fabric press

and you love me til my heart stops

one of @lukeshea anons talked about lukas taking a bullet for philip and since i cant mind my own damn business i did the thing!

There have been moments in his life where Philip wondered if he was going to die. Nights where hunger coiled and stretched inside his belly. Mornings where he wasn’t sure if his mother was going to come home. Minutes pressed against bricks in alleys, hiding from people he’d stolen from to provide for himself when his mother disappeared. 

But none of them are anything compared to this.

He doesn’t quite know how he ended up here; probably because of whatever was on the fabric the man pressed to his mouth.

He remembers being shoved into the car, and he remembers riding in the trunk with Lukas. He remembers being cold. Then, being pulled out and dropped to the ground. Lukas, next to him. 

That’s all there is until now.

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Essays in Existentialism: Hickeys

Lexa marking Clarke’s neck like she might mark her territory.

The day was quiet, the night was silent. Not even the cicadas hummed tonight, not even the revelry of returning groups could be heard in the deadly muteness that existed in the world.

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Housewife radio

FM comes in different colors, I believe: Gemini, Aquarius, Pisces

In the sewing machine I’ve lost myself: Cancer, Libra, Capricorn

Memories inside my heart are there to grieve: Aries, Virgo, Scorpio

Stations and a needle help me fix himself: Taurus, Leo, Sagittarius

Ah, his voice, it speaks to me through the radio: Taurus, Libra, Aquarius

Pressing spotted fabric on an ironing board: Gemini, Cancer, Sagittarius

Losing bobbins under tables, is it so?: Aries, Leo, Capricorn

Every day it feels like seams are more than torn: Virgo, Scorpio, Pisces


Cait x Female Sole Survivor for Femlash February. Pre-relationship.

Cait hisses. “Be careful with that, will ya?”

”I am being careful.” Molly pulls away her shirt sleeve, wet from Cait’s bloodied hands and the bottle of purified water Molly poured over them.

“Sure doesn’t seem like it,” Cait mutters.

“You wanna see me get rough instead?” Molly asks, grinning.

Cait eyes her. “Won’t be much o’ a difference.”

Right.” Molly rips at the hem of her shirt and presses the fabric firmly against the cut on Cait’s hands.

“I—oww, fuckin’ hell.” Cait squirms, trying to break away. “I didn’t mean to get rough now.”

“I’m not,” Molly grinds out. “I’m trying to be gentle!”

“How about ya try harder!” Cait snaps.

Molly huffs. She closes her eyes, breathes through her mouth, and lets the air escape from between her lips. Gentle. Be gentle, patient, kind, soft—

Cait laughs at her.

Molly frowns. She ties the ends of the fabric together using the tips of her fingers. She gives it the smallest of tugs, making sure it’s snug, not tight. She runs her thumb over Cait’s knuckles. Smooths out the rough edges of the bandage, careful to not press into the bruises that must be forming beneath her skin.

“What exactly d’ya think you’re doing?” Cait pulls her hand free.

“Being gentle,” Molly says, voice just above a whisper. Her hands feel empty.

i don’t understand zhong hui’s body armor


is it some weird fabric? pressed to his abs??? so they pop through?????

is it armor??? did he have his armor specially molded for his abs???

if i turned it over, filled it with water, and stuck it in the freezer, can i make ice cubes with it?? IS HIS ARMOR AN ICE CUBE TRAY THAT’S BASICALLY WHAT I’D LIKE TO KNOW???

(bonus picture,

did he have it specially molded for his butt too)


Credence has been quiet, more quiet than usual
and he knows it. A great sadness had taken a
hold of him and no amount of words or talking
could help. The young man always seemed on
the brink of tears now. It came to a surprise when
Sirus hugged him. There’s a moment where he
freezes under the touch, wounds on his back
burning from the contact as fabric pressed into
them. Head lowering before he glanced behind
to see his friend. He turns out of the hug and
instead buries his head in the crook of Sirus’
neck. That’s when the tears begin to fall.

     “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

At first, Sirius is afraid he’s pushed Credence
away with his sudden and unwarranted affection.
He’s about to apologize when Credence turns to
him, buries his face in his neck. Gently, Sirius
puts his arms around the other boy once more,
embracing him again as he feels the warmth and
wetness of the tears soaking into his t-shirt. He
wishes there was something more he could do,
but he’s never been good at this sort of thing.

