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[datte-ba]

but heartache pales in comparison to love | naruto

sum: naruto comes to certain life-changing realizations when hinata falls sick. [post-canon.] a/n: a very drastically edited and changed repost of this old fic for the secret santa event over on twitter. the title is taken from here.

Kiba doesn't expect him to make an appearance so quickly.

The responsibilities that someone like Naruto is ladled with, after all, are a little magnanimous in comparison to those of everyone else in their age group, have been especially in the last few years. They’ve learned to live with the prolonged absences and escapes to libraries and advisory meetings, so long as he treats them to late night drinks on occasion. Ino and Shikamaru share in the burden of such duties, too, and it’s a joke they all share as the years go by and they grow older.

At present, Kurenai offers her middle student an amused look as he passes by, and Kiba valiantly tries but fails to stifle a burgeoning smile. Naruto's eagerness in regards to all things concerning his teammate is an easily laughable thing. He’s a little silly when in love, all over the place emotionally and so intent to please. 

It’s a good look on him, happier than ones he’s worn in years past.

Read on AO3. 

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as tightly as you held onto me | naruto

sum: hinata reaches out to her son. [post-canon.] a/n: a very drastically edited and changed repost of this old fic. the title is taken from here. 

Boruto is always surprised by the emptiness of a day.

He has no missions—the Hokage left recently for a summit, meaning most nin are on standby or at guard—and Sarada and Mitsuki went ahead without him for sake night with the rest of their classmates. He hasn't spoken to Himawari in a few days either, her presence no longer there to greet him every time at the door to their home. His little sister has grown up now. She has her own burdens to carry, incumbent jinchūriki that she is. And his mother—

—he doesn’t know what his mother is doing.

Read on AO3. 

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the ground all around (it was always holy) | naruto

sum: sasuke makes the decision to free himself of his burdens—and konoha's expectations. [post-canon.]  a/n: the start of a canon divergence project that breaks off from canon in the middle of chapter 699. the title is taken from here.

Sasuke Uchiha has never witnessed the Fifth Hokage so white-knuckled in his entire life.

He stands at odds with her in a dimly-lit enclosure, carved out several hundred meters below Konoha’s grounds. A blindfold wraps around his eyes, but he senses easily the tight clench of Tsunade’s hand in the way that he can anticipate Sakura throwing a punch.

The Hokage’s lip curls, and she struggles to form words. Ibiki, off to the side, holds her arm at the ready as if anticipating something, too. A pair of torches glows at the entrance to the enclosure, but the air feels cold and rife with explosive tension.

Every body in the room is still and wary, but shock is a palpable thing and it soaks through every pore. The bulk of his tribunal has no more words to offer than their leader, and he relishes in that with the smallest of smiles.

Read on AO3.

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and may your bones sing (no longer with pain but) with roses | naruto

sum: the truth of their lives will always be hard to look at, but it won’t be without its moments that are worth living for either. [post-canon.] a/n: a repost of this very old fic. the title is taken from here. 

The wobbling begins in her knees.

Sakura feels the world buckle beneath her, watches it momentarily blur as she takes on a fighting stance. A tremor works its way up her arms, and she stutters, but not before biting down savagely on her lip, forcing the burn of blood to bring her vision back into focus.

It’s a temporary solution, she knows, but she takes it, immediately directing her line of sight to the pair of men stood nearly fifty feet in front of her. The sharp outlines of her husband and best friend aren’t lost on her. Naruto rolls his shoulders with a resounding crack, and Sasuke’s hand hovers at the hilt of his sword.

The summer gales toss and turn all around them, build up into an eerie and silent roar. A figurative thunder is on the horizon, luring bottled lightning into subsequent realization. Sakura’s eyes shift to the rock face at the other end of the village, where four cloaked figures stand domineering above them.

A rag tag bunch of terrorists, according to Sai; ripe for blood and fear though they are, the lines in their skin are fresh, mendable. They haven't witnessed pain for themselves, only at the cost of others, and that’s turned them wild, one pinch of mental instability mixed in with a number of volatile ideals.

The Akatsuki were misguided and cruel, but their crusade demanded questioning of the systems in place—not of human nature, which was uncontrollable to a degree.

Sakura pumps a fist into her open palm and holds it there, then yells, “Shannaro!” Her visions still swims a little, but the fierce nod of his head that Naruto offers her is mostly clear. Sasuke spares her a curious glance, too, eyes glowing lavender and scarlet as he activates his kekkei genkai.

