Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Naruto blinks at the compound in front of her, a grin slowly making its way onto her face.

She had stumbled upon the compound a few weeks ago deep into the forest much like the Nara’s was, but this one was… bigger. The biggest one in Konoha, if what Hokage-jiji said was true.

She didn’t even know she belonged to a clan! And apparently it’s one of the most powerful clans in the world!

It had taken a lot of bribing, yelling, fighting, and tears that made Hokage-jiji look like he was going to have a heart attack to convince him to let her live in the compound.

The compound was surprisingly well taken care of with the fact no one has lived in it in over a decade. The walls stood tall and proud, not a single leaf out of place, almost as if waiting for its rightful owner to come home.

“Hey, Kurama, now that we have a bigger place will you teach me stuff?” Naruto’s voice echoed through the empty compound, the excitement bubbling up inside her like a fresh pot of ramen. The Nine-Tails remained silent for a moment, then a deep, gruff chuckle resonated in her mind.

“Teach you? I’ve been trying to teach you for years, brat. Maybe now you’ll finally start listening.” Kurama’s words were teasing, but the warmth behind them was unmistakable.

“Maa, Rama’s a big meanie!” Naruto exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she skipped through the compound’s courtyard, the sound of her sandals slapping against the stone path echoing through the quiet space.

Kurama’s chuckle grew louder in her mind. “I’m not mean, just... particular about who I share my wisdom with. Now, if you’re serious about this, you’ll have to put in some actual effort.”

“YES! Kurama-Chan!” Naruto raised her hand and saluted no one in particular, her eyes sparkling as she pushed open the door to the main house. The wooden floors creaked under her weight, and dust danced in the beams of sunlight that pierced through the sliding doors. The place was a maze of memories and secrets, just waiting to be uncovered.

“But… I want to learn about my clan first.” Naruto looked around the walkway. The compound seem to be filled with all types of furniture she would ever need. “From what you’ve told me you’ve been with Uzumaki family for three gener-giner-generations and I want to know about them, about us!”

Kurama sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes in a way that only she could feel in her mind. He stayed silent for a couple seconds before clicking his tongue. “… well, if you insist, the first thing you should know is that you are the clan’s Hime.” He paused, waiting for a reaction.

Naruto blinked once, twice, three times, then frowned, picking at her bottom lip. “A… Hime…? What’s a Hime?”

“Ah, so the old man didn’t tell you everything,” Kurama huffed. “Hime means a princess or a lady of higher birth. In your clan, it’s a title given to the female heir, the one who’s supposed to lead and carry on the Uzumaki lineage. It’s a big deal, brat.”

Naruto’s eyes widened as she took in the information. A leader? Her? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying, but she knew that Kurama wouldn’t lie to her. He was always brutally honest, even if it was wrapped in layers of sarcasm.

“So… I’m a princess?” Naruto scuffed her feet slightly as she continue to explore the compound. The title of 'Hime' felt foreign and heavy, but she couldn’t ignore the thrill that shot through her.

“Yes, though not all clans have a Hime or Hiko, yours does,” Kurama informed her. “And as your clan’s Hime, you will be expected to embody the Uzumaki’s strength and spirit. It’s a responsibility that comes with great power and even greater expectations.”

Naruto hummed, finding herself in the sitting room and taking a seat on one of the various chairs. “But… I’m the only Uzumaki… or, at least that I know of. If I’m the only one then what am I even supposed to embody?”

“Last my ass.” Kurama actually kind of sounded offended at the idea. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a Uzumaki ever managed to bring themselves back from the dead with just sheer will power. They’re that stubborn and tenacious. Plus, you’re not the only one. There are others out there, scattered across the lands. You’re just the last one in this village. And as for what you’re supposed to embody? The spirit of your ancestors, the will to never give up, to keep moving forward, to protect your people, even when it seems like there’s no one left to protect. That’s what it means to be an Uzumaki Hime. And now that you know, it’s your turn to live up to that legacy, even if it’s just you and me for now.”

Naruto bit on her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as she looked around the space. There are various photos, paintings, and tapestries adorning the walls, but the one thing that stood out the most was… everyone has red hair. No, not just red, but blood red, a type of red that looks so vivid and alive it was almost unnatural.

“… Kurama. Why does everyone in the photos and stuff have red hair?” she asked, pointing to a particularly vivid tapestry depicting an Uzumaki ancestor with hair so red it looked like it was painted with fresh blood.

“It’s a trait passed down through generations, a mark of your clan’s lineage.”

Naruto frowned at Kurama’s answer, her hand going up to fiddle with a lock of her hair. Her hair wasn’t red, far from it, it was a golden blonde. “But what about me, Kurama-Chan? My hair isn’t red.”

Kurama tutted, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Ah, that’s my doing. The red coloring is from the Uzumaki chakra genetics. Since in your old apartment you didn’t have concealment seals anywhere, I cut off a good amount of chakra flow that would flow through you at all times, which means your hair remained blonde. But if we were to activate the seals around here, your hair would likely turn red in no time.”

“RUDE!” Naruto gasped, trying to sound scandalized but failing as she couldn’t hold back the giggle that bubbled up. “… tell me more about them. Hokage-jiji wouldn’t tell me anything about my clan, said it was an SSS-class secret or something like that!”

Kurama’s chuckles grew deeper, his amusement clear. “SSS-class, huh? Well, I guess that is understandable. The Uzumaki are dangerous…” he paused for a second, sighed, “Back in my time before I was sealed away into anyone there was a saying, a saying I think should still be valid, but nevertheless people seem to have forgotten it. It went ‘Never lose sight of a Uzumaki while in battle. If you do… do yourself a favor, and kill yourself, because once they set their sights on you. And you can’t see them. It’s gameover. You think You Know danger?… you’ve never met anyone like them’.”

Naruto’s eyes widened with a mix of pride and a touch of fear. The idea of her ancestors being so feared and powerful was both thrilling and terrifying. She looked around the compound, taking in the grandeur of the place.

“So… they are dangerous?” Naruto echoed, her voice a mix of awe and curiosity.

“Beyond dangerous, they were legendary, feared and revered in equal measure,” Kurama’s voice grew solemn. “They had unparalleled chakra control and sensory abilities, could heal almost any wound, and had an unbreakable pack mentality. When an Uzumaki sets their sights on a goal, there is no obstacle too great to overcome. And your line, as the Hime, is the epitome of that spirit. Your ancestors were untouchable, their sealings near impossible to break. It’s why I was sealed within your mother, and why I’m now bound to you. The Uzumaki are the ultimate jinchūriki, capable of handling even the most volatile of tailed beasts. That’s your inheritance, brat.”

Naruto nodded, crossing her legs where she sat. “Okay… uhh, so… what else? Besides the fact my clan is dangerous and I’m a... a... HIME?” She stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

Kurama hummed thoughtfully for a moment before continuing, "The Uzumaki are also known for… not quite being human-like you could say." He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “Some say Uzumaki are closer to Kitsune spirits than humans. They have a heightened sense of smell, a unique way of bonding, and their bodies are capable of things that would make a normal ninja faint."

Naruto's curiosity grew as she listened intently to every word Kurama spoke. She looked down at her fingers, fiddling with her nails. They were long and sharp, and slightly curved, sturdy to the touch. She looked up, catching her reflection on a small wall mirror. Her features were sharp and angled, and her eyes, a crystal blue, were cat-like— or fox-like—, slitted pupils that were a darker shade of blue. Opening her mouth, Naruto ran her tongue over her sharpened teeth. From her canines back her teeth weren’t quite razor sharp but they also weren’t quite normal either.

Kurama hummed, and Naruto was guessing he was watching what she was doing through her eyes. “Your clan’s traits are quite fascinating, aren’t they? Your teeth, your nails, your eyes. And your sense of smell, it’s a powerful tool, one that you’ll learn to harness to track down your enemies and find your friends in the heat of battle. It’s one of the reasons the Uzumaki were so feared. They could sniff out a rat in a sea of shinobi.”

Naruto took a deep breath, nodding. “Is… is there anything else that I should know, like… like traditions and stuff?”

“Hair is sacred, never to be cut, Naruto.” Kurama’s voice echoed through her mind. It's a symbol of your strength and vitality, a connection to your ancestors. Hair may be… cut for other reasons, but it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

“So, no cutting hair.” Naruto murmured to herself, absently twirling a lock of her golden hair around her finger.

“Yes, no cutting hair. And women are also sacred, damn near revered in the Uzumaki Clan. You’re a Uzumaki, a Hime at that, which means you’re a living goddess to them.” Kurama’s words brought a blush to Naruto’s cheeks. “It is very rare for a man of the Uzumaki to lead the clan; it’s almost always a female. But with the clan scattered as it is, that might not hold true anymore. Regardless, you’ll have to be ready to step up if the time comes. The world may not know it yet, but you’re the key to the Uzumaki’s survival.”

Naruto was still blushing at being called a living goddess, but she nodded firmly. "I'll do my best, Kurama-san. For the clan, for my parents, and for everyone who's ever believed in me."

“Good,” Kurama said, his tone firm. “Now, let’s get—” He abruptly trailed off as if he remembered something very important, his tone switching from firm to something that could only be explained as exasperated, utterly confused, and slightly concerned. “Also, marriage.” He sighed, a long, suffering thing. “Fray-Forged Affinities. Uzumaki do not have normal marriages at a chapel or wherever else humans do it. It’s a fight to the almost-death. If your partner can’t handle you at your most animalistic, then they can’t handle you in bed. And it’s not just about the fight either, it’s about the bond formed in the chaos. You’re not just committing to a partner, but to the future of the clan. It’s serious business, and you can’t just back out of it because you had a disagreement over what to have for dinner.”

“BED!” Naruto squawked, face turning scarlet as she realized what Kurama had just said. "Kurama-san!" She yelled, face burning up, "Why would you say such a thing! I will not be having a sex talk with you!"

The fox chuckled darkly. “Naruto, I’ve seen more than you could ever imagine. Besides, it’s part of your heritage, it’s important to know these things. Plus, I’m trapped in here, I don’t exactly get to experience these things anymore. So, let me live vicariously through your future exploits.”

If Naruto was red before now her face was nuclear. “Kurama-san! That is absolutely inappropriate! We will not be discussing such matters!” She exclaimed, turning away from the mirror to hide her burning face.

The nine-tailed beast chuckled in her mind, a deep, throaty sound that seemed to rumble in her very soul. “I’m just saying, it’s part of your heritage, little Hime. Plus, it’s not like I’m asking for details. I just want to make sure you’re prepared for what’s to come. And believe me, you’ll want to be prepared. The instincts of your clan are strong, and they’re going to hit you like a ton of bricks when the time comes.”

Naruto shrieked, her face burning so hot It was a miracle her hair didn't catch fire. She uncrossed her legs and stomped her foot, feeling more embarrassed than she had ever felt in her life. "Kurama-san, that's not what I meant, and you know it!" She tried to scold him, but her voice was shaking with a mix of embarrassment and the beginnings of anger. "I don't need you telling me about... about that!"

The fox's laughter grew, the chuckles turning into full-blown guffaws that filled the confines of her mind. "Alright, alright," he said, his voice still filled with mirth. "But don't say I didn't warn you. Those instincts are strong, and when the time comes, you'll know it. Just remember, you're the Hime now, and you have responsibilities. Besides, it's not all fighting and... other things. You're also the heart of the pack, the one who brings everyone together. And trust me, that's a powerful role in its own right."

Naruto took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing her face to cool down. "Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "so, no cutting hair, and... Fray-Forged Affinities are intense. What else should I know?"

“… nothing that I can think of at the moment. It’s been nearly three decades since I have been in Uzushiogakure nor had any vessel that could teach me about new or old Uzumaki practices. Mito lived in Uzushiogakure before she moved here with her husband, and after she passed away I was given to Kushina. Kushina didn’t speak to me much nor did she speak about her clan much either. But if I remember if there’s something else, I’ll tell you, Naruto.” Kurama’s voice grew softer as he spoke of the past.

Naruto nodded, her cheeks still aflame. “Alright. Thank you, Kurama-chan. I guess I’ll just have to figure out the rest as I go along, then.”

“Naruto,” Kurama suddenly sounded serious again, and she could feel him moving around in the seal space of his domain. “I’m going to do something, okay? You remember how I told you I was the reason why your hair wasn’t red. That I’ve been cutting off a good amount of chakra flow that would flow through you at all times because you didn’t have any concealment seals in your old apartment? Well, I’m about to remove that blockage, let your true Uzumaki power flow through you. Once I removed this blockage, your clan that is scattered around will know their Hime is somewhere on a instinctual level. They will start to feel your presence, and if they’re close enough, they might just find you. Are you ready for that?”

Naruto took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of her heritage and the reality of her new role as the Hime settled heavily upon her shoulders. But she had come too far and learned too much to turn back now. She nodded firmly. “Do it, Kurama-san. I’m ready to face whatever comes my way, as long as it means I can protect and help my clan!”

The room grew hotter as Kurama chuckled in approval. A sudden surge of energy flowed through her, and she felt her chakra swell. The blockage was gone, and the first thing Naruto thought was it’s hot, really hot, as if she was standing next to a bonfire, and heavy, heavy as if she was holding a  boulder. She looked into the mirror again, and sure enough, her once-bright blonde hair was now bleeding into a vibrant, crimson, blood red. The change was so stark it was as if she was looking at a different person. Her eyes widened in shock and excitement, reaching a hand to feel the strands. It was softer than she could ever remember it being, almost as if it were alive.

——————————

Somewhere, and everywhere, in all the nations, scattered around the world over six hundred Uzumaki’s shivered, their bodies jolting as they suddenly gasped for air like they had been under water for too long. Some looked around in confusion while others felt a sudden warmth, a sudden belonging, a sudden urge to go to a place they never knew existed. They felt it, they knew it, their Hime was alive, and she was strong.

Chapter Text

Kakashi froze where he sat on Guy’s couch, eating shitty ramen with the man as they watched some romcom about a young woman finding love with her childhood enemy. He had been invited over for dinner by the green beast himself and was currently trying to enjoy the peace and quiet before the storm of whatever bullshit that was going to happen next started. However, the moment he felt the shift in the air, he knew something was off.

Kakashi straightened up, nearly dropping his noodles and gasping for breath as if somebody had been holding his head underwater, a shiver racking his body. He could feel his pupil of his only normal eye shrinking into a prick of a slit and all of his hair started standing on end.

Guy startled at the sudden shift in his friend's demeanor, setting his chopsticks down with a clatter. "What's the matter, Kakashi?" he asked, his eyes widening with concern.

Kakashi didn’t answer, his chest heaving like he had nearly drowned. His world spun for a second before snapping back to reality, the word “Hime” echoing in his mind. The room was suddenly too hot, too bright, too everything, and he had to physically stop himself from running out of Guy’s apartment and hunting down the Hime.

He knows exactly who that Hime was, and knew where she was— most of the time—. But that still didn’t answer the question of why and how Minato-sensei’s kid has suddenly gained enough power to make the Uzumaki instincts, let alone his since he’s only half Uzumaki, go haywire.

“Kakashi,” Guy placed a hand on his shoulder, “are you okay?” He looked genuinely concerned, but Kakashi couldn’t find the words to explain what just happened. The urge to find the source of that power was almost overwhelming, but he had to keep it together.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves that seemingly went from zero to a hundred in a split second. He was a shinobi, a Anbu for fucks sake, he could control his body. But this was something else, something primal. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, his voice a little shakier than he would have liked. "It's just...something strange." He couldn't bring himself to tell them about the sudden surge of instinctual loyalty and protectiveness that had shot through his body like a bolt of lightning.

He turned his head to face Guy, and Guy jumped visibly when he locked eyes with Kakashi’s only visible one. He was used to seeing a dark grey with a hint of light gray looking at him, but right now, Kakashi's eye was slitted like a cat's and as sharp as the most deadliest of predators.

Kakashi stared at Guy— the man who was reluctantly his best friend— as said man's hand hovered over his shoulder, poised to either give a comforting squeeze or push him away, depending on what Kakashi's next words would be. The stark change in his pupil had not gone unnoticed; even in the dim light of the room, it was clear as day. He swallowed hard, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his spine, despite the cool evening breeze wafting in through the open window.

“… Guy… have I ever told you who my mother was?” Kakashi didn’t know why he was asking this question now, but something about the way his body had reacted made him feel like he needed to confess his lineage, or at least explain something to Guy who looked kind of scared of him right now.

Guy frowned, his hand slowly lowering to his side. “Your mother?” He was confused. “Why do you bring her up now, Kakashi? Is something wrong?”

Kakashi blinked a couple times, something in the back of his head telling him to move, to go find the source of the Uzumaki Hime's power surge, but he pushed it aside. "… she was an Uzumaki. Ayahi Uzumaki. I’m half Uzumaki.”

Guy’s eyes went wide. “What!?” He yelped, the ramen he had been slowly chewing nearly dropping from his mouth. “You’re a Uzumaki? Kakashi, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” The room was filled with a tense silence, only the sound of the bamboo leaves outside whispering their secrets in the wind.

“Half,” Kakashi choked out, shivering again as the Uzumaki instincts within him stirred restlessly. “Not… not full blooded, but my mother was Ayahi Uzumaki.”

Guy stared at him, his eyes wide. The revelation hung in the air like a thundercloud, heavy and pregnant with meaning. 

"Ayahi Uzumaki," he murmured, his mind racing. He didn’t know the name, but he was also pretty sure Kakashi‘s mother wasn’t a ninja, just a civilian. The silence grew tauter as he absorbed this revelation. The Uzumaki Clan, known for their fiery red hair and incredible chakra reserves, had almost been wiped out after the fall of Uzushiogakure. Only a handful remained, and the knowledge that one of them was right in front of him was astonishing and more than just a little bit terrifying. He’s read the books from the library when he was a kid about the strongest ninja clan in the world. Brutal creatures that were fiercely loyal to each other and would fight to the death for their clan. The Uzumaki Clan was feared and respected in equal measure, and now Kakashi was sitting here, telling him that he had Uzumaki blood flowing through his veins.

Guy took a deep breath, placing his hands in his lap, his meal forgotten. "Why didn’t you tell me earlier?" he asked, his voice low.

“… I never told anyone, not even Minato-sensei when he was alive,” Kakashi replied, his one uncovered eye flicking in between both of Guy’s. “It was safer that way. My father didn’t want the village to know. He was afraid of the power we could hold, especially after what happened to Uzushiogakure. He wanted me to blend in, to be a shinobi of the Leaf first, a Uzumaki second. And after my mother’s death, he had to protect me from those who might seek to exploit or harm me for my heritage. So, I became Kakashi Hatake, not Kakashi Uzumaki.”

Guy swallowed the dry lump in his throat, the gravity of Kakashi’s words weighing on him like an anvil. He felt a pang of guilt for not noticing his friend’s struggle, for not being there for him in the way he thought he had been. But he knew Kakashi was right; the Uzumaki Clan’s power was both revered and feared. It was a double-edged sword, and one that could have painted a target on his back from the day he was born.

“How… how many people know your a Uzumaki?” Guy finally managed to ask, setting his food aside on the coffee table in front of them, Kakashi robotically following his motion.

Kakashi blinked a couple more times, taking in a deep breath as his uncovered eyes slowly started turning back to normal, his pupil finally expanding again. “Uhhh… the Hokage, Jiraiya and Tsunade of the Sannin, one person from my Anbu squad, and Iruka Umino, and now you. That’s it, I think.” He listed off, his voice low and even, as if speaking any louder would make it more real to him.

Guy nodded solemnly, digesting the information. The silence between them stretched out, the only sound the humming coming from the electric chimney he has below his TV. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for Kakashi, and Guy felt it keenly. They’d been friends for years, rivals since their days in the academy, but he had never seen this side of his friend before.

He took a deep breath, held it for a couple seconds before letting it out, addressing the cow in the room. “Okay, your half Uzumaki. But that still doesn’t explain the whole… freak out you had.” He tried to keep his voice light, not wanting to make his friend feel uncomfortable.

Kakashi cleared his throat, the agitated voice in the back of his head he wasn’t listening to slowly fading away as he came back, fully not driven by instinct. He looked down at his untouched dinner, the food now cold, "uhhh… tell me what you know about how Uzumaki’s act?"

Guy leaned back, his expression thoughtful, "Well, they’re known for their resilience, their ability to endure pain and keep fighting. And their healing abilities are off the charts." He paused, considering, "But that’s not all, right? There’s something about them being animalistic?"

Kakashi shook his head, a half nod, a half shake of his head no. “Uhh, Uzumaki are pack oriented, nearly as much if not more as Inuzuka. But, there’s a lot more to it than that.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his gaze flicking up to the TV, then spoke. “… most clans are led by a man, a male figurehead that everyone looks up to and respects. But the Uzumaki are a matriarchal clan. They’re led by the clan’s women, the Hime. It’s like a queen bee sort of deal. The Hime’s presence is like a beacon to the rest of the pack. It’s a biological instinct. I… I reacted that way because said beacon was just turned on to maximum capacity for the first time in years. And apparently, I’m still a part of that pack even if I am a half-blood. It’s hard to explain, the reaction comes from a feeling of being… let’s say, yanked out of water after being under for too long, and suddenly you can breathe again.”

Guy blinked, trying to process this new information. He’d heard of matriarchal clans, but they were rare in the shinobi world. “So, you’re like, a pack animal now?” He said, trying to make light of the situation. But even he knew it was no laughing matter. The Uzumaki Clan’s power was legendary, and their ways were shrouded in mystery.

But at least it got a laugh out of Kakashi, which was rare. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth curled up slightly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He took a deep breath, staying silent to let Guy process the new information.

And process Guy did. All clan’s had weird ticks, he really couldn’t judge the Uzumaki for theirs. Hell, half the time he swears to God the Nara aren’t even human, no one should be able to be that smart and that weird at the same time. It was like they were aliens trying to fit in. He turned his attention back to the TV, grabbing his beer off of the coffee table and taking a swig. “So, now that you’ve got my attention, I’m curious. A couple weeks ago I was reading through some history books to freshen up my knowledge when I saw something about ‘Fray-Forged Affinity’. What does that entail exactly?” He was genuinely curious, the more he learned about the Uzumaki the more he felt like he was digging into ancient myths and legends.

Kakashi’s face actually turned pink and Guy had to do a triple take to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “It’s… the Uzumaki way of getting married.” He coughed into his hand, looking anywhere but at Guy. “It’s… uhhh, let’s just say it’s not normal.”

Guy chuckled, swigging his beer. “Well, when you’re part of a clan that’s basically seen as ninja gods, I wouldn’t expect a traditional marriage ceremony. So, what’s the deal with it? Is it like a fight to the death or something?”

Kakashi pursed his lips, looking like a kid who had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Well, it's not quite a fight to the death.”

Guy stared at him, utterly baffled. “You’ve gotta be shitting me, Kakashi. The Uzumaki fight as a way to get married? That’s the most metal thing I’ve ever heard in my life!”

Kakashi rolled his eyes, the pink in his cheeks darkening. And Guy stared, transfixed, because this is the guy that reads smut out and about in public without batting an eyelid. “It’s not a fight to the death, Guy. It’s more like... a very intense sparring match. The Uzumaki are… very high strung people. And most of Fray-Forged Affinity have happened in between enemies on opposing side of battles, or between rivals. The Uzumaki’s are… weird, attracted to strength and challenge.”

Guy blinked. “So, you’re telling me that if I want to marry an Uzumaki, I’d have to kick their ass in a duel?”

Kakashi huffed, popping his fingers absentmindedly. “It’s not a fair fight, just to let you know. It’s as underhanded as you can get. They’ll use every trick in the book to win. It’s like watching two wild animals duking it out. I was there to watch Minato-sensei and Kushina-san’s Fray-Forged Affinity… you, do you remember that really big fight that happened in training ground three in between the two of them they had a couple years before Kushina-san got pregnant?” He paused, looking at his friend.

Guy nodded, the memory of the legendary fight that had left the training ground a crater still fresh in his mind. “How could I forget? I thought they were going to kill each other!”

“Well, that was their Fray-Forged Affinity.” Kakashi said, his voice a mix of amusement and something else that Guy couldn’t quite place.

Guy’s eyes widened, then he squinted them, and then he made a face. It… kind of made sense even if Minato-sensei looked petrified during that whole ordeal.

Chapter Text

Shikamaru’s face scrunched up, feeling hair brush across his cheek as he was woken up from his nap. He had found a nook underneath a tree of the forest and it looked like a good place to nap, but now here he was, being found. What a drag.

He sighs, he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if Ino found him. That was one of the reasons why he took naps in the forest. One, he was a Nara. Two, this was a part of the Nara Forest. Three, more than half the time the Nara Forest didn’t like Ino enough to let her find him.

Peeling his eyes open, hoping whoever it was would just leave him be, Shikamaru was surprised to find not Ino, but a small, red-haired girl with piercing blue eyes, standing over him. Her head was tilted to the side, looking at him curiously.

“Hey, you’re in my reading nook.” The girl said, her voice light and cheerful despite the sharpness of her features. “I don’t care if you stay, but just tellin’ you so when you wake up you didn’t freak out you saw me.”

Shikamaru blinked up at her. The Nara Forest usually didn’t let strangers in, sure, the deer wouldn’t be aggressive towards kids, but the deers still usually wouldn’t let them in more than a couple feet. But this girl was practically in his face, and there wasn’t a deer in sight. “How’d you get in here?”

The girl frowned, squatting beside him, her feet flat on the ground and her knees tucked underneath her chin. Her hair pooled around her body like a river of red. “Maaa, I just walked, and then I saw you.”

Shikamaru sat up with a groan, his eyes narrowing at her. “No one just walks into the Nara Clan Forest, especially not kids.”

The girl frowned at him, looking off to the side and frowning harder. “This isn’t the Nara Forest, The Nara Forest border is past that tree.” She pointed to a tree a little farther away with a blood red kunai sticking out of it. “You’re just a bit past the Nara Forest border. But I don’t mind, yiu can stay if you want. But if you ever get lost again, just look up to the trees and see if you can find those red kunai, they’re there to help people indicate if they’re lost.”

Shikamaru stared at the tree, then at the girl, then back at the tree. “How do you know where the Nara Forest ends and begins?” He asked her, his curiosity piqued.

The girl tilted back, somehow balancing on her heels as she state squatted. Making little swoops with her finger in between the trees. “If you look higher up, you can see red rope tied in between the trees. It’s not exactly a fence or border, but I guess like a… marker? It’s pretty high, so sometimes people don’t see them… uhhh, but yeah, you’re not in the Nara Forest, just outside it.”

Shikamaru felt a little foolish. He knew the forest like the back of his hand, but he had never seen a red rope that high before. Though he had to admit, it wasn’t something he looked for either. He squinted and indeed saw a faint red thread snaking through the branches.

“Uhhh, I might have to change them, or… move the ropes lower.” The girl scratched her cheek, squinting through the foliage. “They might be too high up.”

Shikamaru sat up fully now, his curiosity piqued. “Why would you need to do that?”

The girl shrugged, falling back to sit on her butt. “Just so people don’t get lost. I’ve noticed the Nara deer seemingly know where the border is even if there is nothing to indicate it’s there. But sometimes people don’t know where they’re going.”

Shikamaru nodded, his gaze lingering on the girl's crimson hair. It was unlike any color he had seen before, sure Choji’s dad had red hair, but it was kind of a powdery colored, not this deep, vibrant red. He studied her features; they were sharp, almost animalistic, yet she had this softness to her that was quite alluring. Her eyes, cat-like, were the color of the ocean, a deep blue that seemed to have secrets hidden in their depths.

"So, what's your name?" He finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Naruto. Naruto Uzumaki. Nice to meet you.” The girl, Naruto, stuck out her hand for a shake.

Shikamaru looked at her hand with mild surprise before taking it, giving a firm shake. “Shikamaru Nara.” He introduced himself, his voice calm and even. “What brings you out here, Naruto?”

“Learning chakra control!” Naruto grinned at him, revealing sharp teeth. She looked like a Kitsuné fox, the kind that you’d see in ancient scrolls. “Or, well, i’m reading about chakra control before trying it out.” She said, letting go of his hand.

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow at that. Chakra control was something you learned with a teacher, not something you just read about. “You’re reading about it? That’s a bit... ambitious, don’t you think?” He said, leaning against the tree trunk.

Naruto shrugged, seemingly not caring. She shifted to stand on her knees, walking on her knees over to him and plopping down right beside him, pulling the backpack she had on her back off and rummaging through it before pulling out an old book with a red cover and golden trim. “Eh? What are they gonna do? Arrest me?”

Shikamaru took the book, glancing at the title, "The Art of Uzumaki Chakra Control." He opened it, flipping through the pages, seeing ancient seals and hand drawn diagrams. His eyes grew wide as he read the instructions for a basic chakra molding exercise. He had to admit, it was a bit beyond the typical starting material for an academy student. "Where did you get this?" He asked, his curiosity piqued.

“My home library,” Naruto answered, pulling out three more books. One was green with Golden trim, another was black with silver and the last one was blue with bronze trim.

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow, surprised by her straightforwardness. “You have a library?”

Naruto nodded, looking over to him. “YEP!” She said, popping the P. “It’s big, three stories with a glass roof.”

Shikamaru flipped through the book, his eyes skimming over the complex diagrams and symbols that he’d never seen before. “Your parents are shinobi?”

“Don’t know,” Naruto picked up the black book with silver trim, the title in kanji read 'The Heart of the Beast'. “Never met them.” She opened the book, skimming over the pages with excitement. The kanji dancing in a way that spoke of power and strength. “They…? Something happened to them when I was little.”

Shikamaru nodded, using his finger to trace the intricate patterns on the book page. "I see," he murmured, his curiosity piqued. "But you must have someone who taught you all this?"

“I DO!” Naruto chirped, “Rama-Chan! He’s the best!”

Shikamaru blinked. “Rama-Chan?” He repeated, his tone incredulous.

“He’s… well, his name is Kurama. I just call him Rama-Chan sometimes.” Naruto giggled, “He’s like a really grumpy but wise older brother who’s always looking out for me, even when I mess up.”

“Kurama?” Shikamaru echoed, the name rolling off his tongue. He didn’t know that name, but still, he often didn’t memorize people’s names if he didn’t have to. “What’s he like?”

Naruto’s expression grew thoughtful, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “He’s grumpy, like I said, but he’s also really smart. He helps me with my jutsus, especially when I’m feeling down about being bad at something.”

Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is he your sensei?”

“Kurama? A sensei? No—

“NARUTO!” Naruto was cut off by a deep, gruff voice calling her name, the voice echoing through the forest.

Naruto looked up from her book, setting it aside and crawling over to the tree opening, poking her head out. “OVER HERE, KURAMA-CHAN! I MADE A FRIEND!” She called out cheerfully, waving one of her arms.

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow, watching as quite a large orange fox with Ninetails emerged from the tree line trotting over to them. Ah, so Kurama is a summons. He’s never seen a fox… Kitsuné fox Summoning Technique before. Sure, he seen his fair share of weird summons, but never a Kitsuné fox.

“Naruto, how many times do I have to tell you not to run off?” The fox, Kurama, said with a sigh, his nine tails waving behind him as he approached.

Naruto stuck her tongue out at the fox, crawling backwards away from the tree opening and taking her spot back beside Shikamaru. “You were taking too long, so I decided to go off on my own. It’s not like you couldn’t just find me with just a sniff anyway!” she exclaimed, pouting slightly.

Shikamaru watched the interaction with fascination. He had heard of summoning contracts before, but never one that seemed so... friendly. The fox looked at him with an expression that was eerily similar to a human's sigh. "And who might you be?" Kurama's voice was deep, with an air of authority that didn't quite match his size.

"Shikamaru Nara," the boy replied, bowing slightly. "It’s nice to… meet you, Kurama-san," he added, not quite sure how to address a summoned creature with such an unusual and regal demeanor.

Kurama just huffed, trotting into the nook, and nosing his way behind the two of them, pushing the two of them away from the tree they were sitting against, lying himself behind them with an annoyed sigh.

Shikamaru and Naruto slid slightly, falling back against the fox's warm, fuzzy body. Shikamaru landed with a small huff, and his first thought was that the summons body was… hot? Like he was standing in front of a bonfire kind of hot. It was… nice. He had never felt something like this from a summon before, it was akin to being in a sauna.

Shikamaru blinked a couple times, his fingers slowly curling into the fur underneath his hand, the fur tangled around his fingers slightly as he felt his body relax against the fox. He had never felt something like this before, a summon that could give warmth, and he had to admit that it was surprisingly comfortable. The fox was large, his body easily supporting both of them, and he could feel the steady beat of the creature's heart against his back. He glanced over to the side to see how Naruto was doing, only to find her leaning into the warmth with a small smile, her eyes fluttering shut in contentment.

She was… pretty. Very pretty. Very much so.

Shikamaru found himself thinking as he studied her face, her cheek pressed into the fur of the fox, her eyes closed in peaceful relaxation. Her features were soft and delicate.

Shikamaru blinked slowly at the girl, rolling over to his side, his body relaxing even more into Kurama's fur. His eyes started getting heavy again, and he quickly fell asleep to his mind racing of thoughts about the girl laying beside him.

——————————————

The next time Shikamaru woke up it was pitch black outside, the moon high in the sky as he was pulled up by his shirt sleeve. “Come, child, I can hear adults screeching your name from across the forest. It’s time to go home.” A deep, gruff voice said. Kurama’s voice, Shikamaru’s brain supplied, and he barely opened his eyes to see that Naruto was still passed out on Kurama’s back. The fox using one of his tails to hold up the backpack Naruto had brought with her.

Shikamaru made a sleepy noise of protest as Kurama’s let go of the sleeve of his long sleeve shirt just to bite a larger chunk of it and started pulling him along. "Kura-Kura, can't we just stay here?" He mumbled, his eyes still half lidded and his body feeling like it was made of lead.

Kurama froze for a split second at the nickname, his gaze flicking to Shikamaru. The summons took a deep breath before something flashed across his features and he started walking, pulling Shikamaru with him, out of whatever forest they were in and into the Nara Forest, towards the far away voices of Shikamaru’s mother and father.

Shikamaru stumbled along behind Kurama, his eyes still heavy with sleep. The forest was eerily quiet except for the rustle of leaves under their feet and the occasional hoot of an owl. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and earth. The shadows played around them, stretching and distorting as they moved through the moonlit night.

Shikamaru could sense the Nara deer watching them as they moved through the forest, their eyes reflecting the moonlight as they remained hidden in the underbrush. Shikamaru was surprised that the deer didn’t seem angry about the stranger and her summons in the Nara Forest. Maybe it was because he was with them? He couldn’t be sure. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up fully as they walked the Nara Clan's land.

He could hear his mama and daddy’s voices yelling his name, but he was to tired to yell back. They would get to them sooner or later, so he let Kurama lead the way.

It might’ve been an hour, maybe two, but eventually, the trio was spat out into the middle of the Nara Forest, right in front of the Nara estate— giant Japanese compound theme—.

“SHIKAMARU!” His mother, Yoshino, screamed when she saw him. Shikamaru opened his eyes just in time to see her running towards him, but abruptly stopped when she saw Kurama, looking at the summons in barely concealed shock and terror.

His father, Shikaku, was closely behind his mother, though he looked more shocked then anything, not scared like his mother. Yoshino took a step back, and her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Shikamaru felt a moment of embarrassment and frustration, but he was too tired to deal with his mother's overreaction. He glanced at Kurama, who looked back at him with an amused expression, his tails wagging slightly.

Shikamaru frowned, grumbling as he leaned against Kurama, burying his face in the fur that Naruto wasn’t sprawled out over. "Mom, calm down," he mumbled, rubbing his face into the fur, "It's just a fox summons."

Yoshino's eyes grew wider as she took in the sight of the nine-tailed fox standing in her yard. "Just a fox?" she squeaked, "That's the—!” She was cut off by her husband, gently placing a hand over her mouth to stop her from yelling it out.

Shikaku stepped forward, his gaze shrewd as he studied the situation. "It seems we have a guest," he said calmly, his tone soothing the tension in the air. He looked at Kurama and then at his son, a question in his eyes. "Shikamaru, would you be a dear and please tell me the names of our visitors that brought you home?"

Shikamaru sighed heavily, tilting his head to peer up at his father, though he didn’t move away from Kurama, seemingly trying to mold his body to the side of the fox, his eyes still half-closed with exhaustion. "This," he gestured to the girl with the red hair passed out on the back of the giant fox, "is Naruto Uzumaki. I think I’ve heard you say the name Naruto a couple times, but… whatever. And Naruto’s fox summons, Kurama… the deer like them.” He added that last part with a hint of smugness, he liked Naruto, and Kurama, he was nice to take a nap on.

Shikaku eyed the nine-tailed fox his son thought was a summons, his smile strained as he watched his son snuggle up to the beast. Granted it was a much smaller nine-tailed fox, but it was still him, and the thing was supposed to be sealed away and he didn’t know how— for the first time in his life he didn’t know how something happened— the fox was out and about. "Ah, yes," he murmured, his mind racing with the implications of what this meant for everyone involved.

The nine-tailed fox, who was apparently named Kurama, was staring at Shikaku dead in the eyes, daring him to argue, to say his real identity to the boy. But as Shikamaru looked up at him, Shikaku swallowed his surprise and nodded slowly. "Ah, yes," he repeated, "Naruto Uzumaki. I see." His mind was racing with questions, but he knew better than to voice them in front of his son and the girl. Wasn’t Naruto blonde? The last time he saw the Uzumaki girl running through the village she was blonde and now she was a redhead. Was the Nine-tails unsealed? Why was it so small? And why was it letting two children just walk around with it? But that was a discussion for another time. For now, he had to play along.

Shikaku took a deep breath, looking behind him to his still silently freaking out and terrified wife, the moon lighting up her face as she stared at the giant fox with wide eyes. "Yoshino, dear, could you go make some tea for our guests?" He said calmly, trying to keep the situation as normal as he could. Yoshino nodded, swallowing her fear and rushing into the house, leaving the four of them standing awkwardly in the moonlit yard.

Shikaku was staring at the fox again, his son had fallen asleep halfway draping himself over the Nine-tailed fox, one fist curled into the fox’s fur, while the other was curled into the pant leg of Naruto who was laying across the Fox’s back?

"I know you're not just a regular summon," Shikaku said, his voice low and measured. "You're... I know what you are.” He said, his voice slightly strained. “Why are you here? How did you break the seal?” His voice was tight, filled with tension that wasn't lost on Kurama.

Kurama rolled his eyes, spitting out the sleeve he had been using to guide Shikamaru, the sleeping boy's arm falling to his side, his fingers untangling from the fistful of fur he had in his grip. “I didn’t break any seal, Nara, and I came to return your boy. I could hear you and your lady screeching all the way pass to the border of the Nara Forest and into mine. I thought it’d be best to cut your search short before you woke up the entire village with your panic.” He said with a snort, his voice filled with the same boredom and annoyance that Shikamaru’s often was.

Shikaku's eyes narrowed, panic slowly clawing its way up his throat. What did the fox mean by his forest? He called the forest passed the Nara’s his? How is that even possible? The fox is supposed to be sealed away. He glanced at the sleeping Shikamaru, who was nestled comfortably against the creature’s flank, his face peaceful and serene. His gaze then shifted to the sleeping girl with the fiery red hair.

“Are you gonna take your son or not?” Kurama asked, his tone impatient. Shikaku’s gaze snapped back to the fox, his mind racing with unanswered questions and a sinking feeling that the quiet life he’d known was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Shikaku forced himself to swallow his fear, walking closer to grab his son, who was still fast asleep on the orange fur of the nine-tailed beast. As soon as he could reach his son and grab him, Shikaku took multiple hasty steps back, his eyes never leaving the creature before him. He knew the risks of being too close to a tailed beast, especially one like the Nine-Tails.

Kurama eyed him, tilting his head as his tails flicked behind him. “I’m guessing the two of us are going to be seeing each other much more often, your boy and my girl seem to like each other quite a bit.”

Shikaku felt his heart tighten in his chest, his mind racing. “What do you mean, your girl?”

Kurama gave him a look as if he was asking are you stupid, because obviously there is a Naruto passed out on my back. “I mean your son is quite fond of the Uzumaki Hime, and she seems to feel the same for him. It’s quite clear to any creature with a brain that they’ve formed a bond, even if all they did today was read a book and nap together.”

Shikaku felt his jaw clench. The Uzumaki Hime? Naruto was the… the Hime of the Uzumaki? The Hogake didn’t tell any of the ninja clans that during meetings. God, Shikaku has never felt this out of the loop a day in his life, and it was not a comfortable feeling.

“Whatever human. Wallow in whatever… emotion you’re feeling right now. I and my Hime will be going home. We’ve been out long enough,” Kurama said, his tails swishing more rapidly, hinting at his annoyance as he turned and started walking back towards the Forest.

——————————

“Jesus Christ woman, stop fucking yelling at me?!” Shikaku finally snapped, smoking his eight cigarette in a row. He and Yoshino had been fighting since he put their son to sleep, or really Yoshino had been yelling and screaming at him as he paced back-and-forth, trying to figure out what was happening and why. “LOOK! I don’t know what the fuck’s going on either, okay! I truly don’t know what the fuck is going on! The Fox, it’s supposed to be sealed away into Naruto! You know that I know that all of the adults of the village know that! But I don’t FUCKING know how the thing is walking around talking, okay?! For the first time in my life I DON’T KNOW!”

Yoshino looked at him, her eyes wide, and then she sank into the chair. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, Shikaku. I’m just scared. For our son. For everyone. For me. For our clan. If that thing gets out and is controlling her then we’re all in trouble.”

Shikaku tapped his foot rapidly, chewing on the filter of his cigarette. “Did you know Naruto is the Uzumaki Hime?” He asked, his voice strained. “Because I sure as hell didn’t know, I didn’t know because the Hokage didn’t tell any of the other clan heads. And I need to know why? Why he didn’t say anything. Why he didn’t tell anyone? Why he didn’t… Jesus Christ, this girl is a princess and she’s been living alone and taking care of herself since she was what? A toddler?”

Yoshino's eyes were glossy with unshed tears, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. She didn’t know what to think. Her world was spinning around her and she was trying so hard to hold onto the last bit of reality she knew. She had been friends with Naruto’s mother and Shikaku had been friends with Naruto’s father when the couple was alive, but that also means the woman would have been a Hime, but Kushina never said anything about being a clan princess. “Kushina, when she was… she’s never said anything about being a clan princess.” She whispered, her voice trembling. “I mean, I knew she was an Uzumaki, everyone did, she didn’t even try to hide it. Hell, she told people she was an Uzumaki. But she never said anything about being the Uzumaki princess.”

Shikaku nodded solemnly, stopping his pacing. Minato also never mentioned anything about Kushina being a Hime. He knew that there was much about the Uzumaki that he didn’t know, but he never thought that his son would be caught in the middle of it all. He cleared his throat and turned to face Yoshino, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I need to stay calm, my love," he said firmly, his voice low and measured. "We need to remember—” his hand slid down to tangle into her fingers. “— the Fox may have only liked the Uzumaki, loyal through and through to the Uzumaki, but he never attacked others, not on purpose at least. We need to remember, he is not actually that monster we saw that night.” His other hand to join the first, and he squeezed gently, trying to comfort her. “Forced to attack the Village. I know you, Hell, nearly all the village, hell the Nine-tails as a monster, but it's not, never was. The Fox of the Uzumaki, a creature that hated everyone except for the Uzumaki, sure, but a creature that never attacked without reason.”

Yoshino took a deep breath, her eyes focusing on their intertwined fingers. But the memories of destruction and fear still lingered in the air. "I know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what do we do now? The village won’t understand. And if they find out—"

“We won’t let them,” Shikaku said firmly, his voice a steady rumble in the quiet room. “We will protect them, both of them. And we will let Shikamaru think that the fox is a summons like he said it was, we won’t tell him who the fox truly is until he’s old enough to keep the secret to himself.”

Yoshino nodded slowly, her eyes still on their joined hands. “But what if it’s not enough? What if—“

“These are the Uzumaki we’re talking about, Yoshino.” Shikaku’s voice was firm but not without warmth. “They’re survivors. They’ve lived through worse than this. And if Little seven-year-old Naruto can keep such a big secret as being able to give the Nine-tails a solid form or summon him whatever it is, she’ll be just fine. Besides, we’re Nara. The village looks up to us for wisdom. We can’t let fear dictate our actions.”

Yoshino looked up, meeting her husband’s gaze. There was something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before—a determination that made her own worries seem trivial. She nodded firmly. “You’re right. We’ll protect her.”

Chapter Text

Shikamaru has been spending a lot of time with Naru-Chan and sometimes Kurama. He has even been to the Uzumaki compound, which he didn’t even know it existed until Naruto brought him there. The compound is surrounded by a dense forest of trees, which reminded Shikamaru of his own home, but something felt...different here. It was quieter, more peaceful, and the air was charged with an ancient energy that was both eerie and exhilarating.

And, he’ll never say it to Ino’s face because she’ll screech and cry like a banshee, Shikamaru was actually working better with Naruto then he ever had with Ino or Chōji. They were like a well-oiled machine, moving together in a way that made sense even when the situation was chaos.

In the matter of weeks the two of them had plowed through half of the books in the Uzumaki compound library on the first floor. Naruto even figured out how to make a storage scroll. They had moved onto books about ninja techniques, and then taijutsu stances, and chakra control.

It had taken them almost four months to get a semblance of chakra control, which Shikamaru has to say is pretty good because they are only seven-year-olds, and manage to somewhat walk up a tree, and he knows for a fact neither Ino nor Chōji could do that.

Ino’s been yelling at him about something or another every time he meets up with her and Chōji. Saying something about him neglecting their training sessions and their friendship. She’s not wrong, but she’s also not right.

Don’t get him wrong, Shikamaru’s tried inviting Ino and Chōji to his and Naruto’s training sessions in the Uzumaki Compound. Sure, Chōji was a team player and really liked Naruto and could keep up with all the stuff she was spewing like an encyclopedia but Ino? Ino was a different story. She’d get bored with the books and start throwing shurikens at the training dummies. Or she’d start complaining about how boring it was to read. But every time he’d try to get her to focus, that all Shinobi’s literally learn their techniques from books, or they learnt the technique from a Shinobi who learned the technique from studying books, she’d just roll her eyes at him and say, “You know what’s boring? Your obsession with books, that’s what!”

Shikamaru wanted to throttle her. He could also tell Kurama didn’t care much for Ino’s attitude either. The fox’s ears would flatten, and his tails would swish in annoyance every time she interrupted their studies.

And Ino was… weird to Naruto. Not with Naruto, but to her, like she was jealous. Jealous of what? That’s what Shikamaru couldn’t figure out. Was it because he was spending more time with her than he was with Ino? Or was it because she was the one who was supposed to be the brains— besides him— of their team? He knew Ino was smarter than she let on, and she had her moments of brilliance, sure, but she didn’t have the patience to sit still and study for hours on end like he and Naruto did. Or maybe it was something else. Something deeper that he couldn’t put his finger on.

Honestly, he was about ready to just jab his fingers into her ribs the next time she rolled her eyes at them. It was annoying, sure, but the way she looked at him and Naruto when they were deep in discussion, it was like she was looking at something she wanted to smash into a million pieces. And that was just sad.

At least for his sanity Chōji was nice to Naruto and liked the girl quite a lot. He found her energy infectious and her determination admirable. Plus, Naruto didn’t seem to care much about his weight which was a plus in his book. Though, Chōji was starting to notice that Ino was acting more and more peculiar around the new kid. It was almost as if she didn’t know how to handle the fact Shikamaru had made friends with another girl. But that was ridiculous, right? Ino wasn’t the jealous type.

But that cannot change the fact that the Ino in Ino–Shika–Chō was starting to get underneath Shikamaru’s skin in the wrong way. He like Naruto. Really liked her. Naruto was someone who could grab his attention and keep it for hours without end, making him forget his usual laziness. Someone who could actually make him laugh without it being at the expense of someone else. And someone who, unlike Ino, didn’t need to be constantly reassured that she was pretty.

And that’s how the four of them ended up here. Outside, Ino, Chōji, and Naruto sitting on the ground, while Shikamaru sat on a log behind Naruto, braiding the girls hair.

“So, Naruto i’ve got to ask you a question,” Ino began, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and annoyance as she watched Shikamaru’s deft hands weaving through her hair. “What’s with the hair? Why’s it so long, doesn’t it, you know, get in the way?”

Naruto glanced up from where she and Chōji was making flour crowns, Chōji nearly asleep, where he leaned against a tree. She shook her head slightly. “Uhh, no, if you put it up in the right style, it’ll stay out of your way. And it’s long because in my clan hair is sacred, you never cut it, not from the day you’re born till the day you die. Sure, someone from my clan can cut their hair, but it’s a really, really big deal if someone does it.”

Shikamaru, who was now putting the finishing touches on Naruto’s hair, paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I guess that makes sense. Kinda like how we in the Nara Clan aren’t supposed to cut down trees in our forest without a really good reason. It’s a part of us, right?”

“YES!” Naruto leaned back, tilting her head up to look at Shikamaru, grinning. “The Uzumaki hair is red because of my clan’s chakra genetics. Our chakra is so potent and thick it visibly alters our appearance.”

Shikamaru nodded thoughtfully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the beginnings of a smile. “Ah, so it’s like a living part of your clan’s legacy, then. Pretty cool, actually,” he murmured, his voice filled with a newfound respect. Fascinating. Again this girl was able to successfully grab his attention and keep it. It sent a weird thrill down his spine that made him shiver.

Ino's eyes narrowed at the sight of Shikamaru's gentle touch on Naruto's hair. After that whole spiel about her hair being sacred— which if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing Ino has ever heard— Shikamaru was being even more gentle, practically reverent, with Naruto’s hair. It was as if he was handling the most delicate of jutsu scrolls. She couldn’t help but feel a sting of jealousy, which grew sharper when she noticed the warmth in his eyes as he looked at Naruto.

Then Shikamaru did something that broke the camel's back for her. Once he tied the end of the braid off with one of HIS own hair ties. He just… buried his hands into the roots of the loose braid and buried his face into Naruto’s hair, murmuring something about Naruto always being warm and comforting. The way he said it was so intimate that Ino felt a sharp pain in her chest. Her eyes grew wide and she swallowed a thick lump in her throat. She had never seen Shikamaru act this way with anyone. It was always the same lazy, apathetic attitude towards everyone.

“AWW! Shika-chan is so sweet,” Naruto chuckled, letting him stay there as long as he wanted as she continued to make the flower crown. Shikamaru shuddered, sucking in a silent breath at the name Naruto called him.

“You can play with my hair all you want. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.” Naruto didn’t notice Ino’s eyes widen at the gesture, nor the way her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink.

Ino clenched her fists, her heart racing. She felt like she was watching her best friend slip away from her grasp. She had known Shikamaru for years, been with him through thick and thin, and now, this red-haired girl comes along and takes his attention? It was infuriating!

“You think Shikaku fixated on her?” Chōji’s voice was suddenly in her ear, barely above a breath.

Ino whipped around, her eyes snapping to his. “What do you mean?” she hissed, her voice shaking.

Chōji shrugged, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s always looking out for her, always touching her, and now, playing with her hair like that? It’s like he’s totally smitten, Ino. And she’s definitely not complaining,” he said, his eyes drifting back to the pair. “And remember what your mom told us, Nara don’t have crushes, they just... know.”

Ino felt a twinge of anger at Chōji’s words, but she couldn’t deny the truth in them. Shikamaru had never been one to show much affection towards anyone, not even her. Yet here he was, tenderly braiding Naruto’s hair, whispering something that made her laugh. It was like watching a side of him she never knew existed.

“SO!” Ino cut through their moment as sharply as she could, clapping her hands together. “I’ve got another question,” she hastily looked around for anything to question, landing on the training ground Naruto wouldn’t let any of them use, and she pointed at it. “What’s up with that training ground? Why can’t we use it?”

Naruto blinked, looking over to where Ino was pointing, Shikamaru grumbling when the movement pulled her hair away from him. “OH!” Naruto sounded delighted, she couldn’t blame Ino for thinking it was a training ground, it kind of looked like it. It was circular, and it had a Colosseum look to it with gorgeous plants and vines climbing up the red Colosseum-like stones. “It’s not really a training ground, it’s a marriage ground.”

Ino eyed her like she was speaking in riddles. “Marriage ground? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Naruto looks back to her, looking amused. “Uzumaki’s… we, my clan don’t get married in the, let’s say traditional way. We have this special kind of marriage ceremony, called the Fray-Forged Affinity. It’s a… well, it’s a fight.”

Ino blinked. “What? You guys get married by fighting?”

Naruto nodded, grinning, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s like... a very intense sparring match. The Uzumaki are very high strung people. And most of Fray-Forged Affinity have happened in between enemies on opposing side of battles, or between rivals. My Jiji says the Uzumaki’s are… weird, attracted to strength and challenge.”

Shikamaru, who had been quietly listening, raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re telling me that your clan’s idea of romance is to beat the crap out of each other?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

“Shika-chan! Don’t be mean!” Naruto exclaimed, smacking his leg playfully. “It’s… I don’t know how to explain it!”

Shikamaru chuckled, leaning back, his arms folded over his chest. “I’m not being mean, I’m just saying it’s different. And it’s kind of cool, in a weird way, I guess.”

Naruto giggled, twisting slightly to face him. “Yeah, I know, right?”

Chōji leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “So, like, how does it work? Do you just fight each other and whoever wins gets to marry whoever they want?”

Naruto tilted her head, thinking. “Well, the book I read the other day was about the Fray-Forged Affinity. It said… There’s a tradition in the Uzumaki Clan, an old one back from the time before shinobi villages, back when some say the world was wilder and the Clan was closer to their allegedly less-than-strictly-human roots. Either way, because of the allegedly less-than-strictly-human roots, the Uzumaki are pack oriented and rely heavily on instinct, and in the time of the war times there were more than a few incidents of a Uzumaki deciding that an enemy shinobi was their person, a highly compatible mate and someone they wanted to bring into the clan, build a life with, and so on and so forth. And that’s highly inconvenient when you’re on opposing sides and trying to kill each other. And so now the Uzumaki do not do weddings the normal way, it’s more of a brawl. It’s called Fray-Forged Affinity like I said. It is not quite the same as other clan weddings, there’s usually much more blood and fighting and animosity involved, and the occasional kidnapping and hostage situation. Though technically even the battle part of Fray-Forged Affinity isn’t strictly necessary; being on opposing sides is enough if you’re fighting an enemy. It’s literally just a fight that’s what it is, It’s a fight to get married.”

Shikamaru nodded slowly. “So, it’s a marriage by combat.”

Ino’s eyes widened. “What? That’s ridiculous! Why would anyone agree to that?”

“I think it’s cool,” Chōji said with a shrug, popping a chip into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s a battle. And everyone loves battles!”

Ino's incredulous expression only grew as she stared at Chōji, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. “Cool? How can you say that? It’s like they’re forced into marriage!”

“… I never said anything about force,” Naruto cut in, frowning, shaking her head. “It’s all consensual, both parties have to agree to a Fray-Forged Affinity. The stuff I said about kidnapping is stealing your partner away after the Fray-Forged Affinity is done from their village if their village won’t willingly let them go.”

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow at this, his gaze flickering to the ground before looking up to the sky. “So, it’s like a trial by combat, but with more... intimate stakes?”

Naruto nodded, practically bouncing where she sat, finishing the flower crown. “YEP! Nothing is being forced. It’s all consensual from both parties!”

Shikamaru slid off the stump he was sitting on, and leaned back on his arms, watching the clouds drift by. “I suppose it’s no stranger than other shinobi customs we know of, like the Uchiha’s and the Hyūga’s marriage rules. God, I went to one Uchiha wedding, and It will never be happening again. It felt like a fever dream, so formal and... weird.”

Choji nodded, his cheeks stuffed with chips. “It’s definitely more... interesting than the Akimichi way. The Akimichi fast for a week before their weddings to ensure they’re marrying for love, not just food. I think your family, Ino, has the most normal traditions of us all. All you got to do is stand still while a bunch of flowers get thrown at you.”

Ino’s eyes narrowed at the jab, but she couldn’t help the blush creeping up her neck.

“What about you, Shika-chan?” Naruto asked, falling back to lay on the ground with him. “What’s the tradition and rituals of Nara marriage?”

Shikamaru paused, his gaze lingering on the clouds above. “Well, for us Nara, it’s all about strategy. A game of shogi is played, with the winner gaining the hand of the bride or groom.” He smirked. “It’s a bit less intense than fighting, but still serious business in its own right. The game represents the ability to protect and lead a family, as well as foresee and overcome challenges in marriage and life together.”

Naruto let out along huff, blowing out a raspberry, the sound turning into a giggle. “I think I’d rather fight then play shogi. Heck, I don’t even know how to play shogi to begin with!”

Shikamaru rolled over onto his side, his hand propping his head up as he watched her with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I’d teach you.”

Naruto chuckled for a couple more seconds, before finally catching up with what he said, Ino and Chōji doing the same. Ino shrieked, Chōji choked on the chips he had just stuffed into his mouth, and Naruto started howling with laughter, and faintly from somewhere the four of them could hear Kurama yelling from somewhere about something being too young and something or another.

Shikamaru stared at them, utterly bewildered by their sudden outburst. "What's so funny?" He asked, looking from one to the other, trying to find the punchline he had missed.

“Dude!” Chōji exclaimed, slapping his hand against his knee and causing a small cloud of dust to rise, “You just… oh God, you didn’t even realize what you said!” Ino’s cheeks had turned a brilliant shade of pink, and she was trying to hide her face behind her hands.

Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his friend, then at the still-laughing girl. “What? What did I say?”

Naruto rolled over, wrestling Shikamaru to the ground, The two of them rolling a couple times before Naruto had won and had Shikamaru pinned to the ground. She was grinning, her eyes sparkling with unbridled amusement. Shikamaru’s entire body froze and subsequently began shivering at the feeling of Naruto on top of him, pushing him into the ground.

“Well, you just told me that the Nara play a game of shogi to win their partner’s hand in marriage!” Naruto was still cackling like a hyena, finding the whole situation utterly amusing. “Then I said ‘I think I’d rather fight then play shogi. Heck, I don’t even know how to play shogi to begin with!’ Then you replied by saying ‘Don’t worry, I’d teach you’.”

Shikamaru’s cheeks had turned a deep shade of crimson, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to process the situation. “That’s not what I meant!” He protested, his whole body shuddering as he felt Naruto’s hand moved to his chest to keep him down as she pushed herself off of him slightly.

“Oh, man, but you definitely made it sound that way!” Chōji chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he watched his friend squirm under the weight of Naruto’s victory. “It’s like you proposed to her with a shogi board, Shika!”

Ino’s cheeks were also flushed, but from a mix of embarrassment and anger. She had felt a strange tightness in her chest when Shikamaru spoke of teaching Naruto, a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words. But now, with everyone else laughing, she couldn’t help but feel like she was the only one who didn’t find it funny.

“If you want to marry me, Shika-chan,” Naruto began, her voice teasing. “You will have to court me the Uzumaki way, win my affections and all that stuff. There’s a couple of books in my library about Uzumaki courting if you need them.” She winked at him playfully, her eyes shining with mischief before she rolled off of him, landing in the grass beside him with an oof.

Shikamaru’s eyes grew wide at her words, and his cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out.

Chōji chuckled, his round body shaking slightly with mirth. “Looks like you’ve got some homework to do, Shika. Better get to reading up on those Uzumaki love tactics!”

Shikamaru scowled, finally finding his voice. “It’s not like that! I was just... offering to teach you a game, that’s all!” He sat up, crossing his arms defensively.

Naruto laughed, the sound filled with mirth as she rolled onto her stomach, propping her head up in one of her hands and kicking her feet. “Well, if that’s it, I’d love to learn shogi from you, Mr. Shogi master.”

The tension in the air dissipated as Shikamaru visibly relaxed, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back on his hands, the grass poking through his fingers. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m pretty good at it. You’re going to need some serious strategy to beat me, Uzumaki.”

“You got it, boss,” Naruto saluted him.

—————————————

Naruto was actually pretty good at Shogi, really good.

Good enough to where Chōji was convinced Naruto was nearly if not as smart as Shikamaru.

—————————————

Kurama waited an extra hour just to make sure Naruto was asleep before silently jumping off of her bed and making his way through the Uzumaki compound.

He had some people to get rid of. Danzō Shimura, Fugaku Uchiha, Homura Mitokado, and Koharu Utatane.

Kurama would also like to get rid of the goddamn Hokage, that crazy old bastard, but. Alas, he can’t do it just yet, so he’ll settle with the other idiotic flesh bags.

Kurama sighed, slipping through the streets of Konoha silently and undetectable.

The only reason why he’s doing this, he keeps on reminding himself, is because Naruto’s attached to those three Uchiha brats, Sasuke, Itachi, and Shisui, and as much as he loathes to admit it the two idiot brothers had, somewhat, became his responsibility when Naruto started hanging around them.

Hopping down from a rooftop, easily opening and slipping through a window. Kurama’s feet pattered against the wooden tiles nearly silently, his nails tapping against the floor as he made his way over to the bed in the room.

Shaking, and making his form a bit bigger Kurama jumped onto the bed, onto the lump that was under the covers, startling awake the man— more like the demon underneath him— Danzō Shimura, pinning him there with his sheer weight and size.

“Hello, Danzō Shimura,” Kurama crooned, his nine tails swishing ominously in the moonlit room.

Danzō’s eyes snapped open, his heart racing. He had felt the presence of the Nine-Tails before, but never so close. His eyes widened when he saw the orange fur and gleaming sharp teeth above him, the beast’s eyes burning with a fierce cunning that seemed to peer into his very soul. He tried to reach for his weapon, but the pressure on top of him was too much.

“Wha—! What! How—” Danzō managed to choke out, his tongue feeling like lead as he tried to figure out if he was just having a nightmare or if truly somehow the nine tailed fox had managed to break it’s seal and was now standing in his bedroom.

“Mmm, that’s not important.” Kurama clicked his tongue, his eyes narrowing into thin slits. “What is important, however, is that you’ve outlived your expiration date. And… I know what you’re planning to do to the Uchiha’s. I also saw what you were doing to that poor Uchiha boy. I knew you were obsessed with the Uchiha clan, but I never thought you would stoop so low to become a child toucher.”

Danzō’s breathing grew shallow, his heart thumping against his ribcage like a wild animal trying to break free. He knew he had enemies, but he never expected the Nine-Tails to confront him personally.

“W— why do you care?!” He managed to stutter out.

Kurama’s fox form grew larger, his tails flicking angrily. “I may be an actual monster, a beast, but even I have morals. Now say goodbye.” The Fox leaned closer, opening his jaws so wide it was like it had unhinged, snapping them down on Danzō’s head, biting the man’s head in half with a sickening crunch.

Chapter Text

(Fixation/fixated. All Nara born go through it, it’s like an obsession of something that can grab their attention and keep it forever. But sometimes that obsession can be human.)

Shikaku sighed, leaning back in his seat at the dining table as he ran his tongue over his top teeth, sucking on them, his pointer finger making lazy circles around the rim of his beer bottle.

He tilted his head enough just to watch his son and Naruto playing shogi together, the pieces clinking as they were moved with precision and speed.

Shikaku sighed again, this one long suffering as he turned his attention to his wife, who was sitting across the table from him, reading a book. His voice dropping to a whisper that she could only hear. “… I think he fixated on her.”

Yoshino looked up, her expression tight. “What?”

“I think,” Shikaku repeated, his lips reluctantly up turning at the corners ever so slightly, “that he fixated on her.”

Yoshino’s eyes narrowed as she marked her page and closed her book. She studied the pair in the other room, her gaze sharp and scrutinizing. “Fixated, huh?” she murmured, her voice tight. “I...how would we know that Shikamaru has fixated on her? What if, it’s just… a crush. Children have crushes Shikaku.” Yoshino knew that her reasoning sounded desperate to her own ears. Nara born child did not have crushes. They had interests that either went away or grew to a point where those interests became a certainty. These certainties became spouses and the mothers and or fathers of the future generation. The Nara felt more deeply than the Uchiha and they were more loyal than the Inuzuka and Hatake combined. They did nothing by halves and often interests became a certainty within a matter of days and or fizzled out within the same time frame.

Shikaku gave her a look she couldn’t decipher before shaking his head. “No one besides Shikamaru will actually know whether or not he’s fixated on her. His interest in Naruto is so out of character that I think its a valid possibility that he is fixated.”

“Interest?” Yoshino challenged, her voice a whisper that seemed to cut through the air.

Shikaku sighed again, taking a swig of his beer. “You know just as I do Shikamaru is only friends with Ino and Chōji because the three of them have known each other since they were born. For him to be willingly friends with someone else is something we’ve never seen before. That’s what’s got me thinking.” He glanced at his wife, giving her a look. “Nara don’t do crushes, you know this. It’s physically impossible for a Nara to have a crush. That’s just not how we’re made.”

“Shikamaru is a child.” Yoshino hissed back. “A child Shikaku.”

“I know. But he’s a Nara child and we both know what that means.” Shikaku’s voice was firm, leaving no room for debate.

———————————

“What’s that?” Shikamaru’s voice cut Naruto out of her thoughts as he sat down beside her underneath a tree. He pointed to her forehead where a faint pink rhombus-like shape was slowly forming.

Naruto blinked, then she blinked again, bringing her hand up to rub her forehead. “… I don’t know, it’s something Kurama-chan insisted on teaching me. Something about chakra and something.

From above them, lounging on a branch, Kurama huffed out a breath. "It's called the Strength of a Hundred Seal. It’s basically a storage seal for chakra on ones body.” He stretched, sitting up, just enough to scratch behind his ear. “You should try to learn it too, boy, it’s a good thing to have in your arsenal."

Shikamaru leaned in, curiosity peaking. "How does it work?"

Kurama hopped down from the branch, stretching out his body with a yawn. "It's a bit complicated, but basically, it allows you to store a massive amount of chakra in that seal and release it when needed. It's like having a cheat code for your energy levels." He smirked, watching Shikamaru's eyes widen with interest.

“But, it’s like totally hard!” Naruto huffed and puffed with annoyance. “Shika-chan, if you listen to Kurama and try to do the technique, it’s going to be a pain, trust me!”

Shikamaru’s eyes remained glued to the pink seal in the center of her forehead, his mind racing with the possibilities of what such a powerful tool could do.

“It’s also good for medical Jutsu,” Kurama sat down in front of them with a huff. “But, as you can see, it’s not something to be taken lightly. The control needed to maintain such a seal is immense and can be quite taxing on the body. Plus, the release can be explosive if not done correctly, so it’s not all fun and games. So, if you want to learn, it’s not something you can do half ass, because this Jutsu can and will kill you if you mess it up.”

Shikamaru nodded solemnly, taking in the gravity of Kurama’s words. He knew that with great power came great responsibility, and this was no exception.

————————————

Three years down the line, now aged ten.

It took three years for Naruto and Shikamaru to completely figure out the Strength of a Hundred Seal. And the morning after their last day of summer break that they had, when they had walked into the academy classroom Iruka-sensei looked like he might have had a heart attack when he saw the seals on their foreheads.

Shikamaru really didn’t pay attention to whatever Iruka-sensei had told them after that class, but it was something about something and the poor guy freaking out because two of his ten-year-old students had a powerful ancient seal on their foreheads.

His parents acted the same as Iruka-sensei to. When Shikamaru had walked in through the front door just mere hours after finally mastering the seal with Naruto, they were shocked. His dad had actually spit out the beer he had been drinking, some of it coming out through his nose. And his mother had dropped a pot full of dinner onto the floor when she saw the seal, causing a mess of rice and meat to scatter across the room.

That was a conversation and a half. His father kind of looked enthralled with the whole ordeal while his mom just looked absolutely shocked. She didn’t say much but she had the look of a mother who’s child had just told her that they were going to be a ninja. She was proud but scared, like a mother hen watching her chicks take flight for the first time. His dad had pumpped his fist into the air and saying something about how he was going to tell everyone in the clan. It was a mix of emotions that Shikamaru hadn’t quite seen from his parents before.

And that’s how Shikamaru has gotten himself into this ordeal. His father, the man who absolutely  loathed parties, had invited the Yamanaka and Akimichi’s to the Nara’s for a celebration of him not only somehow managing to get a Strength of a Hundred Seal, but also graduate the Academy at only ten-years-old. And not just graduate, but graduate at the top of his class. He had outdone himself, and he hadn’t even tried.

But that’s not the problem, Shikamaru was used to the rambunctiousness of the Yamanaka and Akimichi, but his problem right now was that Ino was yelling at him.

“What’s wrong Ino?” Shikamaru asked calmly, not breaking his rhythm on the swing.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were narrowed. “You know what’s wrong, Shikamaru Nara!” she exclaimed, her voice edged with accusation. “You’ve been spending all your time with her, whispering secrets and sharing those weird hand signs that only you two seem to understand! And now here you are, graduating without me or Chōji!”

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow at her, his swinging slowing just a tad bit. “You mean Naruto?”

Ino nodded, her arms crossing over her chest. “Yes, I mean that... that... Uzumaki freak!” she spat out the last words as if they were acidic.

Shikamaru stop swinging abruptly, his gaze snapping to Ino. “Take that back, NOW!” He snapped, his voice much harsher than Ino had ever heard it before.

Ino took a step back, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. “What?” she stuttered.

“I said take it back!” Shikamaru was off the swing faster than either Ino or Chōji has seen him move, looking genuinely angry at Ino's remark. “Take it back, NOW, INO! I SAID NOW!” His voice echoed through the yard, catching the attention of the few people that were outside or lingering on the engawa of the Nara home.

Ino looked shocked at first, then her own temper began to flare. “Why should I?” she retorted. “SHE IS A FREAK! She has weird eyes, weird hair, and an even weirder personality! Her clan is even weird! What sane person would fight to get married, say that hair is sacred and to never be cut?! SHE AND HER CLAN ARE FREAKS—!"

She was cut off by Shikamaru's body colliding with hers, hard, painfully, his elbow slamming into her chest with enough force to send the both of them crashing to the ground. His eyes, normally lazy, were sharp and intense as they bore into her own. "Don't you ever talk about Naruto like that," he growled, his voice low and deadly. "You have no idea what you're saying."

Ino's eyes watered, not just from the pain of the impact, but from the sheer betrayal she felt. "What's wrong with you?" she choked out, pushing herself up and away from him. "You're acting like she's some kind of goddess!"

Something, something that Ino was pretty sure was something close to hatred or maybe it might’ve been resentment flashed in Shikamaru’s eyes for a moment, and his fist rose, looking like he was going to hit her. But before his fist could connect, Shikamaru was being yanked away from Ino and Ino was being yanked away from Shikamaru.

“HEY! Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa what the hell is going on!” Shikaku pulled his son away from Ino as Inoichi pulled Ino away from Shikamaru. The sudden outburst had drawn the attention of everyone in the vicinity, the festivities momentarily halted by the sound of the commotion.

“SHE CALLED HER A FREAK! NARUTO AND HER CLAN! INO CALLED ALL OF THEM FREAKS!” Shikamaru’s voice was loud and angry as he flailed and struggled, trying to get out of his father’s tight grip, swiping at Ino and sneering at her.

Inoichi held Ino firmly by the arms, looking at her with a mix of shock and disappointment. “Ino, what are you saying? That’s not like you.” His voice was calm, but there was a clear warning in it. Ino’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“But it’s true!” Ino spat out, her voice trembling with rage and fear. The crowd around them gasped, some parents shielding their children from the harsh words. The air was thick with tension, and the music that had been playing moments ago seemed to fade into the background. “SHE’S A FREAK! So is her clan!” Ino yelled even louder, “She has weird eyes, weird hair! Her clan is even  weirder! What normal person would fight to get married, saying that hair is sacred and to never be cut?!”

Shikamaru shrieked incoherently at her, and his dad had to physically lift him off the ground to keep him from lunging at her again. Shikaku looked up, locking eyes with Inoichi who looked absolutely floored by his daughter's behavior.

“Naruto. Shikamaru fixated on Naruto.” Shikaku mouthed to Inoichi once Shikaku knew the man was fully looking at him.

Inoichi's eyes widened and his grip on Ino tightened even more. "Shikamaru, calm down," he said sternly, trying to defuse the situation before turning his attention back to his daughter. "And Ino, that's enough!"

Ino's cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. She had never seen her usually stoic father look so upset with her. But she couldn't back down now, not with everyone watching. "But, Dad, she's just a freak!" she shouted, trying and failing miserably to pull away from his firm grasp.

Shikamaru managed to fling one of his shoes off, the thing nailing Ino right in between the eyes, yelling at her and calling her names as he did so. Calling her such things that made Shikaku look like he wanted to cover his own ears and Ino looked like she had just been slapped across the face.

“Buddy, please calm down.” Shikaku took another step back, turning just enough to hide Ino from his son‘s view, but not his, moving to hold his son on his hip, something he has not done in quite a while. “Your lady is fine, Shikamaru, she's not hurt and she's not in danger, okay? It’s just words, words Naruto’s not here to hear, okay, Shikamaru? Your lady’s fine, she's okay.”

Shikamaru took a deep breath, his body trembling with rage as he tried to process his father’s words. His eyes remained on glimpses of Ino he could catch, watching her with a glare that could cut through steel.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Ino shrieked, looking in between Shikamaru, Shikaku, her dad, and occasionally Chōji who had practically teleported away from the blow zone once Shikamaru had moved. She watched as Shikaku started to walk away from them, Shikamaru still in his arms and rubbing his son‘s back trying to calm him down.

“Dad! What the hell does Shikaku mean by that!” Ino yelled, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her cheeks were flushed red, and her fists were balled up at her sides.

Inoichi watched his friend and his friend's son go for a second longer before turning his attention back to his daughter, letting out a long sigh. He knew that she had been feeling left out lately, but to attack her friend like that was not acceptable, even if it was just words. "Ino," he began calmly, pulling her closer to the tree, and sitting down in the grass, pulling her down with him. “You too, Chōji, come here. I think it’s about time for a little lesson about the Nara clan’s… ways.”

Chōji nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. He walked over, looking at her with a mix of confusion and concern. "But Dad," Ino protested.

“No!” Inoichi set sharply, cutting down whatever Ino was about to say. “You’ve gone too far with your accusations and jealousy, Ino. You need to understand the weight of your words and the harm they can do to others, especially to those who are your friends and your teammates.” His voice was firm but not unkind, a stark contrast to the gentle man she knew him to be.

Ino went to protest again when Chōji sat down in front of her and her dad, but her father was already speaking, not giving her any room to protest. “Okay, so I already know the two of you know what a Nara fixation is, am I correct?” He looked at them both, waiting for a nod.

Ino scowled at her dad, but Chōji nodded, vaguely remembering a conversation he had quite a while ago with Ino, asking her if she thought Shikamaru fixated on Naruto. But if he’s being honest, Chōji hardly remembers the conversation so he wouldn’t be surprised if Ino didn’t either. It was a fleeting moment of curiosity between friends, something that didn’t seem too significant at the time.

Ino scoffed, still trying to pull her arm away from her father‘s iron tight grip and failing miserably. “Yes, of course I know what a Nara fixation is! Both Shikamaru and Shikaku’s is Shogi! But that still doesn’t explain why Shikamaru acted like that nor why Shikaku called Naruto, Shikamaru’s ‘lady’!” She spat out the words, feeling the bile of jealousy rising in her throat.

Inoichi sighed, looking at his daughter with a mix of disappointment at her misunderstanding and patience for her youthful emotions. "No, Ino, you’re wrong,” he said gently and Ino froze, her head snapping to look at him in shock. “… well, you’re half right. Shikaku’s fixation is shogi, but it’s not Shikamaru’s.”

Ino blinked, utterly confused. “But what do you mean?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly.

“Shikamaru’s fixation is Naruto?” Chōji cut in, his tone a mix of surprise, amusement, and relief. “I thought so, after seeing how he’s been around her.”

“What is that supposed to mean?! A Nara can’t fixate on a person, can you!” Ino’s voice was laced with accusation and confusion, her eyes searching her father’s face for any sign of a lie. “And it still doesn’t explain why Shikamaru acted like that nor why Shikaku called Naruto, Shikamaru’s ‘lady’.”

Inoichi leaned back against the tree, letting out another sigh. “It is possible,” he admitted, looking off to the side as he remembered those scrolls he read as a kid about at Nara’s and the Nara’s did vice versa for the Yamanaka and Akimichi. “It’s… rare and can be dangerous at times. He… okay, let’s start from the beginning.” Inoichi pulled Ino closer, reaching out to do the same to Chōji. “So, Nara don’t have crushes or love interests, they have something called interest and certainties, and sometimes those interests will turn into certainties or those interests will fizzle out in a matter of just a couple days. It’s complicated, but it’s a Nara thing. And sometimes, very rarely, like this has only happened five times, a certainty has turned into a fixation. It’s like love, but it’s more than that, it’s something deeper that you just can’t explain. And the reason why Shikamaru actually snapped at you, Ino, and tried to fight and yelled and screamed at you is because he’s a Nara with a human fixation.”

Inoichi paused for a second, debating on telling them the story or not. “… okay, this is going to sound mean, but it’s true, Nara are insane. And not medically insane it is in their DNA practically. The Nara clan are so smart they are insane, in that insanity will go berserk if a Nara’s human fixation is in the way of any harm, no matter if it’s a verbal or physical. The first clan head of the Nara, Shikahyro, had a human fixation. Her name was Koku, and she was Inuzuka. She was killed by someone from the Senju clan, and Shikahyro went mental. He went on a rampage and killed eight whole squadrons of Senju with his bare hands before he was cut down. That’s what happens when a Nara’s human fixation is hurt. That's why Shikamaru acted like that when you insulted Naruto, Ino. You have to understand, this isn’t just some crush he’ll get over with time or if you ignore it. This is something that’s going to stay with him for his entire life unless she decides she doesn’t want him anymore. And even then, it’s going to hurt him like nothing else. That’s why Shikaku called Naruto, Shikamaru’s ‘lady’ and that’s why he’s so overly protective of her. It’s in his nature and it’s in his blood to do so.”

Choji nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. Ino looked shocked, her eyes wide as she took in the information. "So... what does that mean for us?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Inoichi sighed once more, sagging against the tree. “… hopefully you didn’t ruin Team Ino—Shika—Chō with those words, Ino.” He looked at his daughter with a mix of concern and disappointment. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if those words you through around so carelessly had Shikamaru not wanting to be in the same room as you for a while.”

Ino’s eyes filled with tears as she realized the extent of her mistake. “I—I didn’t mean to! I just—I just wanted him to pay attention to me!” She sobbed, clutching her fists tightly.

——————————————

Meanwhile, inside the Nara home. Shikaku was still holding his son, rubbing his back as he walked back and forth. “It’s okay, Shika, your lady is okay.” Shikaku whispered soothingly.

Shikamaru was still breathing hard, his face buried in his dad’s neck, hands clenched into the fabric of his shirt. "Why did she say those things?" he murmured, voice sounding hoarse from all the emotions that had hit him like a tsunami.

Shikaku sighed heavily. "I don't know, son. But it's clear she didn't understand the gravity of her words." He paused, stroking Shikamaru's hair gently. "But you need to calm down and breathe. I promise your lady is completely fine, she wasn’t here so she doesn’t know the words that Ino said."

In the quiet of the room, Shikamaru's thoughts raced. His heart felt like it was in a vice, and he didn’t know why. The second Ino started bad mouthing Naruto it was like something was flipped in his brain, something in the back of his mind yelling at him to make Ino stop. He had never felt anything like that before. He knew he liked spending time with Naruto, and that she made him happy, but this was something different, something he didn’t have words for.

