spoken aloud.
"Oh no," he muttered.
Shikamaru's fingers steepled. "It's not completely ridiculous."
Naruto's jaw dropped in disbelief. "It's not?"
"It's been done before," Shikamaru replied. "Historically, socially, politically. Attach the village pariah to the right figurehead, you can reframe their entire identity."
Kakashi's voice went cold. He could feel the faint prickle of anxiety gathering in his sternum. "No, Shikamaru. She can't—won't. I won't ask her."
Naruto looked between them, unease crawling up his spine. "Who would even—"
Kakashi didn't bother letting him finish. "No."
The Nara heir just raised an eyebrow.
Obito's mornings were quiet.
He rose early, before the village bells, when the air was still cool enough to sit easily on his ever-warm Uchiha skin. The compound lay half-swallowed by trees after years of neglect, the forest pressing in close, patient and indifferent. He preferred it that way. The distance dulled the edge of things.
He was replacing a cracked beam along the eaves when his old teammate arrived, the familiar weight of a presence he had learned to recognize even after everything else had become unrecognizable.
"You're up early," Kakashi said.
Obito didn't look down. "The wood swells less before the heat sets in."
The silver-haired man hummed mildly. They stood in silence for a while, the sound of cicadas threading through the space between them. Obito worked carefully, adjusting the new beam until it sat flush against the roof.
"The council met yesterday," Kakashi finally broke the quiet.
Obito tightened the last joint and wiped his hands on his pants. "As they like to do."
"And I had a meeting with Shikamaru and Naruto this morning."
"Ah, all the smartest minds in the village."
Kakashi huffed out a laugh. "You could say that." His seriousness reappeared just as quickly, and Obito felt his shoulders tense slightly. "The council wants something visible. Something stable."
"And you volunteered to tell me."
"More or less." Kakashi's crypticness was annoying at the best of times, unbearable at the worst. Now was, decidedly, worse.
"What is it."
Kakashi hesitated, Obito setting his tools down more slowly than necessary. He waited.
"Shikamaru proposed a way to anchor you more firmly to the village," Kakashi said. "Socially."
Obito frowned. "I already live here."
"This would be different."
The pause stretched once more. Wind moved through the trees, lifting a scatter of leaves across the yard.
"…How different."
Kakashi met his gaze. "Marriage."
Obito stared at him, blank for a moment, as if waiting for the rest of the sentence. Or a punchline. When nothing followed, he let out a short breath.
"No," he said.
Not angry. Just final.
"It hasn't been decided," Kakashi raised his hands, a bare act of pacification. "No one has agreed to anything."
"It shouldn't have even been a suggestion."
"I know."
Obito looked away, jaw tight. The idea settled poorly, like grit under the skin.
"You're talking about tying someone to my name," he said. "To me. After everything."
"She would have a choice."
"That doesn't make it better."
Kakashi watched him carefully. "There are very few people the village would accept in that role." Obito's eyes shuttered closed.
"…Who," he spat the single word out. Kakashi didn't answer right away, and Obito turned fully to him then."…Who," he spat the single word out. Kakashi didn't answer right away, and Obito turned fully to him then.
The other man sighed, quiet. Tired. "Sakura Haruno."
The name landed like a bird shot out of the sky.
Obito laughed once, incredulous, the so und sharp in the morning quiet. "Absolutely not."
"She hasn't been approached," Kakashi said. "And she doesn't have to be."
"She shouldn't be," Obito snarled. He rubbed a hand over his face, then let it fall, annoyed he had snapped at his closest (only) friend. "She's done enough. Spent the war keeping people alive while I—"
He stopped.
"You don't get to use her to make people comfortable," he said instead.
"This isn't about comfort," Kakashi looked distinctly uncomfortable as he said that, hand coming up to scratch his cheek.
"It is," Obito replied. "Even if no one admits it." Somewhere beyond the trees, the village bell rang, distant and steady.
"Sakura is a nice girl. She deserves a life that doesn't require explanation," Obito said quietly. "Not this."
Kakashi nodded once. "I agree."
Obito turned back to the house, looking for the next crack to be fixed. The work waited, patient as ever.
"Don't ask her," he stated, without turning. "If you respect her at all."
Kakashi stood there a moment longer, then left the way he'd come.
It was very unsurprising to most that Sakura enjoyed staying late at the hospital.
At night, the halls softened. The lights dimmed. Barring an emergency, there were fewer hurried footsteps, no clipped voices calling for supplies, the smell of blood and antiseptic the tiniest bit fainter. Even the walls seemed to loosen, as if relieved of their vigilance.
Outside, Konoha glowed quietly, lanterns and streetlamps blurring into one another. Her window was open, allowing the end-of-summer breeze to whisper through her office.
Sakura rubbed her eyes and glanced down at the folder in front of her. Another exhausting week of proposals, of budgets and staffing estimates that never quite worked. A plan she'd been shaping for months, only to be stalled at the same place every time: funding.
Mental health services. Long-term care, support for children who had grown up learning how to brace for impact.
While the war had ended years ago, the echoes hadn't.
She closed the folder and leaned back, letting her head fall against the back of her chair. Maybe I just have to re-frame my pitch to the council at the next meeting… or ask to be put on some A- or S-rank missions…
A knock sounded at the door.
Sakura straightened. "Come in."
Her old sensei stepped inside, looking tired in the way she'd come to associate with the Hokage's office. An exhaustion that settled deep in the body.
"Sorry to bother you," he said in way of greeting, eyes crinkling in his classic suggestion of a smile.
"You're not," Sakura replied automatically. "What's wrong?"
He sat across from her, folding his hands loosely. He didn't answer right away, the silence stretching. Sakura felt it settle uneasily.
"The council's been restless," Kakashi said at last.
Sakura nodded. "They usually are."
"Yes." He hesitated, which made her even more nervous. The Copycat Ninja was many things, but hesitant was not one of them. "This is… related to the war."
She studied him then—really looked; the careful posture and weight behind his slate grey eyes.
Kakashi took a breath. "They're looking for ways to reassure the village. About Obito."
Sakura's expression didn't change, though something in her chest tightened. Obito Uchiha, recently free, existed at the edge of her awareness - spoken of carefully, thought of less often than he deserved.
"And?"
"They're worried," he continued. "About how he's perceived. And what his presence means for the village long-term."
Sakura had seen the looks, of course. People went quiet when Obito passed, stared a moment too long. Forgiveness was easier in principle than in practice. She began to pick at a hangnail on her thumb, a nervous habit of hers since her time in the academy.