It’s been six long years since their reunion at the valley, but the reality of them fighting together as a team hasn’t quite sunk in. There’s something different now than from when they were children; so much of what they experienced as a new team was erring and wild and threw them into the worst of circumstances. And admittedly, the circumstances haven’t always fared much better in their present.

But there is something about knowing that Sasuke will never run again and that Naruto will never let him that brings Sakura indescribable comfort. Her boys are breathing and beating back against time, and this time, she’s here to do it all with them.

Naruto brings his thumb to his mouth and bites down, and a trio of towering toads springs into existence at his beckoning. He gingerly jumps onto the middle one’s back—Gamabunta, if she remembers correctly—before turning to look at Sasuke in silent anticipation. The once rogue ninja draws his sword from its sheath, then turns back to Sakura and holds her gaze for a moment.

He’s hesitating, she realizes. It’s strangely reminescent of their childhood, and a part of her hates it because she’s stronger now than she was then and he knows that, but—a part of her loves it, too, unabashedly. For the care, for the concern.

Sakura mirrors Naruto’s earlier action and bites her thumb, blood tracing her lip once more as she calls for Katsuyu. The white and blue slug appears and cocoons her from behind, and Sakura makes a familiar sequence of seals with her hands before black chakra lines criss-cross down her face.

Sasuke remains rooted to the ground, but he motions for Naruto to go on without him, and Gamabunta lifts off into the air before his charge can protest. From what Sakura can see, the fighting has already begun down below, clouds of dirty smoke billowing all around the village as kunai and shuriken rip through.

“Enough already,” she murmurs, quietly enough that only Katsuyu can hear. Sakura takes a breath and shuts her eyes, allows herself one moment of solitude before the village inevitably rests on her back, then presses the palm of one hand to her summon.

There’s a brief moment of clarity; she sees the face of every Konoha resident flash before her eyes as their vitals are all accounted for.

And then, darkness, this time longer than the first.

A gloved hand takes her by the shoulder before her knees buckle, and Sakura blinks her eyes, one, two, three, four times until at last a caricature of Sasuke, severely blurred around the edges, appears in front of her.

“I’m fine,” she insists, although the stress she puts on the latter word, she knows, tells her husband that she is anything but. The spots in her vision are larger and more pronounced, and sweat builds up on her brow, neck, and upper lip as she pants in exhaustion that would normally be two, maybe three hours away.

This—whatever it is—is not happening today. The people of the village are relying on her, and she refuses to back down from that duty for a few spots and sweat. Sakura places her hands on her knees and bends down, once, twice, before vaulting herself back up to a standing position.

Sasuke remains at her side, the embodiment of solemnity.

"You’re not okay," he says with stone cold finality, and Sakura snaps, turns her head in a whirl to face him as hurt takes over.

As she looks over his shoulder, her eyes land on Naruto fighting in the distance, his body a whirlwind of color as shadow clones branch out from him in every direction. Hinata isn’t far behind, either, leading the Hyuuga clan into the fray with her sister while maintaining a steady visual on her husband’s back. There’s Lee and Tenten at the center, too, and Choji, Kiba, and Shino a little off to the side while Ino and Shikamaru micromanage from the sidelines and Sai leads an aerial assault.  

Sakura, sufficiently encouraged, reverts her gaze back to Sasuke. "I'm fine," she reiterates, adamancy still etched into her voice.

"Clearly," he shoots back, gaze still wary. Sakura opens her mouth in a retort, but as if to punish her for her stubborness, her legs give way instead and she falls to the ground. "You need to go to the hospital," Sasuke insists, catching her. He crouches a little and balances her weight against his, then flits his gaze to the battle at hand, as if weighing his options.

The sounds of fighting resonate from every possible direction; it’s a surprise that no one has made their way here to the Hokage Tower already, although it isn’t unlikely that Naruto or Sai has handled that.

A sudden bout of nausea crawls its way up her throat, and she holds it back as much as she can, but not without consequence. The spots in front of her eyes grow in size and clump together, until little more than a sliver of the dusty sky can be seen.

"I don’t,” Sakura whispers, in late answer to his words.

Sasuke’s body shifts beneath hers. "Katsuyu," she hears him say, and the slug answers in tandem. The subsequent exchange between the two is hushed, though, and Sakura doesn’t realize until it’s happening a few moments later that her decision has been made for her. The protest on her lips dies out as he gathers her into his arms, then lifts her onto Katsuyu’s back.

Her breaths are shallower, and there’s little she can see besides black in front of her eyes, but she catches his hand at the last second nonetheless.

