Summary: She was a dove in chains. Hidden away in a tower and left to rot, without hope or dreams of salvation. She didn't mind however, because she'd rather be his prisoner than his loyal subject.

Rating: M ; Dark themes, non-consensual sex. Don't read if you are a romantic (!)

A/N: Yeah, I don't know... Depressed by latest Naruto chapters (rip SasuSaku fml), this is the result. I don't think there's any serious spoilers... It takes place more in an imaginary future (post-war). Mainly a one-shot, but I guess if enough people ask, I can make it a two-shot even though I can't think of a good ending...

Edit** Canon up until 697.

Defiance

The moon was high and the dark sky littered with blinking stars that shone through the cloudless night. A hint of frost in the bitter evening signalled the changing of seasons. Winter was approaching, and spared no signs in showing that it would be unforgiving.

The raven-haired nin stood in his tower, perched like a king as he gazed out blankly at the city below. His dark eyes drank in everything. The peaks of the houses, flickering lanterns and rustling leaves in the trees that decorated the sides of the streets. It was a city rebuilt. Purified of the filth and corruption that plagued it prior to his ironclad rule. It was a city without murder. A city on the cusp of cutting out crime altogether. It was near-perfection.

Although it was late, a few citizens lingered in the streets, speaking in hushed whispers about whatever town gossip had captured their attentions. Soon the guards would shuffle them into their houses to keep them from breaking curfew.

Behind the lone man, a healthy fire cackled, providing the only comfort in the large round office, though the heat from the fire did not reach him. He was cold, calculating. Sinister.

A tap at the door broke him from his silent contemplation.

"Enter." The command rolled off his tongue with authority.

It didn't take more than a few seconds before the door swiftly sprung open and a middle-aged man appeared, wearing the familiar navy-coloured uniform that all nins were required to wear.

"Hokage-sama," the plain man fumbled with the collar of his shirt before bending down into a low bow, waiting for the figure cloaked in shadows to acknowledge his presence.

Silence stretched. The air in the room grew a little thicker with each passing moment, and the prostrated soldier cast a hesitant glance at the back of his commander, no doubt wondering if his greeting had gone unheard. He fought the urge to wipe a bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek.

"Has she spoken yet?" At last, a low voice cut through the air without a hint of emotion or curiosity for the answer.

The nameless foot soldier hesitated, shuffling on his feet before giving his answer, "Not for a fortnight, Hokage-sama."

Again, a heavy silence descended on the room. So thick and uncomfortable it was, that the aging soldier could easily imagine dark shadows springing forth from the corners of the room and strangling him where he stood.

"Did you limit her food and water intake?"

Bored, bored, bored.

"Yes, however…" His voice trailed off, uncertain whether to continue would spark the ire of his superior who was half his age.

"Speak," impatience started to grow in his tone as he now glared down at the village outside his window.

"She has taken to refusing meals altogether. I fear that, if it continues for much longer, she won't last much more than a week." Another pause, perhaps awaiting a displeasing comment from the hokage or even a display of some concern for their prisoner's wellbeing, but upon receiving none, the man spoke again.

"What should we do, Hokage-sama?"

A log cracked at the moment the deadly nin spoke, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" The soldier asked in bewilderment, believing that he may have heard wrong.

"I will take over control of the prisoner," his even tone disguised the seriousness of the subject and masked the significance of his decision. He hadn't seen the prisoner himself since the day he dropped her unconscious body in the cement tower that was now her home. That was three months ago.

"But, Hokage-sama," the soldier spoke with some urgency, "that is not necessary, we can still—"

"No. You and your men have failed long enough." Hidden from the soldier's view was the way the hokage's strong fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill and the way his right eye bled red with such a frightening menace that even the youngest of children would know to be fearful of him.

"We have tried all manner of interrogation techniques, physical and mental torture, sleep and food deprivation," the man attempted to justify their failed efforts but by the end of his statement, his shoulders sagged and he was remiss to admit, "She doesn't break."

At last, the hokage looked over his soldier at the man, with nothing but malice and hatred swimming in his narrowed eyes as he coldly proclaimed, "She will break for me."

.

.

.

Sakura stared blankly at the cement ceiling above her, laying on nothing more than a thin strip of foam for a mattress and a single, thin sheet for warmth. If she tried hard enough, on a good day she could almost delude herself into believing that it was a sleeping bag she was bundled in with her back on a grassy strip of land. It reminded her of her genin days when Team 7 went on careless, D-rank missions and Naruto complained constantly of how they ought to be on B-rank missions at least.

This day, unfortunately, was not one of those good days. Instead, the cold cement floor seemed to bleed through the thin foam padding. Her entire backside stung from the cold, causing her to shiver and rub her arms in an effort to shake off the bone-chilling cold. It did little to help. She could tell that winter was fast approaching and didn't quite know how she'd make it through. Although, the voice inside her head joked that she might be good and dead before she really had to worry about it.

"Ha!" She bit out a bitter laugh, imagining the expression on her unpleasant guards' faces when they would finally walk into her prison cell and discover her body stiff and lifeless. Maybe then they would learn to keep smug smirks off their faces.

If she had the energy, she might hate them. Fortunately, for them, months of psychological games had numbed her to the emotions that once shone through her like an open book. Strong emotions such as hatred required an amount of effort she no longer seemed to possess. She was once a warm and happy person. Now all that remained was a shell.

What a pitiful sight she made for.

Frowning, she rolled onto her side in an effort to relieve her back from the chill that seeped into her skin. She took to counting the cracks in the cement wall. A familiar pastime she used to occupy herself until her eyes would eventually droop shut and send her into a restless slumber. Sleep offered little escape, however. For even her dreams seemed to play games with her; reliving past nightmares and haunted memories.

She used to cry about it. About the life she lost. The people she cherished.

Now she figured all her tears had dried up.

.

.

.

When she dreamed, she dreamt of red. The blood of Naruto, Kakashi, her family and friends. Even her own blood. She saw it all. Felt it all. Especially the way Naruto slumped in her arms, releasing a weary sigh as all of his vivacious energy left his body. His tan skin paled from blood-loss, and she, with all her medical training was helpless to save him. Still, she pumped whatever chakra that remained within her into his broken body in a desperate hope that it would save him. She prayed for a miracle.

She received none.

