|and this is where we start
Author: the blanket PM
Gift!fic for Ailey. SasuSaku. A series of sort—of love letters between Sasuke—Demon Spawn—and Sakura—the Kleptomaniac Shrew. Every relationship needs a beginning, and it's not love, if there's no hate.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - Sasuke U. & Sakura H. - Words: 2,024 - Reviews: 40 - Favs: 122 - Follows: 9 - Published: 12-25-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3968371
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
title: and this is where we start
gift!fic for: Ailey, the light of my life, the sea-otter of my one true heart. Because she is squishy, and WINsome, and deserves much better than this. Happy Holidays, my dear!
prompt: She gave me free-choice, and I gave myself the prompt snark. Heeee.
summary: I realize you're upset with me—for what reason, I can't imagine; are you on your period, perhaps?—but really, that was no reason for you to sneak into my apartment, steal a pair of my boxer-shorts, and pin them up to the Missions Board.
notes: OOC. Because Sasuke writes (speaks-ish) in four syllable words. Also, I upped his Asshole!Status to the max here. Sakura demanded her own form of retribution.
And thus, this fic. Letter…ish thing. Seriously. Seriously.
(It's really me pretending to be witty.)
Also, am so sorry for the multiple uploads! I think my computer hates me. (A lot.)
disclaimer: Naruto is far from mine. Unfortunately. Fortunately. It depends on how you look at it.
To the Kleptomaniac Shrew Who is—Apparently—Still in Love with Me,
I realize you're upset with me—for what reason, I can't imagine; are you on your period, perhaps?—but really, that was no reason for you to sneak into my apartment, steal my boxer-shorts, and pin them up to the Missions Board.
Really, try for a little maturity. You'd be a lot less annoying.
(By the way, I noticed that two pairs were missing. Are you reverting back to your fangirl-days? Am I going to need to call for ANBU protection? Oh wait, never mind.
It's just you, after all.)
Yours—not really, so
don't get excited,
(Who would rather not have to repeat this experience. Ever. Again.)
To the Fathead Who Insists on Pretending He's Human,
So glib, Sasuke-kun, so glib, indeed. You're quite well-spoken in Your letters, what with Your Pretty Dashes and Requisite Semicolons, and Your—all too-necessary, I'm sure—Italics.
Yes, capitals, just for you, as you seem to think that you're the King of the World.
(Tell me, do they get you off? Is that like, your idea of porn, or something? Kakashi-sensei would be terribly disappointed.)
As for why I'm upset with you…well, if you're as genius as you think you are—and I know you think you are, you closet narcissist—then, you would know.
Which, I suppose, leaves us at an impasse.
And do get off your ego-trip. I was twelve—there's no accounting for taste.
I Wouldn't Want You
(you absolute man-whore)
To the Bane of My Existence,
My, my, my, Sakura.
(And, please. Control yourself. I'm not claiming you, so there's no need for your no-doubt ecstatic hysterics.)
You certainly do know how to nitpick. Is that something they taught you and your little friends during the useless hours spent at kunoichi classes? Or is it an ingrained quality?
In any case, you pay entirely too much attention to my little details. Is it, perhaps, an unconscious admission of your as-yet undying devotion?
And really. Fathead? Fathead? That was the best you could do?
I'm a little disappointed, but not totally surprised.
As for My Propensity to Express Myself Using Words with More than Three Syllables, I Must Apologize.
(And the capitals are a nice touch. If nothing else, I should thank you for giving me both the idea, and the justification.)
I've come to the conclusion that you are a lonely, lonely woman Sakura. It fits—sneaking into my apartment, to the Throne of Masculinity—to pretend for a few moments that you were coming home to me, instead of the lonely despair of your own dank lair.
(That's what they call them now, isn't it? A witch's lair? I wouldn't want to insult you by mixing up my terms.)
And then sneaking away with tangible memories of your illicit fantasy—really, I understand.
Ah, well. At least you have no delusions about me ever returning your sad, sad interest.
Hoping that Your
Bittersweet Dreams of Things-that-will-Never-Be Don't Drive
You to Suicide,
(See, I can be nice)
P.S. I noticed the fresh flowers sitting on your office desk today. Just out of curiosity, who's the lucky man? I want to know who I should send condolence cards to.
To the Queer of Hearts,
If I had to come home to you every day of my life, I'd poison your tea and be done with it.
(Out of curiosity, do you take honey in yours? Lemon? Arsenic?
It would account for your deplorable excuse for a personality.
As for my "witch's lair"—I should think that you would know more about that kind of thing than I would. Don't you spend most of your time in one, waiting to be rescued by some handsome knight?
Don't even try to deny it. I saw you making eyes at Naruto today. Naughty, naughty. You know he's involved with someone. You must have enjoyed that passionate kiss you two shared— you remember, back in the day?—more than you let on.
I notice you aren't any closer at figuring out why I left those darling black silk undies on the wall for anyone to stare at.