“I’m not. . . leaving you,” she musters out, though she hardly hears herself say it.

His fingers linger under her palm, and he rubs a small circle with his thumb before answering, “Sakura, I know.” The words are weighted, worth a thousand and more in gold, and she hates that she can’t see his face when he says them.

She hates that he can’t bring himself to say more before letting go.

. . .

It’s several hours before anything quiets; Sakura doesn’t know for sure until Ino visits and tells her that most of the fighting is over. Of the four primary targets, only one has managed to escape, and the details of a retrieval mission are being arranged. The squad for the job will be lead by Sasuke and Sai, and Ino leaves not ten minutes after she’s arrived to go join them.

A few of the others check in with her throughout the night. Hinata is perhaps her most frequent visitor, and she apologizes on Naruto’s behalf for him not being here. Sakura isn’t surprised that he’s scouring the village for missed casualties and survivors; he’s doing the right thing because he knows she’s in good hands.

The same, she supposes, can be said for someone else, though it genuinely surprises her when he shows up the following morning—she doesn’t know if it speaks more for his prowess or well hidden concern.

Sakura hardly spares him a glance as he enters the room, choosing instead to focus her gaze on other objects, like the wall and its peeling paint. The bed shifts with Sasuke’s weight as he leans into it, and his fingers brush her shoulder before she stubbornly curls away.

"Has she told you yet?" asks Tsunade, doing her morning rounds, from the doorway. The blonde peers at the married couple—mostly Sakura, actually—with a mixture of curiosity and worry. When Sasuke shakes his head, she frowns a little in disapproval, but nothing more than that. Trailing after her as she exits the room is Naruto, who noisily protests why he isn’t allowed to enter. Sakura notices that he’s injured in numerous places, with a multitude of bandages to show for it.

They all are, really—bruised beyond immediate repair but still mendable, even without her hands or her chakra to heal them. The thought makes her cringe, though she knows that it shouldn’t.

Sasuke clears his throat and brings her focus back to him. "What haven’t you told me?" he asks, and as her eyes flit to his face for a second, she sees remorse there, barely visible but present nonetheless. His brow is furrowed a little, too, and his lips are in more of a downturn than usual.

The whole ensemble of concerned attributes almost pleases her, if not for the reasons behind it. Sakura lets out a short huff before shifting under the covers, which fall away as she turns and props herself up against the pillows.

Her breath catches in her throat when she really looks at him.

There are dozens of scars, little and insignificant, that litter his face and hand and neck. A bandage flecked with spots of blood wraps around his head, and he fumbles with a splint that holds his only arm in place. In the grand scheme of things, the damage to his body is minimal, but it still hurts to look at.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, reaching for her hand, then blinking in surprise when she doesn’t pull back. Sakura curls her fingers a little into his touch, turning a single circle over the calluses on his palm. His skin is course and cut in some places, but she appreciates the warmth of his hand over hers, the security.

The truth of their lives will always be hard to look at, but it won’t be without its moments that are worth living for either.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers, for the very first time. Sasuke’s lips part around an emotion he can’t comprehend; happiness, awe, maybe a little bit of both. He stutters for a moment, but then his fingers wrap around hers, squeeze tight, tight, tight. The first rays of sunlight slant in through the window.

And here in a hospital bed, their world begins to turn.

[datte-ba]

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart) | naruto

sum: how nice, to fit the curve of your thumb to someone’s cheek, to press your fingers into their skin and pull them close with the effort. [post-canon.] a/n: a heavily edited repost (to the point of it being practically new) of this fic.

There’s a certain amount of restraint that Naruto and Hinata practice around their children when they’re young.

Slobbery kisses are kept to a minimum, make-outs are left for when they’re the only ones home, and sex, for a time, is completely and uncompromisingly avoided, unless circumstances permit. The pair are generally in agreement that their children can learn about the world of intimacy when they’re older—

—older inevitably meaning when Boruto turns seventeen.

The first time he caught them doing anything remotely forbidden, they were frenching intensely in a storage closet, and he’s now twenty-one. He’s long since been exposed to his parents’ usual antics: the kitchen counter kisses in the late hours of the night, the in-bed tickle fights that grace every Sunday morning, and the rest of a list that goes on and on.

If anything, Naruto and Hinata’s desperation for each other has ceased to bewilder their son, only sparking mild annoyance when he can’t concentrate over the sighs and punctuated laughter.

His sister, however, can never be bothered by it—love is a force she believes in strongly, and their parents are the epitome.

