Bad Luck

It started with a push.

The breaks weren't slammed on hard enough and the two vehicles collided; one was in motion, the other was seconds from shifting off 'Park'. The nervous woman felt herself gulp air down her dry throat as she slowly pulled her key out and opened the driver seat door of her silver 2004 Honda Fit, eyes settling onto her bumper that was dangling off her car. The left backlight was out of its socket, shattered glass surrounding the tire.

It could not be ignored like a simple scratch, as she had done when teenagers that drove recklessly around the neighborhood. No, this was far too…expensive. She held herself together. 'I have insurance.'

Her eyes then diverted towards the culprit of the accident, the machine that collided with the car she saved four grand for back in high school. Her eyes scanned the vehicle; it appeared leased, as though it was just driven off the lot—a custom painted midnight blue 2016 Audi R8, the hood crooked, the license plate dented, and its bumper crumbled. It was still intact unlike hers, but that part alone cost more than her car's current worth.

She was left speechless for a moment, until her eyes met with the driver's.

The man shoved the airbag to the passenger seat, exiting the luxury car with one hand on his head. She could make out the blood that soaked his burgundy dress shirt and dark slacks. "Are you alright?" She said, unsure if that was the most appropriate thing to ask. After all, she had just gotten into an accident, and she hadn't even moved from her parking spot on the side of the road.

He walked over, his mouth into a tightened line. After patting his forehead once (she winced at how painful it must have been), he reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "Call my secretary and I'll pay the damage."

Reaching for her hand, he quickly put the card into her palm, ignoring her wince as he turned just as fast as he had appeared, got back into his car, started the engine, and sped down the road.

She looked down, realizing she got a paper cut in the process of the eight word exchange with a man she wasn't sure she'd meet again. The card read what must have been the company he worked for (or owned, which wouldn't surprise her considering what had transpired and what he drove) along with his initials.

The petite woman squat down and sat with her back pressed against her clearly damaged vehicle. In all but a matter of ten minutes, she had her property damaged, a cut that would not stop bleeding on her index finger, and a bunch of ice cream in her trunk she was supposed to bring to a party in a half an hour, stored in a car she could not drive.

She sighed as she pulled out her cellphone, dialing the number on the card the man had given her.

'This is a nightmare.'

The dark haired woman waved goodbye to her car as it was towed, courtesy of the man who killed it. The mechanic told her that with the damage it received, it would cost more to repair it than it would to trade it in and buy a new one. She was heartbroken; a car she worked two straight years for was considered 'dead'.

She waved at the small hatchback as it was driven off, down the same road that the man who killed her precious metal child took to who knows where. The number she had called led straight to the man's supposed secretary, and within five minutes of calling, there was already a tow truck awaiting further action.

She was told to stop by the office to negotiate how she was going to be reimbursed for the loss of her only source of transportation—in was not economical for her to pay for an Uber every time she needed to go out or to take public transit daily, unfortunately—but had no idea how to get there in the first place.

"He'll get you, just wait," sang the bubbly voice on the other end before the line was cut. Hinata, who was unable to speak before being hung up on, sat on the curb, more confused than earlier. None of this made sense—yet here she was, relying on the words of complete strangers again, fifty seven dollars short because she had to pay for the storage fee of her totaled car.

And just as the woman on the other end promised, there was her magical pumpkin—except it was the man who had killed her car, and left her stranded with unanswered questions, driving what appeared to have been the same car from earlier, the same signs of damage from before. The man had changed his clothes, from a dress shirt and slacks to a white tee shirt and dark jeans, and a bandage of his forehead. He honked, not even getting out of his seat to open the door for her.

Hinata got up quickly, not really interested in being the center of attention on such a busy road again. She got in and the car ride to who knew where was silent for the first ten minutes of the drive.

"Did you file a claim yet?"

That was the second sentence that had left the stern man's lips, and it caught her off guard. She turned to stare blankly at the man whose slender fingers were tapping mindlessly on the steering wheel. "Um, no. Not yet."

"I'll pay for the towing storage too."

"Thank you."