"What do they want," she asked, tired of dancing around things. Sakura felt Kakashi's pause like a warning.
"…Marriage."
The word struck oddly. Like hearing a familiar phrase spoken in the wrong language.
She blinked once. "To Obito."
"Yes."
Her first thought was laughter, but the abrupt reality that he wasn't joking stopped the noise in her throat.
"No," Sakura said before she could stop herself.
Kakashi lifted his head. The belated realization that he hadn't even been looking her in the eyes when he asked such a thing made anger flare deep in her chest. "Sakura."
"No," she repeated, firmer. Heat crept up her spine, but she couldn't tell if it was her festering anger at the proposal or guilt at immediately shutting down her Hokage. "That's not, you can't—"
She stopped, pressing her lips together. Forced herself to breathe.
"I'm not some pawn for the council to just move around," she said quietly.
Kakashi nodded immediately, understanding as ever. "I know." She could punch him across the village.
"And he's not a project," she added. "He's a person."
"I know that too."
Sakura pushed back from the desk slightly, standing halfway before she realized what she was doing. She sat again, hands clenched looksely in her lap.
"This isn't fair. To him or to me."
"No," Kakashi agreed. "It isn't."
Stop being so agreeable, Kakashi, she wanted to scream. Be an asshole about this so I can be an asshole back.
Her gaze drifted to the window, to the village lights. She thought, unbidden, of another promise made years ago, another future she'd once shaped herself around. It seemed she could never quite escape the Uchiha.
"I've moved on," she said, though she wasn't sure who she was convincing with the tremor in her words. "I've tried to." She hadn't been waiting. But she also hadn't been looking for this.
"…What does Obito think?"
"He refused," Kakashi said. "Immediately."
Relief came sharp and quick, followed by something else—guilt, maybe. Or disappointment she didn't want to name. Instead, she murmured, "Good."
They sat in silence.
"Why me," Sakura asked eventually. Her voice was steady now, but she felt hollow beneath it.
Kakashi didn't hedge. "Because you're the head of the hospital. You're part of Team 7, part of the force that ended the war. You're a civilian. You stayed."
She looked down at her hands. They'd held organs and broken bones and comforted the families of those who hadn't made it.
"I stayed," she repeated, suddenly bone-tired. A headache would form between her brows any minute. Her eyes trailed over to the folder on her desk.
She thought of the children again. Of the ones who came back quieter every time. Of the parents who didn't know what to do with a child who screamed in their sleep but smiled at breakfast.
"This wouldn't be real," Kakashi said softly. "It could be temporary, even. Structured. Entirely on your terms." She almost laughed.
The Sakura that needed Ino for everything would have thrown a tantrum at the idea of not marrying for love. The Sakura that had awoken on a cold bench on the edge of Konoha would have sobbed herself delirious. This Sakura, her, Sakura, now…
She closed her eyes briefly.
Laughable, to think things would be simpler after the war.
Sakura knew, frankly, that Kakashi would never bother her again if she shut him down here. It wouldn't be something even whispered about in the halls of the Hokage tower, or mentioned behind her back in the hospital cafeteria. She could say no and go on with her life, with very little blowback.
But…
"I'd want conditions," she said at last, meeting his gaze. "Legal protections. Absolute autonomy."
Kakashi's eyebrows lifted, surprised. "Of course."
"And access to the Uchiha accounts," she added, surprised by how steady she sounded. "For public health initiatives."
Kakashi's head dipped in acknowledgement, more than aware of how desperate her fight for the mental health clinic had gotten. "If anything comes of this, I swear your conditions will be honored."
"I'm not agreeing," she said carefully. "I'm considering."
That was as much as she could offer.
Sakura remained seated long after Kakashi had left, until the purple of dusk had swallowed the last orange of sunset remaining.
She tried to imagine Obito across from her—quiet, guarded, refusing on principle. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually spoken to him. After the war, surely? She must have greeted him, at the very least. Asked him some questions in the hospital.
…had she really not said a word to him in years?
Sakura opened the folder again, hands steady despite the ache in her chest.
Maybe she was expecting a confrontation. Anger. Disgust. Someone storming off.
Instead, Obito Uchiha stood near the window, shoulders hunched as though hyper-aware he was taking up too much space in the room.
He had grown even broader in the years following the war, thanks to a proper non-cave-based diet and the intense amount of physical labour he did around the village. Sakura had to force herself to look away from the bulge of his biceps crossed across his chest, feeling her stare had gone from curious to leering. The quirk of Kakashi's eyebrows had her huffing out a breath in embarrassment and turning her head to the side.
The silver-haired man lingered near the door, hands in his pockets, posture loose in the way it always was when he was bracing for something to go wrong. He looked between them once, then seemed to think better of staying.
"I'll give you a moment," he said.
Neither of them stopped him, and the door closed with a soft click.
Silence settled.
Sakura stood with her hands folded in front of her, spine straight out of habit rather than actual confidence. She was acutely aware of how she appeared—composed, calm, the image the village trusted. The role she'd been playing for years.
Obito hadn't looked at her the entire meeting.
The right side of his face was turned toward the window, the light catching the ridges of his scars like the sun bouncing off the riversurface. His shoulders were tense, bracing for an impact that had hit about twenty minutes prior.
"This is a mistake," he said abruptly.
Sakura inhaled slowly. "Probably."
He turned then, just enough to look at her fully. Dark eyes, sharp and tired and far too honest. It was strange, looking into the eyes of a Uchiha and immediately being able to read them.
"This shouldn't have even been brought to you," he said. "This should have ended after Kakashi came to me."
Though she knew the answer, she said anyway, "You already said no."
"Yes," he replied, jaw tightening. "And I meant it."
A creeping desire to break the tension appeared, and with a quirk of her head, "Am I not your type?"
Obito blinked.
She could almost laugh at the way his brows knit together in confusion, eyes darting across her face and then—heat rising to her cheeks once more—down her body. Then he exhaled, a rough sound that scraped out of him.
"That's not—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand over his face. His fingers caught briefly on the raised edge of scar issues before he dropped them again. "That's not the issue."
Sakura hummed softly, preening internally at all he hadn't said. "Okay. Then help me understand." He turned away again, back to the window, to the slice of sky visible beyond the glass. It was a peaceful blue that reminded Sakura of the ever-bright eyes of her teammate. She wished he hadn't been sent on some diplomatic training trip to Suna; even if just so she could spend the afternoon crying to him about her misfortune.
Obito's shoulders rose with a breath he didn't quite let go of. Sakura began to pick at her hangnail. "I've done enough damage, ten times over. I don't need to—" Another pause. "I don't get to have. Not like that."