There is one morning in particular where the two of them catch the couple in a heartfelt kiss, Hinata leaning back into the counter as her husband presses forward. Boruto’s eyes linger a little on the way his mother’s thumbs skirt the furrows in his father’s hair, but he looks away quickly and leaves Himawari behind to stare.

When she finally files out after him, the smile on her face is unmistakable. A dreamy sigh escapes her, and she says, “Our parents are positively adorable, aren’t they?”

Boruto snorts and rolls his eyes, but a slight simper rises along the corners of his lips.

Things are better than they were years before; love entwines each of them, most of all his mother, whose face cannot be brighter than when her husband comes home. He makes it a point to remember where they used to be, where they are now. The bandages that wrap around his left arm are a testament to that.

“For real, though,” Himawari says, breaking the brief silence. “I would give anything to have what they have.” Her smile shrinks a little, and Boruto watches her closely, notices the way she wrings her fingers and smooths out her skirt. “Most of the time, I’m sure Shikadai cares, but then I come home, and I see them, and I—”

“Maybe you should break up with him,” he snaps, and a little too quickly, for even his own comfort.

He and Shikadai have known each other since childhood, have gone through the Academy together as best friends, have fought side by side on numerous missions, and yet—how hard it is, to accept that the same old friend is now in love with his sister. Boruto can’t remember the last time he looked at Shikadai with a straight face; there seems only to be the imprint of his sister attached to his best friend’s person, and loath though he may be to admit it, it hurts.

Himawari, apparently, doesn’t take to the comment well, either. She looks at him in a mixture of disbelief and anger, then turns the other way and makes for their father, who tails them by a few feet. The Seventh easily breaks into a new conversation with her, blushing, however, when she brings up the topic of himself and their mother.

“Yo, Pops,” Boruto interjects, and he falls a few feet behind, until the steps of all three Uzumakis are matched in stride. Naruto grins as his son drapes an arm over his shoulder while Himawari avoids eye contact, and Boruto continues cheekily, “For the record, I think you and mom are positively adorable.”

In one of those rare moments, Naruto Uzumaki rolls his eyes. “Please,” he says, and he brushes off his son’s arm. “Tell me that when you have a girlfriend, or else I’ll know it’s your sister talking.”

Boruto blinks, unable to form words as his father chuckles to himself and then moves ahead of them. They’ve made it to the Hokage’s office fairly quickly today, and Himawari stops in her tracks on the grass, a hand held to her mouth as she fails to stifle bubbling laughter.

“Sorry, but am I missing something?” he asks, and she snorts obnoxiously in response.

“Brother,” she answers pointedly, an adoring smile on her face, “you know exactly what he’s talking about.” Her amusement over his plight has clearly trumped the earlier indignation, and yet somehow, this doesn’t make him feel any better, let alone less confused.

“No, I don’t,” he insists, but the neurons are firing off in his head, and soon enough, he’s running through a list of all the Konoha nin his age. None of them, to his knowledge, have ever held an interest in him that goes beyond the fact of being the Seventh Hokage’s son, but that’s something he’s known for years. It doesn’t bother him, either; he knows there are more important things to worry about.

Himawari sighs and drops herself onto the grass, making herself comfortable in the shade of a towering tree. As she folds her legs under her, Boruto follows, taking a seat less than two feet away.

“You know,” she says, “for as long as I’ve gone on about Mom and Dad, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything about them.”

Boruto frowns. “What exactly am I supposed to say?”

“That you want it.” There’s a smile on her face, and he thinks she might be thinking about Shikadai, and how he isn’t all that proficient in matters of romantic expression, but that he tries, and that she loves him for it. Himawari spreads her fingers apart in her lap, the perfect, contented shadow of her mother, and Boruto thinks, just then, that she might have been born the older sister. “Just like everyone else,” she murmurs, “you want what they have.”

The sun is rising behind them, and there is a golden glow to his sister’s hair, to her skin, that brings him pause. “Intimacy,” she goes on. “Courage. Faith.”

Her voice dims down.

“A language that’s theirs.”

And almost as if someone had stabbed him with a real kunai, it hits him.

That he and Sarada have their own, secret way of communication is a fact known universally. Developed in their younger years, the language consists of them drawing made-up characters into the skin of each other’s palms when they’re close. Even the smallest of scratches holds some significance between them, and although Boruto would argue that the language they share is different from what his mother and father have, he notices too late that his finger is tracing a character into his palm, one he’s written into her skin over a thousand different times.

