never let me go.
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Uchiha Itachi & Haruno Sakura
Prompts: 07. clouds & 027. faith & 33. desperate pleas
Word Count: 1938
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Notes: Written for 50scenes & lover100 & 500themes. Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
Clouds gather in the masses behind them, and the sky rumbles its contented reply. The only thing amiss is the lack of rainfall, but as the sky growls its protest once again, there is no doubt in the minds of the two shinobi standing mere miles away that the impending thunderstorm is approaching. However, in their small clearing, it is as if the world around them ceases to exist entirely.
She is eyeing him warily from the east end, her posture tense and prepared for any onslaught of attacks he might choose to welcome her with. They are enemies now, she reminds herself yet again; it is something that would do her well to remember. She no longer holds the same sort of immunity she once did, but even as her muscles tense in anticipation, her mind is still lax. There is the little sliver of hope clawing at her senses, preaching that surely, he wouldn’t be able to kill her.
On the reverse side of the clearing, he is standing perfectly still with his Sharingan ablaze. Unlike his female counterpart, there is no wariness from him. The only aura he emits is the overwhelmingly confident one that shrouds his person completely. Usually this is hidden by the overpowering intent to kill that radiates off him in waves, but she is his ultimate weakness.
He could never kill her, but she is too naïve to notice.
“Sakura,” he finally acknowledges, and her name rolls off his tongue with painful familiarity. Her stomach knows itself firmly and tightly at the rich baritone of his voice; she has missed it so much. She yearns for him to be closer to her, close enough to touch, and too late she remembers that such a touch would be fatal now.
She inclines her head slightly in a small nod, curt and pained. “Itachi.”
An awkward silence fills the clearing then, and she is suddenly unsure of her next move. Does she move and attack, as her job and duty entail her to? Or does she simply walk away, and pretend that he is but a figment of her imagination? Of course, she does neither, for she is incapable. She will never be able to attack him with the ferocity of an enemy, but she is sure he will not return the same courtesy. Such is the way unrequited, one sided love works. And such is the way her heart works - she is foolish, after all. Simply walking away is also out of the question. There is no such thing as walking away from Uchiha Itachi. He is too powerful, too compelling, too alluring, and she is too naïve, too trusting, and too vulnerable. She has never stood a chance, and they both know it.
So she settles for the only thing she is able to do, and dark emeralds roam the Uchiha’s body unabashedly. She ignores the scarlet gaze that is also unblinkingly drinking in her image, as well as the shivers it sends through her person. She is unsurprised that he still holds the ability to steal her breath away by doing absolutely nothing, and allows for her entranced mind to absorb all that it can. It’s as if she wants to memorize every feature, etching them as deep into her mind as she can, because she feels, knows deep inside her that this chance will never come again.
There are new lines of stress, as well as old ones etched deeper on his patrician face. She has no delusions of what he has been doing in her absence, and is certain they are the cause of his premature aging. He is no hero, and he has never claimed to be one. An anti-hero, perhaps, but his past is too bloodied, too dark, and too full of empty ambitions to allow him even that title. Her twin emeralds travel upwards slightly to land on his swirling crimson gaze. He is still staring back, but as soon as her gaze lands there, she does a double take.
It’s as if a dam within her breaks, and anger floods through her system, completely unwelcome and unannounced.
“You’ve gone and done it again, haven’t you?” she bites out, the wary, slightly frightened girl from seconds before gone. In her place stands the fierce, outspoken kunoichi he remembers so vividly in his flawless memory. “I told you not to overuse your eyes.”
“It is necessary.”
“Then I’m assuming you like being blind?” she fires back, and this time, he can clearly see the anger flash through her eyes, despite his current disability. She stops suddenly, as if she’s had an epiphany. After her slight pause, she opens her mouth to speak again. But this time it’s different; there’s a mixture of hurt, confusion and anger in her eyes.
“Is that why you’re here?” Is that why, after you said you never wanted to see me again, that I was a waste of space, you’re here?”
He hesitates for a split second, and it goes unnoticed in her rage. “Yes.”
“You expect me to just heal your eyes>”
“Yes.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
He doesn’t reply to this, only stares at her with a sort of expectancy. She feels the anger rising within her, but also the defeat. In a few moments the anger simmers down almost completely, and she knows he is right. She has never been able to say no to him, and she will never be able to. So she does the only thing she can, and turns her vivid, burning emeralds away from the enigmatic man standing before her. Perhaps if she can’t see his face, the same face she has come to love above all else, she will be able to break free from his transfixing spell.
