#this sounds so much funnier to me because it’s midnight and i’m exhausted

[0vergrowngraveyard]

au where speedy survives cocoa island only to learn that the toddler who wiped out his entire family with bombs is now the sidekick of world famous hero sonic the hedgehog

[softnow]

paracosm [ii/?]

msr | college au | this chapter: gen | words: 2.2k

she resents the idea that some boy who will no doubt be gone in another week’s time can ruffle her so much.

it’s dana’s turn, folks. necessary shoutout to @o6666666, champion of baby dana and all her emotions. also tagging @today-in-fic.

← last chapter. / ao3.

— — —

Dana has always been good with change. It comes with the territory of being a Navy brat. As a kid, she attended four different elementary schools, two middle schools, and she graduated high school with a class she’d only known for less than a year.

But there is a difference between moving with her family—keeping, if nothing else, the familiarity of her siblings, her parents, the old worn quilt on her old twin bed—and moving alone to the other side of the country, starting college (an exciting but daunting task on its own) nearly 3,000 miles away from everything and everyone she’s ever known.

Granted, she’s handling it better than some—better, for instance, than the girl who lives across the hall and cries on the phone to her parents every night, or the boy in her math class who comes only every third day and reeks of alcohol and pot when he does. Dana, at least, is making an effort.

She has gone to a few welcome mixers, to an underwhelming movie night hosted by her RAs, to a panel discussion on monoclonal antibodies with an audience of serious-looking grad students and old men in sweaters. She leaves her door open while she studies, just in case somebody should like to pop in. On two different weekends, she has allowed her roommate to take her out to parties filled with people who, even if they are new like her, seem to have known each other their whole lives. She has even formed a tentative working friendship with her bio lab partner, and she is frequently invited to have dinner in the dining hall with some of the girls on her floor (although, after a few nights of awkward small talk over rubbery pizza, she has stopped accepting).

But still. Despite the built-in camaraderie of the freshman experience, of being one of many sharing the same anxieties, excitements, and first-time hangovers, she feels…foreign. A little out of her depth.

She tells herself it doesn’t matter. College is, after all, simply a means to an end. But when she calls her parents on Sunday afternoons and her mother asks if she’s making friends, having fun, having the all-American college experience—the one she herself, married and pregnant right out of high school, was denied—well. Dana’s never enjoyed lying.

So she’s glad for the library. She may not know the difference between all the fraternities or where to find the best pizza in town or what a Jägerbomb tastes like, but she has the Dewey Decimal System down pat. She knows all the nicest reading nooks—even the ones the other freshman haven’t found yet—and she gets a startlingly large amount of satisfaction out of booting couples who think they’re sly enough to make out in the fifth-floor economics section. (In the three and a half weeks she’s been working here, she’s kicked out four couples. A rush, every time.)

She likes being the one who, at least for a few hours a day, gets to ask how can I help you? She likes that she has the answers. And she likes—perhaps better than anything—that here, it is perfectly fine to be alone. She doesn’t feel self-conscious behind the circulation desk the way she sometimes does sitting alone at a table meant for four in the student union. There’s nothing sad about it. There’s no pressure to socialize.

Or: there didn’t used to be.

Because now there’s a boy. A persistent boy. A persistent, irritating boy who is tall and lanky with a flop of dark hair and a collection of wrinkled t-shirts, who goes by his last name even though (in Dana’s opinion) his first is actually kind of nice, who, for some unknown reason, has set his sights on her and has made it his life’s mission to not give her a moment’s peace, who has decided that any day she is here, he will be too, hanging all over her desk, following her from floor to floor like a lost puppy, forcing her to listen to his questions and his stories and his inappropriate flirtations which, despite her best efforts, turn her pink as a cherry blossom, damn her Irish heritage.

Even when she tells him to get out—Mulder, I need to work—he will only grin and lean closer like he was never taught about personal space and say something completely disarming like, Dana, has anyone ever told you that you have Cassiopeia right…here? And then he will touch her little constellation of freckles so gently with the tip of his finger, like he’s really not touching her at all, and she will lose track of her filing or her faxing or whatever it was she was doing before he sauntered up, so cool and composed, to lean across her desk in the first place.

It would be easier, she thinks, if he wasn’t so nice. And clever. And handsome. If he was a dumb, ugly jerk, she would have no problem throwing him out (and she’d probably take an even greater amount of satisfaction in it than with the horny couples).

Because she’s not stupid. She knows that pretty, older boys with low, rumbly voices and plush, pink lips don’t seek out girls like her. Not with good intentions, at least. Boys—men, she corrects, because, god, he’s twenty-one—like him go for a different sort of girl. Taller. Older. Louder, funnier, sexier.

So there has to be some ulterior motive, has to, and it’s only a matter of time before his sweet exterior cracks to reveal whatever is really lurking beneath those puppy dog eyes and big smile and soft, gentle hands.