Sakura felt the words settle somewhere uncomfortably close to her ribs. She'd already come to suspect as much. In the way people still flinched when his name was spoken too loudly. The way he labored around the village like the effort itself might atone for something unpayable.
"If it makes you feel any better," Sakura pushed herself from her chair with a sigh, hoping that her bluntness would have some effect. "I'd be doing this for an entirely selfish reason." Her steps were careful as she approached him, coming to stop close enough she could reach out and grab his hand.
"I need some financial assistance," she could see him practically bristle at her words, and rushed to explain more. "I've been wanting to open a mental health clinic for a while now. For our children, mainly. We have so many kids still struggling with… everything. And not enough resources to help them." Sakura sighed, unable to meet his charcoal gaze any longer. "Funding has been impossible, and even with Kakashi's influence as Hokage, the council refuses to budge."
Obito stared at her.
"So you want the clan funds," he repeated, flat.
Sakura winced. "When you say it like that, it sounds worse."
"That's because it is worse," he said, incredulous. "You're telling me you walked into this mess—" he gestured vaguely between them, to the room, to the whole situation "—for money?"
"Yes," she said immediately. Then, after a beat, quieter, "And no."
She exhaled, shoulders loosening minutely as she allowed herself to be honest. "We keep treating the physical injuries. We keep praising resilience, without actually addressing how deep the decay has festered. For the children, and, well, for shinobi like you."
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking near his scar.
"I can build the clinic," she said. "I already have the plans. The staff willing to work. I've even got programming built out for a year." A humorless huff escaped her. "What I don't have is money. Or time to keep begging people who still see 'emotional support' as a luxury we still can't afford."
Obito was quiet for a long moment.
"You could've gone to someone else," he said finally. "There are other wealthy clans."
"Yes," Sakura agreed. "The Hyuuga basically laughed me out of their compound. The Nara were a bit more polite about it, but it was still a 'no'." She lifted her eyes to him again. "I just thought you would be the most understanding."
It was a low blow, if not a bit cruel, to use his past indiscretions against him. But she knew he would retreat even more if she expressed any pity for his position—even with all the things Obito had done before and during the war, Sakura had practiced forgiveness too much in her life to have it stop before the Uchiha in front of her. Had spent too many nights drinking with Kakashi as he despaired over the warring joy and pain of having one of his ghosts come back to life, only for him to be shunned by the village he was sworn to lead and protect.
If attaching herself to him eased any of the ache still lingering, it was worth it.
…And Obito was still pleasant enough to look at.
“You don’t need me for that,” he said, ignoring her bait. “You just need the money. I can authorize it without—” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to finish the sentence.
“I know,” she said softly. “And if that were all I wanted, I wouldn’t be standing here making an idiot of myself.”
He scoffed quietly.
Hesitancy coiled tight in her chest now, the sudden, terrifying awareness that she'd stepped too far forward to take any paces back.
"I'm not asking you to decide anything today," she said. "About me, or any of this. I just… needed you to know that I didn't come here blind. Or careless."
Obito's voice was rough when he spoke. "Could've fooled me."
She smiled faintly. "I'm sure."
Silence stretched again. Heavy, still, but shared. The village bell chimed, closer now with how close they were to the center of Konoha. She turned to look at him then.
His eyes were closed, arms crossed again, fingers digging in to the point of painfulness. Her fingers twitched, a silly impulse to reach for him. When he opened his eyes again, there was no lingering anger there. Just something tired and frighteningly close to resolve.
"…You're crazy," he muttered.
Sakura lets out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh. "I've been called worse."
For the first time since Kakashi had left the room, the tension in Obito's shoulders ease, just a fraction. His lips twitch into the vague imitation of a smirk.
"Same here."
The village doesn't hear the truth first. It never does.
Sakura learns this the way she learns most things lately—secondhand, softened by someone else's mouth before it reaches her ears. She knows it's serious because Ino doesn't raise her voice when she asks.
They're standing beneath the awning of the flower shop, the scent of damp soil and crushed petals thick in the air. Ino's hands are busy, as they always are, the roundedness of her pregnant stomach not slowing her down. Sakura was more than overjoyed to help with the arrival of her and Sai's first child in the next two months, even if Ino didn't listen to her recommendations as much as she'd like.
Her eyes haven't left Sakura's face.
"Tell me I misheard," Ino said.
Sakura considers the lie. It forms easily enough, instinctual as a reflex. She could let it linger, let the rumor remain a rumor. But that just wasn't fair to anyone.
"We've been getting to know eachother," she replies instead. As much as she loves Ino, it felt disrespectful to admit the terms of her relationship with Obito without him knowing.
The shears stop mid-snip.
Ino exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together. "People are already talking."
"I assumed as much."
"They're not being kind."
Sakura rolled her eyes. "They never are." She doesn't say that the rumors are better than the reality, that she's doing this for a combination of money and appeasing her ever-bleeding heart.
Ino reaches out, fingers brushing Sakura's wrist. "Will you be okay?"
Sakura blinks, the honest answer lodging uncomfortably in her throat.
"I think I will be," she said. With a coy smile, "You know I have a thing for Uchihas."
Ino groaned.
Kakashi phrases it gently, but Shikamaru is more blunt. Go out together. Walk close-ish. Be observed. Let the village grow bored of the idea (yeah, right) before it can sharpen its teeth.
So Obito walks beside Sakura through market streets and along the outer paths of the village. He stands near her during brief public appearances, listens while she speaks with shopkeepers and parents and shinobi who still hesitate when his shadow falls across them.
But Sakura has a way of anchoring a space simply by standing in it. She listens with her whole body, leaning in slightly, hands folded or reaching out, eyes intent without being unkind. When people speak to her, they usually forget to look over her shoulder at him.
Kindness follows her like a wake.
He watches it happen more than once.
It unsettles him.
She is beautiful in a way that feels almost incidental, like she's never thought to wield it. The pink of her hair catches the light when she turns her head, soft in a way that contrasts the cool jade of her eyes. He catches himself tracing the curve of her waist as she reaches for something on the market shelf, following a lock of hair that trails down to the creamy skin peeking out of her red vest. Obito works a sixteen-hour shift repairing the academy the next day, disgusted at his train of thought.
The first time he touches her, it's an accident.
They're standing outside the Hokage Tower, waiting while Naruto argues animatedly with Shikamaru about paperwork and precedent and something involving the upcoming Chūnin Exams. Sakura shifts closer, either to hear better or to avoid blocking foot traffic.
His arm brushes hers.
