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Y/N: Do you want to play 20 questions?
Rock Lee: Sure! I will go first, what is you favourite food?
Y/N, laser focused: Green. Are you in love with me?
Rock Lee, now equally as focused: Yes! My turn, what do you think about a spring wedding?
Minefields | Kankuro x Reader
Part 2 of 3 of Unethical
Based on Faouzia's "Minefields" ft. John Legend
(Timeline does overlap with Unethical)
“Now this might be a mistake That I'm calling you this late But these dreams I have of you ain't real enough”
The sands of Suna were hot to the touch, but you hadn’t minded in the slightest.
Not when Kankurō accompanied you.
The heat had always been unbearable during the day, the sun relentless against the dunes, but somehow it never seemed quite as harsh when he was beside you. The fire burned just enough then.
You were running through the dunes post-mission, trying to reach your inn before him, though his footsteps followed closely behind.
You knew he could catch you.
He knew he could catch you.
But he let you believe you were winning anyway.
Your hands had barely reached the wooden door when his caught your waist.
Your back pressed against it, laughter still escaping your lips as his hands trailed along your sides. His lips connected with yours before you could make some smart comment about him cheating.
Your heart beat out of your chest.
You looked happier than ever.
No scarring.
No burns.
No years of resentment carved into your skin.
Twenty-something.
Beautiful.
And loved.
At least, that was how you remembered yourself.
Kankurō pulled away just enough for you to breathe, his face still close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. His eyes lingered over your face in that way they used to, as though he had all the time in the world to memorize it.
He pulled back just enough to brush his lips across your cheeks as he whispered, “I love—“
Then your world faded to black before emerging again into full, faded color.
You were still in Konoha.
In your apartment.
On the twin bed you’d had since you were twelve.
At thirty-three.
The clock ticking echoed through the emptiness.
For a moment, you simply stared at the ceiling.
Your heart was still racing.
You could almost feel the pressure of his hands around your waist.
Almost feel his lips against yours.
Almost hear the words he'd never managed to finish.
You swallowed.
Merely another dream of what could’ve been.
You hadn’t dreamed of him in a while.
Nearly six months now.
You'd thought that meant something.
That maybe your mind had finally gotten tired of dragging him back into places where he no longer belonged.
But here he was to plague your thoughts and disrupt your peace, even in sleep.
Typical Kankurō.
Even thirteen years later, he still somehow managed to annoy you without actually being there.
_____________________________________________________________
“Started bringing up the past How the things you love don't last Even though this isn't fair for both of us”
The thoughts seemed to be more intrusive lately as you applied face paint over your scarred features, drawing intricate flowers and swirls.
You’d picked up the habit as a way to not startle or scare people with your appearance.
Or, at least, that was what you told yourself.
It gave them something to look at purposefully rather than out of shock.
Something beautiful instead of something damaged.
Flowers instead of scars.
Strangely, the habit persisted despite its birth being from the man you once loved, who was rarely seen without his own face paint.
Perhaps that should have bothered you more.
It used to.
Now, the brush moved across your skin almost mindlessly.
The flowers belonged to you.
Whatever inspiration had started them didn't matter anymore.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
A habit could last.
A memory could last.
But the two of you couldn’t.
You pushed it from your mind as you began to gather what you needed for your class that day.
Somehow, you worked with children now.
Actually, you ran much of the Chūnin Exams despite how soft and easy you believed the exams to have become for the children.
It used to instill a need for survival.
Now it seemed like a game.
Perhaps that was a good thing.
The fact that children didn't need to nearly kill one another to prove themselves should have been considered progress.
Still, some bitter part of you couldn't help remembering what it had been like before.
Once again, your thoughts raced to that fateful meeting in the woods.
Thirteen.
Terrified.
Stubborn.
Determined to win against a boy who irritated you beyond belief.
Sometimes, you wished he'd simply broken your hand and not your heart.
That would've been easier.
Bones healed.
You had learned that lesson personally.
Hearts were considerably more difficult.
Somehow, it wasn’t fair.
The survival.
The constant need for more.
The pain of losing people both dead and alive.
You had survived all of it.
That didn't mean it had been fair.
It just wasn’t fair.
__________________________________________________________
“Ooh-ooh, maybe I'm just a fool I still belong with you Anywhere you, anywhere you are”
Shikadai’s Uncle Kankurō was an interesting man.
He found him amusing but, at times, rather a pain.
And for what it was worth, Shikadai knew part of that was from his uncle’s inability to part himself from his Uncle Gaara.
His mother had mentioned before how her brother had managed to ruin his relationships in favor of those with his family.
Usually while complaining.
Often loudly.
And typically followed by his father muttering something about how troublesome the entire situation was.
But as the years passed, his uncle seemed to grow more restless.
More in want of something beyond family connection.
Shikadai wasn't stupid.
His uncle had Gaara.
He had Temari.
He had Shinki.
He had him.
He had a family that, despite their complaints and arguments, loved him immensely.
Yet something was obviously missing.
And Shikadai thought he knew exactly what to do.
His teacher at the academy.
A woman with painted flowers on her face who was around his parents’ age.
She was assumedly single.
No ring on her finger.
No mention of a partner.
No children.
He’d even followed her home once secretly and saw that she lived alone.
He felt a little creepy for doing so.
Maybe more than a little.
But she was perfect for his uncle in his estimation.
She was smart.
She could handle herself.
She wasn't easily impressed.
And, most importantly, she was one of the few adults Shikadai knew who could probably tolerate Kankurō for longer than a few hours.
Now all he needed was to get his uncle in Konoha and introduce them to each other.
After all, what could go wrong with setting two adults up?
So he wrote to his cousin Shinki.
_____________________________________________________________
“Ooh-ooh, these minefields that I walk through Ooh-ooh, what I risk to be close to you Ooh-ooh, these minefields keeping me from you Ooh-ooh, what I risk to be close to you”
Kankurō had arrived in Konoha with Gaara for another summit, but this time it felt different.
Maybe it was because of the weight of a new puppet on his back.
Or the fact that his nephews had been whispering behind his back since he got there.
He wondered if he’d made Shinki mad somehow during their travels.
The thing was, Gaara was scary as a child.
Shinki, when angered, was downright terrifying.
Not that Kankurō would openly admit it.
It didn’t help that the two would glance at him every so often, making it painfully obvious they were definitely talking about him.
Kankurō had considered confronting them.
Then he'd considered that doing so would probably give them exactly what they wanted.
So he waited.
The summit was a success and, by the urging of one Naruto Uzumaki, was extended by an additional three days so Gaara and Kankurō could spend some time in Konoha without being entirely focused on work.
Kankurō had been pleased with the idea.
Three days without diplomatic meetings sounded fantastic.
Then Shinki and Shikadai spent much of those three days dragging him around.
They did little more than walk down certain streets at suspiciously specific times of day, only to exchange disappointed looks when they apparently failed to find whatever they were searching for.
Neither would tell him what that was.
By the second day, Kankurō knew something was going on.
By the third, he was beginning to regret not staying with Gaara.
___________________________________________________________
“Close to you-ooh Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh-ooh”
You knew Kankurō was in the village.
The shinobi who worked in the schools were informed of the extension the day Naruto decided he was going to authorize it.
Unfortunately, that meant more paperwork and making room for any children who’d come with members of the summit in your classroom for the short period of time.
You and Shino spent many hours preparing and going over files, trying to find the easiest lessons that still taught something.