“… daddy,” Shikamaru wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, calling him daddy instead of Dad for the first time in a very long time. He felt his lip wobble, emotions still crashing over him like tidal waves. “T-that was scary, I… I just— I don’t know what happened. Ino started being mean about Naru-chan and I-it was like something was telling me to stop Ino, to keep Naru-chan safe at all cost. Like something inside me was begging me to do it, I couldn’t ignore it. Why? What’s going on with me?” He buried his face further into his father’s shoulder, trying to hide the tears.

Shikaku’s arms tightened around his son. He knew the answer, but the words were thick in his throat. “Shikamaru, remember what I told you about Nara bonds?” He said, his voice soft and gentle, stroking his son’s hair. “You… you love your Naru-chan to a extent that is hard to explain, even for me. It’s a bond that’s rooted deep in our clan’s history. It’s called a 'Human Fixation'. It’s… uhh, it’s not two different from a normal fixation but somehow it’s also the complete opposite. It’s more than just liking someone or having a crush. It’s an absolute need to protect them, to be by their side, to make sure they’re happy and safe. It’s like your life depends on their well-being.”

Shikaku licked his lips, his voice cracking slightly as he felt his boy shake, The adrenaline finally leaving his body. “… It’s something that happens, every few generations, but it’s always intense. It’s not something you can control. And it’s definitely not something to be ashamed of. It’s a gift, a powerful bond that makes our clan who we are. It… it happened to your grandma Shikamari. It… it usually skips four to five generations at a time, so you having it is a bit of a surprise.” He paused for a moment, then spoke again, his voice firm, “But that’s the Nara way, to accept what is and to deal with it. You’re going to be okay, son.”

Shikamaru took in a deep breath, feeling his father’s words wash over him. It was strange, but hearing it out loud made everything feel a little less overwhelming. He wasn’t going crazy. This was just who he was, who he was meant to be.

—————————————

With the beginnings of Akatsuki.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay! Slow your roll buddy!” Kisame cut off Kakuzu, and Sasori’s conversation. “Hold up and rewind, what does the big guy want us to do?”

Sasori rolled his eyes, steepling his fingers together. “Pain-sama wants us to try and recruit some people, some kid named—

“Yeah, I got that,” Kisame cut him off again, ignoring the irritated and pissed off look he got in return. “Some Blondie pyromaniac that’s obsessed with explosions, Deidara or whatever his name was, the immortal guy, Hidan, snake dude Orochimaru, and the last one was…?”

Kakuzu sighs like a old man who was surrounded by his unruly grandchildren, "Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist.”

Kisame felt his world spin for a split second before he snapped back to reality, the name Zabuza Momochi smacking him in the face like a hot iron. “Yeah, no no no no no no no no no, FUCK no, hell to the high heavens, FUCK NO!” He was not going to go and try to find Zabuza-Fucking-Momachi, that was just not going to happen, no way, no how!

Sasori raises an eyebrow at Kisame’s outburst, his puppet body eerily calm in contrast to the shark-man’s sudden agitation. "I see you have a... history with him," he comments dryly, his voice echoing slightly within his puppet form.

“Look, I grew up with this guy, was on the same ninja team and everything, we do not want to recruit him.” Kisame’s voice was tight. “Trust me, you don’t know the half of it. That guy is a bigger monster than I, you, and you combined.” He pointed at himself with his thumb, his pointer finger pointing at Sasori, and his pinky finger pointing at Kakuzu. “I watched this guy get his sword arm knocked out of place so he just started going at it with his teeth, ripping people's throats out with his teeth!”

Kakuzu leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. “Well, that does sound like a bit of an overkill.” His tone was mildly amused. His gaze slid over to Kisame. “But, if he’s that good, wouldn’t he be an asset to our team?”

Sasori huffed, turning his attention to his nails with mild boredom, picking at the polish that had gotten on his skin. “… doesn’t the guy have kids? I don’t think it’s entirely a good idea to recruit somebody with kids. It just… feels wrong to drag them into this kind of life, don’t you think?” His tone was casual, almost conversational, as he tried to appeal to the humanity he knew Kisame had buried deep within his soul.

Kakuzu shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “If you say so, Sasori.” He conceited, “But if you're so against it, Kisame, maybe you should tell us why."

Kisame eyed the two men sitting around him. Kakuzu was looking at him with curiosity and something that looked like mild amusement, while Sasori— where the fuck did he get that nail polish bottle?— started painting a fresh coat on his nails.

Kisame grimaced, letting out a sigh. He doesn’t know how to feel about Zabuza. They were friends, and Kisame might’ve had a crush— this-man-is-so-far-gone-for-Zabuza-it’s-not-even-funny— on Zabuza, but the man was brutal. Kisame knew that first hand. Knew first hand Zabuza barely cared about anyone else besides those kids that followed him around like a bunch of lost puppies. And that was the problem. Those kids had to live in the same world as the rest of them, and Kisame wasn’t about to throw them into the deep end.

“… look,” Kisame began, praying to whatever God above that Zabuza never finds out Kisame told his… colleagues? his real name. Well, whatever the fuck Kakuzu and Sasori were to him, Kisame will kill the both of them if he has to. “… Zabuza’s not a Momachi. Well, at least he doesn’t have the blood of the Momachi Clan in him, he was adopted into it when he was young.” He paused, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. “… Zabuza’s a full blooded, natural breed Uzumaki.”

The room went silent.

“… I beg your finest pardon?” Sasori’s voice broke the silence, his brush hovering over his nails. He looked up, locking eyes with Kakuzu for a split second before focusing on Kisame.

“An Uzumaki?” Kakuzu slowly sat up in his seat, “The demon brat from the bloody mist is an Uzumaki?”

Sasori nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and smoothing out his features once more, his gaze still fixed on Kisame. “… It would explain his unusual resilience.”

“I knew there was something off about him,” Kakuzu murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But to think he’s one of those...” He trailed off, the implications of Zabuza’s lineage clearly unsettling him.

Kisame mentally laughed, a hysteric little thing. Even a real life fucking monster thought a Uzumaki was a monster. “Look, trust me, i’ve known the guy since we were little. And he’s a fucking monster through and through, he might be fucking pretty to look at—” and fuck, if that wasn’t the understatement of the century— “but he’s a fucking demon from the inside out. You’d do well to remember that.” Kisame shivers slightly at the memory of what happened after an enemy accidentally sliced off a piece of Zabuza’s hair. The screams of that poor fucker still haunted him.

Sasori stared at him for a couple more seconds, before reluctantly nodding, and turning his attention back to his fingernails. “… I’ll trust you with that warning, Kisame, if you say he’s not for us I’ll trust your judgment.”

—————————————

Kisame stares up at the ceiling of his room, blinking slowly.

Ever since Sasori brought up Zabuza he’s not been able to stop thinking about him. It was like someone had turned on a light in a room he had long ago boarded up in his mind.

He wondered how he was doing, how Haku and Kimimaro were doing. If Kimimaro got over his crush on Haku or not. How Zabuza’s little Genin team of three, Suigetsu, Mangetsu, and Chōjūrō, were doing…

… gods, he missed the man, even if— most of the time— Zabuza absolutely freaked him the fuck out.

Rolling over onto his side, Kisame sighed. It was stupid, he knows it, still having these stupid feelings, he had when he was a stupid fourteen-year-old boy with stupid feelings that had him stuttering and blushing anytime he was around that stupidly beautiful man. But here he was, twenty-seven years old and he still couldn’t get those feelings to go away.

And thinking about stupidly beautiful? What the fuck?! Kisame still doesn’t understand how a guy can look so feminine but so masculine at the same time. It’s like he’s a walking, talking wet dream. Like someone took everything that was perfect about a man and a woman and slapped it on his body.

Idly, Kisame wonders if Zabuza is still sending heads rolling because of the way he walks, hell, Kisame himself had cut a few heads off when he noticed people looking at Zabuza for too long. He knew that Zabuza didn’t do it on purpose, that was just how he walked, but sometimes, he just couldn’t help but get jealous at the way others would ogle him.

It’s Zabuza’s fault for walking like a goddamn whore, slut, whatever the hell you wanna call it. And he can’t even be mad about it! He can’t get mad about it because he knew Zabuza grew up near the Red light District of Kiri in a House full of women and like, two men.

Kisame rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow and letting out a pitiful sounding moan. No, he had to stop thinking about that, stop thinking about it right now, he had to stop thinking about how his best friend— if they could even be still considered friends— walked like a grade-a, seasoned seducter that could make any man or woman drop to their knees begging for a taste or he’ll get a fucking boner.

A fucking Kitsuné fox. That’s what the hell Zabuza was! A seducter, a fucking flirt that didn’t even know he was flirting! Kisame let out a muffled shouted curse into his pillow, resisting the urge to strangle it as if it was someone’s neck. Kisame knew that the moment he saw him again, he’d be a goner. All of those years of pining, of hoping and wishing and dreaming, all of that would come rushing back like a tidal wave and he’d drown in it, he’d let himself drown in it because he hadn’t seen that face, that smug, beautiful, fucking face in so long. And the thought of it, oh the thought of it, it was fucking agonizing!

——————————————

Zabuza’s hips sway when he walks, and it’s not on purpose either and they naturally sway, and it has a good 90% of people whipping their heads around so fast it’s a miracle they don’t break their necks when he walks past them because of how prominent and sexy this way of his hips. (IDK why I came up with this, but it was 2 o’clock in the morning when I randomly thought of this, and it made me laugh so hard I choked on my chocolate milk.)

——————————————

Zabuza sneezes for the umpteeth time in the past ten minutes, and no, it’s not because it’s snowing like hell outside.

Sniffling, he try to get his kids attention again. “Okay, okay, okay, okay!— good Lord, can you just—?” He had Haku, Kimimaro, and most of Mangetsu’s attention, while Suigetsu terrorized Chōjūrō, and Suigetsu was acting like the damn little piranha Zabuza swears to everything that’s holy Suigetsu had as brain cells.

The little old lady behind the front desk, the owner of the Inn they had stayed in last night, and the Inn they were currently standing in— a civilian woman so thank god she didn’t really recognize any of them as Missing-nin— had her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle, while her husband gave Zabuza a sympathetic look as he watched the man helped Kimimaro into a jacket that was more fluff than anything, zipping it all the way up to the child’s chin, tucking in his scarf as well. The white haired boy staying perfectly still as his Guardian shoved a beanie on his head haphazardly.

“Good god,” Zabuza whispered as he snatched up Suigetsu as the boy ran past him— behind him—, still chasing poor Chōjūrō around. Zabuza hoisted him up like a football and wrangled him into his winter coat. Suigetsu squirmed, protesting, but was cut off by a stern look from the older man. “You’re going to catch a cold, brat.”

The little old— Mio— lady’s giggle grew louder, and she coughed to cover it up, walking over to her husband and whispering something in his ear. “Oh dear, that poor man, it seems his littlest one has enough energy for all of them!” she whispered, patting her husband’s arm.

Her husband, Hakawa, equally amused, nodded solemnly. “Indeed. They’re all so lively, it’s surprising he can keep up with them.”

The couple watched as the man went to tuck a scarf around the boy with a long dark hair neck, and the little white rabbit he was holding like a Teddy bear made this loud screeching noise at him. Zabuza made a strangle motion at the rabbit, but not actually touching. “OH! I hate you to!” He growled at the rabbit, the rabbit seemed to take a great offense to this because it squeaked angrily at him again.

Hakawa coughed into his fist, looking away awkwardly as he tried not to laugh at the display. Mio couldn't help but chuckle softly.

Mio watched as Zabuza crouched in front of all of them, finally wrangling them all together and making sure they’re all nice and bundled up and warm. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Mangetsu’s ear, hesitating there for a couple seconds before he cupped the boy's face, his other hand moving to do the same to Kimimaro’s. She watched as he pulled the boys closer until their foreheads touched, a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of Zabuza’s soul leaving his lips as he closed his eyes.

“… okay, okay, okay… everyone’s going to be okay.” Mio heard Zabuza whisper to his kids, but mostly to the two boys he was holding close. “We’re going to find that medic nin who can help you two get better, okay? Everyone’s going to be okay. I promise you that.”

Mio felt a pang of sadness in her heart. She didn’t know what they needed a medic nin for, but she could see the desperation in Zabuza’s eyes as he opened them, holding the two boys closer to him. It was clear that he cared deeply for them, and she hoped that whatever was ailing them could be cured. Hakawa, noticing her concern, gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder before turning back to the counter to continue with their work.

Chapter Text

“I can’t tell if you’re sulking or mooning over someone.” Kurenai slid into the seat in front of Ausma, the small two-seater table they were inhabiting in the corner of a bar, The Drunken Dragon, was already cluttered with empty sake cups and a very flustered and… resigned looking Ausma pressing the side of his face into the table. “You’ve been like this for the last hour. Did something happen?”

Asuma pulled his face off of the table, looking at Kurenai with a mix of disbelief, excitement, and a hint of embarrassment. "… I saw what’s under Kakashi’s mask.”

Kurenai’s eyes went wide, and she accidentally inhaled the sip of her drink she was about to take, spraying it out in surprise. "You’ve seen Kakashi’s face?" she sputtered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, coughing. "How? Who? What happened?"

“I just… I dropped by Guy’s apartment to grab my pack of smokes since I forgot them at his place earlier. And there Kakashi was, in Guy’s living room, sprawled out across Guy’s couch, mask off like it was nothing,” Asuma replied, still in shock from the revelation. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if sharing a sacred secret. “Freckles, Kurenai! Kakashi Hatake has freckles, Kurenai! Freckles!”

Kurenai stared at him, her mind racing. “Freckles?” she echoed, trying to wrap her head around the image Asuma painted. Kakashi with freckles? It was hard to imagine the stoic and aloof jonin with such a boyish trait. She took a moment to compose herself before asking the million-dollar question. “Well, what does he look like? Besides those gray eyes of his, obviously. What's under that mask?”

Asuma took a deep breath, his hands coming to rest on the table as he pushed back, popping his back on his chair. “… he’s fuckin’ smokin’ hot, Kurenai.” He finally said, sighing. “That’s what he looks like, he’s fuckin’ smokin’ hot. All sharp features that somehow also look delicate and deadly at the same time with a whole big splash of seductive thrown into it for the hell of it.”

Kurenai leaned back, trying to imagine it. Sure, she knew Kakashi was a hottie, even with the mask, hiding most of his face, you’d have to be blind not to see that, that man is sex on legs. But delicate and with freckles? Now that’s something she never thought she’d hear in the same sentence as Kakashi’s name.

Her curiosity piqued, she leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Asuma, tell me more. You say he looks delicate and deadly at the same time, how does that even work?"

“… honestly,” Asuma murmured, “I don’t know…” He paused, swirling the sake in his cup as if searching for the right words. “But it does. His face nearly makes him look… innocent…? If that makes sense at all?” He took a swig, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s like looking at a deadly weapon wrapped in silk, you know? Fuckin' gorgeous but you’re just waiting for it to cut you deep… and apparently Guy gets to see it all the time! Even though the two of us, and a whole slew of other people, have been trying to sneak a peak since we were in the Academy together. Can you believe that?”

Kurenai leaned back, her mind racing with the image Asuma had painted. She’d never seen Kakashi’s face herself, not even once in all their years of friendship. She’d always assumed that it was some kind of whatever mysterious bullshit choice he’d come up with. But to think that there was something so beautiful, so potent, hidden beneath that mask... It was tantalizing.

"And you say he has freckles?" she questioned, her voice a bit breathless. "How many? And where?"

Asuma stuttered, looking at her incredulously. “You expected me to count his freckles?!” He chuckled, sighing. “But I mean, I only saw some on his cheeks and nose. It was fuckin’ adorable, really… It’s like a little secret that whispers 'I’m not as stoic as you think'."

Kurenai felt a strange warmth spread through her chest. She had always admired Kakashi from afar, his strength and wisdom, but the thought of him being... adorable? It was a revelation she hadn’t expected. But she definitely wasn’t complaining.

——————————————

(what do y’all think about Kakashi with freckles? not like prominent-prominent freckles, but those little faint freckles.)

——————————————

Deidara paces around Kurotsuchi's room, making sure his steps are quiet enough not to wake up the girl as he scratches at his neck raw, swallowing down an animal-like sounding whine.

He needed to leave, but he didn’t want to.

Scratching harder, Deidara swallowed down another animal-like sounding whine that was trying its damnedest to rip its way out of his throat.

Three years. Three years he was able to ignore the little voice in the back of his head. HELL! It wasn’t even a damn voice, more like an animalistic instinct yelling at him to go… somewhere.

Three years! Three years he managed to ignore it! But it feels like he’s going to go insane! His senses have been going haywire for the past three years, and it’s taken every last strand of self restraint he has to not go on a rampage. His eyes glazed over as he looked at Kurotsuchi’s sleeping form.

He had asked if she wanted to have a sleepover with him, knowing that this would probably be the last time she saw him in a very long time, if ever again.

Deidara staggers over to her, swallowing down a cry as he brushes a strand of hair out of her face, letting out a shaky breath as he did so and placing the letter he had written earlier that day on her bedside table before leaning down and whispering. “I’m sorry, Kurotsuchi, but Nii-san has to go away.” He murmured, forcing himself to stand straight up and make his way out of her room.

Fingers trembling, Deidara went back to scratching his neck, trying to soothe his nerves that seem to be perpetually on overdrive when he noticed his fingers were bloody with his own blood.

Cursing, Deidara forced himself to stop scratching, wiping his fingers on his pants as he walked down the halls of the Kamizuru Clan home. The house was eerily quiet, with only the occasional crack of the wooden floorboards echoing through the corridors.

Deidara hesitated for a second, walking past Kitsuchi's room. The door was wide open like it usually was, giving Deidara a full view of the man’s room, and a view of the man sitting at his desk, back towards Deidara, as the man worked on some documents, probably work related.

Deidara watches the man for a couple seconds longer, swiping at his eyes and nose before forcing himself to continue walking towards the Front door.

He NEEDED to leave. Deidara kept on reminding himself. No, whatever the fuck was yelling at him at the back of his mind was telling him he needed to leave, something about his his packpackpackpackpack- a pack, his pack, a Himesheoutthere, pack, HimeHimeHimeHimeHimeHime, his Hime- need to protect, his pack’s Hime, pack’s Hime, need-need-need-need-need-need-n-n-n-n-n-n-need his packpackpackpackpack, need his HimeHIMEHIMEHIMEHIMEHIME.

Swallowing hard, Deidara swallowed down another animal-like sounding whine, though this time it was mixed with a sob as he reached the shoe rack beside the front door. He paused, his fingers trembling as he ran them over the straps of his sandals, feeling the smooth leather. His mind was a mess of thoughts and emotions, all fighting for dominance.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Deidara snatched his sandals, leaning heavily against the door as he slid them on.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

“… Punk, what are you doing up so late?” Ōnoki’s Voice suddenly came from behind him, and Deidara whipped around so fast the blood that was trickling down his neck from his insistent scratching streaked across his neck, some of it going into his hair while some flung from the sudden movement, some drops hitting the wall.

“… jiji,” Deidara breathed, holding onto the door handle so tightly his hand started to shake. His pupil shrank into pinpointed-slits as he sucked in a sharp breath, looking like a cornered animal as he stared at the man he called grandfather.

Ōnoki frowned, looking at the bloody mess that was Deidara’s neck, then to the streak of blood that had smacked against the wall from the sudden movement that Deidara had done. “What happened to you, boy?” He asked, stepping closer, his own eyes narrowing.

Deidara pressed himself against the door, feeling like his throat was clogged with thorns. "J-just an accident," he managed to stutter, his voice quivering. The lie tasted bitter, he never liked lying to his jiji.

"Looks like more than an accident," Ōnoki said, his eyes piercing through Deidara's panic. “What’s going on, Deidara, what’s got you all scratched up and what are you doing up at…” He looked over to the clock on the wall, “Two in the morning? And why are you dressed as if you’re going on a long-term mission?” Ōnoki’s voice grew softer with genuine concern.

Deidara bit his bottom lip, idly recognizing that he was breathing so hard he was pretty sure he was about to have a panic attack. His mind was racing, packpackpackpackpack- a pack, his pack, a Himesheoutthere, pack, HimeHimeHimeHimeHimeHime, his Hime- need to protect, his pack’s Hime, pack’s Hime, need-need-need-need-need-need-n-n-n-n-n-n-need his packpackpackpackpack, need his HimeHIMEHIMEHIMEHIMEHIME!

Deidara sucked in a sharp breath that was nearly knocked out of him the second he took it, and his cheeks… his cheeks…? Oh… he was crying. "I-I need to leave," he managed to choke out, his voice sounding more desperate than he ever had in his life. He wrenched open the door, taking multiple staggering steps back as Ōnoki followed him, shouting something he couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.

“I… I’m-I’m sorr-sorry, Jiji.” Deidara choked out, feeling like he was going to be sick. His tongue felt like it was made out of lead, and he’s sure most of his words were unintelligible. “I… I’m leaving, and— and I d-don’t know If-if-if-if I’ll be coming b-back.” And with that, Deidara turned and ran like he had the devil himself at his heels, his feet slapping against the ground as he bolted down the road, ignoring the calls of his grandfather.

“SHIT!” Ōnoki swore, turning his attention back to the house and running back. “Kitsuchi! Get your ass out here! Something's wrong with Deidara!” He called, his voice echoing through the compound.

Kitsuchi emerged from his room, stumbling slightly as he twisted around to face his dad's frantic voice. His eyes searched the corridor, and he caught sight of his father, Ōnoki, storming in, looking more alarmed than he had ever seen him. "Deidara? What's wrong with him?" he asked, confusion thick in his voice. “He should be asleep with Kurotsuchi, I tucked them both in…” his gaze snapped to the clock hanging on the wall, reading the time. “More than three hours ago…”

"I don't know," Ōnoki said, his voice tight with concern. “But he was freaked out and bleeding from his neck, saying something about he needed to leave and he didn’t know if he’d be coming back."

Kitsuchi felt his heart drop into his stomach. “B-bleeding from his… neck?”

——————————————

Zabuza’s gaze flicked over his hellions scattered across the room they had gotten for free for completing a jab.

Haku was actually laying the right way in a futon, Bunny Rabbit sleeping peacefully on his chest. Chōjūrō was on Haku’s left and Mangetsu was on the right side of Haku while Suigetsu was sprawled across the three of them like a starfish.

He looked down to his only awake hellion, Kimimaro, who was sitting patiently in front of him as he put his hair into a quick braid so it wouldn’t get too tazzled during sleep.

“… do you feel her too?” Kimimaro suddenly spoke up, picking at his bottom lip with his teeth, his voice low and tight. “… our Hime I mean?”

Zabuza paused for a second, his grip tightening oh so slightly on Kimimaro’s hair. “… yeah, I do, kiddo, I do…” he murmured.

Chapter Text

“You must be going senile, old man.” Tsunade’s face pinches oh so slightly as she sits across from Hiruzen, only his desk separating them. “It’s a miracle you even got me to step foot back into this village, and you expect me to take on not one but two students, let alone one of them being a man. You know I will never take on a male student, ever, after what happened to Dan and Nawaki!” She said, her voice a bit more snappish than she intended.

Hiruzen looked like he aged fifty years with her refusal. “Look, dear, I—”

“No, I already refused,” Tsunade cut in, looking like she was about to bolt, and Hiruzen could hear Tsunade’s apprentice awkwardly shuffling outside the door.

“Tsunade,” Hiruzen tried to cut through Tsunade’s rant, his voice a mix of frustration and pleading.

“I don’t know why you thought—”

“Tsunade.”

“— I’d even agree to any of—”

“Tsunade! Please!”

“— this! You know what’s happened—”

“PRINCESS!” Hiruzen’s voice boomed, cutting through the room like a hot knife through butter, his tone one of desperation.

Tsunade froze mid-sentence, glaring at him, but she could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

“Listen to me, please,” Hiruzen stood up from his seat, leaning over his desk to grab Tsunade’s hands in both of his. His eyes searched hers, desperation painted on his face. “This is… important to, say the least… and, it’s not like you’re going to keep them forever, not like Shizune, but… these two are special, beyond special, a type of special no one could even begin to fathom.” He swallowed, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re one of the few people I know who could handle them… they… they both have a Strength of a Hundred Seal, and they’re only ten.”

Tsunade’s eyes widened, and she sat up straighter, finally giving him her full attention. “A Strength of a Hundred Seal at that age?” she repeated, her voice dropping to a murmur.

Hiruzen nodded, letting go of Tsunade’s hands to tap Tsunade’s own Strength of a Hundred Seal on her forehead. “… yeah, the girl has a pink one and the boy has a dark green one.” He took a deep breath, leaning back and sitting back down at his chair.

Tsunade’s mind raced. The Strength of a Hundred Seal was a powerful jutsu that allowed its user to tap into the vast reservoir of chakra within them. It was something she knew all too well, having mastered the Jutsu herself. To have two children so young with such seals was unheard of. She leaned back in her chair, looking at him skeptically. “… if they both have a seal, they have to have been taught how to perform that Jutsu, why don’t they just stay with the shinobi that taught it to them?”

Hiruzen looked at her as if he was beyond distressed by her words, steepling and unsteepling his fingers, seemingly not knowing what to do with himself. “… that’s the thing, no shinobi taught them the jutsu,” he said slowly, taking a deep breath. “… they taught themselves the jutsu with no outsider help.”

Tsunade's skepticism turned into astonishment. Self-taught jutsu, especially at such a young age, was almost unheard of. The Strength of a Hundred Seal was a complex technique that required precise chakra control and deep understanding of sealing arts. It was one thing for one prodigy to learn it, but two? The odds were astronomically high.

"What are their names?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“… Shikamaru Nara, and… Naruto Uzumaki.” Hiruzen said, waiting for the outburst he knew would come.

Shikamaru Nara? Tsunade made a thoughtful face. She could see a Nara teaching themselves a The Strength of a Hundred Seal, damn genius weirdos, no one should by that smart and that weird at the same time.

Tsunade suddenly sat up in her chair, looking like she was about to jump out of her skin when the second name smacked her in the face like a hot iron. Nar-u-to U-zu-ma-ki… NARUTO UZUMAKI. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NARUTO TAUGHT HERSELF THE STRENGTH OF THE HUNDRED SEAL!?” she practically screamed.

Hiruzen buried his face in his hands, looking about ready to slam his head into his desk, repeatedly, just to make everything go back to making sense again. "Yes, she did… and apparently she also helped one of her academy classmate's learn it as well," he said, his voice muffled by his palms.

“What the hell?! The last time I saw Naruto, she could barely hold a kunai straight, let alone perform something as advanced as the Strength of a Hundred Seal!” Tsunade exclaimed, her shock reverberating through the Hokage Tower.

Hiruzen groaned, peeking through his fingers at his former student. “Princess, the last time you saw Naruto she was five. Give her some credit. She’s had five years to grow and learn, just like everyone else," he said tiredly.

Tsunade's eyes narrowed, and she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "Fine, I'll give her that, I’ll give her a… chance.” She sighed heavily.

“If you’re going to give Naruto a chance you have to give that boy a chance too.” Hiruzen said, letting his hands fall from his face and onto his desk, looking like a grandfather that had just spent a week with his rambunctious, damn near rabid, grandkids.

Tsunade looked up at him with a glare, but it didn’t hold the same heat it had a moment ago. “You know I don’t do male students, you know my history with the opposite sex.”

“Tsunade,” Hiruzen took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he went back to the mask of the Hokage. “This isn’t about the… aversion you have to the opposite gender. This is about two ten-year-olds that were able to teach themselves The Strength of a Hundred Seal…” He paused for a second, laying his hands down in front of him and steepling his fingers together. “… and that Nara boy has fixated on Naruto, and from what I’ve heard from Shikaku it’s not a new fixation, it’s a Nara fixation that started when the two of them were seven.”

Tsunade's glare turned into a scoff, she knew all too well what Nara’s "Human Fixation" meant, and it didn’t sit well with her. She knew it was something deeper than a simple crush. It was a bond, a bond that could be both a source of unrivaled protection and an unhealthy obsession. "Fine, I'll take them on as students," she conceded, "But if that Nara boy causes trouble, you deal with it."

“He won’t,” Hiruzen promised, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his lips. “He’s a good kid, Tsunade. And he’s got a strong head on his shoulders. The kind of kid that’s going to go places, especially with you training him.”

Tsunade frowned at him for a moment longer before she let out a long suffering— irritated— sigh. “Fine… how long will I be keeping them? Do I even have a deadline to deal with?”

Hiruzen shook his head, letting out a small, relieved sigh. “No, no deadlines, just teach them everything you can and when you’re done, they’ll be going off with Jiraiya so he can teach them everything he can, after that they’ll return to the village.”

Tsunade's eyes narrowed slightly, the mention of Jiraiya bringing a hint of skepticism to her face. "Fine,” she conceited, crossing her arms over her chest. "But if he causes any trouble, or if that girl gets hurt, you're the one I'll be coming after, old man."

Hiruzen chuckled, a twinkle in his aged eyes. "I have no doubt she can handle herself, Tsunade. And as for Shikamaru, I trust you'll keep him in check.” He paused for a second, looking off to the side and out one of the windows of the Hokage’s office. “And… if it will make you feel any better, make you feel like nothing bad is going to happen to those kids, I’ll send a few Anbu with you to keep watch and act as… bodyguards, let’s say.”

Tsunade’s expression softened slightly at the mention of Anbu protection. "Alright, but I don't want them hovering. They need to learn independence," she said firmly.

Hiruzen nodded solemnly. "Understood. They'll keep a safe distance but be there if needed."

With that, the meeting concluded, and Tsunade was left with her thoughts. She couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation at the prospect of teaching these two prodigies. She knew the Strength of a Hundred Seal was not a jutsu to be taken lightly. As she left the Hokage's office, her mind raced with questions about Shikamaru's fixation and what it truly meant for their training together.

————————————

“… jiji?” Naruto called as she pushed open the door to the Hokage’s office, yawning as she rubbed her eyes.

“Ah, Naruto, my dear, come here.” Hiruzen patted his knee, a warm smile playing on his face. “How was your day?”

“Good,” She murmured, walking over to him and climbing into his lap as if she was five years old again.

Hiruzen chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Well, i’m guessing the people I asked to retrieve you has already got you up to speed?” He asked, his eyes twinkling.

Naruto nodded, blinking a couple times as she yawned, rubbing her eyes once more. “Yeah, they said you convinced this Tsunade, whoever she is, to train me and Shika, because of— *Yawn!*”

Hiruzen's smile grew as he watched her yawn again. "Tsunade is one of the Sannin, the legendary trio that includes Jiraiya and Orochimaru. She's also one of the strongest medical-ninjas in the world. I'm sure you'll learn a great deal from her." He lifted the little girl from his lap, setting her down on the desk. “But the reason why I asked you here is because I’ll be sending a few Anbu with you and Shikamaru to act like your shadows, and since you’re… uhhh… acquainted with a hand full of them, I thought I’d let you choose who you wanted to shadow you and Shikamaru.” He tapped the document beside where Naruto sat on the desk.

Naruto squinted, following the fingers, blinking sleepily. She picked up the paper, recognizing photos and names of Anbu that had watched over her when she was little and lived in her old apartment.

Hound.

Tenzō.

Raven.

Weasel.

Tiger.

Cat.

Tsubame.

Naruto blinked down at the names, idly listening to Kurama’s input as she tilted her head just enough to sniff the air without Hiruzen noticing, catching everyone scents.

Hound was on the other side of the village with Tenzō, Weasel was at the Uchiha compound with his family and Raven. While Tiger, Cat, and Tsubame where on duty, hiding in the trees around the Hokage’s office.

Naruto took another breath, this time longer and deeper, filtering it through her and Kurama’s bond, letting the fox catch a whiff. “… tell the old man Weasel is sick,” Kurama’s voice echoed through her mind. “You know him as a civilian as well as Anbu, so it will not be suspicious you know he’s sick with his lungs full of pneumonia and he’s going blind because of his near constant use of his Mangekyou Sharingan in Anbu missions. Tell him to leave Weasel behind this time.”

Naruto frowned, picking at the document in her hands. “Jiji, has…” she paused for a second, debating on saying Weasel’s real name or not. “… has Itachi told you he’s sick yet?… because, if I were you and knew what was wrong with him, I wouldn’t let him back on the field until he got everything fixed…”

The Third Hokage sat up in his seat a little straighter, frowning. “… Itachi’s sick?” He repeated, surprised by the information. “… no… I was not aware of that.” He scratched his neck, contemplating. “Has he told you what’s wrong with him?”

Naruto started kicking her legs back-and-forth, frowning as she looked up to her jiji. “No, Itachi puts on a good show about being fine, but I can smell the sickness coming off him like waves. It’s potent it enough to knock out a bear. Pneumonia in his lungs, or at least somewhere near his lungs or throat because I can smell it when he breathes out or speaks, and somethings wrong with his eyes. I think he needs glasses, but he won’t say anything about it.”

The Third Hokage sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It seems we’ve got more issues than just your training. If what you say is true, we need to get him to the hospital before he collapses. Anbu are strong, but not invincible.” He shifted in his seat slightly, grabbing a pin and a scroll. “You keep on going over your options and I’ll deal with Itachi’s situation.”

Naruto nodded, looking down at the piece of paper, mentally scratching out the name weasel.

So she had Hound, Tenzō, Raven, Tiger, Cat, and Tsubame to pick from.

Cat’s— Raidō’s— girlfriend just had a baby so he’s a no.

So that leaves Hound, Tenzō, Raven, Tiger, and Tsubame.

If she picks Tiger— Genma— she’ll have to pick his boyfriend Tsubame— Hayate— to, so maybe.

She’s going to pick Hound obviously, Hound smells like a Uzumaki, so he’s pack. Tenzō has two kids, Sai and Shin, now, so she can’t pick him.

And then Raven— Shisui—. He’s Itachi and Sasuke’s cousin, and Itachi’s best friend so she can’t take him either.

So that leaves her with Hound, Tiger, and Tsubame.

Naruto nodded. Yeah, Hound, Genma, and Hayate.

——————————

Naruto sits crisscross on the Hokage’s desk. Staring at the three Anbu shinobi, Hound, Tiger, and Tsubame. She smiled at them as the three men were kneeling and bowing their heads to Hiruzen-jiji.

“Rise,” Hiruzen said calmly, his gaze drifting from the three Anbu members to his pseudo-granddaughter with the crimson hair. “I have a mission for the three of you.”

Hound was the first to stand, his posture as sharp as the blades sheathed at his side. Tiger and Tsubame followed suit, their movements swift and silent. Each man wore the standard black Anbu outfit, each of them having a different porcelain mask on.

“Hokage-sama,” The three men spoke in unison, all the attention locked onto Hiruzen. “How may we be of service to you?” Hound asked, his voice deep and authoritative.

Hiruzen hummed, eyeing the three men in front of him as he packed his pipe with tobacco. “I assume the three of you remember Naruto,” he asked rhetorically, using his lighter to light the pipe as he puffed gently. “Your mission is to be hers and Shikamaru Nara’s shadows for the foreseeable future.” He took a long drag off of his pipe, letting the three Anbu shinobi to digest the information before speaking again. “As you can see,” he waved his hand too Naruto, pointing at the Seal on her forehead. “Naruto, and including her friend, has a seal of The Strength of a Hundred Seal. They were able to teach themselves The Strength of a Hundred Seal without outsider help. They have become students of not only Slug Princess Lady Tsunade but also Jiraiya the Toad Sage of the Sannin. And so as I said, your mission is to be Naruto and Shikamaru’s shadow while they are away from the village, protect them from threats as they are being trained into successful shinobi by two out of the three Sannin.”

The three men nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Hai, Hokage-sama,” they responded in unison.

Hiruzen chewed on the tip of his pipe, eyeing the three Anbu shinobi. “… good. And you will treat Naruto with just as much as respect as you would give me during this mission. Think of her as your pseudo-Hokage of sorts for the duration of the mission.”

Hound, Tiger, and Tsubame exchanged glances. The Hokage’s instructions were clear. They were to serve and protect the young Uzumaki as if she were the embodiment of the village itself. 

Hiruzen eyed the three men for a second longer before turning his attention to Naruto. “Would you like to add anything to this conversation, Naruto, or any preferences for your protection detail?”

Naruto shrugged, her gaze sweeping over the three men, two of them she knew out of Anbu, and one she didn’t. She took a deep breath, letting her eyes flutter close. Hound’s scent smells like lightning on a rainy day, mixed with the smoke from a fire and mud with cold wind sweeping everything up into a mess. Like a Uzumaki.

Tiger smells like a warm fire after a long day of working outside, with a lingering scent of flowers hanging onto him.

And Tsubame smells like a lake after a particularly drizzly, rainy day, a faint hint of copper filling the air.

Naruto let out of breath through her mouth, thinking over the Anbu rule she had managed to get her hands on, learn, or over hear. Until she landed on one rule she absolutely loathed.

Naruto’s eyes snapping open, her shrinking into pinpointed slits as she stared at the three Anbu shinobi in front of her. “The one rule,” she murmured, straightening up and sounding like she was much older than she was. “Number 35, none of you are allowed to commit it.” She stared at the three men, seemingly staring into their souls, unblinking, unmoving, completely still as if she was an unmovable statue. “I don’t care how injured any of you get, none of you are allowed to destroy your bodies. If the three of you are going to be my shadow, you are a part of me, and for all I care that means now you are a part of the Uzumaki pack, and a Uzumaki will never leave one of their own to die or suffer alone. Do I make myself clear? While the three of you are my shadows, forget that number 35 ever existed, it does not exist for us.”

The three Anbu, Hound, Tiger, and Tsubame, looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Hound spoke up, his voice gruff but firm. “Understood, Lady Uzumaki. We will do as you command.”

Chapter Text

(Yes, Deidara is currently OOC, that is because he’s literally 14 and running away from home)

“Shit Fuck! Shit Fuck! Shit Fuck! Shit Fuck! Shit Fuck! Shit Fuck!” Deidara cursed, sandal clad feet slipping against the dirt covered ground of outside Iwa.

Looking over his shoulder, Deidara swore even louder, pushing himself to run faster. Fuck, did Jiji really send fucking Anbu after him? He knew his old man was worried, but this was taking it too far.

His neck was still bleeding, and he didn’t have the time to stop it, even if it was bleeding quite sluggishly by now.

Ducking into one of the various, quite small, forests surrounding Iwa, Deidara ran through the trees, trying his damnedest to lose the four, maybe six, Anbu tailing him.

“Oh god, if Jiji sent Anbu after me does that mean the old man deemed me as a missing-nin?” Deidara murmured to himself, the thought making him feel even more guilty.

“Deidara, stop this instant!” Deidara heard one of the Anbu yell, his voice echoing through the dense foliage. His heart racing, he pushed himself harder, leaping from one tree branch to the next.

“Fuck off!” He shot back, his voice strained and panicked, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, finally gathering enough common sense to send chakra to the self-inflicted scratch marks to his neck, healing them near instantly.

The sound of shurikens flying through the air had him tumbling through the trees, narrowly avoiding the sharp blades. Deidara’s body twisting in a way that would definitely have broken more than just one bone for anyone else. His spine twisting nearly all the way around as he bent backwards, falling from the momentum of dodging.

He landed on all fours like a cat when he lost his balance and went hurtling to the ground. He couldn’t let them take him back, not now, not when he was so close.

Deidara pushed himself back to his feet, and started booking it like he had the devil himself on his heels.

From behind him he heard one of the Anbu, a woman from what they sounded like, probably a teenager, a newbie, saying, nearly yelling. “What The Actual Fuck Was That?! How In The Holy Hell Did He Move Like That Without Breaking His Spine?!” She sounded utterly shocked and confused, with a touch of mild disgust in her voice.

Another Anbu, a man this time, tisked at the young woman's language. “Control yourself, Tsubone. This isn’t the first time we’ve encountered a shinobi with unconventional abilities.” His voice was calm and composed, a stark contrast to Tsubone’s astonishment. “Besides, we’re not here to question his tactics. We have a mission to fulfill. The Tsuchikage wants us to return his grandson to him, without getting him harmed.”

Deidara ignored their conversation, scurrying away and slipping from their grasp like a slippery snake with the flexibility of a cat. He could see the other side of the forest, and as soon as he crossed the threshold Deidara knew he would be out in the open for quite a while until he found another chunk of greenery.

“How even old is this kid, Taikyoku?” One of the Anbu, a young sounding man, asked his Captain, Taikyoku. “Isn’t he like… fourteen? he should not have this much stamina nor be this fast… or this slippery…”

Taikyoku sighed under his mask, his eyes lingering on the retreating form of Deidara, grunting as he and his team followed. “Kurokiri, I understand your surprise, but remember your place. And to answer your question, Deidara is indeed fourteen. But he’s the Tsuchikage’s grandson, so it's only natural for him to inherit some of Ōnoki-sama’s strength and endurance by training with him.” He murmured, leaping to the next tree before dropping down in front of Deidara, the blonde-redhead nearly slamming right into him.

Deidara shrieked, the sound loud and piercing as he barely avoided colliding with Taikyoku. He stumbled backward, eyes wide and wild. “Holy fucking fuck do you not know what words ‘Fuck Off’ mean!?” He snapped, his breaths heavy and ragged as he world around. Surprising Taikyoku and making the older man freeze for a brief second when he noticed Deidara’s gaze snapping to each and every single last Anbu that were hiding in the trees, supposed to be undetectable and unnoticed. But it seems Deidara knew exactly where they were.

Taikyoku's eyes narrowed behind his mask, impressed despite himself. "You're quite the observant one, young one," he commented, his voice calm and measured. "But running is futile. We've been sent to bring you back to Ōnoki-sama safely.”

“Go fuck yourself!” Deidara shot back, taking a step away from the man, moving his body in a way that was much like a predator that had been cornered. Crouched low to the ground, his eyes were sharp and his teeth bared as he watched the Anbu around him. The pupils of his blue eyes had shrunk into pinpointed slits, mimicking a cat’s, but the look in his eyes were none of a mere household cat, but they were as sharp as the most deadliest of predators. He looked rabid.

The Anbu remained unfazed by his words, their eyes hidden behind their masks, but Deidara could feel the tension in their stance, the way they shifted their weight slightly forward, ready to lunge at a moment’s notice.

And that’s when he felt it, someone behind him, a hand going to grab him. Deidara snapped his upper body around, not thinking as he snapped his jaws and sank his teeth, quite deeply, into the wrist that had tried to grab him from behind. He locked his jaw so if whoever tried to yank their arm away, the only way they would get it back was if they ripped his mouth away, which would rip the chunk of flesh he was biting into off.

The Anbu yelped in surprise, pain, and shock as Deidara's teeth pierced through the metal of their arm guard and into flesh. The others instantly sprang into action, weapons at the ready, but Taikyoku raised a hand to halt them. He studied Deidara.

Deidara was letting out this sound that wasn’t quite human nor was it quite animal, but it was definitely a growl, a deep thing that was coming from the depths of his chest and reverberating through his teeth that were buried into the flesh of the Anbu's arm.

“What the fuck is that kid?” Taikyoku heard one of his men, Fudo, murmur under his breath. The person in question who had been on the receiving end of Deidara’s bite was Tora. Her wrist was currently in Deidara’s mouth, blood trickling from his teeth and down his chin. She was trying to yank her arm away, cursing like a sailor as she did so, but Deidara’s jaw was like a vice, and the blonde-redhead bit down harder and harder every time Tora moved.

“STOP MOVING, TORA.” Taikyoku suddenly boomed out, his voice echoing through the clearing. He took a deep breath, the puzzle pieces finally connecting, finally telling him who Deidara actually is, what he is. “The kid has a bite force that’s enough to snap your wrist off if he so pleases.” He calmly said, his eyes never leaving Deidara’s own. “So, unless you want to be known as the one who lost her hand to a rogue Chunin, I suggest you stop flailing like a fish out of water and stand still. You can deal with the pain, right?”

Tora gritted her teeth and nodded, her eyes watering in pain as she stared back at Taikyoku, trying to ignore the burning pain coming from her arm.

Deidara’s gaze snapped in between Taikyoku and the woman, apparently Tora, who he’s biting, breathing heavily, that growling sound still emanating from him.

Taikyoku shifted where he stood, and he watched Deidara bite down harder on Tora's wrist. The young Uzumaki's eyes burned with a fierce light, his teeth clamped down with a strength that was not human. The Anbu leader knew that with a single twist, Deidara could tear through flesh and bone. The tension in the air grew thick as the other Anbu members tightened their grips on their weapons, ready to jump into action. But Taikyoku held up his hands in a peaceful gesture, ignoring all his men, even the one getting bit.

Oh so slowly, Taikyoku took one step, then another, his movements telegraphed so Deidara could see he had no intention of attacking. He approached the Uzumaki, his eyes never leaving Deidara's. "Deidara-san," he said calmly, "we are not here to harm you. We are your allies. Please, let go of Tora."

Deidara was breathing hard, his eyes never leaving Taikyoku as the man slowed to a stop, slowly sliding down to sit on his knees a few feet in front of him.

Taikyoku could feel the boiling heat of a Uzumaki’s chakra coming off like tsunami waves off of the boy, and he would be surprised if Tora didn’t come out of this with at least third degree burns.

The chakra was so tangible, he could taste it, it was hot and spicy, with a hint of the ocean breeze mixing into it. Hell, he could see it, too. It was hot, more than just hot, it was searing and bubbling like boiling water, a bright crimson red that seemed to dance in the air around Deidara, wrapping around him like a living cloak of… something. It curled around him like a living, possessive shield, a creature with a mind of its own.

“Again, what the fuck is that kid?” Taikyoku heard Fudo say once more, the man’s voice sounding tight.

Taikyoku raised a hand to silence his team. His eyes remained fixed on Deidara, whose teeth were bared in a snarl around Tora’s wrist. The crimson chakra grew thicker, heavier, pulsing with every beat of the young man’s heart. The situation had escalated rapidly, but Taikyoku remained calm, his gaze never wavering.

Then, as if a flip was switched, Deidara let go of Tora’s wrist, twisting to kick her in the ass towards Taikyoku, causing her to collide with the other man.

Deidara twisted his body backwards into the side into a half roll half flip that definitely should have broken his ribs and spine as he pushed himself to his feet, once again running like he had the devil on his heels away from the Anbu.

Tora let out a pained grunt as the teeth ripped themselves out of her arm, her wrist feeling like it had been dipped in molten metal.

“Fuck, that hurts like a son of a bitch!” she exclaimed, her face twisted into a grimace.

Taikyoku took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing Tora off of him. “Someone call for back up, apparently Ōnoki-sama forgot to tell us his grandson he wanted back home safe and sound was a Uzumaki.” He called out, his eyes still on Deidara’s retreating back. “And tell them not to hurt the kid, he’s Tsuchikage-sama’s grandson. Pushing himself up he followed the kid, “Kurokiri, Fudo, Otokodate, follow me, Tsubone, stay with Tora and when back up arrives tell them what direction we went in.”

The Anbu team split as instructed, Tsubone rushing to Tora’s side and applying pressure to the bite wound. 

————————————

Deidara ran, stomping down his chakra till it was nearly undetectable.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Deidara cursed under his breath, scurrying around the forest like a pinball in a pinball machine, trying to lose his pursuers. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in his ears. The trees whipped by him, leaves slapping his face and sticking to his sweaty skin. His legs burned with every step, but he didn't dare slow down. He knew that if they caught him, it would be game over.

Sharply turning, and booking it towards the tree line, Deidara promptly slammed into someone, who was going to walk into the forest, the second he stepped foot out of the forest, sending both of them stumbling, and whoever Deidara slammed into cursing curses Deidara didn’t even know existed. Deidara looked up and found himself face to face with a teenager, not much older than him, maybe three years, with bright blood red hair with the tips of his hair and roots grey. His hair was slicked back and he was pale with features that are sharp and angled, and his eyes, a distinctive plum purple, were cat-like— or fox-like—, with slitted pupils that were a darker shade of purple.

The man looks right back down at him, his expression a mix of a glare and annoyance, that turns into amusement and a hint of intrigue as he looks at Deidara’s blood soaked front, mouth and face. “Well, I surely didn’t know Iwa had vampires.” The man says with a smirk, his voice had a hint of teasing in it.

Deidara staggers back, spitting out a mouth full of saliva mixed with blood, and the other teen just seemed even more amused by the sight of him spitting out blood. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm just trying to get out of here." Deidara looked around wildly, hoping and praying to whatever God is actually real he lost his pursuers. His pupils of his blue eyes were still shrunken into pinpointed slits, mimicking a cat’s, but the look in his eyes were none of a mere household cats, but they were as sharp as the most deadliest of predators.

“So, sorry for running into you, but I’m going!” Deidara started running again, nearly shrieking in surprise when two of the Anbu chasing him hurdled out of the tree line and towards him.

The teenager with red and gray hair, and purple eyes raises an eyebrow. “You got Anbu after you?” He asks, getting said Anbu’s attention who instantly straightened up, taking multiple hasty steps back, seemingly recognizing the teenager with the Triple-Bladed Scythe strapped to his back.

Deidara ducked behind the other teen, dubbing him as the safest place he could be at the moment even if the fucking Anbu looked wary of him.

“So, little vampire,” the other teen began, lifting his arm to look under it where Deidara was peeking out from, death glaring at the two Anbu that had stopped in their tracks. “Looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle. What do you do to get the Iwa Anbu on your ass?”

“Nothing,” Deidara hissed like a disgruntled cat, not taking his eyes off the Anbu.

“Hidan, get away from the Tsuchikage’s grandson, or we'll have to resort to force!” one of the Anbu called out, their voice shaking slightly.

The teen, Hidan, smirks, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "Oh? The Tsuchikage’s grandson, huh?" He glances down at Deidara, who's still glaring at the Anbu from behind his back, before turning his attention back to the two Anbu, briefly noticing at least seven other Anbu hiding in the tree line around them, all with their weapons drawn. "So, what's the deal with you guys and the kid here?” He glanced at Deidara again, tracing the blood that was drenching his mouth and face. “He eat someone or something? Or was I right and he’s a vampire? Either way it sounds cool!"

“I did not eat anyone!” Deidara snapped, shifting behind Hidan, his chakra flaring up in annoyance. “I… just, bit one of the Anbu.” He huffed, making sure none of the Anbu saw him slide his hands into his clay pouches. He really didn’t wanna blow anyone up, but if he had to, so be it.

Hidan chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving the tense Anbu. “Well, I don’t see the problem with that. They’re all a bunch of stiffs anyway, right?” He shrugged, his red and grey hair fluttering slightly with the movement. “But, if you guys are gonna fight, I’d love to watch. Maybe I could learn something new, you know, for the whole immortality gig and all that jazz.”

Deidara just grunted, holding up his hands as the  mouths on his hands made his two bombs, shifting his body so Hidan nor the Anbu could see what he was doing. After a second, Deidara lunged out from behind Hidan, hurling the two clay bombs at the forest and the Anbu as if he was throwing a baseball, his arms moving in a swift arc.

“Fucking run!” Deidara turned on his heels the second the bombs left his hands, grabbing Hidan’s wrist and booking it, making it about 20 feet before the first bomb connected with something or someone and went off with a deafening boom. The forest floor quaked beneath them, sending a shockwave that knocked down trees and sent dirt flying. The second explosion followed in quick succession, the blast radius larger, lighting up the night sky. The Anbu scattered, thrown off by the sudden explosions.

“D— was that a fucking bomb?!” Hidan’s eyes widened with excitement, his voice rising above the cacophony of the explosions as he peered back over his shoulder to get a better look at the chaos.

Deidara ignored the question, running away and pulling along the other teen as if his life depended on it, which it quite frankly did.

The explosions grew distant as they sprinted away from the forest, their feet barely touching the ground, adrenaline coursing through their veins. They didn't stop until they had put a substantial distance between themselves and the chaotic forest they had left behind.

Breathing heavily, Deidara finally released Hidan's wrist, hands on his knees as he bent over, catching his breath. The night was eerily quiet now, the only sound being their ragged breaths and the distant cries of startled animals. He glanced up at Hidan, whose eyes were alight with amusement, a twisted smile plastered on his face.

“What you looking at?” Deidara snapped. He was tired, annoyed, and frankly wanted to sleep for 38 hours. Being chased by Anbu was not on his to-do list.

“Just thinking how fun it would be to watch a real fight between you and those masked freaks, little vampire,” Hidan replied, his voice tinged with glee.

Deidara grunted, slouching down into a crouch, before falling back to sit on his ass. “Yeah, no thanks, I think I had enough Anbu for one lifetime.”

Hidan chuckled, a sound that was as dark as the night around them. “They’re like cockroaches, you know. No matter how many you stomp on, there’s always more in the shadows waiting for their turn to crawl out.”

Deidara nodded, shifting to sit cross legged, taking a deep breath, and taking in his surroundings, finally paying attention to all the different scents and smells around him. And promptly freezing when he finally registered Hidan’s scent. It smelled like blood, old and new, sharpening oil, cologne, steel and some fancy smelling shampoo and conditioner. But the scent he recognized the most was the scent of a… Uzumaki…? Hidan was a… Uzumaki, too?

Deidara blinked a couple times, looking up to Hidan, who was looking at him. Deidara’s face scrunched up, not knowing what to feel nor do, so he just tapped the side of his nose.

Hidan made an expression, a confused one, at him. He tilted his head, taking a deep breath and going to say something. And Deidara saw the second realization hit Hidan.

Hidan smelled the Uzumaki scent coming off of Deidara, and the older teen’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click when the scent registered in his mind. His eyes grew wide, and a grin spread slowly across his face. "Well, that explains a bit,” He murmured to himself, watching Deidara carefully. “An Uzumaki," He stepped closer, crouching beside Deidara. “Never thought I’d run into another.”

Deidara scratched at his neck now that everything was calm and the voice in the back of his head wasn’t being drowned out by trying to run away from Anbu.

Packpackpackpackpack- a pack, his pack, a Himesheoutthere, pack, HimeHimeHimeHimeHimeHime, his Hime- need to protect, his pack’s Hime, pack’s Hime, need-need-need-need-need-need-n-n-n-n-n-n-need his packpackpackpackpack, need his HimeHIMEHIMEHIMEHIMEHIME! Deidara was used to the voice screaming that at him, but there was something… new in the jumbled mix of thoughts today. ‘Found, found a member of the pack’, was the new addition to the cacophony of words, and Deidara felt a sudden jolt of hope.

Deidara stared at Hidan, still breathing hard. “Are you… are you looking for Hime to?” He asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. “… that’s why the Anbu were after me. Because I left my village to try and find her. I couldn’t stand the voice and emotions anymore, so I decided to finally give it what it wants.”

Hidan eyes him for a second, looking him up and down. “… ah, that thing,” He shifted, sitting down beside Deidara. “I’ve mostly learned how to ignore it, whatever it is, but yeah, sure, I’m looking for her, kind of.” He smirks, his gaze distant as he looks at the sky. “But I’m not in a rush like you seem to be. Besides, I’ve got my own problems to deal with.”

“… doesn’t the voice get too much?” Deidara eyed Hidan, licking his dry lips and instantly regretting it because of the dried blood on his face.

Hidan chuckled, his voice a strange mix of amusement and annoyance. “Oh, that pesky inner beast? Sometimes I guess, it’s just a part of me now, I guess. It’s like having a very loud, very grumpy roommate that never shuts up.” He leaned back, stretching out his legs. “Sometimes it’s the only thing I can focus on and other days I can ignore it as if it’s just a distant thunderstorm.”

“Lucky,” Deidara murmured under his breath, his thoughts racing.

Chapter Text

Hidan watched as Deidara’s long ass hair— Holy fucking shit that’s a lot of fucking goddamn hair— swayed with every step he took, occasionally twisting and wrapping around either one of his arms, legs, or even his torso if he moved too fast or did a sharp turn.

Hidan doesn’t think he’s ever seen that much hair on one person, ever. And he’s only seen it in its braid, so it has to be longer out of it. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how long it’d be if it were let loose. “… you look like a doll with that mop on your head.” Hidan says with a smirk, watching as Deidara’s eyes narrow at the comment.

“It’s not a mop!” He snaps, flicking the braid over his shoulder and snatching up the end to twirl his fingers through the loose hair. “It’s a piece of art, okay?! Just like my explosions!” Deidara’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation.

Hidan chuckled. “If you say so, Doll-face.” He teased, earning himself a glare from Deidara.

Deidara scrunched his nose, turning it up to the sky as he scurried a couple more feet up the path they were walking on, and away from Hidan. “I don’t say so, I know so. My hair is a masterpiece.”

Hidan watched him with a raised eyebrow, his smirk still playing on his lips. “Masterpiece, huh?” He took a step closer to Deidara, reaching out to tug on the braid playfully. “Could be, but you’d have to let me see it all the way down to judge for myself.”

Deidara made a disgruntled noise, swatting Hidan’s hand away from his hair. “Keep your mitts off, creep.” He hissed, glaring over his shoulder.

Hidan’s smirk grew wider. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll mess up your precious art?”

Deidara ran out of Hidan’s reach, smoothing down his hair with a scowl. “It’s not that. It’s just...it’s special to me, alright?” He said defensively. The red-haired teen looked back at Hidan, who was still smirking, and rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Well, if you’re going to be that way about it, then I’ll just have to find out for myself!” Hidan exclaimed, lunging at Deidara.

Deidara ran down the dirt path, cursing and swearing as he ran away from Hidan’s grabbing hands. “NO!” He yelled, sandal clad feet slapping against the dirt path. “It’s not funny, Hidan! This is my hair we’re talking about!”

Hidan’s laughter echoed through the air as he chased after Deidara, his movements nimble. “I’m just curious, Deidara!” He reached out, barely having enough time to loop his finger through Deidara’s hair tie, yanking it off before the other Uzumaki descendant managed to evade him completely. The thick braid came undone, and Deidara’s hair cascaded down his back, silky straight hair pooling— quite a lot, by several feet— around his feet as the younger teen abruptly stopped, whipping around to look at Hidan with a mix of surprise and annoyance.

Hidan paused, honestly not expecting not that much damn fucking hair to come out of that braid. It was like a fucking waterfall of crimson silk. He had to admit, it was pretty impressive. It also made Deidara look even more like a doll and a girl than before. "Whoa," He said, holding the hair tie up between his thumb and forefinger. "You've got enough hair to make a whole new person here."

Deidara made a noise of offense mixed with annoyance. He snatched up his hair in one hand, holding it up so it wouldn’t touch the ground anymore as he started walking closer to Hidan, reaching for the hair tie. “Hey, come on, give it back! That’s the only one I have!”

Hidan took a step back, laughing and holding the tie just out of Deidara’s reach. “Oh, come on, don’t be so dramatic. Besides, I think the hair’s more fun like this. Like a wild beast that’s been let out of its cage!”

“Argh! NO! Give it back!” Deidara stood on his tiptoes, grabbing at the sleeve of Hidan’s jacket, trying to pull his arm down.

Hidan’s grin grew wider as he took another step back, dodging Deidara’s grasp with ease. “Make me!” He said with a playful tone in his voice.

Deidara frowned, looking at Hidan with narrowed eyes before an idea sparked in his mind. He fell back to stand flat footed once more, looking down at his free hand, and the mouth on it, the mouth that made his explosions.

Deidara stared at it for a couple seconds, periodically looking up to Hidan. Then Deidara lunged, letting go of his hair as his other hand clamped down around Hidan’s mouth. The tongue of his hand-mouth pressing into Hidan’s mouth, past his lips and teeth in a surprisingly demanding, messy make out, surprising the older teen into freezing just long enough for Deidara to snatch his hair tie back with his other hand.

Deidara yanked his other hand away from Hidan’s mouth, a string of saliva connecting his mouth-hand to Hidan’s mouth. Deidara turned, booking it away from Hidan as fast as he could.

Hidan stumbled back in shock, wiping the saliva from his mouth with the back of his hand. He watched Deidara retreat with a bewildered expression, the stolen hair tie clutched in his hand like a trophy. For a moment, he just stood there, blinking rapidly as he processed what had just occurred. Then, a wide grin spread across his face.

——————————————

Sasuke makes an annoyed noise as he tries his damnedest to make Sakura leave him alone, weaving in and out of people as he looked around for his older Brother, who was supposed to pick him up from the Academy today so he could say bye to Naruto before she went off and left the village for a little while to train with somebody.

Sakura's face was bright red as she tried to keep up with Sasuke, her eyes shimmering with something akin to determination, "Sasuke-kun, wait up! I just want to talk!" she called after him.

Sasuke grimaced, seeing his brother across the street at a Dongo stand, and Sasuke darted for him, dodging through the bustling crowd.

"Itachi-nii-chan-san!” Sasuke grabbed his brother’s shirt sleeve, tugging at him, ignoring Sakura’s voice the best he could. Itachi was actually dressed in civilian clothes for once in his life, the Hokage was quite adamant that Itachi take it easy until he gets better and gets his glasses. “Come on! If we don’t hurry, Naru-chan is going to leave before I get to see her!”

Itachi sighed heavily, turning to look at his younger brother with a knowing gaze. “You’re always so eager to see her, aren’t you?” He couldn’t help but smile slightly at Sasuke’s enthusiasm.

Sasuke’s cheeks flushed, catching on nearly instantly to what Itachi was hinting at. “N-no, not like that, Nii-san! Naruto’s just my best friend!” He stuttered, trying to regain his composure. Itachi chuckled quietly, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “I know, I know. But you can’t blame me for teasing you.”

Sasuke glared at his older brother, his flush spreading up to his ears and down his neck, he went to retort, but a flash of Sakura’s pink hair caught his eye and his thoughts were immediately interrupted.

Sakura had emerged from the crowd, just a few feet away from him and Itachi, her gaze instantly locking onto Sasuke’s flushed face, then darting to Itachi, who looked way too amused at Sasuke’s expression. "What’s going on?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and accusation.

“Ah, Miss Sakura, it’s lovely to see you again.” Itachi turned his head, just enough to look at the small girl, smiling kindly. “Me and Sasuke are just going to go find Shisui before going to see Naruto-chan. She’s going to be out of the village for a little while to train, so Sasuke wanted to go see his best friend off.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Naruto, her feelings a tumultuous storm of jealousy and confusion. Best friend? When did that happen? And why wasn’t she informed? “Is that so?” she replied, her voice carefully neutral. “But shouldn’t you be focusing on your own training, Sasuke? You don’t want to fall behind, do you?”

Sasuke scoffed, looking more and more irritated by the second. “Naruto’s more important than missing some stupid training.” He said, turning away from Sakura to continue walking. “I know it’s not the same for you, Sakura, because for some unfounded reason you hate Naruto, but I don’t. And to me Naruto will always come before training.”

Sakura’s cheeks reddened, her eyes watering slightly. That’s not true! She didn’t hate Naruto! She just— she just wanted Sasuke to herself! To have him love her and only her! It was so simple, why couldn’t he see that?

Sasuke ignored her, walking further away, Itachi hesitating for a second before he gently patted  Sakura’s head and followed his brother, leaving her standing alone. The sting of his words lingered in the air as the crowd swallowed up the Uchiha brothers, leaving her feeling small and forgotten.

—————————————

Naruto tossed the last storage scroll into her bag, zipping it up and slinging it across her shoulder as she looked around her room, making sure she had everything.

Kurama was walking around the compound, placing sealing paper and a wardstone around the compound so nobody, unless they had Uzumaki blood, could see or get into their home.

Walking over to her vanity, Naruto looked into her mirror, scratching her neck as she looked at her new hairstyle she had came up with. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, the ponytail breaking off into nine different braids. Ha-ha, like Kurama’s nine-tails! Naruto thought it was funny, watching all the old farts of the village that looked at her like her and treated her like she was a monster looking at her hair, the nine braids, like she just summoned Kurama right in front of them and he was going to eat them. She chuckled to herself, her eyes sparkling with dark amusement.

“Kit,” Kurama’s voice cut through her musings, and Naruto looked over her shoulder. Kurama was sitting in her doorway, his tails flicking lazily behind him. “Follow me,” he instructed, standing up and walking away.

Naruto rolled her eyes, but complied, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she followed Kurama, jogging slightly to get in step with him. She reached out her hand, mindlessly burying her fingers into his fur, petting him as they moved.

Kurama leads her outside, and into the forest surrounding the Uzumaki compound, in a direction Naruto doesn’t think she’s been yet. The trees were dense and quite large, curving and twisting around each other as if making a hidden path. The leaves crunched beneath their feet, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet woods. The air was cool and crisp, carrying a faint scent of rain, hinting at a storm approaching.

Kurama took a sharp turn, looking like he disappeared behind a tree, not popping out at the other side. Naruto stumbled slightly, hesitating for a second before following him.

Kurama did in fact, not, disappear. It seemed the curving and twisting trees had made a… pocket of sorts to hide a Temple, or was it a shrine?

“This is The Uzumaki Clan's Mask Temple,” Kurama said, his voice echoing off of the trees that swirl and twist around the temple, almost seeming to hold it in an embrace.

Naruto looked around, following Kurama towards the Temple.

Kurama used his snout to open the temple’s door, the door sliding open with slight difficulty. Inside, the air was thick with incense and the faint whispers of past prayers. The walls were adorned with countless masks, some of them looked like Oni, while others looked like porcelain doll faces, and others like beautifully-terrifying monsters. The floor was made of polished stone, a deep dark blue like the depths of the ocean, it looked like sapphire or maybe lapis lazuli.

She followed Kurama quietly as the fox let her down a few corridors, through a few rooms, and down a couple stairs until he stopped in front of a door that looked quite important. It was a shoji door like the rest of the doors in the temple, but instead of the shoji paper being white, it was a dark crimson and it had a massive seal painted on it in what looked like tar.

Kurama looked at her expectantly, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light of the torches that lined the walls as he nodded towards the crimson door.

Naruto frowned, her hand coming to pick at her lip as she took a half step back, leaning forward before her gaze flicked over to Kurama for a brief second.

With a grunt, Naruto walked to the door, feeling a cold breeze seep through the door, the cold air hitting her toes, making her curl them. She hesitated for another second before reaching out and pushing open the door.

The room was cold, cold enough to where Naruto could see her breath, and the room was… silent. Silent as if the very walls had been cursed to never allow another sound to be heard. In the center of the room, there was a podium of sorts where a quite large sword, a Ōdachi if Naruto’s not mistaken, was perched on it stand. The Ōdachi’s scabbard was a deep red, black, orange, and gold. The scabbard was carved in a way to make it look like the Oni’s and monsters the masks filling The Uzumaki Clan's Mask Temple where trying to escape it, and the tsuka was wrapped in a crimson red fabric.

Below the Ōdachi was what looks like a medium sized summoning scroll contract, it was red and white.

Kurama walked into the room without a care in the world, his claws tapping against the stone floor. He stopped beside the podium and looked at the sword. "This is Kyūbi no Ken,” he hopped up on the podium, ripping the paper strength suppressing seals on the blade, the blade seemingly shivering and glowing once the last seal was removed. "The blade is made out of one of my teeth.” He sat down beside the blade, the fox and Ōdachi looking like they were meant to be together, like a pair of old friends reunited. “It’s yours, so be careful with it. It’s extremely heavy and sharp enough to cut through almost anything. And the red scroll is the fox contract.” He nodded towards the scroll.

Naruto walked into the room, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Once she reached the podium of sorts, she reached to grab the sword, but Kurama’s voice made her pause.

“I was not lying to you, that sword is heavier than most shinobi weapons out there. You will constantly have to send chakra to your arms when wielding the sword, and to your back and shoulders whenever it is strapped to your person to ease the weight. Again it is made out of one of my teeth, one of my teeth when I was my full size, not sealed away.” Kurama’s voice was matter of fact, and it made the gravity of the situation hit Naruto like a ton of bricks. Her heart raced as she did what she was told, sending chakra to her arms as she lifted the blade.

The blade wasn’t just heavy, it was damn near like lifting a boulder. Naruto stumbled back once she picked up the blade, falling on her ass with a thud that echoed through the chamber. The blade landing in her lap, a crimson glint flashing in the light. Her bag falling to the ground.

Kurama just watched her, his ears flicking slightly as Naruto sent more chakra to her arms, and to her legs and torso, forcing herself to get up once more, stumbling slightly before regaining her balance.

She looked up to Kurama, but Kurama didn’t seem in any hurry to help her. Naruto huffed in annoyance at him, her fingers tangling in the red strap that was attached to the scabbard. She ran her fingers over the red rope before sliding it over her head. The Ōdachi rested against her back, slung diagonally across her body from her left shoulder to her right hip.

Naruto stumbled a little bit more, shaking her head and regaining her bearings. She walked back to the podium of sorts, grabbing the scroll, and haphazardly attaching its straps to her belt loops, letting it dangle there.

———————————————

(also here is some stuff!!!

Kyūbi no Ken is a Ōdachi. Kyūbi no Ken is 5 feet and 11 inches long.

Kyūbi no Ken weighs 165 pounds. 

Kyūbi no Ken’s scabbard is a deep red, black, orange, and gold. The scabbard was carved in a way to make it look like the Oni’s and monsters, the masks filling The Uzumaki Clan's Mask Temple were trying to escape it, and the tsuka was wrapped in a crimson red fabric. The actual blade of Kyūbi no Ken is made out of one of Kurama, the nine-tailed fox, teeth.

The Uzumaki’s or often called monsters because they have reasonable rowers, their arms could literally be ripped off and it would grow back if they have enough chakra. Uzumaki’s are also often called human Kitsuné’s.

And The Uzumaki’s are… let’s say animalistic. Not in the fact, like how animals act but it’s practically engraved in their DNA that they act like a pack. If a clan “Hime” is born the clan members will automatically know by smell if they’re near the clan “Hime” and it’s like their brain short circuits for a little bit and they become terrifyingly loyal to the “Hime”

The Uzumaki’s have dangerously good height sense.

Fray-Forged Affinity. I won’t go in too much detail since I’ve already explained it a lot.

The Uzumaki clan treats the women of their clan as if they’re goddesses as if they are meant to be revered.

it is also a tradition that the Uzumaki‘s never cut their hair— sure if it gets burnt, you can cut off the burnt part but that it— from the day a Uzumaki is born to the day they die they never cut their hair and when they do, it’s this whole big thing, it’s not like cutting ties with the family big thing but it’s still a big thing.

Also during— cough cough sexy time cough cough— if a Uzumaki’s partner runs from them or just moved a tad bit too fast the Uzumaki will want to chase them— cough cough hunt them cough cough—.

There was a saying back in the day before any of the tailed beasts were sealed away. It went “Never lose sight of a Uzumaki while in battle. If you do… do yourself a favor, and kill yourself, because once they set their sights on you. And you can’t see them. It’s gameover. You think You Know danger?… you’ve never met anyone like them.”

The Uzumaki clan are known for being the most beautiful creatures in the world.

The Uzumaki’s are unnaturally flexible, as if they had been doing gymnastics for their entire life, and they move with the fluidity of a viper and the balance and flexibility of a cat.)

Chapter Text

(I can’t choose, so Pretty Please HELP ME!!!) (and also just give me any relationship ideas for the story, pretty please)

The Uchiha Obsession.

The characters I’m planning on giving The Uchiha “Love” Obsession to: Sasuke Uchiha, Itachi Uchiha, Shisui Uchiha, Obito Uchiha… There will be more, but that will be a really, really, really big spoiler if I say names that I am not willing to spoil just yet at least.

Sasuke Uchiha’s options:

Naruto Uzumaki

Naruto Uzumaki and Shikamaru Nara

Karin Uzumaki 

Suigetsu Hōzuki

Karin Uzumaki and Suigetsu Hōzuki

…?????

Itachi Uchiha’s options:

Kakashi Hatake

Deidara

…? (I can never find any good Itachi ships I like!!!!)

Shisui Uchiha’s options:

…? (I have absolutely no fucking clue)

Obito Uchiha’s options:

It’s probably going to be Kakashi Hatake. Just thought it would be nice to see what you all thought though.

In the world of Naruto, the Uchiha clan is known for its strong emotions and a tendency towards intense obsession, particularly with love, loss, and power, according to Narutopedia. 

This is often associated with the "Curse of Hatred," where deep love and familial bonds, if tragically severed or betrayed, can transform into a profound sense of despair, hatred, and a drive for revenge. This cycle often fuels the awakening and evolution of their unique ocular ability, the Sharingan. 
Key aspects of this obsession include:

Intense Love and Affection: Uchiha are portrayed as deeply loving and loyal towards those they care about, says Narutopedia.

The Sharingan and its Evolution: The Sharingan is an integral part of the Uchiha's power and identity. Its activation and subsequent upgrades (like the Mangekyo Sharingan) are often triggered by experiencing the loss of a loved one or profound emotional distress.

The "Curse of Hatred": This concept describes how intense loss or betrayal can turn an Uchiha's love into an equally intense hatred, often leading to a desire for revenge or a pursuit of power to prevent future loss.

Power and Revenge: The combination of their powerful Sharingan and the Curse of Hatred can lead Uchiha members down a path of seeking greater strength, sometimes through extreme means, to achieve their goals, whether it's revenge or protecting what they value.

Stubbornness and Tradition: The Uchiha are described as proud and stubborn, deeply valuing their clan's history and traditions, says New Generations Wiki. 

It is important to note that while the "Curse of Hatred" is a recurring theme, not all Uchiha succumb to it. Characters like Itachi and Shisui demonstrate selflessness and dedication to the village, even at great personal cost. Additionally, Sasuke, after his initial path of revenge, was eventually redeemed and moved past the Curse of Hatred, according to Narutopedia. 

The Uchiha's history is complex, marked by their contributions to the Hidden Leaf Village and their eventual tragic downfall due to growing isolation and a deep-seated distrust between them and the village leadership. This ultimately resulted in the Uchiha Clan Downfall, where most of the clan was massacred by Itachi Uchiha, according to the Naruto Fanon Wiki.

Chapter Text

Shikamaru grumbled as his dad rushed him, yawning and rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

It was to early to be up… well, it was almost ten o’clock, but still. Shikamaru, on days when he had nothing to do, slept until noon.

“Dad,” Shikamaru grumbled, dragging his feet as he followed his dad through the town, towards the village gate.

“Shikamaru,” Shikaku said back, scratching his chin with a yawn.

Shikamaru huffed, looking forward, dragging his feet. He squinted, frowning as he looked around. “… why didn’t mom come with us?” He asked, taking a deep breath and letting it out as a sigh through his nose.

Shikaku’s steps fault hard for a brief second, and he winced. “Well, Fawn, your mama doesn’t… know you're going to be leaving the village with Naruto to train under Tsunade and Jiraiya…” he trailed off, looking back at his son.

And that woke up Shikamaru. He jolted forward slightly, looking at his dad like he was insane. “What? Mom doesn’t know I’m leaving the village? Why?” He repeated, voice incredulous. He knew that his mother could be overbearing, but keeping something like this from her? That was a bold move.

Shikaku sighed, stopping and turning to his son. Kneeling down in front of his boy, Shikaku reached out and grabbed his shoulders. "Look, I know your mother can be... a handful, but she’d never let you go. And this, leaving, is good for you, beyond good for you, you taught yourself the Strength of a Hundred Seal all by yourself with Naruto. Your mother doesn’t realize you’re not a child anymore, mentally at least, sometimes I don’t even think your mother realizes you’re a Nara and not a village child like she was. She married into the Nara clan knowing how we act, think, do things, but… for some reason she doesn’t add you into that equation, she doesn’t think of you as a Nara, she thinks of you as her child, and that’s all she’ll ever think of you as. So, no, I’m not telling her until dinner that you’ve left, by dinner time you will be far away, far enough to where she won’t be able to demand you stay." He said, trying to give his son a gentle smile.

Shikamaru frowned, huffing. Sometimes he wonders if his parents even loved each other, and this whole secrecy thing adds another doubt. They fought like they were enemies on opposing teams. They fought more than they kissed, more than they laughed together. They were like oil and water, and most of the time it was his mom picking fights and arguments over nothing. “Fine,” he agreed, still not looking at his dad. “Don’t tell mom, I don’t care if you do or don’t, just… if she tries to hit you again, leave, please…? You don’t have to stay with mom just because of me, you know that, right, dad?”

Shikaku’s smile faded, his expression grew solemn as he took his son’s hand into his own. “I’ll keep that in mind, but your mother is your mother, Fawn. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Shikamaru’s frown deepened, he didn’t accept that answer, but he didn’t voice it. His dad would figure it out sooner or later.

——————————

Sasuke frowned, walking a few feet in front of  Itachi and Shisui. He could see that Sakura was still following them from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t that good at hiding nor sneaking.

Looking over his shoulder, Sasuke scowled. His Itachi-nii-chan-san and Shisui looked way too amused at Sakura trying and failing to follow them sneakily.

Itachi’s gaze caught his and he coughed into his fist, looking away and whispering something to Shisui, who had no qualms hiding his laughter. Sasuke’s scowl deepened.

“Shisui!” Itachi scolded quietly, though he couldn’t entirely suppress his own amusement at Sakura’s persistent efforts to tail them, or well, persistent efforts to tail Sasuke.

Shisui snorted, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, trying to wipe the smile from his lips. "I'm sorry, Sasuke," he chuckled. “I know you said your girl academy classmates were… uhhh... quite infatuated with you, but I didn't expect her to be so persistent."

Sasuke’s face scrunched up, and he had the sudden urge to flip Shisui the bird. So he did.

Shisui and Itachi instantly skidded to a stop. Shisui’s jaw dropped, his eyes whitening, his expression a mix of shock and unbridled amusement. Itachi on the other hand looked like he was about to pass out, his expression one of horror as his hand flew to his heart, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Sasuke!” Itachi’s voice was a mix of horror and disbelief. He had never seen Sasuke behave so... so... un-Uchiha-like. It was like watching a kitten swear at a bear. Shisui, on the other hand, couldn’t contain his laughter. It bubbled out of him like shaking up soda from an uncorked bottle, and he had to lean against a nearby tree to keep from falling over.

“Where on earth did you learn that?!” Itachi sounded scandalized as he reached out to grab his little brother’s hand, forcing his middle finger back down. Sasuke yanked his hand away, a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Ibiki-san,” Sasuke said, turning his nose up to the sky as if he had done something dignified and he didn’t know why they were acting so weirdly. “I learned it from Ibiki-san and the rest of Konoha's Torture and Interrogation Force when you would take me to T&I with you to do or drop off paperwork after picking me up from the academy, Itachi-nii-chan-san.”

Shisui’s laughter grew louder, and Itachi’s face paled. Sasuke looked at Shisui, who was now doubled over, tears streaming down his face as he gasped for air.

“They have been teaching me new words too,” Sasuke informed, crossing his arms over his chest, puffing out his chest as he pouted. “Like Bitch ass motherfu—!”

“No, No Nonono no nonono NO!” Itachi interrupted, scrambling forward to cover his baby brother's mouth with his hand. “You will not say such words in my presence!” His eyes were wide and horrified, as if his whole world was crumbling around him at the thought of his innocent little brother speaking in such a way.

Sasuke scowled, and Shisui looked like he was about to pass out if his face got any redder, wobbling like he was about to fall over as he tried to catch his breath. He was bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to breathe. Itachi's eyes narrowed, and he glared at Sasuke, who pulled away, sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“Oh, good god, I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a long time.” Shisui breathed out, sniffing as he wiped at his eyes, straightening himself up. “So, they have been teaching you to say bitch ass motherfucker and flip people off, huh?” He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself, though his shoulders still shook with residual laughter. “Okay, your mama cannot know the words they’re teaching you.” He squatted down to be eye-level with Sasuke, his lips twitching in a grin he was trying to fight off. “Auntie Mikoto would have Ibike’s head on a platter if she knew.”

Sasuke‘s nose scrunched up, but he nodded. “Whatever! We’re supposed to be going to see Naruto off, not talking about swear words.” He turned on his heels, and started walking towards the village gates once more, leaving Itachi and Shisui to follow.

