UST drabble, pt1
She glared at him, her insides twisting in fury. Her hair was messy, emerald orbs glassy due to lack of sleep and dark circles adorned the skin beneath her eyes. Her chakra, known to be soft and gentle most of the time, was flaring and burning like the flames of hell.
He didn’t even spare her a glance as he walked by, merely allowed her to detect the amused twitch of his lips.
She barely contained herself, but knew she could not lash out on him here. They were in the Hogake tower, and he was just entering her master’s office in all his smooth, detached glory. She knew, she was positive, that he had something to do with her current predicament.
There was just no way that her fantasies could be, could feel, that real. She knew that apart from her rather wild, split personality, her imagination was pretty poor (she still shuddered at the memories of how she had planned her wedding to be at the age of eight). But for some reason, a reason he must be fully aware of since she had no doubt he was the mastermind behind all this, the harmless dreams and wistful fantasies had turned into full-blown, high-classed illusions that tricked her senses so badly she actually found herself in bliss without moving a muscle, but they always ended when she was close to falling apart.
Illusions, that’s what they were alright. Genjutsu. His specialty.
Every night for a week and he’d tormented her by making her dreams increase tenfold in their intensity, all because she had to go and make the stupidest bet she had ever made. It wasn’t exactly her fault, she had been drunk and pretty pissed at the time, but she did indeed bet that she could go a month without being ‘intimate’ with her lover when Naruto, the idiot, had loudly complained that she behaved like a rabbit. She realized now that she should’ve let it slide and blamed Itachi for the many rendezvous, because now, she was in hell.
She barely got any sleep, she had been forced to clean her sheets every day and because of his (pre-bet) frequent, but very pleasing treatments, she had been left addicted to his sweet, hot touch. He had smoothly avoided any contact, but still visited her and engaged her in conversation. He even visited her more often in the training grounds than he used to, and it was driving her mad. The whole bizarre situation truly made her blood boil; he was playing unfair, and he knew it. But he had pointed out, before she resorted to ignore him two days ago, that there never had been any rules to this game. It didn’t make her feel any better, and the fact that she could not figure out how he managed to place the genjutsus on her, every night without fail, made her even more irate. She was not a person to brag, but she was confident that her genjutsu skills were above average and she should be able to at least detect whatever he put her under each night, right?
Grumbling in deep contempt, Sakura stomped away from the office door the object of her anger had entered, somewhat surprised that she had not managed to burn a hole through the fragile wood as she’d spent at least three minutes glaring at it. The paperwork in her arms was helplessly crumpled, but at least whole. For now, she would try and get her mind off her annoying and heartlessly cruel lover by diving into her pile of work. It had already been a week since the illusions started, and she was on the breaking point. She had assumed he wouldn’t take the bet seriously, but she had been sourly mistaken. Her drunken answer to the challenge hadn’t been forgotten, and now it seemed as if she would have to come up with something to make him end the bet. She didn’t even consider giving up.
Because, damnit, she would not lose.
He didn’t even spare her a glance as he walked by, merely allowed her to detect the amused twitch of his lips.
She barely contained herself, but knew she could not lash out on him here. They were in the Hogake tower, and he was just entering her master’s office in all his smooth, detached glory. She knew, she was positive, that he had something to do with her current predicament.
There was just no way that her fantasies could be, could feel, that real. She knew that apart from her rather wild, split personality, her imagination was pretty poor (she still shuddered at the memories of how she had planned her wedding to be at the age of eight). But for some reason, a reason he must be fully aware of since she had no doubt he was the mastermind behind all this, the harmless dreams and wistful fantasies had turned into full-blown, high-classed illusions that tricked her senses so badly she actually found herself in bliss without moving a muscle, but they always ended when she was close to falling apart.
Illusions, that’s what they were alright. Genjutsu. His specialty.
Every night for a week and he’d tormented her by making her dreams increase tenfold in their intensity, all because she had to go and make the stupidest bet she had ever made. It wasn’t exactly her fault, she had been drunk and pretty pissed at the time, but she did indeed bet that she could go a month without being ‘intimate’ with her lover when Naruto, the idiot, had loudly complained that she behaved like a rabbit. She realized now that she should’ve let it slide and blamed Itachi for the many rendezvous, because now, she was in hell.
She barely got any sleep, she had been forced to clean her sheets every day and because of his (pre-bet) frequent, but very pleasing treatments, she had been left addicted to his sweet, hot touch. He had smoothly avoided any contact, but still visited her and engaged her in conversation. He even visited her more often in the training grounds than he used to, and it was driving her mad. The whole bizarre situation truly made her blood boil; he was playing unfair, and he knew it. But he had pointed out, before she resorted to ignore him two days ago, that there never had been any rules to this game. It didn’t make her feel any better, and the fact that she could not figure out how he managed to place the genjutsus on her, every night without fail, made her even more irate. She was not a person to brag, but she was confident that her genjutsu skills were above average and she should be able to at least detect whatever he put her under each night, right?
Grumbling in deep contempt, Sakura stomped away from the office door the object of her anger had entered, somewhat surprised that she had not managed to burn a hole through the fragile wood as she’d spent at least three minutes glaring at it. The paperwork in her arms was helplessly crumpled, but at least whole. For now, she would try and get her mind off her annoying and heartlessly cruel lover by diving into her pile of work. It had already been a week since the illusions started, and she was on the breaking point. She had assumed he wouldn’t take the bet seriously, but she had been sourly mistaken. Her drunken answer to the challenge hadn’t been forgotten, and now it seemed as if she would have to come up with something to make him end the bet. She didn’t even consider giving up.
Because, damnit, she would not lose.