“There’s nothing wrong with you… talk to me.”

the “Sirius gets harassed for putting on make up in the men’s room and Remus defends him” wolfstar au fic !! (in lack of a better title)

1.3k words

tw homophobic and transphobic slurs, cursing, homophobia

betaed by @wolfstarbaby ily

Bad idea. That was a bad, shitty idea, Remus chastises himself.

He’s sat on the closed toilet in a stall at uni, trying to keep his breathing exercises as quiet as possible. His chest is aching and his ribs feel bruised and he’s sweaty down the back.

The binder lies across his lap and Remus imagines it’s staring up at him innocently. What, like it’s my fault you kept me on for longer than advisable.

“But you weren’t supposed to be this small,” Remus mutters, running the tips of his fingers across the reddened skin where the fabric has pressed tight against his rib cage.

There’s a clattering noise outside his stall and then a raspy voice asks, “Is someone in here?”

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There are four knotted strings that hang from the corners of my chest binder.

“Speak unto the children of Israel, and bid them that they make them throughout their generations fringes in the corners of their garments” (Num. 15:38).

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my room, I unfold the tallit-katan-as-chest-binder and inspect the tzitzit to make sure they are properly knotted.

“B’shem mitzvat tzitzit u’mitzvat hityatzrut. For the sake of the mitzvah of ritual fringes and the mitzvah of self-formation.”

I say this bracha quietly to myself, as I bind these words, as I tighten the Velcro fabric that presses my chest flat. I pull the fabric tight, knowing it will leave marks on my flesh.

Micah Bazant explains in his Trans Jew Zine TimTum,
“Alterations of the flesh engage the spirit. Fasting, cleansing/immersion (as in the mikvah), and binding (as with tefillin) are familiar Jewish physical vehicles for intense psychological shifts into a mental state that could be designated sacred.”

The thick, sweaty fabric is uncomfortable, making it difficult to breathe and making my sternum ache. I struggle to find God beneath layers of dark clothing and the self-conscious slouch of my shoulders. I struggle to find God in choices that cause physical pain to my body.

How can I make my gender sacred?
How can I make my gender a sign of my covenant with God?

—  R’ Ari Lev Fornari in Torah Queeries

lunartics network challenge; week 5 // favourite scene

She started to nod, but was surprised when Thorne pushed away from the door. Cress blinked and stumbled back, startled my the sudden movement. Three, four steps.  The backs of her thighs hit one of the desks.
In one movement, Thorne lifted her onto the desk and pressed her back against an enormous potted fern and – oh.
Cress had built a thousand fantasies around their rooftop kiss, but this kiss was something new.
Where before, the kiss had been gentle and protective, now there was something passionate. Determined. Cress’s body dissolved into nothing but sensation. His hands burned her waist through the skirt’s thin fabric. Her knees pressed against his hips, and he pulled her closer, closer, like he couldn’t get her close enough. A whimper escaped her mouth, only to be swallowed by his. She hear a moan, but it could have come from either of them.
And where, on the rooftop, the kiss had been cut too short by the battle raging on around them, this kiss went on, and on, and on..

Sewing Tips #1 - Iron your seams

Thought I’d start sharing some of my tips and tricks when it comes to sewing!

First up is ironing seams. It’s really important when it comes to cosplay to iron any seams to make things look clean and professional. My guess is that people don’t think to iron seams when sewing plushies, too!

I don’t iron every seam when I make a plush; but I do iron every seam that joins together two different colors. The overall effect is subtle but will help add to the overall ‘finished’ quality of your plush.

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in our home, waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and going downstairs to find you standing in your Sonic Youth t-shirt lighting up a cigarette, Morrissey is playing in the background, you say “good morning darlin’” and drop the softest kiss on my mouth, smiling against each other. pulling the fabric aside and pressing my lips against your shoulder. snuffling my nose against your chest. fingers under your shirt cupping the architecture of your spine, the bridge of your back, fragile nape of your neck. watching the sunshine play with the strands of your hair. you hold me very close and try not to singe my ears. we are both careful and contented exhalations. that’s all.

As she watched him, mesmerized, he reached down and picked up her wrist, cradling it in those rough, worn hands that somehow always managed to be so gentle with her. They were so gentle right now as he cupped her hand and turned it over, one thumb brushing lightly over her scars. She was too fascinated to ask him what he was doing. Beth just watched as he took that strip of fabric and tied it gently around her wrist with a solid knot before turning it around so the strip of fabric pressed over her scar.