Sasuke could still see Sakura from the corner of his eye following them, and much like Itachi-nii, she looked absolutely scandalized by Sasuke’s new vocabulary and hand gestures. He had picked them up from the Torture and Interrogation Force. It was the kind of language that didn’t sit well with the delicate sensibilities of most civilians— and truthfully very little shinobi—, especially not Uchiha. But Sasuke didn’t care. Besides, it was fun watching everyone’s reaction, especially Itachi-nii’s.

Itachi shot a Shisui look, like it was his fault his baby brother nearly said bitch ass motherfucker out loud and in front of civilians no less. Shisui just shrugged, not really seeing the harm. It was just a word, and it wasn’t like it was directed at anyone in particular. Plus, it had been pretty funny hearing Sasuke’s voice, a child’s voice, saying something so...adult.

Sasuke ignored them, weaving in and out of people until they finally made it to Konoha's gate. He saw Naruto and Shikamaru, and two other people he didn’t recognize. A blonde woman with long hair and a brunette that had short hair.

“NARUTO-CHAN!” Sasuke called out, not caring that he was leaving his brother and Shisui behind as he ran up to Naruto, wrapping her into a tight hug. “Me, Nii-chan, and Shisui have come to see you off!”

Naruto giggled, wrapping her arms around Sasuke’s waist, squeezing tightly. “Sasuke-chan!” She greeted back, her voice equally as loud.

——————————————

Sakura’s eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth as she watched Sasuke’s un-Uchiha-like display of affection. It was so unlike him, yet she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the ease with which he embraced Naruto. She had been trying to get his attention for years, and here was someone who had earned it without even seemingly trying.

She watched as the other two Uchiha caught up to him, both of them patting both Naruto and Shikamaru on the head as they greeted them warmly.

Sakura was too far away to hear their conversation, but both of the two older Uchiha’s had squatted down to be eye level with Naruto, Shikamaru, and Sasuke, seemingly making Naruto and Shikamaru promised them something with the way Naruto was nodding, and holding out her pinkies to them in a pinky promise.

Sasuke hadn’t let go of Naruto either, wrapped around her like a koala. His face was buried in her crimson hair. Naruto for her part, didn’t seem to care, one arm always wrapped around the raven haired boy. But Shikamaru… Shikamaru did seem to mind, a barely concealed angry-hateful-animosity-I-will-fight-you-right-now scowl on his face.

Sakura watched the scene unfold from a distance, her heart pounding as she witnessed Sasuke's uncharacteristic display of affection for someone. She had always hoped to be the one to break through his stoic exterior, but here he was, laughing and embracing a girl. The realization stung.

Sakura doesn’t know how long she watched, maybe 30 minutes, 40 perhaps. But in the time Itachi and Shisui had started talking to the two adults with Shikamaru and Naruto, greeting and having small talk. Sasuke never once let go of Naruto, either holding onto her hand, her sleeve, a piece of her hair, or hugging her arm to his chest like he was a koala holding onto a branch.

Her heart sank a little more every time she saw that smile on Sasuke’s face that was never directed at her. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She felt like she was going to be sick. It was like someone was stabbing her in the chest and twisting the knife.

But, at least Shikamaru also seems like he didn’t like Sasuke‘s affections for Naruto. The Nara’s jaw was clenched, along with his fist and his left eye occasionally twitched as if he was holding back his rage. And she wasn’t sure why, but it was like a small balm on her bruised ego that she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

—————————————

Sasuke finally noticed Shikamaru’s staring, and he stared right back.

Shikamaru was pretty, not as pretty as Naru-chan, but still pretty. If Sasuke was being honest all Nara born were pretty, but in the masculine way, not like the doll-like pretty for the Uchiha or the Inuzuka’s wild-like pretty.

Sasuke frown, bouncing on his toes as he watched Shikamaru’s pinched expression, something in the back of his mind nagging at him to… do something.

Sasuke chewed on his bottom lip, considering it. He didn’t consider it for long before he decided to throw caution to the wind, and just go for it.

Itachi-nii and Shisui was saying something about not keeping them any longer, and that they should leave so they could go. But Sasuke wasn’t listening.

Sasuke walked over to Shikamaru, pulling Naruto with him.

Sasuke looked bashful and shy for a split second before he leaned in on his toes and kissed Naruto, causing everyone to freeze and stare.

It was just a quick peck, and Sasuke quickly turned his head to do the same to Shikamaru, leaving a chase peck on his lips.

Naruto and Shikamaru, and everyone else, stared at him wide-eyed, jaws dropping. Though the blonde woman looked more amused than anything. Itachi looked like he was about to pass away from shock and disbelief, with a hint of scandalized mixed into it. Shisui looked like he just found his new favorite show, the brunette with the short hair beside him looking away and covering her mouth. Naruto and Shikamaru were staring at him, the Nara’s face turning a shade of red that could make a cherry green with jealousy, looking like he didn’t know what to do, while Naruto looked a mix of shocked, surprised, amused, and… pleased?

Sasuke, coming back to reality, realized what he did and blushed a color of red that could only be described as nuclear. He turned on his heels and ran like he had a pack of angry dogs on his tail, leaving everyone behind to process what had just happened. The silence was thick with shock, but it was soon pierced by the sound of Shisui's laughter.

————————————

Sakura watched the whole scene from her hiding spot, her heart racing. She couldn't believe what she had just witnessed. Sasuke had just kissed two people, a girl and a boy, he had kissed them both, and it was on the lips! Sasuke Uchiha had kissed their former classmates Naruto Uzumaki and Shikamaru Nara on the lips!

Her emotions were a whirlwind of confusion. Jealousy surged through her, and she barely realized that Itachi and Shisui were waving off Naruto, Shikamaru, and the other two women, moving to jog after Sasuke.

Sakura mindlessly followed them, intent on demanding answers from Sasuke. She had to know why he kissed them. Did he... did he like them that way? Her thoughts raced faster than her legs as she tried to keep up with Itachi and Shisui. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Sasuke to someone else, especially not to the likes of Naruto or Shikamaru. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

But Sakura’s internal monologue was cut short when Shisui started talking to Itachi. They had stopped jogging and now they were at a leisurely pace, Shisui snickering and Itachi looking resigned. “Well… I guess we figured out what, or I guess I should say who, Sasuke’s Uchiha Obsession is. I saw his eyes shine when he kissed them both.” Shisui took a deep breath, finally quieting down his snickers with a cough. “It’s not often a Uchiha gets two Obsession’s… but if I’m being honest, I’m not surprised it was Naruto, though I am a bit surprised it was also the Nara boy. I didn’t think the two of them were close enough to form a Obsession.”

Itachi nodded in agreement, his eyes following the retreating figure of Sasuke with a sigh. “Naruto is indeed powerful, and she has the potential to become stronger, especially with her lineage. And as for Nara… It’s good for Sasuke to have such strong connections, and the Uzumaki and Nara are definitely strong families. I’m also not going to lie, I am also surprised Sasuke shined for Shikamaru. Naruto not so much, i’m just surprised Sasuke didn’t shine for Naruto sooner, they’ve been best friends since they were toddlers, and she’s the jinchūriki, she’s basically the epitome of power and strength, but Shikamaru, i’m surprised, but happy for him.”

Shisui chuckled, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops as the two of them continue to walk.

Sakura slowly slowed to a stop once the two of them had started talking. She didn’t know what a Uchiha obsession was nor what a jinchūriki was, but she knew enough that she didn’t like the sound of it. 

Looking back up, Sakura stomped her feet when she saw that Itachi and Shisui were gone.

——————————————

When an obsession is formed completely— because an obsession can already be happening but the shine has not happened yet— the Uchiha’s eyes will shine purple and red, A shine swirling around their eyes— a shine looks like as if they had been hit by the sun and their sunglasses, though the sunglasses are the eyes, are reflecting the light—.

basically like the hotel Transylvania zing.

——————————————

The second Sakura got home, she stormed through the house until she found her parents in the living room and asked. “What’s a Uchiha obsession? And what’s a Shine?” She was visibly upset, her eyes red and her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the fabric of her dress.

Mebuki and Kizashi looked at each other, surprised by the sudden question and the intensity behind it. Mebuki spoke up first, her voice calm and measured. "Sweetheart, where did you hear those words?"

Sakura sniffed, swiping at her nose. “Itachi-san came to pick up Sasuke-kun today from the Academy, and I overheard him and Shisui-san saying something about Sasuke having two obsessions and something about seeing his eyes shine.” It wasn’t the complete truth, but it was enough to get the gist of it across. Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper as she speaks. “… then I saw Sasuke acting… weird? All excited and happy to see someone like whoever it was hung the moon and stars, and then he kissed them!” she exclaimed, her voice raising slightly in pitch and volume. “What does it mean?!”

Mebuki and Kizashi exchanged a look that was a mix of amusement and concern. Kizashi was the first to chuckle, trying to ease the tension in the room. "Ah, Sakura, my sweet princess.” He leaned forward, grabbing his daughter’s arm and gently tugging her closer. “… you were gonna learn all about that… type of clan stuff in sex-ed in a couple days. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me and your mom to tell you some stuff early, huh?"

Sakura’s cheeks flushed at the mention of sex-ed. She’s had one class so far and never wants to go again, last time they taught her and her classmates about how babies were made, and she didn’t need to hear that again, especially not from her parents. “Please don’t! My teacher already had to tell the class about the birds and the bees! I don’t want to hear it again!” she protests, her voice getting louder and more frantic.

Mebuki chuckles lightly, patting her daughter’s head. “No, no, we’re not going to have that kind of talk, Sakura-chan.” She sighed, leaning forward to be eye level with Sakura. “You see, we—” she waved to the three of them, “— are not a clan, we are a civilian family. But clans have… uhh… different hardware then the rest of us let’s say. And the Uchiha, well, their hardware is a bit more complex. An Uchiha, at some point in their life, will form something the Uchiha call an Obsession. It’s…” she blushed slightly, looking over to her husband, who sighed and continued, more bluntly than she had.

“The Uchiha are weird, okay Sakura? The Uchiha are attracted to strength and power. It's not like how you and I have a preference, that’s how the entirety of the Uchiha clan are, it’s like a biological need for them, a survival instinct almost,” Kizashi explained, trying to keep it as simple as possible while still getting the point across. “… when I was a shinobi I had it explained to me once by a teammate. He said it was like a… a hunger for the sun. You know how animals would pick the strongest to have their offspring with? That’s kind of how it is for them. They see strength as a… desirable feature, like a peacock’s tail or something.” He paused, scratching his head, trying to find the right words. “… but the shine thing, it’s basically just a signal that a Uchiha has found their person or persons.”

Mebuki nodded in agreement with her husband’s explanation. “It’s not something you need to worry about, Sakura-chan. We are not Uchiha, we don’t go through such obsessions.”

Sakura, for her part, looked even more distressed at the explanation. “B-but Sasuke went through… through that obsession thing! And it wasn’t with me!” she exclaimed, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “I like Sasuke, I’m the one who’s been trying to get his attention! Not Naruto or Shikamaru!”

Mebuki sighed, placing a comforting hand on Sakura’s shoulder. “Sakura, you must understand that these obsessions are not a choice. They are a natural part of the Uchiha’s being.”

Kizashi nodded solemnly. “Yes, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Sakura didn’t care about Uchiha instincts or survival of the fittest mating rituals. All she knew was that it wasn’t fair. She had liked Sasuke for years, had pined over him, had chased after him, had watched him from afar, had tried to get his attention, had hoped that one day he would look at her. And yet, it was as if she didn’t exist to him!

Chapter Text

(Nara Forest is like a more spooky Appalachian Mountain.

The monsters in the Nara Forest are loyal to the Nara, and listen to the head of the Nara clan.)

“What do you mean he’s gone?!” Yoshino slammed her hands down on the kitchen table, pushing herself out of her chair, said chair falling back with a screech. “What do you mean Shikamaru left the village to train with some random Shinobi!”

“No, not random.” Shikaku says through his teeth, letting out a sharp breath. He looked up to his wife, not bothering to get out of his seat. “Two of the Sannin. Jiraiya and Tsunade are not just some random Shinobi. And I mean what I said, Shikamaru left the village earlier today, and he will be back in… a year, two max.” He forced himself to take a deep breath, his fingers wrapping tightly around the leg of his chair, continuing to speak through his teeth. “Fawn promised to write to us, so you do not have to worry, he’s not going to be completely no contact while he’s gone.”

Yoshino’s face was red, she was fuming. “Why wasn’t I told about this?!” She yells.

“Because you wouldn’t have let him go!” Shikaku shot back, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. He stood up, meeting his wife’s furious gaze. “You wouldn’t have let him go! You don’t treat him like he’s a Nara! So no, I didn’t fucking tell you the plan me and the Hokage came up with! Because you would have thrown a bitch fit! Shikamaru’s not a child, Yoshino, he’s a Nara and you seem to forget that every chance you get!”

Yoshino’s eyes narrowed, her hand itching to slap her husband, but she held herself back. “How dare you talk to me like that! I’m your wife, I’m his mother!”

“Right now I couldn’t give a flying motherfucking, fuck who you are!” Shikaku snapped back, his patience wearing thin. “Shikamaru’s gone, he left hours ago with Tsunade and her apprentice. He’s going to be trained by the Legendary Sannin. I’m sorry that you’re so blinded by your own fears that you can’t see that he’s going to become something great, but he’s going to do it, with or without your permission!”

Yoshino’s hand slapped his face, the sound echoing through the room. “How dare you talk to me like that, Shikaku Nara!”

“… you have five minutes to get the fuck out of my house and to never come back.” Shikaku’s voice was cold, his eyes burning with a rage Yoshino hadn’t seen in a long time. “You and I are over, forever. I will fill out our divorce papers tomorrow when I go to work.”

The room went eerily silent, the only sounds were of their heavy breathing. Yoshino’s hand stung from the force of the slap she had delivered, but she felt nothing but a cold anger coursing through her. Shikaku had never talked to her like this before. He was always the one trying to keep the peace, the one who backed down. But this time, it was different.

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of regret, any hint of doubt in his words, but all she found was a resolve she had never seen before. Her heart raced as she took in the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t a fight they could just brush off and move on from. This was a declaration of war.

“Is this really what you want, Shikaku? To throw away our marriage over a child’s dream?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“HA!” Shikaku laughed cruelly, kicking his down chair away from him. He stood up to his full height in what felt like years. Shikaku, much like the rest of the Nara, slouched, moved with lazy efficiency. But Shikaku was not a small man, quite the contrary, he was one of the tallest in the village, a good foot and a half taller than his wife. “Ruin this marriage? Ruin this marriage, HUH?! This marriage has been ruined since the second I put that fucking ring on your finger!”

The words were like a slap across Yoshino’s face, and she flinched as if she had been. She had always known Shikaku felt underappreciated, but she had never thought it was this bad. Her mind raced, trying to find the right words to say, to fix this, but she came up short. The room felt smaller, the air thicker with unspoken resentment and pain.

“Remember, Yo-shi-no,” Shikaku said her name slowly, each syllable a dagger. “You forced Me to marry You. I never wanted this marriage, but I did marry you, I did. I did because I knocked you up and you didn’t want to do this like adults, you were going to keep my son away from me if I didn’t marry you. You weren’t going to let me see him, you weren’t going to let me be a part of his life, you weren’t going to let me raise him like a Nara, like a father’s son should be raised. So you better remember, you’re the one who wanted this marriage, not ME. That was all YOU!”

Yoshino felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know what to feel. The tears that had been threatening to spill over her eyes were now a river cascading down her cheeks. She had always known that Shikaku had agreed to marry her because she was pregnant, but she had hoped that over the years, he had grown to love her, that she had earned his affection and respect. To hear him say that he had never wanted to marry her, that their entire life together was because of a forced hand was like having her heart torn from her chest.

“I tried to love you.” Shikaku said through his teeth in a sharp breath. “I did, I tried to love you, but then you started getting physical. You started hitting, slapping, punching, scratching, and you yelled, you cursed, you screamed, you threw stuff at me, you did everything that could make me fucking hate you and you know what? It worked, Yoshino. I don’t love you. Never did. I stay because of our son, not for you.” He snarled, his eyes flashing with something akin to anger and resentment.

“You know, Fawn’s been asking me since he was four why we haven’t gotten a divorce yet, did you know that? Every time we fight he asks me why I stay with a woman who thinks hitting me is okay when we fight, when we argue, when you don't get your way.” Shikaku’s voice grew colder with each word, his eyes never leaving hers. “So I think I’m finally going to listen to MY boy. Finally take the advice he’s been giving me, I am divorcing you. And before you start Fawn couldn’t give a shit if you leave. Because if you haven’t realized, you scare our son. Shikamaru is scared of you, Yoshino.”

Yoshino’s hand shot out, slapping Shikaku, again, hard across the face, a sharp sound echoing through the room. “How dare you say that? I’m his mother! I’ve raised him since he was born! How could he possibly be scared of me?” she screamed, tears falling down her face.

Something seemed to snap in Shikaku. Yoshino watched Shikaku’s face shift, shifting into the face of a man Yoshino didn’t know, a man Yoshino didn’t want to know. The expression on the man’s face in front of her was mean, no, not just mean, it was… scary and cold. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned over the table, closer to Yoshino. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the front of her shirt, and hauled her over the table and dragged her across the floor towards the front door as if she weighed nothing more than a couple of apples.

Yoshino struggled in Shikaku's grip, her eyes wide with shock and anger. She had never seen this side of him, the side that didn't flinch or give in to her tantrums. His strength was surprising, a stark contrast to the lazy demeanor he often portrayed. He kicked the door open and threw her outside, watching her stumble and roll across the grassy ground.

Yoshino stumbled to her feet, her heart racing with a mix of fear and disbelief.

Shikaku was still staring at her, and he looked more like one of those monsters her mother used to tell her stories about hidden in the woods that ate people than her husband. She had never seen his eyes like that. They were cold, so cold… so… so mean, so scary, she felt like she was looking into the pits of hell.

When Shikaku spoke he didn’t sound like himself either. His voice was… not right, it sounded like a monster trying to mimic a human's voice. It was good, it sounded real, but it was just… not right. “I, Shikaku Nara, the head of the Nara clan, is banishing Yoshino Nara, maiden name Takeyaki, from the Nara family.” He sounded like he was saying a ritual. “Yoshino Nara, now Yoshino Takeyaki once more, is no longer welcome in the Nara compound, she is no longer the wife of Shikaku Nara, she is no longer the mother of Shikamaru Nara. I, Shikaku Nara, say this with the intent of severing the Nara ties to Yoshino Takeyaki.” He finished, and suddenly the forest surrounding the compound was too quiet, too dark, too eerie, like something was watching them.

Yoshino stared at Shikaku in disbelief. She didn’t know what the hell he was going on about. She didn’t know why he was speaking like that. Like he was reciting a death sentence. “What do you mean, Shikaku?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Shikaku stared at her for a brief second before turning his gaze to the forest behind her, his gaze snapping in between things she couldn’t see, couldn’t make out in the darkness, but she knew something was there, something had to be there with the way she felt like she was being watched. “I mean that you’re no longer welcome here, Yoshino. You’re no longer part of the Nara Clan.” He said, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it before, and she took a step back. “You should leave, Yoshino, they’re hungry.” He nodded towards the forest, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the deer.

“Wh-what’s h-hungry?” Yoshino stuttered, fear lacing her voice. She had never seen this side of her husband before, and she had no idea what he meant by those cryptic words. The forest around the compound remained eerily silent, the only sound being the rustling of leaves as the wind blew through.

From what she knows, there should only be deer in the Nara Clan Forest. Maybe some bunny rabbits, foxes, some owls, and a bear or four, but definitely not what her husband was referring to.

"The deer," she whispered, taking another step back. "What do you mean, 'they're hungry'? What are you hiding from me, Shikaku?"

“I’m not talking about the deer.” Shikaku said, his voice as calm as a still pond. “What I just told I banished you from the Nara clan are not deer. They are far from deer. What I just told I banished you from the Nara clan are not friendly, not something you want to meet, especially not in the dark.” He turned his gaze back to her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, something she’d never seen before. It was like looking into the eyes of a predator, not her husband. “So if I were you, I wouldn’t cut through the forest, I would stay on the path to leave the compound, because it’s been a very long time since I’ve let them eat and I’m sure they’re quite hungry. And they like to keep their prey alive, as long as possible before consuming them fully. They find it more... entertaining that way. I just gave them permission to eat without saying it out loud when I banished you.”

Yoshino felt the blood drain from her face. She didn’t know what he meant, but she knew she didn’t like the sound of it. The forest was dark and foreboding, and she had never been allowed to venture in without an escort of Nara clan members. The very thought of being out there alone, with something stalking her, waiting to pounce... she shuddered. “What are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice trembling.

Shikaku blinked at her, shifting to lean against the door. He grabbed the flashlight they kept on the table beside the door, pointing towards the forest. "You really want me to show one of them to you?" He asked, his voice still eerily calm. He lifted the flashlight and flicked it on before she could answer, shining it out into the woods.

Something screeched like it was being set on fire, trying to shield its white body from the light. It was a creature that was definitely not one of the Nara Clan’s gentle deer. It had red eyes, and a body like a human’s, it walked around on all fours, trying to hide away from the light as Shikaku twisted his wrist to follow its movements with the flashlight beam. It was naked, and its jaws were too big, too wide, and it had way too many razor sharp teeth that jutted out from its mouth in every direction.

“That’s what’s hungry.” Shikaku said calmly, watching the thing convulse and try to get away from the light, rolling around on the ground as if it was on fire and trying to put it out. Screaming, snorting, and snarling the entire time. Yoshino stared in horror as its white skin almost glowed in the dark. “And that’s what wants to eat you since I banished you. So, leave.” He said, his voice a cold whisper.

Yoshino didn’t need to be told twice, she bolted. Running as fast and as hard as she could away from the forest, her heart pounding in her ears. She didn’t dare to look back, she didn’t know how fast these creatures were but she didn’t want to find out. She could feel her legs burning, begging for her to stop but she didn’t dare to, not even once. She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew she had to get as far away from that forest as she could.

Shikaku watched her go, finally turning off the flashlight. He could hear things chasing after her, but she had a good head start. He took a deep breath and leaned his forehead against the door frame, letting out a sigh. That was one messy situation handled. It wasn’t something he liked to do, but he would do it if it was necessary.

He opened his eyes once he felt something heavy land on his engawa. There was another one of those creatures perched at the edge of his engawa, right in the corner. It looked at him curiously, its head tilted to the side as it pointed at its own face, in the same spot Shikaku had the angry looking red handprint on his face. It has a baby on its hip.

“Yeah,” Shikaku breathed out, rubbing his eyes. “… yeah, she hit me. Twice.”

The creature looked at him, then looked at its hand, then back at him. It was like it was trying to understand the situation. It was a bizarre sight, the creature, trying to grasp human emotions.

Shikaku pointed in the direction Yoshino ran, then to his own hand, and then to his face and holding up two fingers. He mimicked the slapping motion, twice. The creature watched him intently, jolting when he mimicked the slap to demonstrate the action. Its eyes grew wide and it made a low, rumbling noise in its throat. It held its baby tighter, holding it to its chest.

“My Fawn,” Shikaku pointed at his own hair, then brought his hand down to the height of his son. “Is scared—” he made a motion with his hands, ringing them together before coming up to cover his mouth. “— of her,” he pointed in the direction Yoshino ran. “She hits and yells—” he made the slapping motion again, and then pointed to his mouth, flicking his fingers out multiple times. “— all the time.” he held out one of his hands, closing his fingers, one by one before opening it and repeating. “That’s why I banished her.” He made a sweeping motion with his hands, as if dispelling something. “Shikamaru is scared of her.” He repeated the actions he used for his son and scared of her.

The creature stared at him, tilting its head to one side before letting out a low growl of understanding. It took off after Yoshino, its movements swift and silent. The head of the Nara Clan watched his wife fleeing, the sound of her screams echoing through the trees. A smirk twisted on his lips.

Chapter Text

“You look happy,” A feminine voice cut through Shikaku’s quiet drinking. And he looked up just in time to see Anko slip into the barstool beside him. “… and your ring is gone?”

Shikaku hummed, raising his beer bottle to his lips to take another sip before speaking. “… I finally got that divorce. Threw Yoshino out on her ass yesterday.”

Anko froze for a split second, her eyes widened slightly before her smirk grew. “Finally, huh?” She mused, seeing multiple people that were close enough to hear the comment about divorce perk up. It was no secret that most people in the village had the hots for Shikaku, and if he was divorced that means he was free game. “Well, congrats. I guess that means you don’t have to deal with her shit anymore. Cheers to that.” She raised her glass in a toast, her eyes gleaming with something that might have been amusement.

Shikaku knocked his beer bottle against her glass, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Cheers to that indeed," he murmured, taking a swig.

“So, I overheard from little Itachi that Yoshino arrived at the Uchiha compound last night in hysterics. Demanding to talk to Mikoto. What did you do?” Anko leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“I didn’t do anything.” Shikaku rolled his neck, popping it and yawning. “I just snapped and banished her. She saw the monsters that live in the Nara Forest… I’m kind of surprised they let her go. They don’t take kindly to strangers. Especially when they’re hungry.”

Anko raised an eyebrow at his words. “Monsters? In the Nara Forest?”

Shikaku looked over to her, raising an eyebrow as his gaze flicked over her up and down. “… Ah, I always forget you're young and haven’t seen any of them yet.” He didn’t bother answering her question, but it seemed he didn’t have to because all the sudden they were both getting an arm full of Raidō.

“What are the two of you talking about?” Raidō asked, his arms wrapped around their shoulders as he leaned on them, no care for personal space.

Shikaku sighed, long suffering, and Anko huffed, deciding that Raidō was indeed going to be part of this conversation. “Shikaku is talking crazy or something. Something about monsters in the Nara Forest?”

Raidō instantly straightened, a shiver racking his body from head to toe. He swallowed hard, his eyes growing a bit wide. “Fuck those things,” he murmured, the words barely escaping his lips. “They still give me nightmares.”

Anko frowned, her gaze snapping in between the two men. “Hold up. Are you saying Shikaku’s not shitting me and there really are monsters in the Nara Forest?”

Raidō sucked on his teeth, looking over to Shikaku, who was steadfastly ignoring them like they were not talking about the things that live in his Forest.

“Well,” Raidō shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his grip tightening slightly around their shoulders, “… Anko, you know that the Nara Forest is special, right? That only Nara and certain people can walk into that forest and make their way back out alive?”

Anko nodded, taking a sip of her drink. “Yeah, I know that much. No outsiders in the forest and that blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. So what’s the deal with these monsters?” she asked, curiosity peeking through the casual tone she tried to maintain.

Raidō grimaced, and Shikaku made an annoyed noise. “This is why I told the Hokage it was a bad idea to stop giving fresh Genin classes about the Nara Forest and the walk-through after your graduating class, Raidō. Everyone thinks it’s just a bunch of cuddly deer that you can pet and feed in there. It’s not just deer. Far from it.” He took a sip of his drink, his gaze darkening with annoyance.

Raidō hung his head, sighing as he rubbed his face. “Look, I'm gonna tell you something, Shikaku,” he whispered, leaning closer to the two so only the Nara and Anko would hear him. “I heard that Asuma is going to inherit the hat from Hokage-sama in a couple weeks and he’s already planning on reopening the… tour through the forest. He said he’s also going to make the older generations that never were able to walk through the forest to take it as well.”

Shikaku grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed Raidō's information. "Good, I'm tired of having to save rebellious teenagers from getting eaten.” He murmured, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Anko looked in between them, slowly getting more and more frustrated with her questions getting ignored. “What in the hell are the two of you talking about?” She finally snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Shikaku rolled his eyes, and Raidō chuckled awkwardly. "Uhh, welllllllllll…”Raidō  began, dragging out the word. "Uhhhh, I don’t even know how to explain it. Honestly, the things in that forest shouldn’t even exist… they’re monsters, that’s what they are.”

Anko scrunched her nose, looking at them dubiously. “Monsters don’t exist, Raidō. You guys are just messing with me.”

Shikaku leaned back, his smirk growing into a full-blown grin. “Oh, they exist alright, Anko-san. And they’re not the kind of creatures you want to bump into on a moonlit stroll. They’re the kind of things that would eat you with a heartbeat, that would prefer to eat you while you were alive and screaming.”

Anko’s eyes widened, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. The casualness in Shikaku’s voice sent a chill through her that was more unsettling than the words themselves. “What kind of monsters are we talking about here?”

“Humanoid,” Shikaku started, looking way too amused, leaning closer to Anko and wiggling his fingers. “Human but so monstrous. White bodies, red eyes, and a mouthful of thousands of teeth, if you can imagine such a thing. They’re not deer, not in the slightest. They’re more like walking nightmares, really.”

Anko gulped, “So, what happens if someone like me goes in there?”

“They’ll most likely eat you,” Shikaku replied matter-of-factly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “… but don’t worry your pretty little head about it. If Asuma is truly going to reopen the tour you will see what they look like sooner or later, I’m sure.”

Anko felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but she was determined not to show any fear. She had faced many dangers as a shinobi, but something about the way Shikaku talked about these creatures was eerily unsettling.

Raidō whined, slumping against Shikaku’s back dramatically, with a long sigh. “I don’t wanna go back in theirrrrrrrrrrrr!” He moaned like a dramatic child. “If the tour is going to be reopened that means us other jōnin are going to have to take some places for you Nara if you're down one!”

Shikaku sighs heavily, “You know the drill. You know the routine. And you know the monsters won’t touch you as long as you're with me. Or any Nara for that matter, or any shinobi that I approve of.”

“But that doesn’t mean they won’t purposely freak me out!”Raidō complained, his arms wrapping around Shikaku’s neck in a dramatic plea. His eyes widened with fake horror at the thought of the Nara Forest's monsters. “They act like we are their own personal entertainment, popping out at every corner like some kind of twisted game of hide and seek!”

Shikaku couldn’t help but chuckle at Raidō’s antics, patting his arm reassuringly.

Chapter Text

(One day ago)

Tsunade watched the two brats Hiruzen convince her to train as the five— her, the brats, Shizune, and Tonton— of them walked away from the village.

Naruto was playing with a Kunai, twirling it in between her fingers in random spins and twirls. Shikamaru was standing barely a foot behind and to the side of Naruto, holding onto one of Naruto’s braids, not pulling, just holding it and twisting his fingers into the ends as he followed, looking half asleep.

Her gaze flicked over the two of them, lingering on that giant ass sword she has no idea where Naruto even found or got it from, and she sighs.

Tsunade’s gaze lingered on the two Strength of a Hundred Seal on their foreheads. She had been more than just hoping Hiruzen was lying his ass off to her and that two ten-year-olds did not in fact teach themselves The Strength of a Hundred Seal by themselves. But here was the proof staring her straight in the face.

Tsunade took a deep breath, ignoring whatever the fuck is buzzing in the back of her head, that’s been buzzing in the back of her head like a whispering voice that is too quiet for her to make out for the people couple years, and she spoke. “Here, start studying while we move,” She tossed two medical textbooks at them, which they both caught with ease.

Naruto caught the book, flipping it over to read the title. Shikamaru didn’t bother to open the book that had been thrown at him. He instead let go of her hair and sped up his walking, just a tad to stand beside her, lacing his fingers in with hers and looking over her shoulder once Naruto opened the book.

Tsunade watched them, frowning as they began to read. The two of them practically lived in each other’s bubble of personal space, moving and doing things like they were conjoined at the hip.

Tsunade watched as Shikamaru’s thumb traced the back of Naruto’s hand lightly, idly, tracing what looked like flowers and stars as they studied the medical texts she had given them.

Shizune cleared her throat, trying to draw Tsunade's attention away from the entranced couple. "Lady Tsunade,” she murmured, sounding way too amused. “You’re staring.”

Tsunade's eyes snapped to her. "Am I?" she replied, feigning innocence. She turned her attention back to the path ahead, picking up her pace slightly. "Well, they are quite the duo, aren’t they?"

Shizune giggled, sounding slightly giddy as she followed Tsunade. She hugged Tonton to her chest, her voice only loud enough for Tsunade to hear. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a boy as smitten as Shikamaru is with Naruto. It’s so sweet, really.”

Tsunade huffed, trying to hide her own amusement. “You know, Shizune, sometimes I wonder if you’re actually my apprentice or a love-struck schoolgirl with the way you go on about these things.”

Shizune’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, but she didn’t miss a beat. “I’m just saying, Lady Tsunade. Young love, especially first love is sweet and cute.”

Tsunade rolled her eyes.

—————————————

Obito Uchiha’s body was not his anymore.

It hasn’t been in a long, long time.

Obito, the real Obito, was trapped in his own mind as his body went off and did horrible things to everyone. His Bakakashi. Neko. Nagato. Konan. Yahiko. Everyone.

It doesn’t matter how much he screams, pleas, or begs, the black-haired, sharingan-wielding monster that used to be Obito Uchiha doesn’t care. Tobi didn’t listen to him, didn’t hear him or what, Obito doesn’t know. The pain was unbearable. It felt like a never-ending cycle of agony, as he watched his friends suffer, his comrades die, and his dreams crumble into dust. He was trapped in a prison of his mind, a prison of his own despair and anger. The real Obito, the one who loved Rin, Bakakashi, the one who wanted to be Hokage, the one who believed in a world of peace, was buried under layers of Madara’s manipulation and his own grief.

Obito was so tired, he just wanted to go home, if home would even take him back after what he had done. He missed them. And god, it hurt so much watching what Tobi did. Killing Minato-sensei, killing Kushina-nee, watching Rin kill herself, watching Kakashi blame himself for everything, for everyone dying. Watching his friends become enemies.

FUCK! He wants to go home! Pumble the absolute hell out of the Hokage for banning Bakakashi from taking care of Naruto, for making Neko Live all alone. Who the hell makes a five year-old live alone in an apartment in the red light district with no adult supervision except for a stupid ramen vendor and his daughter!

He watched through his own eyes, but from a body that was not his anymore as the Akatsuki looked over whatever details of the mission Pain had given them. And Obito blinked, coming back to reality, or to as much reality as he could and looked down at the scroll in his— Tobi’s— hands.

Obito screamed, screamed bloody murder, the sound echoing through his mindscape but never escaping his— Tobi’s— mouth.

“NO!” Obito screamed, his voice raw and animalistic as he banged on the walls of his prison. “NO! DONT YOU DARE YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! NO NO NO NO NONONONONO NO—!” 

Obito’s voice broke on a sob, and he felt like he was going to throw up, even though he knew he couldn’t. Pain, no Zetsu, Zetsu, Zetsu, Zet-su, MOTHERFUCKING ZETSU! Zetsu Is pushing the plan forward, collecting and killing the Jinchūriki so they can have the stupid fucking Bijuu to awaken that fucking monster that’s the Ten-Tails!

Obito doesn’t know how long he screamed and cursed, but eventually, at some point, he ended up laying on the ground of his mindspace prison, crying silently as he looked on through Tobi’s— his— eyes.

Kisame had tilted his head at some point, looking at him— Tobi— as if he could hear Obito’s screams. Kisame's sharp gaze seemed to pierce through to the very soul of the man trapped within. "Tobi, you’re being awfully quiet today," Kisame said, his voice a rumble of thunder in the quiet room. "Everything alright?"

Obito watched as Tobi jerked, as if snapping out of a Genjutsu. Tobi instantly raised his hands, waving them around as he shot off some bubbly obnoxious response that Obito couldn’t care to listen to. He was too busy staring at Kisame, the shark-man’s eyes seemingly seeing through the illusion of cheerfulness that was Tobi. Obito felt a surge of hope. Could Kisame sense his presence? Did he know that Obito was trapped within this monster?

Kisame was a Hoshigaki, right? The Hoshigaki clan was known for being able to smell emotions, feel things no ordinary person should be able to, see aura or whatever the hell Bakakashi had told him that one time.

“… help me… please!” Obito said through his teeth, his voice quiet and strained as he rolled onto his side. He didn’t know why he was asking for help, he knew none of the words he said would ever leave his— Tobi’s— mouth. “Please, please, please, please, please… help me… Tobi’s not real, he’s just a prison…” he murmured, his voice drowned out in his own mind over Tobi’s insistent, boisterous, loud chatter that seemed to never stop.

Kisame studied Tobi for a long moment, his gaze unnervingly perceptive. Obito felt his heart race with hope, but Tobi's voice remained unfalteringly cheerful. "Oh, I'm just fine, Kisame!" Tobi exclaimed, slapping his hand on Kisame's broad shoulder. "Just thinking about all the fun we're going to have on our next mission, you know?"

“NO!” Obito instantly, almost primally, yelled back. This was not fun! Not okay! This was hell! He was trapped in this monster!

Obito nearly missed it, it was almost undetectable, but Kisame jumped as if he heard the animalistic sounding word that had just been ripped out of his throat.

Kisame's eyes narrowed, his gaze snapping to the hand that was still resting on his shoulder, then up to Tobi's mask.

——————————————

Kisame watched Tobi chatter away like a never-ending stream of toxic energy, his thoughts racing. His gaze raked up and down Tobi’s body, taking in the fluctuation and angry movements of his aura.

Tobi had two aura’s, it wasn’t common but it also was not unheard of. One was this deep, toxic looking purple, and the other was a pretty sapphire blue. The purple and blue were always fighting, but today it was different.

The sapphire blue aura, usually always so sad and defeated, was now pulsing with anger and desperation, it was lashing out, damn near eating the toxic purple. It swirled around Tobi’s throat as if it was trying to kill him, trying to rip his throat out.

It was only the two of them left, everyone else already left to go do their own thing, but Kisame stayed… watching…

Kisame watched it. It was angry, sad, damn near loathing to its own body, so potent it was as if Kisame could hear… something… someone.

Then he did. Tobi had said something about their upcoming mission being fun, and the sapphire blue lunged out in every direction, an animalistic sounding “NO” only Kisame could hear.

Kisame jumped, he did, he wouldn’t lie and said he did not. The suddenness of the voice, the desperation in it, it was almost as if it was a ghost speaking to him. But he knew better, ghosts didn’t have chakra. He narrowed his eyes, watching his partner closely, studying every movement, every twitch, every gesture.

He frowned, his hand coming up to push Tobi’s hand off of his shoulder when the sapphire blue lunged forward, wrapping around his fingers and wrist like a vine. It was eerie, like he was holding onto a ghost and not his comrade. “Wha—”

“… help me… please!” The sapphire blue tightened around his fingers and wrist, and Kisame sucked in a breath, his words dying in his throat. It was definitely not Tobi’s voice, too desperate, too raw, and definitely not his tone. The voice was almost painful to hear, a stark contrast to the jovial laugh Tobi often had. “Please, please, please, please, please… help me… Tobi’s not real, he’s just a prison…” The voice, yeah, it was a voice and it was definitely coming from the sapphire blue aura.

Kisame’s heart raced, his mind racing a mile a minute as he stared at the aura wrapped around his hand. He had heard of jutsu that could do that, but they were ancient and forbidden. This was something new, something that made his skin crawl and his stomach turn. He looked at Tobi, then back at the aura, then back at Tobi again.

Tobi had gone stock still, the toxic purple aura had also gone still, humming close to Tobi’s body, nearly disappearing completely as the sapphire blue kept on growing, reaching out towards Kisame in a silent plea. The blue was like nothing Kisame had ever felt before, it was a call of desperation, of pain and regret.

Tobi was looking at him, completely still and utterly silent. The blue aura grew thicker around his hand, the pleading more urgent. Kisame's instinct was to pull away, but he couldn't. It was like his feet were glued to the floor, his hand held by an invisible force. “… Who are you?” He murmured, his voice low and unsure. The blue grew even more intense, almost pulsing with the beat of a heart.

Tobi stayed still for a couple more moments before jerking like a robot going through a reboot, a deep, ragged breath being forced into his lungs.

Kisame watched. Watching the toxic purple seem to get agitated, pissed off, trying to swallow the sapphire blue. He watched as Tobi’s body seemingly fought every movement he did, his movements stiff, and tight.

“Help…” Tobi murmured, and it wasn’t in Tobi’s usual high-pitched loopy, Kisame-swears-the-man-is-on-the-good-shit, voice. It was deeper, it was still higher pitched, but not as if he sucked a gallon of helium down his throat.

Tobi seemingly forced his hand, his arm, to move, tracing a pattern over his heart with his pointer and middle finger. “… Forbidden Individual Curse Tag… on my heart…” Tobi sucked in another breath, hands shaking as the sapphire blue wrapped around him like a protective cocoon, trying to block out the toxic purple aura. “Tobi’s… not real… a prison… that’s what… he is… I’m… named Obito… n-not Tobi…”

Kisame’s eyes widened, the gravity of the situation setting in. He had heard of such jutsu before, but never had he seen one in action. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch more of the blue aura, feeling a warmth and a pulse of pure emotion, unlike the cold, calculated malice of the Akatsuki. “Obito, was it?” he murmured, trying to keep his voice steady. “What do you want from me?”

Obito— Tobi— snatched Kisame’s wrist with surprising strength, his movements jerky as if two people were trying to control the body at once. He moved the shark-man’s hand over his heart. “I can’t die… so remove the seal…” his other hand jerked, grabbing a kunai from his weapons pouch and shoving it into Kisame’s hand that was at his chest, his heart. “Cut that… motherfucker… out! Do it… Kisame… please!” His voice cracked, a touch of Tobi’s voice slipping through the desperation.

Obito’s grip tightened on Kisame’s wrist, hands shaking as he all but ripped the front of his shirt and cloak open, revealing heavily scarred skin as he guided the kunai Kisame was holding to his chest. “Do… it now, before he regains control!” he urged, voice trembling.

Kisame’s mind raced. If he did this, would this be considering him betraying Akatsuki? But if he didn’t, he’d be sentencing a trapped soul to an eternity of suffering. He looked at the mask that covered the desperate eyes of the man who had been his comrade, and made his decision. With a grim nod, he took a deep breath, and with a swift, precise motion, he sliced into Tobi’s chest, the purple aura flaring up in anger around them.

Chapter Text

Obito woke up with a gasp, jerking as his back arched, and he instantly froze. Because he’s… actually awake, in his own body, not trapped in his own mind as Tobi’s plaything.

He sat up abruptly, staring at his hands, just staring, and staring, and staring, and staring, and staring, and staring… then…

Obito snatched the hellishly orange mask on his face, wrenching it off and slinging it across the room. The porcelain mask smacked against the wall and shattered into pieces.

“Damn!” A voice, a man’s voice… Kisame’s voice said from somewhere near him, causing Obito to whip his head around to see the shark-like missing-nin.

Kisame was sitting in a chair beside a window with the curtains drawn and Obito idly realized they were in an inn and not the Akatsuki base anymore.

“… huh? So that’s what you look like underneath the mask.” Kisame said, tilting his head slightly as he studied Obito. The room was dimly lit by a single, flickering, lamp on the nightstand, casting eerie shadows across Obito’s face.

Hair that is black like a starless night sky and looks like raven feathers, an onyx colored eye, features that look like they belong on a porcelain doll— even with the heavily scarred right side of his face, which was a stark contrast to his pristine left—.

“An Uchiha…” Kisame guest as he watched Obito, looking like he couldn’t decide if he should cry, scream, cheer, or do all three at once.

Obito didn’t answer him, and honestly Kisame wasn’t expecting him to. Instead, the Uchiha took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping himself from hyperventilating. He reached up with trembling hands and touched his uncovered face, tracing the scars with the pad of his thumb.

—————————————

“… So, Doll-face,” Kisame spoke after a moment of silence, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern, “You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Before you passed out you sort of babbled on and on and on about something called a Ten-tails and whatever the hell an Infinite Tsukuyomi is. Care to enlighten me?”

Obito continued to stare at Kisame. It might’ve been five minutes, maybe thirty, maybe an hour or five, but eventually Obito spoke, everything getting ripped out of him like a damn bursting. Everything from the ages of fourteen to now.

———————————————

Tenzō is honestly considering bashing in the head of the next person to call him Yamato in the near future. He’s about had enough. His name is Tenzō not Yamato, but it seemed the older and some of the younger generation of ninjas couldn’t give a damn. It’s not like he didn’t understand why, sure, he was named by Orochimaru, but that still doesn’t give them the right to ignore his wishes.

“Ah, Yamato!”

Tenzō’s eye twitched and he whirled around to face whoever the hell called him Yamato. It was a woman. Sai’s teacher if he’s not mistaken, Kiokayo-sensei or something like that.

Tenzō forced himself to take a deep breath, and spoke through his teeth, though it sounded more like a hiss than words. “Sorry, ma’am, but my name is Tenzō, not Yamato. I don’t know where the name Yamato came from, but that is not me.”

The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties with stern eyes and a sharp nose, blinked in surprise before a smug smile played on her lips. “Oh? How intriguing. So you’re that one that’s trying to go against the tide, huh?” She leaned closer, and Tenzō could smell the faint scent of coffee on her breath. “Well, let me tell you something, Yamato, or should I say, child of that snake… you should be happy people are still willing to address you at all after what your father has done to this village. The name Tenzō has been tainted by his deeds, so you might as well get used to it, or better yet, change it yourself and leave that snake’s name behind you.”

“You have two motherfucking seconds to back away before I knock your teeth the fuck out.” Tenzō hissed, actually hissed, each letter drawn out like it was a knife being dragged along a chalkboard.

The woman's smile didn’t waver, but her eyes did, just for a fraction of a second. “Oh? And what makes you think you could do that?” she challenged, a glint in her eye that suggested she was more than willing to test his mettle.

Tenzō did just that. He pulled his fist back, turning his body with the motion to get more momentum as he slammed his fist square in the middle of her face, snaps and cracks echoing through the air as at least five teeth went flying with sprays of blood from both her mouth and nose.

Her head shot back as she stumbled over her own feet and landed hard on her back. The people around, people that were also picking up their children from school, gasped, some taking several steps back, others just froze in shock. Tenzō hadn’t moved from his spot, his arm still outstretched, fist clenched as he stared down at the woman, his expression cold and hard.

“I’ll say it one last time, since you seem to be dense, my name is Tenzō, not Yamato.” Tenzō’s voice was icy as he watched her try to push herself up, only to collapse back down, a hand clutching her bleeding face. The crowd of parents and children had grown quiet, their eyes wide as they stared at the scene unfolding before them.

Tenzō forced himself to take a deep breath, smoothing out his features as he turned his attention back to the Academy. His gaze swept over the crowd before landing on his two kids. “Come along, children.” He waved Sai and Shin over to him with two fingers as he turned and started to walk away.

Sai and Shin didn’t even bat an eyelash at the scene he had caused. They collected their backpacks and ran after him, not even giving Kiokayo-sensei a second glance as they followed their father away from the schoolyard. Tenzō’s stride was firm, and he didn’t look back once, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to control the rage that was boiling up inside of him.

(uh oh, Tenzō’s a mama’s boy!!!!!)

——————————————

Tenzō sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other where he was squatted in front of a few potted vegetable plants he had on his balcony, seeing what was ripe and what wasn't.

“So, I heard you punched Kiokayo in the face?” Anko’s voice came from behind him, and Tenzō’s lip curled at the memory.

Tenzō could see Anko rolling her eyes from the corner of his eye and pushing open the sliding glass door the rest of the way, walking onto the balcony with him and sinking to the ground behind him.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hooked her chin on his shoulder, looking amused. “Geez, calm down big guy.” She snickered, curling her fingers and scratching up and down Tenzō’s lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and untense underneath her fingers. “… but, i’m pretty sure after that little show everyone’s gonna think twice about calling you Yamato again.”

Tenzō grunted, plucking a ripe tomato from the vine and tossing it into the basket next to him. He didn’t need to see the smirk on her face to know it was there. “… I just don’t like it… I’m Tenzō, not Yamato…”

Anko leaned further into him, her nose brushing against the back of his neck. “I know, I know, Ten-zō.” She said, drawing out his name to tease him. “People are just being assholes lately because Hokage-sama is passing down the hat to Asuma and people don’t like change so they’re taking it out on other people and stuff. Everything should smooth out in the end.”

Her voice was soothing and Tenzō felt his anger ease, just a smidge. He sighed, plucking another tomato and tossing it into the basket. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just frustrating.”

Anko hummed, her hand twitching before sliding lower. “… would you like me to help you release some of that tension?” She whispered, her voice husky.

Tenzō’s breath hitched, and he froze. He didn’t dare look at her, knowing if he did he’d be lost in those eyes of hers that always seemed to be looking right through him. He could feel the heat of her body pressing against his back, her breath against the crook of his neck. The thought of her helping him relax was tempting, almost too tempting.

“… Anko… my kids are home…” he said, his voice thick with a mix of hesitation and desire. He hadn’t realized how much he missedes this kind of interaction, the subtle flirting and the way his heart raced when she was near.

Anko’s only response was to shifts, her hand coming up to yank the back of his shirt collar down as she leaned forward.

Before Tenzō could process what was going on Anko’s tongue was at his neck, licking from the beginning of his cervical to just before his hairline. He gasped, his eyes snapping shut as his body jerked involuntarily. “Anko...”

Anko just cackled, pulling away from him and running back into the apartment, leaving him red faced. “Well, if you’re going to be so shy, I guess I’ll just have to wait until they’re out of the house!” She called back over her shoulder, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing through the apartment.

———————————————

“Daddy! Uncle Chōza!” Ino burst into her house with little care of the conversation her dad and Chōza were having, calling their names at the same time Chōji did. “Uncle Inoichi! Dad!”

Ino watches the two men jump in surprise, halting their conversation of something or another about finding Shikaku a new lady because apparently Uncle Shikaku and Auntie Yoshino broke up.

“Do you two know where Shikamaru is? Me and Chōji haven’t seen him in days and he’s not at his home and for some reason we can’t get in the Uzumaki compound anymore to see if he’s there.” Ino tapped her foot impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest. “… he still can’t be avoiding me because of what I said… he still can’t be mad at me, right?” Ino’s voice grew small at the thought, and she felt tears prickling at her eyes.

Inoichi and Chōza shared a look, grimacing slightly at Ino's question. "Ino-chan," Inoichi began, his voice gentle as Chōza pushed himself up from his seat, walking over to the two kids and kneeling in front of them.

“Chōji, Ino,” Chōza started, his voice a little too calm for Ino’s liking, but Chōji just nodded, always listening to his father. “Shikamaru has… he’s left the village a couple days ago with Naruto, and the two of them are going to be gone for a little while. He and Naruto left to train with some very powerful people, but they’re going to be fine.”

Chōji nodded again, like he already knew and was just going along with not knowing because Ino didn’t know. Ino felt like she was going to scream, she was so mad. Mad at everyone for keeping secrets from her. Mad at Shikamaru for not telling her. Mad at herself for not noticing that he was gone. Mad at the world for spinning without her.

“… how long is he going to be gone?” Ino managed to ask through clenched teeth, her eyes narrowing into slits as she stared at her father.

Inoichi only sighed, pushing himself off of the couch and moving to kneel beside Chōza, and grabbing his daughter‘s hands. “Ino, my precious. Shikamaru’s… Shikamaru and Naruto will most likely be gone for a year or two, maybe even close to three years.” He said calmly, his eyes on her teary ones. “I don’t know the exact date The two of them will be back, but Shikaku said Shikamaru promised to write to us.”

Ino’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping. A year? Two? Three?! Ino didn’t know what to say or do, she just stared at her dad with wide eyes. She looked over to Chōji, expecting the same kind of shock, but it looks like Chōji already knew. “You knew?” She whispered, her voice laced with accusation.

Chōji grimaced, looking away. “Shika asked me not to tell you.” He admitted, his voice small. “… he said he was still mad at you for calling Naruto and her clan a bunch of freaks, and didn’t want to deal with your drama until he was done with his training.”

Ino felt like she had been punched in the gut. She knew she had said some hurtful things, but she didn’t expect Shikamaru to cut her off like this. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally did, spilling over her cheeks as she stared at the ground. “Why?” She whispered, her voice breaking. “Why is he so mad at me?”

Chōza sighed, sharing a quick glance with Inoichi as the blonde man sat on the ground, pulling his daughter into his lap.

“Look Princess, I’ve already told you multiple times why he’s mad at you, why his emotions are so… big when it comes to Naruto. I know you're upset, but he's upset too. How would you feel if one of your best friends you have known since diapers came up to you and called the person you love and the person’s clan a bunch of freaks?” Inoichi said, stroking Ino’s hair as she sobbed into her father’s chest.

Ino sniffled, “But Daddy, I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted him to pay attention to me again!”

“Ino, that’s not how you get people‘s attention.” Chōza chatted gently as Chōji came up beside him, tangling his fingers in the ends of his dad’s hair like he did when he was younger. “You hurt him really bad, and now he’s trying to deal with it in his own way. Give him space and maybe, just maybe, he’ll come around.”

Inoichi nodded, “And in the meantime, maybe you should think about what you said and why it hurt him so much. I know you didn’t mean it, but words have power, Ino. They can build people up or tear them down. And calling someone a freak is never going to build anyone up.”

Ino looked down at her feet, feeling the weight of her own words crush her. She had been so blinded by her own feelings that she didn’t consider the impact her words could have on her friend. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispered.

“I’m not the one you need to say sorry to,” Inoichi said, brushing a strand of hair out of his daughter‘s face. “It’s Shikamaru you need to say sorry to… Maybe… maybe write him a letter, tell him your sorry and what made you upset. He’ll understand.”

Ino nodded, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I will, I promise. I just miss him so much.”

Chōza smiled softly, reaching out and ruffling her hair. “I know you do.”

———————————————

Kakashi shifted where he was hidden in all of his Anbu, Hound, dressed glory, Tiger and Tsubame also hidden, unseen and undetectable.

Kakashi felt like he could preen because the Little voice in the back of his head that has been yelling at him for the past three years all about ‘Packpackpackpackpack- a pack, his pack, a Himesheoutthere, pack, HimeHimeHimeHimeHimeHime, his Hime- need to protect, his pack’s Hime, pack’s Hime, need-need-need-need-need-need-n-n-n-n-n-n-need his packpackpackpackpack, need his HimeHIMEHIMEHIMEHIMEHIME!’ has finally quiet down mostly ever since he had been put on this mission of watching over Naruto as she and Shikamaru train with Tsunade and Jiraiya.

It wasn’t like the little voice in the back of his head had fully stopped chattering on and on and on about… well… all that, it won’t stop until he physically introduces himself to Neko, but it’s definitely quieted down.

Kakashi’s gaze flicked up when he saw Tiger moving in his peripheral vision. He watched the man jump to another branch, tilting his head curiously as he looked down at the said training Tsunade was putting Naruto and Shikamaru through.

Honestly, if it could even be considered training. They’re mangling fish and then healing them with whatever healing jutsu they had most recently learned. He kind of feels bad for the fish. Because being cut open and repeatedly healed was not a good way to live.

Turning his attention back to Neko and Shikamaru, Kakashi watched as Tsunade finally gave them a break for the day and Naruto threw the fish back into the lake before collapsing back onto the grassy ground, Shikamaru following her lead.

He watched as the Nara got all up in Naruto’s bubble of personal space, the redhead seemingly not caring as she starfished on the ground.

From in front of them in another tree, Tsubame, silently, fake gagged, pointing at Shikamaru’s smitten face, making a few Anbu hand signs. “I swear,” he signed, “I don’t know how much of this domesticity I can handle before I throw up rainbows.”

Kakashi smirked under his mask, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Patience, Tsubame,” he signed back, “We’re just observing.”

Kakashi practically heard Tiger rolling his eyes and he huffed, going to sign something to him when he straightened up like he'd been struck by lightning.

Forget what he said earlier about being hidden, unseen and undetectable.

He watched as Naruto abruptly tilted her head, turning her body as much as she could while still laying on the ground to face each of them, her gaze locking onto where they were hidden. First Tiger, then Tsubame, then finally him.

He watched as her gaze lingered on each of them, and he hopped up a couple branches, Tiger and Tsubame following his lead, each of them watching as her gaze followed their movements.

"Neko, can see us…? Sense us?" Kakashi signed to Tiger and Tsubame, his hands moving into each sign.

Tiger shrugged, “It seems so, though I don’t know if it is she can see us or sense us. I’m leaning more towards sense.” He signed back to Kakashi.

“Maybe smell, she’s a Uzumaki after all.” Tsubame suggested, fingers fumbling slightly when he signed Uzumaki.

Kakashi nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Tsubame was probably right. He was only half Uzumaki and he could sniff out a month old, wilting flower from across half of Konoha. There’s no telling what a full blooded Uzumaki could sniff out.

Chapter Text

Hidan had lied. That’s nothing new. But he lied when he told Deidara he was ignoring the voice.

(“… ah, that thing,” He had shifted, sitting down beside Deidara. “I’ve mostly learned how to ignore it, whatever it is, but yeah, sure, I’m looking for her, kind of.” He had smirked at Deidara, his gaze distant before he looked at the sky. “But I’m not in a rush like you seem to be. Besides, I’ve got my own problems to deal with.”)

That was a straight up lie, and Hidan knew that.

Hidan stairs up at the starry night sky, frowning. It’s not like it’s hard for him to pretend he didn’t have voices in his head, hell, he’s had Jashin-sama’s voice in the back of his mind for as long as he could remember. But this voice, it was different.

Deidara had described the voice in his head to be more of a “Growl then anything else” and Hidan had to agree to the comparison. It was definitely not the sweet, heavenly whispers of Jashin-sama that he was used to. This presence was demanding and powerful, unlike the calm, almost soothing, presence he felt from his deity. It was like someone had stuck a grenade in his ear and was whispering sweet nothings while they counted down to zero.

Rolling over onto his side, Hidan stared at Deidara, who was asleep beside him.

Hidan smirked, chuckling. He really looks like a doll when he’s asleep, Hidan mused, studying Deidara’s peaceful features. His long eyelashes fluttered slightly with every shallow breath he took.

Groaning, Hidan rolled away and rubbed his eyes roughly, letting out a slow breath. The voice, the inner beast or whatever the fuck it was, had nearly drowned out Jashin-sama's voice entirely, getting louder and louder anytime Jashin-sama tried to whisper something to him.

Hidan swears at one point he had heard Jashin-sama and whatever the hell else is in his head fighting over the last piece of his sanity. And at one point Jashin-sama had seemed… scared of or at the other presence? Scared like a rabbit when it gets stared down by a wolf? The thought was almost absurd to Hidan, Jashin-sama was an all powerful deity, the god of destruction and immortality, what could scare him?

Hidan had taken up to thinking to himself to drown out— at least— of the yelling in his head by thinking of the most absurd and ridiculous shit he could think of, constantly, all the time, up until he fell asleep. 

But periodically he still caught snippets of the… conversation? It was weird. And it was driving him up the wall.

Hidan had heard Jashin-sama call the other presence, Shinigami once or five times. Hidan was guessing that was the other presence name. Shinigami? Hidan’s not sure what Shinigami means or who Shinigami is, but every single time Jashin-sama had called the other presence Shinigami it had been with fear. Fear in Jashin-sama’s voice was something Hidan had never heard before. And it had left Hidan feeling more than a little confused and unsettled.

Hidan clenched his teeth, curling up into a ball as he squeezed his eyes shut. Shinigami was… weird to say the least. Every time Jashin-sama tried to give him a order or something, this other presence would interrupt, yelling at Jashin-sama to, in the other presence words, “Keep your filthy fucking voice out of his head, you sick fuck!” It was a never-ending cycle of curses and demands, which was something Hidan had never experienced before. He liked order, he liked the chaos that came from his own actions, not the chaos from voices fighting in his head.

But sometimes, when Shinigami wasn’t yelling something about a Hime, Shinigami was… nice? Or, as close to nice as whatever the hell Shinigami was could get.

Every time Jashin-sama plagued him with nightmares because Jashin-sama thought it was funny, Shinigami would… do something. Hidan really isn’t sure what Shinigami would do, but Jashin-sama would all the sudden be screaming like they were being burnt by a thousand suns, before babbling apologies. Not apologies to Hidan, but to Shinigami. It was so weird, and every time Hidan asked, "What the hell was that?" Shinigami never would answer him.

Hidan jumped when he felt fingertips brush his spine, and he tensed, absentmindedly registering that he was practically vibrating with tension, his teeth chattering against each other.

"You’re okay." Deidara's voice reached his ears, groggy and half asleep. "You're okay, Hidan.”

Hidan felt Deidara's hand on him, fingertips sliding down his spine as he felt the pyromaniac lay down behind him, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the nape of his neck as the redhead curled up against him, forehead knocking in between his shoulder blades gently.

"It's okay," Deidara murmured, sounding like he was falling back asleep. "You're okay, I'm right here."

Hidan tensed even more, his eyes snapping open as he felt the gentle touch of Deidara. His breath hitched, heart racing from the sudden comfort. He wasn't used to this kind of tenderness, not from anyone, especially not from his partner in crime. But the soothing whispers from Deidara managed to calm the storm inside of him, even if just for a moment. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hidan snapped, his voice cracking.

“You were hyperventilating,” Deidara replied calmly, his voice a gentle mumble against Hidan’s back. The younger teen didn’t bother moving, his body relaxing even more against Hidan’s back, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. “You woke me up with it.”

“I-I was not!” Hidan protested, though the way his breathing evened out, it was clear he had been. “And why the fuck are you touching me?”

Deidara mumbled something uncomprehendible, already being pulled back into sleep, not moving where he had practically squished himself against Hidan’s back. Hidan remained tense, unsure of what to do with this unprecedented situation. He wasn't used to affection. It was strange, but the warmth and comfort Deidara unknowingly provided was oddly... nice.

The silence stretched on for a moment before Hidan's curiosity got the better of him. He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder at the redhead.

Deidara’s face was buried in between his shoulder blades, his breathing even and deep as he slept peacefully. Hidan felt his heart race for a moment, unsure of how to process this sudden change in their usual dynamic. The gentle warmth that radiated from Deidara’s body was unfamiliar, yet it brought a sense of comfort that Hidan hadn’t experienced in years. The sound of his partner’s soft snores filled the air, a stark contrast to the harsh, explosive noises he was accustomed to hearing from Deidara’s clay creations.

Tentatively, Hidan reached a hand over his shoulder, his fingers brushing through the thick, fiery hair. Deidara stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his grip on Hidan tightening slightly in his sleep.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Shika! Shika! Wake up Shika!” Naruto whispered, using her foot to nudge Shikamaru as she sank down to sit beside him on the futon, her hands going to his side to shake him slightly.

Shikamaru groaned, blinking slowly as he peeled his face off the scroll he’d been studying. “What is it, Naruto?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Another ramen craving? Because Tsunade said no more all-nighters after last time—”

“No, no, no, no, no, look at this!” Naruto shifted to sit crisscross, flipping through a couple pages of a book before landing on a certain page as Shikamaru peeled himself off of his futon to sit up with a groan. He stayed sitting up for about 0.3 seconds before collapsing to the side, leaning onto Naruto, his cheek pressed into her shoulder as he watched her point at the pages.

Naruto didn’t seem to care as she pointed a sharp nail at a picture of a pretty lady— an Uzumaki, Shikamaru guessed— with long red hair. She was dressed in a jūnihitoe, and looked like she was probably in her thirties, maybe early forties, and she was sitting in what looked to be a field. Her hair was long enough to pool around her in several feet like a red waterfall that swirled around her. But in her hair there were periodic strands of what looked like… silvery strands? Kind of like the woman’s bold cherry red hair had been touched by starlight.

Shikamaru squints at the image— picture that was tucked safely into a plastic panel. He watches as he rubs his eyes as Naruto’s pointed nail traces the image before moving to the text around it. “Some ninja, mostly those in the Uzumaki clan since they are known for their long hair, braid poisoned laced ninja wire into their hair so if and or when an enemy grabs the person's hair, just the slightest touch would poison or even kill them.” Naruto read aloud.

“That’s...clever.” Shikamaru admits, leaning closer to the book. The silvery strands in the ancestor’s hair shimmer faintly in the lantern light, almost like venomous snakes coiled in crimson vines. “But troublesome. One wrong move and you poison yourself instead.”

“That’s why—” Naruto flipped a couple pages until landing on a page that was full of images of poison plants, paralytics, venoms, and other toxic ingredients. At the top of the page it read, “Acclimate your body to your poisons before braiding them into your hair.” Naruto grinned. “— there’s an entire instruction manual for building up immunity.”

Shikamaru sighed, running a hand through his own hair. “So you’re going to poison yourself? On purpose? That sounds like a lot of effort for something that might not even come in handy.”

Naruto stuck her tongue out at him, not looking away from her book. “Granny Tsunade said she used to do it when she first became a Shinobi, said it saved her more times then she could count.” She tapped the page with her finger as she looked over all the different types of toxic ingredients on the page. “I talked to her before she, Shizune, and Tonton earlier before they went to the casino and she said it would be a good idea for us to do it, but we didn’t have to if we didn’t want to.”

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest breaking through his drowsiness. “Tsunade-sama suggested it? Huh.” He leaned closer, studying the illustrations—nightshade berries, powdered scorpion venom, paralytic frog secretions—all meticulously labeled with dosages and acclimation periods. “Still seems like a hassle. But if it’s useful...” His gaze drifted to Naruto’s vibrant crimson hair, imagining the deadly potential woven into those strands.

“I think it would look pretty in your hair,” Naruto finally looked up from her book, looking over to the boy that was slouched against her shoulder. “It would make you look like the night sky, your black hair with silver strands. Like stars.”

Shikamaru huffed a quiet laugh, the warmth of her shoulder seeping into his side. “Troublesome,” he murmured, but his fingers absently traced a loose strand of his own hair. He pictured it—dark strands threaded with glinting silver wire, coiled like constellations. Practical and lethal, a hidden defense disguised as something almost beautiful. He could already feel the phantom weight of it, the subtle shift against his scalp.

Naruto watched him for a moment longer before turning her attention back to the book, and she flipped a couple more pages, grabbing a few pages at a time until she got to the next chapter. Her fingers tracing over the chapter title for a moment before closing it and shrugging off the backpack that was hanging off of the shoulder Shikamaru wasn’t leaning on. She put the book back in the bag before pulling out a different one.

This book was red, and the edges of the paper were painted black with red swirls all around it. The title read, “The Uzumaki Clan Traditional Make Up and Piercings.” Naruto flipped open the book to a random page, showing Shikamaru intricate designs drawn across faces, necks, chests, and really the entire body—bold crimsons, pinks, and oranges swirling together into all different types of shapes and patterns, each one more complicated than the last.

“I found a whole bunch of books about traditions and just different types of stuff my clan would do to their bodies before we left the Village. I didn’t have enough time to look through them all so I just brought them with us.” Naruto tilted the book towards Shikamaru, pointing towards an image of a man, his long red hair pulled over one shoulder to reveal his back as the back of his body was being painted in intricate designs. Underneath the photo was a little caption that read, “Koshige, the second Uzukage, getting his wedding paint done.”

“That’s pretty interesting.” Shikamaru murmured, tracing the swirling lines of deep crimson paint that curled around the man's spine like vines. The design seemed alive, pulsing with a hidden energy even in the faded ink of the book. “It’s not too crazy to think they had traditional make up. I mean a few clans back home have them, like the Inuzuka clan markings.” He tilted his head, considering the sheer scale of the artwork. “But this?… I’m guessing since he’s getting his entire back and the backs of his arms and legs painted, the front of his body was already done? Damn. That’s a lot of work.”

Naruto shrugged and her eyes sparkled. “I don’t know, I think it’s pretty.” She traced her fingers around the intricate patterns. “And look,” she pulled the book closer to the both of them, bringing her knees up so the book could rest on them. She pointed to the back of Koshige’s neck right at the base where his neck meets his shoulders. “He has the name of the person he’s marrying hidden in the designs on his neck.”

Shikamaru studied the design, his eyes tracing the swirling patterns that seemed to dance across Koshige's skin. "Hidden names... like a cipher woven into art. Practical, yet poetic. But why the neck?" He glanced at Naruto, his brow furrowed in thought.

“It’s supposed to be like a game,” Kurama’s voice came from behind them, and they both jumped as his small fox form materialized, tail flicking with amusement. He padded closer, sitting himself down on Shikamaru’s outstretched legs. “It's called *Kakushimei*—Hidden Heart. Both groom and bride get their partner’s name woven into their paint somewhere on their person. It’s a game because once the married couple are back home, they have to find it on each other.” Kurama’s ears twitch, flattening against his head as he added, “It’s meant to be an intimate way to learn each other’s bodies. Or so the humans say.”

Both Shikamaru and Naruto’s cheeks flushed crimson at Kurama’s explanation. Naruto fumbled with the book, nearly dropping it. "K-Kurama! Warn a girl before you pop in like that, dattebayo!" The fox just smirked, his nine tails swaying lazily. Shikamaru cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as he studied the intricate swirls on Koshige’s neck. "So it’s a tactical intimacy. Finding the name forces you to observe every detail—like mapping terrain." His fingers hovered over the painted design. "Clever. Annoyingly romantic, but clever."

Kurama snorted. "Romance is just strategy with flowers, brat. Uzumakis never did anything without layers." He tilted his head, studying Shikamaru’s thoughtful— and quite flushed— expression. "You’re overthinking it. The point isn’t the puzzle—it’s the excuse to touch."

“Oh my God,” Shikamaru covers his face with his hands as his and Naruto’s faces flush even brighter. Kurama’s smirk widens at their flustered expressions, his tails flicking with amusement. Naruto elbows the fox, her crimson braids swinging. “You’re the worst, dattebayo!”

————————————————

Later…

Kakashi hops back up in his perch around the Inn Neko, the Nara boy, and Lady Tsunade and her apprentice and pig were staying in, his Anbu mask back in place because believe it or not sometimes Anbu do actually have to take a break.

“What are the two of you staring at?” Kakashi signed to Tsubame and Tiger, waving a hand in their direction. His two fellow Anbu were staring towards the Inn as if they couldn’t decide if they should intervene— which they looked like they quite wanted to intervene— or let whatever was happening in there happen.

Tiger finally forced his gaze away and towards Kakashi, hesitating for a moment before raising his hands and signing back. “Neko, about twenty minutes ago cracked open the window of her Inn room. Every time there’s a gust of wind, it knocks open the curtain and we can see inside. Her and the Nara boy had been reading some sort of book, but now…” he hesitates for a moment, signing the last few words that look like they physically pained him— looking much like an overprotective older brother— . “Neko’s sleeping in the same futon as the Nara boy!” He signed dramatically as if he had walked in on his baby sister kissing some delinquent with tattoos and piercings.

Tsubame nodded, also finally tearing his gaze away from the window to sign. "Sleeping in the bed with a boy! Has it been going on long? Should we stop it?" His gestures were sharp with agitation, shoulders tense like he wanted to burst in and drag the Nara heir out by his collar. Outside, another gust of wind rattled the window frame, the curtain fluttering open just enough to reveal Naruto's crimson hair spilling over the shared pillow, her head tucked against Shikamaru's shoulder, both deep asleep.

Kakashi merely raised an eyebrow underneath his mask and he tilted his head up to give the impression of the, his eyes crinkling with slight amusement— but there was also a hint of annoyance and protectiveness because that’s his imouto— as he signed back lazily. "They're ten, Tsubame. It's not like that. Neko probably crawled in because he's warm." He paused, then added with a hint of dry humor. "She’s not a teenager yet, that’s when we’ll have to worry about her and boys.”

Kakashi could just feel Tiger scowling as you watched the man shift his weight on the rooftop tiles. "Still… that Nara kid’s too clever. Knows too much already. What if he’s…" His hands hesitated, then shaped sharp, protective signs. "...taking advantage of her trust?" Outside, the wind died down, leaving the curtain still and the room hidden again.

Kakashi watched his coworkers for a moment, licking his lips underneath his mask before raising his hands again and signing. “Shikamaru Nara has fixated on Naruto Uzumaki from about three and a half years ago give or take. Even if none of us like the fact she’s getting quite close to a boy, there is no way he’s going to hurt her. He’s protective of her too, just like us. He’s also a Nara, so he’s too lazy to do anything inappropriate, even if he was the type to try.” His fingers paused, then moved with deliberate slowness. “And Naruto would kick his ass into next week if he tried.”

Tsubame’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though Tiger remained rigid, and Kakashi added one last sign. “Besides, Lady Tsunade’s in the next room, right? If anything woke her up, we’d hear the crater.” Tiger snorted, the tension easing as he imagined the Sannin’s wrath. Below, the inn remained quiet, the faint scent of cedar and damp earth drifting up from the garden.

Chapter Text

(None of these characters, except for two are actually real in the chapter, this is just a background chapter for more world building)

Both Takero Kanzako and Enomaru Ritsugu jump when the bar doors fly open, and both of them look over to see one of the newbies, Okuri Daitsuna— Enomaru’s apprentice—, stumble into the bar, looking as if he had just seen a ghost. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror, and he was breathing heavily as if he had run all the way from wherever he had been. He clutched at the doorframe for support, his knuckles white.

“Ya good over there, kid?” Enomaru raised an eyebrow, setting his sake cup down with a clink. The dim lantern light flickered across Okuri’s sweat-slicked face as he swayed, gulping air like a fish hauled onto dry land. His gaze darted wildly around the cramped bar—past the scarred wood counter, the clusters of off-duty Kiri-nin nursing drinks, the haze of pipe smoke—before locking onto his sensei.

Okuri practically sprinted over to the older man, nearly falling on his ass as he slid across the wet floorboards. "Sensei!" he gasped, clutching Enomaru's sleeve. "SomeTHING! SOMEthing— I-I-I was helping Otoruno take stuff to the Mizukage TOW—er, and-and-and-and-and-and! I don’t know what we saw! A ghost! A yōkai! One of those lady ghosts that drown men or something! Or—or—" His voice choked into incoherent panic, eyes bulging as he trembled violently. 

Enomaru tried to pry Okuri's fingers off his arm. "Kid, breathe. Slow. What did you see? Was it near the Tower? Near the Mizukage?"

Okuri looked about five seconds away from crying. "It... it was, I don’t know! Otoruno was telling stories about yōkai, trying to scare me when from the Shadows!— a pale, silent figure with long, dark hair, just— just-j-just appeared at the end of the corridor. It didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at us with... with eyes like a cat’s, but gold!" He shuddered violently. "But when it did start moving, we ran, and we didn’t look back."

Both Enomaru and Takero took a moment to process Okuri’s hysterical description—pale figure, cat-like golden eyes, unnerving stillness. Then, Enomaru sighed, rubbing his eyes, and Takero had the audacity to laugh like a hyena. “Kid,” Enomaru said flatly, “that’s no ghost.”

Takero slammed his tankard down, grinning. “You saw Utakata-sama! The Mizukage’s son!” He chuckled at Okuri’s bewildered expression. “He’s no yōkai.”

Okuri stuttered, his mind racing. From what he knows about the Mizukage’s son was that he was some pretty boy, not that silent, eerie creature. He remembered seeing the Mizukage’s family portrait hanging in the tower near his office. Utakata-sama—smiling gently, eyes warm—not that hollow, predatory gaze he’d witnessed. He shivered, shaking his head violently. "No! No! No! That thing moved like it was made out of mist! It moved like it was a damn cat, to-to-to— it didn’t move like a human! It didn’t move like a human!" His voice cracked as he grabbed Enomaru's arm again. "Its movements were too smooth, too silent—like water shifting in the dark."

Enomaru exchanged a glance with Takero, who shrugged. "He’s an Uzumaki, all of them are like that, even half bloods.” Takero lifted the sake cup the bartender sat in front of him, swirling the contents. “They’re predators wrapped in silk—beautiful till you see their teeth.”

Okuri’s knuckles whitened on Enomaru’s sleeve. “An Uzu— what?” He squeaked, honestly sounding like he didn’t know what an Uzumaki was.

Enomaru and Takero exchanged another glance, this time, one of confusion before realization dawned on both of them at the same time. “Ah, that’s right, you’re like, what? Fifteen?” Enomaru finally managed to pry off Okuri’s fingers from his arm. Again. “You wouldn’t know what an Uzumaki is. They’re all dead—most of ‘em, at least that’s what people say.” He gestured vaguely toward the Mizukage Tower, his movements loose from sake. “They’re monsters wrapped in pretty faces. Sharp teeth, weird eyes—like cats or foxes—and hair longer than a waterfall. And yeah, they move…wrong. Like ghosts.”

Takero leaned over, patting Okuri’s head. “But… I guess you were kinda right about the yōkai thing, but instead of the whole ‘ghost’ angle, you got the ‘pretty predator’ angle. Utakata-sama’s just… like that. Especially when he’s bored.”

“P-pretty predator? Uzumaki? Wha— what the hell are you two talking about?” Okuri stammered, knuckles white where he gripped the bar’s edge. His eyes darted between Enomaru and Takero like a trapped animal seeking escape routes. The humid air of Kirigakure’s mist-cloaked night clung to his skin, amplifying the chill racing down his spine. Behind him, the tavern door swung open briefly, letting in a gust of brine-scented wind and the distant echo of waves crashing against the village’s rocky foundations.

“Okay, kid, how about we have a little history lesson?” Enomaru slid another sake cup toward Takero, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper despite the empty tavern. “Uzumaki’s, Kitsuné’s in human form who could make seals that could bind gods, and warriors whose hair flowed like rivers of fire—literally…” he paused for a second, his expression slowly shifting from his drunken nonchalant to a more serious look, “… it took nearly 300 Kiri ninja to kill fifty Uzumaki, and still they almost won.”

Okuri stared, fingers trembling where they gripped the bar. The humid air clung thickly to his skin as he absorbed Enomaru’s words.

“Listen to me, boy, cause I’m about to give you a lesson that should still be taught,” Enomaru leaned forward, his sake cup forgotten as he tapped the bar. “The Uzumaki are monsters in their own right, don’t let their pretty face fool you, they’re savages, rabid animals that took three nations just to put a dent in their numbers. People say the clan is dead, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. These are the people that were able to summon the Death Reaper multiple times and not die, and go on to live close to hundreds of years. The Uzumaki are not people, not even human, all of them tailless tailed beasts in their own right, even the children. So listen to me when I say this, ‘Never lose sight of a Uzumaki while in battle. If you do, do yourself a favor, and kill yourself, because once they set their sights on you. And you can’t see them. It’s gameover. You think you know danger? You’ve never met anyone like them’. So, by whatever grace of God or whatever you believe, be happy Utakata-sama is on our side, Kiri’s side, because if he wanted to, he could level Kirigakure.”

Okuri’s knuckles turned bone-white around the bar counter. Outside, Kirigakure’s mist thickened, swallowing the lanterns’ glow until the world felt suffocatingly small. Enomaru’s words echoed like a death knell: *Tailless tailed beasts. Kill yourself if you lose sight of them.* The humid air clung to Okuri’s skin, cold sweat trickling down his spine as he pictured crimson hair pooling like blood on stone streets, and those slitted gold eyes—predatory and bored—fixing on him from the shadows. He gulped, the image refusing to fade.

Takero chuckled, low and raspy. “Scared you shitless, didn’t he? Relax, kid. Utakata-sama doesn’t hunt his own—unless you’re stupid enough to betray what he holds dear.” He traced a finger through condensation on the bar, drawing a crude spiral. “… but Enomaru’s right, too. When an Uzumaki *wants* you dead? You’re already a ghost walking. Their chakra feels… wrong. It’s like it’s an actual solid substance, and it feels hot— no, not just hot, it feels like the air is trying to burn you alive without a flame being lit.”

Enomaru sighed, rubbing his knuckles against Okuri’s head. “But if you’re so scared of Utakata-sama, you shouldn’t worry, he’s a good kid, but he’s one hell of a fighter. I’ve seen him fight before. He fights like a demon, and he’s one hell of a fighter. He’s one of the best shinobi in Kirigakure.”

“Pretty and deadly,” Takero muttered, swirling his sake. “Whoever catches his fancy is going to be one lucky son of a bitch.” He paused, then added with a dark chuckle, “I’d like to be that lucky son of a bitch. Imagine being able to touch something that pretty, and that deadly. That’s one hell of a combination.”