Barely anything. A sleeve. Skin through fabric.
Still, his body reacts as though struck, and he pulls back immediately.
"I'm sorry," he said, the apology brusque and instinctive. "I wasn't paying attention."
She turned towards him, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before smoothing into something calmer.
"It's fine," she said, too quickly.
It doesn't feel fine. Not because of the contact, but because of the heat it leaves behind, lingering in a place he didn't know was still capable of wanting.
He stepped back, increasing the distance between them without, hopefully, appearing too standoffish. Keeps his hands clasped behind his back for the rest of the afternoon, like they might betray him if left unattended.
Sakura doesn't comment on it.
At night, alone in his dark house, Obito finds himself flexing his fingers slowly, like they might still remember the brief warmth of her arm. He is not allowed to want the kindness she offers so freely.
And yet.
Marriage, Sakura learns, is mostly ink.
Scrolls stacked upon one another, names written and rewritten, dates recorded with careful precision.
She signs until her wrist aches.
Obito sits across from her, still as stone, eyes tracking every movement of the brush. He looks like he's waiting for something to go wrong, and Sakura finds herself holding back a giggle at his obvious nerves. Such a fearsome man, reduced to the anxious bouncing of a knee at the sight of paperwork.
At one point, Kakashi clears his throat. "You're allowed to take your time, you know."
Sakura doesn't look up. "Sorry, Hokage-sama, my excitement is getting the best of me."
Obito let out a quiet breath, a semblance of a laugh. The sound surprises them both into making eye contact, and this time, Sakura can't help but chuckle slightly.
When it's time to register the name change, she paused, brush hovering above the page. A dot of ink falls to stain the paper below.
"You don't have to," Obito said immediately. "No one expects—"
"I know," she said.
She writes it anyway.
Not how I imagined becoming Uchiha Sakura. The absurdity of the thought takes away a bit of the weight of the moment. Sakura doesn't miss the way Obito's shoulders ease when she hands the scroll back.
The first time he thinks of Rin while looking at her, he casts the thought aside immediately. How disrespectful. Of the memory of his lost teammate and the legacy of his future…
Wife.
Thinking of her in such terms felt even more disrespectful.
Obito stood beneath the lanterns with his hands at his sides, posture rigid with the effort not to run out of this ceremony and far, far away from Konoha. He hasn't worn anything this fancy in years, the Uchiha insignia of his formal kimono feeling like chainmail on his back. The fabric sat wrong on his shoulder, unfamiliar and heavy.
He keeps his eyes forward.
If he looked around too much, this will start to feel like another trial.
Sakura approaches without fanfare, her blonde friend—nearly bursting in her ninth month of pregnancy—clutching on to her right arm to guide her through the courtyard.
The deep green of her kimono suits her; he thinks that immediately, unfairly. It's more practical than ceremonial, missing the countless layers of a typical wedding outfit. He feels a bit overdressed, frankly, but finds that she still looks astoundingly too above his league.
She stops in front of him, close enough that he can see the faint furrow of concentration in her eyebrows and ramrod tension of her back. Obito is thankful she seems at least a little nervous.
The officiant speaks, and Obito hears the words but doesn't cling to them. Unity. Intention. Prosperity. They slide past him, abstract and bloodless.
When, finally, Sakura reaches for his hand, he hesitates.
There are many things his hands were made for, and holding those of another was something he assumed had been crossed off that list many years ago.
But her grip was warm. Not quite careful, like she would crush his hand if she tightened it any further. Despite that, it's a comforting hold.
Obito wonders if, after this, his days will still feel like they're on borrowed time.
The Uchiha compound smells like dust and old wood and something faintly smoky.
Sakura steps through the gate with a box balanced on her hip, sandals crunching softly against gravel that hasn't been disturbed in what looks like weeks. He must use the rooftops to get in and out, she thought to herself.
Obito's house, situated near the edge of the compound, is sturdy, simple; recently repaired in places where the war and time had taken its bite. New beams stand out against older ones, wood a shade lighter, nails still shiny. Someone—Obito, it can only be assumed—has taken care to make it livable without trying to make it welcoming.
She can hear him moving around inside when she arrives, the low thud of a box being set down, the scrape of something heavy dragged a few inches to the left. Sakura paused at the threshold, adjusting her grip on the box before stepping inside.
Obito immediately looked up from where he was wrestling a bookshelf into place. His hair, long enough now to brush his shoulders, is tied back and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows.
"Hi," she said, because there's nothing else to really say.
He replied a beat later than normal, a simple, "Hello."
They've chatted here and there since the ceremony, mainly to figure out the logistics of her moving into his space. But there's always a buffer, usually Kakashi, to bridge the gap of their awkwardness. She's not quite sure what it'll take to ease the tension between them, but Sakura is nothing if not dedicated.
"Your bedroom's through there," Obito said after a moment, nodding down the hall. The emphasis on your is hard to miss. "Closet is clear, and the bathroom across the hall is all yours as well."
"Thanks." Sakura shifted her weight. "Kitchen stuff is in this one."
The living room and kitchen are not separated by any walls, so she can peek up and watch (in an entirely not creepy way) as he moves around the space. Plates, cups, and a chipped teapot from her grandmother, which she refuses to get rid of, are quickly removed from the box and placed in the cupboards. Sakura placed the teapot on the stove to get a fresh pot of tea going.
The noise of the water boiling is the loudest thing in the house now, sound not echoing so much as disappearing, as if unused to company.
"Would you like a cup of tea? I have green and jasmine."
He seems to think it over for a slightly-silly amount of time, but decides on, "Jasmine, please."
They fall into a rhythm after that. She unpacks. He lifts, moves, steadies. If she can't reach a shelf, he steps in without comment. If he hesitates over where something should go, she points.
When she passes him to go retrieve the last box, he steps aside to make sure they don't touch.
The fourth time he thinks of Rin while looking at her, Obito decides to tell her.
It is three weeks after their wedding, and signs of Sakura have begun to sink into the cracks of his old, dark home. A coffee mug left in the sink, windows left open to let the house breathe. Long pink strands of hair found in the shower and on the kotatsu and all over his winter coat (somehow).
She's just come back from a long shift at the hospital, and he feels bad that he doesn't even let her finish making tea before he asks her to sit.
Without much delicacy, he tells her about a girl who died over fifteen years ago.
That she had a similar haircut once, back when Sakura kept hers short around the war. That she was also a medic-nin. That she had a loud, obvious crush on Kakashi that was not returned. Sakura wears a sad, small smile at this.