Green eyes snapped open with a start, taking several moments to adjust to the artificially lit room. Sweat beaded on the edges of her forehead and her stomach growled angry with hunger. Both her arms and legs were frail from lack of sustenance and the sudden, violent urge to retch caused her heart to beat quickly in her chest.

She was weak. Sick with hunger. It had been days since her last meal and she felt her body's demand for nutrients was starting to take its toll. She didn't mind dying anymore, only she wished that it would happen more quickly. To die of starvation is an arduous process yet she felt it had to be done. It had been months of moves and counter-moves, all in an effort to get her to give into his demands. This was her final move; the last act of defiance she could muster against her captors.

If they thought she would break, they were wrong.

When the heavy metal door creaked open, she didn't even bother to cast a glance at the guard. Instead, she remained on her side, facing the wall opposite to the door. If she were lucky, the guard simply set the tray down and quickly departed. More often than not, however, she suffered a beating at the hands of restless men seeking to alleviate whatever frustrations they had building inside them.

She waited anxiously for the familiar clanking sound of the tray hitting the ground, containing the usual meager piece of bread and small cup of water.

About two weeks ago, they decided to starve her into submission by giving her only the barest morsels of which to survive on. In retaliation, she decided to give up eating all together.

It was when the silence stretched on that she grew unnerved, feeling more and more suffocated by the unwelcome presence in the room. She was tempted to cast a hesitant glance over her shoulder to see what the delay was; fear prevented her from seeking out the truth.

A minute passed, and she was helpless to subdue the shiver that ran up her back. Her body tensed and breathing grew shallow as she unknowingly braced herself against something unknown but undoubtedly awful.

The sound of a step drawing closer caused her ears to perk up, taking in every sound, every shift in the air, every rustle of fabric. Then another step, and another.

She bawled her fist, now certain that nothing but pain awaited her in the immediate future.

When the tray finally touched the ground, it did so with much more finesse than usual and her entire body visibly flinched as if she'd been struck. The light tap against the stone was delicate and carefully measured. It did nothing to appease her growing trepidation. If anything, it compounded her unease since it seemed so calculated, so controlled. She was not dealing with the usual impatient foot soldier whose motives were easily read. If confinement had taught her anything, it was how to read the moods of her captors.

"Eat." The one-word command seemed to ring off the walls, instilling a strong wave of panic through every tense muscle in her lithe body.

She froze, paralyzed in fear.

She knew that voice. Dreaded its dark, unfeeling tone. It had been months since she heard it in any place except her nightmares, and she had hoped with all her being that it would remain as such.

Life never really did go as she hoped.

Quickly she sat up to face her captor, spinning around and propping her back against the cement wall.

It was a regrettable decision. In her malnourished state, the blood that rushed to her head overwhelmed her senses, causing the room to spin and eyes to cloud over in darkness. Her hands gripped the bed sheet in an effort to keep herself feeling grounded, but she ultimately failed to suppress her facial muscles' need to wince at the unpleasant sensation.

Only when the room ceased to spin and her eyes managed to focus could she confirm the identity of the man standing before her. She took note of his open-toed sandals and the black pants that were tightly bound from the ankle to the point just below his knees.

Almost at the point of hyperventilating, her eyes continued to travel upwards, observing the fitted, black shirt that zipped up the middle. His arms were crossed, but even so, she could tell that the top portion of the shirt had been left hanging open. Raven locks framed his face, reaching the length of his chin.

When her eyes landed on his straight-lined mouth, she didn't bother to look any higher. This man was dangerous. His eyes unforgiving. She learned too late that any degree of friendship they had when they were younger meant nothing to him and did little to save her from his cursed sharingan.

"You are weak." An observation on her physical state, void of disgust or any real interest.

To reaffirm his earlier order, he again commanded her to eat, pushing the tray forward a little with his foot, as if she were his dog and he expected her to leap forward and obey.

The action sparked something deep inside her. Morphing fear into a silent fury that had grown for this boy the moment he wrought this pitiless existence upon her. Though, as she observed his tight jaw and broad shoulders, she corrected herself. He was a man now. A merciless, powerful man who was used to imposing his will on others.

In defiance, she pushed the tray back towards him with her foot, glaring at it as if repulsed by the sight of food. She didn't care if she was weak in his eyes, she had decided long ago not to give this man what he wanted.

The raven-haired male watched her carefully through lowered, dark eyes. He had heard that she changed, and here he was, ready to pass judgment. To see if she really was any different from the desperate girl that clung to the foolish hope of saving him. The girl who responded with tears at every little thing he did, every gesture, whether it was a bored stare or murderous snarl.

She really was an open book. Too easy to read and the last thing a shinobi ought to be. He abhorred her weakness.

Her prison-issued gray pants and t-shirt looked a size too big, one sleeve on the cusp of sliding off her shoulder and leaving her creamy, alabaster skin exposed. It was testament to her unhealthy weight-loss. She had her hair thrown back in a haphazardly tied ponytail with loose strands hanging down. It had grown some since he last saw her, though lack of proper care prevented it from going wild.

On her forearms, her pale skin was blemished with bruises of varying ages, some a fading yellow and others, an angry shade of purple. A small scratch in the process of healing lay marring her cheek. As his eyes drank in the sight of her, he found himself noting that his guards must've found restraint difficult around her. Still, despite all the signs of wear, the fatigue in her face did little to allay the fire in her eyes. It had, perhaps, diminished some in the months since her captivity but there could be no doubt that it was there.

It was something that surprised him.

He never expected her to last so long; he always thought her to be weak, fragile even. In constant need of being rescued. At one time, all he had to do was cast a disappointed look in her direction and it was enough to send her headlong into an abysmal state of self-doubt and inconsolable grief. He supposed those days had long since passed.

"How long are you going to play this petty, little game of yours?" He mused aloud, truly curious to know what irrational belief she clung to so tightly that it kept her conviction to refuse his demands steadfast.

He found himself only mildly irritated when she pursed her lips in a clear refusal to answer.

"Aa," his head tilted in mock interest, "I heard you've become a mute."

When still she chooses to remain silent, he takes a new line of tact. "To think," he smirks, finding her change in attitude towards him a source of amusement, "the day has finally come where I don't have to listen to you or the dobe's—"

"Don't you dare talk about Naruto," she spits out in offense, voice cracking from disuse. Although it's meant to sound strong –threatening– it comes across more like the last-ditch hissings of a wounded animal backed into a corner. It didn't help that her head was starting to pound, and that she had to fight against her own body to remain sitting upright.

