So I basically got sucked back into the Naruto fandom by some of the amazing fan- artists and writers on here and now want to dip my toes into the creation pool of fandom too.
⏳ SABAKU NO GAARA | "asking my husband to leave while i change clothes" prank
a/n: needed a break from the hurt/comfort fic i'm working on. wrote this in like 30 mins. idk. is this anything
word count: 1492, not proofread
content: fluff, established relationship, gn spouse!reader, you and gaara have a baby (name of Haruki), gaara being a green flag, inspired by that one tiktok trend "asking my husband to leave while i change clothes"
The bedroom is warm with late evening light, the thin gold of sunset stretching across the wooden floors in long, uneven bars. Somewhere outside, wind shifts softly through the trees lining the Kazekage estate, carrying the dry hush of desert sand against stone.
Inside, everything smells faintly of clean linen, baby powder, and the herbal soap you had used when showering earlier.
Haruki makes a small, sleepy noise from where he rests against Gaara’s shoulder, bundled into the sand coloured blanket Temari had sewn before he was born. Gaara sways gently back and forth beside the bed without seeming aware he is doing it, one broad hand spread carefully over the baby’s back.
This had become a ritual as of late. Rocking back and forth, checking that the blankets aren’t too tight, adjusting Haruki’s adorably little hats to keep him warm, stopping conversations midway through because he twitched in his sleep. The exhausting alertness of new parenthood.
You find yourself sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed in a fluffy, oversized towel, watching Gaara with open fondness before reaching for a clean change of clothes from the dresser.
“Love,” you say casually, rifling through soft fabrics, “do you mind stepping out while I change?”
“Of course.”
His answer is immediate.
Not an ounce of hesitation to be found.
Gaara turns toward the bedroom door before you have even fully finished speaking, already carefully shifting Haruki into the crook of one arm so he doesn’t jostle him while opening it.
The bedroom door clicks shut behind him and you’re left staring at the space he had just occupied in bewilderment for several long seconds. Then, just as suddenly as he had left, you bury your face in your hands as you choke out a laugh because that was somehow funnier than anything else he could have done.
There had not been a single moment of confusion. He didn’t question why, or protest because “we’re married.” There was no teasing, no dramatics, no suspicion. Just calm, automatic respect. You can still hear him outside in the hallway, socked footsteps quiet against the hardwood floors as he continues rhythmically rocking Haruki while waiting for you to call him back into the bedroom.
The idiot.
The incredibly beautiful, unbearably thoughtful idiot.
You are halfway through pulling your shirt over your head when the door cracks open again by no more than two inches. Not enough to look through, just enough that you can see one cautious, pale green eye appearing through the gap.
“Beloved?”
There is something so careful in his voice that you have to hold back the laughter threatening to bubble up again.
“Yes?”
Gaara pauses and then, with complete seriousness, asks, “Are you upset with me?”
The seriousness with which he asks the question forces the sound you are trying desperately to hold inside up and out of you hard enough that you have to sit down on the bed again, shoulders rattling in amusement, and the door opens instantly at the sound of you collapsing onto the mattress with laughter.
“Y/N.”
“No, no, love, I’m not upset with you,” you manage between wheezing breaths. “I can’t breathe, hold on—”
Gaara stands frozen in the doorway now, still carefully holding his son who is busy blinking up at him with profound newborn confusion. Gaara, himself, looks deeply concerned because in his mind there are only two explanations for being asked to leave the room while his spouse changes clothes after all these years together. Either you genuinely want privacy, or he has somehow made you uncomfortable without realising it, and the second possibility horrifies him.
You press both your hands over your eyes, shoulders shaking helplessly, as you try to calm down.
“It’s a trend,” you finally manage to explain.
Gaara stares at you. “...A trend.”
“Yes. People ask their husbands to leave the room while they change to see how they’ll react.”
Gaara is silent, the kind where you can practically see his brain trying to process the information in real time behind his eyes, every cog turning the thought over. You watch the exact moment that it dawns on him that this was apparently supposed to produce a negative reaction from him when his expression shifts into mild offence—not for himself, but on behalf of married people everywhere.
“Why?”
The question makes you lose it again instantly.