She hopes he just leaves her alone before then. It will be easier, really, for everyone involved.

—

It is a quarter past ten, and Dana lies curled on her lumpy twin bed, her phone cradled in both hands, her back to the wall. The cinderblocks are cool through her thin pajama top.

“He came in again today,” she says, low, like a secret.

“And?” Her sister’s voice is tinny and amused, two thousand-odd miles and a phone line away.

“He said I was beautiful,” she says. “He said I was going to win the Nobel Prize.”

Missy hmms. “For being beautiful?”

Dana shakes her head even though there’s nobody here to see it. Her roommate has been gone for three nights in a row.

“For curing cancer.”

Melissa snorts. “And what’d you say?”

Dana bites the inside of her cheek, the sore patch she’s nibbled raw.

“Nothing.” She draws the blankets tighter around herself. “I told him to leave.”

A pause. Dana thinks her sister might laugh at her, but Missy only sighs.

“Dana.”

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Don’t do that. This guy likes you. Why are you—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Dana says. She scrunches the phone cord between her fingers and releases it. Scrunches. Releases.

Melissa does laugh now. “Excuse me, what?”

“He doesn’t like me, Missy. He’s just…playing.”

“Just playing.” Melissa doesn’t sound convinced.

“The way guys do. You know. When they don’t mean it.”

“Oh, my god, Dane.” Melissa laughs again. “‘Just playing’ is calling you after midnight to ask what you’re wearing. It’s…it’s buying you a few drinks, taking you home, and not calling you the next day. This boy is not ‘just playing.’”

When Dana doesn’t say anything, Melissa continues: “Babe,” she says. “Do you honestly believe this guy would be spending that much time in the library if he was ‘just playing?’ Last week, you told me he was there until eleven o’clock on a Friday. Trust me. No guy is spending his Friday night in a library for a girl if he’s just playing.”

Dana bites her cheek again, licks her bottom lip. She thinks about last Friday. He’d shown up a little after eight, fresh from a shower, his hair still damp. She’d been in the fourth floor biology section, pulling books on tree frogs to fill a hold request, and he’d materialized behind her, smiling, with a cup of coffee and a packet of peanut M&Ms. The flip in her stomach had almost knocked her over.

“Hey,” he said. “I was looking for you. Here. Sustenance.”

And he’d thrust the coffee and the candy out at her with a dip of his chin, almost shy. She’d had a lab at eight that morning, and she’d been exhausted. The coffee smelled heavenly—rich and creamy. Exactly what she hadn’t even known she’d needed.

But instead of taking it, she’d folded the books about tree frogs to her chest, lifted her brow, and said, “Mulder, no. You can’t be doing this.”

“Why not?” He seemed genuinely curious. Concerned, maybe, that he was breaking some food-and-drink policy.

She tightened her grip on the books and said, “I don’t need it. I’m working. I need to focus.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Caffeine. Sugar. I only have your best interests at heart.”

Her cheeks flamed and she turned away, trying to seem like she was looking for the next book on her list even though all the titles blurred together.

“C’mon, Dana,” he said. “I come in peace.”

“I’m busy.” She didn’t turn around even as he came up behind her, so close she could feel the heat of him, could smell his foresty, manly soap.

“What are you looking for?”

And she’d relented. Something about his closeness, about the way he leaned over her just a little bit, made her weak. She’d shown him the list, and she’d accepted his help.

But she hadn’t accepted the coffee or the candy. Not even when he’d followed her back to the circulation desk and spent the next two hours shifting his weight from one foot to the other, asking her about class, her day, the best book she read that week, her last name, her phone number, and would she like to have dinner one night—any night—he was free any time?

“Good night, Mulder,” she said about ten times before he finally left—not without a few glances over his shoulder—so she could close up.

He’d left the coffee (cold) and the candy (unopened) on the desk. The coffee she poured out in the women’s room. The M&Ms… The M&Ms she ate later, one by one, while she called Melissa, sucking the candy coating off to make them last.

“Dana,” Melissa says now, breaking the silence. “You know he’s not going to wait forever, right?”

Dana frowns against the receiver. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this guy is clearly crazy about you. But if you keep playing hard to get—”

“I’m not!”

“—then he’s going to get bored, okay? It’s fun for a little while, but then it’s like…like running your head into a brick wall, over and over and over again. Eventually, if you keep telling him to get out, he will. And he won’t come back.”

“Good,” Dana says, even though the unexpected ache in her chest doesn’t necessarily agree. “That’s what I want.”

“Hmm.” On the other end of the line, Dana hears the flick of a lighter. “Well. If you really don’t want him, tell him you’ve got a sister in California who would be more than happy to entertain him.”

An image—brief, but not brief enough—flashes through her mind and her stomach clenches.

“I have to go, Missy,” she says. “Good night.”