Emboldened by his lack of response, she continues even though her body shakes with fatigue, "A traitor like you has no right to speak his name." The bitter taste of disgust fills her mouth.

He decides that he dislikes the glint in her eyes and was at her in a matter of two quick strides; crouched down before her with his hand wrapped around her small neck and pushing her firmly into the wall.

As she gasps for breath, he glares at her. All hints of amusement he had only moments ago are gone, replaced with a dangerous desire to hurt her. To put her in her place and prove that she is just as easily broken as ever.

Feebly, her hands grip his arm in an effort to remove his hand from her windpipe. It's an altogether pathetic display of her lack of strength.

As her vision starts to blur, she senses the end approaching and is actually met with relief. She would finally be set free. There was no more reason to fight it. Naruto would be proud; she never broke, she never betrayed his dream to become hokage. She stayed loyal to the very end, despite all the pain she endured because of it.

May you rest in peace.

Something dangerous swirls in his dark eyes as her arms dropped and a peculiar look of calm overtakes her features. It would be easy to kill her. He could do it without sparing her a second thought. She was nothing but an annoyance, and yet, she was an annoyance that he still needed. If for nothing more than symbolic purposes.

He would have her loyalty, even if she had to fake it.

Relinquishing his hold around her neck, he watched as she slumped sideways to fall against the floor. Halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness, she panted for air, taking in quick breaths to appease her burning lungs.

Before she had time to pass out, he stood up, towering over her. Tall and proud, he informed her darkly, "You will eat before I return." Her eyes shut, though he could tell she could still hear him, "Or I'll shove it down your throat."

With that, he turned on his heel and left her. Cold, alone and unconscious.

Uchiha Sasuke never took no for an answer.

.

.

.

She lunged forward, all of her weight and momentum thrown into that last punch. He dodged, of course, grabbing her wrist and sideswiping the body that followed, but the speed and weight combined to tilt him off balance and the two of them fall in a heap on the ground.

"Nngg," she grunts as her head smacks against something hard but doesn't have time to contemplate the issue because of the solid mass pressing down on her and trapping her in place. Immediately, she starts to struggle, thrashing against him while kicking and punching wildly in every direction.

It can't end here, not like this!

Her will to survive burned strongly even if the world around her seemed to come crumbling down.

"Stop," he hisses out lowly in warning, swiping at her flailing arms until he succeeds in pining them down at either side of her head. She is so frantic to escape that she misses the raspy-edge to his voice. Huskier than it should be.

Ignoring his command, she instead uses her remaining, unhampered limbs to continue her fight for freedom. Her legs twist and knees bend. If she could just kick or knee him with enough force, she is sure it could buy herself enough time to roll out from under him and generate a few feet of distance between them before preparing her next move. Her chakra is low; she hadn't even had time to recover from his mangekyou sharingan before she discovered Naruto's battered body and had to use whatever remaining chakra she had trying to heal him.

God, how her body shook with exertion. It had been a struggle just to stand and go after them

Now she was relying almost completely on regular, human strength as opposed to the chakra-laced punches she was infamous for. He wasn't in much better shape, though his natural strength was still far greater than her own.

Relentless in her efforts to break free, she finally manages to jerk her knee up, foot digging into the dirt for added momentum. Unknown to her, her knee accidentally wedges against something it should not. She was too focused on escaping; too innocent to know the dangers of what effect her agile body could have on a young man full of adrenaline and used to taking what he wanted.

Sasuke's breath hitches in the back of his throat and his head rolls forward so that his bangs brush against Sakura's wide forehead.

The simple action freezes her in place. It's more affective at stilling her than any drug she could've dreamed of administering. Hesitantly, her green eyes cast a tentative glance at the raven-haired male above her, aware enough not to make eye-contact, and is met with a frown.

"Sasuke... kun?" Uncertain of what's transpiring, she squirms a bit more, uncomfortable with his proximity and apprehension for his suddenly peculiar behavior. Their bodies are so close that she's sure he can feel the hammering of her heart in her chest, just as she can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Something hard pokes awkwardly against her thigh and causes enough discomfort for her to want to slide away from it. She doesn't like the position they're in. It leaves her vulnerable and somehow exposed. It would be so easy for him to rip through her chest with his bare hands, just as he had done to her when he captured her inside that twisted genjutsu of his.

Her wriggling causes a surprised gasp to pass through his lips; his face cringes in a mixture of restraint, frustration and something else that Sakura can't quite discern. "Stop that!" He snaps impatiently, tone harsh enough to cause her to wince.

Briefly, she obeys. Listening only to the sound blood rushing to her ears.

The seconds tick by in a tense silence and the atmosphere surrounding them grows thick with uneasiness. She waits with bated breath as his weight crushes her and sends a flurry of butterflies bouncing off the walls of her stomach. It's the mix of shy, nervousness combined with terror for her wellbeing that confuses her.

Waiting, waiting.

There's a moment where the tight grip on her wrists seems to falter, slackening for a reason she doesn't care to contemplate. She decides to seize the opportunity; waiting games never were her strength. With all the force she can muster, she tries to lift her body up. Her arms shake and leg digs in further into the dirt as she uses the ground for leverage in a last ditch effort to throw her captor off her.

"Get off," she manages to grit out between clenched teeth, the desperation in her tone is unmistakeable.

She doesn't bother trying to analyze why his eyes widen a fraction of an amount or why his jaw slackens and mouth pops open to let a breath of hot air to fan across her cheek. What stops her is the way his fingers tighten around her small wrists, nails digging into flesh and smacking her hands back down to the ground with a surprising degree of force, followed by an angry, almost pained, hiss.

"Can't you see what you're doing," the words full of venom and accusation.

For a moment, she wonders if she caused some kind of internal damage to his body, but this thought is immediately cast out when he rocks forward to press his groin firmly against her leg, which is wedged in between his. A groan soon follows.

The contact triggers full-blown panic.

"You're..." Sakura's viridian eyes widen and the colour fades from her face. Shock evident in her features as a terrible and almost impossible realization starts to dawn on her. Quickly she moves to set her leg straight, eliminate the friction and hopefully spark reason in her former teammate's actions. Instead, his reaction is instantaneous and more terrifying than she could ever dream.