She wasn't sure where to go from there. What was he doing that resulted in the accident? What was she going to get from him? Who even was he? These questions were popping into her head but she just could not connect the dots and find any answers to them. This man was a mystery, her finger was still bleeding, and she was too exhausted to question why she had to get into his car.

Once the car halted slowly at a red light—she bitterly thought, 'He decides to drive decently now…'—she felt a light item fall to her lap. It was a band aid. "I don't want anything to get on the seats."

That was it.

"You…are concerned with your seats, meanwhile I don't have a car." She said as she wrapped the band aid around her finger, a frown on her face. She couldn't help but snap at the man, for disregarding everything she was feeling at the moment and to only care about his own property. He was the reason she was even bleeding! And why she had to wait for a ride from the man who destroyed her car.

"This car is worth twenty times more than the junk you drove." He sneered in a monotone voice. "I practically did you a favor with killing it."

"A 'favor'? That was my only car!" She couldn't help but raise her voice.

"Do you want cash or a new one?"

"…where are you taking me?"

"A dealer." He said, as if it was the most oblivious answer. It wasn't, when they were driving through endless backgrounds that only displayed various farmland and empty, grassy space.

This made her feel very…dirty. She didn't want this stranger to buy her something so expensive. She wanted to file the claim, damn it, like you're supposed to do in the event of an accident like this. Except it wasn't much of an accident as it was negligence, given how he was going well over sixty on the posted speed limit of twenty-five. She couldn't help but have her nails dig into the arm rest of the comfy, leather seat.

"I don't want you to buy me a new car." She said slowly, determined. This was insane and she did not like being with the man more than necessary. "I just want to file the claim."

"The insurance will make me repair a car that will just fall apart. What your car was worth is how much I make hourly. Let me replace what I broke." He said in the most mocking voice, a hint of amusement in the dark pools that were his eyes. He was driving with one hand on the wheel, another pressing against his wound lightly.

"I don't even know your name," She said.

"I don't want to know yours either."

She had to settle in order to speed up the time she had with the strange man. So, she chose a red 2014 Ford Focus. It had a minor accident a year back, but had 146,000 less miles than her old car, so she couldn't complain. Once the contract was in front of the man, he quickly signed the paperwork, along with a check to the delighted dealership worker, before scurrying back into his car, leaving behind the still confused woman with a brand new—at least to her it was—car that she did not expect to take home.

All in all, the events were…weird. The only sign that this man existed was the business card she held in her pocket, fingers brushing against the card stock paper. She had driven the new car with a working radio and two new bags of freshly, still frozen ice cream back to her home, abandoning the party she was supposed to attend. There was no reason for her to go; she didn't feel any form of excitement of having to force herself to enjoy social intimacy after the strange day she had.

Not once had the stranger even apologized for what he did.

So as Hinata laid on her twin-sized mattress, staring at the blank ceiling with all these questions, what stumped her the most was how unnerving the man was during their entire interaction. He was so cocky, so sure of himself, clearly unfazed by her own feelings on the matter. Sure, he was generous, and was responsible enough to take accountability for what he caused, but that didn't mean he had to be an ass the entirety of the situation.

Hinata held the elegantly printed business card up in the air, re-reading the printed text on the card.

'S.H., J.D.'

She brought the yellow pillow above her head and lightly pressed it against her skull with a muffled groan. Of all things to print on a card you hand out to interact with potential clients, how are initials going to inform anyone who you were?

'I…think I hate him.'

Hinata decided that instead of wasting her gas—this new car was a guzzler unlike her old car, sadly—she would walk to the library for her night shift. The summer air still was fresh, the sun was still high and bright in the sky at half past four, and she was fairly relaxed. Her hair was still a bit damp from the ends, but the curls were pulled behind her ears and tucked neatly, the rest of her long mane tied into a tight and neat, low bun.

Her grey pencil skirt, though a bit old and unfashionable according to modern times, was loose enough against her wide hips that she was able to tuck in a light periwinkle sleeveless blouse, a thin white belt holding the ensemble in place.