Haruki startles in his father’s arms at the sound of your cackling, tiny face scrunching in protest at the noise and Gaara automatically resumes swaying without interrupting the conversation, hand returning to those steady, soothing motions over his little back. The movement is so reflexive that it almost kills you a second time.
“I don’t know,” you wheeze. “Some men react weirdly to it.”
Gaara stares at you again for a long moment, and then his gaze shifts beyond your shoulder, like he is mentally reviewing the existence of all other husbands and finding them entirely disappointing. That soft crease appears between his brows, the one he gets whenever he learns something that genuinely troubles him.
“You thought I would be upset because you asked for privacy.”
Your laughter softens a little at that.
“No,” you admit, wiping at your eyes where they had begun to water. “I just thought you’d be confused.”
“I was confused.”
“You hid it well.”
Gaara pauses again before saying quietly, “...you know you never have to ask me, right?”
The ache that question causes almost does you in far worse than the laughing ever could have because he says it so simply, as though stating a truth of the universe. You understand then that he feels no possessiveness, there is no implication that your body belongs to him, there is no wounded pride.
You never have to worry that I will disrespect you.
Your chest tightens painfully because gods…this man.
You push yourself up off the bed and cross the room barefoot, still only halfway dressed, until you’re standing in front of him in the doorway. Up close you can see the lingering concern still etched onto his face. Still checking, still making sure you’re alright. Carefully, you lean forward over where Haruki rests in his arms and press a kiss to his cheek.
“You passed, love.”
Gaara looks genuinely startled.
“There was a correct answer?”
A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces its way out of your throat and you rest your forehead briefly against his shoulder instead of answering. Haruki squirms sleepily between your bodies. Gaara adjusts him with practiced tenderness, glancing down to make sure the blanket is still covering his feet, then his eyes return to yours.
“What would the incorrect answer have been?”
“You don’t want to know.”
His brows furrow again abruptly. “I do.”
“No, trust me, your faith in humanity is hanging by a thread already.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You looked betrayed on behalf of all humankind a minute ago,” you chuckle.
“I was concerned.”
“You were scandalised.”
“I was not scandalised.”
“You looked like you were about to call a Kage Summit to discuss basic respect worldwide.”
For the first time, the faintest trace of exasperated amusement crosses his face. Beautiful.
“You are making fun of me,” he states flatly, but the small smile on his lips gives him away.
You’re grinning now. “Constantly.”
“Hm.”
Gaara shifts Haruki higher up against his chest, the baby now fully, blessedly, asleep again from the steady motion and warmth of his father’s body. A quiet moment passes as both parents watch him rest with quiet adoration.
“I still don’t understand why anyone would react badly,” Gaara comments, still thinking.
You look at him for a long moment before reaching up to place your hand on his cheek, thumb caressing under one tired eye, smoothing delicately over the dark markings left behind as a reminder of Shukaku’s presence.
“You are wonderful, Gaara.”
The words escape you softly, honestly, and Gaara goes still under your touch, attentive in that deep, alert way he always became whenever you say something real without trying to hide behind humour afterward.
“So are you,” he replies, voice soft and low.
You groan and lightly shove his shoulder.
“Absolutely not,” you huff. “Don’t be romantic back to me, I’m not wearing pants. I’m vulnerable right now.”
“I thought you were changing.”
“I am changing,” you retort. “Spiritually. Into someone who’s going to bite you.”
“You will do that anyway.”
You raise a teasing eyebrow at him. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
Gaara sighs very quietly through his nose, already resigned to whatever strange direction this conversation has taken and that somehow makes you fall in love with him just a little more.
Outside, the desert wind blows softly through the evening air. Inside, Gaara stands in the bedroom, holding your son while you lean against him, still giggling under your breath, the room warm with the kind of ordinary tenderness that both of you once believed belonged to other people.
sometimes the fanfic just has to be a lil silly. anyway i do have a tag list for gaara, so if you'd like to be added, please let me know!!
If you're ever worried about whether your writing is too self indulgent, I just want you to remember that Sharknado had 5 sequels. I'm only partway through watching Sharknado 6: It's About Time, but already they've traveled through time and ridden a pteronadon into a Sharknado so they could use the magic teleportation portal inside of it to travel forward in time to King Arthur's time, where they are currently battling a Sharknado full of fire-breathing dragon sharks with Excalibur, which is a chainsaw sword that calls lightning. You're fine. In fact, be a little more self indulgent if anything.