Most of the teams had been grounded so they’d remain in town, which only added to your numbers.
Most nights, you hadn’t been home until three or four hours later than usual.
Though the extra time with Shino wasn’t bad.
You’d gotten dinner with him at Ichiraku Ramen a few times, and he was funnier than you remembered him being.
Then again, you used to be more sociable in your youth.
Now, the only people you saw regularly were your landlord, your students, and Shino.
It wasn't that you were unhappy.
You had built a life.
A good one, even.
It was simply quieter than the one you'd once imagined for yourself.
There was a festival being held on the last night of the summit, and Shino had asked you to go with him.
Just as friends.
You knew that.
He knew that.
And in your higher-than-usual spirits, you agreed.
Wandering through town with Shino was nice.
He upheld the sidewalk rule as though there were sidewalks. He was attentive. Hell, he even pulled you back slightly and into his side when you almost walked into someone.
He was warm in a way you hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Easy.
Safe.
There was no history weighing down every interaction.
No wondering what something meant.
No waiting for him to leave.
You could simply exist beside him.
And you liked that.
But the feeling couldn’t last long.
While walking through the streets, you saw him again.
Kankurō.
Shikadai had called out your name, and out of reflex you’d turned.
Your eyes met those of the man who’d made you feel cold for so long.
And you felt thirteen again.
Nervous and anxious over a simple meeting of eyes.
Your pulse quickened as your words caught in your throat.
Except he didn't look thirteen.
He looked thirty-three.
Older than the man you remembered.
Different around the edges.
The years had settled into his features, though somehow they hadn't taken away the things you remembered most.
His eyes were the same.
That was what did it.
You had spent years trying to forget those eyes.
The way they narrowed when he teased you.
The way they softened when no one else was looking.
The way they had once looked at you as though you were something he couldn't quite believe belonged to him.
Your heart gave one painful beat.
You hated it.
You hated that after everything, there was still some part of you capable of noticing him.
Some part of you that remembered exactly what it had been like to be wanted by him.
Your eyes darted from Shikadai to Kankurō, then to Shino’s side profile.
You didn't know what you were searching for.
An excuse.
An escape.
Maybe proof that the man standing across from you wasn't the same one who still appeared in your dreams.
You found none.
And in all your gracefulness, you bolted.
You ran through the crowded people, ignoring the call of your name from Shino and, slightly louder, deeper than before—
Kankurō’s voice.
Your heart betrayed you again.
It remembered that too.
You ran until you reached home, slamming the door behind you.
Bile rose in your throat as you collapsed onto the floor of your studio apartment.
Why?
Why did he have to be there?
Why did he have to be around?
And why--
after thirteen years--
did one look from him still make you feel like this?
Your body felt simultaneously on fire and frozen as you lay there staring at the ceiling.
A single tear began to fall.
You angrily wiped it away.
Then another replaced it.
Emotions you’d thought you’d gotten over were surfacing all over again.
You had spent thirteen years convincing yourself you didn't love him anymore.
Maybe you didn't.
But apparently, there was still a difference between no longer loving someone and no longer feeling anything at all.
__________________________________________________________
“I didn't notice what I lost Until all the lights were off And not knowing what you're up to tortured me”
Kankurō remained frozen in his spot with his nephews.
He’d just seen the girl he loved.
The one whom he let get away.
The one he'd convinced himself he would probably never see again.
And she'd been standing right there.
Older.
Alive.
Beautiful.
Painted flowers across the scars he'd once been too afraid to look at.
Then she'd run from him.
Not from the weird bug guy she’d been hanging out with.
But from him.
Kankurō barely noticed Shikadai and Shinki beside him anymore.
His attention remained fixed on the space she'd disappeared into.
And what was worse was that time had been kind to her.
She was as beautiful as the day he lost her.
No.
That wasn't right.
She wasn't the same woman he'd lost.
There was something different about her now.
Something steadier.
The girl he'd known had always seemed to be reaching for something.
For him.
For another mission.
For another opportunity to prove herself.
The woman he'd just seen hadn't been reaching for anyone.
Until she'd run, she'd looked comfortable beside that other man.
Happy, even.
And Kankurō hated how quickly jealousy twisted in his stomach.
He had no right to it.
That didn't stop him from feeling it.
He’d wanted to know for years what she’d been up to.
Who she’d been up to.
Whether she had found someone.
Whether they’d been as good together as the two of them used to be.
Whether someone else knew the sound of her laugh when she was exhausted.
Whether someone else knew how stubborn she became when she was injured.
Whether someone else had gotten all the mornings, arguments, touches, and quiet moments he'd once assumed there would always be time for.
He’d last seen her at Naruto’s wedding, but she never let him close to her.
Actually, she avoided him.
Gaara.
Temari.
Shikamaru by extension.
Anyone who could have led him back to her.
He'd thought she was strong enough to handle herself.
That she'd always be there once he figured out the best way to keep Gaara safe.
He'd believed there would be time.
There was always supposed to be more time.
But she left.
She’d almost died.
And he had let fear turn him into a coward at the exact moment she'd needed him not to be one.
How could she blame him for not knowing what to say or do?
The thought came bitterly.
Defensively.
And for a moment, the younger version of himself wanted to hold onto it.
Then he remembered her face when she'd seen him.
How quickly she'd run.
How could she possibly not blame him?
_______________________________________________________________
“Now this might be a mistake We're broken in so many ways But I piece us back together slowly”
He’d tried to find her all that night, not even taking a chance to sleep, but every known place he’d shared with her was either gone or she was nowhere to be seen.
Konoha had changed.
He supposed that shouldn't have surprised him.
Thirteen years was a long time.
The restaurant they'd once eaten at was different.
The streets had changed.
Buildings had been torn down and rebuilt.
She’d likely moved sometime between twenty and thirty-three.
He didn't know where she lived.
Didn't know where she spent her evenings.
Didn't know what she did when she couldn't sleep.
Once, he had known nearly everything about her.
Now, he couldn't even find her front door.
So, when he returned to Suna, he wrote a letter.
He sent it to Shikamaru to deliver on his behalf, knowing he’d know how to get in contact with her.
Kankurō wrote more than he intended.
Then crossed half of it out.
Then wrote it again.
He’d penned every pain, every regret, and his desire that they could talk.
How he couldn’t reach back to her in the past because Gaara needed him.
How he'd spent so much of his life believing that protecting the people he loved meant sacrificing everything else.
How he didn’t know how to respond when she nearly died.
How seeing her in that hospital bed had terrified him more than any enemy ever had.
How he had looked away because he couldn't reconcile the woman he'd loved with the possibility that she could have been taken from him.
He knew now that his fear hadn't mattered.
Not compared to hers.
He told her he wanted to see her.
He told her he wanted the opportunity to make things right.
And perhaps most foolishly of all, he told her he wanted her to move back to Suna so they could be closer.
He heard nothing back for a long time.
Long enough that he began to think silence was his answer.
_______________________________________________________________
Then, one day, Shikadai arrived in Suna carrying two letters.
One from Shikamaru and Temari, telling him he needed to control himself when he read the one from her.
That wasn't particularly encouraging.
The other was actually from her.
Kankurō stared at his name written across it longer than he cared to admit.
He recognized her handwriting.
Of course he did.
Thirteen years hadn't been enough to make him forget that either.
In the letter, she’d detailed his every offense.
How she’d waited in vain for him to choose her.
More than just for her body or chakra control.