Enomaru choked on his drink, sucking in a breath just as a liquid hit his lips, some of it coming out of his nose as he coughed. His eyes watered as he tried to get air back into his lungs. "Takero! You—" he rasped, wiping his face with a rough sleeve, "—can't just say things like that! Especially not about the Mizukage's son! Are you trying to get us skinned alive?" His voice was low, urgent, as he shot a wary glance toward the mist-shrouded streets beyond the bar's grimy window.

Takero just grinned, unrepentant, leaning back on his stool until it creaked dangerously. "Why not? Beauty like that's meant to be admired, even if it comes with teeth sharp enough to shred bone. Besides," he added, his gaze drifting toward the swirling fog outside, "Utakata-sama walks these streets like a storm given form. Half the village whispers about him when he passes—pretty, deadly. Someone's bound to try their luck someday."

Okuri shuddered. The image of those slitted golden eyes—fox-like, ancient—flashed in his mind again. "Admire him? He moves like a ghost, silent until he wants you to hear him. I’d rather face the Bloody Mist graduation than catch his attention." His voice cracked.

Chapter Text

Shikaku peels his eyes open once he feels somebody sit down beside him in the corner of the bar he had claimed his own. He sits up in his barstool with a long groan, blinking slowly, seeing a familiar spike of brown hair in his peripheral vision. Tsume.

“Sup stranger,” Tsume grunted, sliding a bottle of cheap sake across the sticky bar toward him. “There’s a little rumor going around that you finally divorced Yoshino. True?” She smirked, baring sharp teeth.

Shikaku sighed, slumping back in his barstool, tracing his finger around the rim of the glass of brandy he had, eyeing the sake bottle Tsume slid over to him. “… Yeah,” he muttered, heaving out a breath. “Finally kicked her to the curb.”

Tsume leaned forward, her grin widening, her sharp teeth catching the dim light. “About damn time. That woman was a shrew,” she said, grabbing the bottle back and taking a long swig. “So… what’s next? Gonna find yourself a nice little kunoichi who appreciates a lazy genius?” Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Or maybe someone a little more… wild?” She nudged him with her elbow.

Shikaku huffed out a chuckle, his lips curling into a lazy grin that had Tsume leaning closer.

Tsume rested her elbow on the counter, turning to the side, the barstool swiveling as she propped her head up in her palm. She bit her sharp, deep red painted pinky nail, looking Shikaku up and down.

Even though the Nara was slumped in his barstool, limbs loose, the guy was unfairly handsome. He was slumped low in his barstool, manspreading with his feet propped up on the bar’s foot rail. He had one wrist resting on the bar counter, his pointer finger tracing the rim of his drink oh so slowly, with his other arm draped over the back of his barstool. 

His sharp jawline, the lazy intelligence in his eyes, a grin that could melt the resolve of a stone statue. Tsume’s gaze lingered on the curve of his lips, then drifted lower—past the open collar of his flak vest, down the defined planes of his chest underneath the tight long sleeve shirt he wore that hid nothing, the lean muscle of his arms, the confident sprawl of his legs. Damn.

“Wild sounds good,” Shikaku murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the air. “Got anyone specific in mind?” He didn’t move, didn’t lean in, just tilted his head enough to held her stare—a challenge, an invitation. Tsume felt a familiar heat coil low in her belly. This wasn’t just banter anymore. This was… possibility. Raw and undeniable.

Tsume’s grin turned predatory. “Wild sounds good?” she purred, leaning in until the scent of pine needles and perfume mixed with cheap liquor. “I know a certain Inuzuka who wouldn’t mind taming a deer.” Her knuckles brushed his thigh under the bar.

Shikaku finally glanced over to Tsume, finally noticing that she wasn’t dressed in her usual shinobi attire. But rather as if she was on a night out. Tsume wore a red dress that looked like it was made out of silk. It was short, probably going to her mid thigh, backless, and low-cut. Her hair was down, a wild cascade around her shoulders. She looked like fire given human form—untamed and dangerous. His gaze lingered on the sharp line of her collarbone, the pulse fluttering at her throat.

He let out a slow breath, his lazy grin deepening. "Taming?" he echoed, the word low and rough. "Sounds like you're offering a challenge, Tsume." His finger stopped tracing the rim of his glass, instead drifting to rest lightly over her knuckles where they brushed his thigh. The heat of her skin seeped through the fabric of his pants. "I don't recall deer needing taming. They run wild just fine."

Tsume leaned closer, her breath warm against his jaw, the scent of sake and her perfume enveloping him. "Maybe not tame," she corrected, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But they do get caught." Her teeth grazed her lower lip as her free hand slid up his arm, fingers tracing the hard muscle beneath his sleeve. "Sometimes by wolves who like a good chase."

Shikaku hummed in amusement, his arm that had been draped over his barstool moving. Two of his fingers slid up her neck before reaching her chin, tilting it up as he slowly unslouched from his barstool. "A chase?" he murmured, his lips barely an inch from hers. His eyes, dark and hooded, held hers. "I've always preferred the hunt."

Tsume's breath hitched. She could feel the shift in the air—the lazy predator in him waking up, coiled and dangerous. Her pulse hammered against his fingers where they touched her throat as his hand slid back down the column of her neck. The bar around them faded to a distant haze of smoke and clinking glasses. All that existed was the heat of his gaze and the rough calluses on his hands.

"Then hunt," she dared him, her voice a rasp. Her fingers dug into his arm, nails like claws. The challenge hung between them, sharp as a kunai's edge. Shikaku's thumb brushed her jawline, slow and deliberate, tracing the line down to her collarbone. His other hand slid from her knuckles to her hip, pulling her flush against him. Causing her barstool to scrape the floor.

He didn't kiss her. Not yet. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers, his breath warm. "Wolves don't chase deer in bars, Tsume." The words were low, a rumble in his chest she felt more than heard. "They find territory." His gaze flicked toward the exit, heavy with implication. The humid night air outside seemed to pulse with possibility.

Tsume laughed, a sharp, wild sound. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt. "My territory's got a kennel and a whole bunch of overprotective ninken." She tilted her head, nipping lightly at his jaw. "You scared of dogs, Nara?"

Shikaku's grip on her hip tightened, pulling her impossibly closer. The scent of her skin—sweat, her perfume, dog, and something fiercely alive—was intoxicating. “Only if they bite,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “And I bite back.” His free hand slid into the wild tangle of her hair, fingers tangling possessively. The air crackled.

Tsume’s answering growl vibrated against his chest. She pressed forward, closing the last sliver of distance, her mouth claiming his in a kiss that was all teeth and heat. It was less a kiss and more a declaration, raw and untamed, tasting of cheap liquor and the promise of chaos. Her hands clawed at his back, pulling him flush against her, the thin silk of her dress doing nothing to hide the fierce press of her body.

Shikaku met her ferocity with a low snarl of his own, his fingers tightening in her hair as he deepened the kiss, turning it into a silent, primal battle for dominance. The bar around them dissolved into a blur of indifferent patrons and clinking glasses, irrelevant. His other hand slid down her spine, finding the bare skin of her lower back, rough and possessive. They broke apart only when breath became necessary, foreheads pressed together again, eyes locked in a challenge that had shifted into something inevitable.

“… we should find somewhere more private before we do something troublesome,” Shikaku breathed, his voice rough as gravel. His thumb traced the frantic pulse at Tsume’s throat, feeling the wild thrum beneath her skin. Outside, the humid night promised shadows thick enough to vanish into—perfect for a hunt that wasn’t meant for prying eyes. Tsume’s answering grin was pure predator, her teeth flashing sharp in the dim bar light. She slid off her stool, silk whispering against her thighs, and didn’t wait for him to follow. The challenge hung unspoken between them: *Catch me if you can.*

————————————

Shikamaru woke up with his eyes snapping open, still nestled beside Naruto, who was sleeping peacefully and scaring the hell out of Shizune, who had come to check on them because Tsunade asked her to.

————————————

Kiba woke up with his eyes snapping open, laying on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow. He jolts up, pushing himself up to his elbows. He stares at the wall in front of him, trying to not wake up Chōji, who he was having a sleepover with.

————————————

“Something just happened.” Both Shikamaru and Kiba— though they are miles and miles apart from each other—  say simultaneously, a sense of… something… crawling up their spines.

————————————

Tsume rubs her eyes, staring down at the nearly naked man— only having boxers that looked like they had been haphazardly pulled on— in her bed, sleeping on his stomach. Shikaku Nara looked... softer in sleep. The sharp intelligence that usually gleamed in his dark eyes was hidden, his dark hair messy against her pillow. She felt the faint ache in her muscles and the bite marks on her shoulders and neck, a reminder of the previous night’s frenzy.

Her eyes trace the scars on his face, the strong line of his jaw, the way his back rises and falls with each breath. She remembers the way he’d growled into her skin, the possessive grip of his hands, the sharp sting of his teeth. A shiver runs through her, half memory, half anticipation.

Tsume has to stifle a giddy laugh, doing a little dance where she sat in her bed. She’s had a thing for this man since she was a pup.

She remembers the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, she was twelve and he was fifteen. He was the definition of rough and rugged eye candy. He was sexy, he was absolutely smoking hot. And now here he was, in her bed after she had dragged him— the Head of the Nara clan— into her bed like some feral prize. Tsume couldn’t help but preen.

The man whose lazy strategist facade hid the coiled intensity that had matched her bite for bite. He’d called her *wild*. He hadn’t flinched. She traced a faint scratch mark down his bare shoulder, remembering the low growl he’d let out when she’d drawn blood.

It seemed her ninken liked him too, because apparently at some point after they had fallen asleep all five of them— even Kuromaru— had squeezed into the bed, dog piled around Shikaku, with the man’s fingers unconsciously buried in Kuromaru’s thick fur. Tsume grinned. Her ninken were excellent judges of character. That lazy Nara bastard didn’t even stir at the weight of three massive dogs sprawled over his legs and stomach.

Chapter Text

Tsume crosses her legs as she leans against her dining table, her head propped up in one hand as she watches Shikaku.

The man looks… cute?… and cute as a word Tsume never thought she’d use for Shikaku Nara. But here he is, sitting at her kitchen table in nothing but his boxers, his hair an unruly mess, staring down into a cup of coffee with his brows scrunched together as he squints, a pout she’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be a scowl on his face. The morning sun slants through the window, catching the silver in his hair at the temples and highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. He looks utterly bewildered, like a strategist whose carefully laid plans have just been set on fire by a very enthusiastic, very toothy wolf.

Kuromaru rests his massive head on Shikaku’s bare thigh, letting out a low, rumbling sigh of canine approval. Tsume bites back a grin. Her pack accepted him; that was as good as an engagement ring in the Inuzuka world.

“So, Nara, i’ve gotta ask,” Tsume drawled, swirling the dark liquid in her mug. “What was the final tipping point for you to dump that old shrew? Yoshino, I mean. She had you wrapped around her finger for years.” Her eyes were sharp, curious, but there was an undercurrent of satisfaction—a hunter pleased with a fresh kill.

Shikaku’s pout— scowl— deepened and he sighed, rubbing his eyes with the side of his hand. “It was… a lot of reasons actually.” He admitted, a yawn ripping its way from his throat. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. The movement pulled taut the muscles in his bare shoulders, the thin white scars across his collarbone catching the light. Kuromaru’s tail thumped heavily against the floor.

“… she…” Shikaku sighed, his energy seemingly draining just by the mere thought of his ex wife. “… she never… treated Shikamaru like a… Nara.” He admitted, a frown tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, propping his head up on steepled fingers. “She just… she tried treating him as if he was a civilian born child like she was, and a whole bunch of other stuff.” He paused, watching a few bubbles on the surface of his coffee pop. “And the thing about me being wrapped around her finger, I never married her for love, I married her because she forced me to, said if I didn’t she wouldn’t let me be a part of my Fawn’s life.” He chuckled dryly.

Tsume’s grin vanished, replaced by a low growl rumbling in her chest. Her knuckles whitened around her coffee mug. “That bitch threatened your bond with your pup?” Her eyes flashed, sharp and dangerous. Kuromaru lifted his head, sensing the shift in her mood, a low warning growl echoing hers.

Shikaku just shrugged, a weary acceptance in the slump of his spine. “I wanted my kid,” he muttered, shifting to pick up his coffee cup and take a sip. “She knew it. Used it against me.”

Tsume’s fingers drummed a sharp, staccato rhythm on the worn wood of the table. The image of Yoshino leveraging a father’s love like a bargaining chip curdled in her gut worse than spoiled milk. She pictured Shikamaru – quiet, observant Shikamaru – treated like an outsider in his own clan traditions. Her lip curled, baring a hint of sharp canine. “And the ‘other stuff’?” she pressed, voice low and gravelly. Kuromaru shifted, pressing his warm flank firmly against Shikaku’s leg, a silent anchor.

Tsume has a feeling she’s not gonna like this. Here’s one thing, she’s friends with Shikaku, yes, but before the whole marrying Yoshino, Shikaku was one of her best friends. And if you ask Tsume, she’s still pretty confident she can read Shikaku even if she hasn’t talked to him properly in years. And right now? She can tell Shikaku’s hesitating.

“… Tsume, my old friend, i’m going to be honest with you, and tell you something I have never told anyone else.” Shikaku sighed, setting his mug down with a dull clack. His gaze drifted to the window, where morning light filtered through the trees outside. “Yoshino… she wasn’t kind. Not to Shikamaru, not to me, not to the Nara deer… she was the textbook definition of an abuser…” he idly traced a finger down one of his face scars. A giant scar that took up a good chunk of his cheek, a diagonal slash that went up from his ear to his cheekbone before slashing across his nose. “… none of my scars are from missions like I’ve told you and everyone else… their from… her.”

Tsume froze. The casual admission hit like a kunai to the gut. Her coffee mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the tile floor in a spray of dark liquid and ceramic shards. Kuromaru jerked upright with a startled bark, but Tsume didn’t move. She stared at Shikaku, at the familiar scar tracing its brutal path across his face – a mark she’d always assumed was earned in battle, a badge of honour. Now, knowing its true origin… rage, cold and razor-sharp, flooded her veins. Her vision tunneled, narrowing to Shikaku’s weary profile and that ugly, telling scar. The air crackled with the sudden, visceral shift – the playful huntress replaced by something feral and lethal. Her hands curled into fists, knuckles white.

She watched Shikaku, he had gotten up and was now picking up the pieces of the ceramic, muttering something about Tsume getting her feet off the floor so she wouldn’t step on the shards. Tsume didn’t move. Her knuckles were white against the table edge, claws digging into the wood. The scent of spilled coffee mingled with the sharp tang of her fury. Kuromaru whined low in his throat, pressing closer to Shikaku as if shielding him from the storm brewing in her eyes.

Shikaku sighed, crouching down as he reached over to snag the trash bin that was beside the counter. He dumped the shards he had in his hand into the bin, before going back to picking up the rest of them. He didn’t look at her. "She’d throw things," he said quietly, each piece of ceramic making a thunk noise when he tossed it into the bin. "Plates, kunai... whatever was close. Said I wasn’t listening. Shikamaru..." He paused, jaw tightening. "She never… I never let her do anything to him if I could help it, but that doesn’t mean he never saw or heard."

Tsume’s breath hitched. The image of Shikamaru—small, quiet, sweet, little Shikamaru—witnessing Yoshino’s violence carved a jagged hole in her chest. Her growl ripped through the stillness, low and primal, vibrating in her throat. Kuromaru flattened his ears, pressing harder against Shikaku’s side. Tsume shoved herself away from the table, chair scraping violently against the floor. She paced like a caged predator, claws unsheathed, leaving gouges in the wooden planks. "That bitch," she snarled, voice trembling with barely restrained fury. "She touched my friend. She terrified her own pup." Her gaze snapped to Shikaku, eyes blazing. "Where is she?"

Shikaku watched her for a moment, coffee dripping from his fingers where he had picked up the shards of ceramic. “… last I heard…” he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly with the back of his hand. “… she’s staying at her sister’s place…” he dumped the last shards into the bin, reaching for a handful of rags that were folded neatly on a shelf underneath the counter as he started to clean up the spilled coffee.

Tsume stared at him, her gaze snapping to each scar she could see, and she could see quite a few since he was only dressed in boxers. Some were thin, others thicker, and Shikaku just admitted that all of them were from Yoshino, not from missions like he’d told everyone.

Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but it wasn’t working. Kuromaru whined softly, nudging Shikaku’s hand with his wet nose. Shikaku sighed, wiping his hands dry on one of the rags before scratching Kuromaru behind the ear. “You know, you’re supposed to be this big scary dog,” he murmured, squishing Kuromaru’s face in between his hands. Kuromaru licked Shikaku’s nose, making him chuckle softly.

Tsume’s pacing slowed at the sound of his laugh. She watched him with Kuromaru, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. Kuromaru’s always liked Shikaku, ever since he was a puppy. Shikaku’s hands were steady as he scratched Kuromaru’s ears, but she saw the tremor beneath the surface—the exhaustion that ran deeper than just a sleepless night. Her own claws retracted slowly, leaving gouges in the wood. She’d fix that later. Right now, she needed answers. "All those scars?" she asked quietly, nodding at him. "Every one?"

Shikaku didn’t look up. "Every one." His voice was flat. Kuromaru pressed closer, whining low in his throat. Shikaku’s thumb rubbed under Kuromaru’s eye, cleaning away gunk in the corner of his eye. "The kunai scar on my thigh? She threw it during an argument over dinner. Said I wasn’t listening." He paused, fingers tightening in Kuromaru’s fur. "The burns on my back? Hot tea. Because I came home late from a mission. She doesn’t have good aim, but it always hit, even if it wasn’t in the spot she wanted it to."

Tsume stopped pacing. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the counter. Kuromaru whined again, pressing closer to Shikaku. Tsume’s voice was low, dangerous. "And Shikamaru? Did she ever—" She couldn’t finish the question. 

Shikaku’s silence was answer enough. His jaw clenched. Kuromaru nudged his hand insistently until Shikaku resumed scratching his ears. "Only once," Shikaku finally said, voice rough. "Slapped him for talking back. I was in the kitchen, she and Shikamaru were in the living room. I didn’t have time to put myself between them." His fingers tightened in Kuromaru’s fur.

The air crackled. Tsume’s nails scraped against the countertop. She inhaled sharply, the scent of Shikaku’s pain and Kuromaru’s protective anxiety thick in her nostrils.

Tsume stalked toward Shikaku. She didn’t speak. Instead, she sank to her knees beside him, her calloused hands framing his face as she turned it to make him look at her. Her thumbs brushed the old scars Yoshino had left—thin, pale lines near his temple. Kuromaru huffed softly, pressing his flank against Shikaku’s leg. Tsume leaned in, her forehead touching his. Her breath hitched. "Pack protects pack," she murmured, the words thick with promise.

Shikaku’s features twitched, confusion etching its way onto his face as his brows furrowed slightly, his lips— unconsciously— tilting back down into that pout Tsume had found adorable earlier. 

Tsume tilted her head to the side, her brow raised as she watched him. He stared at her—confusion morphing into curiosity—as her eyes, fierce and unwavering, held his gaze. “You may not have noticed it, Nara, but since the day you dug me and Kuromaru out of that mudslide during the Storm Country mission, you’ve been ours.” Her thumb traced the faded scar on his temple—a jagged, pale pink line— her touch feather-light against his skin. Kuromaru’s low rumble vibrated against Shikaku’s thigh, a canine affirmation echoing Tsume’s claim.

A flicker of surprise widened Shikaku’s dark eyes, chased by a slow, weary understanding. He leaned into Tsume’s palm, the tension in his shoulders easing as Kuromaru’s warmth seeped through his skin. “Mudslide… That was fifteen years ago, Tsume,” he murmured, his voice rough with disbelief. Yet the memory surfaced—Tsume, pinned and cursing beneath debris, Kuromaru frantic beside her. Shikaku had been the one to dig her out, leaving both of them and the dog covered in mud, leaves, thorns, and bruises. He hadn’t known then that loyalty could root itself so deeply, silently, like wild ivy climbing stone.

Tsume watched him, watching as something in his eyes shifted, it was the same calculation she sees every time she looks at him, but there was something… more? More as if she could see his brain working. The micro twitches in his features, the way his pupils contracted and expanded as his brain analyzed, dissected, and processed each of her words.

Shikaku watched her. He felt his own brain over processing her words, something at the back of his mind niggling. His gaze had tunneled on the woman kneeling before him. Mudslide. Fifteen years. He’d pulled her free, her leg pinned under a fallen tree, Kuromaru frantic beside her. He remembered the rain, the mud sucking at his boots, her hand gripping his arm with surprising strength even then. He hadn’t thought much of it beyond completing the mission, returning the Inuzuka heir safely.

Tsume’s thumb traced the ridge of his temple scar—a souvenir from Yoshino throwing a porcelain vase—. His breath hitched, he felt like he could feel everything and nothing at once. 

He could feel his pupils contracting and expanding, every little micro twitch, every shift in Kuromaru’s low growl beside him. It wasn’t just analysis; it was sensation crashing over him like a physical wave—the rough pad of her thumb, the heat radiating from her palm, the faint scent of pine and dog. 

Fifteen years. That mission. The mud, the frantic whine of Kuromaru as he tried to dig her out, the terrifying stillness of her leg pinned under debris. He’d focused only on extraction protocols then, compartmentalizing her pain, her fear. Now, those memories flooded back, raw and unfiltered. 

The sheer, desperate grip of her hand on his forearm as he levered the tree off her, the mud plastering her hair to her face, the wild, relieved flash in her eyes when she saw him. 

Loyalty. Pack loyalty. It hadn’t been gratitude; it had been a claim staked in that moment of shared survival, silent and absolute all these years.

Shikaku felt everything tunneling into the woman in front of him, she was being surprisingly gentle, and idly he registered that his heart was racing.

Yoshino was never like this. Yoshino would push for more, demand more, take more.

Shikaku analyzed his body until his brain felt like it was going to fry itself as he felt himself melt like putty into Tsume’s touch.

Yoshino was never this gentle with him, never this...affectionate.

Tsume’s thumbs traced small circles on the skin of his cheeks, her nails gently scraping his skin and sending shivers down his spine. He felt his breath hitch in his throat, he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He stared at her, his chest rising and falling with each breath, trying to process what was happening. The room felt hotter than ever, and the ceiling fan didn’t seem to be helping.

Tsume continued to look at him, her hand moving to his cheek, brushing away an eyelash from his cheekbone.

Shikaku continued to stare at Tsume, feeling like something… something in his body was going tight, so taught it could stop one of Minato’s Rasengan’s. Whatever it was stretched, and stretched, and stretched like it was made out of elastic before it snapped, snapping in half like a dry twig.

“… Tsume,” Shikaku finally spoke, and… that did not sound like himself. His voice was thick, rough, like gravel dragged over wet earth. It was low and… vulnerable. He didn’t recognize it. His hands, which had been resting limply on his knees, twitched. He wanted… something. To touch the pulse hammering in Tsume’s throat? To bury his fingers in the thick mane of her hair? To just… hold onto something solid as the world tilted? He didn’t know. The elastic snap inside him hadn’t released tension; it had unleashed a torrent of sensation. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed. “… I think I just… fixated… on you…”

Tsume’s answering grin was slow, predatory, and utterly triumphant. She slid her hand from his cheek down to cradle the back of his neck, fingers tangling slightly in the hair at his nape. 

The growl that rumbled in her chest was pure satisfaction, vibrating against his skin where her other hand rested flat against his collarbone. “Took you long enough, Nara,” she murmured, her voice a husky purr. “Fifteen years is a hell of a hunt. But the best prey is always worth the chase.” Her thumb swept over the sensitive skin beneath his ear, and he felt the shiver travel straight down his spine.

Kuromaru, who had been watching with unnerving stillness, let out a low, approving *woof*. The sound broke the intensity just enough for Shikaku to draw a ragged breath, the scent of Tsume – wild earth, lightning storms, and something uniquely canine – filling his lungs. His own hands finally moved, hovering uncertainly before settling hesitantly on her waist. The fabric of her night shirt was thin beneath his palms, the warmth of her skin seeping through. "Tsume," he managed, the name rough, unfamiliar in this context.

Her grin widened, sharp teeth flashing. "Yeah, you big, dumb genius?" She leaned in, her forehead almost touching his. "Got something to say now that you're not overthinking it into next year?" Her breath was warm against his lips, carrying the faintest hint of the cheap whiskey they'd shared hours ago. The possessive grip on his neck tightened just a fraction, a silent demand.

Shikaku’s only answer was him jolting forward, knocking both of them to the floor as he kissed her like he’s taking his first breath. Tsume met him halfway, her growl dissolving into a muffled sound of triumph as she hooked a leg around his waist, rolling them so he was pinned beneath her. Her claws scratched down the wooden floor beneath them as she braced herself over him, her lips demanding, teeth nipping at his lower lip until he gasped. Kuromaru circled them once before settling nearby with a huff, ears perked as if guarding their tangled limbs and frantic hands.

———————————————

Shikamaru shifted where he was sitting in the grass in front of Shizune. Naruto had convinced him to do the poison ninja wire in their hair.

Naruto was sitting across from him in front of Tsunade, with Tonton in her lap as the two ladies worked on their hair. Shikamaru felt the cool slide of Shizune's fingers parting his dark strands, the faint herbal scent of the paralytic salve she applied to the ninja wire filling the air before weaving it into his hair. The wire felt cold against his scalp. He stole a glance at Naruto, whose crimson waterfall of hair already shimmered with three thin silver strands braided near her left temple. She caught his look and grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "Told ya it'd look awesome, dattebayo!" Tonton oinked in agreement from her lap.

Shikamaru gave her a small smile, looking away. The wire wasn’t why he was shifting and fidgety. He just knew something happened, he can’t prove it, but he knows something happened. Happening.

———————————————

Hana and Tsume stare at each other for a good five minutes after Shikaku Nara— begrudgingly— left so he could help Asuma with her Hokage duties— since this morning at five AM, I got awful time, he’s legally the new Hokage— Hana had gotten home from her sleepover with Izumi just before Shikaku had left, seeing him kiss her mom about fifty times as he tried to force him to leave.

The silence was thick, heavy, the only sounds the occasional tap of their ninken’s nails on the hardwood floor.

Then… Hana let out a sound that was in between a shriek and a squeal, grinning like she’d just been told she was getting a puppy. She bounced on her heels, her own ninken, the three-headed Kamamaru, barking excitedly at her feet. "Mom! You and Shikaku? Like-like-like-like— LIKE YOU FINALLY GOT YOUR DREAM MAN?" Her voice rose to a pitch that made Tsume wince.

Tsume crossed her arms, leaning back against the kitchen counter where Shikaku’s coffee mug still sat. Her grin was smug, predatory. "About damn time," she muttered, eyes narrowed in satisfaction. Kuromaru nudged her leg, tail wagging like a metronome.

Tsume played it cool for about five more seconds before she got just as excited, if not more so than Hana. She grabbed her daughter's shoulders, shaking her slightly. "OH! MY! GOD! I don’t know what the hell I did, but he told me he FIXATED on ME! ME!" she yelled, her voice bouncing off the walls. The ninken started barking madly, joining in the chaos. Tsume let go of Hana and did a little victory dance right there in the kitchen, her bare feet slapping the floor as she pumped her fists in the air. "Fifteen years! Worth every damn minute!" Her laughter was loud and infectious, echoing through the house.

Hana joined her, the two of them jumping around like kids who’d just pulled off the ultimate prank. The ninken circled them, tails wagging furiously, adding to the joyful noise. “So, when’s the wedding?” Hana shouted over the barking, her grin wide enough to split her face. Tsume snorted, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Slow down, pup. We’ve got time. He’s got to get used to being hunted properly first.” She paused, her expression softening slightly. “But… he fit. Like he was meant to be here all along.”

Kuromaru nudged Tsume’s hand again, his wet nose pressing against her palm. She looked down at him, meeting his steady gaze. He gave a soft *woof*, and she knew exactly what he meant. *Pack*. Shikaku was pack, bound tighter than any jutsu could manage. The thought warmed her more than any victory dance ever could. She crouched, scratching behind his ears. “Yeah, boy. We’ll keep him.”

Chapter Text

“HAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! Little Itachi!” Shisui climbed through Itachi’s window, nearly slamming his face into the floor when he lost his balance on the window seal and tripped. He scrambled up, grinning sheepishly at Itachi’s unimpressed stare.

Itachi was sitting at his desk, his new glasses— half-rim frames, rectangle shaped, red colored glasses— on. They even had eyeglass chains attached to them. To Shisui, he looks like a particularly pretty librarian. "You could use the door, Shisui."

Shisui brushed dust off his knees. "Where's the fun in that?" He flopped onto Itachi's bed, scattering a few scrolls that had been neatly stacked there. "Besides, I heard that Hiruzen-sama forced you to get some specs! That’s why you haven’t been on any Anbu missions. Let me see!" He leaned forward, squinting. “Huh… yeah, you look like a little librarian. Kinda cute.”

Itachi sighed, adjusting the thin frames. The lenses sharpened the edges of Shisui’s grin, the faint scar near his eyebrow. "They are functional. Hiruzen-sama insisted after… an incident… with my Sharingan." His voice was flat, but a flicker of irritation tightened his jaw. He still doesn’t know how the third found out about his… vision problems, or the fact he had an illness— apparently pneumonia according to the doctor he was forced to go to— he hadn’t told anyone, not even his mother. He’d hidden it well, he thought.

Shisui stared at him for a moment, realization flashing before he rolled onto his stomach, not pressing it as he propped his chin on his hands. "Incident? Did you accidentally glare a training dummy to death?" He chuckled, kicking his legs lazily in the air. "Seriously though, you look… different. Scholarly. Like you’re about to shush someone." His dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Bet Sasuke’s been teasing you rotten."

Itachi remained impassive, but his fingers tightened slightly on the book he’d been reading. "Sasuke finds it… amusing." His younger brother had spent dinner mimicking him adjusting imaginary glasses, much to Mikoto’s gentle chiding. The memory prickled. He focused on Shisui’s easy sprawl, the way his hitai-ate was already askew. "Why are you here, Shisui? It’s late."

“Ran into your mama in town, she was hanging out with other ladies and she was drunk as a skunk,” Shisui admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “She asked me to check on you. Said you’ve been… extra quiet the past couple weeks.” He tilted his head, studying Itachi’s face. “You okay?”

Itachi adverted his gaze from the older, turning his attention back to the book he has read about a hundred times in the past three years. The characters blurred slightly before snapping back into focus behind the lenses. *Extra quiet.* Mikoto noticed. Of course she did. “I’m fine,” he stated, his voice carefully neutral. “I’m just… debating on something that will be beneficial to the clan.”

Shisui swung his legs off the bed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a sharpness Itachi rarely saw outside the training grounds. “Beneficial how?” he asked softly. “You’ve got that look—the one right before you rearrange the entire sparring field.” He tapped his temple. “Genius brain working overtime. Spill it.”

Itachi sighed, reaching out to close the warn book. He had borrowed it from Naruto’s library in the Uzumaki compound a month after his father passed and he became the next clan head, and just… never returned it.

He ran his fingers over the worn leather, tracing the gold plating at the corners and what spelt the title of the book. The cool metal felt grounding against his skin. "Chakra Adoption:," the title read. "The Uzumaki Clan’s Art of Binding Souls."

Chakra adoption. The process of where one or more clans can share their chakra, and if it’s the shared chakra of both clans— it can be either an entire clan or just one separate person, or hell, just a few people— will mingle and mixed together like oil and water in their chakra system, or one clan can share their chakra with another and it will overtake the chakra system or the other party member. Over the next couple of days, the person’s chakra system that had been overtaken will be pretty much unable to use any chakra while their system recalibrates, essentially.

Chakra adoption and Chakra adoption by The Uzumaki Clan’s Art of Binding Souls, are two completely different things.

The Uzumaki Clan’s Art of Binding Souls is the same thing as regular chakra adoption, but it’s stronger you could say, basically fusing the two clans into one, but never completely overpowering the person’s original biology. Just mixing the both of them. The original clan a person came from will always be at the forefront. 

A Binding will mix their features, their types of chakra, their abilities, they’d be a mix of Uzumaki and whatever clan was binding with them. If one clan did the Binding Souls ritual with the Uzumaki, they’d still be their own clan, they’d still be the original clan, but they’d be bonded by chakra and souls, they’d become something stronger, something more.

Itachi sighed again, this time longer, louder as he turned his head to look at Shisui, covering the front of the book so his eavesdropper couldn’t see the cover. “A type of beneficial that will help our clan more than anyone could believe, but it’s a type of beneficial I know a lot of our clan are going to hate.” He pushed his glasses up enough just to rub at his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since my father… passed—” if you can even call something biting half of his head off in his sleep passing. “— but no matter how much I think about it, I know there’s going to be a lot of backlash from my own people.”

Shisui leaned forward, his playful demeanor vanishing. “Backlash? For what? You’re the clan head, Itachi. You don’t need their permission.” He paused, studying Itachi’s tense shoulders. “Come on, Tachi. Talk to me. What’s eating you?” His voice softened, genuine concern cutting through the usual teasing.

Itachi chewed on his bottom lip, tapping his fingers in a rhythm against the book under his palm as his gaze snapped in between Shisui’s dark eyes and the worn leather cover. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of secrets and clan politics. “… I want… to make the Uchiha into a sister clan… by… Chakra Adoption…”

Shisui blinked. Once. Twice. Then his jaw dropped. “You— you want to—?” He scrambled off the bed, pacing the small room like a caged hawk. “Tachi, that’s— that’s insane! Binding our chakra to another clan? Permanently? That’s not just backlash, that’s— that’s heresy to half the elders! They’ll scream you’re diluting the Sharingan! Betraying our ancestors!” He stopped abruptly, gripping the windowsill. “Which clan?” His voice was strained. “Please tell me it’s not the Hyūga.” He let go of the windowsill, pacing again.

“NO! God know it’s not the Hyūga!” Itachi nearly fell out of his rolling chair with how fast he spun around to face Shisui, his glasses slipping down his nose. He pushed them back up with a trembling finger. “It’s… Naru-Chan’s clan.” His voice dropped to a whisper, thick with nerves. “The Uzumaki. I-I want… want the Uchiha to… have a Binding Souls ritual to the Uzumaki Clan…”

Shisui froze mid-pace, his dark eyes widening impossibly. For a moment, the only sound was Itachi’s shallow breathing and the distant cry of a hawk outside. Then Shisui slowly sank onto the edge of the bed, his face pale. “… Oh.” He swallowed hard. “Oh, Tachi. That’s… bigger than heresy. That’s… rewriting our entire clan’s existence.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. “Why? Why now? Why *them*?”

Itachi’s knuckles whitened around the book. “Because we’re… the Uchiha are treated like we’re cursed. Like we’re monsters.” He gestured weakly toward the window, toward the village beyond the compound. “The elders whisper about power, about restoring our ‘glory,’ but it’s just… more isolation. More fear.” He met Shisui’s stunned gaze. “Naruto understands that. She lives it. The Uzumaki… they bind things. Souls. Chakra. They don’t just take—they *share*. Imagine… if we bind us to her clan, no more Sharingan eyes that don’t demand blindness as payment. Hearts that aren’t shackled to hatred.” His voice dropped to a raw whisper. “I’m tired of watching my clan suffocate in its own pride, Shisui. Pride is what is killing us the most, the Uchiha, because that’s the only thing we know what to be, prideful and with an ego bigger than the Hokage Monument.”

Itachi swallows hard, his voice shaking as he forces out the next words. “They wouldn’t be able to take our eyes. The Sharingan, even if we died with it activated, nobody would be able to take them. They’d be sealed, sealed with an Uzumaki seal, in us, unable to be stolen. Not even our own kind, our own blood would be able to take them.” He looks down at his trembling hands. “Our eyes would be ours forever.”

Shisui’s breath hitched. He stared at Itachi, really stared, seeing the dark circles beneath the younger’s eyes, the slight tremor in his hands where they gripped the book. It wasn’t just about blindness, hatred, curses anymore. It was about protection. About preventing another Madara. About keeping their *cursed* eyes from ever falling into enemy hands again. The sheer magnitude of it hit him like a kunai to the gut. “Sealed… forever?” he breathed, the heresy suddenly morphing into terrifying necessity.

Itachi nodded, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in his obsidian eyes. “Imagine it, Shisui. No more stolen eyes fueling wars. No more fear of betrayal from within. Our legacy… locked away safely.”

He surged to his feet, pacing again, faster this time. “The elders… they’ll scream betrayal. ‘Diluting the bloodline!’ ‘Surrendering Uchiha supremacy!’” He mimicked their shrill voices with biting sarcasm. Then he stopped abruptly, turning back to Itachi, his expression hardening. “But… they’re fools. Blind fools clinging to ash. If this… this Binding… stops the theft, stops the cycle…” He ran a hand through his messy curls, tugging at them. “Madara took his brother’s eyes, Itachi. *His own brother’s.*” The raw horror in his voice filled the quiet room. “If sealing our eyes with Uzumaki power stops that… the elders will have to see the-the *necessity*.”

Itachi watched him, the faintest flicker of relief softening the tension around his own eyes. Shisui’s understanding was a fragile bridge over the chasm of doubt. “They will resist,” Itachi murmured, his voice low but firm. “Violently. They see power only as dominance, control. The Sharingan’s curse… they wear it like a crown, Shisui. They don’t see the chains.”

Shisui slumped back onto the windowsill, the moonlight catching the new lenses of Itachi’s glasses. “So we show them,” he said, a spark of his old recklessness igniting. “Not with words. With *proof*.”

Shisui leaned forward, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the sill. "Proof," he breathed, the word sharp as kunai. "Not just Naruto’s Clan, not just the stuff you can read about them being able to do. *You*. Show them what it costs to cling to blindness." His gaze dropped to Itachi's trembling hands, the subtle way he favored his left eye. "Let them see the Clan Head stumbling in shadows. Let Mikoto-sama speak of the pain. Make it undeniable." A fierce grin cut across Shisui's face. "Then... we offer the Binding not as surrender, but as liberation. A shield forged from Uzumaki resilience. Tell them it's the only way to ensure their precious eyes—their *power*—survives intact for generations. Frame it as their victory."

Itachi closed his eyes, absorbing the brutal pragmatism. Exposing his weakness felt like baring his throat, but Shisui was right. The elders revered strength above all. Seeing their strongest falter… it might crack their certainty. "The Sharingan's deterioration," he murmured, "is their deepest fear." He opened his eyes, meeting Shisui’s fierce stare. “We weaponize it.”

Shisui watched him, fingers tightening where they gripped the window seal before he pushed off and knelt beside Itachi. “You’re clan head,” he said softly, the words heavy with unspoken history. “No matter what the elders say, you have the last word. You’ll have Mikoto-sama’s support, Sasuke’s loyalty, and mine.” He paused, letting the weight of that settle. “But you’re right. They’ll fight. They’ll call it sacrilege. They’ll say you’re spitting on Fugaku-sama’s grave.” His voice hardened. “So we don’t ask. We show them the cost of refusal. We make them *see*.”

Itachi’s gaze drifted to the blurred outline of the Nara Forest beyond the compound walls, watching the outlines of the monsters that live in it flit through the trees, listening to the faint sounds the Uchiha compound was able to hear the monsters make. The glasses Hiruzen had commissioned for him sharpened the world into painful clarity—a reminder of what he was losing. "Show them," he murmured, the words tasting like ash.

“… Tachi…” Shisui reached out, grabbing Itachi‘s hands, his gaze flicking to the book on Itachi’s desk, “You… you have the-the book. The… hell, what’s it called? The record? The Uzumaki Clan’s Art of Binding Souls. You have the records of who performed it. Show me what we will be asking Naruto to make us, show me what we will become… has…? Has a Uchiha even ever went through a Binding? Will we be the first?” Shisui’s voice trembled slightly, his eyes flitting in between Itachi’s, “Will we be the first to do the Binding?”

Itachi flinched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped Shisui’s hands back. He pulled one hand free, fingers trembling as he reached for the thick, leather-bound book. “Four…” He flipped it open to a page marked by a crimson ribbon. “… Four known Uchiha have done the Binding.” His voice was a ghost of sound. “Shizuno Uchiha… Sakizumi Uchiha… Harasone Uchiha… Rishiro Uchiha…” he read their names from faded ink, tracing the dates.

“Bastard children, born from an affair and left to rot after the husband of the mother of the children found out the children were not his, saved by a traveling Uzumaki. All of them did a Binding over a century ago. They were called… Uchizamaki.” Itachi swallowed hard. “Their Sharingan remained… but they gained… the Uzumaki… Uchiha’s with Uzumaki chakra reserves… Uzumaki longevity… Uzumaki everything…” His eyes flicked up, meeting Shisui’s. “They became something… more.”

Itachi hesitated for a moment, his finger scratching the corner of the page before he flipped a few pages and picked up the book, holding it in front of Shisui. "Look," he breathed, pointing to a detailed sketch. "The Uchiha... after the Binding." The illustration showed four figures, very obviously Uchiha, doll-like, milky pale skin, with soft, delicate looking features and dark hair, but… also not Uchiha. They looked… Foxish— beauty meant to lure people away— their dark hair having a deep, dark red shine to it, their eyes sharpened, cat-like pupils slitted, their teeth sharpened. 

Beside each illustration was an illustration of the Sharingan, all in different stages of Tomoe, all of them blazing like a Uchiha’s Sharingan, but swirling within the tomoe were faint, intricate seal-like patterns.

Itachi traced the description beneath. “And… like I said, we’d keep our eyes. They’d be sealed, sealed with an Uzumaki seal, in us, unable to be stolen. Not even our own kind, our own blood would be able to take them.” Itachi took a deep breath, his finger digging into the crude drawing of a fox in the corner of the page. “Our eyes would be ours forever…”

He flipped a couple more pages, the pages slowly looking, newer and newer, until Itachi got close to the back of the book, and he jabbed his finger roughly against the paper. "… Harasone lived to be two hundred and twenty-three. Died protecting his partner during the First Shinobi War. But in the description it says he would’ve lived for much longer with how his body was acting as if it was still young.”

“Though he didn’t even die from an enemy, he died from summoning the Death Reaper so many times… yeah… he summoned the Death Reaper more than once and didn’t die the first time, he summoned it ninety-eight times before he died, before the Death God finally managed to kill him.” Itachi let out a slightly hysteric laugh. “He summoned the Shinigami ninety-eight times and lived through it. The Death God. The Death God that was supposed to eat his soul as the cost for summoning him failed to kill Harasone ninety-seven times… ninety-seven times…”

Shisui stared at the page, there was a sketch of Harasone Uchizamaki, but there was also a shaky photo of the man, hands poised in the summoning signs, grinning like a mad man with long hair that touch the ground, hair that pooled around his feet in multiple-multiple-multiple feet behind him whipping around him. Colors in crimsons, pinks, and oranges painted on his entire body in swirls and patterns as the Death God himself formed behind his back, a giant creature with one massive hand clutching Harasone’s shoulder, the other holding a tantō held up to its mouth. Harasone’s eyes were ablaze with crimson Sharingan, but swirling within the tomoe were intricate Uzumaki seals, glowing gold. He looked... exhilarated. Unbreakable. "Ninety-eight times," Shisui breathed, the number lodging in his throat like a stone.

The sheer impossibility of it – defying the Shinigami itself, the ultimate price – sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with awe. This wasn't dilution; it was transcendence. The seals etched into those Sharingan weren't just locks; they were armor forged in defiance of death.

*He defied the Shinigami itself, ninety-seven times.* The implications crashed over him—strength beyond Uchiha legend, resilience woven with Uzumaki fury. Another shiver traced Shisui's spine. Liberation. Protection. *Power.* The elders’ cries of "dilution" suddenly sounded like the terrified chirping of sparrows before a storm. He traced the sketch with a fingertip, the paper rough under his touch. “Ninety-eight summons… and the Shinigami couldn’t claim him until he *allowed* it?” His voice was barely a whisper, thick with disbelief as he read the scribbled notes beneath the faded photograph and sketch: *The Man Who Held the Death God’s gaze. Chose the ninety-eighth to go out in a blaze of glory.*

Itachi nodded once, a sharp, precise movement. The lenses of his new glasses caught the dim light, hiding the exhaustion in his eyes. “Harasone-san understood the Binding’s true gift. It wasn’t immortality. It was *choice*. The Shinigami demanded a soul. The Binding gave him the strength to offer… something else.” He tapped the edge of the sketch where Harasone’s grin was wild, unrepentant. “His chakra. His vitality. Paid in installments over decades. The seals anchored him, made his soul… slippery. Uncatchable.” He paused, letting the horrifying, exhilarating truth hang between them. “Only finally giving up his soul when he wanted to, not when Death demanded it. The elders fear losing purity. They don’t see we’re drowning in it. This?” He gestured at the picture and sketch. “This is freedom.”

Shisui stared at the image – the defiant posture, the glowing seals within the Sharingan pupils, the spectral Shinigami looming like a frustrated shadow. A choked laugh escaped him. “Uncatchable,” he echoed, the word tasting strange, potent. “They’d call it blasphemy. Perverting the natural order.” His gaze snapped back to Itachi, sharpening. “But you’re right. We’re suffocating in our own ‘purity’. Blindness, stolen eyes, this… *rot* festering inside us.” He clenched his fist, knuckles white. “How do we make them see? Mikoto… she’ll understand. Sasuke…” He trailed off, picturing his younger cousin’s fierce pride. “He’ll fight it. Hard.”

Itachi leaned forward, poking Shisui in the head with two fingers. “Remember,” he murmured, eyes sparking with grim amusement behind his lenses, hearing a shriek come from the Nara forest— he kind of feels bad for the newbies being forced to walk through the forest—. “Sasuke shined for Naruto, and that Nara boy, he’ll jump at the opportunity to be stronger for her. Them. We weaponize their obsessions.” His gaze drifted toward the window, where distant shouts echoed from the reopened Nara Forest. “We start with my mom. In the morning. She’s Naruto’s godmother. Her grief over Kushina… it’s a wound that never closed. We show her Kushina’s daughter can be the anchor that saves her remaining family.”

Shisui rubbed his forehead where Itachi had poked him. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. “Alright, Itachi. We play their game. But when Sasuke finds out you’re planning to bind the entire clan to his precious Naruto?” He chuckled darkly. “He’s going to try to stab you. Again.” He paused, tapping his chin. “Actually, he might stab me first for knowing and not stopping you. Worth it, though. Imagine Kakashi’s face when he realizes his cute little Neko will have the Uchiha wrapped around her finger—literally.” He sobered slightly, glancing toward the forest’s edge where distant shouts still echoed. “Just… try not to get us both killed before breakfast, yeah?”

Itachi adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the fading light. “Sasuke… will understand. He’ll be upset he’s not the only one bound to her.” His voice was low, thoughtful. “But he’ll understand the bigger picture even if he rages or threatens us with mutilation first.” He paused, listening to the distant shouts from the Nara Forest – hearing a girlish shriek that definitely came from a man, accompanied by the lazy irritated yell of a Nara. “Kakashi… will panic. He’s been protecting Naruto for years. This will terrify him, but he’ll be fine.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “And if Sasuke stabs you? Consider it motivation to dodge faster.”

Shisui snorted, leaning back until he sat fully on the ground beside Itachi. “Motivation? More like incentive to wear thicker armor.” He watched the shadows beyond the compound stretch and move. “So, Mikoto first. We appeal to her grief, her love for Kushina… and her fear of losing Sasuke to the same darkness that consumed Fugaku.” He turned back to Itachi, rubbing his face roughly. “Fuck, man, you’re one hell of a clan head. Turning our curse into a weaponized insurance policy.” He sighed, a long, weary sound. “Alright. Tomorrow. We talk to Mikoto. Then Sasuke. Then figure out how to convince the rest of the clan. Then talke to… Naruto when she and that Nara boy get back to the village.” The name hung heavy in the air. “Hope she doesn’t kick our asses.”

Itachi nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a deliberate motion. The lenses caught the last glint of sunset, flashing crimson for a fleeting second. “She might. She’s Kushina’s daughter.” He paused, listening intently. The shrieks from the Nara Forest had turned into terrified sobs. “She’s strong enough to handle the truth. And the Binding.” His gaze drifted towards the village gates, unseen beyond the Uchiha compound walls. “Strong enough to carry us all.”

———————————————

Mizuki’s eye twitched, and he forced down a growl as he waved back at Anko, Ibiki, and Iruka, who was sitting at an outside table at a bar, quite excitedly and oh so loudly waving him over, the three of them being drunker than a pack of monkeys on fermented peaches. He plastered on a smile that felt like rusty nails scraping against bone. "Evening," he said, his voice smooth as poisoned silk. "Enjoying yourselves?"

Ibiki grunted, swirling his sake cup. The flickering lantern light deepened the shadows of his scars, making him look like a carved nightmare. "Mizuki," he rumbled, his gaze sharp despite the alcohol. "Join us. We’re celebrating… uhhh…" He trailed off, squinting at Anko.

Anko slammed her palm on the table, rattling empty bottles. "Tuesday!" she crowed, cheeks flushed. Her snake tattoo seemed to writhe in the dimness. "And Ibiki finally admitted he’s scared of squirrels! Little fluffy-tailed demons, he called 'em!" She dissolved into giggles, leaning heavily against Iruka.

Ibiki squawked and Iruka beamed up at Mizuki, his scar crinkling warmly. He gestured sloppily at the spare stool. "Sit, Mizuki! Ibiki’s buying!" His words slurred slightly, thick with liquor. "Tell us about your day! Anything exciting?"

Mizuki’s smile tightened. *Exciting?* Only the slow poison of resentment bubbling beneath his skin. He slid onto the stool, the wood creaking under his weight. "Ah, just the usual," he lied smoothly, pouring himself a cup of sake he didn’t want. “Doing paperwork, looking over the list of Academy…” he trailed off for a second, forcing a concerned expression. “… speaking of academy students, I haven’t seen or heard Naruto running around for the past couple of weeks. That’s unusual.”

Iruka looks at him funny for a moment as Anko and Ibiki finally stop laughing. Ibiki looks over, words slurring as he speaks. “Lil’ Neko?” He murmured as Anko loses her balance where she was propping her chin up in her hand, her forehead nearly slamming into the table.

“Oh yeah… that’s right!” Iruka smacks his lips as he takes another sip of his drink, swaying slightly. “You weren’t at the Academy for the last two weeks of classes. Naru-Chan graduated early! She’s on a training trip with Shikamaru Nara, and two of the Sannin, Lady Tsunade-Sama and Jiraiya-Sama.” He beams proudly, ignoring Mizuki’s sudden stillness. “She’s going to be an amazing Kunoichi!”

Ibiki leans forward, his scarred face inches from Mizuki’s. The scent of cheap sake hangs heavy between them. “That’s right. You weren’t with us when we celebrated.” His voice drops to a gravelly whisper. “She’s been away from the village for a couple weeks, surprised you didn’t notice she was gone.” Anko giggles, her bracelets clattering against the table as she gestures wildly. “Little fox girl’s gonna come back stronger than ever! Bet she’ll kick your ass in sparring someday, Mizuki-sensei!” Her violet hair sticks to her cheek where she’d slumped earlier.

Mizuki’s knuckles whiten around his untouched glass. He forces a thin smile. “Is that so? How... fortunate for her.” Beneath the table, his foot taps a frantic rhythm. Naruto. Gone. Training with Sannin. The thought coils in his gut like spoiled ramen noodles. He’d planned to corner her after graduation, use her loneliness like a key to the scroll vaults. Now she’s beyond reach, surrounded by legends. His fingers itch for the kunai hidden beneath his flak jacket.

Anko laughs loudly at something Iruka said that Mizuki didn’t catch, her head lolling against Ibiki’s shoulder. Ibiki doesn’t react, his dark eyes fixed on Mizuki’s face like a hawk watching prey. "Celebrated hard," Ibiki slurs, tapping his scarred temple. "Little Neko’s got claws now. Sharp ones." He grins, a jagged thing. "You should’ve seen her last spar before leaving. Broke three training posts. The Nara boy looked like he saw an angel.”

“OH! Those two are so in love! The Anbu Princess and the Prince of Shadows!” Anko singsongs, sloshing her drink. Ibiki’s chuckle rumbles like distant thunder. “Prince? That lazy brat?” He shakes his head, but there’s a rare warmth in his eyes. “Kid’s got fire when Naruto’s involved. Saw him shadow-strangle a training dummy clean in half after she tripped.”

Mizuki’s smile feels brittle, ready to crack. *Training with Sannin. Protected. Loved.* The words burn. His chance—the demon brat’s vulnerability—slipping away like smoke.

Then what Anko had called Naruto hit him in the face like a brick. “I beg your pardon— what?!— Anbu princess?” He choked out. His fingers tightened around his untouched drink until the glass groaned in protest. The title was absurd. Impossible. Yet Ibiki’s scarred face held no trace of a joke. Only grim pride.

“SHHHHHHHHH!” Both Anko and Iruka shushed him while laughing like banshees. “Shhhh, Mizuki, secret, shhhhhhhhh…” Iruka giggled, leaning precariously on Mizuki’s shoulder. Ibiki’s grin widened, predatory. “Little Neko’s special,” he murmured, low enough that Mizuki had to strain to hear over the bar’s noise. “Got her own Anbu. Not assigned. *Hers*. Like the Hokage’s shadows. That’s what she’s got. An’ the Princess part came from her being able to tell the shadows apart. Every single one. Even when they try to hide.” Ibiki leaned closer, his breath thick with sake. “She knows where they are. Always. Few of my boys have said she just kind of… angles herself towards ‘em without looking. Like she’s saying ‘I see you’. Freaks ‘em out.” He chuckled, a rough sound. “Smart little beast.” He smacks his lips a couple times, taking another sip of his drink before continuing. “Knows names to, she can’t just tell them apart when they’re in gear, she knows who they are without them telling her.”

Mizuki’s knuckles whitened under the table where he gripped his thigh. His forced smile felt like cracked porcelain. *Her own Anbu? Impossible.* He’d planned everything—the isolation, the whispers, the trap laid. But this… this changed everything. If she commanded shadows… if she saw through deception… his carefully constructed hatred curdled into cold dread. He pictured Naruto—those unnerving, slitted blue eyes—turning towards him knowingly. *She sees*. The thought was ice down his spine.

He forced a chuckle, brittle and hollow. “That’s… incredible,” he managed, voice tight. “Naruto always was… unique.” He lifted his untouched sake to his lips, needing the burn to ground him. Anko slumped forward, kicking her feet. Iruka patted Mizuki’s arm affectionately, oblivious. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Iruka slurred, eyes shining with pride. “Our little problem child… all grown up…”

Anko hiccuped, pushing herself to the side and slumping, leaning heavily on Iruka. “AnyyyyYyYyyYyyYyyyyyyyyyyyyYYYYYYYwaysSSSSSSsssSssSs!” She slurred, waving her arms wildly. “Ibiki! You were telling me and Iruka something before we saw Mizuki!” She leaned forward, pointing at Ibiki. “What was it! You were laughing like a hyena!” She grinned drunkenly. “Something about squirrels!”

Ibiki’s expression twisted, murmuring something about squirrels as he looked confused for about a good thirty seconds before he busted out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Oh gods,” Ibiki wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “The-the-the— Itachi’s younger brother— i’m the one teaching swears to Sasuke!” He slurred, pointing at himself proudly. “He’s learning them so fast!” Ibiki leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “I got security footage of him calling my men ‘bitch ass motherfuckers’!” He giggled drunkenly. “He’s so cute!”

Anko burst into laughter, kicking her feet wildly. “Oh gods!” She gasped. “Iruka! Did you hear that?” She turned to Iruka, who was staring at Ibiki with wide eyes. “Ibiki! You’re teaching Sasuke swears?” Iruka asked, horrified. Ibiki nodded proudly. “Yes! He’s learning them so fast!” Ibiki slurred. “He’s so cute!” He giggled again.

“You’re the one who’s teaching my baby swears!” A very drunk woman’s voice yelled from behind Ibiki, and the man straightened up as if he had been electrocuted. Mikoto Uchiha was across the road, surrounded by a gaggle of her friends that were just as drunk as her. She pointed at Ibiki with a wobbly finger, her cheeks flushed pink. “You! You’re teaching Sasuke curse words!” Mikoto stomped over to their table, her friends trailing behind her. Ibiki froze, his face paling.

He looked like he was about to stumble over an exclamation, an apology perhaps when he got a lap full of a very pretty, very, very, very pretty Mikoto dressed in a tight, sparkly dress, when the woman stumbled, falling into his.

Mikoto didn’t seem to care as she laughed, draping herself over Ibiki’s lap. Mikoto looked up at Ibiki once she had settled, her friends— who were dressed just as her for a night out on the town— giggling and whispering behind her. Mikoto’s gaze traced Ibiki’s face, a slow, drunken smirk spreading across her face. “Hey handsome,” Mikoto whispered, her voice husky and low. “You’re Ibiki, right? The scary Torture and Interrogation guy?” Mikoto asked, her fingers tracing patterns on Ibiki’s thigh. “You know,” Mikoto whispered, “I think you’re kinda cute.” Mikoto giggled, her cheeks flushed pink as her head rested against Ibiki’s bicep.

Ibiki froze even further, looking like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Anko choked on her drink, spraying sake across the table while Iruka stared in slack-jawed disbelief. Mizuki’s eyes widened, his knuckles whitening around his glass. Mikoto Uchiha—*the* Mikoto Uchiha—was flirting with Ibiki Morino.

Her fingers trailed higher on Ibiki’s thigh, dangerously close to his hip. "Scary guys," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear, "are my favorite kind." Her friends erupted into drunken giggles, one whispering loudly, "Go get him, Mikoto-chan!"

Ibiki remained frozen, his scarred face unreadable except for the faint tightening around his eyes, his ears burning such a bright shade of crimson that it clashed violently with his scars. Mikoto’s fingers danced higher, tracing the seam of his trousers. "You know," she slurred, leaning so close her lips brushed his earlobe, "it’s been *years* since anyone made me feel... tingly." Her friends shrieked with laughter, knocking over a sake bottle. One of them yelled, "Ask him about his *techniques*, Mikoto-chan!"

Anko recovered first, slamming her cup down. "Holy shit! Ibikiiiiii! Miss beauty queen wants your *ass*!" Iruka choked again, face crimson. Mizuki’s forced smile cracked completely, his knuckles bone-white. This wasn't just flirting; this was Mikoto Uchiha, widowed wife of the Uchiha’s previous clan head, draped over Konoha’s most feared interrogator like a prized blanket. Ibiki remained utterly still, a statue carved from tension. Only the frantic pulse visible beneath the scars on his neck betrayed him. Mikoto giggled, nuzzling his collarbone. "Scary man," she murmured, breath hot against his skin. "Bet you know how to make a girl scream... properly."

Ibiki’s voice emerged low, gravelly, strained. "Mikoto-san. You’re intoxicated." He didn't move, didn't push her away. His hands remained flat on the table counter, fingers splayed wide. Mikoto pouted dramatically. "Sooo? Doesn't mean I'm wrong." Her hand slid back down, dangerously close to his inner thigh. One of her friends, equally drunk, hiccuped loudly. "Tell him, Mikoto! Tell him you dream about those big, scarred hands!" Mikoto sighed theatrically, leaning back just enough to meet Ibiki’s frozen gaze. Her own eyes, usually warm and kind, held a drunken, predatory gleam as her hand moved to slide up his chest. "Fine. Ibiki Morino... I dream about you. About those hands... everywhere." She traced a jagged scar along his jawline. "Bet they’re rough. Bet they feel amazing."

Anko slammed her fist on the counter, howling with laughter. "HA! Pay up, Iruka! Told you she’d crack first!" Iruka buried his face in his hands, mortified. Mizuki stared, pale and rigid, his knuckles white around his drink. Mikoto’s friends erupted into drunken cheers, chanting "Kiss him! Kiss him!" As they snatched nearby stools, squeezing into the outside table that Iruka, Anku, Mizuki, and Ibiki were sitting at.

Mikoto grinned, a flash of sharp Uchiha pride cutting through the sake haze. "Maybe I will," she purred, leaning in again. Ibiki flinched—a minute jerk of his shoulders—his breath catching audibly. His gaze flickered to the bar door where a few people were standing, watching, giggling, and pointing. Mikoto noticed. Her grin widened. "Oh? Scared of witnesses?" Her lips hovered inches from his. "Or scared... you might like it?"

Ibiki’s jaw clenched. "This isn’t—" Mikoto cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. "Shhh. You think too much." Her other hand slid boldly beneath his flak jacket, fingers brushing the worn fabric of his undershirt. Ibiki froze completely, muscles locking. Anko choked again, this time spraying sake across the table. "Holy shit! She’s going for it!" Mikoto’s friends shrieked with glee. One stumbled off her stool. Mikoto ignored them, her dark eyes locked on Ibiki’s. "Three years," she whispered, low and rough. "Three years cold and lonely. You’re warm." Her thumb traced the pulse hammering in his throat. "And you smell like... danger." She tilted her head, nuzzling his scarred cheek. "I like danger. I NEED a big, strong, dangerous man to pin me down and fuck me senseless into my mattress.”

Iruka whimpered, sliding further down his seat, wishing the ground would swallow him hole. Mizuki stared, face bloodless. Ibiki’s hand finally moved—slow, deliberate—closing over Mikoto’s wrist. Not pushing her away. Holding her there. His knuckles whitened. Mikoto’s breath hitched. "Yes," she breathed, triumphant. "That’s it. Show me how strong you are." Her free hand tangled in his shirt, pulling his face toward hers. Ibiki didn’t resist. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Inches apart. The bar held its breath. Anko grinned, sharp and feral. "Do it, man! Kiss the widow!"

Suddenly, Mikoto’s friends erupted. One shoved Mikoto forward. Their lips collided—not a kiss, but a messy, teeth-clacking impact fueled by momentum and sake. Mikoto gasped against Ibiki’s mouth, her fingers tightening in his shirt. Ibiki didn’t pull back. His grip on her wrist shifted, sliding up to cradle her elbow instead, steadying her. A low, involuntary groan vibrated in his chest, swallowed by the bar’s raucous cheering of the people hanging out of the door and looking out the windows, and Anko, and Mikoto’s friends.

Mizuki sat frozen, knuckles white around his untouched sake cup. The raw intimacy—Mikoto’s nails digging into Ibiki’s shoulder, Ibiki’s scarred hand sliding possessively up her spine—felt like a kunai twisting in his gut. Anko’s drunken cackle grated on his nerves. "Get a room, you two!" she howled, sloshing her drink.

Ibiki kissed Mikoto deeper, biting her bottom lip before pulling away and standing up, pulling her with him and throwing her over his shoulder before he started walking out of the bar. Mikoto laughed, kicking her legs as she slapped his back. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded, breathless. Ibiki didn't answer, just tightened his grip on her thighs. Anko whistled loudly, throwing a crumpled napkin at them. "Use protection!" she yelled. Ibiki flipped her off without looking back. Mikoto’s friends whistled, cat called, some of them even meowing at them as they disappeared.

Mizuki watched them disappear into the night, his knuckles cracking against the wooden table. He forced a smile as Iruka slumped further, groaning into his hands. "Well," Mizuki said, voice strained. "That was... something." Anko grinned, leaning across the table. "Oh, don't pretend you're not jealous, Mizuki. Bet you wish it was you that got miss beauty queen thrown over a shoulder." She waggled her eyebrows. Mizuki's smile tightened. “Hardly. Just surprised Ibiki-san… indulged.”

“They’ve been into each other for like months!” One of Mikoto’s friends slurred, sloshing her sake cup onto the table. “Always staring when the other isn’t looking. Ibiki’s been eyeing her ass since they met.” Anko snorted. “Yeah? Well, Mikoto’s been eyeing his *everything*. Bet she’s been fantasizing about those scars since Fugaku croaked.”

Iruka mumbled into his palms, voice thick with sake and misery. "She's gonna regret that tomorrow." He lifted his head, eyes bleary. "Ibiki-san's... intense." Anko snorted, stabbing a pickled plum that was in one of her drinks with her chopstick from her earlier mail. "Intense? Nah. He's just got *standards*. Unlike some people." Her gaze slid pointedly to Mizuki, who stiffened. "Besides," Anko added, grinning wickedly, "Mikoto's been starved for it. Three years? She'll ride him like a wild stallion and thank him after."

Mizuki's knuckles whitened on the table's edge. The image burned – Mikoto's flushed skin, Ibiki's possessive grip. *Disgusting*. He forced a chuckle. "Perhaps. Still... reckless. With her clan status." One of Mikoto's friends hiccuped loudly. "Status? Pfft! She deserves fun! And Ibiki's got those *hands*..." The woman trailed off dreamily, miming crushing motions. Mizuki felt bile rise. *Animals*. All of them.

Chapter Text

I’ve got a few comments, and I think I know were their coming from with this comments, but if I get it wrong, sorry. No, Naruto had access to the book, that is how Itachi got it because it was in the library of the Uzumaki home where she had been staying, sorry if I didn’t clarify it enough.

(JUST WANTED TO CLARIFY!!!!!)

Chapter Text

Naruto swings hers and Shikamaru’s hands back-and-forth where they’re holding hands as they walk down the street of some village Naruto didn’t pay attention to the name of.

Her attention keeps on drifting as they walk through the streets, there’s a… smell, a scent…? Somewhere.

It’s familiar, but not in the familiar way Shikamaru, Hound, Tiger, Tsubame, and the other An h are familiar, not like Tsunade, Tonton, and Shizune are quickly coming familiar on her radar. But as… it’s an old scent she hasn’t smelled in a long, long, long time, and she cannot remember who or what it’s from for the life of her.

It’s been a scent that’s been slowly growing, and growing, and growing for the past four days, getting stronger and stronger the closer they got to the village— Nakazaki or something. And now the scent, it seems it’s the only thing she can really focus on right now.

“… hey, where are we going?” Naruto asks once she got pulled out of her thoughts by a particularly loud shout coming from an alleyway they had just walked past. She looks around, noticing that they were walking into the red light district of the village. Naruto waves at a couple of scantily clad women leaning against a wall, smoking cigarettes, even if they were prostitutes that doesn’t mean you couldn’t be nice to them! They waved back, smiling softly at her. Naruto grinned back before looking over to Shikamaru, who looks as uninterested as ever.

“We are going to go fetch Tsunade-Sama’s partner.” Shizune answered Naruto’s question as she walked beside Tsunade, Tonton tucked securely under her arm. “Jiraiya-Sama’s got a bit of a liking for the red light district.” Shizune sighed softly, rubbing her temples. “He’s likely in one of these establishments.”

Naruto frowned, rolling the name around in her head. *Jiraiya-sama*. It tugged at something deep and buried, like a half-forgotten dream. That scent tickled her nostrils again—something earthy and sharp beneath the cheap perfume and stale smoke of the district. She wrinkled her nose. "Smells weird," she muttered, mostly to herself.

“Isn’t that the guy who writes the porn books?” Shikamaru asked, and in an Instant both Tsunade and Shizune freeze as if they have been hit by a paralysis tag. “THAT’S RIGHT!” Naruto yelled as if she had just found out the secret of the universe. “The perv! All those books that we found in my home, errr… not books, you called them drafts, right Shika?”

“Yeah, drafts.” Shikamaru confirmed. “They were bad.” He added as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They looked old, and a lot of sticky notes were stuck to them.” Naruto nodded vigorously. “Yeah! And they smelled weird!” She wrinkled her nose again. “Like… like old paper and sweat and… something?… I really don’t know how they got into the Uzumaki compound, but they were there.”

Tsunade’s eye twitched violently. She stopped dead in the middle of the street, her fist clenching so hard the knuckles popped. Shizune paled, clutching Tonton tighter. The piglet squealed softly. “Old drafts?” Tsunade’s voice was dangerously low, a rumble beneath the district’s neon hum. “In the Uzumaki compound?” Naruto blinked up at her, oblivious to the storm brewing. “Yeah! They— I found them in my parents old room, stuffed into a drawer! I found them when I was looking around!” She grinned, bouncing on her heels. “They were kinda funny! But also really bad!… and the one on the top of the pile had a card stuck to it that said, ‘Congratulations to the happy couple! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!’ I think it was a wedding gift or something to my parents.”

Shikamaru sighed, rubbing his temples. “Troublesome.” He muttered under his breath.

Tsunade’s expression darkened, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her fists. Shizune took a cautious step back, shielding Tonton. Naruto, oblivious to the brewing storm, attention shifted away from Tsunade’s thunderous face. That scent—earthy, sharp, layered beneath the district’s cheap perfume—hit her again, stronger now. It tugged at something buried deep, like a half-remembered lullaby.

Naruto kind of wanted to follow it, it was a nice smell, familiar, loving, good… familiar, loving, and good like how she knows Hound is hers even though he’s never told her he’s part Uzumaki. But this smell isn’t like… like their Uzumaki, part Uzumaki… it’s more like how she knows the Anbu are hers, but… but she doesn’t know who this scent belongs to. She doesn’t know who it is, but she knows she knows them.

Naruto shook her head, clearing her thoughts as she looked back over to Tsunade, Shizune, and Tonton as she squeezed the hand of Shikamaru she was holding.

The smell mingled with Tsunade, kind of, like her and whoever this scent belongs to had rubbed up against each other, leaving each other’s scents on each other, but it’s been a while since the last time they’ve seen each other.

Tsunade was breathing through her nose, slow and deliberate, like a volcano counting down. Shizune clutched Tonton tighter, the piglet sensing the tension and burying its snout against her chest. "Jiraiya," Tsunade hissed, the name dripping venom. "Gifting Minato and Kushina... *that filth*... as a wedding present." Her fist trembled. Naruto blinked, finally registering the sheer, incandescent rage radiating off the Slug Sannin. Shikamaru subtly pulled Naruto back a step.

The scent hit Naruto again, sharp and undeniable now – old paper, ink, sweat, and something uniquely *male*, earthy and wild beneath the district's cloying perfume. It wasn't just familiar; it felt like a key turning in a rusted lock deep inside her. Images flickered – not clear memories, but sensations: a deep, rumbling laugh echoing in a large room, the scratchy feel of rough fabric against her toddler cheek, the smell of ink and dust clinging to someone large who held her high. *Safe*. The scent belonged to *that*. It was pulling her like a physical tether, stronger than Tsunade’s fury.

Tsunade took a shuddering breath, her voice cracking like ice. "Where," she demanded, each word sharpened to a point, "is that *degenerate*?" Her gaze swept the garish signs of the nearby establishments – 'The Silken Petal', 'Moonlit Embrace' – like she was picking her next demolition target. Shizune pointed a trembling finger towards a slightly less ostentatious building tucked between two others, its sign reading 'The Whispering Willow'. "I-I-I I think that’s the one the nice lady s-said she m-might have seen someone with J-Jiraiya-Sama’s description.”

Naruto’s grip on Shikamaru’s hand tightened unconsciously. That scent – earthy ink, old paper, sweat, and something uniquely wild – surged like a physical wave emanating from the Willow’s entrance. It drowned out Tsunade’s simmering anger, the district’s cheap perfume, everything. A visceral pull tugged at her chest, sharp and undeniable. Images flashed: not clear pictures, but fragmented *feelings*. The deep vibration of laughter shaking her small body. Rough, scratchy fabric against her cheek. Being lifted high, the world tilting, safe and exhilarating.

Naruto tugged Shikamaru along as she started moving again, unconsciously following the oh so familiar, but oh so forgotten scent. Her steps quickened, pulling Shikamaru away from Tsunade’s volcanic stillness. The scent—earthy ink, old paper, sweat, and something wild—felt like a hook in her chest, reeling her toward ‘The Whispering Willow’. Shikamaru sighed but didn’t resist, letting her drag him through the throng of neon-lit street, weaving in and out of people. "Troublesome," he muttered, eyeing the garish signs. Naruto barely heard him; her nose twitched, tracking the trail like a bloodhound. That deep rumble of laughter echoed in her mind again—warm, safe, *hers*. Who *was* this?

Kurama has been awfully quiet ever since they both first smelled the scent four days ago, Naruto thought as she pulled Shikamaru toward the Willow's entrance. The fox usually had something sarcastic to say about her impulses—especially when they involved strange smells in seedy districts. His silence felt heavy, thoughtful. *You know this scent,* Kurama had murmured inside her mind four day’s ago, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. *Deep in your bones, Kit. Deeper than memory.* Naruto frowned, pushing open the heavy oak door. The scent inside hit her like a physical embrace—ink, dust, sweat, and something fiercely alive beneath the stale liquor and perfume. It wrapped around her, warm and solid as a forgotten blanket.

She idly registered that Tsunade, Shizune, and Tonton were behind them, following them into the establishment. But Naruto didn't turn around. She didn't need to. That scent—earthy ink, old paper, sweat, and something fiercely wild—was everywhere now, thick and welcoming as a hug. It filled the dimly lit foyer of 'The Whispering Willow,' wrapping around her like a warm blanket she hadn't realized she'd missed. Beneath the stale liquor and cheap perfume, it was unmistakable. Safe. *Hers.*

“YOU!” Tsunade barked at one of the brothel sex workers, pointing a finger at the woman. “Where is he?” The woman flinched, shrinking back against the wall. “I know he’s here! He’s tall, an idiot with white hair, and is a utter pervert!”

The woman hesitated, glancing nervously toward a curtained alcove at the back. Tsunade didn’t wait. She stormed past, Shizune scurrying after her with Tonton clutched tight.

Naruto followed them, pulling along Shikamaru who sighed deeply at the impending chaos. The earthy scent intensified near the alcove, mingling with Tsunade's rage and the faint aroma of spilled sake. Behind the curtain, a deep, rumbling laugh echoed—familiar and warm, resonating in Naruto's bones like a forgotten lullaby. Tsunade ripped the curtain aside with enough force to tear the fabric. "JIRAIYA!" she roared, her voice shaking the lanterns hanging from the low ceiling.

Inside the alcove, a large man with wild, long white hair sat sprawled on cushions, a half-empty bottle in one hand and a notebook in the other. He froze as if he had been caught stealing sweets, his wide eyes snapping up to Tsunade. "T-Tsunade. Princess?" His voice boomed with surprise, tinged with a familiar warmth that made Naruto's breath catch. The scent—ink, sweat, and something wild—was strongest here, wrapping around her like a physical embrace.

Tsunade seized the front of Jiraiya's gaudy orange robe, hauling him halfway off the cushions. "You absolute *worm*," she hissed, her knuckles white. "Gifting Minato and Kushina your filthy drafts? As a *wedding present*?"

Jiraiya squawked, flailing like a hooked fish. "Filthy drafts? Princess, those were *masterpieces*! Early explorations of—" His protest died as Tsunade shook him violently, his notebook tumbling to the tatami mats. Ink splattered across the pages like bloodstains. Naruto stared, frozen, her and Shikamaru hidden from view behind Shizune. That laugh—the deep, rumbling sound—it unlocked a floodgate. Images surged: being tossed high into the air, squealing, caught by strong arms smelling of ink and sweat. Rough stubble scratching her cheek. A booming voice calling her "my little whirlwind."

“NARUTO AND HER LITTLE FRIEND FOUND THEM! Read THEM!” Tsunade yelled, shaking Jiraiya until his teeth rattled.

Jiraiya’s face paled beneath his usual tan. “They—they weren’t supposed to—Minato hid those!” he stammered, eyes darting past Tsunade’s shoulder. His gaze locked onto Naruto, who stood frozen beside Shikamaru. Recognition flared in his eyes—wide, startled, and impossibly soft. The scent—ink, sweat, and wild freedom—suddenly had a face. Rough stubble, laugh lines etched deep, and eyes that held a stormy black color. Memories crashed over Naruto: being spun in dizzying circles, tucked against a broad chest that rumbled with laughter, whispered stories about toads and heroes.

Naruto squeezed Shikamaru’s hand tighter, both of them peeking around Shizune, watching the scene unfold. Jiraiya’s eyes widened as he stared at Naruto, a flicker of disbelief and something softer—achingly tender—crossing his weathered face. Kurama stirred within her, a low hum of recognition vibrating through her chakra coils. *He smells like home, Kit,* the fox murmured, his voice thick with uncharacteristic reverence. *Like the Uzumaki compound. Like your Nara boy.*

Tsunade shook Jiraiya again, her knuckles white against his orange robe. "You gave them porn!" she snarled, her voice cracking with fury, and the sex workers that had been in the room scattered like roaches, leaving Jiraiya to fend for himself. "As a wedding gift!"

Jiraiya winced, hands raised defensively. "Educational material! For... cultural enrichment!" His gaze darted past Tsunade again, locking onto Naruto and the little boy she was holding hands with. The stormy grey eyes softened impossibly, crinkling at the corners with a warmth that pierced through Naruto's confusion. "Little whirlwind?" he breathed, the nickname a fragile, hopeful whisper barely audible over Tsunade's furious sputtering. Recognition slammed into Naruto—rough hugs, ink-stained fingers ruffling her hair, that deep laugh shaking her whole small body. The scent wasn't just familiar; it was *him*. The man who'd tossed her high and caught her safe.

Tsunade followed his gaze, her rage momentarily eclipsed by hesitation to continue yelling in front of children. Naruto stepped forward, pulling Shikamaru with her, her small fingers still tightly entwined with his. She stared up at the towering white-haired man, her blue eyes wide and searching.

She hesitated for a moment, hand halfway out stretched as if she couldn’t decide whether to run or grab him. The scent—ink, dust, sweat, and something wild—was overwhelming now, wrapping around her like a blanket.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to her, but was actually barely a few seconds, Naruto reached out with her free hand, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against Jiraiya’s rough orange sleeve. She didn’t let go of Shikamaru’s hand—her anchor in the storm of unfamiliar feelings crashing over her. The scent intensified with the touch, flooding her senses: old paper, ink, sweat, and that wild, earthy undertone she now knew belonged to *him*. Her throat tightened. “You…” she whispered, her voice small but piercing in the sudden silence. “You smell like… home.” Her blue eyes searched his face—the deep laugh lines, the stormy grey eyes now wide with disbelief and a raw tenderness that made her chest ache. “Like… the compound.”

Jiraiya’s breath hitched audibly. He gently pried Tsunade’s furious grip from his robe, his gaze never leaving Naruto’s face. Slowly, deliberately, he knelt on the cushions, bringing himself closer to her level. The movement was careful, almost reverent. “Naruto,” he breathed, the name sounding thick, like it had been trapped in his chest for years. He reached out a large, calloused hand, stopping just short of touching her cheek. His fingers trembled. “My little whirlwind.” The nickname unlocked another floodgate—clearer now: the scratch of his stubble against her forehead, the dizzying spin as he lifted her high, the deep rumble of his laughter vibrating through her small body. Safe. Protected. *Hers*. Kurama stirred again within her, a low, resonant purr echoing her recognition. *Told you, Kit,* the fox murmured, his voice softer than usual. *Deep in the bones.*

“… why’d you leave?” Naruto asked before she could stop herself. Her voice cracked, small and vulnerable. The question hung heavy in the perfumed air—a raw wound laid bare. Tsunade’s fury flickered, replaced by something softer, almost pained. Shizune clutched Tonton tighter. Shikamaru shifted beside Naruto, his fingers tightening around hers—a silent anchor. “J-Jiji made me live alone. Only me and no one else. Why’d you have to leave. I-I-I… I had to do every—thing alone.” Her knuckles whitened against Shikamaru’s hand. The scent—ink, sweat, wildness—suddenly felt like a knife twisting in her gut. It was home, but it was also abandonment. Kurama stirred, a low growl vibrating through her chakra coils—protective, furious.

Jiraiya flinched as if struck. His stormy grey eyes flooded with anguish, crinkling at the corners not with laughter now, but with profound regret. He didn’t reach for her cheek; instead, his calloused hand hovered near her trembling fist clutching Shikamaru’s. “Oh, whirlwind,” he rasped, voice thick with unshed tears. “He… Hiruzen… made you live alone?” The revelation carved lines of fury into his weathered face. “That old fool promised…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. Tsunade’s rage had evaporated, replaced by a stricken silence. She watched Naruto, her knuckles pressed against her mouth.

