I do not own Naruto, all rights belong to Masashi Kishimoto. This is purely fanmade.
No one said it would be easy.
Things such as these are never easy. The love, the hate, a twisted complexion of emotions pouring from every direction. Brushes of fingers, tucking of hair strands behind an ear, the softest of smiles—shy and distanced.
Who said it had to be difficult?
Love is sprung forth in a multitude of appreciation, hate buried deep within the surface. Gentle touches become clingy hugs, hair length growing day by day, smiles awed and bright—eager for attention.
There must be another way.
Love is pushed away, ignored and forgotten. Hate isn't held, but more directed than usual. Contact is avoided for the touch of another, and hair is sliced short in an attempt to cut and crush away the hurt. Smiles are plastered—a mask to prevail.
It isn't easy being weak.
Watching everything unfold, allowing others to jump to your rescue. Being taken for granted, being pushed to the back of the herd. Made fun of, ridiculed, rubbed to the dirt until unrecognizable.
Weakness is shunned and exploited.
The weak get scraps of the accomplished, the weak watch from a distance but never touch. Never genuine in smiles, never good enough to grow the longest and prettiest of hairs. Never able to share love, never EVER allowed to show outward hate.
No one said it would be easy...
Training is harsh, never easy to begin with. The love, the hate, all directed to one drive. Brushes of fingertips to metal, tucking of weapons to hiding. Smiles filled with promises of malice.
Who said it had to be difficult...?
Love is a cursed path constantly shifting, not opposite but alongside hate behind a gas mask of poison. Gentle touches have become tight grasps, hair splattered with shades of scarlet. Lips curl into a smile, a smirk of insanity.
There must be another way...
Each plead is ignored, just as she was. Stab after stab, blade meeting flesh and bones and guts and blood. Her wrath is unexpected, uncontrollable and ruthless. Her goal is to see those strong—those who ridiculed her—fail. She was weak. She was.
It isn't easy being weak...
So her drive had to be strong. Stronger than even a future Hokage.
Blood coats both blond and pink strands, down the natural curve of a woman's body and the firmer edges of a man's. And finally, the pleads go silent.
Weakness is shunned and exploited...
It makes you undesirable among the population, it makes you lower than dirt and treatment gets worse. Strength handed her vision to reality. Now he will have to look at her instead of him. Now the attention is back to her. Now she can get what she utterly desires, what she deserves for every suffering.
Now Sasuke is hers.
Tears spring forth from the Uchiha's eyes as he sees his lover, his rival, his best friend, mutilated and gone much further beyond death. His body stays rigid in a state of absolute shock.
Sakura looks up, covered in grime from the horrifying scene. The love, the hate, a twisted complexion of emotions pouring from every direction. Brushes of fingers to his cheek, staining pale flesh whilst tucking away that beautiful raven hair. The softest of smiles, calmed to have him at last.
No one said it would be easy, but now,
"He's mine."