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Isolated Butterfly - A SasuNaru Oneshot
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His breath expelled from his lungs in great billowing clouds, hanging in the frigid night air. Muscles that screamed in protest at being pushed so far, so hard, went unheeded. Sweat poured out of the tiny pores of his skin, hanging desperately only for a moment before becoming crystalline slivers that slid off into the night. Branches slapped against the delicate flesh of his face, brambles sliced their way into exposed arms sending rapid signals of pain to his brain, only to be shoved away and quickly ignored. Numbing shards of ice flew at him as if they were tiny knives flung by an embittered enemy. Yet still, he pushed on.
He would not stop for anything. He had to get away. Had to. No amount of physical discomfort could keep him from making his escape. As he threw himself unhesitatingly through the forested night, a sob tore its way out before being choked back down into scorching lungs. There was no way of knowing how long he had been running
My Illness, My Cure Part 1
My Illness, My cure
SasuNaru Yaoi (AU)
"Your next patient is a real doozy, Doctor."
Two men walk toward an oak office door. Pausing outside, the eldest of the two took a moment to regard his companion. He was of a lightly shorter stature, a meager five-foot-eight, something the elder took great pleasure in teasing him about. He had broad firm shoulders but shapely hips that gave him a certain feminine flair. He was undeniable a man though. His round face was topped by untamable sunflower blonde spikes, edged by a firm jaw, a narrow slightly upturned nose and two eyes that surely must have belonged to Kami-Sama himself, then given to the boy at the time of his birth. They contained such wisdom, such eager hopefulness, such an indescribable innocence despite the horrors they had witnessed all encapsulated in endless depths of sapphire blue.
His inescapable eyes, along with his uniquely happy personality and endless patience had given him the opportunity to get through t
My Illness, My Cure Bonus Pt 1
SasuNaru Yaoi (AU)
The soundproof room was small, windowless, and without ventilation, containing only one small rusted metal chair. The walls were splattered with what appeared to be sprays of blood and were painted a disgusting puce color. The floors were unkempt, dirt piling in the corners, a hefty lock barring the door. A small smirk appeared on Uchiha Itachi's face. Even in this dark and dismal room, even with the abysmal florescent lighting, he knew he looked fabulous. The eldest Uchiha hadn't been shocked when several masked men broke into his home and abducted him. Of course not, Uchiha's are never shocked. They are though, often amused and this situation was endlessly amusing for him. The whole lot of them had to be fools, in Itachi's opinion, to even dream of touching THE Uchiha Itachi.
He had been sitting in this room for well over six hours before anyone entered, silence punctuated only by the grating creaking of rusted metal against rusted metal. Itachi had passed th
My Illnesss, My Cure Part 2
SasuNaru Yaoi (AU)
For the first fifteen years of his life, Sasuke was a perfect Uchiha. He excelled where others failed. His aristocratic features were hauntingly beautiful, even in is youth, yet they never changed, he always wore a face of indifference. Through out his life, Sasuke had no lingering attachments. Even his relationship with his parents was solely based on the fact that they had sired him, love played no part. At school he associated with no one, ignored his crazy mob of delusional fan-girls, and focused entirely on his school work. That wasn't to say that he was unpopular. In fact, he was always the most popular kid in school. He never understood the reason for his unfounded popularity, kid's were weird, and ultimately he didn't care. He had a few acquaintances, those he would occasionally spare a passing word with, after all, Uchiha's had to maintain appearances and potentially beneficial contacts. Anything more was unbecoming of the Uchiha name. Anything more and it w
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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