Sasuke yanks her arms above her head, binding her wrists together under one of his strong hands while the other reaches down and keeps her leg rooted in place, firmly pressing her knee to his groin to let her know full well the state of his arousal.

There is a brief moment of hesitation where they both remain immobile, on the precipice of turning back and lunging forward into irreversible consequences.

Her mind is full of too many things to make sense of anything. Why was this happening? It had to be a dream. Another genjutsu, perhaps?

Suddenly, he seems to make up his mind and starts grinding against her wanting nothing more than to appease the ache between his legs.

"This... Is your fault," he grounds out lowly and in a voice she can hardly recognize. With each roll of the hips, his movements grow bolder and his desire for more becomes increasingly apparent to the kunoichi beneath him.

Again Sakura begins to struggle against him, though this time for reasons entirely different than before, "Sasuke-kun, stop!" She yells when, yet again, she feels something hard brush against her inner thigh. This time, however, she knows exactly what it is.

Rather than releasing her, his grip tightens and his movements become harsher. Her struggles excite him and fan the flames of wanton desire. Unknowingly she had awakened a sickening need in him to exert complete control over her helpless body. It wasn't that he wanted to do this, he simply lacked the will or strength to stop it from happening.

"Don't do this," she starts to plead; shaking her head from side-to-side and shutting her eyes to stem the flow of tears that threaten to fall. Everything was happening too fast for her to counteract, including the crawling feeling of disgust that prickled every inch of her skin and pooled like toxic sludge in her stomach. This was the last thing she wanted to happen. She wanted to make a difference in the fight, prove her worth. It seemed she was never meant to fly very high before smashing back into the ground.

In the midst of her begs, his hand leaves the underside of her leg and, with an eagerness, he tugs down her pants. Her panties soon follow, bundling at her knees and making it more difficult to fight him off.

Exposed to a man for the first time ever, she gasps and feels the heat rush to her face, tainting her cheeks a deep shade of red shame.

"No!" She wants to cover herself and hide from his ravishing hands but is helpless to do anything except watch.

Soon she feels the heated flesh of his manhood against her bare skin, wet and begging for entry that she would not permit. He rocks forward, in between her tightly pressed thighs. Once. Twice. On the third thrust, he is sent over the edge and decides that he can't wait any longer. His hand forces her legs apart and without words of comfort, without the gentle caress of a lover or the soft kisses of a companion, he tears into her, seeking only to satisfy the fire that burns in his veins.

The pain shoots through her back and mouth opens in a silent scream. He is rough and demanding with her, sparing no time for her to adjust. His movements lack finesse, inexperience evident in his careless use of her body. Was it his first time too?

The words start flowing out from her lips, much the same as the tears that roll down her cheeks, "It hurts. Stop... You're breaking me!" But, he pays no attention to her pleas and continues ramming into her.

What makes it worse for her is the knowledge that he doesn't care at all. Taking the last of her innocence; something she'd always meant to give him but never like this. Not in the midst of a war. Not as her enemy. Not against her will, and especially not when he held no affection for her.

"You don't love me," she chokes on her words, her body shaking in fear, disgust and pain, "You don't even care—"

Quickly he slaps a hand over her mouth, silencing her unwanted speech and realizations of a shattered dream that never had a hope of happening in the first place. When she is quiet, the only sound that fills the air is that of skin hitting skin and the grunts of a man chasing his climax.

In her horror, she thinks to herself that they are nothing more than animals.

Defeated, she grows numb and stares over his shoulder at the cloudy sky above. She doesn't have to wait long before his pace turns erratic and he has to bite down on the tender skin between her neck and shoulder to keep himself from crying out when he peaks.

He rides out his high as the waves of pleasure wash over him. His body is slick with sweat and hair damp around the edges. When he's done, he rolls off her and collapses on the ground beside her. Now, the only sound that fills the air is that of their haggard breaths.

It was not his intention for this to happen. He just wanted to make her see that fighting him was futile. Kakashi couldn't stop him, even Naruto couldn't. What hope did she think she had. What a foolish little girl with childhood fantasies dictating her every action. The world she wanted to protect was not worth saving, so why did she cling to it so desperately.

If he had bothered to look over at her, he might've seen that there was one daydream he thoroughly ripped from her.

She breaks down beside him, sobbing into her hands and rolling onto her side so that she doesn't have to face him. He takes this as his cue to leave and hastily adjusts his clothes, wiping the sweat off his forehead before standing.

.

.

.

Sakura awoke sometime later with her throat raw and neck bruised. As she rubs it gingerly with her fingers, she stares blankly at the food tray before her.

She never expected to see Sasuke again. The last time she saw him was when he left her, bare and sobbing on the dirtied ground of the battlefield. At some point, she must've passed out because when she woke up, she found herself in this makeshift prison. It was her tower, locked away from sight and confined to a windowless existence.

For the longest time she didn't even know why he left her alive. Then, demands for her to pledge allegiance to the new hokage started coming and she realized that poor, defenceless Haruno Sakura was not completely useless after all.

As far as she could gather, the others had surrendered to defeat; falling, one at a time to the pressures of reality and taking the oath of loyalty all former nins opposing the Uchiha were required to make. Ino, Choji, Shino... All of them were forced to recognize that the world they'd been fighting for no longer existed. She didn't blame them, really. What good was fighting and dying when no hope remained. They still had lives, they had people to live for and families to protect whereas she had no one. She had nothing but a broken dream that belonged to someone else.

It was a month into her imprisonment that she realized her importance. In the midst of water-torture, with her head, hair and body soaked from being dunked under the ice-cold water and repeatedly brought within an inch of death, that she uttered a silent, "why don't you just kill me" for the first time.

The gruff, "we can't" that slipped out from the nin's loose lips caught her attention, and in the days that followed she pried for more information. She took whatever beatings that stemmed as a result of her questions, until finally, it leaked that certain factions in the shinobi world believed that without her oath of loyalty to Sasuke's new regime, there was cause enough for whispers of resistance. No one dared to act on such whispers, but so long as Haruno Sakura remained locked up and defiant, there was hope for a future without an Uchiha as hokage. If she were to die, it would only sanctify her as a martyr. She was a symbol of resistance, even if her will to fight came from a dream that had no possibility of coming to fruition.

She didn't want to be anyone's martyr, but it made her sicker to think she was simply some political ploy of the man who destroyed her world. He took everything from her and still he wanted more, all the while having the arrogance to pretend that she was nothing except a worthless, pathetic girl.