More than for the way she made him feel.
More than for her endless understanding.
She had spent years understanding him.
Gaara needed him.
Suna needed him.
His family needed him.
His duties needed him.
There had always been another reason.
Another explanation.
Another next time.
She wrote that she could never consider moving back to Suna on such empty promises when his behavior had shown, time and time again, that he would pick someone else over her.
Every time.
Moreover, she did not wish to see him again.
She wished him not to look for her or call out to her if he were ever to come to Konoha again.
That hurt.
More than he expected.
But the letter wasn't finished.
And another thing--
She wished to make it clear that her scars were an honor to her.
They did not desecrate her whatsoever.
Nothing to her was more of a display of love for someone than the willingness to lay their life down for a friend.
Kankurō reread that part.
Then again.
He thought about the flowers.
About the face he'd seen across the festival.
He'd looked at her scars and seen everything that had been taken from her.
She looked at them and saw what she'd willingly given.
For their relationship was over far before the explosion.
Before their minefields went off.
He’d lost her far earlier than either wanted to admit.
She simply took his resignation as a sign that she could finally give up.
That she could stop hurting herself with the notion that he may one day want her as much as she thought she’d wanted him.
There are no pieces left to pick up anymore.
Sincerely,
Her.
Kankurō read the letter again.
Then once more.
There were no pieces left to pick up.
He wasn't entirely sure he believed her.
But for once, he decided that what he believed didn't matter.
She'd asked him to leave her alone.
So he would.
______________________________________________________________
“Ooh-ooh, maybe I'm just a fool I still belong with you Anywhere you, anywhere you are”
It had been a great deal of time since you’d last left Konoha on a mission.
You rarely led a squad anymore, often focusing on making sure the students were ready to become shinobi rather than training up new ones yourself.
You hadn't retired.
Not technically.
But somewhere along the way, teaching had become easier.
You liked watching your students leave the academy stronger than they'd entered it.
You liked knowing that perhaps you were helping create shinobi who wouldn't have to learn everything through pain.
So when Naruto sent you on a mission to check up on the ancient battlefields from the war, it was a bit of a shock.
You could still do it.
Of course you could.
You simply hadn't expected to be asked.
You made camp in the woods most of the time, but the closer the trail led you toward Suna, toward the desert sands, the tighter the pit in your stomach became.
You knew these sands.
That was the problem.
Some of the happiest moments of your life had happened here.
So had some of the worst.
It had been another six months since you heard from Kankurō.
Six months since you sent the letter detailing exactly how you felt.
Six months since he had apparently listened.
No letters.
No unexpected visits.
No messages passed through Temari.
Nothing.
You'd asked him to leave you alone.
He had.
You should have been relieved.
Instead, there were nights when you found yourself wondering why the silence bothered you.
It had also been six months since you broke off whatever it was that was starting between you and Shino.
He was kind.
Patient.
Safe.
And perhaps that had been the problem.
Because every time you considered letting it become something more, you found yourself comparing the quiet warmth of being beside him to something hotter.
More irritating.
More dangerous.
Someone you had explicitly told never to speak to you again.
You hated yourself a little for that.
You didn’t know if you’d be welcomed to spend the night at an inn in Suna, let alone if you’d be permitted inside.
One doesn’t simply break things off with the brother of the Kazekage without some sort of repercussions, you assumed.
Logically, you knew Gaara wasn't that kind of man.
Neither was Temari.
And if you were being completely fair, neither was Kankurō.
But logic had very little to do with your decision.
So deep in the desert, you built yourself a little camp.
You knew in all likelihood your tent would blow away, and your body could be drowned by the sandstorms that ripped through there.
But you’d rather risk that than see Kankurō.
Rather than potentially having to beg for a safer place to sleep at night.
You'd done enough begging for one lifetime.
___________________________________________________________
Nightfall had reached, and you began to stir.
Something felt off.
The desert was quiet.
Too quiet.
Carefully, you grabbed a kunai and crept out of your tent, keeping your footsteps light against the shifting sand.
You glanced around.
There were no obvious signs of anyone nearby.
But that didn’t mean no one was there.
You knew better than that.
A sudden rustle.
The unmistakable sound of falling sand.
You flung the kunai in the general direction before a wooden puppet came swinging toward you.
Your body reacted before your mind could.
You dodged, rolling close to the still-hot embers of the fire before quickly scrambling back to your feet.
Then you saw it.
Your blood went cold.
You knew that puppet well.
Too well.
Its features had haunted you longer than its owner had.
For one awful moment, you were thirteen again, staring down the same puppet in the Forest of Death with your hand throbbing and your pride refusing to let you surrender.
Then training took over.
You used your Sound Release to interfere with the puppet's chakra strings, forcing them to wave and distorting its movements.
The puppet jerked sharply to one side.
You almost smiled.
Whoever was controlling it hadn't expected that.
Good.
You sent another pulse through the air.
The chakra strings warped again.
But this time, the puppeteer adjusted.
Quickly.
Far too quickly.
You didn't have time to question why the rhythm felt familiar before the puppet changed direction and forced you backward.
You ducked beneath one arm.
Blocked another.
Twisted away.
Every attack felt strangely predictable.
Not easy.
Familiar.
Like your body knew where the next strike would come from before your mind did.
You had fought this person before.
You just couldn't remember---
Your distraction cost you.
As you scrambled back up, you were knocked down again beneath the pressure of a body.
A human body.
You struggled immediately.
Sand caught in your clothes as the two of you rolled, each fighting for the upper hand.
You managed to shove them away just enough to twist beneath them.
They caught your wrist.
You kicked.
They blocked it.
You tried to roll them.
They anticipated you.
Again.
Again.
Again.
It was infuriating.
Almost like--
Your opponent forced you onto your back.
Your free hand caught their shoulder before they could completely pin you, and for several seconds neither of you gained any ground.
Then the dying light from the fire finally illuminated your face.
And his.
Kankurō.
Everything stopped.
The weight of his body held you against the sand, one hand still wrapped around your wrist while the other was planted beside your head.
His eyes, slightly crazed from the fight, fixed on your face.
Your breathing grew shallower.
Not because of the weight.
Not entirely.
Recognition slowly replaced the aggression in his expression.
His grip loosened.
But he didn't move.
Neither did you.
You should have shoved him away.
You knew that.
Your free hand was still against his shoulder.
All it would take was one hard push.
Instead, your fingers remained curled into the fabric there.
Kankurō's gaze moved over your face as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
There was no paint tonight.
Nothing covering the scars.
Nothing distracting from them.
Nothing separating the face he'd known from the one you had now.
His eyes traced them once.
Slowly.
Then returned to yours.
Your heart stumbled.
Thirteen years disappeared far too easily.
For one dangerous second, you remembered another desert night.
Another version of him hovering close.
Another version of you who would have closed whatever distance remained without thinking twice.
Your fingers tightened involuntarily against his shoulder.
His eyes flicked down at the movement.
Then back to your face.
That was worse.
Because something in his expression changed.
Something softer.
Something you recognized.
You hated that you recognized it.
You hated even more that your body did too.
Neither of you spoke.
Neither seemed willing to acknowledge the absurdity of the position you'd found yourselves in.
His breath was warm against your skin.
Your pulse hammered beneath the fingers still loosely circling your wrist.
And you could feel his heartbeat too, fast from the fight and refusing to settle despite the fact that neither of you was fighting anymore.
You swallowed.