She recradles the phone on her bedside table and turns out the light. She imagines walking into the library tomorrow, no Mulder. And the day after that, no Mulder. And next week, no Mulder.

She imagines that today was the last day. She imagines him never coming back to lean over the circulation desk and waggle his eyebrows at her, or stand too close to her in the stacks, or surprise her with a little treat ever again.

Maybe she’d spot him on the green one day and he’d point her out to his buddies and laugh. Hey, that’s the girl I messed with last semester. You know, the dumb one who really thought I liked her? Maybe he’d be too busy making puppy dog eyes at some other girl—some tall, willowy, interesting girl—to even notice her.

It would be for the best. This past week has just been a sort of…temporary universal insanity. A paracosm. A Dickensian glimpse into what her life could be if, perhaps, she lived in some alternate reality (which, let the record show, she does not believe in—but hypothetically).

Here, Missy’s voice interrupts, echoing in her head. This guy is clearly crazy about you. She frowns into the darkness. It sounds so simple when her sister says it, so reasonable.

And then there’s Mulder’s voice, too, low and intimate, asking her to coffee, to dinner, to a movie, to anything, really, anything at all. And not just one day. Every day. Several times a day, again and again and again, no matter how many times she says no, says Mulder, please, says I have work to do.

Dana tosses and turns and draws the covers up over her head, curling herself tight against the seductive pull of fantasy. She has always been the level-headed one, never a daydreamer, never impractical. She resents the idea that some boy who will no doubt be gone in another week’s time can ruffle her so much.

Huffing, she hugs a pillow tight to her chest and resolves to put Fox Mulder from her mind. It works, like most nights, only until she begins to dream.

[today-we-will-survive]

Mistletoe

BTS au one-shot

Namjoon x Reader Y/N

Fluff, Romance

Word Count: 2,215

A/N: This is a fic for @chaerrysoda for @bangtan-bookclub‘s Holiday Fic Exchange! I hope you enjoy 💜

Maybe stumbling through the snow at midnight all by yourself wasn’t the best plan in the world but you’re already almost to Namjoon’s house so there’s pretty much no use turning back now. At least that’s what you keep telling yourself. Though the fact that you’ve fallen five times now and your jeans are soaking wet —why did you think it was smart to wear jeans in the snow, anyway?—is making warm pajamas and your soft bed sound really good right now. You couldn’t help it, though. The moment you looked up from the book you were reading and saw that it was snowing outside your bedroom window, you knew you needed to pay your best friend a visit and drag him out into it. It sounded good at the time.

But now? Not so much.

You trip, again, this time over a tree root buried under the snow but at least this time you manage to catch yourself against the very tree the oppressive appendage belongs to. That could have been number six and your pants are running out of dry spots. Why you thought it would be a good idea to cut through the woods between your two houses is beyond you. You’re just full of good ideas tonight.

Finally, and much to your relief, you break out of the woods and onto a somewhat plowed path. Somewhat plowed is better than not at all plowed so even though it’s still slick and a bit hard to walk quickly on, you aren’t complaining. Namjoon’s house is just a few houses away anyway.

*

You’ve been best friends now with Namjoon ever since the two of you were in elementary school. You used to love playing in the woods by yourself and one day you just happened to come across a boy sitting on a log with his face in his hands. It was obvious he was crying but when he noticed you, he tried to hide it. It’s hard to hide tears when they’re streaming down your cheeks.

You asked him what was wrong and at first he refused to tell you. But finally you got him to admit that he got the back pocket of his jeans caught on something and it had ripped clean off. You wouldn’t believe him until he stood up and showed you so he did and you laughed at him. I mean, who could blame you? His iron man underwear was on full display. He got pretty mad but you managed to get him to come with you back to your house where your mom sewed the pocket back onto his jeans while he wore a pair of your bright pink sweats. The two of you have been best friends ever since.

*

His bedroom window is at the back of his house so you sneak around to the backyard. The swing set the two of you used to play on is still back there, unused for who knows how many years now? Surely, it’s all rusted and broken under that layer of snow. You’d think his parents would have gotten rid of it by now. You can’t help but stare fondly at it for a moment. Some of your best conversations were had while swinging back and forth together in the dark. It’s where you learned about his dreams and aspirations of becoming a music producer. It’s where he listened to you cry and go on after your first real breakup. It’s where you realized that you were in love with your best friend.

You can’t really help the smile that creeps onto your lips as you bend down and start gathering snow together for a snowball to through at his window. The two of you have gotten so close over the years because of that swing set. You’ve never told him how you really felt in fear of ruining what the two of you have but you noticed after a while the little things that maybe hinted that he had feelings for you too. Lingering touches and close talking and flirty texts. Or maybe you’re just delusional in your desire for something more.

With a sigh to clear the thoughts away, you finish packing the snow together into a ball and aim for the window.