“Fuck,” he echoes. He tilts his head back, looking to the leaves above him before they fall down below.

What is this thing between them even supposed to be?

There is no whispering love into each other’s skin, no trading of kisses before and after important missions. Hamura knows how many times they’ve argued over the silliest things, knows how many days on end she’s held grudges against him for them. And in all of the years that he’s known her—more years than anyone, really—not once has she expressed interest in him outside of their work.

The closest thing he can equate to her caring about him, if anything, is the way she handles him when he’s wounded: with delicacy, concern, and so, so much fear.

Oh.

But, the fact of the matter, anyway, is that he’s never felt for her like that—not even if the way her hair falls over her eyes has made him want to push it back; not even if the sound of her voice around the corner has sent his heart into a fast pace; not even if the number of times she’s willingly endangered herself has kept him from being able to breathe.

“Everyone expects it,” his sister says aloud, and something snaps in him.

His whole body flinches, and Himawari looks at him, brow furrowing. “Brother, are you—”

“You want to know what I think of Mom and Dad?” He stands up, rustles the leaves under his feet, and turns around the other way, until he’s facing his sister and the bewildered look in her eye. “I think they’re disgusting,” he tells her, and her mouth drops.

“All they do is hold each other and kiss each other and love each other, and they don’t need to do any of it. They’ve been together for twenty three years, and there’s no way they’re separating because if they did, then you know I’d kick Dad’s ass before he even stepped out of their room.”

“I don’t even know what you're—”

“Kiss him. French him. Fuck him, even.” Her eyes go wide at this last part, and Boruto almost snickers when her cheeks crimson, but his amusement is besides the point. “Just make sure you’re with him, because that’s what Mom and Dad are. They’re with each other. Always.”

If it wasn’t for an unwarranted rustling of leaves, he would go on; he would tell her that, yeah, he’s not so averse to going out to dinner with her and Shikadai if it makes her happy, because he’s paid close attention, and he’s pretty sure that Shikadai is as prepared to kill for Himawari as he is.

But something does stir behind them, and when Boruto turns to meet it, his heart all of jumps straight into his throat.

The black glasses he’s seen perched on her nose since childhood are gone—have been gone. Sarada Uchiha’s eyes are alight with a wonder he has never noticed before, and as the first few strands of her hair fall over her eyes, an urge to close the distance between them and push them back surfaces.

“Has he always been this sentimental?” she asks, gaze pinned on Himawari.

Boruto’s breath hitches as his sister answers, “Not really.” The Hokage’s daughter pushes herself off the ground and turns briefly to face her brother, amusement twinkling in each eye as a smile crests her lips. “But we all have our moments.”

There’s a certain amount of tension hovering in the air, or maybe that’s just him and his figurative inability to breathe, but everything seems somewhat controllable up until the moment Himawari passes Sarada by, and after that, well, it’s anyone’s best guess.

Her eyes circle back to him, and he finds the red of her family crest in there, in little scarlet stars that may burst into suns if need be. Neither of them makes a move to close the distance, but Sarada whispers four words—

“Did you mean it?”

—and the world shifts.

Boruto considers his impromptu spiel, and in doing so, is brought back to the kiss he witnessed this morning. How nice, to fit the curve of your thumb to someone’s cheek, to press your fingers into their skin and pull them close with the effort. And breath after breath, to take it together.

A quivering moment of silence passes before he reaches across the gap, takes her hand in his own. Her palm is rough with calluses and blisters, but he traces a finger from the heel to the ball, then back down again. The lines and curves are their own, and her hand smells of pine, and Boruto can’t focus his mind on one thing but the path of his finger is so steady that he knows, back to the first words he ever spoke to her—

—he did.

[datte-ba]

and we’re all together again | naruto

sum: the disbelieving laughter on her lips makes no sound, but it exists: in the part and the smile and the gleeful curve. [post-canon.] a/n: this was my submission for the @naruhinafanzine, i hope you all enjoy !

There is something truly marvelous about how in love with a person one can be in spite of what stands before them. Hinata knows this, because although her husband stands before her looking a total mess—hair uncut and unkempt, lavender stamped under his eyes, robe drooping off of his shoulders—there is something about the ramen takeout and handcrafted card and gift bag in his hands that makes her heart swell to an unfathomable degree.

It is three in the morning on a work night, and their tenth wedding anniversary is today, and Naruto Uzumaki remembers.