Kankurō's gaze dropped for half a second.
Then immediately returned to your eyes.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
Your stomach twisted.
You should move.
He should move.
Neither of you did.
Instead, the desert seemed impossibly quiet around you.
No puppets.
No fighting.
No thirteen years.
Just him.
Just you.
And all the things neither of you had ever managed to stop feeling.
Then reality returned all at once.
Kankurō released your wrist as though he'd only just realized he was still holding it.
He pushed himself away and stood, putting several feet of sand between the two of you.
The night air rushed into the space he'd occupied.
Cold.
Far colder than it had felt before.
You sat up slowly.
Neither of you acknowledged what had just happened.
You weren't entirely sure what had happened.
But as Kankurō turned away to retrieve Crow, you caught yourself staring after him.
And for the first time since sending that letter six months ago, you wondered whether you'd lied.
Maybe there were still pieces left after all.
_____________________________________________________________
He’d been tracking rogue ninjas on behalf of Gaara in the deserts of Suna when he’d come across the campsite.
Someone was asleep inside.
It would be perfect timing to catch them off guard when he approached.
Except they anticipated his attack.
They anticipated him.
They’d managed to fight off Crow, and they’d even nearly cut him with a kunai.
More irritatingly, they'd interfered with his chakra strings.
Not broken them.
Distorted them.
The technique struck something familiar in the back of his mind, but adrenaline gave him little time to place it.
So he decided to overwhelm them.
He threw himself at them and wrestled them to the ground.
That should have ended it.
It didn't.
They fought like they already knew him.
Every shift of his weight was met with a counter.
Every attempt to pin them was answered almost immediately.
For several seconds, Kankurō found himself becoming genuinely irritated.
Then they rolled too close to the dying fire’s edge.
Their faces lit up.
And his entire body went still.
Her.
He took in the features beneath him.
The scars coursing down her face.
The coloration of her eyes.
Her lips.
There wasn’t a speck of paint covering her this time.
He'd imagined seeing her again more times than he cared to admit.
None of those imaginings had involved pinning her to the desert floor.
His stomach dropped.
He'd attacked her.
Worse, he'd frightened her.
Her eyes were wide with disbelief, shock, and maybe even a glimmer of fear.
His grip loosened immediately.
But somehow, he couldn't make himself move.
Neither could she, apparently.
Her hand remained caught in the fabric at his shoulder.
Kankurō became painfully aware of it.
Then of everything else.
How close they were.
The warmth of her beneath him against the desert cold.
The sound of her breathing.
The pulse fluttering beneath his fingers.
He hadn't been this close to her in thirteen years.
And suddenly thirteen years didn't feel nearly long enough.
Because he remembered.
Not just what she looked like.
What it felt like to be close to her.
How naturally she'd once fit against him.
How many times he'd reached for her without wondering whether he was allowed.
He wasn't allowed anymore.
That thought finally cut through everything else.
His eyes had wandered across her face before he could stop them.
Across the scars she'd told him she was proud of.
Down.
Then immediately back to her eyes.
She noticed.
He knew she noticed.
The slight change in her expression told him enough.
His heart beat harder.
This was a terrible idea.
Except neither of them was doing anything.
That somehow made it worse.
She could have pushed him away.
He should have moved without needing her to.
Still, for one selfish second, he allowed himself to remember what it had been like when being this close to her hadn't been a mistake.
When she had been his.
When he'd been hers.
Then her fingers tightened against his shoulder.
Barely.
Probably without meaning to.
It was enough.
Kankurō's breath caught.
He looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And for the briefest moment, something passed between them that had nothing to do with anger.
Nothing to do with scars.
Nothing to do with letters.
It was older than all of that.
And apparently far more stubborn.
He released her immediately.
He pushed himself away and stood, putting distance between them before he could do something stupid—like forget every boundary she'd drawn in that letter.
Cold desert air replaced her warmth.
He hated how much he noticed.
He turned toward Crow instead.
Anything was safer than looking at her.
Behind him, he heard her sit up.
Neither spoke.
Good.
Because Kankurō wasn't entirely certain what would come out if he did.
Six months ago, she'd told him there were no pieces left.
For the first time, he wondered if she believed that any more than he did.
_____________________________________________________________
They were both quiet for a long time.
Neither of you seemed willing to speak.
Neither seemed particularly willing to look at the other, either.
You dusted sand from your clothing mostly because it gave your hands something to do.
Your pulse still hadn't entirely calmed.
You spoke quickly, “I’m on a mission out here. Checking up on the old battlefields.”
He inhaled sharply before turning to look at you.
“You could’ve stayed in Suna,” he murmured.
A short laugh escaped you. “I didn’t think I’d be welcome.”
The silence filled the space between the two of you again.
Something changed in his expression.
Not anger.
Something closer to hurt.
“You’d always be welcome there.” Kankuro pressed, before turning again to look at your face.
You almost argued.
Then he continued.
“I wouldn’t prevent you from safety just because we aren’t us anymore.”
That stopped you.
We aren't us anymore.
Such a simple way to put it.
You wondered if it hurt him to say as much as it hurt you to hear.
His hand twitched as though he wanted to touch your face, to cup your cheek where your scars raced like lightning.
Your eyes caught the movement.
So did his.
For one terrifying second, you thought he might actually do it.
And worse, you weren't entirely sure you would stop him.
But Kankurō thought better of it.
His fingers curled inward before he flexed his hand and allowed it to fall back to his side.
Something inside your chest loosened.
Something else was strangely disappointed.
“You aren’t wearing your flowers?”
Heat rushed to your face, embarrassed by the realization.
Of course he noticed.
“I don’t necessarily sleep with my face paint on.”
He chuckled.
The sound caught you off guard.
You remembered that too.
You wished you didn't.
“Yeah, I don’t either, but I guess I haven’t really seen you without it since before…” he trailed off.
You knew what he meant.
You weren't going to make it easy for him.
“Before I had the scars?” you quickly asked.
His expression changed.
“Yeah… before your scars…” he said quietly.
Not ruined.
Not damaged.
Not desecrated.
Just yours.
Your scars.
You looked away before he could see how much that tiny distinction affected you.
The silence wasn't as uncomfortable after that.
For the first time in thirteen years, you sat beside Kankurō without either of you trying to fix what had happened.
He didn't apologize.
You didn't accuse.
Neither of you asked for anything.
Maybe that was why you let him stay.
He remained with you for the rest of the night.
Not close enough to touch.
But close enough that you were constantly aware of him.
When the desert grew colder, you caught yourself remembering all those nights years ago when the two of you would have moved closer without even discussing it.
You didn't tonight.
Neither did he.
Still, somehow, his presence made the cold easier to bear.
_________________________________________________
By daybreak, you needed to continue on.
Kankurō woke before you were completely ready to leave.
His eyes watched carefully as you applied the face paint over your scars, the way your wrist flicked as you commanded the brush to create the swirls and flowers he’d grown accustomed to seeing.
He had never actually watched you do it before.
There was something almost intimate about being observed like this.
You weren't sure you liked it.
You weren't sure you disliked it either.
Kankurō watched each flower appear.
Secretly, he wished your handiwork had never been needed for the reason you'd originally begun doing it.
But he couldn't deny the beauty of it now.
Couldn't deny how unmistakably you the flowers had become.
His eyes traced the borders of the scar as they disappeared beneath your work before flicking toward your hand.
The scar there was different.
Older.
