Standard disclaimer applies.

The club was cold and dark. Sakura had come back to the Akatsuki club nearly a month later since meeting Itachi in the blood drenched alley. She'd been able to keep him away since their little run in at the park, but she had to admit he was persistent. She'd been getting nearly incessant text messages, phone calls, and emails from some of the people she had working for her about her identity. If some human started asking questions about her or about a pink haired girl, her people would hear about it and then she would get a memo about it.

Since she'd met Itachi, there had been forty-seven hits on her name.

It had started out as simply being amusing, but was quickly starting to become annoying. Interest, she could understand. She was an odd looking girl who hadn't made much effort in hiding what she was from a sociopath, but this was just getting ridiculous.

Forty-seven hits on her identity. Forty-seven.

She'd done work of her own, of course. It didn't take her long to discover who Itachi Uchiha was, how his family's multimillion-dollar company was passed down to each generation. Eldest son to eldest son, like they were all living in the eighteen hundred's again. She'd scoffed when she'd found out. Ludicrous.

Something Itachi had said kept bothering her. The fact that he'd been able to have someone clean up his mess—someone who had apparently made a living out of cleaning up his messes—and them being right in the club, just oh-so conveniently, was odd to her.

So, as any intelligent ancient faerie, Sakura had done her research on the Akatsuki club. Funnily enough, there hadn't been a whole lot of information on it, having been bought and set up with mostly cash transfers. She couldn't link any bank accounts to someone. On the lease, it had said the owner was someone called Menma. That was it. No last name, no explanation for the—quite frankly—ridiculous name. And then she couldn't find anything about him. Not. One. Thing.

This century had almost made it impossible for any human to go undetected. There was always a history, a few social media accounts with mundane information and selfies and—if Sakura was being honest—rather decent pictures of food.

But nothing came up for anyone named Menma. Sakura had pulled almost every string and hit up every contact she had, and no one had ever even heard of the man. She'd figured out it was a pseudonym, but even then, the man shouldn't have just suddenly popped out of nowhere to buy a club.

It was shady and a mystery, and Sakura was starting to realize having Itachi Uchiha approach her all those nights ago might just be the most interesting thing to happen to her in centuries. Maybe she would let him take her shoe shopping as a reward.

The club was technically closed. It was early afternoon and there were workers cleaning and setting up for opening that night. They didn't so much as spare her a glance when she'd let herself in unannounced. Sakura hummed under her breath and filled that away. Another oddity.

"Can I help you?"

Sakura looked over at the bar, seeing a man in the dim light, wiping down the counter. She blinked, wondering how she hadn't noticed him. Walking over with slow steps, Sakura could see a mop of dark hair sticking up in every direction, a flash of white teeth.

When she was close enough, who she assumed was Menma moved enough that a light caught on his face, Sakura had to physically fight back the gasp and recoil of shock.

The hair was dark, not a sunlight blonde that shone in the dark. His lips were curled into a smirk, not a grin that stretched ear to ear.

But his eyes. His eyes.

Blue, like the Caribbean water, like the clearest of the sea, only found on tropical islands most people never see. Blue, like the sky before pollution, when only a few white clouds in the sky marred that kind of peaceful, beautiful blue. Blue, like the blue she hadn't seen in centuries.

Blue, exactly like Naruto's eyes had been.

Her breath hitched and it took every well-honed year of experience and every ounce of self-control not to falter in her steps, to keep on walking towards Menma. His face . . . his face was the same as Naruto's. The same mouth she'd traced with her tongue once upon a time, the same nose she'd kissed in the night, the same body that had caught her eye . . . Everything was the same.

Sakura felt the emotion well up behind her eyes, the same warning of a break down she'd become so well acquainted with. She felt her lungs scream for more air than she needed, but furiously kept her body or face from showing anything.

She could still remember how cold Naruto's hand had been when he'd finally died in her arms. His wrinkled and ashen skin. The years had been kind to him, his face showing signs of laughter, his left hand with a single silver band, wrapped in vine and coursing with her magic. Her own finger paired with a matching ring, though on the inside it held the engraving of the Uzumaki clan symbol.

He'd been an orphan when she'd found him. The pariah of his village, shunned for reasons Sakura had never quite understood, nor particularly cared to. He'd been on the outskirts of the village, near her woods. She'd first approached him when he was a child, crying over the bloody gash on his arm from where other villagers had thrown rocks at him. No one had bothered to help the little blonde haired boy.

She'd listened to him, cradling him in her arms and stroking his hair as she healing the wound. It had been thick and knotted and filthy, but things had been different back then. She'd let him see her for who—what—she was. It was a risk, but his blue eyes enchanted her.