An annoyance. Isn't that what he said.

Scoffing at some of the last words he'd spoken to her, she decided to show him what an annoyance she really could be. In a childish act of stubbornness, she grabbed the cup of water on the tray and flung it at the door. Watching with mirth as its contents splashed all over the heavy, metal door and rolled down in thin rivets to pool on the floor. With anger still coursing through her veins and filling her with a fleeting sense of strength, she grabbed the tray and hurled it at the wall as well.

The hard plastic clattered to the ground, the sound of its impact still reverberating off the walls while the small piece of bread rolled into some corner of the room. Unsatisfied with the damage, she somehow found it in her to stand and march over to the discarded tray. She gripped it tight in her hands and proceeded to smash it against the wall, again and again.

She beat it into the wall until her hands were bloodied and it finally broke into several pieces. With the last of her strength she located the piece of bread and ground it into a million tiny crumbs, scattering its pieces on the floor.

Let's see you shove it down my throat now, she thought wryly, coming to rest on her familiar foam mattress and staring proudly at all the new dents she'd created in the wall.

.

.

.

Her body tensed when the handle creaked on the other side of the door. Green eyes carefully stare at the floor directly in front of the door as it swings open. She couldn't help but wince when the door hit the discarded cup she'd been given earlier.

They both watch the cup roll for several feet before it finally comes to a stop with a light tap against the wall. It was the same wall where pieces of her torn up tray lay scattered.

His onyx eyes narrow in disapproval. Quickly, he scans the room for the piece of bread that had accompanied the obliterated tray. No doubt prepared to make good on his threat. He finds it in the far corner; at least, crumbs of it littering the dirty floor. When his sights return to the sitting pink-haired female, he sees the cuts on her hands and understands exactly the cause of all the mess.

It seemed the guards he had watching her did a poor job of disciplining her in any effective manner and now he was left to squeeze out the last of that rebellious nature from her.

"Get up," his harsh voice cuts through the barren room like kunai.

Her hands ball into tight fist in her lap and she stares stubbornly at the ground.

With his patience worn thin, he makes his way over to her, noting how tense her body grows with each step taken. He did not take lightly to disobedience.

"I said," he reaches down to yank her up by the collar of her shirt, "Get. Up."

The way she flinches at the sound of his voice is impossible to miss, and she curses herself for it. To show any type of emotion in front of him put her at a disadvantage. Especially if that emotion was fear.

He was darker now. Heartless.

Perhaps he had been for a long time, only back then she was too naive to see it and chose to believe that there were still traces of goodness within him. He shattered that belief when he put her under the effects of mangekyou sharingan and pierced his arm through her chest. He smashed it further when he used her body like a common whore's and left her like trash.

She would have been happier having been left to rot than have to be confronted by this man again.

"Come," he commands, expecting her to follow as he relinquishes his hold on the fabric of her shirt and starts heading to the door.

Without his arm to support her, she stumbles back against the wall and stays there, not simply because she did not want to follow him to whatever punishment awaited her, but also because her muscles were weak and she didn't think it possible to take a step forward without collapsing.

"Have you forgotten how to walk in addition to how to eat?" He casts a glance to her as he asks the question. There is a hint of amusement in his tone, as if he takes pleasure in demeaning her.

Bravely, or perhaps foolishly, she glares at the ground as she spits out her retort, "The only thing I have forgotten, is to listen to anything you have to say."

"That's a shame," his tone is dripping with sarcasm, and before she realizes it, he's returned to standing directly in front of her. For the first time, she notices how much taller he is than her. Several inches at least, because her eyes are parallel with his collarbones.

He leans in close, too close, to speak dangerously in her ear, "That means I will have to teach you how to obey all over again."

"No," she pushes on his chest to generate space between them. Being near him forced up traumatic memories she tried hard to forget.

He snatches her wrist in his hand and yanks her towards the door, finding it easy to exert physical control over her in such a pathetic state. As they reach the threshold between the door and the hall, she digs her heels in, trying desperately to stay in her prison, to which she has attached some imaginary measure of safety. Outside her room always meant bad things.

What an annoying girl.

His hold on her wrist is bruising as he drags her down the hall; it's even more painful when he forces her stumbling body down a flight of stairs without caring that her legs had a difficult time keeping up. More than once, she had to brace herself against the wall to keep herself from tumbling down to the bottom. She doubted he would break her fall. Maybe he'd even enjoy it.

Pushing open a door to a modest sized room, he leads her to a small table and shoves her down into an waiting chair where she's confronted with a plate of green beans, carrots and fish, along with a small portion of rice. The scent of fresh food enters her nostrils and immediately causes her mouth to water. Perhaps a plain meal by most standards, it appears more as a feast to her hungry eyes since it had been quite a while since she had real food.

It takes everything in her not to scarf the food down. Instead, she turns her lips down in contempt and stubbornly looks away.

"I won't ask you again," he warns dangerously, as he comes to lean casually against the table. She knows full well what he means, and though her heart rate spikes in alarm of his menacing aura, she decides to feign ignorance.

Softly, she informs him, "I don't know what you mean."

A moment of silence passes where she waits expectantly for his response.

Whatever remained of his patience finally snaps and he reaches forward to roughly take hold of her chin so that he can force her mouth open. She didn't even know when he had picked up the chopsticks, only that the instant he had her mouth propped open, she found a pile of rice shovelled in.

She fights to spit it out, but his hand clamps down over her lips and nose. Then she has to fight just to keep herself from choking.

"Swallow." His steely tone is matched with a hard stare.

She tries to shake her head in refusal but finds her mobility limited with the large hand covering half her face.

The urgency to breathe starts to intensify and she is fully aware that the only way to end this is to gulp down the food inside her mouth. While her mind tells her it's preferable to suffocate than continue living, her body's natural instinct seeks survival.

In the end, she is helpless to resist and swallows everything inside her mouth.

Sasuke wastes no time in shovelling in another mouthful of her dinner.

They continue until she is defeated and obeys without struggling. Mutely parting her lips for each new bite. Chewing, swallowing and repeat. She stares across the room in a trance and remains in that state long after her plate is emptied and she is led back to her room to fall asleep on her flimsy, foam mattress.

From that point on, he is always present when she's given meals.

.

.

.

