Wee, I'm new here and this is just a little something I put together!
Warnings: mentions of death and blood, but nothing too serious. No spoilers, either. It's not fluffy (or even midly cute)
She thinks she should be getting nauseous some time soon; should be getting tired of the scent of blood as it splatters and clings to her body; should be getting bored with the screams of pain and gurgling noises her victims make whenever her many weapons take impact with their flesh. But she’s not. She isn’t ready to let go of the feeling of being in control of something, anything, when her life outside of the job is constantly being watched and changed and rearranged to fit everyone else’s agendas.
She realizes that she must be some type of sadist underneath her smiling appearance.
And, as she lets another one of her daggers fly straight to the heart of an enemy shinobi, watches as the bloods spurts and her companions cringe slightly, she thinks of just how cruel she’s become. But, she supposes, that’s what she got for marrying into the most well-known clans of Konoha.
“Good work,” one of her teammates say, quickly telling the others that the job is done and they can return home to their families and friends. And while they left, dark invisible shadows in the nighttime, she stood behind and watched the blood dribble out of the hole in his heart, staining the silver of her dagger.
She comes home late that night, nodding to the white-eyed guards surrounding the complex, and slowly makes her way to the room she and her husband share. She isn’t at all surprised to find him sitting up in their bed, hair perfectly in place and sleeping-wear already on.
His sharp eyes follow her every movement as she changes from her uniform to her own nightgown. She slides into bed silently, on her side, back to the man she married only a few years ago. They do not speak at all, the silence enveloping them like a warm but constricting blanket.
Finally, after an eternity, he speaks, “Welcome home, Tenten.” No questions about the mission, any injuries she might have received, or if she was the one who carried out the final blow. He knows all these things, even without conformation from his wife.
“Goodnight, Neji,” she whispers softly, turning to face him and smile tiredly. And then she falls asleep in a peaceful slumber, dreaming of a life without cages and restrictions and ever-so-watchful white eyes. She dreams of a life where she doesn’t have to be mindful of everything she says and who is present; of a time when she didn’t have to feel free during a mission when she decapitates someone who got on the wrong side of the higher-ups.