summary: Hi, my name is Haruno Sakura, and Someone up there hates me. I must have done something truly heinous in a past life or I wouldn't be here, in this shopping mall, standing in a pineapple suit, while the Love of My Life walks toward me looking like he just stepped off a damned runway.
dedicated: PINA, because she wins. And also, her birthday. I hope it was fantastic, m'dear.
HAPPY BELATED PINA. You saw this yesterday, but still, here it is again. Harharhar.
prompt: joan jett - do you wanna touch me there?
notes: AU. Crack factor. Love. Yeah.
disclaimer: do not own Naruto. do not own the song, or the lyrics that Sakura sings in wednesday portion of fic.
Hi, my name is Haruno Sakura, and Someone up there hates me.
No really, don't even tell me it's not true.
I must have done something truly heinous in a past life or I wouldn't be here, in this shopping mall, standing in a pineapple suit while the Love of My Life
(my God, those eyes…that hair…is a little weird.
But who cares, because those shoulders totally makes up for any pseudo-deficiencies he might have.)
walks toward me, looking like he just stepped off a damned runway.
I think…yes. I'm positive.
He's definitely in leather. Black, and supple, and totally perfect for showcasing every inch of his hot, hard…
Wow. I'm getting a little warm.
(Then again, it's probably the costume. Le sigh.)
He's got some two-bit skank with a dye job gone horribly, horribly wrong plastered to his left bicep, but even that doesn't take away from his appeal.
Oh. Oh. Just…
His voice. I may or may not have started drooling. Luckily, this godforsaken costume is…er, awkward enough to draw his eyes away from my mouth.
(He's got a nice mouth.
Mouths. Mouths kiss, don't they?
I haven't been kissed in ages.
God, I hope I'm not drooling.
I break out of my trance, and find him looking back at me, not just a little annoyed. Geez, for a god, he sure is impatient.
"What?" I snap. Maybe I can teach him a thing or two about respecting other people's daydreams…or at least hear his voice again, which seriously, is like chocolate for the ears.
Unfortunately, my hopes are dashed when that leech he seems to have attached to his arm answers me instead.
"You've been staring at my boyfriend."
(so named because that's so what he'd rank on my rating system. You know, don't you? Oh, silly me, of course not, we've never met. But anyway, I rate guys by giving them one of three labels—cookie, sweet bun, or milk—in accordance to what I wouldn't mind…having in bed with me. And this guy totally rates Cookie, because any amount of crumbs I have to clean up would seriously be worth waking up to that—
but I digress. Much to your delight, I'm sure.)
sighs, and attempts to shake her off.
"I'm not your boyfriend, Karin."
The fungus, apparently named Karin, pouts. Unattractively, might I add, but then, that's just me.
(And until this moment, I've forgotten that I don't even know his name.
Such is the power of twu wub, kiddies. Underestimate it not.)
He ignores her
and turns to me with a scowl.
"Where's the lost-and-found counter?"
"Uh…right behind me, genius. Next to the smoothie stand that clearly has something against me keeping my dignity. Otherwise they wouldn't have me walking around in a pineapple costume," I say.
Except not. Because,duh, I can't just blurt it out like that. I need to make it funny so he falls in love with my wit, and asks me to run away with him. Or maybe I should be demure, and make myself the victim of some terrible circumstances that somehow led to me standing here with green, spiky, newspaper "leaves" taped onto my pink hair. And then, he'll heroically march up to the counter and demand that they allow me to advertise their stupid two-for-one special in my own clothes.
And then, he'll wait for me, and we'll watch a movie, and enjoy a moonlight picnic on the beach nearby.
And then, we'll run away…
(It could so totally happen.)
Cookie coughs. And scowls some more.
"Are you planning on answering me sometime this century—" he stops. Looks up.
"You know what? Never mind. I just found it."
He moves to walk around me, but stops, that girl-thing still acting like she needs him to keep her balanced.
But then he stops. Turns to face me.
(Oh my God, this is so it. He's totally seen past my façade of fake fruitiness and fallen in love with the girl within. Seriously.)
"And, thanks for nothing."
I totally didn't want him anyway. Really.
He was so not my type.
I'm ok, I'm all ready to let it go—
Wait. Wait, wait, wait…
Is that…is she sticking her tongue out at me?
…That so will not fly.
Before I can lose the nerve, I do it.
"Hey! You with the black leather!"
He turns around to face me, one perfectly formed brow raised in question.
"I don't know you. But I think you're pretty, so I'll give you some free advice."
He looks…vaguely amused?
"So. What is it?"
I give the barnacle another of my sweetest smiles and say, pointedly,
"You seem to have gotten some sort of parasite attached to your left bicep. If I were you, I'd probably check in with a professional about that."
For a moment, there is silence. Karin, eyesore that she is, looks like she's just swallowed a lemon.
But Cookie's lips twitch.
(He totally wants to laugh. I can see it.)