She presses her hands flat against the wall she's leaning against when the door opens with a violent shove to reveal a tall, slightly plump man. His golden eyes narrow on her and lips turn up in a sick smirk as he studies her frail body.

"Will you take the oath today?" He asks snidely, mood fowl as ever.

Ever since Sasuke had become her primary caretaker, if you could call it that, she'd follow the same routine day-after-day. Every morning, an hour or so after breakfast, he'd send in one of these annoying guards to ask for her allegiance.

Just the same as always, she raised her chin and glared at the man before her as she replied with an unwavering, "No."

"Dumb bitch," the brutish guard spits out the insult and walks over to her, grabbing her chin so that he can get up and in her face. "Do you really think you can defy Uchiha Sasuke," it's stated as a question but she knows that to answer is to fall into his trap, and provide nothing more than an excuse for him to release his frustrations on her.

"You know," he scoffs, "If you weren't such a fucking eyesore, I bet you'd make for a good ride." In his eyes, something dangerous –lecherous– forms and she is immediately hit with a wave of nausea. Bile rises in her throat and knees start to tremble when she feels his finger stroke her cheek in a sickeningly sweet gesture.

A resounding slap echoes off the wall, and they both remain still for several seconds with nothing but her harsh breathing to fill the silence. She is surprised, perhaps he is as well, that she actually managed to catch him with his guard down and land a hit on his cheek.

For her triumph, she is rewarded in kind with a punch to her left cheek. He then throws her to the ground to deliver a ferocious kick to her abdomen. Then another. And another.

He leaves her wheezing, with the metallic taste of blood in the back of her throat, but at least he leaves her with her dignity intact.

.

.

.

As she quietly chews on the piece of bread given to her with a bowl of lukewarm soup, she senses that his eyes are on her. Again. Always watching. Observing. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge yet she tries her best to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being dissected and puts greater emphasis on finishing her dinner as quickly as possible so she can be rid of his company.

"You know," he starts with amusement evident in his voice, "If you weren't so stubborn, they wouldn't hit you."

She waits until she's finished chewing the last of her bread before pushing the tray away and glaring at him, "Do you suffer from some form of delusion to think that, any response I give them, is justification to be beaten."

A smirk tugs up the corners of his mouth and he tilts his head, "You see, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

She thinks to herself that any type of expression on his face doesn't really suit him.

"Don't you think it would be easier, if you just took the oath like everyone else?" He takes a lazy step toward her and lets his crossed arms fall to his sides. It's the first time he's brought this subject up in the weeks since he took over control of her life.

She contemplates the question before answering. Loose strands of pink hair fall in front of her eyes as she shakes her head, "No." Her voice is soft, lacking its usual fight as she continues, "To do so would just be living a lie. I'll never accept you as hokage."

They both know the name of the person she would accept.

"I won't make an oath to you," she bravely meets his eyes with her chin tilted high even though her fingers shake nervously and her heart feels ready to leap out of her chest. It wasn't so much his ability to kill her that terrified her, as it was his ability to toy with her emotions and leave her psychologically damaged. He spared no opportunity to put her down, and point out her weaknesses.

"You will." It was a short, clipped out response.

His self-assurance in her inevitable surrender grated her nerves, causing her eyes to light up in determination. "I won't." She affirmed, and as if to prove her point, she added, "I'm not the same girl anymore. I don't love you. I don't even like you."

That amused smirk works its way back on his features, and she finds herself sliding back a little further to the wall. He watches her like a hawk as he sets about a sluggish pace to the wall she braces herself against.

Snidely, he remarks, "Don't think, just because you've grown a backbone, that it makes you any less the weak, crying girl you've always been."

She purses her lips and stares blankly at the door, silently urging him to take his leave.

It is not the response he had hoped for.

"Half your friends think you're dead," he brings up the past to hurt her and sees that he is successful by the way her eyes twinge with a hint of regret. "The other half think you want to stay locked up." But she did, didn't she? At least out of spite towards him.

"There hasn't been a single incident of murder since the end of the war," he states matter-of-factly.

"Revolution," she corrects, using the name he had called it all that time ago.

Pretending not to hear her, he adds, "Crime is at an all time low as well."

"I suppose your citizens should be grateful for all that you've done," her tone is sarcastic and full of acidity as she gives him her most hateful glare.

He takes another step closer to his prey, his raven hair sways from the motion.

"They are."

His low voice seems to ring loudly off the walls of her eardrums, and she has to fight the urge to scoff at his self-righteous attitude. It's when she looks back at him that she sees his mood is beginning to sour. She can see it in the way his onyx eyes seem to look right through her, with hints of something dangerous fraying at the edges. The room seems to fall a few degrees cooler.

"Because of me, the next generation won't have to know what war is. They won't have to see their loved ones die for beliefs; chopped down because of opposing sides." He pauses for a moment of reflection before remarking, "What people really need is a powerful ruler to keep them in line. With power comes peace."

At that, she cannot hide the way her face morphs into an expression of disgust, mixed with disbelief, "You don't seriously believe that." However, his even stare seems to suggest that he does.

"You may have created peace, but at what cost? People are too afraid to live, too afraid to put their faith into anything. There needs to be understanding." Naruto knew how to make people understand. "The only thing you've accomplished is to use fear to cow people into submission." Like you want to do with me.

His only response is to look down his nose at her.

In frustration, she shakes her head and shuts her eyes. Maybe he just doesn't care for what she has to say.

He never did seem to listen to a single thing she said to him.

Tired with the conversation, she drops her head to stare at the hands in her lap. Her shoulders sag and some of her hair falls forward to frame her porcelain face. With bitterness in her voice, she whispers out, "You're not the only one who's suffered, Sasuke."

"That," he bites out the word, full of contempt as he closes the gap between them and reaches his hand out so that he can grab her chin roughly and force her to look up at him from the ground, "is exactly what pisses me off about you."

With his figure towering over her, she is forced to switch from sitting on her legs to kneeling before him. Even so, her neck strains under the forceful hold of his hand.

"You suffer the smallest of hardships, and you think it means that you could possibly understand what it's like to have everything taken from you in the blink of an eye." She says nothing but tries to free herself from his tight grasp.

"What do you know of loss," his words are full of derision and match the intensity of a slash to the chest.

"I know that you killed Naruto," for the first time in months she feels tears start to well up, "you locked Kakashi away on some island," her voice quivers and eyesight starts cloud over. He's nothing more than a blur of black and pale skin to her. Still, she can tell that he is looking at her full of disgust and hatred.