Unfortunately, you don’t see that it’s already open. Well…unfortunately for him.

“Y/N, what—hey!”

The fact that you didn’t even notice that he’d come and opened his window when he saw you sneaking around in his backyard makes the whole situation even funnier and you can’t help the laughter that bursts from your chest at the sight of Namjoon spitting snow out of his mouth and pawing it out of his hair and sleep shirt.

“Was that necessary?” he yells irritatedly.

“I didn’t know you were going to open your window!”

“How else was I supposed to yell at you coming over here in the middle of the night?”

Finally you manage to get yourself under control and spread your arms wide. “It snowed!”

“I see that,” Namjoon yells back. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be right out.” Then he disappears back inside and pulls his window down.

You’re still laughing to yourself when he comes out a few minutes later, his hair hanging in wet strings.

“Sorry,” you utter even though you both know you aren’t.

Namjoon nudges your shoulder but smiles as the two of you make your way around his house and onto his street. He lives in a nice neighborhood—not that you don’t, but his is much nicer with it’s own little park at the end of the street—so the fact that the two of you are wandering it in the middle of the night isn’t all that dangerous.

“So you’re back,” he says matter-of-factly.

You smile. “For a little while. I’m just on winter break now. You?”

“Same.”

The two of you are quiet as you continue walking down the street toward the park.

By the time you reach it, you’re laughing and joking around like you always have. Namjoon pulls you by the arm off the path and tugs you down into the snow. You let out a howl as the snow soaks into your already damp pants but the howl quickly dissolves into giggling as the two of you race to see who can make the best snow angel the quickest. Of course, yours is better, though Namjoon would argue that you cheated. Not sure how it’s possible to cheat at a snow angel making race but apparently you did.

Slowly and with many a snowball thrown and dodged, the two of you make your way to the gazebo in the middle of the park. You take turns running and sliding across the slick floor, crashing into the railings to stop yourself and doubling over in fits of laughter. Eventually, the two of you have taken to trying to go to at the same time and meet in the middle, slamming into each other and trying to knock the other down. Namjoon is a lot bigger than you and stronger so naturally, you end up on the ground more often than he does. But he’s clumsier, so at least he won’t have too fewer bruises on his butt in the morning than you.

You’re both exhausted and so this time, when you meet in the center of the gazebo, neither of you try to shove the other down. Instead, you cling to each other laughing between heavy breaths.

“Hey, Y/N,” Namjoon says and when you look at him, he motions with his head for you to look up.

You do and your racing heart skips a beat. A small clump of mistletoe hangs from a red ribbon right in the center of the gazebo. Right over where the two of you are standing. When you lower your head again to meet your best friends eyes, he’s already looking at you.

“Well, I mean, you can’t stand under mistletoe without kissing, right?” you ask and look down shyly. You nudge the toe of his shoe with your own. “That would be sort of like…slapping Christmas in the face.”

“Right.” Namjoon’s voice sounds different all of a sudden. Deeper, shaky. He sounds as nervous as you feel. “And we definitely wouldn’t want to disrespect such long-standing tradition.”

“Right,” you say and suddenly Namjoon takes a step toward you and you feel your knees go weak. You still haven’t taken your eyes off your shoes. You don’t even know if you can muster the nerve too. Luckily, you don’t need to because Namjoon puts his hand under your chin and tilts your face up so he can look at you.

He’s so close to you now. His lips only inches from your own and his eyes looking into yours, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly with uncertainty. Neither of you move for a moment. The air feels thick and warm, despite the fact that it’s definitely below freezing. But here under the gazebo, the two of you are in your own little world. A world the cold can’t penetrate.

You swallow hard as you watch his eyes dart down to your lips.

He leans forward, brushing his mouth to yours and at first you think, that’s it? But then he steps closer so your bodies are touching and he bring his other hand up to cup the back of your neck and his lips press firmly to yours and now you’re really kissing. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing your best friend. The boy you’ve been in love with for years and have cared about even longer. The boy that has seen you at your absolute worst. That has let you cry on his shoulder over other boys. Over your parents fighting. Over thinking you were going to have to move away. Over getting your acceptance letter to your dream college. Over finally really having to leave to go to said dream college. He’s kissing you now and you’ve never felt more sure of your love for him than you do in this moment.

When at last he pulls back, you keep your eyes closed, afraid if you open them that it’ll all disappear. You feel his hands slide up to hold either side of your face. You feel his forehead press against your own. You feel his breath on your lips. And you don’t want to open your eyes because you don’t want to let go. You don’t want the reason that you kissed him to be the stupid little plant hanging over your head. You want it to be real. And if you can just keep your eyes closed, then you can imagine that it is.

“Y/N, look at me,” Namjoon whispers.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t want to.” And much to your embarrassment, you feel tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes. You squeeze them shut tighter.

“Y/N.”

“Nope. Not opening them.”