A reminder left by his puppets in the Forest of Death.
His gaze lingered.
You noticed.
Neither of you said anything.
Neither of you truly spoke about what happened.
Nor about the letters.
Nor about the thirteen years separating the people sitting together now from the two who had once loved each other.
But it was peaceful between the two of you.
For the moment.
And when you finally left, you could feel his eyes following you across the sand.
This time, you didn't run.
__________________________________________________
"Ooh-ooh, these minefields that I walk through Ooh-ooh, what I risk to be close to you Ooh-ooh, these minefields keeping me from you Whoa, what I risk to be close to you"
You’d practically chewed all your nails off in the following days after you’d finished your mission.
You sat at your table, glancing at the paper and pen.
Then at the clock.
Then back again at the paper.
The idea tormented you.
Enticed you.
A bad idea, right?
Absolutely.
Undoubtedly.
One of the worst you'd had in years.
To write to him again and reopen the doors that had been violently shut six months ago with a letter itself.
You had been very clear.
Painfully clear.
You'd told him not to contact you.
Not to approach you.
Not even to call out to you if he saw you again.
And he had listened.
That was the problem.
For six months, he'd done exactly what you'd asked.
Even in the desert, he hadn't asked for anything.
He hadn't asked you to forgive him.
Hadn't asked you to return to Suna.
Hadn't tried to convince you that you belonged together.
He'd simply stayed.
Then let you leave.
You stared at the paper.
Maybe that was why you wanted to write.
Because for once, Kankurō had listened when you told him what you needed.
You practically locked yourself out of your house to avoid it.
If you weren't home, you couldn't write the letter.
Brilliant.
Except now you were walking through the streets, slightly crazed at the notion of wanting to speak to him again.
You tried to convince yourself you were simply clearing your head.
Then you walked so far as the edge of the Nara complex before you realized where your feet had taken you.
You stopped.
Of course.
Of all places.
You immediately turned around.
Temari saw you before you could bolt.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to come out here,” she mused.
You closed your eyes briefly.
There was still time to pretend you had come here for Shikamaru.
Or Shikadai.
Maybe you'd suddenly developed an intense interest in deer.
Anything.
“I wasn’t expecting to do so myself,” you replied coolly.
Temari studied you.
You remembered that look.
It was the same one she'd worn when you were teenagers and she knew you were hiding something.
Apparently, motherhood hadn't dulled it.
“Well, what are you thinking about that brings you out here?” Temari asked, no moment for pause.
You stopped.
Paused.
You could lie.
You probably should lie.
Instead, before you could fully form the thought, it came out.
“Kankuro.”
Temari's expression shifted.
Not surprise.
That almost made it worse.
You suddenly wondered how much she'd known all along.
________________________________________________________________
“Now this might be a mistake That I'm calling you this late But these dreams I have of you ain't real enough”
At Temari’s insistence, you went home to write the letter.
You sat at the table for nearly an hour before touching the pen.
Then another ten minutes passed before you managed the first word.
You'd written letters to Kankurō before.
Hundreds, once.
Some had been several pages long.
You'd told him everything then.
Missions.
Friends.
Things that irritated you.
Things that made you laugh.
How much you missed him.
Then eventually, how much he'd hurt you.
This one was different.
There was no declaration.
No promise.
No forgiveness.
You weren't ready for any of those things.
Maybe you never would be.
But there was something.
A door you had slammed shut six months ago.
Not opened.
Not yet.
But perhaps unlocked.
Your pen finally touched the paper.
“Kankuro,
It was nice seeing you again recently. I hope to see you. I hope that the next time Gaara comes for a summit, you come too.
Yours,
Sincerely,
Y/N L/N.”
You stared at the mistake.
Yours.
Your stomach twisted.
For a few seconds, you did nothing.
Then you drew a line through it.
Once.
Then again, a little darker than necessary.
You weren't his.
Not anymore.
And you weren't ready to pretend that one peaceful night in the desert had erased thirteen years of hurt.
Still, you didn't tear the letter up.
That meant something.
You folded it carefully instead.
Thirteen years ago, being his had meant waiting.
Begging.
Accepting whatever pieces of him were left after everyone else had taken what they needed.
You would never be that woman again.
But as you sealed the letter, you allowed yourself to admit something you hadn't been willing to six months ago.
Maybe there really were no pieces left to pick up.
Maybe that wasn't such a terrible thing.
Because if there was ever going to be an us again;
it couldn't be the one you'd broken.
It would have to be something new.
A/N: Part 2 of 3. I hope you all enjoy as I struggle heavily with writing in the second person and not using Y/N third person. I'm also more of a long-form content person.
Unethical
Divider by @90sphonecharm
Song Fic Based on Faouzia's "Unethical"
Vertigo in your arms One second you hate me, then it's false alarm That's just what you always do, every time Watch me when I break and say it's paradise
When you first met Kankurō, you were thirteen years old during the Chūnin Exams.
And honestly?
You hated him.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
He was loud, arrogant, and carried himself with the kind of confidence that made you want to knock him down a few pegs. He acted like he was untouchable, like everyone around him was simply another obstacle in his way.
And maybe that was what bothered you most.
Not his attitude.
Not his insults.
But the fact that you couldn't understand him.
He had entered your village and immediately antagonized everyone around him. He had tormented Konohamaru, provoked Sasuke, and treated Team 7 as though they were nothing more than children playing at being shinobi.
It didn't make sense.
Because there was something in his eyes that contradicted everything he showed the world.
You saw it only briefly.
The way his attention always drifted toward Gaara.
The way he positioned himself between danger and his siblings without hesitation.
The way he watched.
Always watching.
But at thirteen, you didn't know how to recognize that as fear.
You only knew how to recognize it as arrogance.
And then you faced him in the Forest of Death.
________________________________________________________
Your team had been lucky enough to obtain an Earth scroll early, but luck in the Forest of Death was never something you trusted.
You knew better than anyone that things could change in a second.
And they did.
One moment, your team was moving carefully through the trees.
The next, you were staring down Kankurō and his puppets.
Your teammates barely had time to react before you shoved the scroll into their hands.
"Go."
They argued.
You ignored them.
Because you knew.
Your Sound Release was powerful, but it was not limitless.
Your chakra traveled through your vocal cords, amplifying every note, every frequency, every vibration until your voice became something far more dangerous than sound alone.
But Kankurō was smart.
Too smart.
The first time your voice struck one of his puppets, you saw the realization flash across his face.
He understood.
He was learning.
And that terrified you.
Every pulse through your throat burned more than the last. Your voice grew rougher, weaker, until every sound felt like it was tearing itself out of you.
And still, you fought.
Because that was what shinobi did.
You lasted longer than he expected.
Long enough for your voice to cut through the battlefield and leave him injured.
Long enough for him to finally take you seriously.
But not long enough to win.
By the end, your hand was broken.
Your throat was raw.
And you were left with the memory of his eyes looking down at you.
Not triumphant.
Not cruel.
Almost conflicted.
You hated that most.
You hated that even after hurting you, he looked like he regretted it.
Because it made him harder to hate.
____________________________________________________
You were proven right about him when the invasion began.
The Sand had attacked your home.
Kankurō was one of them.
And whatever small part of you wondered if there was more to him disappeared beneath the reality of war.
He was an enemy.
That was easier.
Enemies were simple.
_______________________________________________________
Set my body aflame Lock me up and close the door when it rains Maybe it's my fault, I put you up so high Darling, I think you could make the Devil cry
When Sasuke left the village, everything changed.