"Because of you," the first tear drop rolls down her cheek, "my parents..." The floodgates open and a torrent of tears cascade down her face, sprinkling the ground with tiny droplets of salty water. She can't bring herself to finish her sentence.

What did I do to deserve your hatred.

"I had nothing to do with what happened to your parents." There is no sympathy in his tone.

"If you had just let them see me," angrily she swipes one side of her face to wipe away unwanted tears. "You let them think I was dead!"

"No," he shoves her face away, as if repulsed by her tears and then grabs her arm to pull her up and push her against the wall.

Instantly, her entire body turns inward. Her arms wrap around her body, eyes and jaw clenche shut, and she presses her chin tightly to her shoulder to get as far away as possible in the small space provided.

Harshly, his low and hurried voice reaches her ears, "You could have seen them whenever you wanted. All you had to do was one little thing; recognize the new system and me as your hokage, but you couldn't even do that."

She is appalled to feel his hot breath fanning across her cheek and desperately wishes that she could just sink into the wall behind her.

"Everyone else relented, but poor, pathetic Haruno Sakura had to refuse." He finds himself watching her pulse beat wildly in her neck. She really was a delicate and fearful creature.

"Stop," she muffles out, not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say.

He didn't heed her request. He never did listen to anything she had to say. Instead, he went in to destroy the foolish accusation she clung to simply to guard herself from blame.

"You're parents were driven to their graves by your stubborn actions. Not mine."

"That's not..."She wants to find something to throw back at him. Something to direct her hatred back towards him and not herself, but can find nothing. Inside, she already believes he's right.

"And for what," he sees her flinch and moves in closer, lips barely an inch from her ear and his arm coming to rest on the wall above her head. He's close enough to inhale her scent and feel the heat radiating from her skin. It's enough to stir something dark within him. Something he tried to forget and purposely avoided analyzing.

When he speaks again, he makes sure to carefully enunciate every syllable, each word like an additional stab to the heart. "You've thrown everything away just so you can cling to a dead man's deluded dream."

She shivers against him, looking thoroughly broken and incapable of launching anymore weak accusations. This was the image of her that he was familiar with. Fragile, crying and incapable of fighting back. He knew he could find it again.

For all her fire and quick-witted retorts, she really was the same girl as always.

He's about to step back when he hears it. The faintest of whispers. He has to strain his ears just to hear it.

"I know," she doesn't know what compels her to say it. It would be better for her if she just gave in and allowed him his victory. "I know what it's like to have my innocence ripped from me by..." She finds enough courage to squint her eyes open and deliver a loathing look, "by a monster."

He glowers at her and finds himself suddenly overpowered by a sense of fury. It ignites in his veins, causing his onyx eyes to morph into a pair of mismatched colours. One blood red with his clan's cursed sharingan and the other a light shade of lavender, possessing the all-powerful rinnegan.

Seeing the danger in his eyes, she manages to squeeze herself out from between the wall and his menacing frame. Her green eyes dart every inch of the room for some idea of how to escape him, but what could she do when she was trapped inside a small room with someone more powerful than any other shinobi. Her knees tremble, threatening to giveway beneath her and every hair on her body stands on edge.

She doesn't have time to formulate a plan.

Before she realizes what's happening, she finds herself slammed roughly against the wall she had just escaped from. The back of her skull lands with a distinct thud, warmth erupting in the spot of impact. Overriding the pain, she tries to fight back, pounding her small fist to his chest and commanding in the strongest voice she can muster that he stop.

He ignores her struggles and instead presses his body flush against her. His fingers run along her curves, touching every inch he can reach. If only she had held her tongue, he wouldn't have caved to the ravenous hunger that had been building deep inside him since their reunion.

His lips and tongue attack her neck, leaving a trail of small bruises down to the collar of her shirt and her skin slick with his saliva. The breathless gasp that passes through her lips only fuels him further. His hand slips under her shirt and gropes her breast. Kneading and teasing it until her nipple is pert.

In retaliation to the unwanted touches, she swipes her hand out and manages to catch a finger on his skin. It leaves an angry scratch on his cheek and forces a hiss to pass through his teeth.

Blinded with rage, he can't control himself anymore. He tears her shirt off her and takes the breast he'd neglected with his hand into his warm mouth.

"S-stop," she tries to suppress a moan, yet his ears miss nothing and he can't help but smirk. He rolls his hips against hers and he releases a low groan. The action instantly reminds him of how sweet it felt to be buried deep inside her.

Normally, he would tease the women he fucked more but tonight he is impatient. Or perhaps it's simply her that sparks this level of impatience in him.

He makes quick work of his pants before yanking off the remnants of her clothes and hoisting her up off the ground to wrap her creamy white thighs up around his waist. In the same motion, his hard member penetrates her core, earning himself a strangled cry from the girl who always professed to love him.

Again, she punches his shoulder, but it causes him little pain. At least nothing that couldn't be overshadowed by the pleasurable feel of her tight and heated flesh hugging his manhood close.

"Maybe I am a monster," he grunts in between thrust, "But you loved this monster."

Pushing off from the wall, he moves to lay her on the crumpled up bed sheet, finding it easier to take her roughly on the floor in the midst of her struggles.

"What does that make you?" His raspy breath hits the shell of her ear, and she finds her squirms stilled by the question.

Tilting her head to his ear, their cheeks brush together. Had the situation been anything but what it was, it might have seemed intimate in nature. She wasn't stupid enough to believe such.

"A fool," she whispers in scorn. Hating every bit the part of her that once loved him. She no longer felt such feelings for him, but she was no less sickened by her past naiveté.

He has to agree with her short statement. She professed her love for him again and again; like a dog seeking out its master.

Well, he thought with twisted desire, she had him now, buried deep inside her.

Isn't this what you wanted.

Her fingers wrap around his biceps and nails dig into the skin as an unfamiliar, and unwanted, coil begins to grow taut within her. Their breathing becomes laboured and bodies slick with perspiration. After some time, she bites her bottom lip to keep herself from releasing any unwanted mewls of pleasure. The last thing she wants is to like this, but her body has its own traitorous ideas and starts to move against his with a yearning to be satisfied.