Inspired by Chapter 6 of She’s Breathing by burningupasun.  This was one of my all time favorite Bethyl scenes in a fic, ever.  

12/100 Beth/Bethyl Doodle Challenge

Can You Stop Fucking Smothering Me

You inhaled his deep scent through his hoodie. You were losing yourself in the fabric as you pressed forward more into him. Jungkook was too busy playing Piano Tiles 2 to care. He pressed down on the black squares as they appeared and sped-up classical music filled the room. He jutted his arm back sharply and ended up hitting you. “Ow, you elbowed me in the boob!” You laughed. He didn’t.
You had your arms wrapped loosely around his waist and your legs on either side of him. He sat in front of you emerged in that stupid app. It pissed you off. Here you were trying to cuddle and he was too busy being childish to even acknowledge you. “Can you stop playing that game for five seconds?” “Can you stop fucking smothering me?” He spat back. You let your mouth hang open as you removed your arms from him. “Wow, okay. Calm down.”
He was still tapping away at his phone screen as you retreated from him. It was only after you got up from the couch and stood up directly in front of him that he harshly through his phone to the side and glared up at you. “You’re treating me like I’m some little kid and you expect for me to be calm about that?” He suddenly asked. “Well, you’re acting like one.” “What did you just say?” He cut his eyes into slits.
You’d never really argued with Jungkook like this. It was scary. “You heard what I said, Jungkook. Stop being immature.” Before the last word could leave your mouth Jungkook stood up. “I’m immature now?” He towered over you. His voice came out low as he dared you to respond. “Yeah, all you do is play that stupid Piano Tiles game all day.” You’re voice got lower as well, but not in the ominous and threatening way like Jungkook’s did. It was more of an insecure, and unsure of yourself way. You even added in staring down at your feet, making yourself that much more ineffectual.
Jungkook sensed your reaction and just when you thought he was going to go in for the kill, like a lion and an antelope or more appropriately a seagul and whatever seagulls eat. “So what you want is for me to stop playing Piano Tiles so much?” You nod your head slowly and only look up at him after you hear a chuckle. “Alright I already beat all of my hyungs’ scores anyway.” He  stuffed his hands in his pockets and welcomed a bunny toothed smile. “Really?” “Yeah, so we can do whatever you want us to do now.” You look down at your feet again. “Well, I wanted to cuddle but I don’t want to smother you-” You were cut of by Jungkook pulling you into his chest.
He wrapped his strong arms around you, making you feel more secure than you ever had. “I don’t know why I said that. I guess I was just being immature.” He buried his face down into the crook of your neck. You could feel his soft but warm breathing against your skin. “It’s okay, I’m sorry for treating you like a kid.” You said as you wrapped your arms back around him. “It’s fine.” He rubbed his hand gently against your back before continuing. “I’m sorry for scaring you. It wasn’t that serious.” He knew. “And I’m sorry for elbowing you in the boob earlier.” He knew! “It’s okay.” You chuckled softly. Then realization hit you.
“You said you beat all of your hyungs’ scores?” “Yeah, I’m at the top of the leaderboard now.” He said softly. If he beat all of their scores then there was no doubt about it. He beat yours too! You yourself were barely above V so now you had even more catching up to do with your boyfriend pushing you back down even further on the score board. You quickly pulled away from him and reached down to grab his phone from the couch. But of course you weren’t quick enough as Jungkook soon had the cell phone raised above both of your heads and completely out of reach for you. “No, no, no! No more playing Piano Tiles 2 remember?” You jumped up trying to reach the phone but to no avail. “Yeah but-” “But nothing. We’re going to cuddle and you’re going to like it.” You sighed, defeated, and pouted as you crossed your arms over your chest. Jungkook then put down his phone and picked you up, bridal style. “What are you doing?” You laughed into his shoulder. “I’m taking you to the bedroom for some serious cuddling of course. What? Did you think I was kidding?” You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re such a fool.” “I guess only fools fall for you then.” You hit him in his chest which continued to rise and fall as he laughed at his own lame joke. “You set yourself up for that one.” He was right. You did.

Her shirt was off, leaving her in her bra as she pressed the fabric against a gash in her side. This certainly hurt. Lucky bastard.