Oh well. I think I'll just wallow in your confusion.
I'll Be Here as Long
as You're Suffering,
(and not in a good way)
P.S. If you must know—and you should be careful, or I might start thinking you're jealous, and therefore, straight—they're from Sai. You know him, right? Lovely man. Adores me.
To the Delusional Sadist Who Fashions Herself in the Image of Spring,
And if you were my Lover, I'd drink it.
Tsk, tsk, tsk, Sakura. You know very well that I'm a heterosexual male. You should also know better than to insult a Man's virility. You give him no choice but to defend it.
(But then, you'd probably enjoy that. You're certainly a sneaky one, aren't you? I give you credit for your ingenuity, at the very least.)
And, if I'm not mistaken, I'm reasonably certain that your calling me a slut in your last missive marks the second time you've commented on my supposed promiscuity.
Is this a kink of yours? Perhaps my current epithet is accurate in more ways than one. As, ahem, flattering as it is to see that you view me as a potential…sexy friend—or, God forbid, something more serious—I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that there would be no future for the two of us.
As for that dead-last, you know very well that he's still smitten with you, relationship or not. Though I can't imagine why. He must be suffering from some rare disease that causes a person's perceptions to shift and attach themselves to some illogical social constructs—like, for instance, the idea of you being attractive.
Feeling Violated by
Your Untoward Desires,
(No means No.)
P.S. Sai? The one who calls you hag? Really, now. Huh. That's odd. Considering I saw him making eyes at Naruto—or, to be precise, Naruto's crotch.
To He Who Apparently Yearns to Write Really, Really Bad Romance Novels,
("…Fashions Herself in the Image of Spring." Seriously.
As your idea of "defending" your supposed virility would probably just consist of you attempting to give me what I believe is colloquially known as the bitch slap, I'm really not all that concerned.
Just don't hurt yourself.
(On second thought, do. I just remembered who'd probably end up having to heal you, anyway.)
As for your depraved fantasies—you deviant—I'd rather be sexy friends with Hyuuga Hiashi.
I wish I could reply to the rest of your ridiculousness, but I have to get going.
I have a date.
Wondering if She Should
Define the Word for You—Since You've Probably Forgotten,
(what's it like to be a hermit?)
P.S. From the way he was sticking his tongue down my throat the other night, I don't think I have anything to worry about.
To the Exhibitionist with Green Lace Panties,
(You're just jealous.)
Generally, when I go out for a quiet evening alone, I expect to not be reacquainted with the contents of my midday meal.
What exactly were you doing—trying to suck his face off? Judging from the traumatized looks on the faces of the children at the next table, I'd say you have one serious law suit on your hands.
Negative ten points for Technique, Sakura.
Clearly, you need more practice.
And really. One minute, I'm a whore-slut, and the next I'm a hermit? Make up your mind, Sakura. Maybe if you weren't so fickle—or, really, so you—we could have something.
Also, do explain how I'm the deviant, when you're the one talking about having Hyuuga Hiashi as a sexy friend.
Suddenly, all those times that you cut our sparring sessions short to administer your "healing touch" to the Hyuuga become clear.
Is that why you ended it with Neji?
(and yet, still amazingly Apathetic)
P.S. I'm sure that you're used to having tongues—and other things—down your throat. Please don't tell me about them. Delicate ears. You (probably don't) understand.
To my Recalcitrant Pen Pal,
It has been three days since my missive. Are you still recovering from your night of debauchery?
Not that I care.
(At all. Don't hope.)
To She Who Is Apparently Too Busy for Work,
Tsunade says that you haven't been in for the last five days. She also says that you're lucky there haven't been many serious injuries lately.
Playing hooky, are we? I thought you were more responsible than that.
To the Dazed and Confused,
Where the hell are you?
P.S. Forget about replying to this. I'm coming over.
Sorry I left so early. It couldn't be helped. I had to start making up for everything I didn't do for that whole week I was out.
Stupid of me, putting my life on hold over one asshole, but well, you already told me that.
(Yes, yes, just like you already told me about Sai being—well, you remember.
But, oh God, I so didn't need to see it. Even if it was a little hot—
I'm shutting up.)
You're…amazing. I just want you to know that.
(Though, one day, I'm going to sneak into your house and steal all those letters I wrote you, and put them together with mine—as a record of our…courtship?
Well, nothing else about us was typical. Why would this be?)
Thank you for everything. For coming over to make sure I was all right—even if I am a "Delusional Sadist," or a "Kleptomaniac Shrew."
For making me tea.
For proving to me, once and for all that you weren't…well, you know. Can you blame me? The purple ass-bow always made me wonder a little.
(I think I could still use a bit of instruction. What say you, Teacher?)
So, you sleep. I'll be back before sundown.
(if you'll have me)
P.S. Next time, you know, as a general rule?
Don't buy me underwear for my birthday.
Especially if you don't know my size.
Happy Holidays, my dear! I hope you enjoyed this unworthy offering.