She wasn't exactly thrilled she had to pick up an additional shift this week, much less on her usual day off—a Sunday—but if it ensured she wouldn't have to come in on a Monday, she would hold her tongue from complaining.

Before she could even reach the cross light that led to her place of work, however, she was met with a collision of sorts—she ran into, of course, the same man that ruined her day not even two months ago. Instead of it being his fault, however, it was completely hers; hot coffee staining an Armani white dress shirt included in the mix, along with a disgruntled man staring down at the woman, clearly pissed off.

Of fucking course this would happen five minutes before she was due to clock in.

"I…"

Normally, most people would be screaming at the sensation of a burning liquid touching their skin, but the man was fairly…unresponsive. He was clearly angry, but not affected at all by the actual pain of the hot liquid, more so that his favorite work shirt was ruined by a woman he had hoped he'd never see again.

He gestured at his chest, long since dropping the empty foam cup on the cement.

"…would you like me to buy you a new one, or to wash it out?"

Brows rising, the man composed his face. "Like you could afford a new one."

"I didn't watch where I was going." She said awkwardly, avoiding apologizing flat out. He has eyes, too. It isn't necessarily fair that she was the only one to blame.

"It shows." He unbuttoned his dress shirt, and dropped it into her arms. "Wash it. You still have my card?"

Dumbfounded, she nodded. "Call for the address." The man walked around the woman, still shirtless, not wasting a second more of his time.

She arrived eight minutes late to work and as punishment, had to work the next day to make up for the loss time.

She had a blush on her face permanently the rest of the day.

She had the worst luck.

"Yeah yeah, it's that building," said the bubbly voice from the first time she dared to dial the number on the mysterious business card.

"Ah, thank you. Um…what's his name?" she couldn't help but ask, but soon after she finished finally asking, the call was dropped again. It was as if the man had put all his efforts to remain anonymous, even with the woman who had wasted four hours of her life washing out a stain from a twelve hundred dollar shirt that cost as much as her rent that she split with her roommate. She even ironed the shirt, hung it on a coat hanger, and put a clear plastic bag on top to ensure nothing to happen to it (again).

She was finally prepared to rid herself of the man who only brought misfortune in her life. A man she didn't even actually know, no less. And once she arrived to the given address, she was, well, speechless.

The building was actually the tallest in the city, known for global trades, international law, and the preferred conference location for economists in the country. She supposed that was what the J.D. on his card stood for—he was either a lawyer or held a degree in a form of law. She wouldn't find herself too impressed with his career path, however. He was still an ass.

Tucking a strand of her loose hairs behind her left ear, she pushed the heavy doors and went straight to the front desk, requesting the necessary guidance to return the shirt to its rightful owner. Hinata did not expect to spend her first day off with the intention to see the man for a third time but unfortunately, it had to be done.

Once she showed the business card to the front desk clerk, the brunette chuckled, added a "Have fun", and guided her to the elevators at the far end of the hall, along with the level of the office written on a Post-It note for her to find on her own, suite number included.

Attempting to ignore the kind man's comment, she pressed the button to the 30th floor, mentally preparing herself to find suite 13.

To be honest, she was fairly anxious. She did not have any intentions of having this little unfortunately reunion last longer than it had to, but had a feeling it would anyway. Because of fucking course it would.

She had bad luck, after all. And as the saying goes, 'bad luck never leaves'.

Once the elevator stopped at the level she requested, she found herself confused. Didn't enormous buildings such as these try to avoid using the number 13? She could have sworn she read an article about how they took superstition seriously.

Sighing, she turned down the hall to find the initials 'S.H., J.D.' taunting her yet again, with no other hints at whomever this man really was. Tired of the questions that would not stop forming in her mind, Hinata pulled the door open and was met who was probably the woman who kept hanging up on her calls.

The woman had long, blond hair tied in a high, tight ponytail, sharped bangs tucked to the side. She was chewing gum and typing on her Mac, eyes glued to her screen. The waiting room was empty and the room was neatly decorated with magazines on the coffee table, and a small water fountain on the other side of the spacious waiting room.