The world felt unstable.
Friends became enemies.
Enemies became allies.
And somehow, your path crossed with his again.
Despite failing the Chūnin Exams, Lady Tsunade recognized your abilities and promoted you anyway.
Your Sound Release was rare.
Your control over chakra was impressive.
And more importantly, your ability to communicate with other villages made you valuable.
You became a bridge between people who still carried years of distrust.
Which was how you found yourself standing beside the very person you once swore you hated.
Kankurō.
This time, he wasn't attacking you.
This time, he was helping.
You didn't know what to do with that.
Because it was easier when he was cruel.
Easier when he was just another Sand shinobi.
It was much harder when he was laughing with Kiba.
Much harder when he was joking with Shikamaru.
Much harder when you caught him looking at you.
You noticed.
You hated that you noticed.
His sister didn't stay long, and neither did he.
But before he left, you felt his eyes follow you.
Every time you stepped into the room.
Every time you spoke.
Every time you laughed.
Your chest tightened.
Your face warmed.
And you immediately told yourself you were imagining it.
Because Kankurō wasn't looking at you.
He couldn't be.
________________________________________________________
And I've been waiting for the sunset Waiting on a sorry But you're never sorry, are you? No, you don't even care How can you stand and watch
Lady Tsunade sent you to Sunagakure soon after Gaara had become the Fifth Kazekage, as a sign of goodwill between the two villages.
If only you’d felt it as goodwill then.
It was one thing to stand before a new leader and offer congratulations. It was another thing entirely when your body still remembered the sound of wooden puppets moving behind you, the pressure of chakra strings tightening, and the pain of a broken hand caused by the person you were now expected to work beside.
Every time Kankurō stepped within a few feet of you, your shoulders tensed before you could stop them.
You hated that.
You hated that your body remembered him as a threat before your mind could remind it that he was different now.
But what you could admit was that the sunset over the dunes was beautiful.
There was something almost unfair about Sunagakure.
The village that had once represented invasion and fear was now painted in shades of gold every evening. The same sands that had once felt like an enemy territory now looked almost peaceful.
Gaara’s apologies had gone over well enough in Konoha. You had felt the sincerity behind them.
You believed him.
But part of you always waited for the possibility of an apology from Kankurō.
Not because you expected him to beg forgiveness.
Not because you wanted him to feel guilty forever.
You simply wanted him to acknowledge that it had hurt.
That your fear had been real.
That the girl he fought in the Forest of Death had been more than an opponent.
The breaking of your hand had not been necessary during the Chūnin Exams, and even years later, a small part of you remained bitter about it.
You told yourself it was because you were stubborn.
Because you held grudges.
But maybe it was because some part of you wanted proof that he saw you.
That you mattered.
The apology never came.
But the joint missions did.
For some reason, every time there was a possible assignment between Konoha and Suna, your name seemed to appear beside his.
At first, you assumed it was coincidence.
Then you started wondering if he had something to do with it.
And that thought alone was enough to irritate you.
________________________________________________________
The longer you spent around him, the harder it became to hold onto the image of him you had created.
Because Kankurō was frustratingly human.
You noticed the way his entire expression changed when he spoke about Gaara.
You noticed how he always watched Temari enter a room before relaxing.
You noticed how he served himself last during meals, waiting until everyone else’s plate was filled completely before touching his own.
You noticed how, despite all his complaints and dramatic sighs, he never hesitated when either of them needed him.
His siblings were his entire world.
And that softened something inside you.
Only slightly.
The arrogant exterior remained.
The teasing remained.
The annoying comments remained.
But now you saw the reason behind them.
The jokes were easier than admitting he was afraid.
The confidence was easier than admitting he cared.
___________________________________________________________
Until the first time you nearly died.
You had pushed yourself too far.
You always did.
Your Sound Release required control, precision, and an immense amount of chakra. The stronger your technique became, the more dangerous it was to your own body.
Your voice had always been both your greatest weapon and your greatest weakness.
And that day, you had pushed it past its limit.
You remembered the ringing in your ears.
The burning in your throat.
The way your knees nearly gave out beneath you.
And then Kankurō was there.
He moved before you even realized you were in danger.
A kunai meant for you never reached you.
Because he took the risk first.
Because he stepped in without hesitation.
And when you looked at him afterward, you saw something you had never expected.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For you.
For the possibility that he could have been too late.
That was the first time you truly saw him.
Not the Sand shinobi.
Not the puppet user.
Not Gaara’s older brother.
Just Kankurō.
A little afraid.
A little broken.
And caring more than he ever let anyone know.
___________________________________________________________
I don't know what it is Got me wrapped around your cold fingertips Maybe it's my fault I can't walk away Maybe I just started feeling a little shame
After two years of constant back and forth, you had stopped pretending you didn’t care about Kankurō.
You had stopped pretending you didn’t look forward to missions with him.
Stopped pretending you didn’t notice when his voice softened only around you.
Stopped pretending his rare moments of sincerity didn’t mean more than they should.
You had spent countless nights beside him during missions.
Cold nights where the desert temperature dropped enough that sharing warmth was a necessity.
Long nights after battles where one of you had to patch up the other despite neither of you being particularly skilled at caring for injuries.
His hands were always rough from puppet maintenance.
Your throat was always sore from pushing your techniques too far.
Both of you were terrible at admitting when you needed help.
Somehow, that made you understand each other.
Eventually, the joint missions stopped feeling like assignments.
They became requests.
You wanted him.
He wanted you.
And that realization should have terrified you.
Instead, it made you happier than you wanted to admit.
Because for once, someone needed you for something other than what you could provide.
He didn’t need your voice.
He didn’t need your abilities.
He just wanted you.
And you felt ashamed by how much that mattered.
The warmth spreading through your chest.
The way your stomach fluttered when he smiled.
The way being near him made you feel like you could survive anything.
At fifteen, his touch made your heart race.
His laughter became something you wanted to collect.
Something you wanted to hear even on the worst days.
And when Lady Tsunade ordered you back to Konoha, leaving Sunagakure felt less like returning home and more like leaving a piece of yourself behind.
A simple kiss goodbye should not have meant so much.
But it did.
Because suddenly, you wanted more.
More mornings beside him.
More arguments.
More missions.
More of Kankurō.
___________________________________________________________
Oh, I've been waiting for the sunset Waiting on a sorry But you're never sorry, are you? No, you don't even care How can you stand and watch?
You’d been exchanging letters for months.
At first, they were easy.
Light.
Almost childish.
You’d tell him about the smallest things—the weather in Konoha, the missions you’d gone on, the ridiculous things your teammates had done. He would complain about Temari being unbearable, about Gaara working too much, about how everyone in Suna somehow expected him to be the responsible one despite him insisting he wasn’t.
You would smile every time a letter arrived.
You hated how quickly you recognized his handwriting.
You hated how much your entire day could change because of a few pieces of paper.
And you hated how much you missed him.
Sometimes, when Temari visited Konoha, you would talk her ear off about him.
She pretended to be annoyed.
You knew better.
She always smiled when she realized how happy he made you.
But you hadn’t been back to Sunagakure yet.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried.
You had.
You had counted the days.
You had planned.
You had imagined the moment you would finally see him again—not through a mission, not surrounded by other shinobi, not with an objective hanging over both of your heads.
Just him.
Just you.
But something always happened.