Namjoon chuckles and runs a thumb over your cheekbone. “Why not?”

“Because—” your breath hitches and you have to just breathe for a second. “Because, I’m not ready for this to be over yet.”

“What makes you think it has to be over?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth and chew on it anxiously as you think. Finally, you slowly open one eye to meet his. His smile widens and his dimples show and it just makes you shut your eye again. “Here’s the thing, Joon,” you say to the darkness. “I’ve liked you…I’ve loved you, for a long time now. And I know that this whole mistletoe thing is just some silly Christmas tradition and we were just being dorks—”

“You love me?”

You stand there for several moments wondering if you just made the biggest mistake of your life. But his hands are still warm against your cheeks and if you’d really just freaked him out, he’d be halfway home already. So, cautiously, you open your eyes—both this time. Namjoon is looking back at you still, his own eyes searching yours. At last you dip your head in a nod.

The his mouth stretches into a wide grin. “Y/N, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.”

Now, you step back. “What?”

His hands slip from your face and he throws them into the air with a laugh. “I’ve been trying to hint around for like the past five years! I thought you just didn’t return my feelings because you weren’t picking up on my signals!”

“Signals? Hints? What?” You’re so confused. “Wait. Are you saying you like me too?”

“Like you?” Namjoon repeats and then reaches out and pulls you to him again. “Y/N, I love you.”

“Oh,” you gasp.

“And I don’t want to have to rely on mistletoe to be able to kiss you again.” Simultaneously, the two of you look up at the green leaves hanging above you. Then Namjoon tightens his grip on your waist and drags you a few feet to the left, until you’re no longer standing in the center of the gazebo. “Much better,” he utters before leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours.

[kuriquinn]

Sex Ed [4/5]

Blanket Fic Disclaimer

Prompt: So reading Home and Unplanned Chapter 19, I think the former would be even funnier (maybe a second chapter or alternate version?) Where Sarada accidentally sucked too hard because super strength and broke something. Sasuke confused over whether to protect Sarada from boys or protect boys from Sarada would be funny. Especially if they have no idea how to tell Naruto that their daughter accidentally broke his son's junk. Like, is that technically treason? - Anon

Author’s Note: So, I think this chapter and the one before kind of fills your prompt? It’s not in my Unplanned or Home ‘verse, but I figured it would fit better in the ANBU ‘verse because it’s kind of a crackish concept. Hope you enjoy it!

First Chapter

Sasuke returns home from a tedious and troublesome parlay in Oto around midnight. Orochimaru is as bizarre as always, megalomania tempered only slightly by his years being a parent. Mitsuki is just as weird, but Sasuke would like to think his friendship with Sarada and Boruto saved him at least the homicidal tendencies.

By the time he returns home, Sasuke is tired and hungry and desperately wants to fall into bed and sleep for a week. Not that it’ll happen, since his wife and daughter are both usually up at the crack of dawn and incapable of being quiet, but a soft mattress is still a nice change from the base of a tree.

He lets himself into the house and heads for the kitchen to fix a snack—something to tide him over until breakfast at least. There’s a note on the table from Sakura to Sarada mentioning a difficult case she’s handling and that there are leftovers in the fridge. The note ends, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch or supper. We can go out! Love Mama’ .

Obviously neither of them was expecting him back yet. He shrugs, knowing it’s his own fault, he should have called, but he dislikes using mobile phones unless he absolutely hast to. The latest models have too many features on them and he’s already set three of his on fire in his frustration at trying to just dial a number.

He’s just removing a Tupperware container of stir-fry, when he hears it. A sound coming from the direction of the bedrooms.

That sounded like a—

He hears it again and tenses.

That was a moan.

All of his muscles lock into place and his gut tightens against a looming sense of dismay. Why is there someone in his house moaning? Sakura is at work, which means—

Horror shoots through him at the exact moment his brain connects the dots, remembering the discovery he and Sakura made two years ago and the ensuing conversation. If his daughter is in her room doing that he needs to leave this house right now and—

This time the moan that echoes through the house is not the sound of his daughter, but decidedly male.

There’s a brief instant where Sasuke sees white in absolute rage and actually contemplates murder, before his good sense returns to temper him.

No. That’s not the answer.

However, Sarada’s behaviour does need to be addressed. It’s one thing to be having sex—he clearly can’t stop that from happening and it his her decision—but this is his house. He is not comfortable with her using it for secret trysts that take advantage of her parents not being here. He’d never even consider such behaviour when he was her age.

Granted, he lived alone, and he and Sakura didn’t have to find a place to have intercourse when the time was right. But still. He would never have thought it was alright to seduce her in her parents’ home. Whether they were home or not! Mebuki would kill him and make it look like a terrible accident.

Sarada’s…partner should know better.