He'd responded so happily to her magic, too, that it had made the risk worth it.

Over time, Naruto would come back to her, shying around the edges of the woods until she came. She never made him wait long.

She'd tell him stories about her life. About the things she'd seen and done, and when he was older, she'd tell him about the wars. About the Summer Court—her court. About the endless wars with the Winter Court, lasting so long that at some point, no one could remember what they were even fighting over, only that the war had been going on for so long that no one knew how to finish it.

The Spring Court and Autumn Court had, for the most part, stayed out of it. Sometimes the Spring Court would give a helping hand to the Summer Court, depending on how much it was affecting them. Sometimes the Autumn Court did the same thing for the Winter Court. But both were too small of Courts to truly participate, and neither had the same history of bloodshed the Summer and Winter Courts had.

Putting a stop to the wars was impossible. To propose a treaty was a sign of weakness, of giving up. And when the soldiers had centuries of bloodshed behind them, well, many wouldn't have taken it well.

The faerie royalty couldn't do anything. There had been Kings and Queens on both sides who hated the wars, but could not ultimately stop them. Too much history, too much inbreeded hate.

One day, when he was old enough, Naruto asked her about stealing him away. Something about him had made her want to tell him everything about herself, even the bloody and questionable parts. She hadn't expected him to ask her to do it to him, though she'd realized that she should have seen it coming.

"Do you love me, Sakura-chan?" he'd asked her even she'd paused for too long after his question.

"I love you," she'd said immediately, and it was true. She loved him more than she thought she would, more than she'd loved anyone in some time.

He'd scooted closer to her on the rock they were sitting on, dangling their feet in a pond. "Then won't you take me?"

She'd licked her lips and felt the greedy, ancient part of her being rise to the surface. This, having a human offer themselves so freely to her, despite the costs she'd bluntly told him about before, was the epitome of glee for her kind. He wanted her, despite everything. Despite the blood on her hands, the body count engraved into her skin. He'd listened to her stories without any hint of disgust or horror.

And being listened to, Sakura knew, was the most potent drug of all.

Sakura had breathed deep, let it out slowly. "You must be very sure, Naruto," she'd whispered, locking eyes with him, forest green to sky blue. "Because once I have you, I won't be able to let you go."

And he'd been so sure.

She'd taken him that day. He was a young man by then, able to know what he wanted in life, and Sakura wasn't about to make decisions for him.

He'd been her friend before he'd been her lover. And he'd been her lover before he'd been her husband.

She'd taken and collected humans like fine wine over the years, some faces blurring together and some forever etched into her mind. Naruto, quite easily, was at the forefront of her mind, and likely would remain there until the day she died.

"Will you remember me?" he'd asked when his skin began to crinkle and crow's feet lined the skin around his eyes. His blonde hair was just beginning to get the specks of gray in it.

He'd quickly followed the question with, "It's okay for you to forget me, Sakura-chan. I won't mind. I've had you for my lifespan, and that's more than good enough for me."

She'd tried to ignore the creeping feeling in her gut before then, ignoring the signs of age starting to appear while she remained forever the same. But the night he'd brought it up the first time, Sakura had snuck away from their bed in the forest and cried for the first time since she'd left the Summer Court.

They'd never had any children. For a faerie, having children was rare. Sakura knew Naruto wanted some, however, and they'd at one point seemed to adopt multiple children over the years, never taking any of them back to their home in the forest, but simply watching over the children from outside villages. The outcasts, pariahs, orphans. Naruto adored every single one.

Sakura had tried very hard to give Naruto everything he desired. Because while she was a selfish being, she was more selfish for his love and pleasure. Seeing him turn to her and giving her that big, bright smile of his was more than Sakura knew she deserved. She'd raze the world for that smile.

When he'd died long after his hair had turned stark white and his fingers turned crooked and knobby, Sakura had buried him in the forest, in a spot she knew the sun shone upon every day. Even on the coldest and most overcast of days, her immortal magic would allow a ray of sunlight to catch on her husband's unmarked grave.

Sakura had always been convinced that when Naruto had been born, the sun had shone a little brighter, and so it only made sense that in death the sun would still be drawn to him. Her sunshine boy, buried under the light.

Where Naruto had been light, Menma was dark. They'd had no children, and Sakura knew Naruto's clan had been wiped out long ago, so she didn't think it could be a descendent.