Once Hinata made it clear she was present, the blond pressed a button on a speaker and said "She's here," disregarding whatever the other person from the end of the line would say, and pressed another button to unlock the door.

"You can go ahead," She said with a smile.

Unfortunately, this was not reassuring in anyway.

The small hallway, as modern and expensive as it appeared, led only to one door, which she cautiously opened. Again, she was met with the annoying initials, no other sign of names, or titles she could use to pinpoint just who the hell the man was.

Once she turned the knob, her pale eyes met once more with the dark ones of the man who just would not leave her alone. Granted, this time it was her fault, but this would have never happened if he hadn't totaled her car in the first place.

"Let me see it," He said, a hand extended to grab the coat hanger. She nodded and approached his desk, releasing the man's shirt into his custody. He tore the plastic bag and examined the dress shirt, the stain nowhere in sight. It even smelled of fresh laundry, no sense of abuse to the cloth in any way.

"Looks brand new." He settled, determined that was the best compliment he could offer the strange woman.

"That was what I was hoping for." She replied, a small smile on her face. "I'm sorry again for staining it."

He shrugged. "I got it back. That's all that matters."

"Ah."

It was silent for a bit. "I'd like to know your name," she began, though internally it was much more out of curiosity than it was to purposefully avoid the man for the rest of her life. "It's almost ironic how often we run into each other and I know nothing about you."

"You know my initials." He offered. "That's something."

"I-you're right. I guess it is."

"I'm a head attorney here." He said. "And you're a librarian."

"I never…"

"Disclosed that?" He offered, finishing her sentence. "You had your nametag on that day. Fairly simple to connect the two."

"Ah."

"And I know your name. Since the first day we met, actually." He was still seated, his arms resting on both rests of what must have been an equally expensive computer desk chair.

"Then…it's only fair I know yours."

"You kept my card this whole time?"

"Mm." She nodded, as she sat down in the chair across from him. "All I got from it were the initials and the office number."

"Privacy reasons. I'm not supposed to be so accessible to the public."

She nodded, understanding. "You don't have to tell me then."

"I don't think I'll lose sleep if one other person knows it."

At this her ears perked up.

"I'm S-"

Before she could even hear him utter a single sound, all that could be heard were the trembles of the ground, the glass of the windows shattering, the earth shaking, and the shift motion of her being pulled to the man's side, as he pushed her underneath his large desk, him inching closer to prevent being an open target of any debris of the room.

The quake lasted four minutes and thirty-two seconds, and within that time frame, so many books fell on top of the two that they were both left unconscious.

The two woke up with sharp pains in their heads. Though no debris directly hurt them, the weight of the lamp that fell onto the desk was enough to cause a shock to the head. She wasn't sure if it was safe to leave the desk; rather, she was absolutely terrified for any aftershocks.

"Relax. It's over." The man was already out from under the desk, the cool air from outside entering from all twelve (broken) windows of his spacious office. They could hear sirens from the streets go off, along with crowds of people exiting other buildings.

The first thought was to obviously leave the room and head for a better safe spot, but their door was stuck. As in, completely closed off by his ten foot tall book shelve that carried over four hundred books. He had already tried to push it out, but was unable to. He wasn't even able to communicate to anyone because not only were his cellular services not working, but the speaker used to contact his secretary Ino was broken thanks to whatever the hell landed on it.

He cursed paying for the room to be soundproof. This was the worst day.

Hinata, still under the desk, grabbed the ends of the wooden table before slowly crawling from underneath the piece of furniture that saved her life. She clung to the side, trying to relax her breathing. Never had she anticipated to be a victim of a natural disaster. Then again, of fucking course it'd happen when she met with strange man again.

"We're stuck." He said calmly. "Do you have a phone on you? Mine isn't working."

"I did." She said sadly, slowly pointing to the flip phone that was broken in half by a couch that fell face forward on it.

The man, clearly annoyed, ran fingers through his hair. "I don't know how long we'll be in here."

Not once did he inquire if she was okay, despite Hinata clearly displaying physical traits of being everything but.