Theres this thing that happens with a few too many franchises, where the constant need to one-up and raise stakes makes each entry slightly more unhinged than the last. Until you reach a point where what started as a fairly simple/grounded concept has become completely ridiculous(see Dragonball, Fast and Furious).
Sharknado is what happens when you have that tendency of escalation, but your starting premise is 'a tornado full of sharks'
there will never be anything as funny as the mutual disbelief between long form and short form fic writers about each other's style.
short form writers look at people writing 100k+ fics as though this is some sort of talent given as part of a fae bargain, that the commitment required shows some sort of ungodly mental fortitude.
meanwhile long form writers look at people writing 1000 word one shots like god I would cut off my left nipple to be able to say anything concisely. i would love to play with multiple ideas. free me from the shackles of this child I have birthed. i love them but I now must take them to t-ball and doctor's appointments and they're going to destroy everything I own.
I was gonna say this is the only website where I see people routinely fake medieval marginalia for the bit. Honestly though, both, both is good. This webbed site is FREE.
I really love how you captured her mouth, chin and facial features in the younger and older toph. It truly looks like she aged while still being the same person . Awesome attention to details 😍
Signs you wrote the Creepy Cinnamon roll correctly!!!
This is a question from anon and i am legally obligated to include this image when i answer it!!
𐙚 they do something mildly terrifying and something incredibly sweet in the same scene and walk away before anyone can process either
𐙚 the first time they do something kind the POV character just stands there blinking like their brain buffered
𐙚 they remembered something tiny and specific that someone mentioned once in passing six months ago. nobody asked them to remember this. they just did. and then acted on it. silently.
𐙚 they show up when someone is having a bad time without being called, or without asking if they’re okay, or without saying anything really. they just. appear. and stay.
𐙚 the way they show affection is so subtle and so weird that at least two characters don’t even realize they’re being loved on
𐙚 someone tries to thank them and they look genuinely uncomfortable. like the concept of being appreciated has never occurred to them as a possibility and they want it to stop.
𐙚 they said something with complete sincerity in such a flat voice that it took everyone in the room three full seconds to realize it wasn’t a threat
𐙚 one character clocked them as a cinnamon roll in chapter two and has been watching everyone else slowly figure it out with the energy of someone rewatching a movie they’ve already seen
𐙚 another character is STILL scared of them even after witnessing multiple acts of genuine tenderness and honestly? valid. both things are true.
𐙚 they would genuinely rather walk into traffic than say “i care about you” out loud but they have shown up at 2am with no explanation multiple times
𐙚 someone describes them as dangerous to a person who knows them well and that person has to physically stop themselves from laughing
the violently protective sentence starters. / @bakisensei “Don’t feel sorry for them, they deserved it.” / accepting!
and it was evident, gaara was beginning to change. ever since that day during the chunin exams — gaara had come back home with a different energy entirely. one could see the gears in his head turning; trying to consider the lives of others now, trying to re-center his approach in battle towards compassion.
but it was difficult, and accidents still happened. years of killing others, especially those who provoked — had left an impression on gaara that was going to take a while to steer away from.
"…i know," there's an emptiness in his eyes still, "but i still want… to do better."
he still evoked so much fear. he still thought murderously. he was still a demon, even when he made the effort to try to be anything else.
"where is mercy placed inside the heart, baki?" he continues on, "i can't seem to find it."
“Why did you do this? Why…? I never asked you to fight them.” (from lee.)
the violently protective sentence starters. / accepting!
"because they tried to hurt you," his voice was blunt and cold as usual, standing ahead of lee with arms folded. sand ghosts back into his gourd — he wondered if such a sight was frightening for lee, still. however, there was little time to think about that now — the enemy, crushed into bone-dust and torn apart muscle, now rested in that gourd alongside… every other person gaara had killed.
that was the reality of his sand — he could never rid the smell of death from those grains.
"…" then comes chilling silence, after gaara gave his answer. he tries to find soothing words, but alas, was not a soothing person.
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