He turns around, takes Karin firmly by the arm, somehow ignores her high-pitched bitch-fit, and fairly drags her over to the lost-and-found.
I sigh, but before I can get into too mopey a mood, my manager calls me.
"Hana's here. Your shift's over."
As I shrug out of my costume, and into my warm coat, I spare one more glance at my
(ha…I wish. Maybe.)
Well, I know his name if nothing else.
I'm paying attention.
"…critiques…contentious paradigms, though this is not to say…answers questions…popular culture…media theory is slowly overriding..."
God, I don't think the professor's taken a breath in about twenty minutes. I'm dying here.
Why'd Tsunade-shishou put me in this class, anyway? When am I ever going to need to know what Chinue Achebe thought of Heart of Darkness?
I tune out the rest of the lecture and focus on spamming Ino-dearest's inbox with as many nonsensical letters as I can.
Yeah, she totally appreciates my never-ending wit.
"…and unfortunately, that's all the time we have left. See you next time, you crazy kids!"
Amazing. I'm almost positive that this is the quietest it has ever been in this lecture hall, but as with all good things, it doesn't last long. There is a sudden flurry of frantic movement, hushed giggles, and a smattering of sarcastic retorts, and then—
Apparently, I was not the only one in danger of committing random acts of random during the lecture. I smooth down my frayed pink hair, and bend down to stuff all my books—none of which involve discussing the finer points of cultural studies, thank you very much—into my messenger bag.
I turn around to see who it, is and when I do—
(Oh, brilliant, Sakura. REALLY. You haven't seen the guy in two weeks, and that's all you can say?)
He quirks his brow at me, obviously confused, and the look's so cute on him that I'd jump him and never let go if we were alone.
I look around.
Hmm. Not a soul in sight.
"You're that pineapple-girl, aren't you? The one from the mall?"
I brush an errant strand of hair away from my face with a loud breath.
(Oh yeah, I'm classy.)
"Mmhmm. I see you've gotten rid of your…infection. And that you're in my class."
He snorts, but somehow manages to make the sound elegant. Some people really do have it all. He fishes his glasses out of his pockets—
And oh, oh God, he's totally just made a new category because um, hot.
In that dorky but still dangerous way.
(My brain may or may not have short-circuited.)
"Your skills of observation astound me. Really, they do."
OK. Now, I'm a little huffy, and it probably shows, because he smirks.
(and my stomach kind of figuratively drops down to the vicinity of my knees, oh my God, how does he do that?)
"Do you feel like getting a coffee? Or do you usually make it a habit of standing around in empty classrooms with girls you don't know?"
And for a second, I have to wonder where that came from because I am Haruno Sakura, and I am freaking awkward
(Hello? Pink hair! Wide forehead!)
I am a literal mess, and I'm talking to this guy like—
"Only if you're buying."
—I might just have a chance.
"We've been here too long—"
"—tryin' to get along—"
"—pretendin' that you're oh so shy—"
"Sak—would you shut up and listen to me?"
"—I'm a natural ma'am—"
"—doin' all I can—"
"Dammit, shut up! we have a final in less than a week, and I haven't seen you open a book in the three months I've studied with you!"
"Do you wanna touch me the—mmph!"
Mmm. I smell coffee.
That means my dear darling pet is here.
(I can call him that in the safety of my own mind, thank you very much.)
Mmm. Coffee and Sasuke-kun. There's really nothing else I could ask—
"Sakura, where's the shirt I keep here for emergencies?"
I thank every god I can remember for impromptu rainstorms, and try my very very best to look appropriately regretful.
"Oh, Sasuke-kun…um, it's in the wash."
(Hm. He looks skeptical. For what reason, I cannot even begin to imagine.)
"You'll just have to do without, for now."
I take a sip of my deliciously still warm hazelnut coffee and smirk.
Coffee, and shirtless Sasuke-kun…
"Well put. Darling, keeper of my heart, owner of my ever-purest soul, where did you put my pants?"
"…they're in the wash."
"And I'm not even a bit ashamed."
"Come back to bed."
I am in rapture.
Why, you might ask?
"Happy birthday, Sakura!"
I smile at Naruto. Sasuke finally broke down and introduced me to his friends
(only because I threatened to cut off—no, not that—his supply of…er, candy if he didn't)
and Naruto's got to be my favorite. He's blond and goofy and utterly adorable. Though, his others aren't bad either. There's the guy whose head is vaguely reminiscent of the pineapple costume that brought me my One Truest Love and, already, Ino and Temari are making eyes at him.
(My friends are such man-eaters. Seriously.)
Then there's that really pretty one with the long brown hair, and the clear silver eyes, and he's just, well…
He's also very, very pretty.
Tenten seems to think so too. Must remember to make fun of her about it at next available opportunity.
Meaning in about two seconds.
I turn around and really, I need to smile.
(He's wearing leather, again.)
"Stop making eyes at my friends."
I smile and pull him down for a birthday kiss—
"Wouldn't dream of it, cookie."
Wooooot. Review, yeah?