“… The red light district,” Naruto whispered, her knuckles white against Shikamaru’s hand. Kurama let out a low growl vibrating through her chakra coils—protective, furious. "That’s-that’s where I lived after you left until I-I-I was s-seven…”

Jiraiya flinched as if struck, again. He glanced up to Tsunade as if to confirm that Naruto was telling the truth. Tsunade grimaced, she didn’t know about this either, didn’t know that a clan Princess was forced to live alone, didn’t know that Hiruzen had forced Naruto to live alone. In the red light district of all places, until she was seven apparently.

Tsunade’s knuckles pressed harder against her lips, her eyes wide with horrified realization. "Hiruzen... he swore she’d be cared for," she whispered, voice trembling. "He said she was with someone, somewhere safe." The scent of spilled sake and perfume suddenly felt suffocating. Shizune clutched Tonton tighter, the piglet whimpering softly.

Naruto sniffed roughly, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “I… I— I had Anbu watching me, have Anbu. My Anbu. W-watching m-me. But-but J-jiji told th—em they weren’t allowed to talk to me. Only watch. So I… I… some—… sometimes they-they broke the rule when-when they could, when-when they knew they-they-they-they— they wouldn’t get caught. But-but-but—” Her voice cracked into a sob, small shoulders shaking. Shikamaru stepped closer, pressing his side against hers, his dark eyes fixed on Jiraiya with unnerving calm. Kurama’s growl deepened into a visceral snarl inside Naruto’s mind—a sound of pure, protective fury. “Other—! Other than the Anbu and rama-Chan, a-and Sasuke and his fam-family, and-and-and sometimes Teuchi-san and Ayame-neechan, and Jiji and Asuma, I wash-was alone un-until I met Shikamaru and Shikaku-Chan.”

Jiraiya’s hand finally settled—not on her cheek, but gently atop her head, fingers trembling as they sank into her crimson hair. His shoulders hunched, the weight of decades of failure pressing down on him. “Oh, whirlwind,” he choked out, tears spilling freely down his weathered cheeks. “My little whirlwind. I didn’t know. I swear on Minato’s grave, I didn’t know.” He bowed his head, forehead brushing against hers. The scent of ink, old paper, and distant rainstorms enveloped her—the scent of home she’d chased for days. “Forgive this foolish old man. Please.”

Tsunade’s fist slammed into the wall beside them, plaster cracking. “Hiruzen lied to us both,” she hissed, fury warring with grief. “He told me you were safe in a guarded compound. He swore Kushina’s legacy was honored.” Her gaze flicked to Shikamaru, still pressed against Naruto’s side. “You. Nara boy. How long have you known?” Shikamaru met her glare unflinchingly, his voice low and steady. “Since we met.” He didn’t elaborate, but the protective tilt of his body spoke volumes—Naruto’s trembling form tucked securely against him.

Jiraiya’s thumb brushed Naruto’s temple, and the girls sniffed harshly. “Jiji wouldn’t let me stay with anyone, not Mikoto-obasan, he wouldn’t even let me stay with him, an— and Asuma-ojisan even-even asked If I c-could stay with-with-with him— em when h-he got back to the v-village and s-saw I wh-was alone— and Jiji said no! He said I-I had to stay alone!” Naruto’s voice rose to a ragged wail, and Shikamaru tightened his grip on her hand. Kurama’s growl vibrated through her ribs like distant thunder—a warning to the trembling air around them. “He even forbids me from staying the night with Shi-Shika!”

Tsunade’s fist slammed into the wall again—this time, plaster cracked and rained down onto the floorboards. “That senile bastard,” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “He told me you were in a secure compound with caretakers! He swore Kushina’s daughter was protected!” Her eyes snapped to Shikamaru. “And you—you knew all this? You never told anyone?”

“Everyone in Konoha knows,” Shikamaru said quietly, his gaze steady despite Tsunade’s fury. He scuffed his foot against the brothel's floor, kicking a ray of dust into the dim light filtering through the window. “Most people in the village don’t like Naruto. They’d cross the street when she walked by. Shopkeepers wouldn’t sell to her unless the price was doubled.” He pressed harder against Naruto’s trembling side. “But yeah, I knew. So did my dad. We just... couldn’t do anything about it.”

Jiraiya’s hand trembled against Naruto’s hair. “Little whirlwind,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears. “I should’ve come back. I should’ve checked on you.” His thumb brushed away a tear tracking down her cheek. “Forgive this foolish old man.”

Naruto buried her face against his shoulder, her sobs muffled against his worn cloak. The scent of ink, old paper, and distant rain clung to him—the same scent from those fractured toddler memories. "Prom—ise… not to leave m— me again?" Her voice cracked, muffled against fabric. Shikamaru’s hand tightened on her hand, a silent anchor.

Jiraiya’s arms tightened around her, his breath shuddering. "Never," he swore into her crimson hair. "You’re family. My goddaughter." The words landed like stones in the sudden silence of the brothel room. Tsunade stood frozen, her knuckles white where she clenched her fists. Shizune hovered nearby, Tonton clutched tight.

Shikamaru’s fingers on his free hand brushed Naruto’s elbow—steadying, silent. Kurama’s growl vibrated through Naruto’s bones like distant thunder. *He means it,* the fox rumbled. *Stupid tears. But… good.*

Tsunade’s voice sliced through the brothel’s heavy air. “Hiruzen.” The name dropped like a tombstone. She stared at Jiraiya, her eyes molten gold. “He told me she was safe. Guarded. Loved.” Her fist clenched. “He swore on Minato’s grave.”

Jiraiya lifted his head, Naruto still clinging to him. “He lied to us all,” he rasped. His gaze swept over Naruto’s tear-streaked face, the raw vulnerability in her eyes. “My own goddaughter… alone in that filth.” A low, dangerous rumble built in his chest. “He’ll answer for this.”

“… Hiruzen-Sama’s not the Hokage anymore,” Shikamaru said after a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the three adult swivel their heads towards him. He grimaces at the attention, hesitating for a moment before begrudgingly untangling his hand from Naruto’s and reaching into his backpack pocket he kept all the letters his father has sent him. He pulls out a folded letter, handing it to Shizune— The closest adult. “According to my dad, Asuma-san took the hat last week and became the Godaime Hokage as Hiruzen-Sama retired from being the Sandaime Hokage.”

Tsunade snatched the letter from Shizune’s hands, her eyes scanning the cramped handwriting. Her knuckles whitened around the paper. “Retired?” she hissed, the word dripping venom. “He *ran*. Cowardly bastard knew this would come out.” She read further on, nearly choking on her own spit. “Asuma had to reopen Nara Forest because Hiruzen thought it was a good idea to stop the walk-throughs, is he insane?! Those damn walk-throughs are there for safety, so idiotic little children know what monsters lived there!” She crumpled the letter violently. “He endangered every genin team for *years*.”

Jiraiya’s arm tightened around Naruto’s shoulders, his voice a gravelly promise. “Doesn’t matter if he’s retired. He’ll face me.” Naruto buried her face deeper into his worn vest, inhaling the familiar scents of ink and dust and something uniquely *Jiraiya*. A flicker of memory surfaced—being hoisted onto his shoulders, tiny hands gripping his wild hair as he laughed. Kurama’s low growl resonated in her mind, not hostile now, but a watchful hum. *He means it, kit. The old fool’s finally found his spine.*

Shizune held onto Tonton tighter as Tsunade’s knuckles went white around Shikaku’s letter. “He stopped the walk-throughs?” Her voice was dangerously low, the paper trembling. “Those field trips taught genin which parts of the Nara Forest would eat them alive. Which monsters respected the Nara scent-markers. He left children blind.” Her gaze snapped around, looking around the brothel before finally landing on Shikamaru again. “Boy, did your father ever tell you when the last Field trip went through your forest?”

“Twelve years ago,” Shikamaru rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, his gaze wandering to Naruto’s crimson hair. “The last field trip happened two years before I was born. Originally it just started because the Nara compound was getting rebuilt because it was old, but Hiruzen-Sama just… never restarted it.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Father tried to bring it back, he would get into fights with Hiruzen-sama about it. But Hiruzen-sama refused. Said it was ‘too dangerous.’” Shikamaru’s voice dripped with sarcasm on the last words. “He stopped the walk-throughs but didn’t stop civilians or genin from wandering in. Three genin and eight civilians died near the western edge last year. Walked right into Wendigo Skull territory right after a whelp was born.”

Tsunade’s fist slammed into the wall beside her, leaving spiderweb cracks in the plaster. Dust rained down onto her shoulder. “Coward,” she hissed, the word sharp as a kunai. “He knew. He knew those trips were the only thing stopping genin from wandering into the Forest blind. He knew what happens when you don’t teach them the scent markers, the territorial boundaries—” Her voice choked off, fury radiating off her in waves. Now that she knows this she’s just wondering what else Hiruzen had decided was “too dangerous” for Konoha’s children? What other traditions did he bury? What other protections did he strip away? What other dangers did he let fester? What other—

Jiraiya’s hand settled on Naruto’s shoulder, heavy and warm. His thumb brushed the honey-sticky skin of her throat. “Easy, Tsunade,” he murmured, but his eyes were fixed on Shikamaru, dark as storm clouds. “The Forest… Hiruzen sealed it off?”

Shikamaru nodded, his gaze drifting to the cracked plaster where Tsunade’s fist had landed before turning to Jiraiya, catching himself and shaking his head instead of nodding. “No, he closed it, he didn’t seal anything. He just… forbade anyone from entering unless they were Nara.” He paused, reaching out to grab Naruto’s hand again, his thumb tracing her knuckles unconsciously. “He claimed it was for safety, but Father always said it was an idiotic move. The Forest isn’t just trees and deer… father always said it was because Hiruzen-sama didn’t like that the Nara didn’t just control shadows, they controlled monsters—things that ate flesh and bone—and that Hiruzen-sama was scared. Didn’t like the fact that the Nara could and would control them as if they were our shadow puppets, without the puppet factor.”

Tsunade’s breath hissed between her teeth. “Eleven deaths,” she repeated, her voice dangerously low. “Children who wandered in because they didn’t know better. Because Hiruzen robbed them of the walk-throughs.” Her knuckles whitened against the crumpled letter. “What else did he bury? What other traditions did he gut to feed his own fear?” She nearly ripped the letter with how fast she uncracked it, reading it again, reading over the things Shikaku wrote that Asuma was already doing to fix Hiruzen’s messes.

Jiraiya’s grip on Naruto tightened, his thumb brushing the edge of her sleeve before he stood up, pulling the girl up with him, holding her like he did when she was a toddler. He looked briefly surprised as he stumbled slightly, his gaze snapping to the sword strap to Naruto’s back, surprised by the weight of the blade slung across her back before he regained his footing. “Walk-throughs,” Jiraiya repeated, the word tasting like ash. “I knew the forest closed down for a bit so the Nara compound could be rebuilt. Then It had to get rebuilt again after the Nine-Tails attack, but Hiruzen told us it was temporary. Temporary.” He spat the word out, his eyes darkening. “He lied to me. To Minato. To Kushina. To everyone.”

Kurama’s voice growled low in Naruto’s mind, a vibration that hummed through her bones. *The old fool feared what he couldn’t control. The Nara’s monsters. Your mother’s clan. You.* Naruto leaned her head against Jiraiya’s shoulder, her crimson hair spilling over his arm. She didn’t need to say anything; the tremor in her small frame spoke louder than words. Shikamaru shifted beside them, his gaze fixed on the crumpled letter in Tsunade’s hand before glancing over to Shizune, who gave him a tight smile. “My father tried for years,” he murmured, his voice flat but edged with bitterness. “Petitioned Hiruzen-Sama every season. Said the forest was Konoha’s shield as much as the Nara’s. Hiruzen just… smiled. Said it was too dangerous. That the children weren’t ready.”

Tsunade’s fist slammed into the brothel wall again, splintering wood. “Ready?” she snarled. “How were they supposed to *be* ready without seeing it? Without smelling the rot-wind of the Bone Pits? Without hearing a Wendigo’s laugh echo through the pines?” She whirled on Shikamaru, her eyes blazing. “Your father should have dragged that coward out of his tower by his beard!” Shizune winced, clutching Tonton tighter. Shikamaru merely sighed, the sound weary. “Troublesome. He considered it. But Hiruzen-sama was Hokage. Orders were orders.”

Jiraiya’s arms tightened around Naruto. She could feel the suppressed fury vibrating through him, a low thrum against her temple. His scent – old paper, ink, and something sharp like ozone – wrapped around her, pushing back the fragmented memories of cold, empty rooms. Kurama’s warmth bloomed low in her belly, a silent anchor. *He means it, kit,* the fox rumbled, a possessive satisfaction coloring his mental voice. *The Toad won’t let go again.*

———————————————

Jiraiya let out a slow breath, taking in a breath of the cool night air as he hoisted Naruto— who had fallen asleep in his arm— up higher, still surprised at the sheer weight of the sword strapped to her back.

Tsunade was leading them, walking— stomping— as she furiously wrote on a notebook she had gotten from somewhere, somehow already managing to fill up nearly half of the pages. Tsunade was writing a detailed letter— demanding rant— to Asuma Sarutobi, the Fifth Hokage. Her penmanship was sharp, angry strokes that nearly tore through the paper. She was outlining Hiruzen’s crimes: negligence, endangerment, and the deliberate sabotage of Konoha’s traditions. Every few steps, she’d mutter something vicious under her breath— words like "coward" and "traitor" slicing through the quiet street. Her chakra felt like storm clouds gathering, thick and oppressive. And scolding hot like all Uzumaki chakra.

Shizune was speedwalking close behind her, Tonton clutched tightly in her arms, her usual calm demeanor frayed at the edges. "Lady Tsunade," she whispered urgently, "perhaps we should find an Inn? Let everyone rest before—"

Jiraiya tuned out the girl's conversation, turning his attention to the Nara boy beside him. The boy had been holding Naruto’s hand since he had seen the both of them, barely letting go, if at all. But now with the girl's arms wrapped around his neck, the boy was holding one of the ends of one of Naruto’s braids, seemingly not caring if he did or did not touch the silver weaved into the red.

Jiraiya was guessing the silver was poison ninja wire, the boy had some in his hair too. He remembers Tsunade did stuff like that when she was younger. He shifted Naruto slightly, the girl didn’t stir, her breath warm against his neck.

“So, Shikamaru was it?” Jiraiya kept his voice low, careful not to disturb Naruto’s deep sleep. Her breath was warm against his neck, her small frame curled trustingly against him.

Shikamaru’s gaze didn’t leave Naruto’s face. “Yes, sir.” His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the braid he held, fingers twisting into the loose strands of hair, twirling them around his fingers, the poison ninja wire twisting around his fingers but seemingly not having any effect on him besides cutting up his fingers when he gripped them too tightly. The poison wire woven into it gleamed faintly in the fading light.

Jiraiya studied the boy—the deliberate calm masking something sharper beneath. “You’re close with her.” It wasn’t a question. The possessive grip on Naruto’s braid, the way his shadow seemed to curl protectively near her feet even now with her being held—it spoke volumes.

Shikamaru’s eyes flickered to Jiraiya’s face, then back to Naruto. “She’s… important.” His thumb brushed against a strand of silver wire woven into her crimson hair. A bead of blood welled where it sliced his skin, but he didn’t flinch. “Troublesome, but important.”

Jiraiya’s gaze sharpened. The Nara’s shadow,— now that Naruto wasn’t practically glued to his hip— Jiraiya could see how it was angled, unconsciously or not, underneath Naruto. The shadow pools darkly around Naruto’s dangling sandals, periodically flicking up to brush her ankle like a protective cat’s tail. Protective. Possessive. Obsessive? Jiraiya didn’t know enough about Nara and their ticks to tell. But he knew obsession. He’d seen it eat men alive. “Important,” Jiraiya echoed, the word heavy. “You know what she carries.” He didn’t mean the sword strapped to her back. He meant the weight in her belly. The demon.

Shikamaru frowned, looking away from the braid he was holding, and looking genuinely confused for about half a second before his expression smoothed back into lazy indifference. “Her summons? Kurama? Is that who you’re talking about?”

Jiraiya blinked. “Kurama?”

“That’s the fox’s name. Kurama.” Shikamaru looked away and back down to Naruto’s braid. His thumb brushed against the silver wire again, drawing another bead of blood. “He’s… protective. Annoying. Talks too much. Likes to nap in trees.” He paused, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “He’s her friend.”

Jiraiya’s gaze sharpened. The Nine-Tails had a *name*. And this Nara boy spoke it like he was discussing the weather. Worse—like he knew the beast personally. He’d seen the reports, the hushed terror in Hiruzen’s voice whenever the seal was mentioned. Yet here was Shikamaru, bleeding onto poison wire meant to guard a demon vessel, utterly unafraid. “You’ve met him?” Jiraiya kept his voice low, careful not to disturb Naruto’s sleep. Shizune and Tsunade had gone still in front of them, the older woman's earlier fury replaced by cold, calculating attention.

Shikamaru’s frown returned, deeper this time, “Why would I not?” He glanced back up for a split second. “Kurama is Naruto’s summons,” he paused for a second, fingers twisting in the red hair. “Though, Naru-Cham never actually has to summon him, he just kind of… comes and goes as he pleases.” His thumb brushed the wire again, smearing the blood against the silver. “He’s always around her. He sleeps on her bed, steals her ramen, and talks to her constantly.”

Jiraiya’s breath caught. *Summons?* The Nine-Tails wasn’t a pet. It was a force of nature sealed within Naruto’s gut—a weapon, a curse. Yet Shikamaru spoke of Kurama lounging on pillows and pilfering noodles like some oversized, troublesome house cat. The casualness of it scraped against every warning Jiraiya had ever heard. Hiruzen’s reports had said the fox had broken after being torn from Kushina, that it was nothing but a beast trapped inside a seal. 

That it being forced out of its host had made it into a seething, malevolent presence made out of pure unadulterated hatred, a constant threat clawing at Naruto’s sanity. Not… *this*. Not stealing ramen.

Tsunade’s knuckles whitened around the notebook and pencil she was holding. Shizune shifted, turning around to face Shikamaru just as Tsunade did.

Tsunade’s voice was low, dangerous. “Explain.”

Shikamaru stopped as Jiraiya came to a stop, and he looked up at the three adults around him as if they were crazy. “What?” He sounded actually baffled by their reactions. He glanced over to Naruto, still asleep against Jiraiya’s shoulder, her crimson hair spilling over his arm like spilled wine. “… explain what…?”

Tsunade stepped closer, her shadow swallowing Shikamaru’s. “Kurama. The Nine-Tails. You called it Naruto’s summons. You said it *steals ramen*. That implies a level of… autonomy. Interaction.” Her gaze flickered to Naruto’s sleeping face, then back to Shikamaru, sharp as a scalpel. “The seal should prevent that. It should be a prison, not a doorway.”

“… seal…?” Shikamaru’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his usually impassive face. He glanced down at the poison-wire braid coiled loosely in his palm, his thumb tracing the intricate twists. A bead of blood welled where the wire had nicked him earlier. “Kurama’s not sealed *away*. He’s a summons. A Kitsuné summons.” He glanced up to Tsunade, then Jiraiya, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “… but if there's a seal, I’ve never been told about it.”

Jiraiya’s arms tightened around Naruto, protective and fierce. His sandals grind against the dirt road as he shifts to face the boy. “Shikamaru,” he began, his voice low and urgent, “the Nine-Tails was sealed *inside* Naruto the night she was born. By Minato. It’s… it’s not a companion. It’s a force of destruction locked within her.” His gaze darted to Naruto’s sleeping face, the peaceful rise and fall of her back beneath her crimson hair. “How can it be walking around stealing ramen?”

Shikamaru was now looking at them like they were downright insane. He shifted, feeling the hot and familiar pricking sensation of Naruto’s chakra bleeding into his shadow before twirling up his leg, going up his spine before a familiar weight settled on his shoulders. It was heavy, clawed paws and hands forming on his shoulders.

Shikamaru unconsciously rolled his shoulders, tensing the muscles as the fox— who was surprisingly heavy— they were talking about formed, draped across Shikamaru’s shoulders like a particularly heavy scarf. Kurama’s chakra form materialized fully, nine tails lazily swishing behind Shikamaru’s head. The fox yawned, displaying needle-sharp teeth, before fixing Tsunade and Jiraiya with a bored, crimson stare. "Washi steals ramen because Naruto shares," Kurama stated flatly, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through Shikamaru's bones. "And seals are for humans who fear what they don't understand." He sniffed disdainfully, fluffy orange tail flicking Jiraiya's nose. "Minato's seal broke the moment Naruto figured out I was there. She just... unlatched it. Like opening a door. Besides, if Hiruzen lied about Naruto's isolation, why wouldn't he lie about me and my sanity?”

Shizune and Tonton squeaked, nearly jumping out of their skin, practically teleporting away with how fast they got about thirty feet away from them.

Kurama yawned again, stretching languidly across Shikamaru's shoulders like a giant, lazy cat. "Honestly," he grumbled, his voice thick with sleep and annoyance, "waking me up for this nonsense? Seals? Please. Naruto figured out Minato's little cage when she was *five*. Saw it as a puzzle box, not a prison." One clawed hand gestured vaguely toward Naruto, still asleep in Jiraiya's arms. "She poked it open like a stubborn lock. Simple. And you should be thanking me, I've been the one making sure she didn’t go insane from lack of touch." His tails flicked dismissively. "All that 'mindless beast' propaganda was Hiruzen's cowardice. Pathetic."

Tsunade’s knuckles cracked audibly as she clenched her fists. Her gaze flickered between Kurama’s casual sprawl and Naruto’s peaceful face. "You expect me to believe the most destructive force in the world naps on her bed and steals ramen?" Her voice was dangerously low, disbelief warring with fury. "That Hiruzen lied about *everything*?"

Kurama rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “You of all people should know what I am, Tsunade, you are the granddaughter of my first host. I’m as much as an Uzumaki as you are a descendent of one.” He nuzzled against Shikamaru’s neck, ignoring the boy grumbling about fur tickling him. “I’m Kurama, the Uzumaki guardian spirit. Not a mindless beast. Naruto’s my friend. And Hiruzen?” His tails lashed. “… I… still have not figured out why he felt it was necessary to tell everyone I had lost my mind. It’s a well-known secret that I was trapped in a genjutsu when I was forced from Kushina. It’s not like I wanted to destroy anything.”

Jiraiya’s arms tightened around Naruto, his knuckles white. The scent of ink and old paper clung to him as he stared at Kurama. “Minato’s seal… broken? By a child?” His voice cracked. “That shouldn’t be possible. It was designed to hold until…”

“She’s a Princess, idiot. A seal Princess.” Kurama yawned, exposing needle-sharp teeth. “She saw the seal as a lock. So she picked it.” His tails flicked dismissively. “Took her three weeks. Annoyed the hell out of me with her humming.”

Shikamaru’s fingers tightened around Naruto’s poison-wire braid, the thin metal biting deeper into his palm. Blood welled, stark red against the silver wire. He didn’t flinch. “I still don’t know what any of you are talking about,” he muttered, his voice flat but edged with exhaustion. “But this is Kurama. Naruto’s Summons.”

Kurama’s fox form stretched languidly across Shikamaru’s shoulders, his tails curling possessively around the boy’s neck. “Washi is Kurama,” his voice was a low rumble that vibrated through Shikamaru’s bones. “And Naruto’s Summons? Please. She’s my Summoner. There’s a difference.” He sniffed disdainfully at the air. “And you smell like fear and cheap sake, Tsunade. It’s unbecoming. It’s not like you haven’t ever met me like this, I used to come and go as I pleased from Mito’s seal. You used to take naps on my tails when you were a toddler.”

Tsunade’s knuckles cracked audibly as she clenched her fists. Her gaze flickered between Kurama’s unnervingly intelligent eyes and Naruto’s peaceful face nestled against Jiraiya’s shoulder. “You… you were Kushina’s…” Her voice faltered. “Hiruzen told everyone you’d gone feral. That the trauma of extraction drove you mad.”

Kurama rolled his eyes, bringing one of his clawed fingers up to pick at something in between his teeth. “I was put under a genjutsu by a rogue Uchiha that didn’t live in Konoha.” He paused, ears twitching. “… the Uchiha… He was a kid. A teenager. So he was either a rogue or just got his Mangekyō Sharingan and went insane.” He shrugged. “Either way, Hiruzen lied to you. He knew. He was there when Minato sealed me into Naruto.” His tails flicked irritably. “He saw me conscious and talking. He heard me promise to protect her.”

Jiraiya’s arms tightened around Naruto, his voice thick. “Why? Why would he do that? Lock her away? Lie about you?”

Kurama’s tails flicked, a dismissive gesture. “Fear? Convenience? Hiruzen saw a weapon, not a child. Easier to isolate the ‘demon’ than confront the village’s hatred I suppose.” His crimson eyes narrowed at Jiraiya. “Minato sealed me with trust—trust in Naruto’s strength, trust in *my* vow to protect her. Hiruzen spat on that trust. He locked her in that tomb of an apartment, told Mikoto her visits ‘agitated the beast,’ lied to Asuma that she was ‘too volatile’ for guardianship.”

Tsunade’s fist slammed into the nearest tree, splintering bark. "He called her volatile? That cowardly bastard watched her starve for attention while he fed the village poison!" Her voice trembled with rage.

“… is everything okay?” Shizune yelled from her and Tonton’s spot as far away as possible because if anything had gone wrong, she was gonna dip— there is no way on God‘s green earth. She was going to fight a tailed beast— but from where she was it just looked like they were talking and Tsunade had punched a tree. Tsunade didn’t respond, her knuckles bleeding slightly against the splintered wood. Her shoulders trembled, not from exertion, but from the raw fury coiling in her chest. Hiruzen hadn’t just neglected Naruto; he’d systematically imprisoned her, weaponizing the village’s fear to keep her isolated, starving for more than just ramen. The image of a tiny, crimson-haired girl staring out a barred window flashed in Tsunade’s mind – a cage built by the very man sworn to protect her.

Tsunade screamed, throwing the most heinous sounding curses at Hiruzen’s name as she ripped the splintered tree clean out of the ground. Shizune scrambled backward, clutching Tonton tighter. “Lady Tsunade! Please!”

Tsunade ignored her, turning and stomping away, still holding the tree. Jiraiya ducked instinctively as she swung it overhead, roaring Hiruzen's name like a war cry. Bark flew everywhere. Kurama flattened his ears against the noise but didn't move from Shikamaru’s shoulders, watching Tsunade's destructive tantrum with detached amusement. "Humans," he muttered, tail flicking. "Always so dramatic."

—————————————

Meanwhile, in the trees high above the scene happening down below.

Kakashi held back his two fellow Anbu Tiger and Tsubame— Genma and Hayate— his grip tightening on their arms painfully, but neither of them had reacted.

He had been holding onto them since the Nine-Tailed fox had appeared, but they had stopped struggling against his grip quite a while ago, and now the three of them were just sitting in the trees, digesting what they had just heard. Kakashi could feel Genma trembling slightly under his hand, Hayate’s breathing shallow and uneven beside him. Below, Tsunade’s furious roars echoed through the forest, punctuated by the sickening crunch of wood as she demolished another tree. Kurama’s bored commentary drifted up to them, sharp and clear despite the chaos.

Genma shifted, the senbon in his mouth clicking softly against his teeth— his mask being custom-made to have the Tigers mouth open—. "She broke the seal," he whispered, voice thick with disbelief. "At five years old. Minato-Sama’s seal." His eyes remained fixed on Naruto, curled peacefully in Jiraiya’s arms, her crimson hair spilling like blood against his cloak. Kakashi felt the tremor deepen in Hayate’s arm—not fear, but the dawning horror of betrayal. Hiruzen had lied. To everyone. To Konoha itself.

Kakashi’s grip tightened on Genma and Hayate so much that their arm guards creaked under the pressure. He felt as if he were holding back a landslide. Hiruzen had forbidden him from telling Naruto she had a family—that Kakashi was her brother—claiming that the Ninetails would…  would-would-would— would something. Kakashi had never been told what exactly the fox would do. Only that it would be catastrophic. Lies. All lies.

Hiruzen had forbidden him from… from… from… from Naruto, telling him he could only be her Anbu. Hiruzen knew he was Uzumaki. A half blood, but still. Hiruzen knew it physically hurt him to stay away from her. *Sorry, Kakashi, I know you were Minato and Kushina’s adopted son, but it’s better for all parties if you do not interact with her, and don’t tell her you are her brother.* The Hokage had said to one grieving, 14-years-old, Hatake Kakashi who had just lost his family. again. A boy who was still grieving the death of his teammates and Hiruzen told him he had to be alone.

Kakashi’s grip tightened until Genma and Hayate’s arm guards groaned under the pressure. The scent of ozone—lightning chakra bleeding out—filled the small space between them.

“Hound— hound- ho— Kakashi.” Hayate’s voice was a rasp, muffled by his swallow mask. Kakashi’s knuckles were bone-white against Genma’s arm guard. The scent of ozone thickened— Kakashi’s lightning chakra bleeding into the air like static before a storm. “Kashi, hey, breathe.” Genma’s senbon clicked sharply against his teeth. “You’re crushing us.”

Below, Tsunade’s fist slammed into an ancient cedar. Wood splintered like cannon fire. “Ten years!” she roared. “Ten years of that coward locking her away like some— some rabid thing!” Shizune hovered at the edge of the clearing, wringing her hands. Kurama yawned, stretching his fox body across the Nara’s shoulders, watching the chaos. “Humans,” he sniffed. “Always so dramatic.”

Rabid thing. The words made Kakashi’s jaw clench. He remembered Hiruzen’s stern face, the cold order: *Do not approach her. For her safety, Hatake. The fox’s influence is unpredictable.* Lies. All lies. Kakashi’s grip tightened on Genma and Hayate’s arm guards—metal groaned under his fingers. Lightning chakra sparked along his knuckles, biting into the air. Below, Tsunade kicked the shattered trunk, sending wood shards flying. Kurama’s tail flicked lazily. "Dramatic," he murmured, amber eyes gleaming. "But accurate."

“Kashi, seriously, it’s gonna be okay.” Hayate was suddenly in his face, mask tilted sideways, brown eyes wide and urgent. Kakashi had half of a mind to scold him for the name and the fact his mask wasn’t fully on— but Hayate’s fingers dug into Kakashi’s wrist, forcing his grip to loosen. Genma wheezed beside them, rubbing his bruised forearm. “We’re gonna fix this,” Hayate rasped, his cough catching sharply in the cold air. “But you gotta let go.”

Below, Tsunade’s fury echoed through the forest. “He poisoned an entire generation against her! Made her live in that tomb alone!” She paced, fists clenched, chakra flaring like a visible heat haze. Kurama watched her, tail twitching. “Dramatic,” he muttered again, but there was an edge to it— a low growl beneath the words.

Kakashi worked his jaw, trying to find words, a scolding to make Hayate put the mask back on, but all he managed was to get out a gargled sounding noise before Genma was reaching over, pushing Kakashi’s own mask up onto his forehead. Kakashi blinked at him, stunned. Genma— maskless as well— face was pale, eyes tight at the corners. “Breathe, Hatake.” He ordered, voice low and gravelly. Kakashi hadn’t realised he was holding his breath until Genma said it. He sucked in a lungful of cold air, sharp as knives.

Hayate kept his grip firm on Kakashi's wrist, grounding him. "Focus on me," he murmured, ignoring Kakashi's instinctive twitch toward his displaced mask. Below, Tsunade's roar split the air—"He stole her childhood! Locked her away like some—"

“Don’t listen to her, tune it out,” Genma interrupted, shifting to block Kakashi’s view of the clearing. His senbon clicked against his teeth. “Focus on me and Hayate. That’s your mission right now.” Kakashi’s gaze flickered between them—Hayate’s mask still crooked, Genma’s face bare—both risking exposure for him. The absurdity of it punched through the haze of rage. Anbu didn’t break protocol. Ever. Yet here they were, unmasked and trembling under his crushing grip.

Kakashi made a choking sound, and before he could even think twice about it, he reached up and snatched his face mask, yanking it down with enough force to tear the fabric. Cold air hit his lips as he gasped, gulping down breaths like a drowning man.

Genma and Hayate simultaneously sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening even further than they had been at the revelation about Hiruzen’s lies. This is the first time they’re actually seeing Kakashi’s full, uncovered face, and… he looks like Naruto. He looks like how Kushina did. He looks like an Uzumaki. Uzumaki with silver hair, but still a Uzumaki. The resemblance is uncanny, and they’re stunned silent for a moment, staring at Kakashi’s face.

“… o-o-okay…” Hayate breathed, his grip slackening as he stared at Kakashi’s uncovered face—the sharp jawline, the beauty mark under the left corner of his mouth, the startling resemblance to Kushina Uzumaki’s features.— High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a Greek nose. He has a smattering of freckles across his face, with long, thick eyelashes that framed his eyes.— Silver hair couldn’t disguise the Uzumaki blood screaming through his features. Hatake Kakashi looks like an Uzumaki, just in a paler color palette. His Unsharingan eye— an eye they never spared a second glance to even though they see them nearly every day— was grey, were cat-like— fox-like—, with slitted pupils that were a darker shade of grey. From his parted lips they could see his teeth were sharpened. From his canines back, his teeth weren’t quite razor sharp but they also weren’t quite normal either.

Genma’s senbon clattered onto the branch, forgotten. “Holy shit, Hatake. You’re… you’re *hers*. Literally. Blood and bone.” His hand came up to cover his mouth, rubbing rough fingers over his lips as if trying to wipe away the shock. Below, Tsunade’s furious rant about Hiruzen’s lies faded into distant thunder. All Genma could see was Kushina’s ghost staring back at him through Kakashi’s grey and Sharingan, slitted eyes—the same sharp angles, the same fierce lines, now twisted with raw— animalistic-like— agony and betrayal. Kakashi’s uncovered face wasn’t just a secret; it was a crime scene. Hiruzen hadn’t just hidden Naruto’s parentage. He’d buried Kakashi’s right to mourn as a brother. Genma’s stomach clenched. Ten years of Kakashi’s silence, ten years of Naruto’s loneliness, all because a Hokage feared a fox and a legacy.

Hayate’s fingers trembled where they still gripped Kakashi’s wrist. “Your teeth,” he whispered, voice thin. “Your eyes… Kakashi, she *sees* you. Every day. Actually sees YOU, oh, god, she doesn’t see the shadows… she… she… She knows your face under the mask… because it’s *hers*. You have *her* face.” The implications slammed into him like a kunai to the ribs. Naruto’s eerie awareness of Anbu positions, her uncanny ability to name them through porcelain—it wasn’t just observation. It was kinship screaming through blood. At least for one of them.

Genma’s hand shot out, fingers digging into Kakashi’s shoulder as if anchoring him to the trembling branch. "Breathe, captain," he rasped, voice stripped raw. "Just fucking breathe." Below, Tsunade’s fury carved craters into the ground, earth splintering under her chakra-fueled rage, but the sound felt muffled, distant—drowned by the static roaring in Kakashi’s ears. Hayate’s gaze remained locked on Kakashi’s face, tracing the familiar lines—Kushina’s face, the face that belongs to Kushina’s clan on Kakashi, the sharp jaw, the freckles dusting pale skin, the unnatural slits in grey an irise. The pieces clicked together with brutal clarity.

Kakashi’s breath hitched, sharp and ragged. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing again until his lungs burned. It hurts. God it hurts. It hurts so much. So bad. All the time. Hayate’s words echoed—*she sees you*—and suddenly, every time Naruto had angled her body toward his hiding spot, every time she’d called out "Hound-san" with that infuriatingly knowing grin, it wasn't just intuition. It was recognition. Blood calling to blood. He stared down at his hands—calloused, scarred, trembling—and saw Kushina’s-his-Uzumaki’s freckles dusting his knuckles. Hiruzen hadn’t just silenced him; he’d made Kakashi a ghost in his own sister’s life.

Genma’s grip tightened, grounding. "Look at me," he ordered, voice low but urgent. Kakashi dragged his gaze up. Genma’s eyes—usually lazy, amused—were razor-sharp. "You’re Uzumaki. And that bastard caged both of you." Hayate nodded, coughing into his fist before adding, "She’s not just the Anbu Princess. She’s *your* princess." Below, Tsunade’s roars faded as she sank to her knees beside Jiraiya, her shoulders shaking. Naruto slept on, curled against Jiraiya’s chest, Kurama’s chakra-fox form, a small, watchful blaze of orange beside them. Safe. Unaware. Kakashi’s chest tightened. He’d failed her. For ten years, he’d watched from the shadows while she cried alone.

“… Ne—Ko…” Kakashi didn’t even recognize his own voice when he spoke. It was cracked, raw, like gravel dragged over stone, more a sound a wounded animal would make. 

The sound made Genma and Hayate flinch, their hands tightening instinctively on his arms and shoulder. He didn’t look at them. His uncovered gaze was locked on Naruto below—small, asleep, her crimson hair spilling over Jiraiya’s arm like a banner. His sister. His little sister. He’d watched her scrape her knees on the Academy steps, heard her muffled sobs through thin apartment walls after another prank gone wrong, seen her stare hungrily at families in the market. All while Hiruzen’s decree echoed in his skull: *Do not reveal yourself. She is volatile. The fox makes her dangerous.* Lies. Poisonous, suffocating lies. Kakashi’s fingers dug into the bark beneath him, splinters embedding under his nails. The pain was nothing. Less than nothing. The real agony was the phantom weight of Naruto’s loneliness pressing down on him, a decade thick. He’d been her shadow, her silent guardian… and her unwitting jailer.

Genma shifted, running his tongue over his top teeth. “Hatake,” he murmured, low and urgent, using Kakashi’s clan name deliberately. “Look at me.” Kakashi’s grey slitted pupil and Sharingan, the grey eye so unnervingly like Kushina’s, flickered towards him. Genma held his gaze, unflinching. “You didn’t know. Hiruzen bound you with duty and lies. That weight isn’t yours to carry alone.” Beside him, Hayate nodded, his cough suppressed into a tight fist. “Tsubame’s right,” Hayate rasped, his dark-ringed eyes serious. “The cage was built around her… and you. Seeing it now? That’s the first step to breaking it.” Below, Tsunade slumped against Jiraiya, her fury spent, leaving only a hollow exhaustion. Jiraiya cradled Naruto closer, his large hand smoothing her hair, whispering something Kakashi couldn’t hear. Kurama’s chakra form, a small orange fox, perched on Shikamaru’s shoulder, its red eyes scanning the treetops—lingering for a fraction too long on Kakashi’s position. *He knows we’re here,* Kakashi thought numbly. *He always knew.*

—————————————————

Kakashi slips into the Inn room Tsunade and everyone else from her little group was sharing once she knew it was just Tsunade in the room.

Tsunade jumped as Kakashi purposely made noise to get her attention as he landed on the window seal, sliding the window open, slipping into the room.

Tsunade snapped around to see an Anbu, and instantly was up on her feet, the room was too dark for her to catch the familiar silver hair. “Anbu? What’s wrong? I left Jiraiya in charge for barely an hour!” She hissed, chakra flaring at her knuckles. Kakashi didn’t move. He just stood there, moonlight catching the edge of his mask. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and pulled his mask off, revealing a face Tsunade knew well, even if she hasn’t seen it in years.

A face that looked utterly and completely exhausted, drained, betrayed, and broken. Tsunade’s breath hitched. “Kakashi?” she whispered, disbelief warring with recognition. “Wha— I was guessing you were going to be one of the Anbu watching us, but— what…” she waved her hand at his expression, unable to articulate the sheer devastation etched into every line of his features.

Kakashi didn’t speak immediately. He just stood there, mask dangling loosely from his fingers, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his jaw, the beauty mark beneath his lip, the haunted depth of his eyes. He looked like a ghost summoned by her own fury. Finally, his voice rasped out, raw and scraped thin. "Hiruzen lied." It wasn't a question. It was a condemnation carved into the air between them. “To… me… to.”

Tsunade’s fists clenched. The rage she’d expended downstairs surged back, colder now, sharper. “He lied to everyone, Kakashi. To Mikoto, to Asuma, to Jiraiya… to Naruto.” She spat the words out like venom. “He isolated her. Made her suffer alone. Because he was afraid. Afraid of Kurama, afraid of Minato’s legacy… afraid of his own shadow.” She took a step closer, studying his face, the exhaustion that went bone-deep.

Kakashi’s jaw worked, jaw popping as he forced it open. "Mama,” The title slipped out before he could stop it, choked and thick with unshed tears. He hadn’t called Tsunade that since he was ten, since Minato and Kushina finally managed to adopt him because for some goddamn reason neither Tsunade, Jiraiya, or Orochimaru had been able to adopt him.

It had been a habit when he picked up when Jiraiya, Tsunade, Dan, and Orochimaru started dating his dad— don’t ask him how his dad managed to pull so many people, but he did— it was a mortifying habit to him, but it was a habit when he was tired. His dad was Otōsan. Jiraiya was Oyaji. Tsunade was Mama. Dan was Otōchan. Orochimaru was Chichi.

And even though it was Minato and Kushina who were the ones that finally managed to get him out of the foster system, the two of them were more like brother and sister-in-law than actual parents, even if they treated him like he was their son. They were Minato-oniisan and Kushina-oneesan.

When he was little, it used to mortify him when he would slip up, but now he couldn’t give two damns.

Tsunade’s breath hitched. That word, that title, cracked something inside her. She hadn’t heard it in over a decade. Not since Minato and Kushina finally pried him out of the broken foster system, a system she and Jiraiya and Orochimaru had inexplicably failed to navigate for him. “He lied,” Kakashi repeated, the words hollow, echoing the emptiness in his visible eye. “He told me… he told me Naruto was dangerous. Volatile. That… that she couldn’t know who I was. That it would trigger the fox.” A bitter, choked sound escaped him, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Fuck… Mama, I wasn’t even allowed to interact with her, couldn’t say hello, couldn’t say her name, couldn’t even look at her without Hiruzen’s Anbu dragging me away.”

Tsunade’s hand trembled as she reached out, her knuckles brushing his cheekbone. The exhaustion radiating from him was palpable, deeper than any mission fatigue. It was the bone-deep weariness of a man who’d been forced to watch his little sister suffer alone, trapped behind lies. “He lied to everyone, Kakashi,” she murmured, her voice thick with fury and grief. “To Mikoto, to Asuma, to Jiraiya… to you. He isolated her out of fear. Cowardice.” Her gaze swept over him, taking in the slump of his shoulders, the way his eye seemed duller than usual. “You look like you haven’t slept since Minato died.”

“… I haven’t. Not really.” Kakashi’s voice was a rasp, the admission scraping raw against the silence. He leaned into Tsunade’s touch, a flicker of the exhausted child he’d once been surfacing. “It’s… hard to sleep. I started getting… Night terrors… after-after...” He swallowed thickly. “… they make it hard to sleep.”

Tsunade’s thumb brushed gently against the dark smudges beneath his eye. “I know, pup. I remember.” Her voice softened, the fury momentarily banked by maternal concern. “You used to crawl into bed with Dan after them. Or Orochimaru’s lab couch.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “He’d complain about you drooling on his scrolls.”

Kakashi huffed, a weak approximation of laughter. The memory was warm, safe. A stark contrast to the cold dread that coiled in his gut now. He’d spent years perched on rooftops and trees, watching Naruto’s lonely home, unable to descend, unable to hold her. Hiruzen’s orders had been a cage. “He told me… she was unstable. That the fox would lash out. That I’d endanger her… or the village… if she knew who I was.” The words tasted like ash. He’d believed it. Believed the Hokage. “He said… she might hurt herself…”

Tsunade’s other hand came up, gripping his shoulder tightly, grounding him. “He used your fear against you, Kakashi. Fear *for* her. Twisted it into a weapon.” Her gaze was sharp, unforgiving. “Minato and Kushina trusted you implicitly. They’d have skinned Hiruzen alive for this.”

Kakashi flinched, the image vivid. Minato’s quiet fury, Kushina’s volcanic rage. They’d have torn Konoha apart for their daughter. Instead, he’d stood frozen, a ghost in the shadows. “I should have fought harder,” he whispered, the guilt corrosive. “Should have… taken her. Run.”

Tsunade’s grip shifted, pulling him into a fierce, one-armed hug. Her scent – antiseptic and stubborn earth – was achingly familiar. “Don’t,” she commanded, voice thick. “Don’t drown in ‘what ifs’. Hiruzen held the Hat. He held the keys. He broke faith.” She pulled back, framing his face. “We fix it. *Now*. Starting with her knowing *you*.”

Kakashi’s breath hitched. The thought was terrifying. Naruto didn’t know him. Not really. Just the Anbu shadow, the silent guardian she’d tease with ramen bribes or mock for his mask. Not her brother. Not the boy who’d held her tiny, squalling form minutes after her birth, with Minato and Kushina dying beside them. "She’ll hate me," he rasped, the words scraping raw. "For hiding. For failing her."

Tsunade snorted, a sharp, dismissive sound. "Hate? That girl?" Her thumb brushed the dampness under Kakashi’s eyes. "She craves connection like air, Kakashi. She sees ghosts in empty corners and names them friends. She’ll be furious, yeah. Loudly furious. Dattebayo furious." A ghost of Kushina’s fire flickered in Tsunade’s gaze. "But hate? Never. Not for family."

Chapter Text

Kakashi shifts where he sits at the window seal of Naruto’s Inn room, tracing a finger down his porcelain Anbu mask as he waits for the girl to return.

He had finally psyched himself up enough— with the help of Genma and Hayate— to finally talk to Naruto. Not as The Anbu Hound, but as Kakashi Hatake. As her brother. He’d waited until Tsunade had taken Jiraiya, Shikamaru, Shizune, and Tonton out for dinner, doing something to convince Naruto that she had left something or another in the Inn to convince her to come back, or whatever the hell the woman had decided. Kakashi had slipped in silently, mask firmly in place, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He perched on the windowsill, moonlight casting long shadows across the tatami mats. The room smelled faintly of ramen broth and Sunflowers—Naruto’s signature scent.

The door slammed open. Naruto bounded in, vibrant crimson hair bouncing, Kyūbi no Ken’s massive scabbard thumping against her back. She paused for a split second when she saw him, before shrugging and grinning, slamming the door shut behind her. "Hey, Hound, whatcha up to?”

Kakashi watched her, not answering. Naruto didn’t seem to mind or care, rummaging around her stuff scattered around the room. She pulled out a crumpled bag of chips, popping one into her mouth with a loud crunch. Her gaze flickered back to him, sharp and assessing.

She watched as he slid off the window seal, silent as always, his movements like water through shadows. Naruto chewed another chip, her crystal-blue eyes narrowing slightly. Kurama’s voice, dry and sharp, echoed in her mind: *He’s off tonight. Smells like fear and salt.* Naruto didn’t react outwardly, but her fingers tightened around the chip bag. She knew Hound-san’s rhythms—the way he’d tilt his head when amused, the faint rustle of his uniform when he shifted weight. Tonight, he stood too still. Like a statue waiting to crack.

She watched as he sank to the floor, kneeling much like the Anbu did to the Hokage and sometimes her, but this felt different. Deeper. Heard.

Hound reached up slowly, fingers trembling against the porcelain fox mask. Naruto continues to watch, licking her lips and licking the salty chip dust off her fingers.

He pulled the mask off.

Naruto didn’t react, just grinned again. “Hey, Kakashi.” She greeted him much like she greeted him when calling him Hound as she abandoned the bag of chips, bounding her way over to him. “You know, you’re breaking rules, dattebayo!” She sang-songed, not sounding like she cared in the slightest he was breaking the rules. She stopped before him, tilting her head to the side, her vibrant crimson braids cascading over her shoulder. “So, what’s up?” She asked, her crystal-blue eyes scanning his face, sharp and observant.

Kakashi’s breath caught. She knew his name? How? He’d been so careful. His gaze flickered for a moment, but he forced himself still, kneeling rigidly. The porcelain mask lay discarded beside him, a silent witness. Kurama’s voice, sly and amused, whispered in Naruto’s mind: *Told you. He reeks of panic. Like a rabbit cornered by a very confused hawk.* Naruto’s grin widened, but her eyes held a flicker of something deeper—curiosity, maybe concern.

“Awwwwwww, Kakashi, don’t make that face. Naruto-Chan knows all the names of Konoha’s shadows!” Naruto chirped, reaching out to poke Kakashi’s cheek. Her finger stopped just short, hovering near the scar bisecting his left eye. Her grin softened into something thoughtful, unnervingly perceptive. “You’re always watching me. Like Hayate-san coughs when he’s nervous, or Genma-san spins his senbon.” She tilted her head, crimson braids swinging. “You’re Hatake Kakashi. The Copy Ninja. My dad’s student.” Her voice dropped, losing its playful lilt. “… and I won’t say it now, but I know Kakashi is special, but I’ll wait for him to tell me.”

Kakashi froze. The air vanished from his lungs. She *knew*. Not just his name, but his connection. Years of Hiruzen’s warnings, his own paralyzing fear – it all crumbled under the weight of her casual, terrifying insight. His eyes widened, grey iris and Sharingan stark against the whites. His chakra spiked erratically, a silent scream. He hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t moved, yet she’d dismantled his entire existence with a few sentences. How long? How long had she known the silent shadow trailing her was Minato’s legacy? His throat tightened, raw. He’d agonized over this moment, rehearsed apologies, braced for fury… and she greeted him like a familiar puzzle she’d already solved.

Naruto watched him, the playful glint fading from her crystal-blue eyes. She saw the tremor in his hands, the way his shoulders locked tight as if bracing for a blow. “Neko-Chan’s not mad, Kakashi,” she murmured, using the nickname the Anbu had given her. Her voice was softer now, almost gentle. “I’ve known for as long as I can remember.” She fell forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in a sudden, fierce hug. Her crimson hair spilled over his shoulder like a waterfall of blood. Kakashi froze, his breath hitching.

Kurama’s chakra form materialized beside them, a small orange fox with nine tails flicking lazily. He snorted, padding closer. “Took you long enough, Hatake,” the fox grumbled, though his red eyes held a rare warmth. “The brat could smell you just as good as you could smell her,” Kurama drawled, padding closer to sniff Kakashi’s sleeve. Naruto tightened her hug, burying her face in Kakashi’s shoulder. “She knew you were her brother the first time she saw your silver hair sticking out from behind a chimney… plus with a bit of Intel from me of course.”

Kakashi’s hands hovered awkwardly before settling on Naruto’s back, trembling slightly. Her small frame felt impossibly solid against him. Kurama’s words echoed—she’d known. All this time. The rooftop vigils, the silent interventions against bullies, the ramen bribes she’d leave on his patrol routes… she’d seen *him*. Not the Hound. Not one of her shadows. Kakashi. Her brother. A choked sound escaped Kakashi’s throat—half sob, half disbelieving laugh—as he buried his face in her vibrant crimson hair. It smelled like sunshine and ramen broth and home.

Kurama padded even closer, his fox form radiating smug satisfaction. "Took you long enough," he rumbled, nudging Kakashi’s knee with his muzzle. "She’s been dropping hints thicker than Ichiraku’s miso broth since she was six." Naruto giggled against Kakashi’s shoulder, her grip tightening. "Shut up, Kurama! I was subtle!”

Kakashi’s laugh was ragged, muffled by her hair. Subtle? Naruto? The girl who painted the Hokage Monument bright orange? His arms finally wrapped around her properly, pulling her small frame close. The tension bled from his shoulders, leaving him trembling. Years of guilt, of silent watching, dissolved into the warmth of her hug. "You knew," he whispered, voice thick. "All this time... and you never said anything."

Naruto pulled back slightly, her crystal-blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears and fierce pride. "Course I knew, dattebayo! You smell like me. Like a Uzumaki, how could I not?" Her grin returned, lopsided and bright. "Besides, Kurama wouldn't shut up about it." The fox snorted, curling around Kakashi's ankles possessively, and Naruto cleared her throat, doing a crude imitation of Kurama’s voice. “I swear if that damn dog doesn’t stop pacing outside your window, Kushina will roll in her grave so hard she’ll tunnel back here just to slap him!”

Kurama hissed, swatting at Naruto’s ankle. “I do not sound like that!” Kakashi stared, caught between disbelief and overwhelming relief. His hand rose instinctively, hovering near Naruto’s cheek before gently brushing away a stray tear. "You... you really aren't angry?" His voice was rough, tentative.

“I could never be mad at Kakashi-oniichan,” Naruto whispered fiercely, her voice thick. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her own crystal-blue gaze unwavering. “I don’t know why you couldn’t talk to me, but I was never mad, not really.” Her fingers brushed the scar beneath his Sharingan. “I just… I just wished you could’ve been there.”

Kurama snorted softly, resting his chin on Kakashi’s knee. “She cried herself to sleep over it more than once, Hatake. Don’t let that sunshine act fool you.” Naruto shot the fox a glare but didn’t deny it, her fingers tightening in Kakashi’s flak vest. Kakashi’s throat tightened. The image of her small, lonely form curled in that barren apartment or compound—aching for a brother she knew but couldn’t reach—cut deeper than any blade. He pulled her back into the hug, burying his face in her crimson hair again. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, the words raw and heavy. “I’m so sorry, Naruto.”

Naruto shook her head fiercely against his shoulder. “Stop apologizing, dattebayo! You’re here now!” She pulled back, swiping roughly at her eyes with her sleeve. “Really, I’m not mad, maybe… sad, but not mad.” Her gaze drop down to his Anbu mask, frowning. “I was never mad at you at least, you always smelled so… tired. Sad. Angry at someone else.” She tilted her head, studying him with unnerving clarity. “At the Old Man, right? Hiruzen?” She rubbed her nose, “You always smelled angry, the same type of angry when you were watching me, when you were around Jiji…. You don’t like Jiji very much, do you?”

Kakashi flinched. Her perception was terrifying. He’d thought his chakra control impeccable, his emotions locked down tighter than Konoha’s deepest vaults. Yet she’d sensed it—the simmering resentment towards the Third Hokage that had festered for years. He stared at Naruto, her crystal-blue eyes holding no accusation, only understanding. "He forbade me," Kakashi admitted, the words scraping out like gravel. "Said knowing me would endanger you. That the fox... that *Kurama*... might lash out if you formed attachments." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "He was wrong."

Naruto huffed, sniffing as she scrunched her nose. “Jiji has never liked Rama-Chan,” she muttered, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings on Kakashi’s discarded Anbu mask. “He never liked people interacting with me. Didn’t like it when I started making friends.”

Kurama growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. “He’s an old fool.”

Kakashi watched Naruto’s fingers trace the snarling fox motif on his mask. Her touch was light, thoughtful—a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his chest. “Hiruzen’s… not a problem anymore,” he murmured, the words tasting bitter. Tsunade’s promise echoed: *We fix it.* “Asuma is the Fifth Hokage now, remember?”

Naruto blinked, then grinned. “Oh yeah! Asuma-ojisan bragged about him becoming Hokage before me sssssssssssoooooooooooooooooooooooooo much!” She rolled her eyes dramatically, but her smile softened. “Still… Jiji was… complicated.” Her fingers stopped tracing the mask. She looked up, her gaze sharpening. “But Kakashi-oniichan? You’re not complicated.” She leaned forward, poking his chest. “You’re my brother. And brothers don’t hide behind masks anymore, dattebayo!” She reached up, tugging at the face mask he wore under the porcelain Anbu one. “Eveeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnn this one! I know oniichan was voted as the hottest Shinobi in Konoha because of his ‘Mysteriousness’! But I wanna see his real face! Not the mask covered face I hear the ladies and men swoon over!”

Kakashi caught her wrist gently, his eyes crinkling with reluctant amusement. “Patience, Naruto-Chan. Some mysteries are worth savoring.” He released her hand, his gaze drifting to Kurama, who was now sprawled across Naruto’s discarded chip bag, tail flicking lazily. “Besides,” Kakashi added, his voice dropping slightly, “seeing my face might ruin my reputation.”

“Whatever!” Naruto flopped back onto the tatami mats, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I was just seeing if you would show me. I already know what it looks like.” She laughed as if she’d pulled off the prank of the century. “I’ve lived in the Uzumaki compound for three years. I've seen the big family tree painted on the ceiling of the main hall more times than I can count. There’s a portrait of you when you were little, dattebayo! Without the mask!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “You looked like a grumpy puppy! And pretty like me! Kurama says the puppy part comes from your Hatake side. I think the Uzumaki and Hatake make a real pretty face.”

Kurama snorted, rolling onto his back beside her. “He still looks like a grumpy puppy. Just taller and covered in more scars.” The fox yawned, showing off sharp teeth. “And less whining. Mostly.”

Kakashi stared at Naruto, stunned. The Uzumaki compound’s grand hall—he hadn’t stepped foot inside since Kushina’s and Minato-sensei’s death. The portraits… Minato-sensei must have commissioned one during Kakashi’s genin days. A lifetime ago. Before Rin. Before Obito. Before the blood soaked his hands so thoroughly he’d buried Hatake Kakashi beneath porcelain and shadows. Naruto grinned up at him, utterly triumphant, crimson hair fanned out like wildfire on the tatami. “See? No secrets from me, Oniichan! I know what that pretty face looks like already!”

Kurama snorted, stretching lazily beside her. “Pretty? Hmph. More like perpetually sleep-deprived.” His tails flicked dismissively. “Though the scar adds character. Makes him look less like a startled fawn.”

Naruto giggled, rolling onto her stomach and spun around to face Kakashi fully, propping her head up in her hands. Her crystal-blue eyes shone with fierce affection. “See? Even Kurama approves! Sorta.”

Kakashi’s visible eye softened, the tension in his shoulders finally easing completely. He reached out, ruffling her vibrant crimson hair—a gesture both hesitant and instinctive. “Brat,” he murmured, but the word held no bite, only warmth. Naruto leaned into the touch like a sunflower seeking light, her grin softening into something quieter, more content. Kurama watched them, his fox form curled protectively around Naruto’s ankles, a low rumble of approval vibrating in his chest. The air hummed with unspoken understanding—years of silent guardianship dissolving into this fragile, newfound closeness.

———————————

(I literally got the bite idea from the fucking Omegaverse. I laughed so hard I started crying while writing this part of the chapter because I could only think about the Omegaverse!)

Kisame has learned something, Tobi— nope, Obito, he has to keep on reminding himself that Tobi’s name is Obito, not Tobi.

Well, in the little over a month he and Obito had defected from the Akatsuki, he has learned that Obito is bat shit fucking insane. Tobi might’ve been bat shit insane, but Obito is bat shit fucking insane.

Bat shit insane and bat shit fucking insane are two completely different things, Kisame decided. Tobi had been chaotic, unpredictable—a whirlwind of childish antics masking something darker. Obito Uchiha was… just… insane.

Kisame watched Obito from where he sat across from him in some random booth of a bar, drinking down his third sake.

And, Tobi was just insane, Obito was pretty and insane. Being pretty and insane was a dangerous combination. Obito kind of reminds Kisame of the comic books with Harley Quinn in them, the guy reminded him of Harley Quinn, just a male version of her that had a bit more of a murderous streak.

Harley Quinn was his first fictional crush, kind of ironic Kisame thought as he watched Obito meticulously peel an apple.

Kisame’s gaze traced The Uchiha’s figure, tracing the way he was sitting in the booth seat on his knees, leaning over the back of the booth, back to Kisame as he chatted— flirted— with a group of women and men to get something he wanted— Kisame wasn’t paying attention enough to know what Obito wanted— He was too busy unabashedly looking at the nice ass in front of him.

Kisame’s gaze traced the curve of Obito’s hips, the way his dark pants hugged his thighs, and the lean muscles of his back visible through the thin fabric of his shirt. Kisame’s gaze lingered on Obito’s ass. Kisame’s gaze lingered on Obito’s ass for a long time.

It was a nice ass. Kisame wonders if Obito would let him tap that.

He’s pretty sure Obito would kill him if he tried. Kisame’s gaze drifted upward, lingering on the curve of Obito’s hips beneath dark fabric, the lean lines of his back shifting as he leaned further over the booth. The Uchiha’s laughter drifted back—light, charming, utterly false. Kisame took another long pull of sake. Obito was peeling an apple with a kunai, the blade flashing silver-red under the bar’s dim lights. Thin spirals of peel coiled onto the sticky tabletop that belong to the people he was chatting with like discarded skin. The motion was hypnotic, precise. Deadly. Kisame’s gaze drifted downward again. Definitely a nice ass.

Kisame Hoshigaki wouldn’t mind if Obito bit him. He’d like that. To have Obito bite him somewhere visible to let everyone know Obito was his.

That’s how Hoshigaki married— you could say, they didn’t do the whole wedding bells and chapel thing, or whatever other thing other religion or clan did. If you managed to catch their fancy, and your teeth were strong enough to break their skin, the shark-like hide that the Hoshigaki had as skin— somewhere visible— that was good enough for the Hoshigaki.

Hoshigaki didn’t marry for love or procreation— rather to have protection and strength in numbers. His clan couldn’t give a damn if you fancied men, women, or both. Just that they were strong, strong enough to play with the big sharks. And of course, strong enough to leave a pretty teeth shaped scar somewhere on their body. Kisame grinned at the thought, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. Obito would leave a beautiful scar. Maybe on his shoulder. Or his neck. Somewhere everyone could see.

Hoshigaki also didn’t follow the social norm of only having one wife or husband, the Hoshigaki couldn’t give a flying fuck how many you had. Hell, Kisame’s dad had three wives and two husbands.

Though… Kisame would only let Obito bite him if the guy wasn’t territorial about partners and stuff like that, because Kisame is hell bent on finding Zabuza.

Zabuza makes him feel all mushy and soft inside. Obito was kinda getting to that point too. But Zabuza’s always going to be Kisame’s first love. Kisame’s grin softened slightly at the thought of Zabuza’s perpetual scowl. That man could carve a scar with his teeth that’d make Kisame’s shark ancestors proud.

Kisame nearly purred at the thought. He took another deep swig of sake, his gaze wandering up Obito’s body, a slightly sour thought crossing his mind.

He also wouldn’t let the Uchiha bite him if he wouldn’t be a good stepdad to Zabuza’s guppies. Kisame frowned into his sake cup. Obito’s manic energy and penchant for elaborate, bloody theatrics didn’t exactly scream “stable parental figure.” Zabuza’s kids—Haku and the others—needed someone calm. Someone who wouldn’t, say, turn a simple cooking lesson into a lecture on arterial spray patterns. Kisame sighed. Obito was chaos incarnate wrapped in a distractingly attractive package. He’d probably try to teach the kids how to dissect a threat analysis by vivisecting a live captive. Not ideal.

But… Zabuza was… also kind of like that. Not that brand of pretty and insane, but a different brand of pretty and insane, so maybe it’d be fine? Maybe Obito would be a good stepdad? Kisame tilted his head, contemplating the chaos.

Two brands of insane and pretty in one household? Kisame grinned, sharp teeth flashing. It could work. Zabuza’s brutal pragmatism and Obito’s madness might even balance each other out. Or combust spectacularly. Either way, it’d be entertaining. He drained his sake, slamming the cup down with a thud that made the empty bottles of sake jump. Obito didn’t flinch, still leaning over the booth, his kunai now tracing idle patterns on the tabletop beside the naked fruit. The group he’d been charming had dispersed, leaving behind empty glasses and dazed expressions. Mission accomplished, whatever it was.

… Wait? Kisame titled his head once he came back to reality. He blinked. What the actual fuck are they doing here again?

—————————————

“Princess, i’ve got a question for you?” Jiraiya sat down beside Tsunade on the bed with a sigh. The room was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the village outside the in  settling into evening. Tsunade glanced up from the scroll she’d been studying, her expression guarded. She knew that tone. Jiraiya only used it when something was gnawing at him.

“Spit it out, Jiraiya.” She set the scroll aside, folding her arms. “You’ve been brooding for the past week.”

Jiraiya ran a hand through his unruly white hair, avoiding her eyes. “It’s about Naruto.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “… what is the relationship between her and Shikamaru? I’ve… noticed that the two of them are… close. Very close.” His voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. “The Nara boy follows her around like a shadow, and she lights up when he’s near. Always holding her hand or one of her braids.” He finally met Tsunade’s gaze, his expression troubled. “It’s like he’s attached to her. Possessive, almost. And she lets him. Encourages it, even.”

Tsunade rolls her eyes, her gaze turning back to the scroll as she picks it back up. “The two of them…” she pauses for a split second, sighing. “Shikamaru fixated. On her. Three-years-ago. He IS practically attached to her.”

Jiraiya frowns. “Fixated? How? Why? He’s a Nara. They don’t fixate. They’re too lazy for that.”

Tsunade’s gaze snapped up from her scroll, her expression shifting into disbelief and exasperation. “Jiraiya, did you ever pay attention in clan history class?” She asks, her voice sharp. “The Nara Clan. They have fixations. That’s one of the biggest things about their clan.”

Jiraiya blinked, his brow furrowing. “Fixations? Like… obsessions?” He leaned forward, intrigued. “I thought they were just lazy geniuses who liked clouds and shogi.”

Tsunade pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gods, you’re hopeless. Yes, obsessions. Deep, all-consuming ones. There Fixations and human fixations, all Nara go through a fixation, they fixate on something, but human fixations are much more intense. It’s rare, but when a Nara fixates on a *person*, it’s… permanent. Unbreakable. Like a shadow binding to its source.” She set the scroll down carefully. “Shikamaru fixated on Naruto. She caught his attention and kept it, that’s how human fixations come to be. To him— even if neither of them realize it because they’re both ten— his mind, body, and soul belongs to Naruto. He’s hers. Utterly.”

Jiraiya stared, his usual levity gone. “But… she’s ten. He’s ten. That’s… intense.” He pictured Shikamaru’s perpetually bored expression sharpening only when Naruto was near, the way his fingers always found the end of one of her crimson braids, twisting it absently as if anchoring himself. “What does that mean for them?”

Tsunade stared at him for a long, long, long, long moment, looking as if she wished she could go back in time and force him to pay attention to anything beyond his own ego and pervy novels. "It means," she said slowly, deliberately, "That Shikamaru Nara will never love anyone else. Ever. His entire existence is now oriented around Naruto. Her happiness, her safety, her goals. He will protect her, support her, and likely follow her into literal hell without blinking. And he will do it with the terrifying, quiet efficiency only a Nara can muster." She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "It’s not romantic yet, Jiraiya. They’re children. But it *will* be. And when it is, it will be absolute. Unshakeable. That boy will tear the world apart for her if she asks. Or even if she doesn’t."

Jiraiya leaned back, stunned into silence. He pictured Naruto’s wild grin, her chaotic energy, and then Shikamaru’s lazy, calculating gaze sharpening only for her. The way the Nara boy always seemed to materialize at Naruto’s side before anyone else, how his shadow stretched towards her even in bright sunlight. "Does she know?" he finally asked, his voice rough. "Does Naruto understand what she is to him?"

Tsunade sighed again, sucking on her top teeth. “Honestly… I can’t tell.” She tapped the scroll with a sharp fingernail. “She’s ten, Jiraiya. She understands loyalty, friendship, the fierce protectiveness she feels for those she cares about. But the depth of what Shikamaru offers? The sheer permanence of it?” Tsunade reluctantly shook her head, looking as if she didn’t know if she should do it or not. “She sees him as her best friend. Her shadow. She trusts him implicitly, relies on him in ways she doesn’t even realize. But the idea that he’s bound to her soul? That’s… I… can’t tell if she’s oblivious or just accepts it as naturally as breathing.”

Jiraiya rubbed his jaw, the stubble rasping under his fingers. He thought about it for a moment before his mind started wandering. Honestly, that would be a good idea for one of his Icha Icha books. A Nara fixated on a girl who didn’t even know it? That could be a good plot. He could see it now: the lazy genius, secretly obsessed, pulling strings behind the scenes to keep her safe while she remained blissfully unaware. He could call it *Icha Icha Shadow: The Unseen Bond*. Yeah, that had potential. He made a mental note to scribble that down later.

Tsunade, seemingly not paying attention to his wandering thoughts, sat up, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, crash course time Jiraiya.” She held up a finger. “Firstly, Nara don’t have crushes or love interests, they have something called interest and certainties, and sometimes those interests will turn into certainties or those interests will fizzle out in a matter of just a couple days. It’s complicated, but it’s a Nara thing. And sometimes, very rarely, like this has only happened a handful of times. a certainty has turned into a fixation. It’s like love, but it’s more than that, it’s something deeper that you just can’t explain.”

Tsunade held up a second finger before continuing, “Secondly, Nara are damn insane, and they’re certainly not mentally insane, this is the type of insanity that comes from being so smart that they become detached. A usual Nara is born with an IQ of 200, and it only climbs higher and higher the older they get. They’re not lazy, Jiraiya. They’re bored. The world moves too slow for them, so they conserve energy until something—or someone—catches their interest enough to make them move. Naruto caught Shikamaru’s interest. And then she held it. Permanently.”

Jiraiya leaned forward, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning realization. “So when you say fixation… it’s like she’s become his entire world’s purpose?”

Tsunade nodded. “Exactly.” She leaned back, her gaze drifting over to the window where the fading light painted the sky in hues of orange and violet. “Shikamaru’s fixation means Naruto *is* his purpose. His mind, which processes the world like a complex shogi board, has centered every calculation around her. Her safety, her happiness—it’s the foundation of his strategies now. He doesn’t just follow her; he anticipates her. Plans for her. And he’ll do it with a terrifying precision that makes even seasoned shinobi uneasy.”

Jiraiya ran a hand down his face. He remembered the quiet intensity in Shikamaru’s eyes during their journey—how the boy’s gaze never strayed far from Naruto, how he’d subtly positioned himself between her and potential threats without hesitation.

“Jiraiya,” Tsunade spoke up again, her voice sounding a bit tight. “For the love of everything that is holy and good in this world, leave that boy alone about his feelings.” She glanced over at him, her expression tight. “He might say he doesn’t know what’s going on, he may say he doesn’t understand something, he may play dumb, but he knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing…” she paused for a moment, running her tongue over her top teeth. “He’s ten and he nearly has the same IQ of his father. He and Naruto did an IQ test when I first started training them, and his IQ was… 500. He’s ten and he has an IQ of 500. He knows exactly what he’s doing and what he wants.” 

She paused again. “Just… you know how intense—” she means terrifying, “— Shikaku can get, and his son is only ten-years-old with only 170 points lower than his father. He’s going to be just as intense as Shikaku, if not more. So just… leave him alone about it. He knows what he’s doing, and I don’t want him to start thinking any of us are trying to interfere. Because if he thinks we’re interfering with his fixation? That’s when we’ll have a problem.”

Jiraiya swallowed hard. He’d seen Shikaku Nara in action once, during a strategy session years ago. The man’s mind worked like a trap closing—relentless, precise, and utterly devoid of mercy for anyone opposing his objectives. The thought of Shikamaru, already operating on that level at ten, turning that focus against anyone he perceived as a threat to Naruto? It sent a chill down Jiraiya’s spine. He pictured the lazy sprawl replaced by predatory stillness, those shadow techniques twisting not just to protect, but to dismantle.

Tsunade watched the understanding dawn in his eyes. "Exactly," she murmured, her voice low. "He’s not just possessive. He’s proprietary. Naruto is *his* certainty. His fixation. Questioning it, interfering with it… it’s not just annoying to him. It’s an existential threat. He’d dissect the problem with the same detached efficiency he uses to solve a complex shogi puzzle." She paused, her gaze sharpening. "And the solution wouldn’t be pretty. So keep your worries and shovel talks to yourself, Jiraiya. Only intervene if Naruto needs us to. For all our sakes.”

Jiraiya nodded slowly, the weight of her warning settling over him. He pictured Shikamaru’s seemingly lazy posture masking that terrifying intellect, the way his shadows seemed to coil protectively around Naruto even in broad daylight. "Understood," he finally said, his voice rough. "No meddling. But… gods, Tsunade. An IQ of 500? At ten? That’s…"

"Unnatural?" Tsunade finished dryly, a flicker of grim amusement in her eyes as he laid back on the bed, yanking the blanket out from underneath her and tossing it over her legs. "Welcome to the Nara clan. They’re the best actors in the elemental nations because they’ve spent centuries convincing everyone they’re harmless thinkers who nap under trees. It’s a survival tactic. If the world knew how their minds truly worked—how they see patterns and probabilities like breathing, how Shikamaru can map out a decade’s worth of contingencies for Naruto’s safety before breakfast—they’d burn Konoha to the ground just to eliminate the threat."

Jiraiya absorbed this, the implications settling like stones. He thought of Shikamaru’s casual posture, the deliberate slowness that masked lightning-fast cognition. It wasn’t laziness. It was camouflage. A predator conserving energy until the moment to strike. "So Naruto… she’s his anchor. His reason to engage with the world at full capacity."

"His reason to exist within it," Tsunade corrected, her tone flat. "Without her, he’d likely retreat into a shell of calculated apathy, viewing the world as a tedious puzzle not worth solving. With her? He’s fully operational. And utterly focused…. You remember how Shikaku was when he first married, I only saw pictures, and I could still tell he had pulled into a different level of calculated apathy. And I know the only reason he came out of that shell was not because of his wife— er, ex-wife, but because he had a son.”

Tsunade paused again, sighing, she really wished this pervert would’ve paid attention in clan history so she didn’t have to explain this. “Okay, please tell me you remembered the pictures in our history books of those… Nara? How— how they seem to be staring at us through the paper… how our classmates describe them looking more like one of those monsters their mothers used to tell them stories about hidden in the woods that ate people than actual people. How their eyes were cold, so cold… so… so mean, so scary, they said it felt like they were looking into the pits of hell? Those pictures are what Nara looks like when they are not acting. That’s their natural state. That’s how they look when they are not pretending to be human.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “That’s why I said they’re the best actors in the elemental nations. They’ve spent centuries convincing everyone they’re harmless. But underneath? They’re predators. Cold, calculating predators who see the world as a game board. Sure they might actually be sweet, loving, caring, nice, a whole bunch of good personality traits, but they’re always going to have that switch in the back of their mind that will turn them from that friendly guy you see napping under trees in the park to something that looks like it’s about to eat you alive. They live with monsters in their forest that eat bone and flesh, and those monsters are scared of them. That should tell you something.”

Jiraiya’s mind raced. He remembered those illustrations—haunting, almost feral gazes that seemed to pierce through the page. He’d dismissed them as artistic exaggeration. But Tsunade’s words painted a different picture: a clan of apex intellects wearing humanity as a mask. The lazy Nara facade wasn’t just boredom; it was camouflage. And Shikamaru… that quiet boy holding Naruto’s braid like a lifeline, his shadow coiled protectively at her feet—he wasn’t just clever. He was something ancient and sharp hiding in a child’s skin. The realization settled like ice in Jiraiya’s gut. Naruto had unwittingly become the fixation of a predator who saw the world in chess moves and blood.

Tsunade watched him, picking at the fingernail polish on her nails. “Shikamaru’s a good boy, a sweet, nice, sarcastic little asshole, but he is his father’s son. He’s a Nara. He’s got that same coldness in him, that same predator’s gaze. So… maybe in the morning send one of your toads back to Konoha and get you a clan history textbook. This is stuff you got to know, Jiraiya, I know you were best buds with Shikaku’s dad, but you only saw the forefront of his personality, not the underneath.”

Jiraiya sighed, rubbing his face. “I know, I know. I’ll do that. But… what about Naruto? She’s ten. She’s not ready for that kind of devotion. She’s still a kid.”

“So is Shikamaru. He might be smarter than a pack of jōnin combined, but he’s still ten.” Tsunade’s voice softened, her gaze drifting to the inn window where moonlight outlined the silhouette of Naruto’s room door across the Inn‘s exterior corridor. “Yes, he’s devoted, and all that, but he’s still a child, a Nara child but still a child, what he’s thinking about is happily ever after princess and prince stuff when it comes to Naruto and him together. Not…” she paused, her lip curling as she suspiciously looked Jiraiya up and down. “Whatever you’re thinking about.”

Jiraiya squawked indignantly, flailing a hand. "I wasn't thinking anything! I'm a respectable author!" He paused, then muttered under his breath, "Though the sheer narrative potential of a Nara's obsessive devotion *does* have dramatic weight..." Tsunade's knuckles cracked against the bed, the sound loud in their Inn room. He flinched. "Respectable. Right."

Yeah, he is totally writing a Icha Icha about this. Icha Icha Shadow of Devotion: The Obsession of a predator mask behind a lazy facade. Yeah, that sounds like a title he would use.

Chapter Text

Itachi sits comfortably in the chair at the head of the table, Shisui standing behind him like his shadow as he taps a random rhythm on the cover of the *Chakra Adoption: The Uzumaki Clan’s Art of Binding Souls.* book. As he waited  for all the Uchiha elders— Ryūsei, Hoshi, Kibō, and Hikaru, soon followed by the twenty others— to join him, each of them showing up at their own slow pace. He watches them file in, their expressions ranging from curiosity to thinly veiled irritation. The air thickens with the scent of aging paper and simmering resentment. Itachi’s gaze remains impassive, but Shisui’s hand rests lightly on the hilt of his tantō—a silent promise.

He watched as all of them seemed to startle once they walked in, their gazes locking onto his glasses perched on his nose as if they had personally offended them, each of them having their hands wrapped around the cup of tea in front of them, just not drinking it. Ryūsei was the first to speak, his voice tight with disapproval. "Itachi-sama. Those spectacles... they are unbefitting the head of our clan."

“Well… Ryūsei-san, I’m going blind. I need to wear them.” Itachi said casually, as if he was merely discussing a minor inconvenience.

The elders froze. Ryūsei’s wrinkled face paled, his lips parting in silent horror. Hoshi’s teacup slipped from her fingers, shattering on the tatami. Kibō leaned forward, knuckles white on the table’s edge. "Blind?" he rasped, the word thick with disbelief. “But… the Sharingan—”

“Yes, blind,” Itachi cut him off, pulling his hand away from the book to pull his glasses off his nose just to clean the lenses with his sleeve, before putting them back on, the lenses flashing. “But that’s not why I called you here.” He stated mildly, ignoring the collective intake of breaths that sounded like a gasp.

Ryūsei leaned forward, his knuckles pressing into the polished wood. "Itachi-sama, this is... catastrophic. The Sharingan—"

“Is why I’m going blind,” Itachi finished smoothly, his voice devoid of inflection. He watched—or rather, sensed—the ripple of shock tightening the air. Shisui shifted almost imperceptibly behind him, a silent anchor. “The strain of the Mangekyō accelerates ocular degeneration. A predictable outcome, given the kekkei genkai’s history.” He paused, letting the clinical assessment hang. Elders exchanged frantic glances, whispers rustling like dry leaves. Hikaru, the youngest elder, looked ill. “However,” Itachi continued, pushing his glasses up his nose, “this meeting concerns our clan’s future, not my poor eyesight.”

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since my father… passed, and I took the spot as Clan Head. I would like to make the Uchiha into a sister clan by… Chakra Adoption…”

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. Ryūsei’s jaw tightened. Kibō’s fingers dug into the table’s edge. Hoshi’s teacup lay forgotten in a puddle of green tea staining the tatami. Hikaru leaned forward, disbelief warring with outrage. “Chakra Adoption? Binding our sacred lineage to… outsiders? Itachi-sama, this is sacrilege! Our bloodline—”

“Are treated like we’re cursed, and a whole other slew of things,” Itachi leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. He bounced the leg that was crossed over his other knee slightly, a neutral expression on his face as his glasses slid down his nose, making him look— what Shisui had said he looked like— a mafia boss. “So, yes, I would like to make the Uchiha a sister clan. By Chakra Adoption. But… with a twist you could say. I want us to perform a Uzumaki Binding ritual when Naruto Uzumaki returns to the village after her training trip with Tsunade-sama and Jiraiya-sama.”