In a flurry of the faint smell of peaches that is Itachi, Sakura finds herself trapped between his firm body and the rough tree behind her. His arms are not touching hers; his body is the perfect trap, and his silence is more commanding than his words could ever be.
This weakness will never falter, she admits to herself bitterly, knowing that no other can distract her enough to let her guard down so.
Hesitantly, she turs her gaze back to his swirling scarlet orbs. He pauses only for a slight second before speaking. “Perhaps I had overestimated your faith.”
It is cynical, cryptic, and so typically Itachi that she nearly cries. But somehow, she holds on to the last shreds of her dignity to spit out a “What are you talking about, Itachi?” in an easily fake tone of exasperation. The exasperation, though, is not entirely feigned, for she is tired, tired of all their chases. “Stop playing games with me,” she whispers. “I quit. I don’t want to love you anymore.” But the familiar warmth of his strong body does not disappear from hers, and she remembers, with disdain or nostalgia, she doesn’t know, that he is never one to give up on what he wants, though something seems to shift in the air after her last words.
“I was under the impression that your faith in me was stronger,” he monotones back, but she sees a flicker of life in his beautiful eyes. “I see now that I was mistaken.”
“My faith?” she echoes back, almost in disbelief. Of all the things, that is something he has absolutely no right to question.
This time, he presses even closer to her body. “Did you really believe every word I said?” he growls, and she can detect the faintest trace of anger. She blanches; what right does he have to be angry? “Are you really so naïve still, to believe everything that’s told to you?”
She does not reply, nor does he give her the chance to. “Does everything that has happened mean nothing to you?”
“How dare-”
“Then perhaps, I was right to leave.”
Itachi pauses, and Sakura unknowingly lets out the shaky breath she has been holding. It feels as if he has stopped to take a quick breather, to look at the scenery - but in another moment, his eyes narrow down at her and his mouth is so close to her ear that she feels her breath catch once more. “What am I to you, Sakura?” he whispers in an almost-purr. “What do you think you are to me?”
“I…” she stutters, blinking her unworldly eyelashes in confusion. For the slightest of moments time seems to stop for the spellbound girl, but even as she bites her lips in hesitation, he can see the courage formulating slowly under the surface. He is not wrong, as her bright emeralds glance up to meet his eyes a moment later, a perfect clash of Christmas colours. “Everything. And to the latter…nothing.”
If she had been unconsciously expecting anything in response, the abrupt removal of his unusual heat is definitely not what she’d had in mind - nothing short of apocalyptic doom, perhaps. Instead, he moves away. In this whirlwind of slow motion movement, her roaming orbs catch a glimpse of something unmentionable in his deadly orbs, but it is too quick for her to commit to memory and perhaps, too quick to even be real.
At a later day she might reflect that it is nothing short of disinterest and disgust - but in the heat of the moment, she hopes against hope that it is something a little more.
“What are you really trying to say?” she bites out finally, exhausted. “Just this once, please, just say what you goddamn mean!”
This seems to hit home, as, without warning, all the tension eases from his lean body, as if all the air has been sucked out. He should’ve looked simply saggy, by all means, but Sakura notes that even deflated, he looks as regal as ever. “Will you - do you trust me?”
To a bystander, his statement, a question in all its form would be interpreted as such. It is the sane interpretation - but Sakura freezes at his words and her lips quiver in response. It escapes her notice completely that it is a question - it is insignificant and though her answer works, sense and sanity are not the reasons for it to be given. “…Yes.”
“You opinion has changed.”
“No,” Sakura dares a glance at the poignant man, and notes that his eyes are still fluttered shut.
“Yet, you doubt.”
“I am many things, Itachi. But I am no saint,” she whispers. “Even I have a limit.”
When he turns his gaze back to her, there’s an almost lazy feel to it, as if he’s a cat studying his prey. “Time. Trust. Hold on to it. Hold on to this silly faith of yours,” even as he says this, he can see the impossible look of defeat in her eyes. But his next words shock her into bleeding mirth, “And I will return to you.”
Before her lips, brain, or anything else can digest the situation, her heart has already made the judgement call, for she is already uttering a quiet, quivering, “okay.”
Itachi’s lips curl up deliciously into a devious smirk, and, taking advantage of her situation, sweeps down for a quick, violent kiss. She is barely recovered when he whispers quite delicately into her ear, “I’ll be seeing you, then.”
Then, he’s gone, as if he had never been there to begin with, as if he had been an apparition of her yearning all along. In another moment the first raindrops drip onto her unguarded self, and she’s left to wonder at the weakness of her own heart.