“Hey,” he breathes. He stands at one end of the kitchen, feet straddling the threshold that spills into the living room. Hinata holds one hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide a growing smile and uses the other to turn the spoon in her pot of soup.

“Hi,” she answers, amazed at how much effort it takes to utter the one word.

Naruto almost scowls at the vague reply, but he quickly replaces the frown with a wry smile. “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?” he asks, and he drops the contents in his hands onto the counter before circling around to meet her at the stovetop.

A pinkish flush travels along the skin of her neck when his wintery breath touches it. Hinata bites her lip and stares straight into the ventilation hood while Naruto dips a finger into the soup, then hums after he licks it clean. “Maybe,” she murmurs, and the smile threatens to break across her face all over again.

“Well, if it wasn’t already obvious,”—he gestures dramatically towards the counter, then surprises her with a sloppy kiss to her cheek—“I didn’t.” Hinata turns on her heel, cheeks flushing crimson as her husband walks away from her and busies himself with the takeout. The disbelieving laughter on her lips makes no sound, but it exists: in the part and the smile and the gleeful curve.

Hinata composes herself, then rolls her eyes and returns to her soup, muttering “ridiculous” with an unmistakable smile.

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters, and the laugh takes shape, falls off of her lips like a bell. Naruto’s back is turned to her at the moment, but she can picture the contented smile he wears, picture the dip of his eyelids as he hears her voice and dwells on other pretty things.

She turns her spoon and listens as the wind whistles outside with the snow, winter filtering into the village at a steady pace. The sleeves of his orange sweatshirt stretch well past her fingers, but Hinata warms to the material and latches onto the edges. Naruto sits wrapped up in her scarlet scarf, which is wrought with a dozen little holes by now but has been kept with love over the years nonetheless.

“I can knit you a new one,” she’s told him every day, but Naruto has always taken her hands, splayed the fingers apart and smiled soft like his heart is held within them. “To me,” he has said, then taken her fingers and touched them to the yarn, “this is new.”

And it is, in a way.

Every hole that it’s learned to house after his winter missions is new; one from the reconnaissance assignment with Sakura and Sai in April, another from his sparring match with Sasuke this past fall, and there, near the lower left side, a stitch rendered into a hole by the efforts of a small and curious finger.

Every day that he’s worn it to work or to town or to somewhere is new; just yesterday, in a marriage meeting with the Hyuugas for Konohamaru, who will marry Hanabi in the spring, and again in about a week, to a finalization by the elders of his inauguration as Hokage.

Every kiss that she’s given him while holding onto it is new; the last one before he left for a two-week diplomacy trip with Shikamaru, the first one when he finally came back, and the dozens and dozens that came in the hours after his arrival, measured by the smiles that lit up his face.

Hinata takes a seat next to Naruto, sets two bowls of soup on the table in front of them before swallowing an offered bite of ramen, and realizes—

—love is new.

It exists and it persists, and it warms her to the touch, sets fire to any shiver that winter sends down her spine. Naruto reaches back to curl an arm around her, and she heartily rests her head on his shoulder, digs into the ramen and soup as if it’s dinner they’re eating together, and not an ill-timed snack.

Outside, snowflakes fall and stick to the kitchen window, and it’s only per the reflection in the glass that Hinata notices a pair of eyes peering into the kitchen, the sky blues lidded but surprisingly curious for this hour. “Mama,” says one pair’s owner: a small, raven haired girl who holds loosely onto her older brother’s hand. Naruto looks to Hinata briefly, grins wide.

“I want Ichiraku Ramen,” mumbles the golden haired boy, and this time, his father laughs. Hinata holds out her arms to her children, and the warmth that had overcome her when Naruto first walked into the kitchen returns with the grasp of Boruto and Himawari’s fingers on her lap.

Naruto brings his arm further around once the pair settles, then gives a generous squeeze. Love is new, Hinata thinks.

And it exists, in this.

[datte-ba]

love, lavender, and everything else in between—a masterpost

Over the course of the past year, I’ve edited and reposted all of my Naruhina pieces thus far (except this) into a single collection that can be found here. This post is for ease of access to individual chapters based on summary, but the original, unedited versions of the pieces can also be found here. 