Sometimes, on the coldest days and sleepless nights, Sakura would lie in bed and think about reincarnation. She'd met and loved so many humans over the years. All were different in their own ways, yet they'd all held her love. Perhaps the stories were correct in the idea of the same soul being passed down to different bodies over generations. Maybe every human she'd ever loved was really the same soul passed down to different bodies, different genders, different faces, different histories, different priorities, different morals. Maybe there was a little bit of Naruto's soul attached to this dark boy in front of her, only being encased in whatever darkness resided in Menma. Perhaps he was a version of Naruto, only warped into someone new through different experiences and culture.

When Sakura was a little more than a foot away from the boy she assumed was Menma, she leaned against the bar and wiggled her fingers over the counter. Immediately, the smirk dropped from Menma's face. She was in no mood to play.

"Hello," Sakura said, glad when her voice came out strong, if not a little soft. "Are you Menma?"

He nodded sleepily.

Sakura smiled, long and slow. This boy was not Naruto. This boy was dark; dark in the way Itachi was dark. Dark in the way warriors from the Winter Court and the Summer Court were dark.

She glanced down at Menma's hands. Clean, round nails, perfectly trimmed.

She could almost smell the blood on them.

"I've got a few questions for you to answer, Menma."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Later, Sakura heaved into the toilet of her home, gripping onto the towel next to her and trying and failing to not remember the sunshine boy she'd lost.

That boy—dark little Menma—was as bad as Itachi. It had been a while since she'd been around so many truly dark people. He was nothing like Naruto. Nothing.

And somehow that hurt more.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I should kill you."

Itachi's shoulders went tense, but almost immediately relaxed when he recognized her voice.

"Sakura," he purred, turning around in his office chair to see her balancing on the windowsill.

They were forty stories up.

"What a lovely surprise, darling. Had I known you were coming I would've prepared a nice lunch for us—"

"Would you like to know what I am, Itachi?"

He paused, tilted his head to the side. Studied her. "Are you really going to tell me?"

"Hmm. I think you already know what I am."

One corner of his lips curled. "Oh?"

Sakura studied her nails, feeling her magic swirl around her. "There have been quite a few hits on my name ever since I met you, Itachi. I'm getting a little tired of getting phone calls and emails about it."

He spread his hands wide. "And yet I am still no closer to cracking your puzzle."

Sakura smiled, and something on her face must have set off whatever kind of internal alarm Itachi had in his fucked-up mind. He leaned back in his chair and tilted his chin up at her, looked her up and down. Her unruly curly hair blowing in the wind, the pink lipstick and heeled boots.

She stood and swayed over to his chair, until she could do a little hop and sit on the edge of his desk. "Have you ever heard of Puck?"

Itachi's jaw was clenched. She could tell that he hadn't, but didn't want to admit that.

"Puck," Sakura began, "was a trickster. He was a faerie who served under King Oberon of the Summer Court. He loved tricking humans out of deals and playing pranks that more often than not ended in bloodshed. He liked to call himself a Good Neighbor."

Itachi's eyelashes lowered. "Darling—"

Sakura waved her hand and suddenly Itachi found himself with an inability to speak. He clutched his throat, looked at her with raging eyes as he finally, finally began to catch on to what she was really saying.

"Puck," she continued, clearing her throat daintily, "is gone. He finally pissed off a monster bigger than he was and he couldn't weasel his way out of it."

She smiled down at him, letting some of her history bleed through her eyes. "I'm the monster, Itachi Uchiha. I'm Oberon, I'm Mab, I'm Puck. I've gone by a lot of names over time—names hold power, you know—and I've been both King and Queen of the Summer Court. I was a trickster who played with humans before I had the throne. I waged war on the Winter Court because it was necessary and because it was demanded of me. I do not regret it. I do not regret waring with the Courts until there was nothing left of us, because there was nothing else to do."

Sakura paused, breathing deep. She saw the rage and interest warring in Itachi's eyes, drew a finger down his sharp, perfect cheekbones.

"One day," she whispered, like they were lovers, like they were rivals, like they were nothing but breath and air and darkness. "One day, I'm going to kill you, Itachi Uchiha. Just like I killed the last of the Kings and Queens of the Courts. Just like how I had to end my world to start something new. Perhaps the new faeries will make my old home into something better than my brethren did."

She pulled her hand away. "Or maybe it will all be the same as before, and my sacrifices have been all meaningless. Either way, it is their choice."

Sakura thought of the blood on her hands. How she'd whispered to Naruto at night the sins she committed to her people, the betrayal of their trust. How she saw how the wars would never end, no matter what anyone did or said, and so she made a choice.

She chose to kill all the Kings and Queens of old to make way for the new. She picked off each and every century old warrior who would never forgive or forget about the wars and who would never choose to move past old grievances. She picked and chose who lived and who died, leaving only the peaceful and young. None knew of what she did, the sacrifices she made for the hope of a brighter future. All they knew of was an ancient and powerful Queen of the Summer Court who needed no King to bring the faerie realm to ash and darkness. One who killed herself to achieve her victory.