He tells her that Rin's death was part of Madara's plan, meant to break him open and make him pliable. That he watched it happen through the Sharingan he had gifted his ex-teammate, helpless to watch as Kakashi's fist went through her chest.
He tells her that sometimes, when things are quiet, his mind reaches back without permission.
That he feels like a horrible man—and a worse husband—for thinking of a girl he once loved while looking at his wife. Even if this marriage isn't real, it's not fair to Sakura.
"I don't know why I'm telling you," he admits at the end, staring at the floor. "I just… couldn't not."
She exhales, long and slow, and leans back against the arm of the couch.
"That sounds awful," Sakura says, and there is a pleasant lack of pity in her voice.
Obito nods.
"I'm not angry," she adds.
He finally looks up at her.
"I wasn't really expecting to be the first woman in your life," she continues, dry. "Kakashi has mentioned Rin briefly, but never gone into much detail. He still struggles with it, too, you know." Obito feels a tick of annoyance, of course he knows, but pushes that down.
"I still—"
She cuts him off gently. "You're not disrespecting me by having memories. It's… it's hard for me, as well, to not think of Sasuke-ku— ah, Sasuke sometimes. When you're in a particularly gloomy mood." Sakura says this with a teasing lilt, and Obito feels his own lips twitch in response.
She stands, heading towards the kitchen to finish preparing her—their tea. Sakura always makes him a cup of jasmine whenever she makes herself a cup of green tea.
Her hand brushes over his shoulder as she passes, barely a breath of a touch, but intentional nonetheless.
They go to the market because Sakura wants to restock on her personal supply of bandages, the chakra-threaded ones that the hospital never seems to order enough of. It's a mundane enough task that Obito doesn't need to tag along, but he held the door open and trailed behind her as she left the compound.
Sakura slows down her pace when they reach the edge of the market, smiling at him in a way that she hopes is reassuring. She isn't sure when—or even if—he's gone to the busy market at the centre of Konoha and imagines it must be strange.
The stares aren't overt, people have learned better than that. But Sakura catches the pauses in conversations as they pass, the subtle recalibration of bodies making space around him. Obito kept his gaze forward, stride even, hands tucked into his pockets in a display of forced-ease.
The whispers come loose behind them near a produce stall, careless and unfiltered from a group of older women. Surprise is edged with suspicion, a muttered comment about monsters and mistakes that not even time could redeem.
Sakura's jaw tightened.
As much as she'd like to knock some sense into the nosy group, it probably wouldn't be suitable for the head of the hospital to beat up a bunch of civilians.
Instead, she reached out to hook her arm through Obito's with deliberate force, slotting herself right into his left side. He startles for half a second before recognizing her intention, pace adjusting slightly to accommodate her shorter stride.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Then, louder—pleasant but edged, the way she sounds when she's correcting an intern who should absolutely know better—she adds, "Where is it you're helping out next week again, ah, honey? Was it the orphanage or the temple?"
Obito scoffs first, but answers dryly, "The temple."
It's not the most subtle thing she's ever done, and dropping a term of endearment on him out of nowhere was a bit awkward.
But Sakura has just about had it with people assuming the worst in Obito. They couldn't care less that he'd spent the last week assisting at the academy, cleaning up kunai and shuriken and broken training dummies. Or that the week before that, he had helped with the geriatric unit at the hospital, or the week before that, had volunteered at the Inuzuka kennels when they were short-staffed due to a flu outbreak in the clan.
The gaggle of women have the nerve to look slightly ashamed, and everyone else in the vicinity pretended to mind their own business once more. Sakura lifts her nose disdainfully anyway, snobby in the only way a student of the Fifth Hokage could pull off.
Her arm stays looped through Obito's until they're leaving the market with the bandages she wanted (and a few bundles of fruits and veggies from some grateful vendors). The whispers die on the road behind them.
"You didn't have to do that," Obito says quietly, something like disbelief lacing his tone.
Sakura snorts, giving his arm a brief, decisive squeeze. "Yes, I did. And I'll do it again if they don't get the message."
She loosens her hold, an unspoken offer to release him if he wasn't comfortable with her touch. Obito hesitates for a moment before tucking his elbow in decisively, trapping her hand in place.
Their first argument starts over tea.
Not even a shortage or a spillage—just simply the wrong kind.
Sakura notices it the moment she lifts the lid on the teapot, the flowery scent spilling out and into the kitchen. Her brows knit as she peers inside. "This is chamomile."
Obito, seated at the table with a stack of old ledgers Kakashi's office had sent over, hums absently. "They were out of sencha."
"They're never out of sencha," she says, a little snappy. He looks up at her then, taken aback at the suddenness of her tone. Sakura is still standing at the counter, shoulders tight beneath the jacket she has yet to remove. There's dried blood on the back of her ankle.
"They keep the extra leaves behind the counter," she continues. "Did you ask?"
He sets the papers down.
"They offered," he says evenly. "I told them it was fine."
Sakura's eyes narrow. "Why?"
Because the woman behind the counter had stiffened when she recognized him. Because the man waiting in line had dropped his package and scurried out of the shop when Obito came to stand behind him. Because the boy cleaning the floor had stopped sweeping to stare at the scarred half of his body.
Asking anything of the obviously-terrified civilians made Obito want to throw up.
"It didn't matter," Obito replies.
"It matters to me," she bites, and it's the most annoyance Obito has had directed his way from Sakura since their marriage. He exhales slowly.
"They were already uncomfortable," he says. "No point in making it worse."
The ceramic click of the teapot lid being placed down is very loud in the quiet of the room. "You don't have to keep making yourself smaller to make other people comfortable, Obito. I thought things had gotten better in the last few weeks?"
He feels oddly defensive. "That's not what I'm doing."
"It is." Her voice is more tired than anything. Irritation sparks under his ribs before he can smother it. "I'm not shrinking. I'm being considerate."
"Of them," Sakura shoots back. "Never of yourself."
He stands without meaning to, chair scraping softly against the floor. "People change when I walk into a room. I can't fix that, so I can at least not demand anything on top of it."
"And where exactly does that leave you?" She asks, spinning to face him. There is a deep furrow between her brows and tension in her jaw.
He hesitates.
It leaves him safe. It leaves him unobtrusive. It leaves him manageable.
"I don't need more," he whispers.
"Be honest, Obito. You say need but you mean deserve." Sakura takes two steps closer to him. He can't tell if he wants to push her across the room or fall to his knees at her feet.
"Don't do that," he says quietly.
"Do what?"
"Look at me like I'm doing this on purpose."
Sakura doesn't blink. "Aren't you?"