Also—from now on, I’ll be taking NH (and other Nar-related) prompts on my sideblog here. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these treasures. Each of them holds a very dear place in my heart, comments and tags all of included. :)

yeah, i could get used to the noise | in which naruto comes home to more than just an empty bedroom—he comes home to a voice. her voice. 

moon eyes and lavender | naruto’s first kiss is better than indescribable; it is flushed with hinata’s laughter and taste, and he could not love her more for it.

breathe me into life | hinata knows that he’s trying his best to be the hokage and a father at the same time. she just wants him to believe it himself.

all of the stars | naruto regrets not saving her from the tsukuyomi more than he does most things, but maybe his apology is something she’ll take. 

you are in love | sakura only wants for naruto to be happy—and his happiness is something she knows lies in none other than hinata. [the last]

paper crowns | nerves have always been an incredibly fierce obstacle to overcome, but maybe there’s a chance they’ll succeed if they’re together. 

beauty | the only thing naruto knows when he sees her is that he wants hinata back in her vibrant and violet glory, one that he’s now come to love. [the last] 

lovers in japan | it’s a surprising but comforting fact to know they were always meant for each other—that fate carved out their names side by side. 

which to bury | kakashi’s death is an enigma naruto doesn’t how to face alone, but that’s exactly what he has hinata for, what he has their children for. 

i’ll put a spell on you | hinata doesn’t realize it until too late that this whole time she’s watched him fall in love, and with herself, at that. [the last]

dancin’ like we’re 22 | naruto isn’t totally a stranger to flirting, although it’s true that her presence in his life has certainly made him better at the act. 

cause you can let it slide | hinata is always prepared to take every last emotion naruto gives her, even if it means abating his anger. 

i will be there with bells on | neji’s death doesn’t just create connection. it creates comfort—and it only takes two to make comfort breed love.

put it on me | naruto has been alone for over half of his life. so hinata’s warm and newfound presence must mean something more, right? 

death with dignity | hinata has lived several, long years at her husband’s side. to admit that their time together is about to end is to tear herself apart. 

And please, don’t hesitate to send me ideas for a new drabble series! I’m always looking for new ways to stay engaged in this lovely fandom! :D

[datte-ba]

earth keeps shaking | naruto

sum: from the day i saw my heart start breaking, no one saved me.  a/n: the lack of narusaku closure still angers me immensely; this is set within naruto gaiden. 

[datte-ba]

my heart is home is where you are | naruto

naruto weekend: favorite otp sum: it’s been so long since he held her like this. the scratch of his stubble under her fingers makes her think, this is home.  a/n: this is supposed to make up for the v e r y obvious lack of nh in the boruto movie. :)

Hinata can’t be sure when he comes for her.

One moment, her husband is looking back at her from the blue of their son’s eyes; the next, he is here, in the flesh, lying sideways next to her in a hospital bed.

His shirt is open halfway down, and her hand trails a broad path from collar bone to sternum to waistline. Three holes, off-centered but no doubt aimed with specific purpose, mar her husband’s torso. Hinata can feel the depth of each one under her fingers.

Naruto meets her gaze as she looks up. His eyes are all calm oceans and content while hers swim in a violent sea of emotion, and Hinata realizes she never thought the tables would turn in this way. It seems that they’ve grown together somehow.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, but Naruto is quick to scoff, retorting, “For what?”

“My relatives.”

He bursts into a cacophony.

“I am,” Hinata insists. The bed frame shakes with her husband’s raucous laughter, and she grabs onto his shoulders, fists her fingers in the tears of his shirt. When he finally looks back to her, she holds onto that, too.

“Believe me,” Naruto says, “this is all well deserved.” He takes her hand and touches it to his chest. The small ridges of exposed and uneven flesh send an unwelcome shiver through her, and Hinata shuts her eyes, pictures the moment she let her husband slip away from her fingers.

The line that lies between “before” and “after” isn’t something she can even distinguish—there echoes only the feeling of his hand in hers, of his fingers rubbing small circles into the center of her palm.

“It was about time I had some sense knocked into me,” he murmurs. His nose brushes up against hers.

Hinata opens her eyes to stare back at him, silvery moons digging deep into his gaze. Every sentiment, every word left unspoken between them since he took upon this worldly weight is etched into that tender movement. Naruto’s bandaged fingers wrap around hers as if in apology, and Hinata—

—Hinata will have none of it. She takes a moment to bottle the pacific in her husband’s eyes, store it somewhere deep for rainy days. And then she breathes, “No.”

No number of sleepless nights and disjointed schedules, of silent hours and hesitant looks, can add up to the three beams that once plunged through his chest. Hinata looks up and sees a man of immeasurable courage and love lying before her, and a tear slips past her cheek as she reaches up to touch his face.