Characters: Uchiha Itachi & Haruno Sakura
Prompts: 07. clouds & 027. faith & 33. desperate pleas
Word Count: 1938
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Notes: Written for 50scenes & lover100 & 500themes. Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
Clouds gather in the masses behind them, and the sky rumbles its contented reply. The only thing amiss is the lack of rainfall, but as the sky growls its protest once again, there is no doubt in the minds of the two shinobi standing mere miles away that the impending thunderstorm is approaching. However, in their small clearing, it is as if the world around them ceases to exist entirely.
She is eyeing him warily from the east end, her posture tense and prepared for any onslaught of attacks he might choose to welcome her with. They are enemies now, she reminds herself yet again; it is something that would do her well to remember. She no longer holds the same sort of immunity she once did, but even as her muscles tense in anticipation, her mind is still lax. There is the little sliver of hope clawing at her senses, preaching that surely, he wouldn’t be able to kill her.
On the reverse side of the clearing, he is standing perfectly still with his Sharingan ablaze. Unlike his female counterpart, there is no wariness from him. The only aura he emits is the overwhelmingly confident one that shrouds his person completely. Usually this is hidden by the overpowering intent to kill that radiates off him in waves, but she is his ultimate weakness.
He could never kill her, but she is too naïve to notice.
“Sakura,” he finally acknowledges, and her name rolls off his tongue with painful familiarity. Her stomach knows itself firmly and tightly at the rich baritone of his voice; she has missed it so much. She yearns for him to be closer to her, close enough to touch, and too late she remembers that such a touch would be fatal now.
She inclines her head slightly in a small nod, curt and pained. “Itachi.”
An awkward silence fills the clearing then, and she is suddenly unsure of her next move. Does she move and attack, as her job and duty entail her to? Or does she simply walk away, and pretend that he is but a figment of her imagination? Of course, she does neither, for she is incapable. She will never be able to attack him with the ferocity of an enemy, but she is sure he will not return the same courtesy. Such is the way unrequited, one sided love works. And such is the way her heart works - she is foolish, after all. Simply walking away is also out of the question. There is no such thing as walking away from Uchiha Itachi. He is too powerful, too compelling, too alluring, and she is too naïve, too trusting, and too vulnerable. She has never stood a chance, and they both know it.
So she settles for the only thing she is able to do, and dark emeralds roam the Uchiha’s body unabashedly. She ignores the scarlet gaze that is also unblinkingly drinking in her image, as well as the shivers it sends through her person. She is unsurprised that he still holds the ability to steal her breath away by doing absolutely nothing, and allows for her entranced mind to absorb all that it can. It’s as if she wants to memorize every feature, etching them as deep into her mind as she can, because she feels, knows deep inside her that this chance will never come again.
There are new lines of stress, as well as old ones etched deeper on his patrician face. She has no delusions of what he has been doing in her absence, and is certain they are the cause of his premature aging. He is no hero, and he has never claimed to be one. An anti-hero, perhaps, but his past is too bloodied, too dark, and too full of empty ambitions to allow him even that title. Her twin emeralds travel upwards slightly to land on his swirling crimson gaze. He is still staring back, but as soon as her gaze lands there, she does a double take.
It’s as if a dam within her breaks, and anger floods through her system, completely unwelcome and unannounced.
“You’ve gone and done it again, haven’t you?” she bites out, the wary, slightly frightened girl from seconds before gone. In her place stands the fierce, outspoken kunoichi he remembers so vividly in his flawless memory. “I told you not to overuse your eyes.”
“It is necessary.”
“Then I’m assuming you like being blind?” she fires back, and this time, he can clearly see the anger flash through her eyes, despite his current disability. She stops suddenly, as if she’s had an epiphany. After her slight pause, she opens her mouth to speak again. But this time it’s different; there’s a mixture of hurt, confusion and anger in her eyes.
“Is that why you’re here?” Is that why, after you said you never wanted to see me again, that I was a waste of space, you’re here?”
He hesitates for a split second, and it goes unnoticed in her rage. “Yes.”
“You expect me to just heal your eyes>”
“Yes.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
He doesn’t reply to this, only stares at her with a sort of expectancy. She feels the anger rising within her, but also the defeat. In a few moments the anger simmers down almost completely, and she knows he is right. She has never been able to say no to him, and she will never be able to. So she does the only thing she can, and turns her vivid, burning emeralds away from the enigmatic man standing before her. Perhaps if she can’t see his face, the same face she has come to love above all else, she will be able to break free from his transfixing spell.