The question lands clean. "The moment I walked into that shop I could tell everyone in there was terrified. I didn't self-sabotage, I read the room."
"If you keep crawling into the tiny box this village have decided you belong in, you will never get the peace you deserve—yes, deserve. Some giant fucking word for you, I know, but there's only so much I can do, that Kakashi and Naruto and goddamn Shikamaru can do to help you out and re-integrate you into Konoha if you keep backing yourself into a corner, Obito!" Sakura's voice is just shy of raised.
She continues, "I married you, Obito. Not a version of you that keeps shrinking so the world feels safer. You aren't the same man as the war." The use of that word, so carefully avoided and not spoken aloud in he-can't-remember-how-long, shakes Obito into anger.
"You have no idea who you married, Sakura. Maybe you just saw a pity project and some clan funds and thought you'd be able to fix everything." The words curdle as soon as they hit the air.
Sakura goes very still.
For a moment he thinks she'll get even louder and start yelling and destroying things. He wishes she would. Instead, all the heat drains from her face, leaving her with something far worse than anger—shock.
"…What?"
Obito hears himself breathing. The teapot begins to tremble on the stove.
"I mean," he tries, already failing this woman who had signed away her family name for him mere months ago. She steps back as if stricken.
"I know what you meant," she says quietly. Sakura doesn't argue or defend herself, just nodding once—tight, clipped—and turns to leave.
Obito reaches for her instinctively. "Sakura—"
Her bedroom door closes with careful softness.
Obito stands in the kitchen for a long time, hands braced on the counter, stomach turning over itself. He has said cruel things in his life. Manipulative things.
He hasn't said something that small and… mean in a long time.
His hand feels heavy as he knocks against her door.
"Sakura," he says. "Can I come in?"
A pause.
"…Yes."
Sakura is sitting on the edge of her bed, spine straight, hands resting loosely in her lap. She doesn't look up at him when he enters.
For a moment, Obito stands, immobilized, in the doorway.
The he crosses the room and kneels. Lowers himself until he's on the floor in front of her, the tatami rough beneath his knees.
She blinks, startled despite herself, lifting her hands out of the way abruptly.
Obito exhales once, shakily, and bows forward until his forehead presses into her lap. He doesn't think about the fact this is the first time he has initiated physical contact with her.
"I didn't mean it," his voice is muffled against the fabric of her clothes. "I said it because you were right. And I couldn't sit with that so I tried to hurt you."
Her hands hover for a moment above his head, uncertain.
"I know you didn't marry me for money. Or pity," he continues. "You could have had anything. Anyone. I know that."
He waits for her to say something. Then, slowly, Sakura's fingers sink into his hair.
It's surprisingly ungentle at first. She grips, firm enough to ground him. He ignores the warmth that curls at his spine.
"That was cruel," she says simply.
"I know."
"You can't just decide why I chose you."
"I won't," he answers immediately. "Not again."
Her fingers shift, smoothing through his hair now, untangling small knots. The anger in her posture loosens by degrees.
It's quiet for a few minutes, the only noise the brushing of her hands and their breathing, unsynchronized.
"Do you actually believe that?" Sakura asks softly. "That I'd tie my life to someone for those reasons?"
"No," he says. Obito's hands come up to rest on the bed beside her thighs. "I think you're kind. And see the best in people. And you're braver than I am about this."
Her hand stills, then resumes its aglow rhythm. "You can't weaponize your worst fears when you're losing an argument," she murmurs.
"I won't," he repeats. He hopes.
The quiet stretches, his breathing evening out beneath our palm. Obito hasn't let himself fold like this in front of anyone in years—hasn't put himself physically lower and trusted the person above him not to strike.
Sakura's fingers soften fully now, combing through his hair in steady strokes.
"Next time," she says, "just tell me you're scared."
He closes his eyes, "I'm scared."
Sakura sighs, something like a tired laugh leaving her. "Idiot," she mumbles, not unkindly.
Her hand keeps moving through his hair, slow and absent, until the tightness in Obito's shoulders finally begin to ease.
Sakura isn't really reading th patient files in front of her. She's watching the way Obito's forearms flex as he scrubs a pan at the sink, how he moves hair off of his face with the casual shake of his head.
One of the particular perks of her marriage is the plain contentment Obito seems to take in doing domestic tasks around the house.
But her stomach is flipping. That's new.
She's always known he's attractive. Broad shoulders. Strong hands. The beginning of a crooked grin when she is particularly huffy and whiny about some encounter she had that day.
The back of his shirt rides up as he reaches to put a bowl away and why are his pants riding so low and are those dimples on his lower back and—
Her pen snaps in her fingers.
Obito glances at her over his shoulder. "Oh, are you okay?" His eyes dart down to her ink-stained fingers.
"Yes," she says quickly. "D-don't know my own strength, you know, and all that." Obito's brow arches, but he just hums and turns back to the sink.
The memory of him kneeling at her feet weeks ago, the weight of his head in her lap, invades Sakura's stupid, stupid mind. She wants him there again with both of them wearing far less clothes.
She wants to cross the room and kiss him right then and there.
She's fucked.
There isn't a grand ceremony with speeches, nor is there a ribbon to be cut. But Obito feels a ridiculous amount of pride as Sakura very carefully hangs the sign beside the front door of the hospital.
Children's Mental Healthcare Clinic
Floor 3 - Now Accepting Patients
She stands back to look at it with her hands on her hips, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Villagers murmur as they pass by, but her grin is louder than anything else on the busy street.
Months of logistical nightmares, feuding with the council into the wee hours of the morning, jumping through the countless hoops it took to access his own (!) clan's funds. Obito had become far more involved than he'd expected, had worked through scenarios and puzzles with Sakura over endless cups of tea at their kitchen table.
The rooms of the clinic are softer than the rest of the hospital—low shelves, cushions in place of stiff chairs, sunlight instead of harsh fluorescent lights.
It's all worth it when she turns to him and her grin widens until he fears her cheeks may hurt.
Obito stands a bit off to the side of the entrance, hands tucked into his sleeves in a way he hopes is non-threatening. He had tried to convince her he should stay home for the opening, worried that possible patients—the children—would be dismayed at his presence.
Sakura insisted he join her, both in recognition of the work he had contributed to the project; and as proof of the power that mental healthcare could have.
After their first fight, Obito had began seeing a specialist for his own issues. Sakura hadn't demanded it of him, but had left a pamphlet for the shinobi-specialized therapist that operated out of one of the village's private clinics.