None knew that she lived, that there was a reason she tried not to kill any of the young or those who held nothing but disdain for the wars. She left books and journals of past rulers to help guide the new generations, histories of both the cruel and kind to guide them into their own fate.

She could never go home, but Sakura didn't think that it was really her home any longer. She was too old, too ruthless, too tired.

She blinked away the small rays of sunlight that streamed through the windows in Itachi's lush office. It was almost twilight, and Sakura wanted to go drinking that night.

Looking back down at Itachi, she cupped his face in her palms, let her magic bleed out from her eyes and watched as his dark, dead eyes widened. "Menma told me about your little hobbies," she said. "About the money and drugs you pay him to help clean up your messes."

Itachi was struggling to say something, and Sakura rolled her eyes and let him speak again.

He breathed deep. "You're the same as me." He looked at her with something like rapture in his eyes, like her confessions were the holiest of things to grace his ears.

She chuckled. "No, Itachi, we aren't. When I kill, it's to achieve something, to fight a war, win it, end it, whatever. It's to get information or a lead or something to help me prevent something worse from happening. But you—" she sneered. "You do it just because you can, and while that can be amusing for a short while, I find that I'm tired of this game."

Naruto, Naruto, Naruto, her mind chanted. Naruto wouldn't want this. Naruto wouldn't want her to let someone like Itachi go to kill again.

God, how had she forgotten so much about him? And how awful that it was someone like Menma to remind her?

Looking at him now, this beautiful man with sharp cheekbones and dead eyes, Sakura made a choice.

"Darling—" he purred.

Moving her hands over his eyes, Sakura moved her thumbs into his eye sockets and pressed down.

He started to scream.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Maybe one day she'd regret binding Itachi Uchiha to herself, but today was not that day.

The man had good taste in shoes.

They were on their fifth shoe store of the day and Sakura already had more pairs of shoes picked out by Itachi than she did at home. She regretted nothing.

Itachi was looking at some leather shoes that had—if the shop girl was correct—been imported from Italy and there were only a limited number of them in the United States. He watched her, the little blonde, bubbly thing that she was with sharp, bored eyes.

When he felt her gaze, Itachi's eyes flicked up and caught hers, his eyes flashing red for the briefest of moments before going back to black. Sakura licked her lips and internally purred at how good of a job she did at her binding.

Itachi Uchiha wouldn't ever be able to kill again. At least, not without Sakura's permission. In fact, Itachi couldn't do much of anything without Sakura's permission. There weren't any ancient forests that she could steal him away to like the days of old, but she could still bind humans to her in other ways.

His eyes, of course, were good ways to do it. Sakura burned his shark-like eyes with her mark, so that he was hers in every way that mattered.

For Naruto, it had been their wedding rings. For Itachi, it was his eyes. Sakura mentally gave herself a pat on the back of the ingenuity of it.

He came over to her after telling the shop girl he'd take the shoes, leaning down to her and tying up the heels that had far too long straps in Sakura's opinion, letting his hands and fingers linger around her ankles. Sakura wiggled her toes in his grasp.

Leaning down, Itachi pressed a feather light kiss to her ankle where the laced tied together, looking up at her through hooded eyes. "My Queen," he purred.

Sakura scoffed. "Don't even."

His thumb moved back and forth along the inside of her foot, the sensitive part of her skin there. He gave her a smoldering look.

"No."

He pouted.

"We're not killing the shop girl just because she annoys you, Itachi."

"Darling—"

Unfortunately, a drawback of Sakura binding Itachi to herself was that they were pretty much always together. And that meant incessant nagging from him about how they would be fantastic kill buddies. Or fuck buddies. Or both.

Sakura leaned down so she was only a breath's space away from Itachi's face. She watched his eyes dilate and go red around the edges as his breath hitched and his hands tightened around her ankles.

"Remember, Itachi," she purred, "I'm only keeping you alive because you're amusing."

He raised an eyebrow. Sakura ignored the lust she saw in his red gaze as he licked his lips. "I can think of more ways for me to amuse you, my Queen," he purred right back.

Maybe one day she'd regret this, but it wasn't going to be that day.

Author's Note: THE END.

Yes, this was a very short three-shot story and no, there will not be more. I'm proud of myself for finishing this, to be honest. But I can't just leave something unfinished or it will haunt me, so here you go.

Please REVIEW! Tell me what you think. I know it was short, but it was also a bit different from what I usually write.