dedicated to: rhyrhy, romeaynce, &&veroxion. (I DONT DESERVE YOUR GUYS' LOVE DDDx)
prompt: fmylife(dot)com.
rating: M
story: drabble twenty-five. sakura's pov.
FML o25: Today, I was at the gym with my boyfriend. He is a bit feminine, but it has never really bothered me. Until I realised I was lifting heavier weights than he was. FML
note: i decided to do one chapter: sakura's POV. 2nd chapter: sasuke's POV. 3rd chapter: third person. and so on and so forth. REPEAT until we REACH THE ENDDD.
summary: Sasuke likes things that aren't really suited for guys, such as knitting, cooking, and shopping. I never really thought much of it until I realized that, at the gym, I lifted heavier weights than him. I'm a foot shorter, too. FML.
.o25.
by
SasuSaku Forever and Ever
(aka; ohh, &&xena/-x- XENAPHOBiiA -x-/Xenaphant)
Weakling
damn fanfiction won't let me use my dash breaks anymore. fml.
.
I'll admit it.
I absolutely hate when people call me weak. Because really, I am not weak.
Even though sometimes I get a little over-emotional (especially during the months), and I like to cry a lot, it doesn't mean that I'm fucking weak. Cough, Ino, cough.
I also hate it when people, like my boyfriend, call me annoying, but that's a whole different story on a different level.
Anyway, my life was alright before today—at the gym. My (absolutely beautiful) boyfriend, Uchiha Sasuke, was the cause of it.
Truthfully, he isn't all "I watch ESPN every night, tune into the SuperBowl at the bar, reenact gay wrestling and or boxing with Naruto, and the World Cup." Well, he's some of that (thankfully not the gay part).
He's kinda girly—well, sort of. Not like a French gay guy, but gay as in, "Ohmehgawsh, we need to go to the salon! Look at my nails, the paint's already chipped. Can you believe that? And my hair, I need to put it under the curling irons. My perm is coming out." Like, Itachi gay.
I go to the gym with Sasuke-kun to work on my cardio (I have nice thighs. Heh) and pump some irons sometimes (look at my feminine muscles). We also lift weights together, so, yeah. We're an awesome couple, like Xena and Rhyrhy.
But today—ugh, don't even get me started on today.
Okay, I'll spit it out.
We were at the gym and I was lifting weights. Normal story, until we get to the part—
I was lifting weights ten pounds heavier than Sasuke.
He's six feet, and I'm five feet.
FML.
.
.
.
I'd say that I wear the pants in the relationship. It's usually me on top unless he's feeling extra rowdy. Or if I'm not in the mood. But yeah, usually it's me.
Which I don't mind. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying that...sometimes, Sasuke's too, well...uncomfortable to be on top because he's afraid I'll make fun of his "weewee." And I only make fun of it because he calls it a weewee. Dude, I fucking choked on that thing! That's how big it is.
But he keeps referring it as his "weewee" and mine as my "private part."
Sasuke, if you're reading this, we're twenty-fucking-two years old.
Grow up. Please.
Ugh, I swear, sometimes Naruto's even more mature than you. Which is an insult.
Then again, sometimes I wonder how you got that Ph.D. Oh wait, you didn't. I did.
And you know what you got? You got a gift certificate for a free five foot material from Jo Ann Fabrics, which you crocheted into a sweater for me with your family's symbol (which actually wasn't bad. I like to wear it because it smells like you).
There's a difference between you and me, but you know, opposites attract.
.
.
.
"Hey, Sakura," Sasuke purred, kissing my neck. "Let's have some fun."
"When you say fun, do you mean that I'm the one giving you fun, as always, or you actually touching me?"
Sasuke ignored it, pulling down the straps of my tanktop to my shoulders. I pushed them back up, and watched his hand crawl up my thigh.
"Are you wet?"
I sighed, hugging my thighs closer together. The little son of a bitch was such a turnoff, but yet, he could arouse me sooo much. He was terrible.
And I loved him. Sadly.
.
.
.
Sasuke was on his rocking chair (you know, the kinds where the old ladies sit on), crocheting. I could see the tip of the Uchiha symbol fan becoming pictured onto a blue background.