The elders stared at him, their faces frozen in expressions ranging from disbelief to outright horror. Ryūsei slammed his fist on the table. “You cannot be serious! Binding ourselves to that… that jinchūriki? She’s an outsider, a—”

“Watch it. Your beloved Sasuke has shined for that outsider.” Itachi’s voice remained soft, but the air crackled. Shisui’s hand tightened on his tantō hilt. Ryūsei flinched as if struck. “Naruto Uzumaki carries the Uzumaki bloodline— Kushina Uzumaki’s daughter. Her lineage is purer than half the clan’s diluted veins.” He paused, letting the insult sink in. Elders shifted uncomfortably. Kibō’s knuckles whitened. “The Binding ritual isn’t about diluting our power. It’s about survival. We’re isolated. Feared. The Nine-Tails incident hangs over us like a blade. Aligning with Naruto— publicly, irrevocably— shifts that narrative in the future. She’s Konoha’s future Hokage, and yes, I believe that girl will fulfill her dream of becoming the Hokage. Her acknowledgment will protect us.”

Hoshi finally found her voice, trembling. “But the Sharingan secrets… our techniques…”

“We will still have them,” Itachi’s voice dropped to something a bit softer while talking to Hoshi, his glasses catching the light as he tilted his head. “The Binding ritual doesn’t bleed secrets; it intertwines chakra signatures. Think of it as… forging armor from shared resilience.” He paused, tapping the book cover again. “The Uzumaki were masters of seals and soul bonds. Their rituals create kinship, not theft. Naruto’s chakra is vast, untamed—like a storm. Binding it to ours wouldn’t weaken the Sharingan, wouldn’t steal it away. It would anchor it. Stabilize it.” He let the implication hang—a lifeline for his own failing eyes. Shisui’s shadow stretched long against the wall, tense and watchful.

Itachi let the silent stretch on for a moment longer before dropping one of the bombshells he’d been holding onto. "And if we did this binding, we would keep our eyes. They’d be sealed, sealed with an Uzumaki seal, in us, unable to be stolen. Not even our own kind, our own blood would be able to take them.” Itachi titled his head to the side, propping his chin up on a palm as he slid the book in front of him. “Our eyes would be ours forever…” he glanced up, his expression blank, border lining on board. “There’s a reason why Uzumaki are called monsters, they have enough seal knowledge to be able to seal away gods, a mere eyeball would be child’s play.”

Ryūsei leaned forward, his knuckles white against the polished wood. "Sealed? Within us? Itachi-sama, that sounds... permanent. What if the ritual fails? What if—"

“Four Uchiha have done a Binding ritual to the Uzumaki clan.” Itachi sat up, picking up the document that was beside him, opening it up and running his finger over the printed pictures he had gotten Shisui to print out from the book as he finally got this meeting underway. Enough photos for each elder. “Bastard children, born from an affair and left to rot after the husband of the mother of the children found out the children were not his, saved by a traveling Uzumaki. All of them did a Binding over a century ago. They were called… Uchizamaki.” Itachi slid the file full of photos towards the nearest elder, watching as he begrudgingly slid them around the table. “Shizuno Uchiha… Sakizumi Uchiha… Harasone Uchiha… Rishiro Uchiha. Their Sharingan remained… but they gained… the Uzumaki… Uchiha’s with Uzumaki chakra reserves… Uzumaki longevity… Uzumaki everything… They became something… more.”

He watched as each of the elders did a triple or double take once they saw the photos. Ryūsei’s fingers trembled as he held up a faded image— four figures, very obviously Uchiha, doll-like, milky pale skin, with soft, delicate looking features and dark hair, but… also not Uchiha. They looked… Foxish— beauty meant to lure people away— their dark hair having a deep, dark red shine to it, their eyes sharpened, cat-like pupils slitted, their teeth sharpened.

Beside each illustration was an illustration of the Sharingan, all in different stages of Tomoe, all of them blazing like a Uchiha’s Sharingan, but swirling within the tomoe were faint, intricate seal-like patterns.

Ryūsei’s teacup rattled against its saucer. "These... these are abominations!" he hissed, but his eyes remained glued to the image of Shizuno Uchiha – her delicate, fox-like features framing Sharingan eyes that pulsed with crimson light and swirling, barely visible fuinjutsu script. "Our bloodline... corrupted!"

Itachi ignored him, pushing on, he held out his hand out Shisui, and the older instantly put another file into his hand. “Harasone lived to be two hundred and twenty-three. Died protecting his partner during the First Shinobi War. But in the description it says he would’ve lived for much longer with how his body was acting as if it was still young.”

He flipped the file open, finger tracing the printed image in it. “Though he didn’t die from an enemy, he died from summoning the Death Reaper so many times… and, yes… he summoned the Death Reaper more than once and didn’t die the first time. To be more specific, he summoned it ninety-eight times before dying, before the Death God finally managed to kill him. He summoned the Shinigami ninety-eight times and lived through it. The Death God.... The Death God that was supposed to eat his soul as the cost for summoning him failed to kill Harasone ninety-seven times.”

Itachi picked up the image from the file, holding it up. “The Man Who Held the Death God’s gaze. Chose the ninety-eighth to go out in a blaze of glory.” It was a shaky photo of Harasone Uchizamaki, hands poised in the summoning signs, grinning like a mad man with long hair that touch the ground, hair that pooled around his feet in multiple-multiple-multiple feet behind him whipping around him. Colors in crimsons, pinks, and oranges painted on his entire body in swirls and patterns as the Death God himself formed behind his back, a giant creature with one massive hand clutching Harasone’s shoulder, the other holding a tantō held up to its mouth. Harasone’s eyes were ablaze with crimson Sharingan, but swirling within the tomoe were intricate Uzumaki seals, glowing gold. He looked... exhilarated. Unbreakable.

Ryūsei’s teacup shattered against the tatami. Silence fell like a blade. Kibō leaned forward, his voice a rasp. "He... summoned the Shinigami... ninety-eight times?" The impossibility hung thick in the air. Hoshi clutched her kimono sleeve, knuckles white. Hikaru stared, transfixed by the swirling seals in Harasone’s eyes—power mingled with something ancient and terrifying.

Itachi placed the image down on the table, sliding it toward the center. The silence was thick enough to choke on. Elders stared at Harasone’s grinning face—the sheer defiance in his eyes, the impossible vitality radiating from the faded print. Ryūsei’s breath hitched, his earlier outrage crumbling into something like awe. "Ninety-eight...?" he whispered, the number tasting alien on his tongue. "The Shinigami... failed?"

“All of you want power. Strength.” Itachi stated bluntly. “And I want my clansman to stop dying because of their massive egos and whatever prideful stupidity they have.” He leaned forward, his glasses catching the lights as he tapped Harasone’s image. “I know that’s what you want, I know that’s what most of my clansmen want. Idiotic strength and power. All of you are so obsessed with purity that you’re blind to survival.” He paused, pushing himself up from his chair, and jabbing his finger roughly into the image of Harasone. “Your precious eyes are what is getting us killed, either they’re killing us themselves, or people are killing us to steal our eyes. So all of you can either work with me to convince the rest of our clansmen this is good for us, or I will make a public statement that this IS happening whether they like it or not.”

The elders exchanged frantic glances. Ryūsei’s knuckles were bone-white on the table’s edge. Kibō cleared his throat, his voice strained. “Itachi-sama… the risks… the dilution of our lineage—”

“I couldn’t give two damns about the dilution of our lineage.” Itachi cut him off, snatching the book from in front of him and flipping it open, not even having to read it because he’s already memorized it all. “Doing this binding, it got rid of all of our curses, the hatred, the insanity that comes with the Mangekyō. It’s all gone. The Uchizamaki were sane. They were happy. They were powerful. They were feared, respected, and they were alive.” He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing through the silent room. “I have already had this conversation with the Hime of the Uzumaki Clan, and Naruto Uzumaki was more than happy to open her arms to us. So, I’m not asking anymore if you want this. I’m asking you: Do you want sanity? Do you want power? Or do you want to die while someone digs your eyes out of their sockets?”

Ryūsei slumped back in his chair, the fight draining from him. He stared at Harasone’s image—the swirling seals in those eyes, the defiant grin. “Sanity…” he breathed, the word tasting foreign. Kibō’s gaze flickered between Itachi and the photo, his earlier resistance crumbling into desperate calculation. Hoshi clutched her kimono sleeve tighter, her knuckles white, but her eyes held a flicker of something new—not hope, not yet, but the dawning horror of a choice stripped bare while the other clan elders looked around nervously, whispering to themselves. Hikaru, the youngest, leaned forward, his voice trembling but clear. “The… the ritual. How?”

Itachi placed the book back on the table, placing his palms flat against it as he leaned forward. “Chakra adoption and the Binding ritual are the exact same thing, but also the complete opposite.” His gaze flicked over the faces of each elder, taking in their expressions. “Chakra adoption by The Uzumaki Clan’s Art of Binding Souls. That’s what the ritual is called. It’s a sacred rite, one that intertwines chakra signatures at the soul level—not diluting bloodlines, but forging kinship. Think of it as grafting a new root system onto an ancient tree. The Uchiha lineage remains, but gains the Uzumaki’s resilience, their vast reserves… their sanity.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “The ritual requires Naruto Uzumaki’s consent and participation. She’s the anchor—the living embodiment of Uzumaki vitality. She is the princess. A Hime. If we do this, she will become our princess as well.”

Ryūsei’s voice was barely a whisper. “And the cost?”

“No cost.” Itachi’s reply sliced through the tension. “Only loyalty. The ritual binds us to her chakra, not her will. We remain Uchiha—our decisions, our honor, intact.” He straightened, the torchlight casting long shadows across his impassive face. “But the transformation is irreversible. And… The loyalty isn’t our type of loyalty, and again the Binding is like the base line of chakra adoption, yes, we would get their strengths, seal mastery, everything like that while keeping our Uchiha… ness…” Itachi sat back in his seat, steepling his fingers. “… we would mix, our Uchiha would mix with Uzumaki, that means instincts and everything. We would… Let's say, unlock a more animalistic side to us. Not as much so as the Uzumaki are, but still… we would become… more animal-like with thoughts. Territorial, loyal to a *pack*, protective… like foxes.”

Kibō leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Animalistic? Like… beasts?”

“Animalistic like Uzumaki.” Itachi corrected, his voice flat. “I know all of you remember Kushina Uzumaki. Such a pretty little thing that looked like she couldn’t do a single bad thing, but when she was angry? She was terrifying. She was loyal to a fault to her friends. Protective. Territorial. That’s what we would become.” He paused, letting the memory of Kushina’s fiery temper settle over the elders. Ryūsei flinched, recalling how she’d once shattered a training ground wall for insulting Minato. “We gain their resilience, their chakra reserves, their longevity. And in return, we shed the Mangekyō’s curse. No more madness. No more stolen eyes. The only thing they want in return is… loyalty, loyalty to the Princess, because to Uzumaki, the Princess is what is the most important thing in the world.” His gaze swept the room, lingering on each elder’s face. “The choice is simple. Embrace evolution… or cling to a dying purity.”

Silence descended, thick and heavy. Kibō traced the edge of Harasone’s photo, his fingers trembling slightly. Hoshi closed her eyes, whispering a prayer to ancestors long gone. Ryūsei stared at the image of the grinning Uchizamaki—his defiance, his impossible vitality. The swirling golden seals in his eyes seemed to pulse in the room lights. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Ryūsei nodded. "Sanity," he rasped, the word heavy with surrender. "Power... without the rot." Kibō followed, his voice steadier now, laced with grim acceptance. "The clan cannot survive as it is. We... we will support the Binding." One by one, the other elders murmured assent, their resistance crumbling like ash.

Hikaru stared at Harasone’s grinning image—the swirling seals in his Sharingan, the defiance etched into every line of his face. Slowly, he bowed his head, his voice barely a whisper. "We... will convene the clan." Hoshi nodded stiffly, avoiding Itachi’s gaze. "When Naruto Uzumaki returns," he murmured, "we will be ready."

“Good,” Itachi shifted in his seat, propping his chin up on a fist. “We have a little under two to three years before Naruto will return to Konoha. Like I said, she’s currently training with Tsunade-sama and Jiraiya-sama. That gives us time to prepare.”

————————————————

Meanwhile, a couple days later, elsewhere.

Zabuza walks through the bar fluidly, slipping in between people and snatching a bottle of sake without anybody noticing. His heavy boots make no sound on the worn wooden floorboards.

His gaze swept over the room, scanning for the woman he’s been trying to find for only God knows how long. Tsunade Senju. The Slug Princess. The woman who could fix Kimimaro and Mangetsu. The woman who could save his… kids. He spotted her instantly—a flash of blonde hair and a low-cut green robe near the back, hunched over a sake cup as she scowled down at what looked like a letter that was pissing her off. Zabuza moved like smoke, the stolen bottle dangling from between his fingers.

“You, Slug Princess, are one hard lady to find.” Zabuza sat the bottle down in front of her as he slid into the seat across from her. Tsunade didn’t flinch. Her eyes flicked up from the crumpled letter— it looks like an important letter—to the mist-nin’s face. Recognition sparked, cold and sharp. She didn’t reach for the sake.

“Demon of the Hidden Mist.” She pushed the letter aside, her voice flat. “Last I heard, you were dead. Along with that sword of yours.” Her gaze flicked to Kubikiribōchō’s massive hilt protruding over his shoulder. “Seems rumors lie.”

Zabuza hummed, watching her. “… you’re not going to try to kill me?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, his gaze flicking around the bar—assessing threats, exits. Tsunade snorted, finally grabbing the sake bottle. She poured herself a generous cup, the liquid sloshing amber in the dim light.

“Even if it was never filed, i’m just as much as a missing-nin as you are.” Tsunade knocked back the sake in one swift motion, slamming the cup down. Her eyes, sharp as kunai, locked onto Zabuza’s. “Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a low growl, “anyone who brings me decent booze gets a five-minute head start before I break their jaw.”

Zabuza’s lips twitched—almost a smile. He leaned forward, elbows on the sticky table. He watched her for a moment, running his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth. He took a moment to remember all of the formalities he had learned from his mother when he was young, before she died.

He hesitated for a moment longer, absolutely loathing what he’s about to do. He places his hands on the table and bows his head deeply—a gesture utterly foreign to him. "Senju-sama," he began, the honorific tasting like ash on his tongue, his hair spilling over his shoulders in a inky pool of red. “There’s… not many things known about me unless it’s from a Kiri-nin I know before going rogue, and even that is scarce. But… I have kid’s. None of them are biologically mine, but they still belong to me. Five of them… and… two of my boys need help. Help that I couldn’t threaten any doctor or medical-nin I have come across to fix.” He took a deep breath, the smell of cheap booze filling his nose as he forced himself to continue. “Kimimaro Kaguya— something in his bones are eating him alive. And Mangetsu Hōzuki—something is wrong with his lungs. He coughs up blood and sounds like he’s trying to breathe through water, he’s dying. Both of them. And I… I came to find you to ask for you to… please… try to make sure my boys don’t die on me.”

Tsunade stared at him, her expression unreadable. The noise of the bar faded—drunken laughter, clinking glasses, all muffled into a dull roar. She poured another cup of sake, her movements deliberate. "You expect me to believe the Demon of the Mist," she said slowly, swirling the liquor, "took in orphans? Five of them?"

Zabuza didn't flinch. "Believe what you want, Senju. But I didn't track you across three countries for a joke." He pressed his forehead harder into the table, knuckles white on the table. "Kimimaro coughs bone fragments. Mangetsu drowns in his own blood. Every damn day." His voice cracked, just once. "They're kids. They didn't choose Kiri's filth."

Tsunade studied him—the tension in his shoulders, the raw desperation beneath the Demon's mask. She drained her cup. "Kaguya? The clan that could pull out their bones to use them as weapons. And Hōzuki? The clan made out of water?" Zabuza nodded curtly.

"Hell of a combination," Tsunade muttered. Her gaze drifted to the sake bottle, then back to Zabuza. "You know my price?"

“… whatever you want,” Zabuza rasped, lifting his head. His brown eyes burned with a desperation that clashed violently with his Demon reputation. “Money. Favors. Whatever you want. Just name it.”

Tsunade leaned back, tapping a fingernail against her empty cup. The bar’s raucous noise pressed in around them—laughter, shouts, the clatter of dice—but her gaze remained locked on Zabuza. “Money’s useless to me,” she stated flatly. “Favors from a missing-nin are… unreliable.” She paused, letting the tension coil tighter. “But I need something else. Something specific.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re good at finding people. Finding things that don’t want to be found. Like me.”

Zabuza’s brow furrowed. “What do you want found?”

Tsunade slid the crumpled letter across the table. The paper was old, brittle looking and stained with sake rings. The writing was elegant, but shaky and jerky, like the person that was writing it was trembling while writing it. "My… that’s the last thing I have of someone… important to me. My village drove him out, calling him a monster because of how he looked and the attributes his clan gave him. He’s from the… Kirāhebi Clan." Her voice tightened, knuckles whitening around her cup. "He vanished… after having a… breakdown let’s say… and I haven't seen him in years. I’ll heal your boys if you play snake hunter for me."

Zabuza picked up the letter, his calloused fingers tracing the faded ink. The Kirāhebi Clan—snake-handlers, poison masters, feared and ostracized for their reptilian appearance, bodies. Finding one who didn't want to be found… it was a task suited for a ghost. He met Tsunade’s gaze. "Name?"

“… Orochimaru,” Tsunade breathed, the name scraping out like broken glass. Her knuckles whitened around the sake cup. “He was— is my husband. He’s… slippery, really only coming out of hiding to check on his kids. But other then that? He’s practically a ghost.”

Zabuza’s eyes narrowed. Orochimaru. The name echoed in the damp, booze-thick air—a legend wrapped in horror stories. The Snake Sannin. Tsunade’s *husband*. That explained the tremor in her voice, the raw edge beneath the steel. He picked up the crumpled letter, scanning the shaky script. Desperation bled from every jerky character. *‘—Tsunade, Jiraiya, my loves— the village sees scales where I see skin— they fear the venom in my veins— I cannot breathe here— please, for me, go to Dan and Sakumo’s graves— tell them I’m sorry— tell the snakelets I’ll be around—.’* The ink blurred where sake droplets had fallen. Zabuza folded the letter carefully, tucking it into his pocket. "Snake hunter," he rasped, the irony thick. "Fine. But my boys come first. Kimimaro doesn't have years."

Tsunade slammed her cup down. "You think I'd haggle over dying children?" Her voice cracked like a whip. She shoved back her chair, the wood screeching against the floorboards. "Where are they?"

Zabuza rose swiftly, relief warring with urgency. "The old Inn on the riverbank—the one with the broken sign." He didn't wait, trusting Tsunade to follow.

“Shizune!” Tsunade’s voice echoed through the bar as she followed Zabuza’s retreating form. Her apprentice materialized instantly from the crowd, Tonton clutched tightly in her arms. “Go to our room, and get mine and your medical kits before meeting me at the Inn on the riverbank. Move!” Shizune nodded, vanishing into the smoky haze without a word.

Outside, drizzling rain fell onto the muddy streets. Zabuza moved like a shadow through the drizzle, long hair swaying as he moved. Tsunade kept pace, her sandals splashing through puddles, watching Zabuza. She still had a hard time believing that the Demon of the Mist had kids. Had enough empathy to care for them. Cared enough to hunt her down and bow his head to her. She glanced at him again as they walked. She glanced at his back—broad, tense, the massive sword strapped to it a silent threat. But his stride held a frantic edge she recognized: the fear of a parent racing against time.

———————————

They made it to the entrance of the Inn a little bit after Shizune did, the girl looking and panting as if she had just ran a marathon. “Tsunade-sama? What’s going on? Did something— oh Oh Oh Oh OH OH OHOHOHOHOHI! That’s—!” She finally seemed to notice the person Tsunade was following hadn’t just been some random person. She gasped and clutched Tonton and the bags she held tighter to her chest. The pig squealed softly.

Zabuza ignored Shizune’s gasp, shoving the creaking door open. Inside, he stalked his way towards the stairs, taking three at a time. Tsunade followed, Shizune scrambling behind with the medical kits and Tonton. The inn reeked of mildew and desperation. On the second floor, Zabuza paused before a door marked with a crude carving of a wave. He knocked once—a sharp, urgent rap before pushing open the door.

Inside the cramped inn room, dampness seeped through the walls. Kimimaro lay curled on a thin futon, staring at the wall as if It had personally offended him. Mangetsu wheezed softly beside him, each breath a wet rattle. There were three other and a… rabbit? Piled beside them, sleeping in a tangled heap of limbs and fur.

Tsunade stood in the doorway for a split second, while Shizune lingered. Tsunade was honestly half expecting for this whole thing to be a lie so the missing-nin could lure her into a trap. But when she saw Kimimaro’s pale face and Mangetsu’s labored breathing? She knew it wasn’t a lie. Tsunade shoved past Zabuza without a word, snatching her medical kit from Shizune as her sandals slapped against the damp wooden floorboards as she knelt beside Mangetsu. Her fingers pressed against his throat, feeling the wet, bubbling rasp beneath his skin. "Shizune!" she barked, already tearing open her medical kit. "Sterilize the area! Now!"

The other three children woke up at the sudden yell, jerking up and knocking heads together, while elbows and knees tangled. The rabbit squeaked indignantly. Tsunade ignored them all, her focus narrowing to Mangetsu’s thin chest struggling beneath his shirt. His lips were tinged blue. Shizune scrambled forward, medical supplies in hand, clearing a space on the floor beside Tsunade. Zabuza hovered near the door, a silent, hulking shadow, his knuckles white where they gripped the doorframe. Kimimaro turned slowly, his eyes dull with pain but sharp with suspicion as he watched Tsunade’s hands move with practiced speed.

“… Who?” Kimimaro rasped, voice brittle as old bone. He pushed himself up on trembling elbows, eyes fixed on Tsunade’s glowing green hands hovering over Mangetsu’s chest. The other children—a dark-haired girl?… boy?… Tsunade couldn’t tell if they were a boy or a girl, but they had long black hair, pale skin and large, dark-brown eyes, and a slender frame. There was a smaller boy that looked like the Mangetsu kid, a brother perhaps, and another boy, older than the rest of them with short, tufty blue hair, dark eyes and shark-like teeth—huddled closer together, still trying to untangle their limb pile. The rabbit looks particularly offended at being disturbed.

Tsunade ignored Kimimaro’s question, her hands already glowing green with chakra as she pressed them against Mangetsu’s chest. The diagnostic jutsu flared, painting a grim picture inside her mind: scar tissue strangling the lungs, fluid flooding the alveoli like a drowning tide. *Idiot doctors,* she thought savagely. *They treated the symptoms, not the cause.* Shizune knelt beside her, sterilizing instruments with swift precision.

Tsunade let out a small breath, she thought that the boy was suffering from some biological factor of his body denying that his body was literally made out of water. But no, she saw something else entirely. "Pneumonia…” she muttered softly to herself. “Severe. Untreated. Scarring. But easy to get rid of with the right hands.” Tsunade’s hands glowed brighter as she pressed her palms firmly against Mangetsu’s chest. Mangetsu gasped, a wet, rattling sound escaping his lips as Tsunade’s chakra surged into him, forcing the fluid out. Zabuza watched, unmoving, his gaze fixed on Mangetsu’s face. The boy coughed violently, spraying flecks of bloody mucus onto the floorboards. Shizune quickly wiped his mouth with gauze.

Kimimaro shifted, wincing as he tried to sit up fully. "What are you doing to him?" His voice was strained, brittle with pain and suspicion.

“Kimim, lie back down.” Zabuza’s voice was low, rough, but edged with something unfamiliar to Tsunade— concern? He didn’t move from the doorway, his gaze flicking between Tsunade’s intense focus and Kimimaro’s pallid defiance. “She’s fixing him.”

Kimimaro sank back onto the thin futon, clutching his own ribs. A wet, hacking cough tore from Mangetsu’s lips, spraying flecks of pink-tinged foam onto Shizune’s sleeve. Tsunade’s hands pulsed brighter green, her brow furrowed in concentration. Mangetsu gasped, a sudden, deep inhalation that sounded painfully clear after the wet rattle. His chest rose sharply, then settled into a smoother, quieter rhythm. The blue tinge faded from his lips.

"Fluid's cleared," Tsunade announced, her voice clipped. She withdrew her hands, the green glow fading. Mangetsu blinked, dazed, taking tentative breaths as if testing unfamiliar air. Relief washed over Zabuza’s face, stark and unguarded for a fleeting second before the Demon’s mask slammed back into place. “But he’s still sick. Pneumonia is like any other sickness—it needs time to heal. Medicine. Rest.” She turned her sharp gaze to Kimimaro. “Your turn, bone-boy.”

“Bone— what?” Kimimaro bristled, pushing himself up again despite the obvious pain twisting his features. His eyes, sharp and wary, locked onto Tsunade’s. “I don’t need—”

“Lie down,” Tsunade cut in, her voice brooking no argument. She shifted toward him, the damp floorboards creaking under her weight. Her hands, still faintly glowing with residual chakra, hovered over his thin chest. “Or I’ll pin you down. Your choice.” Shizune hovered nearby, ready with antiseptic and bandages if needed, Tonton clutched tightly under her arm. The other children watched, slightly wide-eyed and silent—the dark-haired one clutching the offended rabbit protectively.

Kimimaro glared, defiance warring with exhaustion. Slowly, reluctantly, he sank back onto the futon. Tsunade’s fingers pressed against his sternum, the diagnostic jutsu flaring anew. Her chakra mapped the ravages inside—something was eating the bones, and the body was trying to cover it up as it happened, as if it was replacing a bone that had been taken out. Tsunade’s brow furrowed deeper. "Your marrow's producing bone faster than your body can handle," she muttered, her voice low and clinical. "It's crystallizing... fracturing from within." Her gaze snapped up to Zabuza. "This isn't natural. It's... engineered. Like someone tinkered with his bloodline."

“… I’m half Uzumaki.” Kimimaro spoke up, staring pissed-off-taly at the ceiling. “My mother was one. Father was Kaguya. That’s why. I’m not fully Kaguya.”

Tsunade straightened, startling as she paid attention to what she was smelling. She was barely Uzumaki, but she could still smell a bit more then others. She could smell the scent of Uzumaki bloodline mixed with Kaguya, and… Tsunade’s gaze snapped over to Zabuza, who was still standing in the doorway. He smelt like a… A full blooded Uzumaki?

"Well, shit." Tsunade muttered, her diagnostic chakra still pulsing against Kimimaro's chest. It wasn’t something trying to eat his bones. The kid has two of the most powerful bloodlines to ever exist flowing through his veins. She shifted, leaning over the kid to look at him with a scrunched brow. “Okay, tell me, do you use both bloodlines? Your Kekkei Genkai and the Uzumaki Chakra or just one?”

Kimimaro flinched as her fingers probed a particularly tender spot near his ribs. "Just... bones," he gritted out. "The Uzumaki chakra... it fights the Kaguya cells. Makes them unstable." His eyes flicked toward Zabuza, a silent plea for intervention. Zabuza remained frozen in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid. The scent of ozone clung to him—pure Uzumaki lineage, potent and unmistakable beneath the damp wool and iron tang of his sword.

“Idiot! Stupid! Dumb! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid Boy!” Tsunade smacked Kimimaro on the chest with each word, making him gasp. “You’re suppressing half your heritage! No wonder your bones are exploding!” She leaned even closer to him, her voice dropping to a irritated growl. “Okay, the big guy,” she jabbed a thumb towards Zabuza, “is Uzumaki. You know how his chakra feels, you know what it looks like. Uzumaki chakra is an actual substance. It’s hot, it’s hot enough to scold and leave fourth-degree burns on skin if the user wants to. But it’s also malleable, it doesn’t have a cap off point, it will just keep on growing. You need to expel that Uzumaki chakra, bone boy. Your body feels like it’s being compressed because you’re forcing the Uzumaki chakra to stay inside you while your Kaguya cells are trying to create bone. You’re basically creating bone inside a compressed furnace.”

Kimimaro stared at her, confusion warring with pain. “Expel… how?”

Tsunade’s eye twitched. "You NEED to use it, bone-for-brains! Stop bottling it up!" She jabbed a finger toward Kimimaro’s sternum. "Your Uzumaki chakra isn’t poison—it’s fuel. Right now, it’s superheating your marrow, cooking your bones from the inside out. Push it out. Literally, just expel it like a sigh, or hell, drag your little friends outside for a sparring session and burn it off."

Kimimaro’s eyes widened slightly. He’d spent years instinctively suppressing the strange, volatile energy that flared whenever he felt threatened, fearing it would worsen his illness. He glanced at Zabuza, who gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. Slowly, Kimimaro pushed himself upright, ignoring the sharp protest in his ribs. He raised a trembling hand, palm facing upward. A faint, crimson glow flickered beneath his skin—like embers catching fire. It pulsed once, twice, then erupted in a sudden burst of searing heat. A burst of orange and red chakra flared from his palm, scorching the damp air with a hiss and leaving the faint scent of ozone and burnt bone in its wake as it blanketed the entire room, rushing out the still open door. Mangetsu coughed weakly from his futon, startled by the sudden heatwave.

Tsunade grinned fiercely. "There! See? Not so hard, kid. Now, do that whenever you feel pressure building inside. Don't hold back." She turned to Zabuza, her expression hardening. "His Kaguya cells are accelerating because he's been starving his Uzumaki half. He needs to balance them—use both bloodlines together. Otherwise, those bones will keep crystallizing until they puncture something vital." She paused, sniffing the air pointedly. "And you... full-blooded Uzumaki. Why haven't you taught him anything?"

Zabuza shifted uncomfortably, his massive frame blocking the doorway. "… I was… also… never taught," he admitted gruffly, the words scraping out like gravel. His gaze flickered to Kimimaro, who stared at his palm where the crimson chakra had vanished, leaving behind a faint warmth and the lingering smell of charred ozone. The boy’s expression was one of stunned disbelief—relief warring with decades of ingrained fear. “I was teaching him what I taught myself when I was his age…. It was only me and one other Uzumaki in kiri when I was little. We did trial and error off of each other, and sometimes we get help from the Hoshigaki clan with burning off chakra when it got to much.” Zabuza’s voice was rough, defensive.

Tsunade’s eyes narrowed. "You didn't know?" she pressed, standing up and stepping closer. She caught the sharp tang of ozone clinging to Zabuza’s skin, the same residue Kimimaro had just expelled. "You're telling me you've been burning off excess chakra blindly, without understanding why?"

“Senju, it’s not like there’s many of us left to teach the new generation how to do stuff.” Zabuza finally pushed off the doorframe, shuffling into the room. The floorboards groaned under his weight, he reached out as he passed Tsunade, pinching Kimimaro’s nose in between his pointer and middle finger knuckles, shaking the kids head slightly as the kids smacked at his hand. “You did good kid.” He grunted as he pulled his hand away, Kimimaro rubbing his nose as he glared at the man. “But don’t do that suppressing shit again, I don’t know if my old heart can take it.” He muttered as he moved to Mangetsu’s bedside, pressing a hand to the boy’s forehead. Mangetsu leaned into the touch, coughing weakly.

Tsunade watched Zabuza’s movements—the rough affection, the way Mangetsu leaned into his touch like a sun-starved plant. "Trial and error," she repeated slowly, crossing her arms. “You’re leaking ozone, Momochi. Every time you suppress—

“I don’t suppress it,” Zabuza cut her off, voice gravelly as he kept his hand on Mangetsu’s forehead. The boy’s breathing had evened, but his skin still held a feverish sheen. “I never turn it off. It’s leaking out of me consciously. It makes people stay away.” He glanced at Kimimaro, whose sharp eyes tracked Tsunade’s every move. “Kid’s different. I guess. I told him to do whatever felt the most natural. But I didn’t think he was suppressing it.”

Tsunade’s gaze sharpened. The ozone scent thickened—a crackling, electric tang clinging to Zabuza’s worn clothes and Kimimaro’s ragged breaths. It wasn’t suppression; it was constant, controlled expulsion. A defense mechanism worn like armor. “Natural?” she echoed. “For an Uzumaki, natural means *flow*, not containment. You’ve been forcing yours outward like a damn shield…. That’s… smart.” She paused, turning her attention back to Kimimaro. “If it ever feels too much again, do what Zabuza does. Push it out. Don’t hold it in.”

“… CAN I KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON NOW?” The youngest of the group of kids, a boy with white hair with a light-blue tint to it, almond shaped purple eyes, and shark-like teeth ask quite loudly, disheveled from sleep and staring at Zabuza with wide-eyes. “Who is she? Why is she here?”

Kimimaro stiffened, his pale fingers curling protectively around Mangetsu’s shoulder as the older boy stirred weakly. Tsunade watched the interaction—the way Zabuza’s shoulders tensed, the ozone scent spiking briefly before settling into a low, protective hum around the clustered orphans. *He’s their anchor,* she realized, *like a storm wall.*

“Suigetsu. Inside voice.” Zabuza’s command was low, rough as gravel, but lacked its usual bite. “She’s the one I told all of you about. The Slug Princess.” He gestured vaguely towards her, his gaze fixed on the youngest boy. “She’s fixed Mangetsu and Kimimaro.”

Suigetsu blinked, his purple eyes darting between Tsunade and Zabuza, then landing on Mangetsu’s now-peaceful breathing. Relief warred with suspicion on his small face. “Is Mangetsu gonna cough blood again?” he demanded, fists clenched at his sides.

“Not if he listens,” Tsunade said curtly, already packing her medical kit.

——————————————

Zabuza let out a breath once he was sure Tsunade and that Shizune girl was gone with their pig. He sank down into a squat, carefully sitting Mangetsu’s medicine bottle down on the floor as he buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath. The ozone scent around him thickened, sharp and electric. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself together until the Slug Princess left. Five pairs of eyes watched him—Kimimaro’s gaze sharpest of all.

Zabuza stayed silent for a long, long, long moment, just breathing into his hands before dragging them down his face, pulling the skin beneath his eyes down as he did so. He stayed like that for a moment, just looking off into nothing before his hands shot out, down.

He grabbed both Kimimaro and Mangetsu by the ankles, ignoring their yelps of surprise as he dragged them towards him, strong arms wrapping around them tightly.

"Idiots," Zabuza growled, pressing his forehead against Kimimaro's temple. "You don't hide shit like that. You tell me." His voice cracked on the last word, ozone-charged chakra spiking erratically. Mangetsu wheezed a weak protest against his shoulder, but Zabuza only tightened his grip, knuckles white against the boys' backs. Suigetsu scrambled closer, pressing himself against Zabuza's side like a small, determined barnacle. His two other kids, Haku and Chōjūrō— still looking a bit confused by the whole ordeal— slowly pushed themselves up, crawling over to them.

Haku pressed himself against Zabuza’s other side, and Haku’s rabbit, who still looked confused and pissed off, but he crawled over anyway, crawling into Haku’s lap and curling up with a soft grunt. Chōjūrō hesitated, then shuffled closer, resting his head against Zabuza’s knee. The room filled with the scent of ozone and damp plaster, the only sound Mangetsu’s ragged breathing easing into something steadier. Zabuza didn’t let go. Not for a long time. His shoulders trembled once, violently, before he stilled them with a harsh breath. "Never do that again," he muttered into Kimimaro’s hair. "Either of you."

Kimimaro nodded stiffly against Zabuza’s shoulder, his eyes wide and unblinking. Mangetsu managed a weak chuckle. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Boss."

Outside, Tsunade lingered in the rain-slicked alley, Shizune silent beside her. The Slug Princess watched the dimly lit window where shadows moved—Zabuza’s hunched form still encircling the boys. "Five orphans," she muttered, wiping rain from her cheek. "And that fool thinks he can raise them alone with nothing but ozone and stubbornness."

Shizune shifted, Tonton grunting softly in her arms. "He cares deeply, Tsunade-sama. It’s… unexpected."

"Expected," Tsunade corrected sharply, turning away from the window. Rain plastered strands of blonde hair to her temples. "Zabuza Momochi bleeds loyalty like a gutted boar. Doesn’t mean he knows how to stop those boys from rotting from the inside out." Her sandals slapped against wet cobblestone as she strode toward the main street.

————————————————

The next morning.

Zabuza stares at the window, his face buried in his hands as his eyes pick out from in between his fingers.

Now that he’s not stressing himself to death, he’s finally noticed the… scent.  Sunflowers and sunshine, with something like Cinnamon, and Vanilla with splashes of caramel, honey, and brown sugar, with all of it being wrapped up in a big bow of ozone.

It was everywhere, all over this little village, and he’s surprised he hasn’t noticed the sheer potency of it until now. The scent clung to his clothes, his skin, the very air in the room—sunflowers and sunshine, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, honey, brown sugar, ozone—a thick, cloying sweetness that made his throat tighten. Zabuza lowered his hands slowly, nostrils flaring as he tracked its source: someone, it was someone that smelled like that. A… girl, they smelled like a girl, they didn’t have the musky smell that usually clung to men’s scent. That scent was everywhere, it was overwhelming.

It was like the smell was short-circuiting his brain. It was… the voice in the back of his mind— the one he’s been ignoring for over three years— was back and louder than ever. The voice was putting it generously, it wasn’t even a damn voice, more like an animalistic instinct yelling at him to go… somewhere.

Three years he managed to ignore it. But it feels like he’s going to go insane… well, more insane. His senses have been going haywire for the past three years, and the only thing that’s been keeping him rooted in the mission to find Tsunade and not dragging his kids all around the elemental nations with the fact two of them were sick.

But now, that scent—sunflowers, cinnamon, vanilla—was everywhere, thick as fog. Zabuza gripped the windowsill until the wood groaned under his fingers. Three years of ignoring that primal pull, that voice screaming *find her* in the back of his skull. He’d anchored himself for Kimimaro and Mangetsu, for the sick, trembling kids who needed him.

But this? This scent was a physical ache, a vibration in his bones. He could taste ozone on his tongue, sharp and electric.

He glanced over to where his kids were sleeping, and he knew now back then Kimimaro was focused on pain and not trying to collapse mid-step, he’s… started paying attention to it too.

He’s been sleep talking nearly all night, mumbling half sentences about Hime this, Hime that. Zabuza’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone. Kimimaro was dreaming about *her*, scent-drunk and restless, twisting in his sheets. The kid’s feverish whispers were a knife to Zabuza’s ribs. He’d spent years burying that instinct under layers of ozone and rage, but… but ever since this new scent, new Hime scent that appeared years after the first he remembered died? It was like drowning in sunlight. Sweet. Cloying. Everywhere. Like a beacon trying to drag him back to a place he never even knew.

Zabuza swears the only reason why he’s still able to ignore it was the fact of his kids, and he was trained as a Shinobi in Kiri of all places…. But still, there was that primal instinct clawing at the back of his brain, that voice saying he NEEDED to leave. Him and his kids NEEDED to go to her.

It was a bunch of jumbled words and half sentences clawing at the back of his mind, that voice— he needed to leave, something about his his packpackpackpackpack- a pack, his pack, a Himesheoutthere, pack, HimeHimeHimeHimeHimeHime, his Hime- need to protect, his pack’s Hime, pack’s Hime, need-need-need-need-need-need-n-n-n-n-n-n-need his packpackpackpackpack, need his HimeHIMEHIMEHIMEHIMEHIME— but Zabuza got the gist of it. Kind of. He thinks at least.

Zabuza stared at Kimimaro’s sleeping face, the boy’s lips moving silently around the word ‘Hime’ again. That primal instinct roared louder, ozone sharpening the air. Zabuza’s knuckles whitened around Kubikiribōchō’s hilt where it leaned against the wall. *Control. Breathe. Anchor.* He repeated the mantra drilled into him in Kiri’s blood-soaked barracks. But the scent—sunflowers and ozone, honey and brown sugar—was everywhere now, seeping through cracks in the window frame, clinging to his clothes.

And it was driving him up the fucking wall. Zabuza rubbed his face roughly. He understood it, kind of. His mother had told him about his clan before she had died. About how the Uzumaki were, in her words, ‘Drawn to the clans princess like a moth to a flame. Not in a way as if she were prey, but as a primal instinct to protect her, to be around her because to our instincts she is the most important thing in the world. To us, she is our Hime. Our princess. Our goddess. Our pack’s heart. Our pack’s soul. Our pack’s everything.’

Zabuza hadn’t understood it back then. He had been too young to understand why his mother had been so desperate to find their clan’s princess. But now? Now he understood. It was like a wildfire burning through his veins, a constant hum beneath his skin that screamed *go, find her, protect her*. The scent was everywhere—in the damp morning air, clinging to Kimimaro’s hair, even staining the blade of Kubikiribōchō. It was maddening.

It would be so easy to find her, she’s in the little no name village he was in for some reason. He could just follow the scent, drag the kids with him, and present them to her. He could tell her that he was hers to command. That he was her blade, her shield, her pack. That he would protect her with his life. That he would kill for her. That he would die for her. That he would do anything for her. That he was hers. That he belonged to her. That he was hers.

God, he sounds fucking crazy, even in his own head. Zabuza leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Kimimaro shifted in his sleep, murmuring "Hime" again—soft, reverent—and Zabuza's jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. *No. Discipline. Control.* He was Kiri's Demon, not some slobbering beast led by instinct. But the scent—sunflowers and ozone and honey—it coiled around his lungs, thick as swamp mist.

He sunk to the ground, picking up Haku’s discarded hair clip that had somehow ended up on the floor as he did so. He said it on the window seal, looking over to Haku’s rabbit— Bunny Rabbit— the absolute beast of a white rabbit that Haku had gotten attached to. He sighed softly. “Ya damn rabbit. Is this how you feel with whatever animal stuff goes on in your head?” He asked, looking over at the rabbit. Bunny Rabbit looked over to him with the meanest stink eye he’d ever seen. He sighed softly. “Yeah, I know, I know.” He mumbled softly. He looked down at his hands, clenching them softly. He could feel the instinct clawing at his chest, demanding he go to her, bring his kids to her and present them as some… some offering, like he wanted her to accept them as… his own, as if he needed permission to keep them safe. He groaned softly, rubbing his face. 

He feels like he’s going mental.

Chapter Text

The second Naruto woke up, she smelt something… new. Kind of. For the past couple days, she’s been getting whiffs of it, but always either got distracted by training, Shikamaru, or Grandma Tsunade yelling at the Pervy Sage and Shizune trying to be the peacekeeper. But now, it was just her and Shikamaru in their room, she could actually focus on it, and the scent— no two, two scents— was… stronger? Like, as if they were in the same town as her.

Naruto pushes herself up to her elbows, forcing her eyes open and blinking a couple times as her gaze tries to focus with the sun trying to blind her through the window. The scent, two of them— one smelled like copper, Iron, Choji sword oil, something musky, vanilla, caramel, and roses— the other— cold, and stony minerals, with something flowery, with… bone musk?… vanilla, and caramel— whoever they were, they were both men— both of them have that musky scent that men have— and they both reeked of… ozone and of each other like they travel together and are often in close proximity to each other. The scent was strong enough that she could almost taste it on her tongue, like licking a piece of metal that had been left out in the rain.

They smelled familiar, but not in the same familiar as if she knows them, but they smell… like she should know them? Like they were part of her family? But that doesn’t make sense, dattebayo! Her family is dead— er, not dead, Kurama said they were scattered, not dead.

*‘Kurama?’* She thought, reaching out mentally. *‘You smell that? The copper and bone?’*

*‘Hn.’* Kurama’s voice was a low growl in her mind, tinged with curiosity. *‘Uzumaki blood. Both young. Both male. One carries the iron scent of Kiri’s mist— a swordsman. The other… bone. Kaguya.’*

“Kaguya?” Naruto mumbled, she swears she’s heard that name somewhere, someone had said it or something.

“… Kaguya?” Shikamaru’s voice comes from beside her, making her jump a little. She hadn’t realized he was awake.

Naruto turns her head to find him propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes sharp despite the early hour. "Kaguya," she repeats, the name clicking into place like a puzzle piece she hadn't known was missing. "Yeah. Kaguya. Kurama says the bone I’m smelling in the air is from some guy called Kaguya.”

Shikamaru’s brow furrows, the gears turning behind his lazy gaze. “The Kaguya clan was wiped out years ago. Annihilated in a fight against Kiri.” His voice is low, measured, but Naruto catches the undercurrent of curiosity.

“Kurama doesn’t lie,” Naruto insists, sitting up. The scent coils around her senses—metallic tang from the swordsman, sharp and cold like fresh-forged steel, and beneath it, the earthy, floral whisper of bone. It feels like a half-remembered lullaby. “He says they’re Uzumaki-blooded. Both of them.”

Shikamaru shifts closer, his shadow stretching long in the dawn light filtering through the window. “Uzumaki blood isn’t common. And paired with Kaguya?” He rubs his temple, the lazy genius fully awake now. “That clan was feral. They attacked Kiri just to prove they could bleed. From what I’ve heard and read, there were no survivors from the Kaguya Clan after that fight.”

Naruto’s nose twitches as the scents sharpen, and Kurama’s chakra form appears beside her, sniffing the air for himself. “… definitely a Kaguya clansman. A half blood. Half Kaguya and Uzumaki. Must be a damn powerhouse with that genetic cocktail.” Kurama’s tails flick with irritation. “And the swordsman? Pure Uzumaki. Smells like salt and blood. Kirigakure’s stink all over him.”

Shikamaru’s shadow shifts, stretching across the tatami mats like ink spilled in water. “A Kaguya survivor? That’s… troublesome. If they’re here, it’s not for sightsee—inggggggg—!” He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Naruto was standing up, yanking him to his feet. “COME ON, SHIKA! Let’s go find them!”

“Naruto! Wait!” Shikamaru groaned as he was dragged along the floor. “We don’t know their intentions! This could be dangerous!”

“Dangerous, smangerous,” Naruto haphazardly shoved on her sandals, kicking Shikamaru’s towards him. Kurama’s chakra form trotted beside her, ears pricked forward. “Let’s go find them before they leave the town!”

Shikamaru sighed, rubbing his eyes. “You’re dragging me towards two potentially hostile shinobi with Uzumaki blood, one of whom is from a clan known for *eating* their enemies’ bones. And you’re not even armed properly.” He gestured at Kyūbi no Ken, still leaning against the wall where Naruto had left it before bed.

Naruto pursed her lips, looking towards her Ōdachi. She eyed it for a moment as if she was looking at a troublesome child. "FinnnnnnNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEE!” She dragged out the word, stomping over to it. She grabbed Kyūbi no Ken and slung it over her back, the blade’s weight settling against her spine with a familiar thump. She turned back to Shikamaru, grinning as she grabs his wrist again and pulls him towards the door, Kurama following them. “Now come ON!”

Kurama trotted beside Naruto, his tails flicking, yawning as he stretched his chakra-formed limbs. “You know, kit, dragging the lazy Nara around at dawn is cruel even for me.”

Naruto ignores him, her strides confident and determined as she makes her way down the hallways and stairs, down to the lobby where she could idly hear Grandma Tsunade, Pervy Sage, Shizune, and Tonton at the inn's lounge, most likely eating breakfast at the breakfast bar. She hops down the last remaining steps, pulling Shikamaru with her, ignoring his groans and complaints as she drags him towards the inn's entrance. Kurama trotted beside Naruto, his tails flicking, yawning as he stretched his chakra-formed limbs.

“Grandma Tsunade! Pervy Sage! Shizune! Tonton! Me, Shika-Chan, and Rama-Chan will be back in a bit!” Naruto yelled over her shoulder, already hauling Shikamaru toward the inn’s entrance. Kurama snorted at the nickname but padded alongside her, ears pricked forward. The morning air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine.

The three of them made it about five steps out the door before both Naruto and Shikamaru ran straight into someone, and Naruto was assaulted by the smell— copper, Iron, Choji sword oil, something musky, vanilla, caramel, and roses— damn near choking on it as her face connected with the owner of the scent’s abdomen.

Shikamaru froze instantly, his eyes widening as he took in the towering figure before them— Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist, his massive sword Kubikiribōchō strapped across his back. Beside him stood a Kaguya, pale and sharp-boned, with four other kids following him— a boy white hair with a light-blue tint to it, almond shaped purple eyes, and shark-like teeth. Another boy that looked quite a lot like the second one, purple eyes, shoulder-length, white-coloured hair and pointed, shark-like teeth. A dark-haired girl?… boy?… Shikamaru couldn’t tell if they were a boy or a girl, but they had long black hair, pale skin and large, dark-brown eyes, and a slender frame, and they were holding quite a large white rabbit. And the last one, he looks like he was the oldest of the group of kids, and he had short, tufty blue hair, dark eyes and shark-like teeth.

Naruto stumbled back slightly, her nose still filled with that overwhelming scent—copper and iron from the sword oil, mingled with musky vanilla, caramel, and roses. She blinked up at the man, tall and noticeably muscular man with light grayish skin, dark brown eyes, and blood red hair longer than hers! COOL!

Naruto stared at him for a moment longer before turning her gaze towards the person that had the other scent— cold, and stony minerals, with something flowery, with bone musk, vanilla, and caramel. It was a boy not much older then her and Shikamaru. Pale skin, vivid red-pink eyes with flakes of vivid green scattered through them, with two scarlet dots on his forehead, and white hair that was so long it nearly touched the ground in it’s two hair ornaments.

The boy’s eyes widened as he stared at Naruto, recognition flashing across his face. "Hime," he whispered, the word barely audible. Beside him, Zabuza’s hand tightened instinctively around Kubikiribōchō’s hilt, his gaze locked on Naruto’s crimson hair. The scent—thick with Uzumaki blood—hung between them like a physical force.

“HEY! That was easy!” Naruto grinned, ignoring Shikamaru’s muttered groan. She stepped closer to Zabuza, her head tilting. “I was planning on just wandering around the village to find the two scents, but you came to me.”

———————————

Zabuza’s knuckles whitened on Kubikiribōchō’s hilt. He felt like his brain was short circuiting like a wet wire. The girl's scent—sunflowers, sunshine, cinnamon, vanilla caramel, honey, and brown sugar—hit him harder than any blade. Kimimaro swayed beside him, his pale fingers trembling as they brushed against Mangetsu’s arm for balance. "Hime," Kimimaro breathed again, louder this time, the word cracking like dry bone.

The girl grinned, utterly oblivious to the tension coiling around them. "You’re Uzumaki!" she declared, pointing at Zabuza’s crimson hair. "And you!" Her head snapped toward Kimimaro, her own crimson locks whipping around her shoulders. "You’re Kaguya, but you smell like me too! Kurama said so!"

Beside her, the boy sighed, rubbing his temple. "Naruto, maybe don't shout clan secrets in the middle of the street." His dark eyes flickered warily over Zabuza’s massive sword and Kimimaro’s unnervingly intense stare. Haku, Suigetsu, Chōjūrō, Mangetsu stood behind him, frozen like startled deer, looking a mix of confused and surprised.

Naruto, huh? Was what Zabuza thought as he stared at her. He swears that’s a name from a porn book he read once as a teenager. He didn’t know why he thought that at that moment. He blinked, trying to clear his head. The girl—Naruto—stood before him, vibrant crimson hair catching the morning sun, her fox-like blue eyes narrowed in curiosity. Her scent—sun-warmed earth, sunflower, and something uniquely Uzumaki—flooded his senses, making his instincts scream *protect*. Beside her, the boy’s shadow seemed to coil protectively around her ankles, his gaze sharp as kunai. Zabuza forced his hand away from Kubikiribōchō’s hilt. "Hime?" he rasped, the word tasting foreign yet right on his tongue. Kimimaro stepped forward, his voice barely a whisper. "You’re real." His bone-white fingers twitched, aching to reach out but held back by years of ingrained restraint.

Hime— Naruto— she don’t seem to care, reaching out and grabbing both of Kimimaro’s hands with her own. And the poor boy nerely collapses. He’s shaking so bad Zabuza thinks he’s going to shatter. Naruto’s grin is blinding, “Course I’m real, dattebayo!” Her voice cracks a little, thick with something Zabuza doesn’t want to name. Relief? Recognition? It punches him right in the gut. Behind her, the boy— Zabuza’s pretty sure it’s a Nara— shadow snakes tighter around Naruto’s legs, his eyes locked on Zabuza. Calculating. Dangerous. That Nara boy knows exactly what Zabuza is fighting inside his own skull— the roar of Uzumaki blood screaming like a drumbeat against his own chest.

Zabuza’s sword hand spasms. He wants to cut down whoever did that, whoever was the reason why she made that face. The instinct isn’t just primal anymore; it’s personal. But Naruto’s scent— honey and ozone and home— wraps around him, pulling him back from the edge. She turns those fox-blue eyes on him, and he feels pinned. “You smell like me, like my home back in Konoha.” she says, simple as anything. And Zabuza’s throat closes up. Home. He hasn’t had one of those since Kirigakure burned his mother’s stories into ash. He watches as the girl pulls Kimimaro closer to her, letting go of his hands to wrap her arms around his middle. Kimimaro’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans into her warmth, body seemingly melting against her. Zabuza sees the tension drain from Kimimaro’s spine, replaced by a trembling relief. Suigetsu stares, wide-eyed and silent, clutching Zabuza’s pant leg.

The Nara’s shadow shifts beneath Naruto’s feet, a dark ripple only Zabuza notices. It’s coiled tight, ready to strike if he so much as twitches wrong. Smart kid. Annoying. Zabuza grinds his teeth. He’s not used to being read like this. Naruto ignores The Nara’s silent warning, grinning up at Zabuza. “So, you’re family? Kurama says you are. And He’s never wrong.”

Kimimaro leans into Naruto’s shoulder, his voice a fragile rasp. “Hime… you’re real.” He touches the crimson strands of her hair, reverent. “Mother said… we’d find you.” Naruto’s eyes soften. She doesn’t ask who ‘mother’ was. She just holds him tighter. Zabuza watches the boy he raised tremble like a leaf in a storm. Something cracks inside his chest. That instinct—the one screaming *protect her*—wins. He lowers into a kneel beside his kid and his Hime, his knee digging into the ground. “Yeah,” he rasps, the word scraping his throat raw. “Family.”

The Nara’s shadow retracts slightly, tension easing but not vanishing. Naruto beams, releasing Kimimaro to grab Zabuza’s calloused hand. “Come inside—” her gaze sweeps over their group, her gaze lingering on each of them. “— all of you are too skinny. Come eat breakfast with us.”

“… Zabuza-shishou…?” Haku cut in, his usual calm and collected voice strained with confusion and disbelief. He stared at Zabuza kneeling before Naruto, his eyes wide as saucers. Suigetsu blinked rapidly, glancing between Kimimaro and Naruto as if trying to solve a puzzle. Mangetsu himself remained silent, his gaze fixed on Naruto with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. While Chōjūrō merely shifted uncomfortably behind them, clutching Hiramekarei’s handle tighter.

Zabuza forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves that went from about fifty to a hundred in a split second, turning his head to face his kids, feeling a bit of remorse when he saw Suigetsu jump. His kids were used to seeing brown eyes with darker brown slitted pupils, but right now, Zabuza's eyes was slitted into pricks, and as sharp as the most deadliest of predators.

"Listen," Zabuza said, his voice low and gravelly, yet softer than they'd ever heard it. "Things just got... complicated. But she's family." He jerked his chin toward Naruto, who was already dragging a dazed Kimimaro toward the inn's entrance. "You remember how I told all of you that me and Kimim were… different? This is why."

Haku stared, wide-eyed. Mangetsu clutched his brother Suigetsu’s arm, both boys looking a bit nervous. Chōjūrō adjusted his glasses nervously. “… you said more in tune with… animalistic instincts.” Chōjūrō whispered, recalling Zabuza’s rare explanation of Uzumaki bloodlines.

Zabuza nodded curtly, his gaze flicking to Naruto’s retreating back. Kimimaro was leaning heavily against her, murmuring something about “Mother’s stories.” The Nara lingered nearby, posture tense, watching Zabuza like a hawk. “Yeah,” Zabuza grunted. “And right now, those instincts are screaming that she’s *pack*. Alpha pack.” He rubbed his temples. “This complicates things. A lot.” His eyes narrowed slightly as they landed on the Nara. “But… that’s something me and Kimim will talk about later.” He pushed himself up to his feet, not wanting the little red haired girl out of his sight. “Now come on. She’s dragging away one of my kids, and I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

Inside the inn’s bustling common room, Naruto had already dragged Kimimaro across half of the room, ignoring the stares from villagers and travelers alike.

———————————

Tsunade looked up from her eggs, her gaze locking onto Zabuza and his little hoard of misfits trailing Naruto like ducklings. Something flashed across her features. Amusement maybe. Smugness perhaps. But her expression was one of as if she knew they’d come crawling eventually. Zabuza didn’t like that.

Tsunade gestured lazily towards the empty seats at their table. “Took you long enough, Momochi,” she said, her voice carrying over the clatter of breakfast plates as Shizune waved awkwardly, the pig in her lap.

The toad Sage looked up from where he was shoving a pancake into his mouth, eyes going wide as his gaze locked onto the Demon of the Hidden Mist, and then the white haired boy that was very obviously— at least part— Kaguya.

Jiraiya choked on his pancake, syrup dribbling down his chin as he stared at Zabuza. "Demon of the Mist? Here?" His gaze snapped to Kimimaro, paling slightly. "And *that's* a Kaguya." He lowered his voice, leaning toward Tsunade. "What fresh hell did you drag me into, woman? A Missing-nin and—”

“THEIR MINE! Pervy sage!” Naruto interrupted before a conversation could even start.

She plopped Kimimaro down beside her, ignoring the boy’s trembling shoulders and wide, awestruck eyes fixed solely on her. Her crimson hair brushed his pale cheek as she leaned over him to snatch a piece of bacon from Tsunade’s plate. “Found ‘em sniffin’ around outside. They’re Uzumaki-blooded, dattebayo!” She grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “Kurama confirmed it!”

Kimimaro’s breath hitched. He clutched Naruto’s sleeve, knuckles white. “H-Hime…” The word was barely a whisper, thick with reverence and disbelief.

Zabuza stood rigidly behind them, his gaze flicking between Tsunade’s smug expression and Jiraiya’s stunned face. The air crackled with tension. The Nara slid silently into the seat beside Naruto, his shadow subtly stretching toward Zabuza’s feet—a silent warning.

Zabuza kicked the shadow, briefly glaring at the boy, who glared right back, as Haku, Suigetsu, Mangetsu, and Chōjūrō shuffled awkwardly into the crowded dining area. Tsunade snorted, gesturing lazily at the empty chairs. "Sit down before you give Shizune an aneurysm. Demon Boy, meet my idiot teammate and husband, Jiraiya. Jiraiya, meet Zabuza Momochi—apparently another one of Kushina and Naruto’s lost clansmen." She smirked, swirling her sake. "And the trembling kid clinging to Naruto like a lifeline is Kimimaro Kaguya. Half-Uzumaki, half-Kaguya, apparently."

Kimimaro flinched at the introduction, burying his face against Naruto's shoulder. Naruto patted his head absently, her attention fixed on Jiraiya. "Pervy Sage! You gotta be nice to them! They're family!" She grinned.

Jiraiya choked on his spit. "Family? Kid, Zabuza Momochi is a missing-nin who tried to assassinate the Mizukage!" He eyed Zabuza warily. "And the Kaguya Clan were genocidal maniacs!"

Naruto just smiled, reaching behind her with surprising strength and yanking Zabuza closer by the wrist. “Sssssoooooooooooooooo?” She dragged the syllable out, her grin widening as Zabuza stumbled slightly, his usual scowl deepening but he didn’t pull away. “They’re already here, so what is the point of making them leave?”

Jiraiya sputtered, his face flushing as he gestured wildly at Zabuza. "The point is he's a walking diplomatic incident! Kirigakure will have our heads if they find out we're harboring him!" His gaze flickered to Kimimaro, who was still trembling against Naruto. "And that kid—Kaguya blood mixed with Uzumaki? That's a disaster waiting to happen!" Tsunade slammed her cup down, sake sloshing over the rim. "Enough, Jiraiya. They're under my protection now. Kirigakure can choke on their own mist for all I care." She shot a pointed look at Shikamaru, whose shadow had crept closer to Zabuza's ankles. "And you, shadow boy. Stand down. No bloodshed at breakfast."

Shikamaru grumbled, his shadow reluctantly retreating as he slumped in his chair beside Naruto’s. "Troublesome," he muttered, though his eyes never left Zabuza. Naruto beamed, practically vibrating with excitement in her chair. "See? Family breakfast!" Kimimaro stuttered, his pale fingers clutching her sleeve like a lifeline. "H-Hime," he whispered, voice raw with reverence. Zabuza remained rigid, nostrils flaring at the scent of grilled fish and miso soup—a stark contrast to the iron-and-rain odor of Kiri's back alleys. He lowered himself into a chair, every muscle coiled like a spring trap. "Don't expect me to play nice, brat," he growled, though his gaze softened imperceptibly when he looked towards Naruto.

“… okay. WHAT the FUCK is going on?” Mangetsu spoke for the first time this morning, loud and swearing, and Zabuza whipped around so fast to look at his student that his ponytail slapped Naruto in the face— She yelps, yelling, "Hey! Watch the merchandise, Zabuza!”— . He stared at them, a barely concealed expression— much like a mother who had heard their toddler swear for the first time— on his face.

Zabuza stairs. And he blinks. He’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s ever heard Mangetsu swear. The kid’s usually all polite smiles and quiet efficiency—Kiri’s perfect little soldier. Hearing that sharp, bewildered "*What the fuck?*" slice through the tension-laden breakfast table is as jarring as a kunai to the ribs.

“We are missing-nin!” Mangetsu continues, pointing at Zabuza, then to the two Sannin, “And we're just going to have breakfast with two of the strongest shinobi in Konoha? And Naruto? Who’s apparently that princess y-you told us about? And—and—” He gestures wildly at Kimimaro, who’s currently pressing his face into Naruto’s shoulder, breathing in her scent like a lifeline. “He’s *purring*! Since when does Kimimaro purr?! What the fuck is going on? Am I having a fever dream from the medicine you forced me to take this morning?!”

Zabuza stares. And blinks, again. Mangetsu’s outburst slices through the tension-laden breakfast table. And again, the kid’s usually all polite smiles and quiet efficiency—Kiri’s perfect little soldier. Hearing that sharp, bewildered "*What the fuck?*" is… jarring. Zabuza’s hand twitches toward Kubikiribōchō’s hilt out of habit, but stops. His gaze flicks to Tsunade, who’s leaning back in her chair with a smirk, sipping sake like she’s watching street theater. Jiraiya looks like he’s swallowed a wasp, eyes darting between Naruto and Kimimaro.

“Just sit down, and tell me your names.” Tsunade set down her cup, waving to the empty seats— Zabuza’s pretty sure the empty seats were there because Tsunade put them their—. “Zabuza only told me the names of you and you.” She pointed at Kimimaro and Mangetsu, “And I overheard yours,” she turned her finger towards Suigetsu. “I don’t know the rest of you.”

“Haku.” The boy with the dark hair said softly, bowing his head politely. “… Chōjūrō,” the boy with the blue hair and glasses murmured, pushing his glasses up his nose. Suigetsu just grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “Suigetsu Hōzuki! And that’s my brother Mangetsu—he’s the one yelling.” He jabbed a thumb toward his scowling sibling. “AND Kimimaro!” Suigetsu added helpfully, pointing a dramatic finger at the Kaguya clinging to Naruto.

“… pretty names.” Tsunade swirled the sake in her cup, and Shizune nodded. “It’s lovely to meet all of you,” Shizune said softly, “My name is Shizune,” she introduced herself before pointing around the table and introducing everyone else. “Of course, that’s Tsunade-sama and Jiraiya-sama, Naruto-chan, Shikamaru-kun, and this is Tonton.” She patted the pig in her lap head.

Jiraiya grunted, crossing his arms. He glared at Zabuza. “You’re lucky Tsunade’s soft-hearted.” He muttered. Tsunade snorted. “Soft-hearted? You’re one to talk, Jiraiya. How many orphans have you picked up?” She asked, smirking. Jiraiya flushed. “That’s different!” He protested. Tsunade rolled her eyes. “Is it?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Jiraiya scowled. “Yes!” He insisted. Tsunade chuckled. “Whatever you say, Jiraiya.” She said, shaking her head.

“… Mangetsu… sit down.” Zabuza said after a moment, finally pulling himself out of his shock of hearing his most polite student swear. Mangetsu sat with a grumble, still staring at Naruto. Haku, Chōjūrō, and Suigetsu followed his lead after a moment, still looking confused. Or well, Haku was hiding his confusion quite well, while Chōjūrō didn’t try to hide it, and Suigetsu looked as happy as a basket of puppies, not questioning what was going on at all.

Tsunade sighed. “Alright, now that introductions are done, let’s eat and try not to kill each other.” She gestured sharply toward the food, her gaze lingering on Jiraiya’s stubborn scowl.

Chapter Text

Zabuza watch Naruto where he sits up against a tree, or… well, he’s watching Naruto and that Ōdachi she has in her hands as she’s cackling and swinging it around like a maniac as she chases Chōjūrō, who was clutching his own blade as if Hiramekarei could save him from Naruto’s sheer chaotic energy. The blade— Kyūbi no Ken— Zabuza has learned it’s name is— whistles through the air, a blur of crimson that looks impossibly heavy for Naruto’s slight frame. Yet she handles it with terrifying ease, her laughter echoing through the clearing.

Chōjūrō yelped, stumbling backward as Naruto lunged, her Ōdachi carving a vicious arc toward his head. He barely raised Hiramekarei in time, the clash ringing out like a gong. Sparks flew. Chōjūrō’s knees buckled under the sheer weight behind the strike—165 pounds of razor-sharp Kurama tooth driven by Naruto’s wild, exuberant strength. He skidded back, boots digging furrows in the damp earth.

“What is that thing made out of?!” Chōjūrō gasped, scrambling sideways as Naruto’s blade slammed into the ground where he’d stood, cleaving a deep gouge in the earth. Mud and roots sprayed upward. Naruto just grinned, her crimson ponytail whipping around her as she wrenched Kyūbi no Ken free with a grunt. “The Nine-Tailed Foxs Tooth!” She yelled back, resting the massive Ōdachi on her shoulder. “Dattebayo!”

Chōjūrō stared, wide-eyed behind his glasses. “A… a tooth?”

Naruto cackled, swinging Kyūbi no Ken in a wide, lazy arc that made the air hum. “Yep! Kurama’s fang!” She patted the blade’s massive flat side affectionately. “Strongest thing in the world, dattebayo!” Nearby, perched on a mossy log, Kurama’s fox form flicked an ear, his nine tails twitching with smug satisfaction. “About time someone appreciates my dental hygiene,” his dry voice echoed through the air.

Chōjūrō gulped, adjusting his grip on Hiramekarei. “It’s… heavier than it looks.” He eyed the gouge Naruto had torn in the earth. Naruto just beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “165 pounds— without the scabbard.”

“You’re joking,” Mangetsu muttered from the sidelines, where he leaned against a tree beside Zabuza. His gaze tracked the blade’s crimson gleam. “That’s heavier than Kubikiribōchō.”

“… a… lot heavier.” Haku murmured, perched on a nearby branch, watching Chōjūrō’s desperate dodges, his rabbit— in his lap— looking distantly at the sword fight happening below. Naruto’s laughter echoed again, sharp and bright. “C’mon, Chōjūrō! Put your back into it!” She charged, Kyūbi no Ken whistling through the air in a brutal overhead swing. Chōjūrō braced, Hiramekarei flashing blue as he poured chakra into it. The impact this time sent a visible shockwave through the ground, rattling the trees. Chōjūrō held, gritting his teeth, but his arms trembled violently under the strain.

“DON’T HURT HIM!” Tsunade’s Voice echoed through the clearing where she and her apprentice were sitting under a tree, watching the training session unfold. Shizune jumped at Tsunade’s sudden roar, nearly dropping the medical scroll she was studying. Tsunade’s glare was fixed on Naruto, her knuckles white around her sake flask. “And what did I say about using The Strength of a Hundred Seal with that sword?!” She yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Naruto. “You’ll break the damn forest!”

Naruto froze mid-swing, Kyūbi no Ken trembling slightly in her grip as she glanced guiltily toward Tsunade. “But Granny Tsunade—” she started, pouting.

“No! I’ve told you more times than I can count to only use The Strength of a Hundred Seal with your sword when you’re in an actual battle!” Tsunade snapped, her voice sharp enough to make Shizune flinch. “It’s not the same as a fist, a fist leaves a crater, a blade leaves a canyon!” She gestured wildly at the gouge Naruto had torn in the earth.

Naruto sighed dramatically, letting Kyūbi no Ken’s tip sink into the earth. “Fine, fine,” she grumbled, kicking at a clump of grass. Chōjūrō sagged with relief, Hiramekarei’s glow flickering out as he wiped sweat from his brow. Nearby, Kurama snorted, his tails flicking with amusement. “She’s right, kit. You nearly bisected that tree last week.”

Zabuza crossed his arms. “The Slug’s got a point, brat. That blade’s not a toy.” His gaze lingered on the Ōdachi’s crimson edge—a weapon forged from a demon’s fang, wielded by a girl who laughed while swinging it. He’d seen killers with less menace in their eyes. Yet Naruto just pouted, her vibrant hair catching the dappled sunlight as she turned to Tsunade. “But Granny, how else am I supposed to practice? Chōjūrō’s got a fancy sword too!”

“His sword doesn’t weigh more than a small horse,” Tsunade retorted, taking a long swig from her flask. Shizune nodded vigorously beside her, clutching Tonton tighter. “And Hiramekarei is designed for chakra flow, not brute force! You’ll turn him into paste if you keep this up!”

Naruto stuck her tongue out but relented, hefting Kyūbi no Ken onto her shoulder with a grunt. The blade’s shadow fell across Chōjūrō’s pale face as he sagged against a tree trunk, breathing hard. “Sorry, Chōjūrō,” she chirped, not sounding sorry at all. “Wanna switch? You can try swinging Kurama’s tooth!”

Chōjūrō’s glasses slid down his nose. “N-no thank you!” he stammered, clutching Hiramekarei protectively. Nearby, Shikamaru yawned, looking reluctant to wake up from his nap. “Troublesome,” he muttered, shifting against the tree trunk. “Why does training have to be so loud?”

Naruto grinned, twirling Kyūbi no Ken with surprising grace despite its weight. The blade hummed through the air, crimson bone catching sunlight. “C’mon, Shika! Live a little!” She jabbed the ōdachi toward him teasingly. Shikamaru just sighed deeper, closing his eyes again. “Pass.” He rolled onto his side, facing Kimimaro who was napping nearby, passed out and snoring as he was sprawled out like a starfish. He had been the one to spar with Naruto before Chōjūrō, and apparently she tuckered the boy out more than a dog obsessed with playing fetch.

“… Hime, can I have a look of your blade?” Zabuza’s voice cut through the clearing, rough but laced with genuine curiosity. Naruto’s head snapped toward him, her grin widening. “Sure thing, Zabuza!” She bounded over, Kyūbi no Ken held loosely in one hand—a feat that made Mangetsu’s eyebrows climb. The blade’s crimson scabbard gleamed darkly as she offered it hilt-first. “Just don’t drop it! Kurama’ll sulk.”

Zabuza grunted, wrapping his calloused fingers around the tsuka. The moment he took the weight, his shoulders tensed visibly. A low, involuntary sound escaped him—part surprise, part strain. Mangetsu watched, fascinated, as his sensei’s knuckles whitened. “Kami,” Zabuza muttered, hefting it slowly. The sheer density of the fang-forged blade felt alien, heavier than Kubikiribōchō’s brutal practicality. He put his hand under the blunt side of the blade, trying to even out the weight as he looked it over. Sunlight caught the edge—a razor line of polished bone so sharp it seemed to slice the air itself. Haku leaned closer, his rabbit twitching its nose. “It’s… beautiful,” Haku breathed. “And terrifying.”

Naruto bounced on her toes, pride radiating off her. “Right?! It’s amazing!”

Zabuza tested the balance, frowning. The blade’s center felt unnatural—too far forward, like swinging a boulder on a stick. He shifted his stance, muscles straining. “How the hell do you wield this?” he growled, sweat beading on his temple. He attempted a slow, controlled swing, but Kyūbi no Ken dragged downward, the tip carving a furrow in the dirt. Mangetsu whistled lowly. “Sensei’s struggling? That’s a first.”

“I constantly send chakra to my back, arms, and legs, kind of like braces.” Naruto grinned, tapping her own bicep. “Kurama’s chakra helps too—makes it feel lighter than air!” She glanced over at the fox, who flicked his tails smugly. Zabuza grunted, attempting another swing. This time, he poured his own chakra into his limbs, muscles bulging under his skin. Kyūbi no Ken lifted more smoothly, slicing a clean arc through the air with a deadly *whoosh*. Mangetsu’s eyes widened. “Sensei… you’re actually—”

Zabuza cut him off with a sharp gesture, sweat dripping down his jaw. He lowered the blade, its tip sinking into the earth again. “Heavy,” he rasped, handing it back to Naruto. She took it one-handed, twirling it casually. Chōjūrō shuddered.

“Let me see the scabbard, it looks custom-made.” Zabuza gesture to the scabbard that was peeking over Naruto’s shoulder with a finger. Naruto grinned, sliding Kyūbi no Ken’s scabbard off her shoulder with practiced ease before holding it out to him. The Ōdachi’s scabbard was a deep red, black, orange, and gold. The scabbard was carved in a way to make it look like Oni and yōkai— monsters like Jorōgumo, Kuchisake-onna, Gashadokuro, Tsuchigumo, Kitsune, Kappa, Bakeneko, Tanuki, Inugami, Tengu, Aobōzu, Yuki Onna, Hannya, and Kirin— faces, masks maybe, where trying to escape it, actually protruding from of the wooden scabbard, making it bumpy where each face was time consumingly placed. The tsuka was wrapped in a crimson red fabric with a gold-filigreed. “I don’t know who made it, this was a scabbard. It was like when I was given it.” Naruto admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck. “Kurama said it was crafted by Uzumaki artisans centuries ago.”

Zabuza ran a calloused thumb over one of the protruding Hannya masks, its snarling features carved with unsettling realism. “Uzumaki craftsmanship,” he muttered, tracing the intricate scales of a Kirin near the scabbard’s throat. “No wonder it survived centuries. Their sealing arts bled into everything.” The wood felt unnervingly warm beneath his touch, vibrating faintly with residual chakra. He glanced at Naruto, who was balancing Kyūbi no Ken’s tip on her boot, humming absently. “This scabbard’s a prison for spirits, brat. Each face is bound here. Probably why it dampens that monstrosity’s aura.” He tapped a Tengu’s beak. “Clever. And reckless.”

“WHAT—!” Chōjūrō nearly tripped over his own feet as he finally made his way over to look at the scabbard. He pushed his glasses up his nose, peering closely at the intricate carvings. “Bound spirits? Like… actual *yōkai*?” His voice trembled slightly. He reached out a tentative finger but didn’t quite touch the snarling Hannya mask Zabuza had indicated. The air around the scabbard hummed faintly, a low thrum that vibrated in Chōjūrō’s molars.

Naruto blinked, tilting her head. “Kurama never mentioned that!” She glanced over at the fox demon, who merely flicked an ear dismissively. “Why scare the kit? The scabbard’s stable,” his voice rumbled lazily through the air. “Those artisans knew their craft.”

Zabuza’s grip tightened on the scabbard, his knuckles whitening. The wood seemed to pulse faintly against his palm, a heartbeat echoing ancient seals. He saw it now, the slow, micro movements beneath the carved surfaces—the Hannya’s lips curling infinitesimally wider, the Kirin’s scaled flank rippling like water. "Stable?" he growled, thrusting the scabbard toward Naruto. "These aren’t carvings, brat. They’re anchors. Feel that?" He tapped the snarling Tengu beak. A low, discordant hum vibrated through the clearing, making the leaves shudder.

Naruto snatched the scabbard, sitting her blade down on the grass, and ignoring Tsunade and Shizune yells of ‘Be careful with that sword brat!’ And ‘Naruto-Chan, please be careful!’ From across the impromptu training field. She pulled the scabbard close, wrapping her arms around it as if she was hugging a person as she looked over the intricate carvings. “Anchors?” She tilted her head, tracing a finger over the snarling Tengu mask. The discordant hum intensified, vibrating through her palms. “Kurama, Were they bad? Is that why they were sealed away?”

Kurama lifted his head from his paws, red eyes narrowing. “Bad? Kit, ‘bad’ is a child’s word. Most of them were *hungry*. Parasites feeding on fear, rage, despair—the rot humans leave behind.” His tails flicked dismissively. “The Uzumaki trapped them in that because they couldn’t be destroyed. Only contained.” Naruto hugged the scabbard tighter, her knuckles white against the snarling wood. She could feel it now—the faint, restless pulse beneath her fingertips, like something scratching from the inside. She pressed her cheek against the warm surface, staying silent for a moment before shrugging, holding the scabbard over her head. “WHATEVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! IT’S MINE NOW!” She yelled, grinning wildly as she slung it diagonally across her back, the heavy weight settling familiarly against her spine. The discordant hum faded to a low, almost imperceptible thrum as she picked up her Ōdachi, sliding it into its home with practiced ease.

Zabuza snorted, turning away. “Just don’t drop it near me, brat. I don’t need ancient nightmares crawling up my leg.” Mangetsu chuckled, dramatically leaning against the tree he was leaning against. “Sensei’s scared of a little wood carving?”

Zabuza scoffed, going to retort, but the retort died on his tongue as he looked around, noticing that one of his students was missing. “… where is Suigetsu?” He asked at the same time across the clearing, Tsunade asked. “Where is Jiraiya?”

Naruto froze mid-step, her grin slipping. She scanned the clearing—Shikamaru napping against an oak close to Kimimaro, Chōjūrō wiping his glasses, Haku feeding his rabbit clover. No sign of the white-haired swordsman or the white-haired Sannin.

“Pervy Sage was talking about doing some research earlier. Maybe he took Suigetsu with him?” Naruto offered, sniffing the air, turning her head towards the way both Jiraiya and Suigetsu’s scents trailed off. “They went that way,” she pointed towards the dense forest path.

Zabuza’s eyes narrowed. “Research?” He asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. Naruto shrugged, bouncing lightly on her toes. “Yeah! He said something about ‘inspiration’ for his next book. Probably found a hot spring or something.”

“She means Jiraiya is spying on naked women,” Shikamaru muttered without opening his eyes, earning a scandalized gasp from Shizune. Tsunade merely sighed, massaging her temples. “That idiot…”

“I beg your— what— he’s doing what now?!” Zabuza’s voice cracked with disbelief as he shot to his feet.

“Spying,” Shikamaru repeated flatly, finally cracking one eye open. “On women. Bathing. Probably. You know the Icha Icha porn books series? Jiraiya is the author. He calls the spying ‘research’ for his books.” He yawned, stretching lazily. “Troublesome pervert.”

Zabuza’s face contorted—a mix of disgust and outrage. His hand instinctively tightened on Kubikiribōchō’s hilt. “That degenerate *dared* to take Suigetsu?” he snarled, teeth bared. Suigetsu, barely older than Naruto, was reckless enough without Jiraiya’s influence. The thought of the white-haired lecher corrupting his charge with tales of peeping sent fury boiling in Zabuza’s veins. He turned sharply toward the forest path Naruto had indicated, bandages rustling with the sudden movement. “Which way?”

“NOOOooOooOoOoOooooooOOOOOO!” Naruto latched on to him like a koala, her grip like velcro to his waist. “You can’t hurt Pervy Sage! He’s my godfather!”

“He— he’s your wh— godfather!?” Zabuza choked out, trying to pry Naruto’s arms from his waist. Her grip was inhumanly strong, reinforced by subtle chakra flow. “That pervert raised you?”

