notes: Okaaaay so I guess the first thing I should say is sorry for not updating anything in like the past millennium ? I actually have some really good reasons for that though, most of them revolving around the fact my father is in the hospital. I feel pretty bad about not updating any of my stuff so I dug around in my drabbles folder a pulled this abomination out from the depths.

notes 2: It's weird and idk what I was thinking when I wrote it but w/e pls enjoy this trash.

title: / Darker then Black / T / nalu / romance & drama(kinda) /

summary: We are not heroes. Not even close. If we put our heads together in some hellish version of karma we are Darker even then that. Even the midnight city skyline can not find us.

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In the crowd alone

And every second passing reminds me I'm not whole

Bright lights and city sounds are ringing like a drone

Unknown, unknown

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Click.

She runs her slim fingers nimbly down the side of the barrel, over the smooth polish of varnished wood, against the intricate carvings in the metal body.

Click Click Click.

Silver slips into the fine carved holes, each bullet nestled cozily in it's individual holding spot. She snaps the barrel of the rifle into place and readjusts herself on the windowsill, pale midnight moon pooling around her and dancing off the edges of the blades at her waist.

She flicks an ichor colored fingernail against the metal body of the gun and lets the soft metal sound echo in the emptiness of the white-walled room. It was eerily bleak, and she couldn't help but be unsettled by the sheer vastness of the empty room.

How many times she'd told him to paint it she'd lost track, and each time he'd refused her, stone grey eyes brimming with mischief and secrecy. Even now all that furnished the dull third story bedroom was the ancient oakwood desk, paled and peeling with age, and the hammock suspended by thick golden cords in the rightmost corner of the room.

A breeze picks up and swings her golden hair rhythmically in and out of her line of sight, she lets her earthen eyes fall shut as the midspring breeze flutters against her eyelashes.

The door opens.

A year ago he may have been startled by her presence. Close the door a little too fast, breath a little too deeply.

But that was then and this is now, so when his gaze falls upon the girl on his windowsill, dressed in black, as she does, gun in her hand and ancient battle-worn blades at her sides, he simply closes the door and shuffles a hand through his rosy pink locks of hair.

"Lucy. God, and I thought I was bad at using the front door."

She smiles briefly and she knows he can see it even from all the way across the room. As his almost-soundless footsteps draw nearer however, her smile fades and she trains her gaze on the rifle once more.

"I didn't want to wake your sister. She still doesn't know."

Natsu sighs and settles himself down on the opposite side of the windowsill. Large as it is, their legs still tangle together in a moonlit mess, not that either really minds.

He leans forward until he rests against her knee, onyx eyes drifting closed as the wind picks up again and stirs their very existences.

"How many." He groans quietly against her skin. The way his words vibrate through her, it doesn't feel like a question.

"Twenty, maybe thirty. Depends on our luck, which between the two of us is still dirt shit."

She can feel his smile on her skin before he sits up and slides his well-toned legs over the sill, striping articles of clothing as he makes his way over to his dresser drawer in nothing but his underwear.

Really, she scolds herself, she should be used to this by now. He's been doing this for as long as she's known him, and yet she still finds herself drawn to the sharp lines of his backbone, and the way his skin tightens as he moves to pull the cold black shirt over his head and down his back.

He finishes his ritual by slipping his unsheathed blade against his thigh, ancient runes dancing their way down the hilt and back again, unseen and yet visible. Her eyes flash in the moonlight, she has the feeling his do too. Everything about him is raw and primal, and her as well, as he turns his gaze back to hers.

"Got a good look?"

"You're such a pain."

He lets out a quiet laugh that echoes hauntingly off the bleach-white walls, and he's beside her again in an instant. His arms find their way to either side of her body, and she'd be trapped if she already knew she wasn't.

"I can live with that."

He breathes the words against the side of her neck, and despite herself she shivers under the touch of his lips on her skin. He grins into her and she can feel the sharpness of his parted teeth against her veins, his breath searing, branding itself to her.

She flashes back to a year ago, to the boy and not the man. To the hero, so white white white. Innocent, even naive. She'd destroyed that, she knew, though not by choice but by blood. Coffee stains that even the highest quality bleach couldn't hide.

"We have work to do." She hisses, though whether in annoyance or pleasure she refuses to acknowledge. She feels another laugh against her skin, airy but not light, never light.

He pulls away from her, midnight eyes so dark they were mirrors of her own, parallels. A darkness she may not have seeded but had most definitely grown, tended to like the deadliest of nightshades, with fear and the twisted karmic version of love.

"Yes yes, beast-slaying really is such a joy."

"If we were really slaying beasts you'd be the first on my radar, Casanova."

His smile almost reaches his eyes, almost.

He stands on the windowsill and offers her his hand, child of the moonlight as the unearthly glow wraps itself around him. In a sick version of fate the white white glow goes straight to his eyes, lithe imperfect hero's eyes. She wants to be sick and scream in elation all at once, and the raw emotion in her eyes makes him want to shove his lips against hers, but that was nothing new.

As soon as it's there the illusion of the moonlight vanishes and she's never felt more hollow and filled at the same time.

She takes his hand.

Her feet meet air, she wonders if nightshade is the cure.


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sorry this is all I have to offer this is trash I am trash gomen

-Ria