You’d plan for him to come to Konoha, and then Gaara would need him.
A political meeting.
A security issue.
A responsibility that couldn’t wait.
And you understood.
That was the worst part.
You always understood.
Then you’d try to go to Sunagakure, and the same thing would happen.
Gaara needed him.
The village needed him.
Someone always needed Kankurō.
And you never wanted to be the person who asked him not to help.
So instead, you settled for glimpses.
A passing look in the middle of a mission.
A brief conversation before he was called away.
A moment where your fingers brushed against each other before reality interrupted.
And somehow, being close hurt worse than being apart.
Because at least distance allowed you to miss him.
Being near him reminded you that you still couldn’t have him.
Your letters changed slowly.
You didn’t even notice at first.
The excitement faded.
The words became heavier.
You stopped telling him when you were upset because you already knew what he would say.
“Next time.”
He always promised.
Next time, he would visit.
Next time, he would make it up to you.
Next time, things would be different.
But when next time arrived, something else always took its place.
And the response you always gave became automatic.
“It’s okay.”
Even when it wasn’t.
Because you weren’t official.
Because you had never asked him to choose you.
Because you knew what kind of person Kankurō was.
You knew he would always choose the people he loved.
You just never realized that sometimes meant you would be the person left behind.
__________________________________________________________
And I've been waiting for the sunset Waiting on a sorry But you're never sorry, are you? No, you don't even care How can you stand and watch?
The year passed.
And somehow, the space between you grew larger despite the fact that your feelings never did.
By the time the Fourth Shinobi War began, the letters had become shorter.
Less frequent.
Almost like both of you were afraid of what would happen if you said too much.
You moved to Sunagakure temporarily during the war.
You told yourself it was because the alliance needed cooperation between villages.
And it did.
But a small part of you knew the truth.
You wanted to be near him again.
And for a while, it almost felt like things were going back to how they used to be.
Almost.
Physically, you and Kankurō had grown closer.
The friendship had blurred into something neither of you named.
Kisses.
Long embraces.
Falling asleep beside each other after exhausting missions and days because neither of you had the energy to pretend you didn’t want to.
Small moments stolen between responsibilities.
But even then...
You never truly had all of him.
You had pieces.
The Kankurō who laughed with you.
The Kankurō who held your hand when you were afraid.
The Kankurō who looked at you like you were something precious.
But there was always another part of him somewhere else.
With Gaara.
With Suna.
With the war.
And when you eventually had to leave to fight, he let you go.
No argument.
No hesitation.
No promise that he would come after you.
You told yourself it was because he trusted you.
But a quieter part of you wondered if it was because he already knew where he would go if he had to choose.
And you were tired of pretending that didn’t hurt.
______________________________________________________________
Breakin' all my bones, tryin' to hold you close Cut my heart right out my body Tearing off my skin, just to let you in Isn't it a bit unethical? Got me on my knees, have you any mercy? Every time you hurt me, baby Tell me, have I not given you enough? If you ever loved me, let me go
Burning.
The flames were hotter than you expected.
You had known what you were doing.
That was the worst part.
There had been no mistake.
No accident.
No one else could have made that decision for you.
You had chosen.
The enemy was too close to the refugee camps.
Too close to the Allied Shinobi Forces.
Too much was at stake.
So you used the one thing you had always carried with you.
Your voice.
Your chakra.
Yourself.
The explosion should have been the end.
You had accepted that.
______________________________________________________
But somehow...
You woke up.
Sunagakure.
A hospital.
Pain.
That was all you knew at first.
Your body felt unfamiliar.
Burns covered you.
Your face.
Your throat.
Places that had once defined you now felt like reminders of everything you had lost.
Your right side burned constantly.
Your voice—the thing that had always been yours—felt broken.
And then you realized someone was there.
Kankurō.
Sitting beside you.
Close enough that you could reach him.
Too far away to touch.
For a moment, relief filled your chest.
Because he came.
Because he was there.
Because maybe this time...
Maybe this time you wouldn’t have to ask.
With every bit of strength you had left, you reached for him.
Not asking him to stay.
Not asking him to abandon anyone.
Just asking him to see you.
And he looked down.
At your hand.
At your face.
At what remained of the person he knew.
And then he looked away.
It was only a moment.
A hesitation.
A choice made without words.
But it shattered something inside you.
Your throat tightened.
Your tears only fell from your left eye.
Your right eye, covered and damaged, still felt like the flames were burning beneath your skin.
And for the first time in years...
You stopped telling yourself it was okay.
___________________________________________________________
Let me go I'll let you go If you let me go Let me go
When you were healed enough to leave Sunagakure, you did.
No note.
No goodbye.
No final conversation where either of you could pretend there was something left to save.
You simply left in the middle of the night.
Back to Konoha.
The damage to your body was enough that you could have medically retired.
A part of you wanted to.
A part of you wanted to disappear.
But you stayed.
You rebuilt yourself.
You learned how to fight differently.
How to use your voice without destroying it.
How to exist without being someone's shield.
Just without Kankurō.
Time moved forward.
Slowly at first.
Then all at once.
You watched your friends find the people they loved.
You watched relationships that once seemed impossible become forever.
And you smiled.
You truly did.
But sometimes, when you saw someone reach for someone else without hesitation, there was a bitterness that returned.
A reminder.
A question you never allowed yourself to ask.
Why wasn’t it you?
________________________________________________________
At twenty, you watched Naruto marry Hinata.
You watched everyone celebrate love.
And you stood there quietly.
Avoiding the Sand siblings the entire night.
Because some wounds healed.
Others simply became easier to hide.
___________________________________________________________
And I've been waiting for the sunset Waiting on a sorry (let me go) But you're never sorry, are you? (I'll let you go) No, you don't even care (if you let me go) How can you stand and watch?
The years passed.
Youth became something you remembered rather than something you lived.
You became a teacher alongside Shino.
You found purpose again.
You found happiness again.
But some scars stayed.
Not just the ones on your skin.
The ones beneath it.
So you painted over them.
Flowers.
Swirling patterns.
Something beautiful over something painful.
Something that made your students see art instead of damage.
Something that made strangers look away instead of stare.
You told yourself it was for them.
Maybe part of it was.
But maybe part of it was for yourself.
Because every time you saw the scars, you remembered the girl you had been.
The girl who loved Kankurō so much she forgot she was allowed to be hurt.
Walking through the newer areas of Konoha, you felt eyes on you.
You turned.
And your eyes landed on your student.
Shikadai.
And beside him...
A man you had not seen in years.
A man you had tried very hard not to remember.
Still wearing his own face paint.
Kankurō.
And suddenly...
You were thirteen again.
_______________________________________________________
Breakin' all my bones, tryin' to hold you close Cut my heart right out my body Tearing off my skin, just to let you in Isn't it a bit unethical? Got me on my knees, have you any mercy? Every time you hurt me, baby Tell me, have I not given you enough? If you ever loved me, let me go
He never meant to let her go.
That was the part that hurt the most.
Because Kankurō knew what it meant to lose someone.
He knew what it meant to be afraid.
He knew what it meant to love someone so much that losing them felt impossible.
But he had spent his entire life choosing Gaara.
Not because Gaara mattered more.
Because Gaara needed him in a way nobody else did.
And somewhere along the way, he convinced himself she understood.
That she was strong enough.
That she would always be there.
But looking at her now...
Thirty-three years old.
Covered in flowers painted over scars he knew he had a part in creating.
He finally understood.