“Kind of,” Naruto wrapped her legs around one of Zabuza’s legs, anchoring herself like a barnacle. “He raised me until I was four and had to leave my village to get rid of some dangerous people that wanted to hurt me.”

Zabuza froze mid-step, Naruto’s arms locked around his waist like iron bands. Her words sliced through his outrage. Dangerous people? He glanced down at the crimson-haired girl clinging to him—her face pressed against his torso, muffling her voice. The sheer desperation in her grip felt… unsettlingly familiar. He’d seen that grip before—on orphans in Kiri’s gutters, clinging to scraps of warmth. His outrage cooled, replaced by a flicker of reluctant understanding. Jiraiya might be a degenerate, but he’d kept this brat alive.

“Zabuza, if you want to kill someone,” Tsunade’s voice cut through the tension, sharp as Kyūbi no Ken’s edge, “start with the third Hokage. He lied to everyone, told me, Jiraiya, and everyone else Naruto was safe when he was forcing her to live alone in an apartment in the red light district with no one to look after her, until she was seven.” Her golden eyes burned with cold fury. “He told everyone she was too dangerous, too volatile to live with someone and disguised it as love. If you want to kill anyone, kill Hiruzen Sarutobi.”

Zabuza froze, Naruto’s grip slackening as she stared at Tsunade, her blue eyes wide and suddenly vulnerable. The clearing plunged into silence—even Shikamaru opened his eyes fully, his lazy posture gone rigid. Mangetsu sucked in a sharp breath, hand drifting toward his blade’s hilt. Haku clutched his rabbit tighter, the creature squeaking in protest against his chest. While Chōjūrō’s glasses fogged with his shocked exhale as Shizune shifted uncomfortably beside Tsunade, clutching Tonton tighter. Kurama lifted his head, ears pricked forward, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest—not at Zabuza, but at the name *Hiruzen Sarutobi*.

Zabuza shifted, the tip of Kubikiribōchō scraping the dirt. His gaze snapped from Tsunade's burning eyes to Naruto's small frame still clinging to his waist—a girl raised in Konoha's shadows while wearing its symbol. The irony tasted like ash. "Red light district?" he rasped, the words scraping his throat raw. Memories flashed—Kiri's own broken children scavenging in filthy alleys, ignored by their Kage. His fury toward Jiraiya evaporated, replaced by a colder, darker understanding. Hiruzen Sarutobi had orchestrated that. The Third Hokage, revered like a god of Shinobi, had condemned his own weapon to squalor.

Naruto slid down slowly, a grimace carving its way onto her face, but she didn’t let go of Zabuza as she sat on the ground, wrapping her arms around his leg along with her own legs. She pressed her forehead against his knee. Her voice was muffled against the rough fabric of his pants. "It wasn't all bad... some of the working girls made sure no one would… try something for me.”

Kurama padded over, pressing his warm flank against her side. His growl deepened into a protective rumble. “They were kinder than your precious village elders, kit.”

Zabuza stood utterly still, Naruto’s arms and legs locked around his leg like roots. He stared down at the crown of her red hair, her forehead pressed against his knee. The confession hung thick in the air—the stench of Konoha’s hypocrisy. He’d slaughtered men for lesser betrayals. “Names,” he demanded, his voice a low scrape of gravel. “The women who shielded you. And the ones who looked away.” His gaze lifted, sweeping across Tsunade, Shizune, Shikamaru—landing finally on the forest path where Jiraiya had vanished. “Konoha owes a debt. I collect those.”

Naruto tightened her grip, knuckles whitening against his pants. “Granny Chiyo ran a brothel,” she mumbled into the fabric. “She’d give me leftover stew and let me sleep in one of the rooms when it was to cold for me to stay in my apartment.” Her voice hitched. “And… her— her girls called me ‘baby sister’, made sure I didn’t go hungry.” Her voice grew quieter, burying her face deeper.  “All the working girls near the apartment were nice… told me to call them my ‘Aunties’. They made sure their customers knew if they tried anything with me they wouldn’t get any more service after some of them tried to… touch… me…. It was the shopkeepers and normal people who spat at me… threw rotten food… called me a monster, a demon… made me pay three times more if I wanted anything from their shops…”

Kurama’s growl intensified, a primal vibration against her side. “The ‘respectable’ ones were the monsters.”

Zabuza’s jaw tightened until the tendons stood out like cables beneath his bandages. He didn’t move, didn’t try to shake Naruto off. His gaze remained fixed on the distant treeline, but his eyes held the cold, calculating fury of a predator selecting prey. “Granny Chiyo,” he repeated, the name filed sharp. “And her girls… and street workers.” His knuckles whitened where they rested on Kubikiribōchō’s hilt. “The shopkeepers… names, brat. Give me names.”

“… I don’t know them,” Naruto admitted quietly, fingers tangling tighter in his pant leg. “… People that didn’t like me, didn’t like to tell me their names. They just yelled ‘demon’ or ‘monster’ or ‘it’.” She lifted her head slightly, pressing her cheek against his knee. Her eyes were dry but hollow. “The baker with the crooked nose… the butcher who smelled like old blood… the old lady who sold vegetables near the training ground gates…” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “They’re just… faces.”

Zabuza’s gaze remained locked on the trees, his breathing unnaturally still. The names didn’t matter. Faces did. Faces he could find. Faces he could make scream. He’d carved his way through Kirigakure’s corruption; Konoha’s filth would bleed just as easily. Slowly, deliberately, he crouched down. Naruto’s grip loosened in surprise as he pried her arms from his leg—not harshly, but with firm, deliberate pressure. His bandaged hand, rough and calloused, settled heavily on top of her head, making sure not to touch the ninja wire. It wasn’t gentle. It was an anchor. A promise. “They’ll learn what a monster looks like,” he rasped, the words vibrating with lethal intent.

Kurama huffed, a plume of warm breath washing over Naruto’s shoulder. “Finally,” the fox rumbled, his tails flicking like impatient whips. “Someone speaking sense.”

Naruto blinked up at Zabuza, his hand heavy on her head—a weight that felt less like comfort and more like a vow carved in stone. Her throat tightened. She hadn’t asked for vengeance. She’d just… remembered. Remembered the rotten tomatoes splattering against her door, the hissed word “*demon*” from shadowed doorways, the way Granny Chiyo’s girls would sometimes pull her inside, their perfume thick and cloying, shielding her with their bodies until the shouting passed. She opened her mouth—to say what? *Don’t?* But the words died. Tsunade’s furious confession still hung in the air like smoke, poisoning the clearing.

“… Jiji will be angry…” Naruto whispered, her voice small against the sudden silence. She didn’t pull away from Zabuza’s touch, but her fingers curled into fists against her thighs. The Third Hokage’s weary face flashed in her mind—the tired smiles, the rare pats on her head, the promises of “protection” that tasted like dust. Protection that meant loneliness. Protection that meant paying triple for moldy bread.

“Jiji?” Zabuza echoed, confusion flashing across his features before realization hit him like a ton of bricks. “The Third Hokage? You call The Third Hokage, grandfather?” He barked a harsh, disbelieving laugh that echoed through the clearing. His hand remained heavy on Naruto’s head, fingers tightening almost imperceptibly. “He’s the architect of your cage, brat. The one who locked you away in that filth.” His voice dropped to a venomous whisper, eyes narrowing to slits. “Let him be angry. Let him choke on his rage when I peel the skin from his precious village.”

Naruto flinched, not from the pressure on her skull, but from the raw hatred in Zabuza’s voice. She knew Hiruzen’s failures. The loneliness of her old apartment, the whispers he ignored, the way he’d vanish for months. Yet… he’d also brought her ramen sometimes, ruffled her hair, called her “Naruto-chan.” The contradictions tangled inside her, sharp and confusing. “He… he tried,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the grass stains on her pants. “Sometimes.”

Kurama snorted, a puff of warm air ruffling her hair. “Tried? He fed you scraps and called it a feast, kit. Sentimentality won’t save him now.” The fox’s tails lashed, stirring fallen leaves. “Not from the debt collector standing over you.”

Zabuza’s hand didn’t lift from Naruto’s head. His thumb brushed roughly against her temple—a gesture that felt less like affection and more like marking territory. “Sentiment,” he spat the word like poison, “is the rot that lets tyrants thrive. Your ‘Jiji’ cultivated your suffering like a farmer tends his blighted crop.” His gaze swept the clearing again, landing on Tsunade’s rigid posture. “Does it burn, Senju? Knowing your master left his own weapon to rust in the gutters?”

Tsunade’s fist clenched, knuckles white. Shizune clutched Tonton tighter, the piglet squealing softly. Before Tsunade could retort, a sharp whistle cut through the tension—high, mocking, and unmistakably Jiraiya’s. He emerged from the forest path, Suigetsu slung casually over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The white-haired boy was beet-red, sputtering indignantly. “Put me DOWN, you degenerate fossil!”

Jiraiya dropped him unceremoniously. Suigetsu scrambled up, dusting himself off with furious swipes. “He made me be a lookout as he scribbled notes while peeking at some hot springs!” he yelled, pointing an accusing finger. “Said it was ‘field research’!”

Jiraiya merely grinned, puffing his chest out. “Art demands sacrifice, my boy! And what vistas! Such—oof!” Tsunade’s fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling into a bush. She loomed over him, golden eyes blazing. “Sacrifice? You dragged a child into your perversion!”

Suigetsu blinked, momentarily stunned by Tsunade’s fury. Then, his gaze snapped past her, landing on Zabuza’s hand still resting possessively on Naruto’s head. His eyes widened. “Uh… Sensei? What’s with the… touching?” He gestured vaguely, confusion warring with alarm.

Zabuza grunted as Naruto finally untangled herself from him, she bounced up to her feet like a bouncy ball, running over to Jiraiya and Tsunade.

“Pervy Sage!” Naruto dived down, landing ride on top of Jiraiya, koalaing herself to him as he groaned from the bush. She pressed her face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scents of ink, cheap sake, and faint perfume—a smell that meant safety, however flawed. “You okay? Granny Tsunade hits hard!” Her voice was muffled against his robes, laced with genuine worry beneath the usual exuberance.

Jiraiya winced, rubbing his jaw where a bruise was already blossoming. “Whirlpool… ribs…” he wheezed, but one arm wrapped around her back instinctively. His sharp eyes, however, flicked past Tsunade’s furious form to Zabuza. The Demon of the Hidden Mist hadn’t moved. He stood like a statue carved from shadow, Kubikiribōchō point-down in the dirt where he was crouched, his bandaged hand still slightly raised where Naruto’s head had been. The air around him crackled with unspent violence, thick enough to choke on. Jiraiya’s gaze narrowed. Something had shifted. Something dangerous.

He sat up with a dramatic groan, Naruto still clinging to his front like a limpet. His gaze locked onto Zabuza’s stillness—the coiled tension radiating from the Mist-nin was sharper than Kubikiribōchō’s edge. "Trouble, Whirlpool?" Jiraiya asked softly, his voice losing its usual theatrical boom. One hand remained protectively on Naruto’s back, the other still rubbing his jaw.

Naruto lifted her head, following Jiraiya’s stare. She saw it too: Zabuza hadn’t risen from his crouch. His fingers were curled loosely around his sword’s hilt, knuckles white. His eyes held a glacial fury fixed on Tsunade’s back. "Granny Tsunade told him," Naruto whispered, her voice suddenly small. "About... before. Before I met Shika-chan and finally convinced Jiji to let me stay in the compound.”

Jiraiya’s arm tightened around her. He’d trusted Hiruzen’s weary assurances. Stupid. So stupid. The weight of Naruto pressing against him felt heavier than Kyūbi no Ken. “Ah,” he breathed, the syllable thick with regret. He met Zabuza’s gaze across the clearing. The Mist-nin’s stillness was more terrifying than any roar. This wasn’t just anger; it was the quiet before a slaughterhouse opened.

———————————

Tsunade was cackling, belly laughing where she sat on the ground, her feet literally kicking as she clutched her stomach.

It had been a couple months since the Demon of the Mist and his little pack of missing-nin and farrell kid who could rip out his bones joined their chaotic breakfast. Joining them on their little cross country training trip across the elemental nations.

Zabuza had been quite awkwardly sitting— not beside her— with her and Shizune on the grass, watching the kids gang up on Jiraiya during training, when they had all heard one of the insults she taught Naruto— “Your dick is not big enough to be talking to me like that!”— echoed through the air.

Tsunade’s laughter was loud, and Zabuza was looking on with an expression that was caught somewhere between horror and reluctant amusement. His eyes tracked Naruto, who was perched on Kurama’s back—the fox’s chakra form darting through the impromptu training field like an orange blur—as she lobbed another insult at Jiraiya. "Your forehead’s bigger than your future, dattebayo!" The Sannin sputtered, face flushing crimson as Suigetsu cackled nearby, mimicking the gesture.

“Oh— OH good lord!” Tsunade gasped between peals of laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She used the forehead one! That’s mine!” She jabbed a finger toward Naruto, who was now zigzagging away from a flustered Jiraiya on Kurama’s back, the fox’s nine tails whipping like fiery banners.

Shizune patted Tsunade’s back, trying to get her to breathe. "Lady Tsunade, please—you’ll choke!" But Tsunade only waved her off, clearing her throat as she tried to catch her breath.

The other children scatter as Jiraiya lunges—only for Shikamaru to trip him with a shadow stretched thin as wire. Jiraiya face-planted into the dirt.

Zabuza snorted, a rough sound muffled by his bandages. "Your brat's got a mouth." His gaze flickered to Tsunade, wary but lacking its usual edge. Across the field, Mangetsu groaned, dragging a hand down his face as Suigetsu cheered Naruto on. "She's gonna get us all killed!"

Kimimaro stood stiffly beside Naruto, pale fingers twitching toward his own ribs. Kurama circled them both, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Focus, kits," the fox barked, his voice echoing across the field as his tails lashed. "The pervert's getting up."

Jiraiya spat dirt, pushing himself onto his elbows. His eyes locked onto Naruto—specifically, the crimson braids falling over her shoulders as she grinned. "That Uzumaki mouth," he muttered, wiping mud from his chin. "Minato would've fainted." He stood up, his gaze sweeping over the field.

The closest to him was Chōjūrō, who stood near Haku, both of them covered in dirt and sweat from running around for the past three hours. Chōjūrō’s hands trembled around Hiramekarei’s twin hilts, it’s bandages loosely dangling from the blades hilts. Haku’s ice mirrors had shattered earlier, leaving him breathing heavily against a tree trunk. Both looked exhausted—but alive.

Jiraiya’s gaze lingered on them before shifting to Mangetsu and Suigetsu—both panting near the treeline, the older brother looking much more done with this than his energetic sibling. Finally, his eyes settled on Kimimaro, Naruto, and Shikamaru.

Kimimaro was panting and dirty like the rest of them, while Shikamaru tried to pretend he wasn’t breathing heavily. Naruto was grinning, her crimson braids wild and messy, Kurama circling her like a protective shadow. Jiraiya’s eyes narrowed. "Alright," he said, clapping his hands together. "Let’s take a break. The lot of ya look about ready to collapse." He glanced at Naruto. "Except you, brat. You’ve got too much of your mother’s stamina. But still take a break."

Naruto stuck her tongue out at him. "Old man," she muttered under her breath. Kurama snorted, while everyone else let out a sound like they had just survived the end of the world.

——————————

Zabuza watched the scene unfold with Tsunade and Shizune nearby. The kids were dirty and looked like they just survived a hurricane. Dirt smeared across everything and hair sticking out everywhere.

“Good god,” he muttered, fingers picking at the grass beneath him as Haku limped toward him. The boy’s pale skin was smeared with mud and grass stains, his breathing ragged. Zabuza gestured for him to sit. “Still standing?”

Haku managed a weak smile. “Barely. Naruto-san’s… enthusiasm is exhausting.” He winced as he settled beside Zabuza. Across the clearing, Chōjūrō had collapsed face-first onto the grass, Hiramekarei’s bandages pooling beside him like discarded bandages.

Zabuza grunted, eyeing Naruto. She was perched atop Kurama’s chakra form again, both radiating restless energy. “Enthusiasm? That’s one word for it.” He’d seen wild animals less relentless. Kurama’s tails lashed as Naruto leaned down to whisper something sharp-edged and crude—another of Tsunade’s lessons, no doubt. Jiraiya flinched visibly, rubbing his temples.

“… where is Bunny Rabbit?” Haku murmured, scanning the clearing for his rabbit companion. His fingers brushed the grass anxiously. “He was here before training started.”

Zabuza grunted, scratching his chest. “With the pig,” he jerked his thumb towards their makeshift campsite across the clearing. “Probably chewing Tsunade’s sandal straps again.” Haku relaxed slightly, though his gaze kept drifting toward the treeline where Mangetsu was helping Suigetsu peel mud-caked clothes off Chōjūrō’s limp form. The mist-nin looked half-drowned. Haku’s pretty sure at some point the oldest Hōzuki had gotten thrown into the muddy lake beyond the tree line more than six times in the past hour.

Nearby, Shikamaru lay flat on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. “Troublesome,” he mumbled, though his shadow subtly stretched toward Naruto, brushing her ankle like a loyal hound’s nudge. She didn’t notice, too busy grinning at Jiraiya.

“OKAY! Children gather around!” Tsunade’s voice boomed across the clearing, cutting through the groans. She sat up, sitting crisscross  beside Shizune, reaching behind them to grab the crate of glass vials she had brought along with them when the game of tag had turned into a training session. Whatever was in the crate clinked ominously as Jiraiya made his way back over to her, collapsing onto the ground beside her. “Enough lazing about. Medic-nin lesson time!”

Shikamaru groaned louder, dragging himself upright. “Can’t we nap first?”

Tsunade ignored him, pulling vials from the crate—each filled with viscous liquids in unsettling shades of neon green and murky purple. “Identify these poisons,” she commanded, lining them up on the grass. “Symptoms, antidotes, and which organ fails first.”

“Where in the world did you get poison!” Chōjūrō squeaked, scrambling up from the grass. Mangetsu groaned beside him, rubbing his temples. “Lady Tsunade, is this really necessary?”

Tsunade smirked, tapping a vial of bubbling crimson liquid. “This one’s from Kiri’s swamps—causes hallucinations and cardiac arrest within ten minutes. Antidote’s crushed moonpetal root.” She shook the liquid, pointing at Naruto and Shikamaru who were making their way over. “If the rest of you have paid attention, you should have realized that both Naruto and Shikamaru have ninja wire in their hair. And if you haven’t noticed it, I am quite proud that you have not touched it, because it’s not just ninja wire. It’s poison ninja wire, and this—” She shook the bottle again, “— is what is currently in their hair. They’re immune because they’ve been building up tolerance to all different types of poisons, hallucinogenics, venoms, paralytics, and toxins since they started training with me a few months ago. They’re immune to this poison, but you are not. So come over here and learn what does what. And maybe I’ll start putting ninja wire in your hair as well.”

Kimimaro leaned closer to Naruto as he followed her towards the adults, his pale fingers brushing her silver-streaked hair. "Hime... you carry death in your braids?" His voice held no fear, only fascination. Naruto grinned, tapping her temple. "Kurama burns most toxins outta my system anyway. But yeah! Shika and I play poison-tag sometimes. Makes dodging kunai feel boring."

Zabuza snorted, folding his arms. "Only you'd turn assassination tools into accessories." But his eyes tracked the way Tsunade handled the vials—like a butcher selecting knives. When she uncorked one releasing the scent of rotting peaches, Mangetsu gagged as he and his little brother and— begrudgingly— Chōjūrō made their way over, settling in front of the crate as Haku scooted over beside them. "That's paralysis venom from Stone Country scorpions," Tsunade announced cheerfully. "Drop touches skin? You'll suffocate conscious."

Shikamaru sighed, flopping onto the grass, Naruto following his lead, soon followed by Kimimaro. "Troublesome. Last time she 'tested' us, I hallucinated slugs singing opera." Naruto giggled, leaning against him. "Kurama ate that one! Said it tasted like bad ramen broth." Kurama, who’s curled up nearby, flicked an ear dismissively.

Tsunade smirked, swirling the vial. "Focus, brats. Paralysis venom—symptoms?" Mangetsu raised a tentative hand. "Muscle lock... starting at the injection site?" Tsunade nodded. "Good. But incomplete." She pointed at Shikamaru. "Nara?" He didn't open his eyes. "Full respiratory shutdown within three minutes. Eyes stay open. Victim feels everything." A chill settled over the group. “The antidote is a mix of powdered obsidian, charcoal, and moonpetal extract. Apply it directly to the wound within ninety seconds, or already dead.”

“Correct,” Tsunade said, her voice losing its playful edge. She held up another vial—thick, amber liquid that bubbled sluggishly. “This one’s from River Country. Smells like burnt sugar. Ingest even a drop?” She paused, letting the silence stretch taut. “Your organs dissolve. Slowly. Painfully.” Haku paled, fingers tightening around his knees. Mangetsu swallowed hard, while Chōjūrō shifted uncomfortably, Hiramekarei’s bandages rustling beside him as his fingers traced the blunt side of his blade.

Zabuza eyed the bubbling amber vial, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "River Country's gut-rot. Saw a merchant die from it in Kiri’s market square—took two days. Screamed until his vocal cords melted." His voice was gravel scraped raw. Tsunade nodded grimly, placing it beside the paralysis venom. "No antidote. Only prevention." She tapped her temple. "Know your poisons, know your enemies."

Jiraiya blows a strand of hair out of his face, staring up at the cloud. “Toads are immune to it,” he continued Tsunade’s lesson. “The mucus coating their insides neutralizes it.” He paused, glancing at the kids. “But humans? Not so lucky. Sucks there’s no antidote, but the prevention is simple: don’t ingest it, and if you do. Hope you like toad mucus cause that’s what you’re going to be taking until you somehow get it out of your system or for the rest of your life.”

Tsunade raised an eyebrow. “You actually remembered my lesson about toad mucus, Jiraiya? Miracles never cease.” She uncorked the amber vial, releasing a sickly sweet burnt-sugar scent that made Mangetsu gag. “But he’s right—no known antidote exists. Prevention relies on vigilance.” Her gaze swept over them all. “Which is why Naruto and Shikamaru wear poison-coated wires daily. Constant micro-exposure builds immunity.”

She popped the cat back on and sat it down beside the other, before reaching back into the crate and pulling out a small vial of purple liquid. “This one’s a simple mix of hallucinogenic and paralytics used by medic-nin’s for mild surgeries if their patients have to stay awake for the operation. It’s named ‘Silent Dream’. It’s not lethal, but it’s painful if administered incorrectly.” She held it up to the light. “And the stuff I said about maybe putting ninja wire in your hair— I lied, I am going to put ninja wire in your hair. Hope you’re ready to have the trip of a lifetime.”

Zabuza— who had been paying attention with half an ear— looked over sharply. “You’re planning to get my students high?” Tsunade shrugs, pulling a pair of worn gloves from the crate, setting down the vile as she slipped on. “Immunity training. They’ll be fine. Besides, their teenagers, it’s only a matter of time until they find something they can get high off. Might as well be something I can control.”

Shizune cleared her throat, cutting in. “It’s really not that bad,” she said softly, shifting to sit on her knees. “It’s basically a liquidized version of marijuana, without the worry of getting lung cancer.” She smiled reassuringly at Zabuza, who still looked skeptical. “Tsunade-sama knows what she’s doing—”

“You want to do it?” Tsunade cut in, eyeing the sheer amount of hair Zabuza had. The hair pooled around him in several feet where he sat on the grass near them like spilled red ink. “You’re lucky no one’s grabbed you by the hair yet in a fight.” She snapped her gloves on. “Come here. Everyone’s going to get ninja wire hair today.”

Zabuza hesitated, his gaze flicking between Tsunade's gloved hands and the ninja wire in the crate gleaming in the sunlight. “You… want to put poison in my hair?” His deep voice rasped with disbelief.

“Not poison,” Tsunade corrected sharply, snapping a strand of silver wire taut. “Immunity. Prevention. You’ve got enough hair to weave a damn net.” She stood up, her knees cracking as she gestured impatiently to the spot in front of her. “Come. Sit.”

Zabuza remained rooted, his eyes darting toward his kids, and his Hime and the Nara. Naruto leaned forward, her grin sharp. “It’s fun, Zabuza! Like wearing armor nobody sees.”

——————————————

A couple minutes later.

Naruto, Shikamaru, Haku— with his bunny rabbit—, Mangetsu, Chōjūrō, Kimimaro, and Suigetsu sat a good few feet away, watching as Tsunade and Shizune put ninja wire into Zabuza’s hair, while Jiraiya watched nearby with a frown. Tsunade and Shizune worked with quick precision, weaving strands of silver wire into Zabuza’s thick, dark hair. Each strand was coated with Silent Dream, the hallucinogenic-paralytic mix she’d introduced earlier. Zabuza sat stiffly, his jaw clenched, as Tsunade’s fingers moved deftly. “Relax,” she muttered, tugging a section taut. “This isn’t torture. It’s strategy.”

Zabuza grunted.

“… I've never actually seen Zabuza-sensei with his hair down.” Suigetsu whispered loudly to Mangetsu, leaning sideways. Mangetsu nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Zabuza’s rigid posture. Tsunade’s fingers worked swiftly, weaving silver strands deep into the thick cascade of dark hair pooling around him. Zabuza’s knuckles whitened where they gripped his knees.

“I knew sensei had a lot of hair, but not… *that* much,” Suigetsu whispered, leaning sideways— in the other direction— toward Chōjūrō. His gaze traced the waterfall of dark strands cascading past Zabuza’s shoulders—a sight none of them had witnessed before. Chōjūrō nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Zabuza’s rigid posture. Tsunade’s fingers moved with surgical precision, weaving strands of silver wire coated in Silent Dream into the thick locks. Each tug drew a low grunt from Zabuza.

“Twelve feet,” Shizune called out the number, looking over to them, overhearing the loud whispers. “That’s how many feet me and Tsunade-sama have to back up to get to the end.” She held up a coil of wire, gleaming faintly under the sun. Tsunade snorted, her fingers not pausing as they threaded another section. “Stop complaining, Momochi. It’s good hair. Strong. Take the weave better than Shikamaru’s did at first.” She shot a glance at the Nara, who merely shrugged, looking entirely unbothered where he leaned against Naruto’s shoulder.

“TWELVE FEET OF HAIR!” Suigetsu yelled, pointing at Zabuza’s hair. He knew the hair was long, hell, it nearly reached the ground when it was in its updo, but twelve feet? That was insane! Mangetsu sighed, rubbing his temples. “Suigetsu, quiet down.” He whispered. Suigetsu glared at him. “But Mangetsu! Twelve feet! That’s longer than Kisame’s sword!” He yelled. Mangetsu sighed again.

“I think it’s pretty,” Haku cut in, looking at the hair as if he had just found a gold mine. He leaned forward, eyes sparkling, before glancing over to Kimimaro. “Your hair is long too. How long is it out of its braid?” Kimimaro blinked, looking at Haku. He had never thought about it. “I… uhhh… probably around six feet… maybe seven…”

“Seven feet?” Mangetsu asked, looking at Kimimaro’s hair. Kimimaro nodded. “I’ve never once cut it.” He explained. Mangetsu sighed. “I’m jealous. Mine barely reaches my shoulders.” He muttered.

“If your hair is that long because you have never cut it, does that mean sensei’s hair has also never been cut because of how long it is?” Chōjūrō asked quietly, looking at Zabuza’s hair as Tsunade and Shizune continued to weave the wire into it. Tsunade chuckled, glancing at Zabuza. “Well?” She asked.

Zabuza sighed. “No, I have never cut my hair.” He sighs, staring at the sky.

Tsunade chuckled. “Well, that explains it.” She said, continuing to weave the wire into his hair. “… my grandmother also never cut her hair, 116 when she died, and not once did she ever cut it.” She smiled softly. “It was her pride as an Uzumaki.” She paused, rubbing her fingers in between Zabuza’s red hair before continuing. “You and her almost have the same shade of red.” She murmured quietly, almost lost in thought. “Just a few shades lighter.”

Zabuza glanced at Tsunade. “Huh.” He muttered quietly. “Never knew that.” He sighed softly, closing his eyes. “So, what’s the plan?” He asked quietly.

Tsunade hummed softly. “Well, if you're going to be staying with us, you and your little batch of hoodlums are going to have to get used to mine and Jiraiya’s style of training… and…” she paused for a moment, making her way back up to Zabuza’s scalp. “And… if you’re going to be following around Naruto like a guard dog, I can’t have you staying a missing-nin. If you stay, I’ll have to write to the Hokage and have you and your hoodlums processed as Konoha ninja.” She said softly. “… I may only be a quarter Uzumaki, but I grew up knowing the Uzumaki ways. I know how you think, and I know you and the bone boy would like to stay with Naruto.”

Zabuza sighed softly. “I’m not going to be able to say no, am I?” He asked quietly, glancing at Tsunade.

“Nha, because I’ve already sent the letter,” Tsunade chuckled, her fingers deftly weaving the final strands of wire into Zabuza’s thick hair. The scent of Silent Dream lingered faintly—sharp citrus beneath earthy herbs. “It was right after dinner last night, actually.” She stepped back, surveying her work. “The elemental nation is going to get a new Bingo Book entry now: ‘Demon of the Bloody Mist—The Village Hidden In The Leaves Bloody Mist Demon’.” She grinned, sharp and predatory. “I’m sure you’d look great in a Konoha flak jacket.”

Chapter Text

You know how the saying goes, say their name and the devil shall appear— or should it be, say their name and the Messenger Hawk shall appear.

Asuma sighed as he slowly turns his head, which is propped up in his palm, towards the window, where a Konoha Messenger Hawk was tapping impatiently at the glass. "Tsunade-hime," he muttered under his breath, already dreading whatever fresh chaos the Slug Sannin had unleashed now.

Ever since the Senju Princess has found out he had become the Fifth Hokage, Tsunade had been sending him a hawk every other day—sometimes multiple times a day—with demands to know what his father had screwed up and a whole bunch of other stuff because apparently Naruto and the Nara heir just keep on dropping little snippets of what Hiruzen had been doing to Konoha and his misdeeds. Asuma groaned as he pushed himself away from the desk, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. The hawk tapped again, sharper this time, its beak clicking against the glass like a metronome counting down his sanity. He slid the window open, and the bird hopped inside, ruffling its feathers before extending a leg with the scroll tied to it. The paper smelled faintly of sake and antiseptic—Tsunade’s signature scent. *Another one,* he thought, untying it with fingers that still carried the nicotine smell from his last cigarette break. He unrolled it, and his eyes skimmed the contents as he sat back down at his desk.

*Asuma, your precious little Naruto-Chan has picked up five mits-missing-nin and one Kaguya clan survivor as if they were stray kittens—*

Asuma had to actually stop reading. He stared at the wall, is expression blank, his cigarette dangling forgotten from his lips. Five missing-nin. And a Kaguya. Naruto had collected them like souvenirs. He could already feel the phantom ache behind his eyes, the one that always flared when Tsunade’s scrolls arrived. He forced himself to continue.

*One of them being the Demon of the Bloody Mist, Zabuza Momochi—*

Asuma stopped reading again. Zabuza Momochi. The Demon of the Bloody Mist. The Demon. The guy people called a Fierce God. Naruto had… adopted him. Adopted a walking massacre. Asuma pinched the bridge of his nose, the scroll trembling slightly in his other hand. Tsunade’s scrawl continued, dripping with sarcasm.

*Zabuza and the Kaguya are Uzumaki. Zabuza being a full blooded Uzumaki, and the Kaguya being a half blood—*

Nope! Asuma looked away from the letter as if it was a nude Jiraiya.

He stared at the wall again. The plaster suddenly seemed fascinating. Five missing-nin. A Kaguya. And Uzumakis? Tsunade’s handwriting practically cackled at him from the scroll. He could almost hear her voice—that mix of exasperation and dark amusement—as he forced his eyes back to the ink.

*The others consist of the last three surviving members of the Hōzuki clan, the people made out of water and the sister clan to the Hoshigaki—*

Asuma stared at the scroll, the words blurring momentarily. *Hōzuki.* The clan that could liquefy themselves. Practically the Hoshigaki’s cousins. Naruto hadn’t just collected strays; she’d gathered a menagerie of legends and nightmares. Tsunade’s ink slashed on: *And Haku. I believe that Haku is a Yuki, the last surviving member of the Yuki clan with the Ice Release Kekkei Genkai to be exact. Expect them to be joining us when we return to Konoha with us in a few years.*

Asuma looked away from the parchment again, fingers tightening around it. *Yuki.* One of the clans wiped out during Kirigakure’s Bloodline Purges.

Asuma’s not sure how long he stared at the wall, but apparently it was long enough for Shikaku to return with more paperwork and complaints about what his father had done in his time as Hokage.

Shikaku raised an eyebrow at Asuma’s expression—the kind of look that usually preceded village-level disasters or Tsunade’s liquor bills. "Bad news?" he asked, dropping a fresh stack of mission reports onto the desk with a thud that echoed in the too-quiet office.

Asuma slid the scroll toward him, fingers tapping restlessly against his cigarette pack. "Naruto’s adopted Zabuza Momochi, who is apparently a Uzumaki. And the last three living Hōzuki. A Yuki." He paused, letting the weight of those names hang between them. "And a… Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid.”

Shikaku froze mid-reach for the scroll. His dark eyes snapped to Asuma’s face, sharp as kunai. "A… Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid?" His voice came out flat, dangerously quiet. “… the last three living Hōzuki…. A yuki, and Zabuza Momochi…. Zabuza Momochi is a… Uzumaki.”

He snatched the scroll, eyes scanning Tsunade’s jagged script. The silence thickened, broken only by the rasp of parchment against his calloused fingers. Asuma watched Shikaku’s face—the slight tightening around his mouth, the way his jaw clenched almost imperceptibly beneath his goatee. It wasn’t shock. It was calculation. Cold, razor-edged assessment.

"Zabuza," Shikaku murmured, the name a low rumble. "Kirigakure’s Demon. And he’s Uzumaki-blooded." His thumb traced the ink where Tsunade detailed Naruto’s instinctive claim. "She didn’t hesitate. Just… absorbed them." A dark chuckle escaped him. "Like a damn whirlpool." He tossed the scroll back onto Asuma’s desk. "Five missing-nin and Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid. Six, counting the Kaguya-Uzumaki. That’s not adoption. That’s a declaration of power." He leaned forward, palms flat on the wood. "Tell me, Asuma. When does Hokage-sama plan to inform the Council that Konoha’s hosting a pack of S-rank rogues loyal *only* to a ten-year-old jinchūriki?"

Asuma let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a groan, rubbing his temples. "I don’t know, Shikaku,” he rubbed his face, leaning forward, elbows on his desk. “You’re part of my council, what do you think? Is it a good idea?”

Shikaku’s gaze didn’t waver. He slid into a seat opposite of Asuma, crossing his arms. “Good? No. Necessary? Absolutely.” He nodded toward the scroll. “Tsunade’s right. Naruto’s Uzumaki blood is calling them. At least two of them anyway. That instinct doesn’t ask permission.” His thumb tapped his bracer thoughtfully. “Zabuza alone could level a district if provoked. But bound to Naruto? He’d die before letting harm touch her. Same for that Kaguya boy. Kimimaro, was it?” A grim smile touched his lips. “The Hōzuki are survivors. Clever. And Haku… Ice Release is a nightmare in the right hands. Naruto just assembled a personal guard more lethal than Konoha’s entire Anbu roster.”

Asuma leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. “And the political fallout? The other villages won’t sit idle knowing Kirigakure’s Demon and Kiri’s missing-nin are sipping tea in Konoha.”

“When have any other nations liked us?” Shikaku countered, his voice low and steady. Rain started to lash against the office windows, casting shifting shadows across his scarred face. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “And I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon. So why does it matter if we give them a few more reasons to hate us? Besides—” he tapped the paper, fingers tracing the letters of the names Zabuza Momochi and Kimimaro Kaguya. “— We can’t get in trouble for these two at least. Konoha is technically the home of the Uzumaki, we have every right to shelter Naruto’s bloodline…. Now for the others… that’s another story. Kiri won’t be too happy about the last three living Hōzuki coming to The Land Of The Tree-Huggers. And as for the Yuki, who says we have to say anything about them being a Yuki? We can just say he’s a refugee.” He shrugged. “We’ve done worse.”

Asuma sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The scent of rain and damp earth seeped through the cracks in the window frame, mixing with the lingering tobacco smoke clinging to his clothes. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple,” Shikaku replied, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the desk. He shifted, the deep green fabric of his flak jacket stretching taut over broad shoulders. Rainwater traced paths down the glass behind him, distorting the view of Konoha’s drenched rooftops. “We control the narrative. Tsunade-sama’s scroll confirms Haku’s loyalty is to Zabuza, not Kiri. And if he’s loyal to Zabuza, that means he’s loyal to Naruto. The boy’s a ghost in their records—officially, he drowned during Zabuza’s defection. And the Hōzuki?” A faint, predatory smile touched Shikaku’s lips. “According to the letter, Mangetsu’s pneumonia nearly killed him. Kirigakure abandoned their own. We took him in. Humanitarian grounds. We can just say the other two Hōzuki were with him.”

Asuma finally picked up his nearly spent cigarette and crushed his cigarette into an overflowing ashtray. The scent of charred tobacco clung to the air. “And Kimimaro? A Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid with bones sharper than Hoshigakure’s steel?” He leaned forward, elbows digging into the polished wood. “That boy’s existence is a political grenade.”

“The Kaguya never belonged to any village,” Shikaku countered. His fingers slid into one of his flak jacket pockets, slightly pointed nails catching on his pack of cigarettes as he pulled them and a lighter out. He lit his cigarette, the flicker illuminated the scars on his face—deep grooves that spoke of battles Asuma hadn’t witnessed. “They were monsters even Kiri feared. Kimimaro survived. That makes him ours now. Naruto’s.” He puffed on the cigarette, smoke curling like a phantom between them. “Tsunade-sama’s report states his Shikotsumyaku was tearing him apart until she intervened. Konoha saved him. We frame it as mercy, not acquisition.”

Asuma ran a hand through his beard, the coarse hairs scratching his palm. “And when the Mizukage demands answers? Or worse, sends hunters?”

“… my forest could always use some… new food to play with…” Shikaku offered it as if it was a casual solution, and not offering to let the monsters that live in the Nara Forest eat the potential hunters. “They're always hungry.”

Asuma sucked in a breath, choking on Shikaku’s cigarette smoke—a harsh, grating cough that filled the tense silence of the Hokage’s office. The scent of tobacco mingled with the faint ozone tang of stress. He stared at Shikaku, the Jōnin Commander’s expression utterly calm beneath the scars etching the right side of his face. The flicker of the lighter flame earlier had illuminated those grooves—deep, old wounds Asuma had never asked about. Now, in the dim afternoon light filtering through the window, they looked like shadowed canyons. *He’s serious. He’s actually suggesting feeding Kiri hunters to the Wendigo and the other Nara Beasts.* The casual brutality of it, wrapped in that lazy drawl, sent a chill down Asuma’s spine that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

Shikaku exhaled a slow plume of smoke, his dark eyes—sharp as flint—never leaving Asuma’s. “Problem?” he murmured, the word a low rumble. His thumb traced the edge of his cigarette pack, the motion deliberate, almost hypnotic. The silence stretched, thick with the unspoken weight of what Konoha was about to unleash: Naruto, gathering Uzumaki-blooded missing-nin like scattered puzzle pieces, Tsunade’s silent war against Hiruzen’s lies, and now this—Shikaku’s forest as a graveyard for anyone who threatened their fragile new reality.

“… you… scare me…” Asuma breathed, the words escaping before he could bite them back. The confession hung raw in the smoky air. He scrubbed a hand over his beard, rough stubble catching on his palm. The image Shikaku painted—Kiri hunters vanishing into the Nara forest, swallowed by shadows and ancient, hungry things.

Shikaku snorted, grinning as he slowly blew smoke out of his nose, a chuckle escaping him. "Good." His scarred knuckles tapped the cigarette pack. "Means I'm doing my job right." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the Hokage's polished desk, the movement deliberate. "But seriously, if anyone enters the village without permission, just ask and I’ll have them cornered into the Nara Forest like some lost deer." The casualness of his tone contrasted sharply with the predatory glint in his dark eyes. "They won’t even scream long enough for the birds to scatter."

Asuma shuddered, rubbing his temples. "You're talking about feeding people to monsters, Shikaku." He glanced at the closed office door, lowering his voice.

"Monsters *I* control." Shikaku tapped ash into a tray, his gaze steady. "They're guardians, Asuma. Loyal as hounds to the Nara. Let Kiri send their hunters—they'll learn why Konoha's forests stay untouched." He paused, watching smoke curl toward the ceiling. “Besides… it’s cleaner than war. Quieter…. It’s up to you, i’ll only do it if you ask. You’re the Hokage after all.”

Asuma’s throat tightened. He pictured it—bodies dragged into shadowed thickets, the wet crunch of bone. *Protection or predation?* The line blurred in Shikaku’s scarred hands. He forced himself to meet the Jōnin Commander’s unnervingly calm gaze. "Fine," he rasped, the word tasting like ash. "But only if they breach the gates. Only if they threaten our… new assets."

Shikaku’s grin widened, a flash of teeth in the dim office light. "Understood, Hokage-sama." He stubbed out his cigarette, the ember dying with a hiss. "Consider it handled. Discreetly." He rose, stretching lazily, the movement fluid like a predator uncoiling. "Now, about the council. Would you like me to call a session? They’ll need to hear about our... *guests* from your lips before rumors breed panic."

Asuma rubbed his temples, exhaustion warring with the adrenaline still humming in his veins. "… yes…. Before it get’s to late.”

Shikaku nodded, already moving toward the door with that unnerving silence of his. “I’ll gather them in the main chamber. Fifteen minutes.” His hand paused on the knob. “And Asuma? Wear the hat. They need to see the weight behind your words tonight.” The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Asuma alone with the lingering scent of tobacco and the phantom scent of blood.

Asuma sighed, roughly rubbing his eyes. Shikaku, he thought, one of the only bastards that can truly terrify me. The image of Nara Forest predators tearing into Kiri hunters lingered—wet and visceral. He grabbed the Hokage hat from its stand, the coarse material biting into his palms. *Weight behind the words.* Damn right. He settled it onto his head, the quickly becoming familiar pressure grounding him as he strode into the corridor.

——————————————

Fifteen minutes later, Asuma is sitting at the head of the meeting room’s table, watching his council— technically new council because he fired all the old ones once he became Hokage— file into the room one by one.

The first to arrive was Shikaku because the man was already at the Hokage tower, soon followed by Itachi who arrived at the same time as Hiashi. The young clan head of the Uchiha was ignoring Hiashi’s glare with practiced indifference. Tsume entered next, her scent sharp with agitation and lingering traces of Shikaku’s cologne— the smell making Hiashi wrinkle his nose. Chōza lumbered in with Shibi Aburame, the latter’s insects humming faintly beneath his high collar. Inoichi arrived last, smoothing his vest as he took his seat beside Chōza.

The only empty seats were Kakashi— Kakashi was currently with Naruto— Guy, Tenzō, and Kurenai— both Guy, Tenzō and Kurenai being away from the village for missions. He’ll have to send them scripps of what happened…. And to ask Kakashi if he actually wants to be a part of the council.

He watched his council mingle for a few moments. Tsume’s annoyance turning into a sharp bark of laughter as she caught Itachi‘s glasses, quite loudly saying, “AWWWW! You look adorable, Uchiha!” Hiashi’s glare deepened. Shikaku’s quiet chuckle echoed beside him. Asuma cleared his throat sharply.

Silence fell instantly. Tsume grinned, leaning back in her chair. Hiashi folded his arms. Shibi’s insects quieted. Chōza’s fingers stopped drumming. Inoichi’s eyes sharpened. Itachi adjusted his glasses with unnerving calm. Asuma leaned forward, elbows on the polished wood. “We’ve got a situation.” His fingers tapped the scroll he had gotten from Tsunade. “As all of you know Naruto Uzumaki and Shikamaru Nara are currently on a training trip across the elemental nations with two of the Sannin.” He paused, letting the weight settle. “Tsunade-sama has informed me that Naruto has acquired…kin…. Living Uzumaki kin.”

Shikaku’s shadow flickered against the wall. “Two confirmed Uzumaki-blooded individuals. Zabuza Momochi, formerly of Kirigakure’s Seven Swordsmen, confirmed to be a full blooded Uzumaki. And Kimimaro Kaguya, a Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid, and the sole survivor of the Kaguya clan.” He paused, letting the names hang. “She has both of them. But that is not all, she has also claimed the soul Survivor of the Yuki clan, the last surviving member of the Yuki clan with the Ice Release Kekkei Genkai to be exact. And the three soul survivors of the Hōzuki clan, the people made out of water and the sister clan to the Hoshigaki.”

Silence…

The silence was thick and suffocating. Tsume’s grin vanished, replaced by a low, dangerous growl rumbling deep in her chest. Hiashi’s knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge of the table. Shibi’s insects buzzed louder, agitated. Chōza’s jovial face hardened. Inoichi leaned forward, eyes narrowed. Only Itachi remained unnervingly still, seemingly unfazed with the situation. Shikaku’s shadow stretched long and sharp across the floorboards, coiling like a predator ready to strike.

Asuma met each gaze steadily, the Hokage hat heavy on his brow. "Tsunade-sama secured their transfer," he stated, his voice cutting through the tension. "Zabuza Momochi and Kimimaro Kaguya are Uzumaki kin. Naruto claimed them. They’re hers." He let the implication hang – Konoha’s jinchūriki, the village’s ultimate weapon, had just expanded her personal guard with lethal missing-nin and a Kaguya survivor. “Along with the Yuki and three Hōzuki survivors. Every single last of them being a missing-nin from Kiri except for the Kaguya survivor.”

Tsume’s knuckles whitened against the table. "Zabuza Momochi? The Demon of Kiri? Inside our walls?" Her voice rose, sharp with disbelief. "He slaughtered an entire academy class during graduation!" Beside her, Chōza shifted uncomfortably, his usual calm replaced by wary tension. Hiashi’s Byakugan veins pulsed faintly, a silent testament to his unease.

“I’m okay with this decision,” Itachi stated calmly, his voice a stark contrast to the rising agitation. His dark eyes remained fixed on Asuma, betraying no flicker of doubt. “Naruto-san’s going to do it if we give her permission or not. We cannot legally stop her from bringing her clansman into Konoha.” He paused, his dark eyes sweeping the room. “And frankly, Hokage-sama, trying to stop her would be… unwise. She’s already claimed them. Denying her risks fracturing her loyalty to the village. The Uzumaki are known for taking in strays, blood or not, it would be unwise to deny her, her kin and the other four she claimed.”

Tsume slammed her fist on the table, making the polished glass groan. “Unwise? That butcher slaughtered an entire graduating class in Kiri! He’s a monster!” Her nostrils flared. Beside her, Kuromaru growled low in his throat, hackles raised.

“That is also the only way he would graduate from the Academies in Kiri. Their graduation is a kill or be killed situation.” Itachi replied coolly, his fingers steepled before him. “He was a child forced into violence. Now he’s chosen loyalty to Naruto-san. Deny him, and you deny her.” He tilted his head slightly, hair falling across his shoulders. “Would you rather have Zabuza Momochi, the man people call a God for his strength, as Konoha’s ally… or its enemy?”

Chōza shifted uncomfortably, his large frame creaking the chair. “Itachi-san speaks sense. But… the political fallout with Kiri—”

“I have already come up with a… solution to that…” Shikaku drawled, leaning back in his chair. His fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the tabletop. “… but… Hokage-sama has only told me to do it if we get unwanted guests.”

Asuma sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. Explain it.”

“I’ll feed the intruders to the Nara Forest inhabitants.” Shikaku stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. His voice remained flat, devoid of emotion. “The monsters haven’t eaten well since… a while actually. They’ll dispose of any Kiri nin foolish enough to chase Zabuza here.” Tsume’s lips curled into a savage grin, her canines flashing. Chōza paled, clutching his stomach. “You can’t be serious, Shikaku! Those creatures—”

“Are loyal only to the Nara,” Shikaku interrupted, his dark eyes sweeping the room. “And they obey me. Bones, flesh, screams… nothing remains. Kiri will assume their teams vanished in hostile territory.” He shrugged. “Simple.”

Chōza shuddered, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Inoichi leaned forward, fingers steepled. “The psychological impact alone would deter future incursions. But Shikaku… are you certain you can control them? The last time—”

“I told them to eat that asshole,” Shikaku murmured, gaze distant. “He deserved it. They enjoyed it.” Tsume chuckled darkly, nodding approval. Hiashi remained impassive, but his knuckles whitened against the armrest. Itachi spoke softly, cutting through the tension. “Konoha gains six powerful assets. Denying Naruto risks losing her loyalty.” He paused, letting the implication hang. “Zabuza’s brutality is Kiri’s shame, not ours. Use him…. Or well, ask Naruto-san to use him.”

Shibi shifted slightly, insects rustling beneath his robes as he finally spoke. “The Aburame clan concurs. Containment through Naruto Uzumaki minimizes risk. Her… influence stabilizes volatile elements.” He gestured toward Shikaku, a subtle acknowledgment of the Nara’s monstrous solution. “The forest disposal method is efficient. Unpleasant, but efficient.”

Hiashi clears his throat sharply, the sound like cracking ice. "The Hyūga cannot endorse harboring known killers. Zabuza Momochi slaughtered entire patrols." His Byakugan activates instinctively, veins bulging as he scans the room. "His presence insults the memory of our fallen."

“At least he never branded any of his clansmen!” Tsume snarled, slamming her fist onto the council table. Her nails dug furrows into the glass, eyes blazing yellow. “Unlike your precious Main Branch, Hiashi. Zabuza kills enemies. You cage your own blood.”

Hiashi’s Byakugan pulsed violently, veins spiderwebbing across his temples. “You dare compare—”

“Zabuza!” Asuma cut in, tapping his fingers as he cut off the brewing fight. “Zabuza got into assassination because he had children to feed and for some reason he had to send money back to Kiri for… someone, according to what Tsunade-sama had told me.”

Tsume’s snarl softened slightly. She leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping against the armrest. “He has Pups?”

“Five…” Asuma rubbed his eyes, his face scrubbing down his face before it went up to push the Hokage hat up higher on his head. “The Yuki, the three Hōzuki, and the Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid. According to Tsunade-sama, they are his, though she didn’t specify biologically or not, but I think the five of them are orphans he took in.”

Tsume’s expression shifted. “Pups are pups. Even strays.” Her gaze flickered to Shikaku, a silent understanding passing between them. Pack instincts ran deep.

“Five pups…” Tsume muttered, her earlier hostility softening. “Explains why he’s so hostile when approached.” Her gaze shifted back to Asuma. “Damn it. That makes sense. He’s a stray protecting his litter.” She glanced at Shikaku, a silent understanding passing between them. Pack instincts ran deep.

Hiashi slammed his palms on the council table, veins bulging at his temples. "You cannot seriously consider sheltering that butcher! His blade slaughtered entire patrols—Konoha shinobi!" His Byakugan flared, veins pulsing violently. "He’s a rabid dog, Hokage-sama! Rabid dogs get put down!"

“OH! SHUT UP!” Tsume snapped, turning her attention back to Hiashi. “It’s not our fault you would rather let your pups get branded like cattle than protect them!” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low growl. “At least Zabuza’s stray litter gets to *breathe* without a slave seal burning into their skulls.”

Hiashi’s face went pale, then flushed crimson. His Byakugan veins bulged dangerously. “You dare compare that gutter-born murderer to the Hyūga clan’s sacred traditions?”

“Sacred!?” This time it was Inoichi who sounded disgusted. He leaned forward, his usually calm eyes sharp. “Sacred? Hiashi, you cage your own children’s futures with a seal designed for slaves. Traditions built on fear aren’t sacred; they’re shackles.” He gestured sharply towards Tsume. “She’s right. Zabuza’s actions for those orphans speak louder than any Hyūga decree.”

Hiashi recoiled as if struck. His knuckles whitened on the armrests. “You understand nothing of the Hyūga’s burden! That seal protects—”

Honestly, what does it protect?” Chōza cut in, seemingly moving on from the fact one of his best friends had just admitted to planning on feeding Kiri nin to flesh-eating monsters. His voice was low, heavy with a disgust that surprised even Tsume. He leaned forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the polished table. “Protects them from being stolen? Or protects *you* from the fear that one of your own might surpass you? That seal isn’t armor, Hiashi. It’s a collar.” He pointed a thick finger towards Tsume. “She calls Zabuza a stray dog protecting pups. Fine. But your ‘sacred tradition’? It makes *you* the kennel master.” Hiashi’s face drained of color entirely, leaving a stark, furious white. His Byakugan veins pulsed violently, the silence in the council chamber thick enough to choke on.

“… I would like to share something.” Itachi cut in after a long, uncomfortable silence. His voice was soft, but it sliced through the tension like a kunai. All eyes turned to him. “ I know we are currently discussing about Naruto-san’s kin, but I feel like this is an important detail I should share before everyone leaves. The Uchiha… I have already talked this over with Naruto-san, when she and her friend returns from their training trip, the Uchiha and Naruto-san will be performing a Uzumaki Clan’s Binding Souls Ritual.” He paused, letting the words sink in. Hiashi’s furious gaze snapped towards him, momentarily distracted from Chōza’s condemnation. Tsume’s slightly pointed ears flicked, a low, curious growl rumbling in her chest. “This ritual,” Itachi continued, his dark eyes sweeping the room, “will bind my clan to hers through chakra and soul. Not adoption. A fusion. Our Sharingan will be permanently sealed against theft. Our Mangekyō’s madness… erased.” He met Hiashi’s glare squarely. “We choose strength through unity, Hiashi-sama. Not cages.”

Hiashi’s knuckles whitened on the armrests. “You would dilute your lineage? Hand your clan’s future to that… girl?” The disdain dripped from his words. Tsume snarled, hackles rising visibly beneath her fur-lined vest. Before she could lunge, Itachi spoke again, his voice chillingly calm. “Dilute? No. Enhance. The Uchiha bloodline remains dominant. But we gain resilience. Longevity. Protection Naruto-san offers freely.” He tilted his head slightly. “Unlike a seal that brands its bearers as property.” Hiashi shot to his feet, Byakugan flaring. “You dare compare—”

Chōza leaned forward, his bulk casting a shadow over the polished table. “Itachi-kun speaks of curing Mangekyō blindness? Ending the theft of eyes?” His tone held cautious hope. Itachi nodded. “The Binding Souls Ritual integrates Uzumaki vitality. It stabilizes the Sharingan’s evolution. Permanently.” He paused, letting the implication sink in. “No more stolen eyes. No more brothers killing brothers for power.” Tsume’s growl softened into a thoughtful rumble. “Smart. Makes ‘em harder to break.”

Shibi’s insects hummed softly beneath his collar, a counterpoint to the tension thickening the council chamber air. "The Uchiha proposal carries merit," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection. "Enhanced vitality, secured kekkei genkai. Konoha’s strength grows." His dark glasses shifted toward Hiashi. "Hyūga-san’s concerns stem from tradition. Yet tradition that cages its own blood is… stagnant." The quiet condemnation landed heavier than Tsume’s snarls.

Hiashi’s Byakugan veins pulsed faintly. "You speak of cages, Aburame, while endorsing binding souls to an Uzumaki?" His gaze swept the table, lingering on Itachi’s placid expression. "This ritual—this *fusion*—it reeks of desperation. Of weakness." He leaned forward, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Or perhaps ambition. Seeking power through her blood, Uchiha? Is that your clan’s true face now?"

Itachi tilted his head to the other side, his smile growing a bit. “Hiashi-san,” he purposely pitched his voice higher, something like a child his age should have. “You sound jealous.” The words were soft, innocent, and utterly devastating. Hiashi’s knuckles whitened on the table. “The Uzumaki Binding Souls Ritual is a gift freely given and freely accepted. It requires trust.” Itachi’s dark eyes met Hiashi’s Byakugan without flinching. “Something your branch family lacks, ne?”

Tsume barked out a laugh, sharp and approving. “Kid’s got claws!” She grinned, flashing teeth. “He’s right, Hiashi. Your precious ‘purity’ looks a lot like fear from here. Fear someone else might actually *live* freely.”

Chōza shifted his considerable weight, the chair groaning beneath him. "Jealousy? Perhaps." His voice was a low rumble, devoid of malice but heavy with implication. "Or perhaps Hiashi fears what happens when a clan stops clinging to chains and embraces something greater." He tapped a thick finger on the table. "The Uzumaki Binding doesn't erase the Uchiha. It *armors* them. No more stolen eyes. No more brothers killing brothers in the dark for power they can't control. Tell me, Hyūga—does that sound like weakness? Or does it sound like finally breaking a curse?"

Hiashi’s knuckles whitened on the armrests. The silence stretched, thick with the unspoken history of his own clan’s brutal seal. Before he could retort, Shibi spoke, the buzz of insects beneath his collar lending weight to his quiet words. "Strategic advantage is undeniable. Konoha gains resilient shinobi immune to ocular theft. The Uchiha gain stability. The ritual is… efficient." His dark glasses fixed on Hiashi. "Tradition that perpetuates suffering is inefficient. Counterproductive."

Inoichi leaned forward, his fingers steepled. "Itachi," he began, his voice measured, "this ritual... it binds souls, not just chakra. What happens to the Uchiha's identity? Does the fox's influence seep in?" His gaze flickered toward Itachi, probing for cracks in the young Uchiha’s composure.

“We will mix,” Itachi drops the innocent act he was using to get under Hiashi’s skin, his tone going back to his usual calmness. He stares at Inoichi, his dark eyes unblinking. “… it’s not mixing like as if they Uzumaki and a Uchiha had a child, in children one clans genetics always overpower the other. The Uzumaki Clan’s Art of Binding Souls mixes both clans genetics equally, creating something entirely new.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Think of it as… evolution. We become stronger together than apart. The Uchiha will always be there, we will still be Uchiha, but we will have the… resilience, the longevity, the chakra reserves of the Uzumaki.”

“And Naruto-San has agreed to this, yes?” Inoichi presses.

Itachi’s expression softens imperceptibly. “Yes, she has agreed. Naruto understands the necessity—and the honor.” He pauses, the candlelight catching the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “The ritual requires mutual consent. It is not domination, but harmony. We will share her strength, and she will gain our loyalty. Not Uchiha loyalty, but the Uzumaki version of loyalty.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Imagine Sharingan eyes that do not bleed, that do not fade. Eyes that see for centuries.”

Across the table, Tsume’s grin widens. “Fox-brat’s gonna have a whole pack of Uchiha pups tied to her soul, eh?” Her tone is rough but approving. “Smart. Makes ‘em harder to hunt.” Shibi’s insects hum louder in agreement, a soft, discordant chorus beneath his collar.

“SEE! Even the bugs agree!” Tsume smacked her palm against the table, and Hiashi squawked, throwing in denial about pure bloodlines.

—————————————

Asuma and Shikaku spent the next fifteen minutes watching the ‘elite’ council of Konoha fight like a bunch of drunken civilians. All of them not arguing with each other but arguing at Hiashi. All of them giving him backhanded insults, outright insulting him, a few threats thrown in here and there, while they praised Itachi like some sort of particularly loved house cat every time he interjected about his plans for his clan’s future. Hiashi’s face was a mask of cold fury, his Byakugan veins pulsing as he endured the verbal onslaught.

Asuma looks over to Shikaku, who was so slumped in his seat that he was practically melting onto the floorboards. "This," Asuma muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples, "is why I preferred Sarutobi clan meetings. At least the smoke bombs gave us an excuse to stop talking." Shikaku merely grunted, his eyes tracking Tsume's claws as they gouged fresh trenches in the glass table top during her latest tirade against Hiashi's "dusty old vault mentality!”

“… OKAY!” Asuma interrupted after another five minutes of Hiashi's icy silence and Tsume’s growling commentary. He slammed his palm flat on the table, rattling it and silencing the room. “Can we please get back to the topic we were originally discussing? Zabuza and his group? Before Tsume carves her name into the table?” He shot a pointed look at Tsume’s claws, still scratching in the glass. She sheepishly retracted them, leaving behind deep, cracking grooves.

“I can forgive him for his… discretions if he killed for his litter,” Tsume conceded, leaning back with a huff. “I would do the same for my Hana and Kiba if, for some reason, I ever had to go missing-nin.”

Hiashi’s Byakugan veins pulsed. “So you’d welcome a demon-carrying Uzu—

“I can… live with it,” Chōza cut off Hiashi’s protest, his voice a low rumble that silenced the Hyūga leader’s sharp intake of breath. “Naruto-san is friends with my Chōji. That girl deserves to have more family than just friends.”

Shibi remained silent, but the faint hum of insects beneath his collar signaled assent. Tsume grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “See? Even the bugs agree, again.”

Hiashi’s knuckles whitened on the armrests. “This sets a dangerous precedent. Allowing a known killer sanctuary—”

“He’s *Naruto’s* killer now,” Shikaku interjected, voice flat as weathered stone. He didn’t look up from the map of Konoha spread before him— the map taking up the entire table and is what is covered in the glass—, fingers tracing invisible paths through the Nara Forest’s ink-rendered shadows. “And Naruto’s killers don’t stay killers for long. They become protectors. Or they become prey for what lives in those woods.” A chill seeped into the council chamber, thick as the frost on the windows. Tsume’s grin widened, predatory and approving.

Hiashi recoiled as if struck. “You speak of unleashing *abominations* on humans!”

“I’ve done it more times than you can count,” Shikaku replied, his voice devoid of inflection. His fingertip paused over a cluster of ink-blotted trees. “Where do you think all the criminals on death row go? Do you think they're just rotting in cells?” He lifted his gaze, dark eyes pinning Hiashi. “Because I can promise you there sure as hell not rotting in a cell.”

Hiashi paled, the veins around his Byakugan stark against suddenly bloodless skin. The silence thickened, heavy with the unspoken horror of Shikaku’s implication. Tsume chuckled, a low, grating sound. “Cleansing the gene pool, Shikaku? Efficient.”

Shikaku stared at Hiashi for a long, long, long, uncomfortable moment, then he… smiled. Hiashi flinched and jumped as if he had been slapped. Shikaku’s smile was a slow, cold thing, a predator’s grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Abominations?” Shikaku repeated, his voice soft, almost gentle. Too gentle. It was terrifying. Hiashi flinched. Shikaku set up in his chair, his shadow stretching unnaturally long across the council table. “No, Hiashi-san. Those monsters in the forest? They’re *family*. Loyal. Protective. They listen.” He paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air. “Unlike some humans.”

Shikaku leaned forward, elbows digging into the glass as his shadow ripped itself off the floor with a sickening wet sound, a tendril from his shadow slithering its way onto the table and pointing towards different areas of the Nara Forest. Naming off the territory and the places each monster called home.

“The Wendigo and Wechuge’s territory is here,” Shikaku’s shadow-tendril tapped a jagged ravine on the map. The ink seemed to ripple beneath the glass. “The Skinwalkers like to hang out over here near the Leshy’s at the Nara Lake.” His shadow twisted, moving further along the map. “The Kelpie’s Territory is over here near the Eastern Forest, and all the way over here near the western Forest the Nuckelavee and Mimic’s surprisingly share territory.” His shadow pointed at each location with chilling precision. “And over here, the southern forest is split in two, one side being the goals territory while the other is the Blights…. But of course, the entire Nara forest is their home, they even come up to the Nara compound sometimes to play with Shikamaru.” He paused, letting the horror sink in. “They’re *very* fond of Shikamaru.” He leaned back, the unnatural shadow retreating slightly. “So yes, Hiashi-san. If Kiri sends hunters? They’ll find *family*. Hungry family.”

Hiashi’s knuckles whitened against the polished table. The Byakugan couldn’t see chakra signatures in ink, but Shikaku’s casual mapping of nightmare territories felt like a violation. Tsume snorted, a feral grin splitting her face. “Efficient,” she grunted, approval thick in her voice. “No bodies, no fuss. Just… digestion.” Shibi’s insects buzzed softly beneath his collar, a sound like dry leaves scraping stone. Chōza’s jovial face was uncharacteristically grim, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. Inoichi looked faintly ill, his gaze fixed on the spot Shikaku had indicated as the Skinwalker’s haunt.

“So, I can promise you, Hiashi, the big, bad monster you think that Zabuza Momochi is, is nothing compared to what I watch running across my yard while I drink my morning coffee. He’s nothing compared to what lives in the forest. He’s nothing compared to what protects the Nara.” Shikaku’s shadow pulled itself back into the ground with a wet sound. “So, Hiashi, unless you want to be fed to the Wendigo’s? I suggest you shut your mouth.” Shikaku’s smile turned predatory as he leaned forward, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Because I’m sure they’d love to sink their teeth into you.”

Hiashi’s face paled further, the veins around his Byakugan pulsing visibly. He opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Tsume cut him off with a. “THAT’S MY MAN!” She yelled with such force that the windows rattled. Her grin was feral, teeth bared. “Finally, someone talks sense! If the monsters keep the trash out, let ‘em feast!” She slammed a fist on the table, making the teacups jump. “Now can we go? Because I would like to go home and screw my man until the sun—

“WHOA! Tsume! There are children here!” Chōza had reached over Inoichi to cover Itachi’s ears with his large hands. Itachi blinked slowly, his expression unreadable. He didn’t move away. Tsume just snorted, leaning back in her chair with a wolfish grin.

“What? He’s fifteen! Practically grown!” Tsume waved a dismissive hand, though her grin softened slightly. Chōza sighed, releasing Itachi’s ears. The Uchiha clan had remained impassive, but a flicker of amusement ghosted across his features—gone before anyone could truly catch it.

“Oh, my god,” Shibi breathed out, actually sounding like he did in fact not know that Shikaku Nara and Tsume Inuzuka were sleeping together. He turned to Shikaku, his normally stoic face betraying a flicker of disbelief, then his gaze flicked over to Tsume, who was grinning like a predator who’d just cornered prey. “You two? Seriously?”

“YES!” Tsume yelled, her voice loud and excited. “He fixated on ME! Smartest damn Nara alive!” She slammed a fist on the table, rattling teacups. “Wears me down with logic? Ha! I wore HIM down!” Her grin widened, sharp and triumphant. “With my teeth.”

Shibi's normally impassive face cracked completely, his jaw slackening as he stared between Shikaku and Tsume. "You... and *her*?" His voice held genuine disbelief, a rarity for the stoic Aburame clan head. Tsume's triumphant grin widened, sharp enough to cut glass, while Shikaku merely leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, radiating smug satisfaction.

Shikaku’s shadow coiled possessively around Tsume’s ankle. “Sooooooo? Everyone agrees that Zabuza Momochi and his wards are welcome?” He asked, ignoring Shibi’s stunned silence. “Itachi, Tsume, Chōza, and Shibi have already agreed. So that just leaves me, who has been on board with this since it got brought up, Inoichi, and… Hiashi.”

Inoichi sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger roughly. “… Shikaku… you never fail to not scare the piss out of me.” He muttered, ignoring Tsume’s snort. “But… If what you say is true about Zabuza… i can accept him walking among the same streets as my daughter.” He paused, glancing at Hiashi. “But… Hiashi? What’s your verdict?”

Hiashi’s Byakugan pulsed faintly as he stared at Shikaku’s shadow still coiled around Tsume’s ankle. His jaw tightened. “… The Hyūga clan will not oppose their presence.” He said stiffly, each word clipped and precise. “… as long as he gets a brand much like ours. To ensure loyalty.” His gaze flickered to Itachi. “If—

“NO!” Asuma’s voice was loud, loud and angry, loud, angry, and sharp. His fist slammed onto the table, making the glass groan. “No brands. No cages. That ends now.” His eyes burned as he stared Hiashi down. “Konoha doesn’t chain its people. Not anymore. I do not care what my father allowed. I do not care what my father did. I do not care what my father thought. That ends now. That ends here.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Is that understood?”

Hiashi flinched, the veins around his Byakugan bulging momentarily before receding. He looked away first, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “… Understood, Hokage-sama.” The title felt stiff, unnatural.

Silence hung thick in the council chamber. Shikaku’s shadow slithered back to his own feet, the smugness replaced by wary assessment. Tsume’s grin was sharp, approving. “About damn time someone said it,” she muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Asume let out a soothing breath, his expression slipping back into his usual easy-going smile as he slumped back in his chair like he wasn’t the Hokage. “Alright then,” he said, rubbing his chin. “That settles it. Zabuza and his wards will be processed and filed as Konoha, and will be welcome with open arms when they return with Naruto, Shikamaru, Tsunade-sama, Jiraiya-sama, and Ms Shizune in under two to three years.” He paused, glancing at Shikaku. “And Shikaku, I’ll leave it to you to handle the Nara Forest monsters accordingly.”

Shikaku tipped in a imaginary hat. "Consider it handled." His shadow stretched lazily toward Hiashi's seat, stopping inches short. "The Forest hungers for fresh meat anyway. Perhaps we'll toss in a few stubborn Hyūga traditionalists." Tsume barked a laugh, while Hiashi looked about ready to lunge across the table.

Chapter Text

Shikamaru peeled one of his eyes open to look over to Naruto, she had been giggling for the past ten minutes, reading a letter from someone.

“What’s so funny?” Shikamaru mumbled, rolling over to face Naruto, pulling his sleeping bag closer to his chin. The scent of damp earth and pine needles clung to the air. Naruto’s crimson hair spilled across her sleeping bag like spilled wine, her fox-like eyes crinkled with mirth. She waved the letter at him. “Nothing. Just every time Sasuke writes, I can’t stop thinking about how he gave both of us a kiss! On the lips! Then he ran away like he had a pack of dogs after him! I swear you were red for an hour!” Naruto teased, her grin sharp and playful.

Shikamaru groaned, burying his face in his hands. “He caught me off guard! And you laughed so hard you fell over!” He peeked through his fingers. “Besides, he kissed you too.”

Naruto’s grin softened into something warmer. “Yeah, but I liked it.” She traced the edge of the letter.

Shikamaru froze. “You… liked it?” His voice was careful, like testing thin ice. The forest sounds—crickets, distant owls—suddenly felt too loud. He watched her fingers brush the ink smudges where Sasuke’s pen had pressed too hard.

“… I mean, yeah, I guess I did.” Naruto’s fingers paused on Sasuke’s messy handwriting. “I think… Sasuke’s cute and stuff…”

Shikamaru sat up slowly, the sleeping bag rustling. “Cute?” he echoed, his voice flat. Something tightened in his chest—a familiar, unwelcome twist he’d felt before whenever Sasuke’s name came up around Naruto. It felt like jealousy, sharp and acidic, but he shoved it down. *Troublesome.*

“I think Shika-Chan’s cute to,” Naruto added on, saying it so simply it took Shikamaru a couple seconds to process it. He blinked. Once. Twice. The words hung in the cool night air like startled moths. Naruto wasn’t looking at him; she was tracing Sasuke’s signature on the letter again, her expression thoughtful, almost… shy? That wasn’t Naruto. Naruto didn’t *do* shy. She shouted things. She punched first. She laughed loud enough to scare birds. This quiet admission felt… fragile.

Naruto sighed, rolling onto her back, holding the letter above her face with both hands. “Granny Tsunade says I have a type.” Her brow furrowed as she stared at Sasuke’s messy handwriting. “She says I like ‘em Dark. Broody. And smart.” A soft snort escaped her.

Shikamaru’s gaze lingered on the curve of her jawline, illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. *Dark. Broody. Smart.* The description fit Sasuke perfectly. It also fit *him*. The unwelcome twist in his chest tightened further. “Tsunade-sama’s probably joking,” he muttered, shifting his gaze to the slightly open tent flap to the dying embers of the campfire outside. The silence stretched, thick with things unsaid.

“What? Do you not like that I think your cute?” Naruto asked absentmindedly, still studying Sasuke’s letter. “Ooooooooorrrrrrrrrr— is it Shika-Chan doesn’t think I’m cute?”

Shikamaru froze. The casual accusation landed like a kunai between his ribs. He stared at the glowing embers, willing his face not to betray the sudden, frantic scramble of his thoughts. *Troublesome. Extremely troublesome.* He could feel Naruto’s gaze shift from the letter to him now, a tangible weight in the quiet darkness. The playful lilt in her voice was gone, replaced by genuine curiosity.

“I—” Shikamaru started, then snapped his mouth shut. Denial felt like a lie. Agreement felt like stepping off a cliff. He settled for a noncommittal grunt, shifting his shoulders back as he stretched. “Doesn’t matter.”

Naruto stared at him for a long moment longer, eyes curious, calculating, before she sniffed the air in his direction. And Shikamaru froze as he watched the myriad of expressions flicker across Naruto’s face—confusion, recognition, and finally, a slow, predatory grin that showed too many sharp teeth. "Awwwww— Shika-Chan loves me.”

Shikamaru’s breath hitched. The scent. He’d forgotten about the Uzumaki’s unnaturally keen senses, their ability to smell emotions like ink on parchment. Denial died on his tongue, useless against the evidence flooding the air between them—the sharp, electric tang of panic, the cloying sweetness of longing. He felt stripped bare, cornered by his own traitorous biology.

Naruto leaned forward, her crimson hair catching the firelight like spilled blood. That grin widened, predatory and delighted. "You *do*," she asked, the words a low hum that vibrated in his bones. "You reek of it, Shika-Chan. All tangled up and sweet." Her blue eyes, slitted and unnervingly fox-like, held his gaze, pinning him like a butterfly.

Shikamaru felt his cheeks burn. He looked away, focusing intently on the tent floor. *Troublesome. Annoying. Impossible.* The words cycled uselessly in his mind. He couldn't deny it. Not to her nose. Not when the scent of his own stupid, inconvenient feelings hung thick in the air between them – a cloying mix of panic and something embarrassingly tender. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. "So what if I do?" The words came out rough, defensive. "Doesn't change anything."

Naruto hummed, fingering the letter she still held between her fingers. She stayed silent for a long moment, her tongue running over the bumps and ridges of her top teeth as she seemingly gathered her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, less teasing. "I… love Shika-Chan too,” she admitted after a moment, her gaze drifting towards the other tent across the clear where Tsunade had disappeared earlier that night. Her cheeks flushed crimson, matching her hair.

Shikamaru froze. The air crackled, thick. Her admission hung between them, fragile and unexpected. He stared at her, the defensive tension draining from his shoulders. Her gaze remained fixed on the flap, the crimson flush spreading down her neck.

“But…” Naruto continued, her gaze returning to the piece of paper in her hands. “I also… love… Sasuke.” She frowned, crumpling the letter slightly. “Both of you… make my stomach feel like frogs are jumping inside it.” Her brow furrowed deeper, genuinely confused.

Shikamaru’s breath hitched. The scent of her confusion—sharp citrus layered over honey—mixed with the lingering ozone. He watched her struggle, the way her fingers tightened on Sasuke’s letter. *Both?* The word echoed in his mind. He’d expected rivalry, not… this. His own panic shifted, cooled into something analytical. Uzumaki emotions were vast, untamed oceans. Why would love be confined to a single shore? A flicker of understanding sparked—quiet, almost reluctant. He saw the earnest bewilderment in her eyes. She wasn’t teasing now. She was lost.

“… I think Sasuke likes us…” Naruto said after the silence stretched out for a while and before Shikamaru could come up with the words to respond to her confession. “He’s… I think he has a crush. On the both of us…. That’s why he kissed both of us before we left the village… and why he writes to you and me four times a week…”

Shikamaru blinked slowly, processing. Sasuke Uchiha? Obsessed? With *him*? The sheer improbability of it tangled with the earlier confession in the air. He pictured Sasuke’s usual aloofness, the sharp edges, the effortless grace… kissing Naruto? Kissing *him*? That had happened, it had been out of nowhere and was kind of awkward and weird. Yet… Sasuke *had* been… different for the past year or so. Less dismissive, more watchful. Especially towards Naruto. And towards Shikamaru himself. In that unsettlingly intense Uchiha way.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a long, slow breath. "Huh." It was all he could manage initially. The pieces clicked: before he and Naruto had left Konoha, for the past year, maybe two, Sasuke was… different. Less dismissive, more watchful, more… not Sasuke and more like a particularly loving cat. Only towards them though, not anyone else that Shikamaru could remember, and Shikamaru remembers everything, everyone, even if he didn’t want to remember them. That… explained the weirdly possessive undertone in Sasuke’s letters, to both of them. Shikamaru felt a prickle of something unfamiliar – not annoyance, not dread… anticipation? Maybe. Sasuke Uchiha, Little brother of the head of a clan famed for obsessive devotion, was fixated on *them*. The sheer absurdity warred with a strange, unwelcome thrill. Shikamaru Nara, tangled in an Uchiha's obsession? Troublesome didn't begin to cover it.

Naruto shifted beside him, pushing herself up to sit crosswise. "You… you believe me?" she asked, her voice small. "That he… likes us? Both?"

Shikamaru kept his gaze fixed on the tent’s ceiling. The material suddenly seemed incredibly fascinating. "Yeah," he muttered. "It tracks. The letters. The… intensity." He paused, the memory of Sasuke's kiss before they left Konoha – brief, sharp, possessive, clumsy, and very flustering – flashing vividly. “Uchihas don’t do things by halves.”

“Do… things by halves?” Naruto echoed, tilting her head. Her crimson hair spilled over her shoulder. The scent of Shikamaru’s lingering panic had faded, replaced by that sharp, analytical focus she’d come to associate with him figuring out a particularly troublesome puzzle. “Like… he has more than a… crush on us?”

Shikamaru finally dragged his gaze from the ceiling. He met her wide, crystal-blue eyes – slitted pupils narrowed slightly in confusion. A faint blush dusted his cheeks again. “Naruto,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “Uchiha Obsessions aren’t *crushes*. They’re… foundational. All-consuming.” He shifted where he sat, pulling one leg underneath him. “Think about Itachi-san. His entire life revolves around Sasuke’s safety and well-being. That’s the level we’re talking about. Sasuke… he doesn’t just *like* us. He’s…” Shikamaru searched for the word, a flicker of that strange thrill warring with his inherent pragmatism. “…claimed us. In his mind, we’re already his.”

Naruto blinked. A slow grin spread across her face, sharp teeth gleaming. “So… he *really* wants us? Both of us?”

Shikamaru sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant acceptance. “Yeah. Seems like it. Troublesome doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the ghost of Sasuke’s lips on his own suddenly vivid. “Those letters… the way he kissed us… it wasn’t just messing around. It was marking territory.”

Naruto stayed silent for a long, long, long, long moment. Looking off to the side as she thought. Her crimson hair fell over her other shoulder, hiding her expression. The scent of Shikamaru's analytical focus filled the air—sharp pine needles and damp earth—mixed with the lingering traces of his earlier panic. Slowly, she turned back to him, her fox-like eyes wide and utterly serious. "Shika... what do *you* want?" she asked softly. "With Sasuke? With... me?"

Shikamaru froze. The question hung between them like a kunai suspended mid-air. His mind, usually a whirlwind of strategies and probabilities, went terrifyingly blank. He hadn't... he hadn't actually framed it like that. He'd been dissecting Sasuke's fixation, Naruto's confusion, the Uchiha madness... but his own desires? They were a troublesome, tangled mess he'd deliberately avoided examining. He wanted Naruto. That was a bedrock certainty, as solid as the Nara forest itself. But Sasuke? The sharp, intense Uchiha who looked at Naruto – and him – with that unnerving, possessive shine? That was uncharted territory. He swallowed, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. "I want..." he started, voice rough, then trailed off, fingers unconsciously twisting a loose thread on his sleeve. He couldn't lie to her, not with those unnervingly perceptive fox-eyes watching him. "I want *you*, Naruto. That's... simple." He met her gaze, his own dark eyes unusually vulnerable. "Sasuke... that's complicated. Annoyingly complicated. But..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Seeing him fixated on you... it doesn't feel wrong. Just... intense. And seeing him fixated on *me*?" A flicker of bewildered amusement crossed his face. "That's... new. And strangely... acceptable? Maybe?" He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Troublesome doesn't even begin to cover it.”