He walked over to his closet, sliding the door open. He let out a sigh of relief, as he bend forward to get a drink out of his mini fridge. "Do you want anything?"

"Um…" she honestly wanted to get the hell out, but admired him for at least attempting to act normal after such a terrifying experience. "Do you have water?"

"I only have Smirnoff and Gekkeikan Black and Gold. Oh, and cranberry juice I guess."

She felt her head pound out of frustration. Fuck it, she deserved a drink.

"What flavor's the Smirnoff?" She caught a glimpse of him smirking.

Three shots and one glass of juice later, Hinata already felt like she was floating on adrenaline, no longer stressing about the fact that she was stuck in a room with a man she grew to detest. There he was, silently watching the woman as she began to laugh uncontrollably, her arms holding her sides to prevent herself from falling over.

"It's just so funny!" She said, a smile resting on her face, her left dimple showing. Really, he couldn't help but find her attractive at her current state. Her hair was released from the stiff bun she always seemed to grace, and she was no longer in her timid shell. Really, it was amusing. "All I wanted to do was return your shirt and leave for good, but now I'm stuck with you! And….all I wanted to know was your name! You're so confusing." She ended, laughing a bit.

He sat against the fridge, his dress shirt's top buttons undone, shoes long off looked at the woman with amusement in his dark eyes. "It's Sasuke." He finally said, taking the last sip from the bottle he stored for emergencies such as these that required a relaxer. "Happy? Now you know."

She nodded, crawling closer to the fridge. She sat on her knees right in front of him, running her own fingers through her thick mane. "I think I'm drunk." She said. "-and I am," she added, answering his question.

"You are." He reassured dully. "But I'm not."

"Drink some more then," she said calmly. "I'll do a shot with you if you take another."

"That's not a good idea."

She playfully pushed him away from the door, bringing the cherry-flavored vodka bottle out of its compartment. Taking his empty shot glass, she poured the clear liquid into it, later doing the same into hers.

"Okay," she began. "I'll give you yours to your mouth, and you do the same to me." The smile never left the woman's face. This was far from the normal behavior of the woman he met through unlucky circumstances.

She picked his glass up, and drew her hand in front of his mouth. With her eyes, she urged him to follow suite, which he reluctantly did, bringing the glass to her lips. "One, two…three."

The alcohol ran down their throats, the bitter taste lingering.

After taking the dual shots, it ended up in the two taking three more. Unfortunately, they were still stuck in the office, but they somehow found an easier way to speed up the time.

She was cradling his head in her hands, grinding her hips against his, essentially pinning the also drunk man onto the soft carpet floor, who's hands rested on her lower back. She couldn't recall for the life of her how long she had been doing it, but hearing the soft groans coming from his mouth was so satisfying.

Truthfully, she had no idea where to go from there. She wasn't exactly skilled in the sexual department, but figured doing this was enough.

It so obviously was not. She lost her balance at one point which only made it easier for the man beneath her to switch positions, laying her on her back instead. He kept asking if it was okay and she just kept nodding, not really caring. She was enjoying the touches; how his fingers drummed against her sides, how they slid underneath her shirt, his cold fingers meeting her warm skin.

It was a sensation that was probably exaggerated in terms of pleasure by the alcohol, but she wasn't complaining.

Pretty soon the inevitable had occurred; drunk lips slamming against each other, no time wasted. Tongues were having a battle, constantly trying to see who could dominate the other. Her fingers were permanently attached to his scalp and that only got him harder. She could feel it against her, his turn to do the grinding. He didn't hesitate. Through his slacks it felt nice, and truthfully, she was encouraging things to go on.

At least, her clearly saying "Keep going" the faster he went was as much of a welcome as they come. By then her blouse was unbuttoned and his was already off, her hands eventually drawing circles over his chest as he dug into her neck, tugging the tight skin and leaving the bruises to turn a faint pink.

She had unzipped her slacks and he gratefully pulled them down for her, a hand resting on her thigh before it traveled down her soft, bare legs. Pushing them apart after unzipping his own, he licked two of his fingers and teased her opening, assuring that she was wet enough. She made no attempts to stop him; rather, she cuffed his wrist as he did so, urging him on.