"Sasuke? What are you doing? Put that down and let's go do something together."
"Like...?" he asked. "Do you want to go shopping for groceries, or maybe bead some jewelry, or try some lingerie on at Vicky's Secret?"
That actually wasn't a bad idea.
"Actually, sorry, I can't go to Vic's—I forgot that women try to jump me there, so that's out of the option. How about sharing cooking secrets? Or maybe we could watch that new movie, When in Rome or something."
Ugh. My life sucks, so, so much.
Fuck my non sexual appealing life.
.
.
.
"I'm going to the Gym," Sasuke said, throwing at towel over his shoulder as he pulled on a nylon black T-shirt, and white gym shorts. Converse sneakers were on his feet, along with clean white socks.
"I'll go, too," I said, changing my own clothes. I pulled off my tanktop and rolled down my shorts. Putting on my spandex ones and my jogging bra, I grabbed one of my own towels and swung it over my shoulder, holding a waterbottle with the words "SAKURA" on it. Because the last time I put "SASUKE" on it, I remember drinking that water and I got sent to the ER for three days straight. Turns out, I had contracted Contagious Sasuke's Sluts Disease.
Sasuke turned on the ignition as he helped me put my seatbelt on, making sure it was tight enough "so I don't go out the windshield."
"Thanks."
He smirked at me, (one of those beautiful smirks), and started the car. We were driving along the sides of the streets, running over the fangirls with "Marry me, Sasuke-kun!" signs. Half of them were already dead, sitting outside our house everyday, not getting up to eat, drink, or defecate. So every week, we hired a male maid (because the females would rape him) to clean up the feces on our sidewalks.
I turned on the radio, turning it to my favorite radio station.
"You're listening to Konoha's Hottest Hits, two thirty PM. We have a caller from...hm, let's see...caller, you're on the line, what is your song request?"
I heard the voice (hm, funny, I feel like I've heard it before...) incredibly clearly, as if it were right next to me. The radio altered the pitch a little bit, but I could still make out the tone.
Play the song Alejandro, by Lady Gaga.
Okay, I like Lady Gaga, but this guy was screwed up. Guys only like Lady Gaga for Pokerface, and her stripteases and music videos. Not for the music. Girls can like Lady Gaga, and that's totally okay. But damn, this guy...
I was about to complain to Sasuke. I turned my head, and realized why the voice sounded so clear.
"Sasuke, you shouldn't talk while driving," I muttered. "Hang up the damn phone."
Caller, we're having some difficulties hearing you—caller, are you okay? I hear screaming. Caller? Caller, I think I just heard a steering wheel crash into a cement wall.
"GET OFF THE FUCKING PHONE, SASUKE."
"NOT UNTIL THEY PLAY MY SONG."
Sasuke held the wheel with one hand, Sakura with the other. "Come on, Sakura, let go...I need to hear something about Mexicans..."
.
.
.
Our car was left burning on the street, as I grabbed my waterbottle and put the flames out. This really sucked. Sasuke put his arm around my waist and ruffled my hair. "Sorry, Sak. But you know, now that my radio's gone, you have to sing for me."
"I'm not fucking singing."
"Ooh, touchy. Looks like someone's on her period," he teased. Which was actually true, but I was just pissed overall, because he was being stupid. As always.
I kneed him in the crotch, and he winced.
"Damnit."
"So, come on, or I"m leaving you right now. I'll meet you at the Gym."
Sasuke grabbed his dick, holding it against his shorts while he ran to catch up with me. I laughed at his perseverance, and couldn't help but be moved by it. My arm was around his waist, and I kissed his cheek.
"You're a fucking idiot."
.
.
.
For some reason, when you enter a gym, you feel like the atmosphere's changed and you feel healthier. I saw Sasuke sniff in deeply, then breathe out. He flexed his muscles, which made half the girls in faint, the ones in the swimming pool sinking to the bottom.
He laughed at the attention, wiggling his eyebrows at me to see if I was jealous. And I was, not that I would admit it.
"Come on," I muttered, grabbing his wrist. "You're not a sex symbol."
"Wrong. I am."