The nightmares had yet to stop, but they had lessened in their intensity and frequency. He'd learned how to calm himself down if faced with a particularly vocal citizen on the streets, so he no longer had to spend the rest of that day in the dark of his bedroom. Had been shown how to view himself not just through a lens of self-hatred and hopelessness; made all the easier by how happy Sakura always was to see him when she arrived home from work.
If she saw something… good in him, who was he to doubt her judgement?
His entire life had changed, thanks to her, in less than a year.
Obito had found himself reaching out to her, physically, far more frequently than he would have ever imagined comfortable. Since he had laid in her lap and dozed off to the feeling of her fingers running through his hair, he had fallen asleep in her hold more times than he could count on both hands. He now places a hand on the small of her back to guide her through a crowded street, pulls her hair away from her face if her hands are ink-stained from signing things for the clinic.
She—thank god—reciprocates in small touches as well. Trimming his hair when she noticed it was getting in the way once it reached his collarbone. Sakura will do a thorough scan of him with her medical chakra if he comes back from a particularly strenuous job any given day. She's moved from holding his arm to clasping his hand in public, and will always choose his scarred hand if able to.
He has yet to kiss her, to cross that line from ritual comfort to real intimacy. Obito thinks she wouldn't be opposed to it; he's caught her staring at his mouth more than once.
But still, he is more than pleased with everything he now has in life, he can be patient for any next steps yet to come.
Obito is brought back to focus on the present when the first potential patients of the clinic approach. A young boy, no more than eight years old, clutching his mother's pant leg, half-hidden behind it. The woman falters when Obito makes eye contact with her.
Before anything else can be said, Sakura steps up beside him, deliberately closing enough their arms brush. She smiles gently at the pair in front of them, inclining her head, "Hello. We're happy to welcome you in if you'd like to learn more about the clinic."
Obito inclines his head as well, his voice steady as he recites the line he'd practiced in the mirror that morning, "If you'd like to participate in the first intake session, there is a form inside to sign up. There's no obligation for a long-term commitment - just showing up is a great first step."
He was worried his little speech would come off as preachy or insincere, but Sakura had reassured him this bit of public speaking—as short as it was—would be worthwhile.
When the woman in front of them sends Obito a small, tentative smile before ushering her son through the hospital doors, warmth blooms between his sternum.
The feeling explodes into triumph when Sakura turns to him, bouncing on her heels and grinning. "That was perfect, Obito!" She steps forward to wrap her arms around his middle, and he finds it incredibly easy to reciprocate the embrace.
He pulls her tight against him, hands coming to rest around her waist and cup the back of her neck. Joy is practically vibrating through her body. Obito has to turn his face to the side and rest his cheek on her pink hair lest passerby's see the matching color on his face.
"Thank you," Sakura whispers, muffled against his chest.
"Of course," Obito replies simply.
And it truly does feel like the simplest thing he's done in a very long time.
It’s a month after the clinic opens when Sakura decides she’s had enough of almost.
The almost-kisses. The almost wandering hands. The way Obito touches her like she’s something sacred and breakable, when she is neither.
It's been nearly a year since their mareiage ceremony. She can't remember the last time she thought of it as anything but real.
Tonight the house is quiet, wind brushing softly against the shutters. Obito sits at the kitchen table reviewing the clinic’s monthly reports, nursing his usual cup of tea. The lamplight warms the sharp planes of his face, softens the scar that runs down one side.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up. His quippiness has been one of the pleasant surprises that has come with him opening up to her
“I know.”
He glances at her then, and whatever he sees in her expression makes him go still.
Her pulse is loud in her ears, but her steps are steady as she crosses the room. She stops beside his knees, close enough that the warmth of him bleeds through the thin cotton of her clothes.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
“No.”
She leans down and kisses him.
Her mouth presses firmly to his, warm and sure, and for a breath he freezes in shock. She feels the exact second his control fractures; the sharp inhale, the way his fingers twitch against the tabletop before lifting to her.
His hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing along the edge of her cheek. Careful at first.
She parts her lips and deepens the kiss, pushes a bit harsher.
The sound he makes is low and almost wounded. It vibrates against her mouth and sends heat flooding through her veins.
His grip changes.
One hand slides to her waist, fingers spreading and legs opening to invite her in, pulling her closer until her hips press against him. The other slips into her hair, tangling in the strands at the nape of her neck. He kisses her back now—no longer cautious, but hungry in a restrained, aching way that makes her chest tighten.
She drags her fingers into his hair and tugs, hard. Hopes he can tell she wants him to stop holding back, that she wants him entirely.
He exhales sharply into her mouth.
The chair scrapes back as he stands, reports forgotten and . His hands settle at her waist again, firmer this time, thumbs brushing the curve of her hips as if mapping them.
“Sakura,” he breathes, like a plea.
She answers by kissing him again, deeper, her teeth grazing his lower lip. His grip tightens reflexively.
They move down the hallway half-blind, mouths meeting and parting, shoulders bumping lightly against the wall. When they reach the bedroom, the door shuts with a quiet thud that feels impossibly loud in the hush of the house.
She pushes him down onto the edge of the bed.
He's looking up at her with something dark and unguarded in his gaze, chest rising and falling a little too quickly.
Sakura steps between his knees.
His hands hover at her hips again, that last thread of restraint trembling in the air between them.
“You’re allowed,” she says softly, having to swallow to get the words out. She leans back to pull her red top over her head, hoping to spur him into action.
His palms settle fully on her, warm and solid, fingers pressing into the curve of her hips as he pulls her, almost desperately, on to his lap. Sakura can feel the heat of him through the layers between them, the unmistakable evidence of how much he wants her.
She rolls her hips experimentally.
Obito's head tips back, a rough breath tearing from his throat. The sound goes straight through her.
Her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath her palm. He leans forward again, burying his face briefly against her sternum like he’s overwhelmed by the closeness, by the reality of it.
“I didn’t want to rush you,” he murmurs against her skin.
“You weren’t,” she whispers back, threading her fingers into his hair again and guiding his face up to hers. “You were driving me insane.”
That pulls a faint, breathless laugh from him before she kisses him again.
This time there’s no hesitation at all.
His mouth moves against hers with a confidence that borders on desperate, tongue stroking along hers, his thumb stroking absently along her waist as if reassuring himself she’s real. When she presses closer—when her body settles more solidly on his hardening member—his fingers tighten reflexively.
Months of restraint unravel in the kisses Sakura traces down his throat, in the roll of her hips against his, in the marks his fingers will surely leave on her waist.
And she, still, wants—needs more.
"Can I touch you more?" Sakura's hands pause at the collar of his shirt, toying with the fabric casually. Obito feels like his heart is going to stop beating.