He stopped abruptly, raising his head to meet her eyes. "Why did you stop?" she whimpered, frowning.

"I want to do something else."

She felt a coolness wash over her core, as it swirled in circular motion. She felt like the wind was knocked right out of her; a deflated balloon that felt the release of all of its air. His tongue continued as she moaned loudly, the alcohol amplifying her raw emotions. He continued to tease her with his fingers, thrusting and pulling them out in a slow, uneven motion. It drove the woman to engulf the man between her thighs, tightening them around his torso the faster he went.

His teeth grazed her clitoris lightly, the best thing he had done since switching gears and heading south on her body. He could tell by her instinctively swaying her hips forward, forcing his tongue to reach deeper parts. She tasted so naturally sweet with a hint of salt, making it harder for him to not want to stop.

She hadn't realized how amazing receiving head like this was, and almost wished it could be endless. Her fingers would occasionally pull his head off, half lid eyes meeting the hungry ones from below. She would teasingly say "Want some more?" as if she had to ask, which was answered by his rugged movement to return back to her damp opening. He was welcomed by her legs tightening around his head, with fingers hanging onto his hair for dear life. It wasn't until he had inserted a third finger that she felt her legs spasm, eyes shutting from the rush, a load cry erupting from her throat.

That was the last thing she could remember before she fell asleep.

It ended without a goodbye.

She felt chills from the broken windows, along with an arm lightly shaking her side to get up. Holding her head with her left hand, the woman arose from the floor, realizing that she was fully clothed once more. "Are you alright, ma'am?" the blond secretary asked, a hint of amusement in her bright eyes.

Hinata groaned softly, eyes adjusting to the light entering the room. She looked around slowly, taking in her surroundings and the events that had unfolded. The shirt, the earthquake, the…oh.

The woman flushed, redness tainting her cheeks. "Is it safe to leave?" she mumbled, embarrassment washing over her. The secretary probably knew. She felt suffocated.

"We managed to get the bookshelf off the store. Security helped." The secretary answered. "We have a cab ready for you. His treat."

Hinata felt used almost, because he wasn't even there to say it to her face. What happened to the man that held her during the trembles, drank with her for fun, kissed her senseless, and fucked her pussy with his magical tongue?

She obviously didn't want to say that out loud. "Where did he go?"

The secretary smiled. "Do you need help getting up?" she asked, ignoring her question.

"I'm fine." She stumbled up, gripping the side of the desk to raise herself up. "Thank you." She said finally, as she dusted any dirt off her clothes and walked out the room.

She decided to ditch the cab. Though it was a tedious walk to her place, she wasn't in the mood to take more from him when he didn't even treat her like a person. Granted, all of what transpired was a mistake from the beginning, and whatever passion they shared was just that. There was no true intimacy. There was nothing to share with him again. She felt explored like a map, and he invaded her lands. It was genuinely the best she's had in a while, but that was it.

There was no need to dwell on it. In fact, she was glad it ended this way. Relationships were too stressful to maintain anyway. Constantly depending on a person for comfort, assistance, respect, adoration, love…none of that suited her right now anyway. She had to fix herself before she could offer herself to another.

At least, this is what she kept telling herself as she walked back to her apartment. It was comforting to say the least. She wanted to thank him for different things, but she couldn't place what. She was still bitter about her car being destroyed at the hands of the man, but if it weren't for that one event, nothing else would have happened. Hinata couldn't help but smile as she looked at the card in her hand, the initials standing for something finally.

'Sasuke. '

She didn't have a need for it anymore. After she unlocked her door she tossed the card stock into her empty trashcan.

If fate would have it, they'd meet again. After all, she had the worst luck.

A/N: Been awhile. This is one of the two one-shots I've had on my laptop for far too long. I've been editing and re-writing and ignoring this for a bit but I decided it's now or never to share. I think I might make this a two-shot if enough people leave reviews/enjoyed it. As always, I appreciate all comments and all reads! I'll see you soon.