I tched and led him up the stairs to the weights. I grabbed two dumbbells from the rack, and began lifting. Sasuke grabbed his own two, and lifted. We were in front of the TV, and making idle chat, while our arms were going up and down.
His weights looked small, but I bet it was because it was extra heavy. It was a silver color, like metal, anyway. I read the label on the side of the dumbbell. Twenty pounds.
Not bad. Last time I was lifting fifteen.
Sasuke put down his dumbbells, sweating profusely, wiping his head off with the towel. Squinting my eyes, I looked at the small number engraved onto the side.
10 LBS.
No, no, that's totally wrong...it has to be wrong, I know it, because look at his muscles. Dude, they're fucking huge. It's like POPEYE, except he doesn't eat spinach. He eats tomatoes.
He began drinking from the water fountain, shaking the sweat out of his hair. It was really hot. I nearly dropped my dumbbells.
But I put down one, and lifted his. I expected to dislocate my arm from the weight, but it was...light. It was lighter than mine, and I began tilting towards the side with my own dumbbell. I double checked the number: still ten pounds.
"Sasuke...how...how much can you lift?" I said, dreading the answer.
"Hm? Oh, yeah, that. Ten pounds is my best. These guns don't grow by themselves, you know," he said, flexing.
You know, it wouldn't be as bad if I were taller than him. But like I said, I'm roughly about five feet. He's about six. That didn't help. At all.
And I dropped my dumbbells. On my foot. The same one.
FML.
.
.
.
"You've gotta be fucking shitting me," I muttered, lying down on the benchpress table, watching him hover over me.
"Hn? What's the matter, Sakura?" he said, twirling my hair around his finger. "Nothing bad happened. So we lifted weights. You lift 20. Big deal."
"That's it, it is a big deal, Sasuke! You're a man! Ever since we've gotten together, you've done all the stuff a normal woman should do! You sew, and you shop, and you clean, and just about everything! You're absolutely feminine, Sasuke, and it's not right! You're too handsome and muscular to be feminine, and your dick proves it! I have been a sex-craved woman for as long as I can remember, and you fail to give me the passion I need every single night. You're like a fucking gay man, Sasuke, and I can't handle it! When can I be the woman in the relationship, just for once?"
I began breathing harshly, angry at the world. My life sucked, I know it did, because this was happening. He looked at me, his eyes soft, and he held me tight.
"I'm sorry."
Luckily, the gym was near closing time, so no one heard my little rant. Hopefully.
"You should really communicate more, you know. Instead of bottling it up, you should let it out. Remember, you got that Ph.D on psychology and human mental diseases, not me. Hell, I didn't even get a Ph.D, if it makes you feel any better. You study this kind of crap, yet you yourself never follow it."
He had a point. The bastard had a fucking point.
"W-Well...I guess that's true," I confessed, while he held me tighter, smirking.
"I'm smart, hn?"
"Sure." Let him have his five minutes of peace.
He lied down on the empty benchpress. "Come here," he said.
I thought that he wanted me to climb over him, but instead, he lifted me up behind my back and ass and began lifting me.
"One, two, three..."
He got all the way to fifteen until I yelled at him to stop. He laughed, put me down, and gave me a big kiss on the lips.
"You're such an idiot."
"W-What? I don't get it..."
He put the towel on his shoulder, not turning back. "I'll be outside, waiting for the taxi. Come out when you understand, you little dipshit. I love you," he said, blowing me a kiss.
I stood there in confusion, replaying the moments. What was he trying to say? I didn't understand...oh.
He can fucking benchpress 95 pounds? And he left me to think of it?
Little douchetard. You're such a sneaky bitch. And I bet you don't even like half of the feminine crap you do.
I wish I'd known it sooner.
FML.
OMFGGGG sorry for the major late update. im rly sorry about that cuz i didnt rellay like my first prompt halfway, then i witched and i didnt like this prompt either...but i decided to work on it. sorry for this being a short and sucky chapter, and because of ths, i will make another chapter in a wek. no promises though, but if that's bad too, then my ff life is screwed. LOL.
aghh. i'm so not proud of this...
-ohh, &&xena