“H…Hey!“ Nia called out to the first person she saw, hoping to catch their attention.

An Unmasking:

“There is a face beneath this mask, but it isn’t me. I am no more that face than I am the muscles beneath it, or the bones beneath that.”-Steve Moore

At first the black cloth, stretching over the brim of his nose and obscuring the lower half of his face, meant to serve as a show of boldness, an ensconce to shield his features whom even at the tender age of five was moulded to resemble that of Hatake Sakumo. He wanted no part of it, the ardent whispers and lingering stares that seemed to follow his father like an ominous cloud whenever Konoha’s White Fang felt well enough to venture from the compound. Perchance the cool press of fabric made it easier to face the man he always looked up to, to drink in the now pallid jaw and sunken eyes, without revealing the twist of his own mouth or the confused crinkle of his nose. And as the pit of disgrace became cavernous, the very comrades whose lives the Hatake Head chose to honour before his duty at the forefront of the condemning fray; the mask became an aide-mémoire to remind him of what happened to those who strayed from the just guidelines weaving the Ninja Code. A shinobi must never show any weakness.’


The mask, moist with the beads of rain soaking the memorial grounds, now acted as a cold buffer between the newly graduated Genin and all those who believed otherwise. He would be a model shinobi, persistent in his desire to complete any and all missions given to him, whilst effectively erasing the shroud of pity now weighing down his frame, an aspiration that only kindled and hissed at the press of the Sandaime’s aged palm against his shoulder, grey hues refusing to peer up underneath the wide brim of the Kage hat. Though his intent desire to cling to his guise and all it came to mean was at odds with every team he was assigned to, the boy still managed as to complete several missions, the success wholly expected and all that really mattered in the long run. A shinobi must always put the mission first.’


It wasn’t until Kakashi swept his shrewd, leaden gaze over his supposedly new ‘team’, that he felt his success rate might start to suffer. The kunoichi of the team, with her almond strands and thoughtful pools seemed far too meek to be a soldier of the Hidden Leaf, a datum only emphasised by her warm greeting and the way she clasped nimble fingers behind her back, apron seams swaying in the mid-morning breeze. From what the silver-haired boy remembered of his year within the academy, Rin Nohara had proficient chakra control and was rather perceptive, he could only hope said attributes were honed within their time apart. Their Jōnin sensei, though lean and towering appeared equally sub-par with his messy, golden tuffs and airy grin. Hitherto Kakashi knew it would be rash to blatantly underestimate a man of his rank, if anything Minato-sensei might very well be making an allowance for their skill level, this being their first training session together. It was the –third- member of their merry band that really chafed the young Hatake’s nerves; the Uchiha’s breaths still coming in sharp gasps as he rested his hands on top of his knees. Not only was the idiot late, but he was also wearing a getup that could scarcely be seen as functional, the bright, orange goggles reflecting the sunlight snootily in Kakashi’s direction and causing his eye to twitch. Why he had to be placed on a team with the loud-mouthed, crybaby was beyond the firm Genin, a hand palming his face in annoyance, whilst the dark-haired boy continued to sprout nonsense about his likeness being carved into the Hokage Mountain. A flock of birds bristled at the commotion before breaking through the ever-green treetops and the Hatake had half the mind to follow after them. That way he could swiftly make his way to the Fire Tower to glower at the old man in person; but he would not, no matter how tempting the mental image. As a rule, all squad collations were final and as a model shinobi, Kakashi would never query a decision of the Sandaime. Kakashi only hoped that the thin material of his mask would serve as a capable barrier against Obito. Stupidity might be contagious, after all. “A shinobi must always follow their commander’s instructions.”


It was with repellent regret that Kakashi found himself within the memorial grounds once more, the heartfelt snuffles of Rin resounding from his right. It was folly how the clear, blue skies could be so disloyal to her feelings, to his feelings. He had only just come to realize that perhaps Obito wasn’t such a fool and that Rin, though benign to her very core, nowhere near as feeble as he initially imagined. They had so many missions ahead of them too, missions in which he could prove that he was a capable, trustworthy captain and that it wasn’t his own simple superiority that caused him to lose a dear comrade. A friend. Folding in on himself the Jōnin dragged his lone, grey hue to the stone looming ahead, the sunny rays reflecting off of the worn, orange goggles as easily as they always did. Rin shifted beside him, wiping furtively at her damp, flushed cheeks, before she moved to rest the bouquet of pale, pink Myrtles next to their teammate’s treasure. Kakashi idly noted how the frail petals were used to represent love, the small gesture somewhat wistful as the Kunoichi finally returned the Uchiha’s feelings. All in all it caused a lodge to form within the Jōnin’s throat and a faint prickle to surge underneath his scarred lid. Kakashi would not cry however, not when he promised to be strong for Rin and not when his mask was now reminiscent of all he had yet to lose. “A shinobi should never show his tears.”