Sasuke decides to have a few words with him, and once he learns the kid’s identity, he’s going to have a sit-down with his parents, too. He’s sure it will be more effective coming from him; Sakura is too open and friendly with matters like this, and might make lighter of it than he would.

And once that’s done, he and Sakura and Sarada are going to have a pointed conversation about boundaries.

He’s never looked forward to a conversation less.

Now the only question is…is it more effective to walk in on them now, or wait until they’re finished and covered up?

As he weighs whose embarrassment of higher priority—his own or his daughter’s, because he honestly doesn’t care about the other male party here—there’s another moan that makes him cringe.

But then it cuts off into a scream.

And it’s not the type of sound one makes in the throes of passion, but a scream of complete and utter agony.

That’s not a good noise. That’s a really, really bad noise.

“Oh, gods, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Let me help, what can I--?!”

“Gaaah! Don’t touch it, don’t…fuck…don’t look it...!”

Another howl of anguish which trails into sobs.

Concerns and logic tossed to the wind, Sasuke has his sword drawn and flash-steps to the door of his daughter’s bedroom and throws open the door.

The room is a disarray of haphazardly thrown clothing and bedsheets, a box of condoms spilled open on the floor as if ripped open in a hurry. (He shudders at this). There’s a familiar figure with blond hair sprawled across his daughter’s bed, tears of pain streaming down his face and howling through gritted teeth. Sarada is crouched beside him in a panic, torn between checking on her partner and scrambling to find a sheet to cover her bare skin with.

“Dad—!”

Sasuke barely notices her squeak of mortification, too focussed on teenaged boy’s sheer suffering and the obvious reason for it.

Because…

Because it’s bent.

In the middle.

She broke Boruto’s bone.

Literally.

It would be humorous if it wasn’t his daughter doing the breaking or his student being the one broken.

“Dad, it was an accident!” Sarada cries, panicked tears running down her cheeks. “We were…and I just…and then I heard this pop, and he—”

Sasuke forces himself to think; once more he is torn between competing inclinations. Get his tearful daughter out of the room and calmed down. Kill the dobe’s idiot son. Call Sakura and demand she handle this because he really doesn’t want to.

Help the poor bastard, because there is no more painful injury for a man to have.

Sasuke grinds his teeth.

Just because his conscience is right, he doesn’t have to like it.

“Cover up,” he says. It’s not clear if he’s asking for Boruto’s or demanding them for Sarada, but either way, both requests are met. Sarada is in a long t-shirt and tosses a blanket over Boruto, because there’s no way he can get dressed in his condition.

All the while, Sarada is muttering to herself under breath.

“I give up…never again…no more boys…!”

Once he would have rejoiced at that notion, if only because he’s always been over protective of his daughter. However, in light of recent events, Sasuke begins to wonder if he’s gotten it wrong all these years. Instead of protecting Sarada from potential paramours, he should be protecting them from her.

Sasuke evaluates the situation once more, trying to decide the best way to move the little idiot, who is writhing back and forth an in danger of knocking loose the sheets.

Taking mercy on him, Sasuke leans forward and sticks him under a genjutsu; Boruto goes completely limp. It won’t take him long to break out of it, but it should offer him some relief.  Once all of him is covered, Sasuke lifts him up and heads for the window.

Luckily, they live close to the hospital. Normally he’d use a portal, but he thinks in tonight’s case, the brat deserves a little jostling, even if he only feels it when he wakes up.

“Call your mother at the hospital, let her know he’ll need help,” he tells her.

“Right,” Sarada agrees faintly, her training kicking back in as her panic recedes.

Sasuke pauses then. He should contact Naruto; if something had happened to Sarada, the dobe would send out rain of toads to get Sasuke the message. Sasuke owes him at least the same courtesy. And then there’s being able to see the look on Naruto’s face when he finds out the root of all this.

Of course…Sasuke would enjoy that look a lot more if he didn’t have to explain just how the Hokage’s son came to have a broken penis.

Hm.

It seems another solution would be better.

“And then you’re going to call your Aunt Hinata and her moron husband and tell them there son is in the hospital,” he concludes firmly.

Sarada goes pale. “What? No, I can’t—!”

“They have a right to know their son is injured. And if they ask how it happened you will tell them. Consider it recompense for your…overzealousness.”

“No way! I can’t…I can’t talk to them about this!”

“You can, and you will.”

“But they don’t…they don’t know. And Boruto says they don’t, you know, talk about this stuff over there.”

Sasuke narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that something you should have discussed before you decided to have intercourse? On the off-chance that you broke something?”

“Oh, like Mama never broke anything of yours!” Sarada protests, frustrated.

“Never my penis,” he replies, which effectively stuns her into silence. He thinks it’s just his exhaustion and absolute doneness with the whole situation that prompted the snide remark, but it gives him the opportunity to slip out the window.

I’m getting too old for this, he sighs as he disappears into the night with the hapless victim of his daughter’s monstrous strength.