In a few short minutes, she arches her back and feels the bundle between her legs snap, sending rivets of pleasure coursing through her body. With her wet walls clenching tightly around him, the raven-haired male is quick to follow. With a grunt, his hot speed spills deep into her womb and dripping down her thighs.

As he comes down from his high, he drops his forehead to rest on her shoulder and lets his shallows breaths beat against her chest, which rises and falls in a similarly erratic fashion.

She has a hard time catching her breath under his weight, but as reality quickly starts to close in on her, she starts to think that the real reason why she has a difficult time normalizing her breathing is because of the disgust that suddenly overwhelms her.

This wasn't what sex was supposed to be like.

A gag threatens to work its way out from the back of her throat. The shame and humiliation for having received any form of pleasure from the intimate act is evident in the way her cheeks burn red and fresh tears form in her eyes.

Without warning he pulls out to make a hasty retreat before she has time to soak his clothes with the unshed tears that threaten to fall. It only makes her revulsion worse when she realizes that he hasn't even shed a single article of clothing, unlike her, who's completely bare.

He had used her again, to fulfill his need. Just the same as last time.

Through the corner of his eyes he sees her roll over, grabbing the soiled sheet he'd taken her on and wrapping it tightly around herself. He leaves her to breakdown, soaking the floor with her tears.

.

.

.

The next morning he returned, tossing a navy yukata at her and telling her to dress. She might have refused out of spite, but with her shirt torn and bed sheet a filthy reminder of the night before, she is in no position to turn away clean clothes.

A tray with a bowl of steamed rice and a cup full of water is left in the centre of the room. He leaves, allowing her to eat without his watchful gaze for the first time since he started the routine.

It isn't until days later that he finally takes her to bathe, where she furiously scrubs away all traces of his sin.

.

.

.

He starts making more frequent visits to her dingy little room in the late hours of the evening to have his way with her. At some point in time she grows used to it and only puts up superficial struggles. They both know she can do nothing to stop him, but it helps her sleep better at night knowing that she didn't simply roll over and spread her legs for him like a common whore.

She now had a proper bed to sleep in at night. Gone was that flimsy foam mattress that did little to comfort her at night. She supposed she should be happy about it, only that she's certain the only reason he brought the bed is so that he can fuck her with greater comfort to himself.

There are a few things she learns from his visits.

The first is that he doesn't like to linger. He simply satisfies a need and departs. He doesn't have it in him to do pillow-talk or cuddle; not that she wants such things from him. At one time, yes. When she was younger, she simply thought the two things went hand-in-hand with sex. Now she knows better. Sex to Sasuke is simply that, a physical act without any greater significance. The very thought of him staying any longer than necessary is enough to make her sick.

The second is that, no matter how well he masked his emotions on his face, she was learning to read his moods by the way that her took her. He was either angry or frustrated at some thing or another that she had little control over, or worse, did it for pure amusement. To toy with her emotions and prove to her that even without her oath, he still held all the authority. All the control.

He never did bother to ask her to swear allegiance to him after that first night that he forced himself upon her in this room.

Are you still unhappy? She wanted to ask but kept that question locked away.

The third and final thing she realizesis that he never kisses her. At least, not on the lips. He teased her with kisses on any part of her body except her mouth. Even to her it seemed silly to admit that she had sex with him countless times but was still in possession of her first kiss.

Did he reserve his kisses for some other woman?

It was another question she would never bother to ask.

.

.

.

She finds herself pinned beneath him with his fingers tracing down her sides, greedily heading towards the obi that kept her yukata fastened shut. Impatiently, he yanks it loose and pries apart the two folds of fabric so that he can get to what he really wants.

Tonight was one of those nights where he wanted amusement. The colourful bruises that dotted her neck and chest were evidence of that.

Normally she would simply shut her eyes and wait for him to finish, but this time she bitterly muses aloud, "I wonder what your law-abiding citizens would think of their hokage if they knew he forced himself upon his prisoners."

Didn't he once gloat about how low the crime rate was under his rule, yet here he was.

He pauses for a moment after nudging her legs apart, breath hitting her chest at an even tempo. For a few terrifying seconds, she thinks he might react violently to her insult, disguised as a question.

"I suppose," he enters her swiftly and elicits a gasp from her, "they would assume you enjoy being fucked by your beloved teammate." She is sickened when she feels him smirk against her shoulder, followed by a tender kiss of mocked affection.

"You're disgusting," the slight comes out more breathless than she intended, though the words are more for herself than anything. She didn't understand how her body could react to his unwanted ministrations.

Fingers dig into his shoulders as she braces herself against his looming figure and she lowers her head in resignation, despising the way her hips rise to meet his dominating thrusts. One of his hands buries itself in her rosette hair, tilting her head so that he can ravage her neck with open mouthed kisses.

"I hate you," this time she managed to spit the words out with more conviction.

Unmoved by her insults, Sasuke groaned out a low, "Whatever," before lifting one of her legs over his shoulder and picking up his pace to signal the end of their little discussion. He never was one for conversations.

.

.

.

She watches him from the bed, wrapped tightly in her bed sheet, as he hastily picks up his discarded clothes from the floor. Always as eager to leave her as he is to have her.

Grabbing his shirt, he quickly throws it over his head, pulls it down roughly and scans the room for any remaining articles of clothing he may have forgotten. Finding nothing, his fingers reach for the door handle but before he turns it, a hoarse whisper manages to escape the lips of the woman behind him.

"Why..." Her curiosity overrides her ability to remain silent.

She's stunned when instead of ignoring her, he turns around. Soft footsteps rap against the floor as he makes his way over to her. When his fingers reach out for her she flinches, and clings more tightly to the sheet, expecting him to slap her for asking something stupid.

Instead, his fingers brush gently over her cheek, heating every inch he touches with unnerving tenderness. Leaning down, he whispers in her ear, watching as her eyes widen and irises dilate in surprise.

"Because," he murmurs lowly, "You're my prisoner and... Because I can."

He leaves her to contemplate her solitary existence.

How different things turned out from what she expected.

.

.

.

A/N: Hm, I wish my writing style was more gripping. Wanted to make Sasuke dark but not insanely out of character, which is hard for this type of scenario (at least for me... I thought it'd be unrealistic to have him possessive at this point). Also Sakura, strong but realistically so. I don't know... Ahhh, this is all rambles. Sorry!

Opps, always forget that this site takes away the breaks I make when I copy/paste so for the first few people who clicked on this, must've been confusing ^^;