He should have known as a hailed prodigy that one could never truly escape the cruel talons of fate, much less all it promised. The Third Shinobi War has been dragging on for far too long and commiserations had been clinging to his ankles as it did to his father before him.  Until now Kakashi never expected that he would fail his last promise, that his inabilities as a Shinobi and teammate would run this deep. His own wide and disbelieving hues reflected back at him through Rin’s glossy hazel, tears finally dribbling down her chin as the high-pitched chirrup of Chidori died down. Kakashi retracted his fist, the sickly squelch of her chest causing the Jōnin’s knees to buckle, before an arm lifted to press her against his shoulder. They could have made it. He could have saved her. All they had to do was pass through the border of Wave country and meet up with their faction of reinforcements. Only Rin had no intention of making her way back home, her keen mind already aware of the true reason as to why the Isobu was sealed within her. He should have surmised that his refusal would not have been enough, that Rin’s loyalty to Konoha outshined the weight of his long-made oath. The dispirited voices of the Kiri-nin sounded like mere echoes in his ears when Rin finally slipped from his hold, body crumpling against the soaked earth like a Suna puppet whose chakra strings have been cut. As his own vision obscured with tinges of black, tomoe twisting into the portent of the Mangekyō; a single, embittered thought wafted through Kakashi’s subconscious. “A shinobi should be able to see underneath the underneath.”


Their deaths still plagued his dreams, still haunted each step and throw of his kunai. Nevertheless the teen endeavoured to cover the effects of his restlessness via the familiar veneer of his mask and a callous posture. Minato Namikaze was irritatingly discerning when needed however and it wasn’t long before the Jōnin found himself slumped within the newly  appointed Yondaime’s office, arms crossed and a nonchalant gleam within his visible hue. Kakashi has taken to covering his scarred lid with his hitae-ate, hiding his bequest from view. He maintained that the action was due to the Sharigan taking a toll on his chakra reserves when constantly in use, as well as a means to placate the indignant Uchiha clan. But the silver-haired Shinobi knew that his true, inner-most reasoning orbited about his feelings of self-reproach. He had failed to keep his promise and as such he couldn’t bring himself to face the stark, telling crimson, lest in the face of an enemy. His sensei suggested he join the ANBU, that it would be good for him to focus on his missions instead of his losses. Thus, never one to qualm the word of the Yellow Flash, the Jōnin enforced his cloth mask with one of bone-white porcelain. Kakashi believed that he was finally doing what he was supposed to, as the tart scent of copper seeped into the very fibres of his skin, never to be washed away. Hatake Kakashi wasn’t meant to protect, to cherish. He was meant to break and obliterate. Hence his utmost uncertainty when the Hokage recalled him from his current duties to serve as the sole figure he was always unable to. A surge of incense bubbled within his chest, causing his tainted finger-pads to curl into the black fabric obscuring his palms. ‘What was Minato-sensei thinking? Surely he had more sense when it came to the likes of Kushina-sama…’ Even with said thought churning within his mind, the teen went about his top-secret mission with the same vigour as he did any command, tailing the boisterous Jinchūriki as if he was her second, though infinitely more opaque, shadow. And when the time came to conclude his ten month mission, surrendering his seemingly terrifying task to the more capable hands of his superiors, Kakashi felt himself rather reluctant.

He had no reason to doubt the proficiency of his elders, there was after all no ninja more capable that those honoured to be the Sandaime’s personal guard. They had more experience than him, more knowledge in the workings of Fūinjutsu, assuredly the better soldier. Perhaps they too would come to find comfort in the Kunoichi’s coarse laugh, her astonishing ability to haggle with the vendors for better dumpling prices and the way she always left a bowl of miso soup on the ledge for him come lunch time. With a breath the ANBU operative branded his hesitancy as a mere break in habit, nothing more. Ten months, though not the longest run for a mission, was certainly long enough as to evoke a routine. If only he sought to scrutinize the chill in the air that night, the portentous trace that set the fine hairs on the back of neck on end. Perhaps then he could have prevented some of the damage that was sure to follow. On duty or not- “A shinobi must prepare for what is to come…before it is too late to.”