“You weren’t angry with me?” he whispers. His eyes fall to a cut that slices deep across her shoulder, but she turns him away from the war wound and touches his mouth instead. The cracks in his lips are flaky under her thumb, but she finds that she likes the texture, and she leans in for a kiss.

“I missed you,” she answers softly.

Naruto chuckles, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “You weren’t the only one.” He lifts and turns his head back to face the bared door, through which a small sliver of Boruto’s frame can be seen.

The blond genin swings his legs in tempo to the excitement that carries his voice, and there lies no doubt that Himawari sits right beside him, her eyes and ears all his for the taking. Their son has emanated nothing but pride and content since he set foot in Konoha, but both parents know there are still kinks to smooth out in the days ahead.

The work will never be easy, she realizes—but it will be worth it. 

Naruto draws his lips to her ear and murmurs, teasing, “Maybe we should try for a third.”

Laughter slips out of her mouth before she can catch it, so light like a bell that it sings within him. Hinata leans in to ghost a kiss over his throat, a smile blooming on her lips when he rumbles beside her. It’s been so long since he held her like this. The scratch of his stubble under her fingers makes her think, This is home.

“And when would we find the time to do that?” she whispers.

The breath hitches in his throat, and Hinata swears she feels a surge of heat crackle like a firework, travel all the way down his spine to somewhere low. She lazily hovers her tongue a few millimeters above his pulse point, the endless possibilities flickering to life before her eyes.

Naruto hums. “I can think of a few days.”

Her smile only grows. “Oh?”

It’s a challenge and a request wrapped neatly into one word, and God knows it’s been several years since they felt young and wild, but she really wants for him to kiss her right now. To feel the gasp in her throat when he opens her with his tongue. To know the pink of her, inside and out.

“Yeah,” he continues, voice like gravel. Their gazes track to the scars riddling his skin, the wounds that fester underneath far from being healed. Naruto sends her a sly grin and raises his eyebrow. “I’ve got some time to spare.”

The laughter that bubbles up from her throat then quiets quickly when she closes the distance. Her fingers rake rows through the gold of his hair while Naruto cups his callused palms around her cheeks. Everything feels right for the first time in days, weeks, months, and Hinata could not be happier for it. “Well, then,” she murmurs, and she tugs his lower lip between her teeth.

“I guess this means we have a date.”

[datte-ba]

i will be there with bells on | naruto

sum: her hand on his cheek is a vivid and tactile memory, and he holds it high in his heart.  a/n: heavily edited repost of this fic, with the title taken from this quote. 

He wonders if it would be wrong to touch her.

Hinata shivers in front of him, arms wrapped around her body. Her eyes are dimmed and hollow, and she stares ahead into the distance, watching the incense as it floats up from her cousin’s grave.

During the war, Hinata had been the one who chose to be strong while he nearly fell prey to loss all over again. She had slapped his cheek and reminded him that in his hands was not the life of one person, but many. She had given him purpose, and a little love when he most needed it.

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[datte-ba]

i and love and you | naruto

prompt: one of them gets sick and the other has to take care of them. @stellatiate sum: you and me, we flew.  a/n: i’m going to start taking prompts on my narfic sideblog @datte-ba, just fyi! also, please reblog + comment! 

Hanabi doesn’t expect him to make an appearance. Or, maybe she does, but not this quickly.

Kou offers the younger Hyuuga sister an amused look as she passes by, but Hanabi is careful not to do more than smile. Naruto’s eagerness in regards to all things concerning her sister is an easily laughable thing, but in a good way. His open and endless love for Hinata Hyuuga brings a smile and affectionate laughter to almost anyone’s face, sometimes even Hiashi’s.

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[datte-ba]

flowers in your hair | naruto

sum: you smell like rain. like april showers and all that. / and we smell like summer, but only when you’re here. [naruto/hinata.]  a/n: this is a heavily edited repost of this fic.  a/n2: here is the ff.net link if you’d like to read there. 

She’s been planning this weekend for ages upon ages—the shape of the beds, what color the mulch will be, the perennials and annuals they’ll plant. All of Hinata’s plans have been penned into a small notebook whose pages have started to curl at the corners from overuse.

She carries it around with her wherever she goes in the weeks leading up to the project. Every part of every day, flowers flood her vision, and she even gets to wondering if they might be her high, and not her husband’s lips on her skin.

But she’s been planning this weekend for ages upon ages, and so when Naruto tells her that he won’t be able to plunge his hands alongside hers into the earth, because Kakashi has assigned him to a week-long reconnaissance mission, Hinata can’t help but hold a grudge.

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