つづく

I realise that even the average woman has the power to break a man’s penis depending on the wrong angle or too much force…but then again, this fic was written for laughs not accuracy. I mean, come on, we know Sarada has better control than this, but…gotta love that crack!

クリ

Next Chapter

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Write Me a Lullaby 24

Summary: Delilah has been writing to her Penpal for almost six years. She doesn't know his real name and she doesn't know what he does for a living. When she's set to meet him, she's surprised to find out she's been falling in love with Sebastian Stan

Chapter Summary: Honeymoon time for the newlyweds

Warnings: None

           “I met Sebastian nearly a decade ago when we were on the set of the first Captain America. Everyone said he had this bad-boy air to him but I guess I saw through that pretty quickly. He’s a big goofball and if you spend five minutes one-on-one with him, you’ll see that.” Chris Evans smiled as he read off the little notecards.

           The sun was setting and the reception was buzzing with love and excitement. Little mason jars with lights illuminated the rooftop and the rest of the city seemed further away than it actually was. The music drowned out the typical noise of the streets below and it as if we were in a little bubble, completely separate from the world.

           “Then, one day, after Civil War, he comes to me about this woman he’s met. He said, ‘she’s coming to San Diego to meet me and I’m nervous’. Now before then, Sebastian wasn’t really shy around women. So it was a little funny to see him so spooked. Then he explained it was a pen pal and I was a little confused because I was pretty sure it was 2016, not 1970.”

           Sebastian and I grinned and he shrugged.

           “Then they met, and he called me the next day. He told me he’d found ‘the one’.”

           I glanced over at Sebastian with a look of surprise. I had never heard the story before and it brought tears to my eyes.

           Sebastian smiled and lifted my knuckles to his lips.

           “I told him he might be getting a little ahead of himself but he was sure of it. So we all went with it and I guess we can all be glad that he did. Delilah, you and Sebastian are the perfect match. And I know you’ve both gone through some hard times but that’s life. I think as long as you can handle those rough patches, you’ll both be golden.”

           I smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” I said softly.

           “To Sebastian and Delilah.” Chris raised his glass along with the rest of the wedding party.

           “Now we just need to get you hitched.” Sebastian grinned. “You’re the only bachelor Avenger left, big guy.” He stood up to hug Chris.

           The blond’s face went red. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You find the right girl and I’ll marry her.”

           “Challenge accepted.”

===============

           Sebastian pulled me close as we stepped on the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around my waist, making sure I was as close as possible. It still felt too far though.

           I clasped my hands behind his neck and kissed him softly. We parted and started to sway to the music.

           “How far along are you?” He asked softly, his eyes sparkling with joy.

           “Twelve weeks.”

           “I can’t wait.” He whispered and pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m scared though.” He admitted.

           I didn’t need any clarification. I knew exactly what he was talking about. “I am too.” There was a higher risk of miscarriage after having one. It was something my OB/GYN reminded me. “But it’ll be okay,” I promised.

           He swallowed. “I want it to be. But life can be so unpredictable.”

           “Isn’t that a good thing sometimes though?” I murmured. I didn’t want him to be down on our wedding day. I tried to make it all optimistic. We could worry another day.

           “I guess. But it’s not always good.”

           “I have a good feeling about this,” I told him. “I’m sure, in a few more months, we’re going to have our baby girl or boy.”

  =============

           Luca didn’t seem to understand the idea of a honeymoon. As we were leaving the reception to head to the airport, he woke up from a nap. It was nearing midnight but Sebastian assured me that it wouldn’t kill him if he stayed up that late for one night.

           “Mama, are we going home?” He rubbed his eyes and reached up.

           I had come out of the bathroom after changing out of my dress. “No baby, daddy and I are leaving. You’re going to stay with bunică this week.” I reminded him and scooped him up.

           Our son looked confused. “Where are you going?”

           “Daddy and I are going on our honeymoon.” I combed his hair back with my fingers and placed a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll only be gone for seven days though. You won’t even miss us because you’ll be having so much fun with your bunică.”

           Luca started to scrunch up his face. “But I want to go with you.” He stuck out his lower lip.

           I could sense an oncoming tantrum so I tried to go about the conversation lightly. “Rocket is going to stay with you. You two are going to be just fine together. You’ll have so much fun visiting bunică, you won’t even notice daddy and I are gone.”

           Sebastian came down the hall. “Hey, the car’s here. Ready?”

           “Daddy…” Luca’s eyes welled up with tears as he saw Sebastian was carrying luggage. He was somewhat used to Sebastian leaving for trips. Usually, we went with him when we could. But sometimes, he went alone and we stayed behind. Luca was starting to pick up on the idea that suitcases meant we would be separated. But never before had he been away from both of us for a long period of time.

           “What’s wrong, bud?” Sebastian set the bag down and reached to take him from me. “Are you tired?”