She had never asked him to stop loving Gaara.
She had only wanted him to love her without making her beg for pieces of him.
And standing there, years later, he realized the cruelest thing of all.
He had spent his life protecting people from being hurt.
And he had never noticed the person hurting herself just to stay close to him.
A/N: Yes I already know the meaning behind the song, but I kept having these thoughts for Kankuro with this song before I knew.
He Makes Me Laugh
The confusion had existed for years.
No one could quite figure out how you and Might Guy had ended up together. On paper, it didn't make any sense.
The Nara clan was known for two things above all else: their Shadow Possession Technique... and their frighteningly high intelligence.
You'd always been one to observe before acting, quietly analyzing every angle before making a move. Calm, composed, and endlessly patient, you preferred strategy over impulse and silence over unnecessary conversation.
Which was exactly why one thing had never made sense to your younger cousin, Shikamaru.
Your choice in boyfriend.
Guy...
Well, Guy was Guy.
He was awake before the sun, pushing himself to his limits while loudly announcing every victory to anyone within earshot—whether they wanted to hear it or not.
He threw himself into everything with his whole heart, all in the name of youth.
He challenged Kakashi to competitions so frequently that most people just assumed they were always competing over something.
He was loud.
Dramatic.
Ridiculously earnest.
And somehow...
He was yours.
It was a pairing that confused nearly everyone in the Hidden Leaf.
"Seriously?" Shikamaru blurts one afternoon as Guy enthusiastically challenges Kakashi to yet another race around the training grounds. "What do you even see in him?"
The conversation dies instantly.
Every head turns toward you.
Even Kakashi lowers his book just enough for one eye to peek over the top.
Not because he doesn't know the answer.
Because he knows exactly what's coming.
Still, he sets his book down to humor his friend, despite having no intention of running after him.
You glance toward the field.
Guy is already halfway through proclaiming something about the Flames of Youth, sprinting ahead of Kakashi with enough enthusiasm to make up for Kakashi's complete lack of it.
Without realizing it, you smile.
"He makes me laugh."
Silence.
"...That's it?" Ino asks.
You shrug, the smile never leaving your face.
"Every day."
As if on cue, Guy catches his foot on a training post.
He stumbles.
Recovers with an unnecessary flip.
Throws both thumbs into the air.
"THE POWER OF YOUTH CANNOT BE DETERRED!"
You laugh.
Not the quiet, polite chuckle people occasionally coaxed from you.
Not the faint smile your clan had long since accepted as the most emotion you'd ever willingly show.
You laugh.
Openly.
Warmly.
The kind that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes crinkle.
The kind that escapes before you can think to hold it back.
The kind almost no one has ever heard from you before.
The group simply watches.
"...Oh."
Kakashi hides the knowing smile tugging at his face behind his book once more.
"There it is."
Naruto blinks between the two of you.
"So..."
"She wasn't kidding," Shikamaru mutters.
"Nope."
"He really does make her laugh."
Kiba throws both hands into the air.
"Are your standards on the ground?!"
"No."
You watch as Guy notices you across the field.
The moment he does, his face lights up like the sunrise he'd insisted on greeting that morning.
He abandons whatever race he was supposedly running just long enough to wave both arms over his head.
"They're just different from yours."
Guy beams before dramatically blowing you a kiss across the training grounds.
With practiced ease, you lift your hand, catch the imaginary kiss from the air, and press it gently against your chest.
His grin somehow grows even wider.
You can't help the quiet snort that slips out before another laugh follows.
Naruto points at you like he's uncovered a secret.
"She did it again!"
"Did what?" you ask innocently, your eyes still following the man dressed in green.
"That!"
"What?"
"The laugh!"
Everyone turns toward Shikamaru.
He sighs, sounding far more resigned than annoyed.
"...She doesn't laugh like that with anyone else."
"...Seriously?" Sakura asks.
"Seriously."
A comfortable silence settles over the group as they watch Guy enthusiastically launch into another speech about youth for Kakashi's benefit.
For once, no one is looking at Guy.
They're all looking at you.
At the softness in your eyes.
At the smile you haven't bothered to hide.
At the way your gaze follows him without you even realizing it.
"...Huh," Ino murmurs.
Kiba scratches the back of his head.
"...Still weird."
You simply smile to yourself.
Maybe it didn't make sense on paper.
Maybe, by every logical standard the Nara clan had ever lived by, it shouldn't have worked.
But love had never cared much for logic.
And every single day, without fail...
Might Guy gave you another reason to laugh.
A/N: Based on the prompt I recently posted about Might Guy and his Nara! lover! I don't write in second person a lot, so I hope this is okay!
If you give the reader a name then it’s NOT x reader
*Reader has a name by the way -"
U know what ur doing, stop trying me
everyday struggle i fear
💜kankuro dividers💜
i drew most of these from scratch (except the lined up kankuros)
i know he’s not very popular, but i hope some of you writers can make use of them!
no need to credit to use…but think of me if you do :)
Iwaizumi Hajime, who, when he first saw you in the crowd of Oikawa’s fangirls, knew he wouldn’t have a chance– not when you were into Oikawa.
Iwaizumi Hajime, who stared in shock when you separated from the gaggle of fangirls and headed over to him, shyly handing him an envelope, and a cold bottle of water.
Iwaizumi Hajime, who stumbled and stammered over his words, but nevertheless was able to mutter out a thank you. He replayed the smile you gave him that day over and over again. It became a problem when he got distracted during practice and got hit by the ball.
Iwaizumi Hajime, who, when he saw you again, was determined to not ruin this chance and struck up conversation, leading to him walking you to class, which eventually became routine.
Iwaizumi Hajime, who didn’t bother correcting Matsukawa and Hanamaki when they teased him about his crush on you, and only muttered a small “soon”, when they asked him if you were his girlfriend.
Iwaizumi Hajime, who confessed to you right before a match, and got your response at the end of it, with a kiss on the cheek and a cold bottle of water next to him. He had frozen in place, and ignored all the teasing the team and his friends were giving, only focused on the shy smile on your face and the blush that spread on your face, unaware of the same blush and smile on his face.
Iwaizumi Hajime, who waits for you at the end of the aisle years later with a watery smile, and eyes full of love.
SAND FAMILY!!!! <3333
sorry no naras this time around, but i'll do something in the future with the whole fam
cleaned up sketch <3 and thank you @morarenga for telling me i should color it haha, im glad i did!!
Thinking About #2....
Kiba meeting a girl who wants to bake Akamaru a birthday cake.
Like, she kinda doesn't really give Kiba the time of day, but when it comes to Akamaru, she wants to spoil him rotten. So she actively seeks out Kiba solely to learn what Akamaru likes so she can bake him a birthday treat.
Really the vibes of "My girlfriend is really only here for my dog."
That's all.
My dog turned 14 this week, and I baked her a cake, so that's where this came from.
Why does Choji's headband look like panties?
team 7 <3
Thinking About...
Might Guy and his Nara! partner who also leads a team, with the "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" sound ....
"Seriously, what do ya see in that guy?"
"He makes me laugh."
Like, I'm thinking the Konoha 11 mainly, maybe minus Rock Lee, just being in utter confusion at the pairing. Especially if Shikamaru is their younger brother or younger cousin.
Or
We know that Kakashi and Guy are good friends, so what if, when they were younger, like early rivalry years, it's a question that gets asked constantly by Kakashi, Obito, Rin, and even Minato?