"I… Y-you don't have to." He avoids her gaze, even as she ducks to try and catch his eye. He can tell, embarrassingly, that his now-sharp vision means his sharingan has activated involuntarily. Sakura just hums and then drops to her knees between his legs. He is going to die.
"Do you not want me to? Or is this part of the I-don't-deserve-anything-shame-guilt-let-me-rot thing?" She tilts her head teasingly, but adds in the next moment, seriously, "We will only do what you're comfortable with. I promise, Obito."
"Of course I want to," He scoffed. A ridiculous notion. "Maybe it is part of that… thing, but you? You want me? All of… everything?"
Now she's looking at him like he's grown a second head. "Obito. Can I be really, obscenely honest?" He nods, throat dry. "You can't imagine how many times I've thought of you while touching myself."
He's dead. He's really dead and he's gone to some twisted afterlife where his wildest dreams feel real.
Sakura is staring at him from under her eyelashes, waiting for him to say anything. She must be impatient—horny—because she then says, "Use your words. What do you want."
Obito has learned by now that listening to Sakura is always the smart thing to do. "I want to touch you. I want you to touch me. I want to kiss your entire body. I-I want to fuck you." A slow smile spreads across her face, so he adds, "Please."
Sakura sighs happily, "Thank god."
She's as brusque and efficient is to be expected, wasting no time in loosening the tie of his pants and pulling them and his underwear off in one swift motion.
His cock, already hard from their heavy petting, bobs up. Her touch is frustratingly tender as she grips him at his base, leaning forward to place a light kiss at the head. Pre-cum trails from her mouth as she pulls away, and Obito nearly shudders at the sight of her licking it from her lips.
She licked up the side of his cock before taking it into her mouth, hand pumping where she couldn't initially reach. Obito began to pant, pleasure curling low and tight in his gut. His hands jerked, clutching at her shoulders, unsure if he wanted to pull her off or push her closer.
She works him until he instinctively is reaching to grip her hair. He has to pull at her to stop after a few more moments, murmuring an apology as he moved her away. "Please, let me. I need to make you feel good." Sakura grumbles an I was feeling pretty good, but stands from between his legs to kiss him again. Her lips are damp now with her spit and his spend, making Obito growl low in his throat.
He switches their places in the blink of an eye, pushing Sakura back until she lay in the center of the bed. Kisses down her body, sliding the cup of her bra up to suck her breast into his mouth. He laves kisses over both nipples until she is arching her back and whining, airily, "Obito, k-keep it moving. God, please."
Obito is more than happy to oblige—hands tracing a path down the flare of her hips to pull her skirt and underwear off in one smooth motion. His lips follow the trail of his heated palms, nipping her waist here and sucking a mark into her upper thigh there.
Sakura nearly shrieks when he wastes no time in licking up, up, and into her. He eats her like a man starved, tongue parting her folds to dive inside. Her hands dart into his hair, gripping tight enough he may lose a few strands. It will be worth it, he thinks, as her thighs tremble beside his head when he finally places his mouth over her clit. He has no experience to guide him in his actions, just instinct and affection and raw desire to make Sakura feel an inch of the pleasure she brings him.
She finishes with a cry, exhales shaky and gasping, and Obito relishes in the taste of her. A victory, a slice of heaven.
Sakura mumbles her thanks and apologies in tandem, smoothing out the knots and snags she's clenched into his hair. He noses up her body to shush her, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue as he licks into her mouth.
"Can I—"
"If you don't fuck me right now, Obito, I may die." He huffs out a laugh, but nods in agreeance at the sentiment. He's not sure if he'll survive the night yet.
He strokes himself once, twice, lining up with her entrance. He rubs his cock along her lips to coat it, left hand coming up to grip around Sakura's waist. Looking down at her, at the pink of her hair against his black, the green of her eyes hazy in pleasure, the flush running across her cheeks and down her chest—he'll spend the rest of his life ensuring he is worthy of such a view.
Another whine has Obito taking pity on her, and he doesn't wait any further to push in and slide home. He doesn't stop moving until his hips are flush with hers, grabbing her right leg under the thigh to open her up further.
"Shit," Sakura gasps. Obito pauses to let her adjust, hand moving to cup her breast gently. He ducks down to suck the nipple of the other into his mouth, humming happily at the taste of her skin. He mumbles mindless words of affection and admiration as he kisses around her chest and neck, until her body finally relaxes and her arms are coming up to wrap around his neck.
"Move. Now." Obito doesn't respond, instead pulling back until he is nearly out of her. He slides back in, gentle at first, gauging her reaction at his movements. When her murmurs turns into moans, and her nails dig into his back, and she whispers harder, Obito loses the last thread of his restraint.
His hips snap forward, jarring her entire body, pink-tipped breasts jiggling with each thrust. She's stricken into silence from the pleasure, only able to utter stuttered moans and whines through her kiss-bitten lips.
Obito can't stop talking all of a sudden, telling her she's gorgeous so beautiful strong so tight god i can't you're perfect you're perfect please god you're perfect thank you thank you. The slap of his hips against hers, the wet sound of their pleasure combining, fills the gaps in his gasped speech. There are a few more words he wishes he could say, but decides to save those for later.
It takes him less time than he'd like, but he can feel his release coming. He refuses to fall over the edge without her, and brings his hand down to thumb against her clit, a steady pace against the stuttering of his hips.
She comes a moment before he does, back arching off of the bed like before, mouth opening in a silent scream. He fucks into her once, twice, before finally feeling his release spurt inside her. She clenches around him and Obito has to hold back a whimper of pleasure at the feeling of them, connected, fully, completely.
He dips down to capture her mouth with his, pausing only to let them both catch their breath. A trail connects their lips, breaking only as Obito moves further down to suck a bruise into her neck. Let everyone see how he feels about her.
Sakura releases the iron grip she has on his back, sliding her hands up to cup the back of his neck instead. Their familiar, soothing feeling of her nails along his scalp has him sighing in simple happiness.
Obito doesn't pull out from her immediately, flipping them instead so she can lay on his chest and he can stay inside her. She is all warmth and dizzy smiles and pink pink pink in the afterglow of their union.
They lay, happily, in silence for a long time, allowing their breathing to calm and heart rates to settle.
Obito is the one to break the quiet, eventually, hesitatingly.
"Have… have you ever… done that with anyone? Before?"
"Obito, you are the first person I've even let me see me naked."
"Ah… I see. That's—that makes me feel, um, good."
"…"
"Then where did…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…Has Kakashi ever let you look in his little orange book?"