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[http://archiveofourown.org/works/8597278] - - public:opalsong
creator:blackkat, extra:crossover, extra:friendship, extra:humour, Fandom:Naruto, Fandom:StarTrek, fanwork, length:oneshot, Length:Short, pairing:Orochimaru/Sakumo, quality:sunfish, rating:unrated, site:AO3, type:prose - 14 | id:1528370 -

For a prompt on my Tumblr: TOS!Sannin. Tsunade McCoy the grumpy, compassionate alcoholic with a heart of gold, Jiraiya Kirk the cocky and intelligent leader and womaniser, and finally, S'chan T'gai Orochimaru, the 'non-emotional' genius scientist with a not-so-hidden soft, gooey emotional centre.

[http://archiveofourown.org/works/8597200] - - public:opalsong
creator:blackkat, extra:au, extra:myth, Fandom:Naruto, fanwork, length:oneshot, Length:Short, pairing:Orochimaru/Sakumo, quality:sunfish, rating:G, site:AO3, type:prose - 12 | id:1528371 -

For a prompt on my Tumblr: Have you read the version of the Persephone myth where Persephone wasn't abducted but wandered into the underworld under her free will and then refused to leave (to Hades's utter bemusement)? I read it recently and the only things in my head since is fed-up Persephone!Oro meeting bemused Hades!Sakumo after fighting from Zeus!Jiraya :P

[https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833492] - - public:opalsong
creator:blackkat, Extra:BDSM, extra:roughSex, Fandom:Naruto, fanwork, length:oneshot, Length:Short, pairing:Orochimaru/Sakumo, quality:sunfish, rating:nc-17, site:AO3, type:prose - 12 | id:1527672 -

“I’m starting to think all those rumors about the Hatake were true,” Orochimaru manages to get out, half an instant before he’s landing on his hands and knees on a thin bedroll, hands already tearing at his robes.

[https://archiveofourown.org/works/13786596] - - public:opalsong
creator:blackkat, extra:roughSex, Fandom:Naruto, fanwork, length:oneshot, Length:Short, pairing:Orochimaru/Sakumo, quality:sunfish, rating:nc-17, site:AO3, type:prose - 11 | id:1527676 -

“Back from your mission already?” Orochimaru asks slyly, and the grip on his hair is too tight for him to turn his head, but he can see the fall of white hair reflected in the mirror on the far wall, can smell the crushed-leaf and dark-earth scent of the man, touched with sweat and metal. “I'm two days late,” Sakumo says into the nape of his neck, and the hand slides from his side up to the collar of his robe.

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