           “Yes.” Luca rubbed his eyes with his fists. “I want to go with you and mama.” He whined.

           “I’m sorry, love, but mom and dad are just taking a little trip. We’ll be back home before you know it.”

           “We’ll be able to facetime,” I promised and rubbed his back. “So we can talk and see each other.”

           Luca whimpered and clung tightly to Sebastian. “I don’t want you to leave!” He seemed too tired to put up too much of a fuss.

           “Sh, it’s okay.” Sebastian kissed his cheek. “You must be exhausted. Let’s go find bunică so you can go home and sleep.”

           Georgeta and Anthony were waiting by the doors with the rest of the wedding guests who had stayed to see us off.

           “What’s the matter? Why is my little one crying?” Georgeta took Luca into her arms.

           “He’s tired and doesn’t want us to leave.” I sighed and felt guilty about going away without him.

           “Let’s go home to sleep,” Georgeta said softly.

           “Give me kisses.” I touched Luca’s cheek. He begrudgingly kissed me goodbye, still whining about how he wanted us to stay.

           “Be good,” Sebastian said. “We’ll call you tomorrow morning.” He took my hand. We left quickly so we wouldn’t make it harder for him. As we walked to the car, our friends were more than happy to pelt rice at us.

           “Hey, go easy on her Sebby she’s already pregnant,” Anthony called out.

           “Yeah, we don’t want twins,” Evans added.

           Sebastian rolled his eyes and gave them both a look. “You two get funnier every day.” He opened the car door for me and went around to the driver’s side.

           I rolled down the window and blew Luca a kiss. I knew I would feel guilty for a bit but in the end, everything would be okay. I was sure the next morning he would be more than happy to be visiting his grandparents.

           As we drove to the airport, I took Sebastian’s hand and took note of my wedding band. I smiled and looked up at him. “We’re married.”

           “Oh, shit…was that what we just did? I didn’t know we were getting married for real, I thought that was just a practice run!” He feigned panic.

           I giggled and shook my head. “I love you.” I leaned over the console to kiss his cheek.

           “I love you too, Mrs. Stan.”

==========

           I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep. I guess it was inevitable. Day three of my honeymoon and I was curled up in a hammock with my husband on the beach. I had been reading initially, Sebastian was checking updates on his phone. One of his legs was hanging outside of the little nest we’d made so he could keep the hammock swaying peacefully. The absolute serenity of the beach, the lulling motion of the hammock, Sebastian’s heartbeat against my shoulder blades, and the humid air was the perfect combination for a nap.

           I woke up about an hour later in the same spot. The sun was beating down but we were tucked away in the shade by the water. A gentle breeze played with my hair and cooled my skin.

           “I thought we were going to be here for hours.” Sebastian chuckled when he saw my eyes open. “You were out like a light.”

           I yawned and stretched out my legs. “I didn’t even mean to fall asleep.” I twisted around to look at him.

           He was smiling, the sun had already given his skin a gorgeous tanned glow, and he seemed so relaxed. I couldn’t blame him. Going to Fiji for our honeymoon sounded a little extravagant but Sebastian said he wanted to spoil me. I was grateful I let him plan the whole trip. It couldn’t have been more perfect. It was quiet, secluded and no one acknowledged Sebastian’s fame, which was a blessing. The trip was about us and I wanted him completely to myself.

           Sebastian traced his fingers up and down my stomach and hips. He gently nudged my tank top up to touch the baby bump. He didn’t say anything for a bit, he just made small patterns with the pads of his fingers.

           “Are you trying to make me fall asleep again?” I accused.

           He chuckled and kissed my shoulder. “You can sleep for as long as you want. I don’t want to move from here until I absolutely have to.” He said.

           “Hm…neither do I.” I decided and took his left hand in mine.

           He moved his hand from my stomach to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. He grazed the tip of his nose up my collarbone and neck, making me shiver slightly. I knew he was aware of all my weak spots by then. He hadn’t wasted our years together. We had practically memorized each other’s body. There weren’t a lot of surprises left but I wasn’t bored. He could never be boring to me. Every time he touched me made me feel special. It didn’t matter if it was sexual or just a brief touch on the arm in public. The way his skin touched mine was completely unique to anything else I would experience with another human.

           “Te iubesc.” He breathed softly and nibbled at my earlobe.

           I felt my toes curl and I shifted around in the hammock to face him. “Te iubesc mai mult.” I replied and kissed him softly.

           He returned the kiss but pulled away after a few moments. “You learned some Romanian?” He asked with an awed smile.

           I shrugged sheepishly. “Your mom has been teaching Luca and I a few things.” I nodded. “I figured it might bring us all closer.”

           “Goddammit I love you so much.” He groaned and fiercely captured my lips with his.

Romanian: 

bunică: grandmother

Te iubesc: I love you

Te iubesc mai mult: Love you more

Masterpost