... shell, and crawl underneath it, caress the parts of her that no one else has touched.
Because even though the skin on her nose is burnt by Suna’s sun, Hinata still tweaks it gently before she leans in to kiss it.
Because even though her hands are those of a full-fledged warrior, calloused and dry, Hinata still squirms and pants and whimpers when she tries her best to make herself, all of her, soft and tender for her.
Because even though her skin is brown and rough, when it is touched by Hinata, it feels like it just melts away, just like every other barrier she had built between herself and her reality.
Because even though she expects all this to be a dream, a dream that smells of lavender and moonlight, just another dream, a dream with long, dark and soft, oh so soft, hair, and pale, pale eyes, even thought she is to convinced that none of this can be real, not for her, Hinata is still there when she wakes up, and all she can do it stare, stare at her face, just as tender in her sleep as when she’s awake. Stare, stare, never let her go with her gaze, force the memory of her mouth, still pouty and slightly swollen from yesterday’s kisses, into her memory.
Because even though it is Temari who is the first person Hinata sees when she opens her eyes, her burnt nose, puffed-up eyes – she hates that her eyes always swells up a little when she sleeps – she still smiles. That slightly dazed, and absolutely en...