Looking back at all that has come to pass; the twenty-three-year-old Jōnin came to the conclusion that he was not such a model Shinobi after all, nor did he think he deserved to be. He had lived his life wanting to shed the smouldering darkness that clung to the Hatake name, but ended up achieving the opposite until the murky tendrils all but consumed him. He wanted no part of the hushed murmurs that constantly followed his father’s frame, nipping at his self-respect like a weedy stray. Yet as Kakashi sauntered along the dusty path of the market district, paper bag cradled against his chest, he was well aware of the probing glances and off-hand remarks his presence aroused. He had come to reconcile with the fact that his mask had become one with him, that it was what the villagers had come to expect and that he would never be able to remove it without tearing into skin and muscle. Shifting from his position, Kakashi altered his lacklustre gaze to the two, small bells nestled within his palm, a faint jingling acknowledging his movement. Likewise he had come to accept that he would never be able to right the wrongs against the White Fang, that he would never be able to atone for the losses of his friends and certainly not for obeying the rules as they should have been: with enough leeway for impromptu responses against the enemy. What he could do was help the newer generation, those born without the hefty weight of war, to avoid his many, many mistakes. Closing his calloused fingers over the bells, the Shinobi paused to look at the stone faces peering over the Hidden Leaf in its entirety. The Village’s true protectors. Hai, even though he was undeserving of the title, he could help shape others into model shinobi (or come close) by instilling in them what was truly most important. “Teamwork is a shinobi’s most valued tool.”

Ah, where was I going?

AN: pulling shit from thin air, man.

Pairing: SasuHina

Hinata kicked off one sandal and barely managed to close the front door with her hip. The tired woman pulled out her hairband and hopped to the couch. She all but sank into the comfortable furniture and desperately removed her other sandal.

She groaned and rubbed her temples as she laid down, but there was an article of clothing in her way. Near tears, Hinata pulled it from behind her head.

A black robe.

“Wait…” Hinata mumbled and pressed the fabric to her nose. It smelt of fire smoke…and sharp. Sharp…like electricity. She got up, almost tripping over her abandoned sandal, and ran into her bedroom.

There on her bed was a mighty large lump. A growing smile painted itself on her face. “You’re home?”

When the lump groaned, she uncharacteristically jumped on it. This only made the lump groan louder. “I was sleeping,” said Sasuke.

Hinata removed herself from him and sat down. “I missed you.” She admitted while rubbing her aching ankles.

He glanced over his shoulder. Onyx eyes narrowed at her words. “I don’t believe you.”

Her lip poked out as he pushed himself up. Shoulder length ebony hair swung with the new motion and Hinata couldn’t help but run her fingers through it. “I…I really missed you.”

He smirked and pinched her chin lightly. “I know.”

Her nose wrinkled at his words. “I had a bad day,” said Hinata. “I’m happy you’re home.”

He yawned and laid back down. “Enjoy me while you can. I’m due for another mission at any moment.” Hinata took the opportunity to lay next to him. He put his arm around her before pressing lips to her temple. “Tell me about your day,” whispered the Uchiha.

She huffed. “No,” answered Hinata. The Hyuuga woman angled her head to see him. “I just want to sleep.”

He nodded in a simple relief. Things got quiet for some time. Sasuke lifted his head to see his girlfriend sleeping. He pulled her closer and in a hushed tone he said, “I missed you too.”

Just as he closed his eyes. “I know.” Hinata hugged him.

“Of course, Idiot.” He grumbled, playing off the fact that he was slightly embarrassed being caught.

“I love you.”

He turned on his side away from her smiling face. It was beginning to be difficult being a ruthless killer when you had a cinnamon bun for a girlfriend. “Same.”

“Sasuke-kun,” whined Hinata. She put her arm around him and cuddled close. Ah, look the ruthless, vicious Uchiha Sasuke was the little spoon now.

He took her hand. “I love you too.”

Every giggle that came out of her was smoothing out his rough edges and…it wasn’t so bad.