In a flurry of the faint smell of peaches that is Itachi, Sakura finds herself trapped between his firm body and the rough tree behind her. His arms are not touching hers; his body is the perfect trap, and his silence is more commanding than his words could ever be.
This weakness will never falter, she admits to herself bitterly, knowing that no other can distract her enough to let her guard down so.
Hesitantly, she turs her gaze back to his swirling scarlet orbs. He pauses only for a slight second before speaking. “Perhaps I had overestimated your faith.”
It is cynical, cryptic, and so typically Itachi that she nearly cries. But somehow, she holds on to the last shreds of her dignity to spit out a “What are you talking about, Itachi?” in an easily fake tone of exasperation. The exasperation, though, is not entirely feigned, for she is tired, tired of all their chases. “Stop playing games with me,” she whispers. “I quit. I don’t want to love you anymore.” But the familiar warmth of his strong body does not disappear from hers, and she remembers, with disdain or nostalgia, she doesn’t know, that he is never one to give up on what he wants, though something seems to shift in the air after her last words.
“I was under the impression that your faith in me was stronger,” he monotones back, but she sees a flicker of life in his beautiful eyes. “I see now that I was mistaken.”
“My faith?” she echoes back, almost in disbelief. Of all the things, that is something he has absolutely no right to question.
This time, he presses even closer to her body. “Did you really believe every word I said?” he growls, and she can detect the faintest trace of anger. She blanches; what right does he have to be angry? “Are you really so naïve still, to believe everything that’s told to you?”
She does not reply, nor does he give her the chance to. “Does everything that has happened mean nothing to you?”
“How dare-”
“Then perhaps, I was right to leave.”
Itachi pauses, and Sakura unknowingly lets out the shaky breath she has been holding. It feels as if he has stopped to take a quick breather, to look at the scenery - but in another moment, his eyes narrow down at her and his mouth is so close to her ear that she feels her breath catch once more. “What am I to you, Sakura?” he whispers in an almost-purr. “What do you think you are to me?”
“I…” she stutters, blinking her unworldly eyelashes in confusion. For the slightest of moments time seems to stop for the spellbound girl, but even as she bites her lips in hesitation, he can see the courage formulating slowly under the surface. He is not wrong, as her bright emeralds glance up to meet his eyes a moment later, a perfect clash of Christmas colours. “Everything. And to the latter…nothing.”
If she had been unconsciously expecting anything in response, the abrupt removal of his unusual heat is definitely not what she’d had in mind - nothing short of apocalyptic doom, perhaps. Instead, he moves away. In this whirlwind of slow motion movement, her roaming orbs catch a glimpse of something unmentionable in his deadly orbs, but it is too quick for her to commit to memory and perhaps, too quick to even be real.
At a later day she might reflect that it is nothing short of disinterest and disgust - but in the heat of the moment, she hopes against hope that it is something a little more.
“What are you really trying to say?” she bites out finally, exhausted. “Just this once, please, just say what you goddamn mean!”
This seems to hit home, as, without warning, all the tension eases from his lean body, as if all the air has been sucked out. He should’ve looked simply saggy, by all means, but Sakura notes that even deflated, he looks as regal as ever. “Will you - do you trust me?”
To a bystander, his statement, a question in all its form would be interpreted as such. It is the sane interpretation - but Sakura freezes at his words and her lips quiver in response. It escapes her notice completely that it is a question - it is insignificant and though her answer works, sense and sanity are not the reasons for it to be given. “…Yes.”
“You opinion has changed.”
“No,” Sakura dares a glance at the poignant man, and notes that his eyes are still fluttered shut.
“Yet, you doubt.”
“I am many things, Itachi. But I am no saint,” she whispers. “Even I have a limit.”
When he turns his gaze back to her, there’s an almost lazy feel to it, as if he’s a cat studying his prey. “Time. Trust. Hold on to it. Hold on to this silly faith of yours,” even as he says this, he can see the impossible look of defeat in her eyes. But his next words shock her into bleeding mirth, “And I will return to you.”
Before her lips, brain, or anything else can digest the situation, her heart has already made the judgement call, for she is already uttering a quiet, quivering, “okay.”
Itachi’s lips curl up deliciously into a devious smirk, and, taking advantage of her situation, sweeps down for a quick, violent kiss. She is barely recovered when he whispers quite delicately into her ear, “I’ll be seeing you, then.”
Then, he’s gone, as if he had never been there to begin with, as if he had been an apparition of her yearning all along. In another moment the first raindrops drip onto her unguarded self, and she’s left to wonder at the weakness of her own heart.