Naruto hummed, leaning closer as her gaze wandered away, looking off to the corner of the tent as she thought. “Does… that mean… we can be… together?” Her voice was soft, hesitant, like she was testing the words. “You, me… and Sasuke?” She looked back at Shikamaru, her fox-slitted eyes wide and searching. “Like… girlfriend and boyfriends?”

Shikamaru’s breath hitched. Girlfriend and boyfriends. Plural. The sheer, terrifying simplicity of it slammed into him. He hadn’t even dared to conceptualize it so plainly. His analytical mind scrambled—logistics, societal backlash, Uchiha possessiveness, the sheer *work* of managing Sasuke’s intensity alongside Naruto’s chaotic warmth. It sounded impossible. Exhausting. Yet… the image flickered in his mind: Naruto laughing between them, Sasuke’s sharp gaze softened, that unnerving shine directed at them both. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest, pushing past the apprehension. “Yeah,” he breathed, the word escaping before he could overthink it. “Yeah, I… I think it does.” He reached out, his fingers brushing hers tentatively. “If… if that’s what you want.”

Naruto’s only response was to grin widely, placing her hands on the camping tent floor as she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Shikamaru as she knocked both of them to the floor.

They landed in a heap of limbs and curses coming from Shikamaru, before Naruto planted a clumsy, obnoxiously loud kiss right on his lips. Her laughter bubbled up, warm and infectious against his skin. "Dattebayo! Then it's settled!" she declared, pulling back just enough to beam down at him, her blue eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

Shikamaru was red, reder them red-faced, pinned beneath her wiry strength, utterly bewildered by the sudden assault of affection. Before he could even muster a protest—or, more accurately, before his brain could catch up to the whirlwind that was Naruto—she scrambled off him, bouncing on her knees. "We gotta tell Sasuke-Chan! Right now!" She snatched a crumpled piece of paper—the letter—from the floor where it had fallen. "He needs to know he's officially ours! That we’re girlfriend and boyfriends!”

Shikamaru stared up at the tent’s ceiling, still trying to process that Naruto just… kissed him? His cheeks were so red they practically glowed in the dim light. He rolled onto his stomach, curling up as he buried his face in his hands. His heart hammered against his chest so hard he swore it was trying to escape. He groaned softly into his palms. *What just happened?* His mind raced, replaying the clumsy kiss, Naruto’s laughter, her declaration… *Girlfriend and boyfriends? Plural?* He peeked through his fingers just as Naruto scrambled towards her backpack, Sasuke’s letter clutched triumphantly in her hand.

————————————————

Meanwhile, elsewhere, a few days later…

Tsume yawns, squinting as she opened her eyes and stretched. She looked over to Shikaku who was sitting propped up against her headboard, and Who had been quietly laughing and chuckling at the… letter… he had been reading for the past five minutes. Tsume pushes herself up, brushing her hair out of her face as she leans over, resting her chin on Shikaku’s shoulder. “What’s so funny?” She asks, her voice thick with sleep as she peers at the letter.

Shikaku chuckles softly, shaking his head, “It’s from Shikamaru,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “Apparently Fawn’s got some complicated feelings he’s dealing with.” He traces the messy handwriting with a finger. “Seems he’s tangled up with Naruto and Sasuke Uchiha.”

Tsume snorts, her breath warm against his neck. “Complicated? That’s putting it mildly.” She reads over his shoulder, her eyes scanning the lines describing Shikamaru’s conflicted acceptance of Sasuke’s fixation and Naruto’s enthusiastic embrace of the idea of a trio. “Kid’s got his hands full with those two. An Uchiha obsession and an Uzumaki whirlwind.” She shakes her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Sounds messy. And loud…. But I thought Nara Fixations were only for one person?” She asks, reaching over to trace the letters of Shikamaru’s name on the paper. “You told me he fixated on Naruto years ago. But he seems… a bit to accepting of Sasuke’s affections?”

Shikaku leans back further against the pillows, the letter resting on his chest. “Nara Fixations are… different for Nara adults than it is for Nara children,” he yawns, jaw cracking as it reveals canine teeth that are a tad too sharp for even Inuzuka standards.

“It’s…— human fixations are rare, usually only one happens every four generations, but as you can see—” Shikaku gestures in between him and his son’s letter. “—it seems that The Fixation decided not to skip generations for some reason. My mother had a human fixation, then my son, and then me? It’s weird….” He paused for a second, running his tongue over his top teeth. “… we, the Nara don’t know much about children fixations because there’s only been two recorded cases of Nara children fixating on humans before Shikamaru, but it was… different from adults. I believe it’s because children’s frontal cortex is not developed enough. And so… if someone keeps on putting themself in the little world in between a Nara Child and their fixation— not in an annoying, trying to be an asshole way, but in a way that’s natural… it’s possible for the child’s fixation to evolve to include that person.” Shikaku sighed softly. “It’s complicated…. I can tell you all about how Nara adults fixations evolve, but children? We don’t know much.” He paused again, hand coming up to scratch his goatee. “If I remember right, both the children… one had two fixations and the other had three….”

Tsume stared at Shikaku for a long moment, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she processed his words. The scent of pine needles and damp earth clung to her clothes from her morning patrol with Kuromaru, a comforting familiarity amidst the conversation. "I think I get it. A Nara child is still a child, and children don't understand boundaries like adults do. Their fixation is... messy." She leaned forward, stretching out her arms and legs. "So Sasuke Uchiha didn't steal Shikamaru's fixation. He just... wiggled his way into it?"

Shikaku chuckled softly, the sound low and rough. "Exactly. Like a stubborn weed growing between two prized herbs." He unfolded Shikamaru's letter again, tracing the ink with his thumb. "Sasuke wasn't trying to replace Naruto. He was just... there. Constantly. Challenging Shikamaru, provoking him, demanding his attention." A thoughtful pause. "And apparently, he grabbed it with such a chokehold he managed to get up there with Naruto in Shikamaru’s orbit of fixation."

Tsume snorted, stretching her legs out further. "So what now? Your kid’s got two suns in his sky?"

“More like a moon and a sun,” Shikaku murmured, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. He folded the letter carefully, staring at it for a moment before something flashed across his features, like he was remembering something, and he looked at Tsume with the most confused, amused, absolutely flabbergasted expression. “Someone’s been teaching the little Uchiha swear words.”

Tsume blinked, then burst into laughter, sharp and unrestrained. “Oh, that’s rich! What’d he say?”

Shikaku cleared his throat, his shoulder shaking as he looked away and rubbed a hand down his face. “Apparently, his new favorite phrase is ‘bitch ass motherfucker’,” he quoted, voice thick with suppressed laughter. “I was walking through the market and walked past him hearing him use it twice, describing Hiashi’s ‘stupid fucking face’.”

Tsume threw her head back and howled, slapping her knee. “Oh, gods! That little bastard! Who taught him that?!”

“I don’t know,” Shikaku looked over to her, his dark eyes glinting with reluctant amusement. “But… I think it was Ibiki. There’s a few rumors going around that our dear torture professional Ibiki Morino and Ms Mikoto Uchiha are… getting close.” He said suggestively. “Some people are saying they saw Ibiki with Mikoto slung over one of his shoulders walking towards his apartment a couple weeks ago.”

Tsume’s laughter abruptly cut off, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. "Ibiki Morino? That scared mountain of a man who makes hardened criminals piss themselves? He managed to shack up with Miss Pageant Queen herself?" Tsume couldn't help but laugh again, loud and barking. "How in the hell did *that* happen? Last I heard, Mikoto wouldn’t even look at a man sideways since Fugaku died." She leaned forward, pulling her comforter closer, her grin sharp with curiosity. "Details, Shikaku. Now. Did Ibiki interrogate her into bed? Because I’d pay good money to see that."

“From what I heard, it was Mikoto who approached him,” Shikaku murmured, setting the letter on Tsume’s bedside table. “Sat in his lap and flirted with him hard enough to make Ibiki Morino blush.” Tsume choked on her laughter, imagining Mikoto’s elegant fingers tracing Ibiki’s scarred jawline—the contrast alone was absurd. Shikaku’s lips quirked. “Apparently, from what Anko has told me, she hit him with a line that went like this, ‘Three years. Three years cold and lonely. You’re warm. And you smell like... danger. I like danger. And I need a big, strong, dangerous man to pin me down and fuck me senseless into my mattress’.” Shikaku did a crude impression of Mikoto’s voice.

Tsume’s jaw dropped. “No. Fucking. Way.” She stared at Shikaku, half-convinced he was pulling her leg. “That’s Mikoto Uchiha? The Mikoto Uchiha? The one who used to scold us for swearing in the Academy hallways? That Mikoto?” She shook her head, grinning wildly. “Ibiki’s damn brain must have melted.” The image of Mikoto straddling Ibiki’s lap, whispering filth into his scarred ear, sent another bark of laughter tearing from her throat. “Gods, I wish I’d seen it. Bet he didn’t know what hit him.”

Shikaku chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “Anko said Ibiki froze like a deer in torchlight.”

Tsume snorted, wiping tears from her eyes. “Bet he interrogated her right back. ‘State your intentions, citizen!’” She mimicked Ibiki’s gravelly interrogation tone, then dissolved into giggles again. “Seriously though… Mikoto? After all this time?” Her expression softened slightly. “Good for her. Fugaku’s shadow hung heavy.”

Shikaku hummed, looking off to the side. The two of them stayed silent for a moment, each of them thinking about the absurdity of Ibiki and Mikoto before Shikaku finally spoke up again. “I’ve heard that Ibiki is wild in bed. How much do you want to bet that there’s going to be a few Uchiha-Morino’s running around soon?” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “… and how many? I’m betting on at least four. Anko’s betting on seven. And her friend, Iruka, refuses to bet on anything.”

Tsume’s laughter echoed through her home, startling a few birds that were perched on her bedroom window seal. “Seven? Anko’s optimistic! Though…” She wiped her eyes again, a thoughtful glint replacing the mirth. “Ibiki *is* built like a brick shithouse. And Mikoto? That woman’s hips don’t lie. Remember how easily she popped out Itachi and Sasuke?” She shuddered dramatically. “Fugaku looked ready to pass out both times. Ibiki’d probably just grunt and ask if she needed another pillow.” She paused again, her grin returning. “… Ibiki just gives me the vibe that he would like to see his partner knocked up, so maybe seven isn’t too far off.”

Shikaku snorted, stretching out his legs, causing the comforter to slip down a bit. “You think Ibiki has a pregnancy kink? That’s disturbingly specific, Tsume.” He rubbed his chin, a flicker of genuine amusement in his dark eyes. “Though… Mikoto *did* mention something about him liking… *marking territory*. Loudly.” He paused, letting the implication hang thick in the air. Tsume’s jaw dropped slightly. Shikaku chuckled, low and rumbling. “Apparently, the walls in his apartment are *very* thin. Anko claims she heard Mikoto shout ‘Harder, you scarred bastard!’ last Tuesday.”

Tsume burst out laughing, slapping her knee. “No! The ‘Beauty Queen’? Really?” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Gods, I wish I’d seen Ibiki’s face when Mikoto first climbed him like a tree. Bet he didn’t know whether to arrest her or salute her!” Her laughter subsided into a warm grin. “Good for her. Fugaku was stiff as a board. Mikoto deserves someone who makes her scream… literally.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Think Sasuke and Itachi know their mom’s getting railed by the Torture Chief?”

Shikaku shrugged, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Sasuke? Absolutely not. Itachi. Probably. Nothing escapes that kid.”

Tsume snorted, picturing Mikoto’s eldest son calmly sipping tea while Ibiki Morino pinned his mother against a wall. The image was both horrifying and darkly hilarious. “Poor Itachi,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Kid sees too much.”

Shikaku hummed in agreement, shifting against the pillows. The late morning sun slanted through the window, warming the room. “… speaking of kids. Hana already knows we’re dating. Are you going to be telling Kiba?” His tone was casual, but his eyes held a flicker of curiosity.

Tsume’s sharp grin softened slightly at the mention of her son. “Soon. But, honestly, I'm surprised he hasn’t connected the dots by himself.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Kid’s always asking ‘why does the house smell like deer musk?’ or ‘why does Shikaku keep leaving his stuff here?’” She snorted. “He’s got Akamaru’s nose and a puppy’s obliviousness.”

Shikaku chuckled, the sound low and warm. “He’ll figure it out. Or we’ll just tell him over dinner. Preferably before he walks in on us.”

Tsume barked a laugh, leaning over to nip playfully at his shoulder. “Scared of traumatizing the pup?”

“Scared of Tsume-san biting *me* harder if we get interrupted,” Shikaku countered dryly, though his hand slid up her spine in a slow, possessive stroke. “Kiba deserves to hear it properly. Not stumble into it mid… discussion.”

Tsume huffed, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Fine, fine. Tonight, then. After training.” She stretched, languid, before rolling off the bed. The movement was fluid, predatory. “Speaking of training—I promised Hana I’d help with that litter of pups she’s fostering. One’s got a mean bite.” Her finger slid into the elastic of her underwear, snapping the fabric as she fished around for her pants.

—————————————

All the way at the Uchiha compound with Sasuke.

Sasuke licks his lips, his half eaten tomato forgotten on the Zataku as he stares down at the letter in his hands from Naruto and Shikamaru.

He blinks once, twice, three times. And he stares at it for one second, two, three, four…. Then he screams, shrieks really. Loudly. Like he had just won the lottery, the sound echoing through his home like a firecracker.

Upstairs, there was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Sasuke didn't notice. He was too busy clutching the letter to his chest, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. "Yes! YES!!" he shouted, borrowing Naruto's signature exuberance.

The sound of footsteps got closer and closer until Mikoto appeared at the top of the stairs, her long black hair slightly disheveled. She leaned over the railing, her expression panicked. "Sasuke? What happened? Are you hurt?" Her eyes scanned the room frantically before landing on the discarded tomato and crumpled letter in Sasuke's hands. She was followed by Itachi and a half conscious looking Ibiki. Ibiki's scars stood out sharply in the morning light filtering through the windows.

Sasuke waved the letter wildly, his cheeks flushed crimson. "Naru-Chan and Shikamaru! She said they like me back!" His voice cracked with excitement. "They want to be together—all three of us!"

Mikoto blinked, her stern posture softening into confusion. "Together... romantically?" She descended the stairs slowly, her gaze shifting between Sasuke's ecstatic face and the crumpled paper. Beside her, Ibiki rubbed sleep from his eyes, his scarred brow furrowing as he processed the outburst. Itachi remained silent, but a faint smirk touched his lips.

“Sasuke shined for Naruto-Chan and Shikamaru-Kun,” itachi whispered to his mother as he passed her on the stairs. Mikoto’s eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Ibiki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his scars deepening as he chuckled low in his throat. “Fox girl and the lazy genius? That’s… unexpectedly poetic.”

Sasuke pushed himself up to his feet, bouncing on his heels, the letter crumpled tighter in his fist. “They said it’s settled! We’re all dating now!” Mikoto reached the bottom step and gently pried the letter from his trembling fingers. Her eyes scanned Naruto’s messy scrawl and Shikamaru’s precise annotations detailing the trio dynamic. “Oh, Sasuke…” she murmured, a tear glistening in her eye. “Your father would’ve panicked, but I… I’m happy for you.” She pulled him into a fierce hug.

Ibiki leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. A rare, genuine smile softened the harsh lines of his scarred face. “Fox girl and lazy genius. Sounds like chaos waiting to happen.” His chuckle was low and raspy. “Good chaos, though.”

Sasuke beamed, practically vibrating against Mikoto’s shoulder. “Right? It’s perfect! Naruto’s energy, Shikamaru’s brains… and me!” He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes wide and earnest. “We’ll be unstoppable!”

Itachi watched his brother with quiet amusement, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Just remember, little brother,” he cautioned softly, “relationships require balance. Not every battle is won with enthusiasm alone.” Sasuke huffed but nodded, already mentally drafting his reply letter.

——————————————————

Later that night….

“Hey, Kiba, i’ve gotta tell you something.” Tsume says suddenly over dinner, idly cutting her steak. Akamaru whined softly at Kiba’s feet, sensing tension. Kiba paused mid-chew, a chunk of steak hanging from his fork. His eyes narrowed, instantly wary. Tsume never used that tone—soft, almost hesitant—unless something big was happening. Like the time she’d told him his dad wasn’t coming back.

“Hana is already aware of this development,” his mother continues, and Kiba looks over to his sister, who looks like she’s about to vibrate out of her chair with how giddy she is. That’s… weird. Hana doesn’t get giddy. She gets clinical. She gets “let’s suture that wound before you bleed out on the tatami” practical. Not… whatever this is. Tsume sets her knife down with a soft clink. “You remember your friend from the Academy before he graduated, Shikamaru, right?”

Kiba’s fork clatters onto his plate. Shikamaru? Why would she bring up Shikamaru? Unless… Oh gods. Did Shikamaru do something? Did he prank the Inuzuka compound? Did he somehow offend Tsume? His mind races through worst-case scenarios—Shikamaru’s lazy insults, his strategic traps, his tendency to nap in inconvenient places—but none of it explains Tsume’s hesitant tone or Hana’s suppressed grin.

Akamaru nudges Kiba’s leg anxiously. Kiba swallows hard. "Yeah," he mutters, voice tight. "What about him?"

“… I’m involved romantically with his father. Have been for a few months…” Tsume said bluntly, claws tapping against the table as she leaned back. The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on. Kiba stared. Hana bit her lip, failing to hide a grin. Akamaru whined louder, pressing against Kiba’s leg.

Kiba blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Shikaku?” he croaked, the name sounding alien. “The *Nara* clan head? The guy who naps through clan meetings? Him?” His voice rose, incredulous. Images flashed—Shikaku’s perpetually bored expression, his slow drawl, the way he seemed allergic to excitement. And his mother… fierce, loud, *Tsume*. “You… and *him*?” Akamaru yipped softly, echoing Kiba’s disbelief.

Tsume’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah. Him.” She scratched Akamaru’s head absently, her claws gentle. “He’s… different when it’s just us. Sharp. Funny, even. Doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass.” A rare, soft smile touched her lips. “And he doesn’t run screaming when I get pissed. Unlike some.”

Kiba stared, his fork forgotten halfway to his mouth. His steak cooling, forgotten. *Shikaku*. The man who moved like a sleepy landslide. The man whose idea of exertion was lifting a shogi piece. And his mother, who roared like a thunderstorm and smelled like wet earth and battle. The sheer, impossible *wrongness* of it made his head spin. “But… he’s *old*,” Kiba blurted out, then winced. “I mean… quiet! You’re… loud!”

Tsume snorted, a sharp, amused puff of air. “So? Opposites attract, pup. Besides,” her grin turned sharp, predatory, “he naps *after*. Very efficient.” Hana choked on her water, coughing into her napkin while Akamaru tilted his head, whining softly in confusion.

Kiba’s face flushed crimson. “Mom!” he yelped, mortified. The image of Shikaku Nara—*Shikaku Nara!*—being anything but terminally bored was impossible. Yet… he remembered Shikaku’s recent weirdness, the way he’d sometimes look at his mom with that intense, focused stare that seemed… different. Less lazy, more like a hunting hawk. And Shikaku *had* been around the compound more lately, smelling faintly of ink and forest shadows beneath Tsume’s wild scent. The puzzle pieces clicked with jarring force.

Hana recovered, wiping her mouth. “Opposites attract?” she echoed, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Or opposites *consume*? Because honestly, Mom, Shikaku-san’s brain probably needs something fiery to keep it from rusting.”

Tsume barked a laugh, sharp and approving. “Exactly! He’s got that slow-burn cleverness. Keeps me sharp.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her gaze pinning Kiba. “Look, pup. Forget lazy. That’s the mask. Underneath? He’s a strategist who sees ten moves ahead. And when he decides something’s *his*…” Her grin widened, showing teeth. “He’s relentless. Like tracking wounded prey.”

Kiba shuddered. Relentless. The word conjured images of Shikaku’s shadowy intellect tangling with Tsume’s feral intensity. It was terrifying… and weirdly fascinating. Akamaru whined again, pressing his head against Kiba’s leg for reassurance. “But… why *him*?” Kiba mumbled, still grappling with the absurdity. “Why not… I dunno… someone louder? Faster?”

Tsume’s expression softened, a rare flicker of vulnerability beneath her usual ferocity. “Kiba… this man…. This isn’t a new attraction coming from me. Shikaku… I’ve known him since I was just a year older then you, and I’ve been hooked on him ever since.” She sighed, leaning forward as she rested her elbows on the table and rubbed her face. “… I met him on my twelfth birthday, a mission in Storm Country. Mudslide buried Kuromaru and me under a whole lot of mud and a fallen tree. Shikaku dug us out. We were covered head to toe in filth, leaves stuck everywhere, bleeding from thorns… and he just *looked* at me with those lazy eyes, like solving landslides was Tuesday’s chore. Said, ‘Troublesome mutt.’ And grinned.” She paused, a ghost of that grin touching her own lips. “Something clicked. Right then. He saw the mess, the fury, the *wildness*… and didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to tame it. Just… accepted it. Found it *interesting*. That acceptance… it’s rarer than you think. And… I know I had to wait for him to divorce that bitch of a wife Yoshino… but I did. Because Shikaku’s worth waiting for.”

Kiba stared, the image of a young, muddy Tsume meeting an equally muddy, teenage Shikaku forming in his mind. Akamaru whined softly, sensing the shift in Kiba’s confusion. Hana remained silent, her gaze understanding. “He… called you troublesome?” Kiba echoed, the insult sounding different in this context.

“He did,” Tsume chuckled, the sound rough but warm. “And I called him a lazy shadow-crawler. We traded insults like kunai for years. But he saw *me*, Kiba. Not just the Inuzuka heir, not just the wild girl. He saw the ferocity and called it strength. He saw the chaos and called it life.” Her voice dropped, a rare seriousness settling over her. “We… we used to be good friends, best friends even, before he married Yoshino. Then she made—….. I won’t get into too many details about Yoshino, but just know she was not a very good woman, Kiba, not to Shikaku, not even to her own son…. But he stayed for Shikamaru. And I waited. Because a man who endures hell for his child… that’s a man worth waiting for.”

Kiba’s nose wrinkled instinctively, catching the faint, lingering scent of Shikaku’s unique blend of pine, ink, and ozone beneath Tsume’s familiar wild musk. He’d smelled it on her for months, dismissing it as clan business or shared missions. Now, it felt glaringly obvious. Akamaru nudged his leg, a low whine vibrating in the dog’s throat. “So… you’re really together? Like, *together* together?” Kiba asked, the concept still struggling to fit in his head. “Does Shikamaru know?”

Tsume’s grin was sharp, predatory. “Oh, the little shadow knows. His old man told him a few days ago. Kid’s smarter than both of us combined—figured it out weeks before that, apparently.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Seems he approves. Said something about ‘reduced household tension’ and ‘optimal parental efficiency.’ Typical Nara logic.” Her eyes softened. “He even asked if Shikaku was happier. That boy… he sees things.”

Kiba stared at his half-eaten plate of steak, Akamaru whining softly beside him, again. The scent of spices and garlic hung thick in the air, suddenly cloying. “So… Shikamaru’s okay with it?” The question felt stupid, obvious, but he needed to hear it. His mind flashed to Shikamaru’s perpetually bored expression, the way he’d sigh and call things troublesome. How did *that* kid process his dad dating Tsume Inuzuka?

“Kiba… my sweet, lovely, baby boy…” Tsume sighed, shifting as she reached out and grabbed the leg of Kiba’s chair, pulling him closer to her. Her eyes were sharp, but her voice was softer than Kiba had ever heard it. “Shikamaru’s more than okay with it. I know you don’t understand it because you’re still young, but Shikamaru has seen Yoshino’s claws and heard her screams. He knows what his father endured for him.” She paused, debating on saying something else because she knew her son was going to ask questions. “… you… you remember the relationship Okami had with her husband?”

Kiba nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Tsume’s face. Okami was their cousin—a fierce hunter whose husband had once raised a hand against her, screamed, yelled, and through things. The man hadn’t survived the night. Tsume’s voice remained low, deliberate. "That’s how Yoshino was to Shikaku. That’s how she was to Shikamaru. But instead of getting rid of her, or leaving her the second she laid hands on him, he stayed. For Shikamaru." Her fingers tightened on the chair. "Shikamaru knows his father deserves peace. And Shikaku..." She paused, a rare flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. "...he sees me. Not the clan head, not the terror of the Inuzuka. Just Tsume."

Akamaru whined softly, nudging Kiba’s leg. The scent of damp earth and pine—Shikaku’s scent—suddenly felt less foreign. Kiba remembered it clinging to Tsume’s clothes after late-night walks, the way she’d hum tunelessly afterward. He’d thought nothing of it. Now, it painted a picture: Shikaku waiting in the shadows of One of the village’s forests, Tsume slipping through the trees to meet him, their quiet conversations beneath the moon. Kiba swallowed hard. "Does...does he make you happy?" The question felt clumsy, raw.

Tsume’s laugh was a low rumble, genuine. "Happier than chasing down bandits in the rain." She ruffled Kiba’s hair, her claws gentle. "He doesn’t flinch when I growl. Doesn’t try to tame me. Just...listens." Her gaze sharpened. "And he laughs at my jokes. Properly. Not that polite crap Yoshino used to do."

Kiba blinked. Shikaku *laughing*? The man was a shadow, all quiet calculation and smoke. But then he remembered—the rare, dry chuckle Shikaku would let out when Tsume mocked a council elder’s pompous speech at the last festival. Kiba had thought it was politeness. Now, he wondered.

Chapter Text

Hidan pulls his gaze away from Deidara as the pyromaniac maneuvers through the bar, and to the three men— probably the same age as him or a year younger— who slipped into the booth seat in front of them, all of them looking over Deidara with layers and interest.

“Hey man,” the one sitting in the middle of the other two, trying to sound conversational as he leaned against the booth table. “I’m Chonjiro, and these are my two buddies Rikumo and Gotomo.” He, Chonjiro apparently, gestured to the other two men sitting beside him. “We’re just wondering who that pretty little red headed chick is.” He gestured to Deidara, who was now at the other side of the bar, ordering food for them. “You’ve been eyeing her since the both of you walked in. Is she yours or is she free?”

Hidan stared at them for a moment, as he processed what they were asking. That they were calling Deidara a “chick,” a “her,” a “she,” asking if “Is she yours or is she free?”.

“… that’s…” Hidan began, still sounding confused as he processed the words. “… a dude…”

The three men blinked at him. The man on the right, Gotomo, smile faltered. “What?”

“Uhhhh… Deidara… he’s a guy.” Hidan clarified slowly, leaning back against the worn leather booth. He gestured vaguely toward Deidara, who was now arguing animatedly with the bartender about the price of pickled plums. “See the adam’s apple? The flat chest? The way he’s threatening to blow up the bar over three extra ryo? Definitely a dude.”

The man on the left, Rikumo, face fell, disappointment warring with confusion. His companions exchanged bewildered glances. “But… the hair? The face? He’s… pretty.”

“I know,” Hidan sighed dramatically, swirling his sake. “Trust me, I’ve had the same damn thought. But yeah, he’s all dude. Annoying, explosive dude.” He smirked as Deidara slammed a fist on the bar, shouting about “artistic extortion.”

Rikumo leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But… the hair? The grace? Those eyes? Surely—”

“Nope,” Hidan interrupted, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “Got the plumbing and everything. Saw him pissing off a cliff yesterday. He’s packing a sword, not a sheath.” He grinned wickedly at their horrified expressions. “Sorry to shatter your fantasies, gentlemen.”

He chuckled as Deidara finally stormed back toward their booth, the food they had ordered earlier clutched tightly in his hands. The bartender looked relieved to see him leave.

“Here! And don’t you ever ask me to get you food again!” Deidara slammed the tray onto the table, sending pickled plums rolling. His voice, very male. The redhead slid into the seat beside Hidan, radiating annoyance. “That bastard tried to charge me double because I’m ‘foreign.’ Hmph!” He popped a plum into his mouth, chewing aggressively, utterly and completely ignoring the other three men at the table.

Hidan smirked, leaning back as he watched Deidara’s sharp teeth tear into the plum. “Told you,” he drawled, flicking a glance at the gaping men. “All yours, gentlemen. Go ahead. Ask him.” His plum-colored eyes glittered with malicious amusement.

“Ask me what?” Deidara paused mid-chew, plum juice staining his lips crimson. His blue eyes narrowed, pupils contracting to feline slits as he scanned the suddenly tense men. The scent of their discomfort flooded his senses.

Hidan leaned back, boots thudding on the worn floorboards. “These fine gentlemen were wondering if you’re a girl.” He grinned, sharp and predatory. “Wanted to know if you were free tonight to have some fun.” He gestured lazily with his chopsticks towards the men.

Deidara froze. Plum pulp dripped onto the table. A low growl vibrated in his chest, primal and dangerous. His pupils remained pinpricks, locked onto the nearest man. “Is that so?” His voice dropped to a chilling whisper, devoid of its usual youthful cadence. He slowly placed the half-eaten plum down. “And what exactly,” he hissed, fingers curling towards his clay pouches strap to his thighs, “did you plan to *do* with me?”

The men shifted uncomfortably. Gotomo swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. “Nothin’ harmful, lad! Just… curious! You got that look, see? Soft features, pretty hair…” His voice trailed off under Deidara’s unblinking stare.

“You Expect Me To Believe—!”

“Hey, hold on a minute.” Rikumo cut off Deidara’s yell, reaching into his kimono jacket. Both Deidara and Hidan tensed up, but instead of pulling out a weapon, he pulled out a new looking bingo book. He flipped through it quickly, stopping at a page near the back. “I Knew I Saw You From Somewhere?! That’s you! Y—!” 

Rikumo sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as he read the entry out loud. “Name: Deidara. Status: Alive. (Fifteen-years-old). Runaway grandson of the Third Tsuchikage. Currently classified as a Missing-nin from Iwagakure. Tsuchikage wants his grandson brought back to Iwagakure safely and unharmed. Epithet: The Artist. Affiliation: Ninja of Iwagakure (The Hidden Stone Village). Known Abilities: Is inhumanly durable. Inhumanly fast. Inhumanly strong. inhumanly flexibility, can do movements that should break his body but can do it like it’s nothing. Wounds close near instantly after being wounded. A seal master. Bomb master. Etc. Weapon: Explosions. Kekkei Genkai: Explosion Release (Bakuton). Reward is 800 million ryo. Warning: Extremely dangerous.”

The other men froze, staring at Deidara with newfound horror. Gotomo choked out, “Eight hundred million?!”

“… Run. Run! RUN! RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!” Hidan shoved Deidara hard towards the door, sending him stumbling. The men scrambled backward, knocking over chairs.

Rikumo dropped the Bingo Book like it burned him. Deidara’s hand was already inside his clay pouch, fingers kneading furiously. His eyes, wide and wild, locked onto Rikumo. “You shouldn’t have shown that!” The first clay spider skittered across the table, tiny legs clicking. Gotomo screamed, tripping over his own feet.

Deidara flung another spider towards the doorframe, blocking their escape. “Hidan! OUT!” Hidan didn’t need to be told twice. He vaulted over the counter, scattering cups and snatching as much money as he could from the open cash register as he bolted for the back alley door.

Deidara followed, tossing a final, larger lump of clay onto the tavern floor as he ran. “Katsu!” The explosion ripped through the building behind them. Wood splintered, glass shattered, and a plume of dust and smoke choked the narrow alley.

Screams echoed, accompanied by the crackle of flames and the groan of collapsing timber.

Hidan shoved the money into his pockets before grabbing Deidara’s arm again, yanking him deeper into the twisting alleyways. “Fuck! Eight hundred million?! My bounty is only three hundred three million! What the FUCK!?” Hidan gasped between breaths, glancing back at the smoke rising. “Grandkid of the fucking Tsuchikage?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Deidara stumbled after him, looking over his shoulder. “I was literally being chased by Anbu when we first met! They were calling me the Tsuchikage’s grandson!” His voice cracked, sharp and furious. The alleyway reeked of damp stone and garbage, the distant screams fading behind them. “They were telling you to release the Tsuchikage’s grandson! How could you have possibly missed that?!”

Hidan shoved him around a corner, pressing them both against a grimy wall, breathing hard. “Yeah, well, I thought they were exaggerating! Or maybe you stole something! Not that you *were* the fucking prize!” He ran a hand through his grey-and-red hair, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Eight hundred million ryo… That’s enough to buy a small country! Or fund Jashin-sama’s entire cult for a decade!”

Deidara’s fists clenched, “Shut up about the bounty! My grandfather put that out because he’s a sentimental old fool who thinks I’ll come crawling back if I get hungry enough!” He glared down the alleyway.

Hidan snorted. “Sentimental? That bounty’s higher than most Kage’s, brat. Means he knows exactly how dangerous you are.” He peered around the corner, scanning the street. “Still doesn’t explain why the guy had a bingo book. This isn’t a ninja village and he sure as hell was not a hunter-nin.”

Deidara’s jaw tightened. “Probably a bounty hunter passing through. Or a merchant who trades in information.” He pulled a small lump of clay from his pouch, kneading it nervously. “Doesn’t matter. We need to move. That explosion drew attention.”

Hidan grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Hold on. Why’d you run? Really?” His purple eyes narrowed. “Grandson of the Tsuchikage—you had power, privilege. Yet you’re out here with me, dodging Anbu and blowing up taverns.”

Deidara yanked his arm back, sparks of anger flickering in his eyes. “You already know why I ran! Both of us deals with that shitty fucking voice, and it’s only marginally easier to deal with when we’re around each other. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it!” He shoved the clay back into his pouch, his movements jerky. “And yeah, I had privilege—but I also had Ōnoki breathing down my neck every damn day, treating me like some fragile vase instead of a shinobi. He never saw *me*. Just his grandson.”

Hidan tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So you blew shit up to get his attention? That’s kinda cute.” He dodged Deidara’s swipe effortlessly.

“It wasn’t cute!” Deidara hissed, cheeks flushing. “… now… now let’s get the hell out of here before actual bounty hunters show up.” He scanned the moonlit road ahead, the distant silhouette of mountains cutting into the starry sky.

Hidan chuckled, falling into step beside him. “Fine, fine. But you owe me a story about Grandpa Tsuchikage someday.”

——————————————

If Deidara thought getting a bounty put in the bingo book was bad, what is happening right now doesn’t even compare.

He and Hidan had made it to Shirahaba village two weeks after the whole bingo book incident, and the two of them were in an alley trying to escape the heat when Hidan had started kissing him.

Yeah, that was something now. Ever since his fifteenth birthday had passed, this has become a… thing. Hidan would just… kiss him. Without warning. Sometimes they’d do more. Hidan liked giving him head. Deidara liked biting him. It was messy. Loud. Fun. Distracting. Hidan was warm against him, surprisingly smooth hands demanding as they slid under Deidara’s shirt, pressing him harder against the grimy alley wall. The scent of dust, old piss, and Hidan’s sharp cologne mixed with the metallic tang of blood still lingering on Hidan’s tongue from earlier. 

Hidan’s mouth was hot and demanding, teeth scraping Deidara’s lower lip just enough to sting. Deidara had groaned, fingers twisting in Hidan’s ridiculous hair, pulling him closer. Every time they did this, the voice in his head quieted to a low hum, almost purring.

But… that was currently not the problem, the problem was that Hidan had sank to his knees and yanked open his pants just enough to reveal the front of his boxers and get his dick out, deep throating him with his hand shoved in his pants, doing something to his… other parts.

Deidara was biting the knuckles of one hand, while the other was buried in Hidan’s hair at the base of his skull. He was trying to stay quiet, but Hidan was relentless—deep, wet, and humming around him. The alley stank of garbage and damp stone, but all Deidara could smell was Hidan’s cologne and the sharp tang of his own arousal. He arched off the wall, hips jerking forward involuntarily. Causing Hidan’s nose to bury in his pubes. Hidan didn’t pull back; instead, he swallowed around him, the vibration tearing a choked gasp from Deidara’s throat when a loud, sharp gasp came from the mouth of the alley, accompanied by a man’s voice, coughing and choking.

Hidan had frozen, and Deidara’s head had snapped up. 

Deidara instantly regretted it. He regretted it because in full ninja attire, looking like they were in the middle of a mission, Kurotsuchi and Kitsuchi stood. Who also happened to be his little sister and his little sister’s dad. Kurotsuchi’s eyes were wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open as she looked anywhere but at the scene that was happening in the alleyway. Kitsuchi looked like he’d swallowed a kunai sideways, his face rapidly cycling through shock, horror, and a dawning, furious understanding. Deidara’s blood ran cold. Of all the people to stumble upon him with Hidan’s face buried in his crotch, deep throating his dick as his hand did something else in a filthy alley… it had to be *them*.

Kitsuchi’s voice was dangerous, a tremor of rage running through it. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!” He surged forward, fists clenched, chakra flaring like a physical heatwave. Kurotsuchi grabbed his arm, eyes darting between Deidara’s panicked expression and Hidan’s slow, deliberate pull back from Deidara, pulling off of him with a lewd pop, pulling his hand out of the other redhead’s pants and wiping his mouth with the back of said hand, grinning lazily as he just as slowly got up with a deliberate rise from his knees. “Relax, old man. He was enjoying it.”

Deidara scrambled backward, his face burning crimson as he hopped, yanking up his pants. "K-Kitsuchi-san! Kurotsuchi!” He stammered, voice cracking. “Wha— what the hell a-are you do— doing so far from-from Iwa!?”

Kitsuchi shook off Kurotsuchi’s restraining hand, his massive frame radiating fury. “Looking for you, you idiot!” He roared, pointing a thick finger at Hidan. “And who is this… this pervert defiling you!?”

Hidan chuckled, wiping his mouth again with theatrical slowness. “Defiling? Nah. Just mutual appreciation, old man. Your boy’s got talent.” He winked at Deidara, who looked ready to combust. Deidara’s voice was a strangled whisper. “Hidan, shut up!” He scrambled to fasten his pants, fingers trembling.

Kurotsuchi stepped forward, her gaze flicking in between Deidara’s flushed face and Hidan’s smirk. “ Is this why you ran away? For some-some-some-some-some… BOY?” Her voice cracked with disbelief. “Did he— did he make you do this? Did he make you runaway? Because— because if-if-if he did—!” Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. Deidara shook his head violently, hair whipping across his face. “No! No! He didn’t make me do anything!”

Hidan chuckled, low and dark. “Kid’s got a mind of his own, sweetheart. He’s the one who jumped me.” Deidara hissed, swiping at Hidan sharply. “Shut up!” Kitsuchi’s face darkened further, his chakra flaring dangerously. “You— you touched him? You— you—!” He couldn’t seem to find the words, his fury choking him. His hands trembled, fingers twitching towards the kunai holster at his thigh. “You filthy—!”

“HIDAN, NO!” Deidara yelled, cutting off Kitsuchi’s furious stammering as he lunged forward as Hidan started reaching for his Triple-Bladed Scythe. He wrapped his arms around the waist of the older teen, squeezing tightly. “You can’t— you’re not allowed to kill them, Hidan!” Deidara yelled, pressing his face into Hidan’s back, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. The scent of old blood and sharpening oil flooded his senses, grounding him against the rising panic.

Hidan froze, his hand hovering over the handle of his scythe. He glanced down at Deidara clinging to him, then back at Kitsuchi and Kurotsuchi. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. “Fine, fine. No sacrificing them to Jashin-sama. But only because you asked so nicely, Doll-face.” He patted Deidara’s arm, the gesture almost mocking, before his hand slid up to tangle his fingers in the younger redhead’s, bringing the wrist up to his lips. Deidara flinched as Hidan pressed a deliberate kiss to his pulse point, eyes locked defiantly on Kitsuchi. “See? I’m playing nice. I’m not killing anyone. I’m being good.”

“… Killing?” Kitsuchi choked out, his face purpling with rage. “You think you’d *live* long enough to try?” His hand shot towards his kunai pouch, but Kurotsuchi grabbed his arm, her knuckles white.

“D-dad,” her voice sounded surprisingly strained, trembling, her gaze darting between Hidan’s face to the three-bladed scythe strapped to his back. “He’s… he’s— isn’t he that immortal guy from the bingo books? The one who—”

“I’m Hidan of Yugakure, yeah,” Hidan interrupted cheerfully, releasing Deidara’s wrist only to wrap an arm possessively around his shoulders. Deidara stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “And this little spitfire here? He’s mine. So unless you wanna end up decorating Jashin-sama’s altar tonight, I suggest you back the hell off.”

Kitsuchi’s eyes bulged. Kurotsuchi paled further, her grip tightening on her father’s arm. “Immortal?” she whispered, horror dawning. “Dad, he *can’t* be killed. He’s the guy with the three hundred three million Ryo bounty for just slaughtering people!” Deidara shifted uncomfortably under Hidan’s arm, acutely aware of the sudden shift in atmosphere. The air crackled with tension thicker than the dust kicked up by their earlier explosions.

Hidan chuckled, low and dark. “See? She’s smart. Unlike you, old man.” His fingers tightened on Deidara’s shoulder possessively. “So how about you two take your dusty asses back to Iwa and tell that wrinkled prune Ōnoki that his grandson’s found better company? Yeah?” Deidara winced at the insult to his grandfather, but remained silent, his gaze fixed on the trembling Kurotsuchi. He knew Hidan’s threat wasn’t empty. The voice inside him snarled approval at the display of dominance, urging him to bare his teeth.

Kitsuchi’s face darkened with impotent fury. He took a step forward, knuckles white around his kunai pouch. “You think immortality makes you untouchable, demon? You’ve stolen my son! I’ll drag him back even if I have to rip you apart limb by limb!”

Hidan rolled his eyes, mustering up such an annoyance only a teenager could manage. "Bor-ing. Already told ya, gramps. He *left*. All on his own. Ran right into me. Literally.” He shoved Deidara away just enough to get his arm back to his side, and the younger redhead squawked, but before he could come up with an actual snapping response Hidan was grabbing him, tossing him over his shoulder, hand gripping Deidara’s thighs. “Come on, we’re leaving. If I’m not allowed to kill them this fight’s pointless.” Hidan said casually, boredom coloring his tone as he stepped backward, using the dumpster as a step to vault onto the roof. Deidara scrambled to hold on, face burning.

Kitsuchi roared, earth surging upward in jagged spikes. Hidan sidestepped lazily, letting the rock shatter harmlessly against the brickwork. Kurotsuchi’s hands flashed through seals, molten rock bubbling at her feet. “Don’t let them escape!” Kitsuchi yelled. Hidan snorted, adjusting Deidara’s weight. “Escape? Nah. Just leaving. You’re boring me.” He turned, leaping to the next rooftop, Deidara’s muffled curses fading into the air. Kitsuchi’s enraged bellow followed them, shaking the windows.

Deidara squirmed, fists pounding Hidan’s back. “Put me down, bastard!” he hissed, face flushed crimson. Hidan’s grip tightened, fingers digging into Deidara’s thigh. “Quit wriggling, vampire. Or I drop you.” He vaulted another alleyway, landing silently. The scent of damp stone and distant smoke filled Deidara’s nose. Below, Kitsuchi and Kurotsuchi followed, their footsteps echoing—heavy, furious.

“You little shit! Bring him back!” Kitsuchi’s roar echo as he and Kurotsuchi finally climbed onto the rooftops with them. Deidara froze, his eyes widening as he saw Kurotsuchi forming hand signs. “Hidan, move!” Deidara yelled, panic sharpening his voice.

Hidan laughed, loud and unhinged, as he sprinted across the rooftops, Shirahaba’s dusty clay tiles cracking under his boots. Deidara bounced against his shoulder, the world tilting sideways.

Kitsuchi roared, clambering up the wall, following them, still yelling at Hidan for being a degenerate. Kurotsuchi was yelling at her father to stop, her voice cracking with panic. Deidara clung to Hidan’s shoulder, his heart pounding against his ribs. He could feel the vibrations of Hidan’s laughter through his body.

Hidan leaped onto a taller building, landing lightly despite Deidara’s weight. He spun around, facing Kitsuchi, who was halfway up the wall, face red with exertion and rage. Hidan smirked, raising one hand and wiggling the fingers as Deidara’s hands dug into his shoulder and his back as he tried to push himself up to see over his shoulder. Hidan kept eye contact with Kitsuchi as his hand came down on Deidara’s ass, squeezing it firmly. Deidara yelped, quite loudly, and flailed, his face burning as he glared at Hidan’s shoulder.

Kitsuchi's roar ripped through the air, raw and guttural. "Hands off him, you degenerate!" He scrambled onto the rooftop, fists clenched, earth chakra flaring around his knuckles. Kurotsuchi landed beside him, breathless, her eyes wide with horror as she took in Hidan's possessive grip and Deidara's furious squirming. "Father, don't!" she pleaded, voice tight. "He's immortal! You saw the bingo books! This guy can live without his heart!"

Hidan just laughed, a sharp, barking sound that echoed off the tiles. He gave Deidara's ass another deliberate squeeze, making the redhead choke on his own indignant gasp. "Relax, princess," Hidan purred, his voice dripping with mocking amusement as he shifted Deidara higher on his shoulder, ignoring the frantic kicks against his ribs. "Your precious little artist came with me willingly. Ran right into my arms back in that forest, didn't you, sweetheart?" He punctuated the question with a sharp slap to Deidara's thigh, drawing another startled yelp. Deidara’s face burned crimson, humiliation warring with fury. "Fuck you, un! Let me go!" he snarled, clawing at Hidan’s back, his nails scraping uselessly against the thick fabric of Hidan’s leather jacket.

Kitsuchi’s roar was deafening as he reached the rooftop they were on. “Get your filthy hands off him!” He charged, fists coated in thick, jagged rock. 

Hidan laughed, low and mocking, as he danced backward, effortlessly avoiding Kitsuchi’s furious charge. Deidara clung tighter, his fingers digging into Hidan’s shoulder as the older man spun them away from another rock-coated fist. "Relax, old man!" Hidan taunted, his grin sharp. "He likes it rough!" Deidara flushed crimson, mortified, but couldn't deny the thrill racing through him—part terror, part exhilaration. Below, villagers scattered like startled birds, shouting as debris rained down from the rooftop clash.

“Hidan! For the love of everything that is unholy, stop provoking him!” Deidara hissed, burying his face against Hidan’s neck as another chunk of rock shattered where they’d just stood. The scent of dust and Hidan’s sweat filled his nostrils—sharp, metallic, alive. Hidan’s chuckle vibrated against his chest. “Where’s the fun in that?” He pivoted sharply, avoiding Kitsuchi’s next lunge.

Kitsuchi’s roar echoed across the rooftops. “You degenerate! Release my son!” His fists glowed with hardened earth, each strike cracking tiles and sending debris raining onto the deserted street below. Kurotsuchi hovered nearby, her expression torn between fury and dread. “Father, stop! You’re going to hurt Deidara!” she screamed, but Kitsuchi was beyond reason.

Hidan leaped backward, his grip tightening on Deidara’s waist. “Your boy’s exactly where he wants to be!” he taunted, waving his hand dramatically before crouching down as he bit his thumb until it bled. “Now this was a lovely family reunion, but it’s time for both of us to leave.” He smeared the blood on the rooftop tiles, slamming his palm down on it, and in a flash they were gone. Far enough away Kitsuchi couldn’t sense their chakra signatures in the slightest.

—————————

Deidara gasped as they reappeared deep within a dense forest, the sudden silence jarring after the rooftop chaos. Hidan dumped him unceremoniously onto moss-covered ground, the damp earth cool against Deidara’s palms.

“Damn. I actually wasn’t expecting that seal to work. I made that shit when I was like, twelve.” Hidan chuckled, wiping blood from his thumb onto his pamts. The forest air hung thick with pine and damp earth, the only sound their ragged breathing and distant birdsong. Deidara scrambled upright, hissing as moss stained his clothes. “Where—?” “Somewhere south,” Hidan interrupted, scanning the towering cedars with a predator’s gaze. “Far enough that rock-for-brains won’t sniff us out anytime soon.”

Deidara glared, rubbing his sore ass where Hidan’s grip had dug in. “You didn’t have to grope me, un! That was—” Hidan’s grin was sharp, unrepentant. “Effective, wasn’t it? Got him frothing at the mouth. Besides,” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you didn’t exactly scream ‘no’, carrot top.” Deidara flushed crimson, sputtering incoherently.

“Now… where were we?” Hidan’s grin widened as he deliberately ignored Deidara’s flustered stammering. He stretched languidly, the movement highlighting the lean muscle beneath his tank top. “Right. I was giving you a blow job before we got interrupted.”

Deidara choked on air, his face burning hotter than dragonfire clay. “I—you—that’s not—” Hidan cut him off with a low chuckle, prowling closer until Deidara could smell the iron tang of dried blood and cheap shampoo clinging to his skin. “Relax. Just stating facts.” His gaze dropped pointedly to Deidara’s lap as he sank down in front of him. “Unless you’re saying you *don’t* want me to finish?”

Deidara’s breath hitched. The forest seemed to shrink around them, muffled and distant. His pulse hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He should shove him away, yell, anything—but the phantom warmth of Hidan’s mouth earlier flooded back, dizzying and electric. His traitorous body trembled, arousal warring with humiliation. “…Just… hurry up,” he muttered, staring resolutely at the canopy overhead.

(Beginning of the short sex scene if you do not want to read it)

Hidan’s smirk was a slash of white in the gloom. “Demanding.” His fingers hooked into Deidara’s waistband, tugging fabric down with deliberate slowness. Cool night air kissed exposed skin, making Deidara flinch. Then hands gripped his hips, thumbs digging possessively into the jut of bone. Deidara gasped, arching off the moss as Hidan leaned down, his tongue traced a searing path up his length.

Deidara’s head slammed back against the tree root. Every nerve screamed—Hidan’s mouth was hot, wet, and relentless. Teeth scraped lightly, a threat disguised as pleasure, before lips sealed tight. Deidara choked out a ragged moan, fingers twisting into Hidan’s coarse red and gray-silver hair. “F-fuck—!” The curse dissolved into a whimper as Hidan swallowed him deeper, throat muscles fluttering obscenely around him.

Hidan hummed, the vibration ricocheting up Deidara’s spine. He pulled back slowly, saliva glistening in the moonlight before diving down again, hollowing his cheeks. Deidara’s hips jerked involuntarily—a frantic, desperate rhythm. Hidan’s fingers dug into Deidara’s thighs, pinning him against the gnarled bark as he sucked harder, merciless.

Deidara’s hand found its way to the back of Hidan’s head, fingers twisting tighter in his hair as he arched off the root. Every drag of Hidan’s tongue felt like lightning—sharp, bright, and terrifyingly addictive. He tried to bite back the sounds tearing from his throat, but they spilled out anyway: broken gasps, sharp whines, the ragged scrape of his own breathing. Hidan’s eyes flicked up, purple meeting blue, and Deidara shuddered at the raw hunger there. No mockery now. Just intent.

Hidan pulled off with a filthy, wet pop, lips swollen and slick. "Gonna come already?" he rasped, thumb rubbing slow circles at the base. Deidara shook his head frantically, hips bucking into the friction. "Liar," Hidan breathed, leaning close enough Deidara felt the heat of his words against his skin. "Your body’s screaming for it." He dipped his head again, tongue tracing the underside from root to tip in one long, torturous lick. Deidara cried out, spine bowing. Pressure coiled tight in his gut, molten and inevitable. He was trembling, sweat-slicked skin catching the cold night air. Hidan’s mouth enveloped him completely—deep, swallowing suction—and Deidara shattered. White-hot pleasure ripped through him, vision blurring as he spilled down Hidan’s throat with a choked sob.

Hidan drank him down greedily, swallowing every pulse until Deidara went limp, gasping. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. "Told you," he murmured, voice rough. Deidara slumped against the tree root, chest heaving, legs still trembling. Hidan shifted, kneeling between Deidara’s sprawled thighs. He traced a finger along Deidara’s inner thigh, making him flinch. "Still sensitive?" Hidan chuckled darkly. "Good." His hand slid higher, fingers brushing against Deidara’s entrance—still slick from earlier. Deidara tensed, breath catching. "Relax," Hidan murmured, pressing a kiss to Deidara’s hipbone. "Just returning the favor." He pushed a finger inside slowly, knuckle-deep. Deidara hissed, back arching off the bark. Hidan added a second finger, curling them deliberately. Deidara’s gasp turned into a moan, head falling back. "There it is," Hidan breathed, scissoring his fingers. "You always sound so pretty when we do this.” He leaned forward, biting Deidara’s inner thigh hard enough to bruise. Deidara cried out, hips jerking forward onto Hidan’s hand.

Hidan withdrew his fingers abruptly. Deidara whimpered at the loss, eyes fluttering open to see Hidan unbuckling his own pants. The immortal lined himself up, pressing the blunt head against Deidara’s entrance. “Ready?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Deidara nodded, swallowing hard. Hidan pushed in with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Deidara choked on air, fingers scrabbling at Hidan’s shoulders. Hidan didn’t pause. He set a punishing pace immediately, hips slamming forward, the wet slap of skin echoing in the quiet forest. Deidara couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—only feel. Each thrust hit deep, igniting sparks behind his eyelids. Hidan gripped Deidara’s hips, lifting them higher, angling deeper. He leaned down, capturing Deidara’s mouth in a fierce, biting kiss, swallowing his ragged moans. The world narrowed to the heat, the friction, the relentless drive of Hidan’s body against his. Deidara’s nails dug crescents into Hidan’s back as he was pushed relentlessly towards the edge again.

Hidan felt Deidara tightening around him and grinned savagely against his lips. He hooked Deidara’s legs over his shoulders, driving in harder, deeper. The change in angle made Deidara cry out sharply, back arching off the ground. “There it is,” Hidan growled, voice thick with exertion. He pistoned his hips, chasing his own release now, every snap of his pelvis deliberate and brutal. Deidara felt overwhelmed, pleasure coiling tight in his belly, threatening to snap. He clawed at Hidan’s shoulders, begging wordlessly. Hidan’s rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. He buried his face in Deidara’s neck, teeth scraping skin as he groaned—a raw, guttural sound. Deidara felt Hidan thrust once, twice, three more times before pulling out and spilling his load onto the forest floor, his hand developing Deidara’s dick, pumping him quickly. The sensation tipped Deidara over the edge again. He shuddered violently, vision whiting out as his own release washed over him, muffling his cry against Hidan’s shoulder.

(End of the short sex scene if you do not want to read it)

They lay tangled in the aftermath, breathing harshly in the cool forest air. Hidan pushed himself up to sit on his haunches, breathing hard. Silence stretched, broken only by the rustle of leaves overhead. Deidara stared at the canopy, mind blank. Hidan panted, thighs shaking slightly as he studied Deidara’s form sprawled out beneath him. “Still think I’m an asshole?” he asked, tone lighter now, almost teasing. Deidara opened his eyes, meeting Hidan’s. Exhaustion warred with lingering adrenaline. “Biggest asshole,” he muttered, but there was no bite left. Hidan chuckled, low and satisfied. He traced a finger along Deidara’s jawline. “You screamed pretty loud for an asshole.” Deidara flushed, swatting his hand away half-heartedly. “Shut up.” Hidan’s smirk widened. He shifted closer, but before he could say anything, a deep and gruff voice— if you asked Hidan that voice was impossible deep and gruff— came from behind them. “What the… actual fuck.”

Both froze. Deidara scrambled upright, clutching his shirt. Hidan twisted around, eyes narrowing. Standing at the edge of the clearing, looking utterly baffled and stunned, silhouetted by moonlight was… Zabuza-fucking-Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist. The man who is literally called a Fierce God because of how deadly he is.

Zabuza stared, his Kubikiribōchō sword resting loosely against his shoulder. His gaze flicked between Hidan’s bare thighs, Deidara’s disheveled state, and the obvious wetness glistening on Hidan’s stomach. “Are you two…?” He trailed off, clearly at a loss for words—a rarity for the usually stoic swordsman as he sniffs the air, something flashing across his features the two teenagers couldn’t process before it was gone. “Oh good gods, you two are Uzumaki, what the— you know what I don’t wanna know—” his hand came up to rub roughly at his eyes, letting out the longest, most disappointed sigh either Deidara or Hidan has ever heard. And it kind of made Hidan a bit offended, honestly.

“Okay, up, up, put yourself back in your pants and get the fuck up,” Zabuza waved a hand in a up motion, sounding deeply unimpressed.

Deidara shot a look at Hidan, at the same time Hidan shot a look towards him, both of them wearing an expression of panic and confusion. The Demon of the Hidden Mist had a higher bounty in the bingo books then both of them combined, and he somehow figured out they were Uzumaki, and was… disappointed? Hidan scrambled to pull his pants up. Deidara hissed as he shifted, the rough forest floor scraping against his thighs as he hastily tugged his own clothes back into place. His hands trembled slightly as he fastened everything in place, the lingering sensitivity making him wince.

Zabuza watched them with a flat, unamused stare. He tapped his foot impatiently. "Move it," he grunted, his voice low and gravelly. "I don’t know why or how the two of you are out here, but you’re about twenty hours from any civilization."

Hidan bristled, pulling his cloak tighter. "Who the hell are you to—"

“Shut up and get up,” Zabuza interrupted, crossing his arms. “And use your damn nose. Even if I wasn’t anywhere around, I would’ve been able to smell you from a four days walk away.”

Deidara’s eyes widened. “Smell?” He instinctively sniffed the air, catching only pine resin and damp earth. Hidan frowned, nostrils flaring subtly—then froze. Beneath the forest’s scent, something sharp and metallic lingered, like ozone and something scolding hot. Uzumaki blood. He hadn’t noticed it before, too distracted by Deidara’s proximity.

Zabuza snorted. “Exactly. You’re broadcasting like a damn beacon. At least for me.” He gestured vaguely southward. “Now up, because believe it or not I actually do care about children and you’re fucking in bear territory.”

Deidara scrambled to his feet, cheeks flushed crimson. “We’re not children!” he protested, though his voice cracked slightly. Hidan merely smirked, stretching lazily as he rose. “Bear territory? Sounds like fun.” He eyed Zabuza’s sword appreciatively. “Nice blade. You swing that thing or just lean on it?”

Zabuza ignored them, stalking forward, he reached out once he got close enough, grabbing each of them by the back of the neck and yanking them forward as he turned and started walking out of the forest, ignoring their protests.

“Hey! Let go!” Deidara yelled, kicking uselessly at the air. Hidan snarled, twisting violently, but Zabuza’s grip was iron. “The fuck’s your problem?”

“Stupid fucking brats,” Zabuza muttered under his breath before speaking louder, “Look, I ain’t leaving you here to get mauled by bears just ‘cause you’re horny idiots. Shut up and move.” He dragged them through the undergrowth, their feet stumbling over roots. Deidara’s face burned with humiliation; Hidan’s eyes flashed murderously. The scent of pine needles and damp earth clung thickly to the air, mingling with the lingering sweat and sex on their skin.

—————————————

It was about six hours of this humiliating walk of shame, Hidan trying to not so subtly stab Zabuza whenever he thought he could get away with it. Eventually, after the 18th time of Hidan trying to do so, Zabuza had sighed— much like he did the first time he had it— and shoved Hidan to the ground, and picked him up before he could stand up, holding him much like a sack of potatoes under his arm, with Hidan’s arms pinned to his sides. Deidara was mostly quiet, sulking, his cheeks flushed red whenever he accidentally met Zabuza's eyes. The Mist ninja didn't seem to care about their discomfort, his grip never loosening, his stride relentless. The forest eventually thinned, replaced by rocky foothills that led towards a towering mountain range. The air grew colder, biting at their skin.

Zabuza finally halted at the base of a sheer cliff face, there was one tree at the cliffs edge, and it had a barely noticeable seal carved into its bark, and quite a large deer that looks like it had been hunted recently. He let go of the back of Deidara’s neck, just to wrap his arm around the shorter red head as he bit his own thumb, reaching over to smear the blood over the seal as he planted his foot on the deer. The bark glowed crimson, and the cliffside shimmered like heat haze before in a flash of light— much like how Hidan did it— they and the deer were teleported to a completely different location. 

They were now standing on a rocky plateau high in the mountains, overlooking a valley shrouded in mist and tree tops poking out. The air was surprisingly warm here, thick with the scent of pine and something metallic.

And instantly both Hidan and Deidara were hit by a scent that made their brain feel like it was short-circuiting, much like a computer getting wet. Sunflowers, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, honey, brown sugar, and ozone filled the air like a thick perfume. It was sweet and warm and electric, making their heads swim with that voice yelling at them and their hearts pounded. Deidara gasped, staggering back a step as his knees wobbled. Hidan snarled, baring his teeth like a cornered wolf, his knuckles white where he curled his hands into fist, the best he could. "Fuck," he hissed, his voice strained. "That's—"

“Hime,” Zabuza cut off Hidan as he shifted, turning as he called out to someone, pulling Hidan and Deidara with him.

The world spun for a moment as both teenagers cataloged everyone that was sitting around a campsite, looking over to them with expressions ranging from amusement to irritation.

There was two of the fucking Sannin— Toad Sage Jiraiya and Slug Princess Tsunade— there was a fair-skinned woman that looked to be in her 20s average height and slender build with onyx eyes and jet-black, shoulder-length hair. There was a boy with narrow brown eyes and shoulder length black hair tied in a spiky ponytail. A boy with  white hair with a light-blue tint to it, almond shaped purple eyes, and shark-like teeth. Another boy that looked quite a lot like the first one, purple eyes, shoulder-length white-coloured hair and pointed, shark-like teeth. A dark-haired girl?… boy?… Neither Hidan nor Deidara could tell if they were a boy or a girl, but they had long black hair, pale skin and large, dark-brown eyes, and a slender frame, and they were holding quite a large white rabbit. And there was another boy that looked like he was the oldest of the group of kids, and he had short, tufty blue hair, dark eyes and shark-like teeth.

But the one that scent was coming from— Sunflowers, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, honey, brown sugar, and ozone— was a girl with vibrant red hair pulled into a ponytail of nine braids, tan skin, crystal blue, are cat-like— or fox-like—, slitted pupils that were a darker shade of blue.

“Hime,” Zabuza says again, shifting his grip on Hidan— who he was still holding like a sack of potatoes— and Deidara— who was still trying to get his legs to work properly— as he pulled them closer to the campsite. “Got you some new playmates.”

The girl looks up from her ramen cup, fox-slitted eyes looking curiously at Hidan and Deidara. She flashes a grin, revealing sharpened teeth. "Whoa! More Uzumakis? Dattebayo!" Her voice carries a bright, infectious energy that clashes with the lingering scent of ozone and honey clinging to her. A small orange fox materializes beside her, curling possessively around her legs while glaring at the newcomers with crimson eyes.

—————————————

POV change

“… Zabuza… sweetheart.” Tsunade sighed, rubbing her forehead as she watched the newcomers stumble. “… is that… the Tsuchikage’s missing fucking grandson? And the S-rank cultist who painted the Land of Hot Water red?”

Zabuza grunted, making a ‘I dunno’ noise as he shrugged, jostling Hidan who was still pinned under his arm.

Jiraiya choked on his sake, spraying droplets across the campfire. "The *what*?!" he wheezed, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand. His eyes darted between Deidara’s red hair and Hidan’s furious scowl. "Land of Hot Water? That massacre was *him*? And you brought them *here*?"

“They’re both kids,” Zabuza says as if that explains everything. “And they smell like us. Deal with it.”

“Wha— Wait. The Immortal Bloodthirsty Killer is a kid?!” Jiraiya sputtered, pointing at Hidan, who was still pinned under Zabuza’s arm like a sack of potatoes. Hidan snarled, kicking his legs uselessly. “I’m eighteen, you wrinkly fuck!” His voice cracked as he was trying to get away from and simultaneously closer to the scent that was making him dizzy.

Tsunade sighed again, peering at the two squirming teenagers in Zabuza’s hold from beneath her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "They're Uzumaki," she muttered, as if that explained the sheer chaos radiating off them. "Of course they are." Her gaze sharpened on Deidara. "And yes, Jiraiya. That's Onoki's runaway artist. The one who the old bastard put an eight hundred million Ryo safe return bounty on. And yes, it does seem that the Immortal Bloodthirsty Killer is in fact a… hormonal teenager."

“I found them having sex in the forest about thirty hours away,” Zabuza announced, dropping Hidan. “So, they might get sick from whatever disease-ridden pond they were rutting in.” Deidara flushed crimson, “We weren’t near a pond, un! And I’m not sick!” Hidan grinned, stretching lazily, trying to ignore the scent that was coming from— Sunflowers, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, honey, brown sugar, and ozone. “Y-yeah, we were doing it on solid ground. Very holy ground, actually—felt fucking amazing.”

“Oh good Lord!” Tsunade groaned, massaging her temples as Kurama had the audacity to actually laugh, loud and rasping, his orange fox form curling tighter around Naruto's ankles as he eyed the newcomers. "Holy ground? Try unholy mess, brats." His tails flicked dismissively. "You reek of desperation and cheap sake."

“EHH! It can talk!” Hidan scrambled backwards, just to have Zabuza’s booted foot plant itself on his back and shove him face-first into the dirt. Deidara froze mid-protest, jaw slackening at the sight of the fox. Kurama’s tails flicked smugly. “Surprise, brats. Now shut up and stop smelling like cheap brothels.”

Haku coughed into his hand, trying to suppress a surprised chuckle, where he sat beside Shizune and Tonton, his rabbit sitting in his lap, looking at the newcomers with such a nasty stink eye that Kurama snorted. Shizune just sighed, rubbing her temples. “Oh my god…” she muttered, shaking her head. “Oh my god…”

Deidara stuttered, still dizzy from everything that had happened in the span of a few moments as he tried to keep his balance, cheeks flaming crimson as he brushed dirt off his ripped trousers. “We weren’t—! It wasn’t—! Un! It was holy communion!” he spluttered, voice cracking. Kurama’s rasping laugh deepened. “Communion? With that?” He jerked his snout towards Hidan, who was spitting out dirt and glaring murderously at Zabuza’s boot still planted firmly on his back. “More like desecration, brat.”

Hidan snarled, twisting under Zabuza’s weight. “Fuck you, fox! And fuck you too, Zabuza! Get your damn foot off me!” Zabuza merely pressed down harder, grinding Hidan into the damp earth. “Quit squirming, brat. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Kimimaro pushed himself up from where he sat beside Mangetsu and Chōjūrō, slowly walking over to them. His pale skin almost glowing in the mist, his expression unreadable as his hair that nearly touched the ground swayed behind him with every step he took.

“They smell like Uzumaki,” he stated flatly, his red-pink eyes narrowing at Hidan and Deidara as he crouched in front of Hidan, who was still on the ground, seemingly not caring that he was confirmed to be the Immortal Bloodthirsty Killer as he watched the trembling fingers, suppressed ragged breaths, the dizzy expressions as they blinked rapidly, and the microscopic twitches of Hidan and Deidara’s bodies every time they breathe in, smelling Hime’s scent— Sunflowers, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, honey, brown sugar, and ozone, and he knows it was driving them up the wall much like it did the first time he ever smelt it. “Strongly. Like heat and ozone.”

Hidan hissed, trembling body trapped under Zabuza’s foot. “The fuck’s your problem? Get your creepy ass face outta mine!”

“This one seems to be quite rude.” Kimimaro said flippantly, his pale fingers brushing Hidan’s jawline with clinical detachment. He ignored Hidan’s furious sputtering, instead turning his unnerving gaze to Deidara. “And this one smells of clay and nitroglycerin… explosive. Interesting.” Deidara recoiled, clutching his pouch protectively.

“Kimim-Chan! Quit being mean to them!” Naruto was suddenly beside Kimimaro, the scent of Sunflowers, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, honey, brown sugar, and ozone getting so strong that Hidan actually made a wheezing-queasy noise as she pulled Kimimaro’s pale hand away from Hidan’s face. She flashed a grin at Deidara, her slitted blue eyes gleaming. “Don’t worry ‘ttebayo! Kimimaro-Chan’s just protective!”

Kimimaro’s expression remained impassive, but he leaned subtly into Naruto’s touch. “They’re rude, Hime,” Kimimaro murmured, his voice flat but his red-pink eyes softening as he looked at Naruto. “The red one smells like unstable explosives, and the silver-haired one reeks of cheap cologne and bloodlust.”

“Maa, who cares,” Naruto chirped, waving a dismissive hand. “Their mine now, so it doesn’t matter!” She turned her grin fully on Deidara and Hidan, leaning in close enough that her crimson hair brushed Hidan’s cheek. He froze, nostrils flaring as her scent—sunflowers and ozone mixed with caramelized sugar—flooded his senses. Deidara swayed slightly as he finally forced himself to stop panicking. Finally noticing the voice that had been a near constant in the back of his mind for the past four years had… stopped? He couldn’t hear it anymore? Deidara’s breath hitched. He couldn’t hear it anymore? He couldn’t hear it anymore?! He couldn’t hear it anymore!

“… oh gods, It-It— it stopped,” Deidara whispered, trembling fingers pressing against his temples. His eyes widened, pupils dilating with a mix of panic and disbelief. “The voice—the fucking voice—it’s gone, yeah!” He swayed violently, clutching his head as if trying to physically hold onto the absence. The silence inside his mind felt deafening, a void where relentless whispers had lived for years. Hidan watched him, momentarily distracted from Naruto’s proximity, his own expression shifting from fury to confusion.

“YEAH!” Naruto cheered alongside him, bouncing as she wrapped her arms around Deidara’s waist, squeezing him tightly.

Deidara froze, trembling as Naruto’s scent—Sunflowers, cinnamon, vanilla, caramel, honey, brown sugar, ozone, and the sharp tang of Uzumaki blood—engulfed him. The silence in his mind was… Or, at least the yelling was gone, the faint hum pack and protect Hime was still there, but it wasn’t yelling anymore. He choked out a sob, fingers digging into Naruto’s shoulders like anchors. "It’s quiet," he whispered, voice cracking. "It’s finally quiet, yeah."

“Doll-face?” Hidan’s voice cut through Deidara’s daze, sharp with confusion. He watched Deidara cling to Naruto, trembling not with fear but relief. The raw vulnerability on Deidara’s face—something Hidan had never seen—made his own snarl falter. He wiggled and squirmed underneath Zabuza's foot, trying to get closer to Deidara. “Oi! What’s wrong with you? Stop looking like someone kicked your puppy!” His nostrils flared, Naruto’s scent hit him anew: sunflowers and ozone, caramel and brown sugar. It soothed the jagged edges inside him, quieting the whispers of Jashin’s demands.

———————————

Meanwhile across the impromptu camping ground with Tsunade and Jiraiya.

Tsunade and Jiraiya watch the scene unfold from logs that were being used as seats. Tsunade looked resigned and like as if she had aged twenty years in the last ten minutes as she slowly rubs a hand down her face, peeking through her fingers at Naruto’s enthusiastic bouncing while Deidara clung to her like a lifeline. “… why?” She asked Jiraiya, “why do the only living Uzumaki either have to be insane-psychopaths or the grandson of the fucking Tsuchikage?” She rubbed her mouth, blinking slowly. “First, we get Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist and a Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid. And now we get the Immortal Bloodthirsty Killer, because apparently of course he has to be an Uzumaki, and then the grandson of the Tsuchikage.” She groaned, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “I need sake.”

Jiraiya chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Well, uh… look on the bright side! At least Naruto-chan’s happy?” He winced as Kurama—now perched on Naruto’s shoulder like a small, smug fox—snorted loudly. “And the fox isn’t threatening to incinerate anyone… currently.”

Tsunade shot him a withering glare. “Bright side? That boy—” she jabbed a finger toward Deidara, who was trembling against Naruto’s shoulder, tears streaking through the grime on his face— “is Onoki’s missing heir. The one Iwa’s been tearing nations apart searching for. And the lunatic—” her finger swung to Hidan, who was snarling like a caged animal while Zabuza kept him pinned as he strained toward Deidara with frantic, almost possessive energy— “is Jashin’s favorite butcher. They’re both S-rank nightmares, and Naruto just declared them hers.” She buried her face in her hands again. “Asuma-sama is going to have an aneurysm.”

Shizune slipped onto the log in between Tsunade and Jiraiya, her voice low and urgent. "Tsunade-sama, you seriously can’t be letting them stay. That Deidara kid blew up half a border outpost last month—Iwa’s bounty posters are plastered on every border tree. And Hidan?" She shuddered, clutching Tonton tighter. "He butchered three Kiri patrols just for interrupting his prayers. They’re walking war crimes!"

Jiraiya rubbed his temples, eyes darting to where Naruto was now rocking Deidara like a child, humming tunelessly. "We… really can’t do anything now, Shizune, she already claimed them. Uzumaki instincts are territorial." He flinched as Hidan suddenly went limp under Zabuza’s grip, breathing heavily through his nose while staring at Deidara and Naruto with unnerving intensity. "Besides," Jiraiya added weakly, "Kurama hasn’t incinerated anyone yet. That’s promising."

“I think it will be quite fine,” Haku appeared behind them, holding his rabbit, who was still looking at the scene unfolding with such a nasty expression it was hard to believe it belong to a bunny rabbit of all things. “They’re Uzumaki. They belong with Naruto-Hime.” Haku’s tone was serene, but his eyes were sharp as he watched Hidan shudder, a low whine escaping his throat as Naruto’s scent finally seemed to fully envelop him. The tension bled from Hidan’s shoulders, replaced by a dazed sort of contentment.

Tsunade rubbed her eyes, watching the scene unfold for a few more moments as she held her breath before letting it out in a long, slow sigh. She could feel the tension in her shoulders beginning to ease despite her better judgment. "Fine," she muttered, her voice low and rough. "I’ll send Asuma-Sama a message. He’s going to want to know about this clusterfuck." She turned to Shizune, who was still pale and trembling. "Get the medical kit ready, those two are teenage boys, I don’t know what they’ve been eating or… touching, and they look like they haven’t slept in days." Shizune nodded mutely, scurrying off towards the tents.

Chapter Text

Asuma rubbed his eyes as he looked at the Konoha Messenger Hawk he has dubbed as “Tsunade-Hime’s Nagging Bird” as it tapped impatiently at his window. The bird's sharp beak clacked against the glass like a metronome of doom. He groaned, pushing aside a stack of mission reports that threatened to avalanche onto the floor. "Alright, alright, I'm coming," he muttered, unlatching the window. The hawk swooped in, dropping a scroll thicker than his thumb onto his desk before perching on his inkstone with judgmental eyes.

He unrolled the parchment, scanning Tsunade's frustrated handwriting—each character slashed into the paper like a kunai strike.

*Asuma-sama, your precious little Naruto-Chan has picked up two more S-rank missing-nin as if they were stray kittens, again—*

Asuma had to actually stop reading. He stared at the wall, is expression blank, as if his soul had momentarily vacated his body. "Two more?" he whispered. He could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. He forced himself to continue.

*One being Hidan, the Immortal Bloodthirsty Killer, because apparently of course he has to be an Uzumaki, and the grandson of the Tsuchikage, who is also an Uzumaki. I believe that the two of them are boyfriends, Zabuza found them boning in a forest—*

Asuma stopped reading again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the scroll trembling slightly in his other hand. Hidan? Deidara? Both Uzumakis? He could already picture the diplomatic firestorm brewing—Onoki would demand answers, and the Jashinist cult’s whispers in the shadows would sharpen into knives. He took a slow breath, the scent of ink and aged parchment doing nothing to soothe the tension coiling in his shoulders. *Naruto*, he thought, a mix of exasperation and reluctant pride warring within him. Only she could turn a training trip into a gathering of the world’s most volatile exiles.

Asuma’s not sure how long he stared at the scroll, but apparently it was long enough for Shikaku to return with more paperwork and mission reports.

Shikaku raised an eyebrow at Asuma’s expression— before glancing towards Tsunade’s personal Messenger Hawk. "Well, doesn’t this just look familiar?” He said dryly, dropping a fresh stack of mission reports onto the desk with a thud that echoed in the too-quiet office.

Asuma sighed, rubbing his face roughly. “Naruto… she picked up two more stray Uzumaki.” He tossed the scroll to Shikaku. “The Tsuchikage’s precious missing grandson he’s been ripping apart nations to find, and the Immortal cultist. Zabuza found them… mid-coitus… in a forest.”

Shikaku scanned the scroll, his usual calm expression flickering. “Deidara and Hidan. Iwa’s been screaming about Deidara’s disappearance for months. The Tsuchikage’s precious grandson this, Tsuchikage’s precious grandson that. And Hidan… that guy’s just good old fashion crazy.” He paused, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “Zabuza found them mid-coitus? Sounds about right for that lot. Naruto’s got a knack for collecting chaos.”

Asuma slumped back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight. “Chaos? Shikaku, this isn’t just chaos. This is a diplomatic landmine wrapped in explosive tags. Ōnoki will demand Deidara back, and the Jashinists…” He trailed off, imagining the fallout. “They’ll see Hidan’s allegiance to Naruto as heresy. We’re looking at potential war fronts because our jinchūriki decided to adopt two S-rank nightmares.”

Shikaku shrugged as if they were discussing crop rotations. He slid into the seat opposite of the Hokage, crossing his legs as he slowly bounced his foot. “When doesn’t Ōnoki threaten war? The old fossil breathes ultimatums. And the Jashinists? Hidan’s been their problem child for years. Frankly, if he’s latched onto Naruto like a limpet, that’s one less headache for the continent.”

Asuma rubbed his temples. “It’s the precedent, Shikaku. She collects S-rank missing-nin like others collect trading cards. First Zabuza, now these two? What’s next? Kisame Hoshigaki showing up for tea because he heard the Uzumaki brat makes good ramen?” He gestured wildly at the scroll. “Tsunade mentioned they were… entangled when Zabuza found them. Gods know what state they’re in. Medical reports alone—”

Shikaku took a deep breath, half a second too late to stop a chuckle from escaping his lips. “Em’sorry,” he murmured, looking away as he covered his mouth with his hand, rubbing his face as amusement lingered in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just… Naruto’s got a knack for chaos that even Hashirama-sama would envy. She’s turning the entire shinobi world on its head without even trying. That girl’s like a force of nature.” He leaned back, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful. “But Asuma, think about it. She’s not just picking up strays; she’s rebuilding her family, finding her scattered clansman. No matter how much the other Kage’s want to argue or fight about Konoha is stealing their missing-nin, they can’t deny that Naruto has the right to claim them as Uzumaki. It’s in her blood, her birthright. And that’s a political shield that cannot be broken.”

Asuma sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know that. But Ōnoki won’t care about bloodlines or birthrights. He’ll see it as Konoha harboring his rogue grandson, the one who blew up half of Iwa’s treasury on his way out. And the Jashinists? They’re fanatics. If they think we’re interfering with their ‘chosen one,’ they’ll send assassins, not diplomats.”

Shikaku hummed, turning his head to look out the Hokage tower window to look at the Hokage monument. He stayed silent for a moment, pursing his lips as his foot continued to bounce slowly. “… don’t worry about that. Just think about it like this, Hashirama-Sama and Tobirama Senju-Sama would be more than just proud of what Naruto is doing. She’s rebuilding her clan, and she’s doing it without even trying. She’s just being herself, and that’s enough to draw them in. And that’s a good thing. A very good thing. Because the Uzumaki clan was scattered to the winds after Uzushiogakure’s fall. Naruto’s gathering them back together, one stray at a time.” He paused, turning back to look at Asuma. “And as for Ōnoki… he’s old, bitter, and paranoid. But he’s not stupid. He knows that if he moves against Naruto, he’ll have to deal with Tsunade, Jiraiya, and nearly the entire might of Konoha’s Anbu and Shinobi. And that’s not even counting what Naruto herself might do if someone threatens her family.”

Asuma sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re not wrong. But it’s not just Ōnoki. The Jashinists… Hidan’s their most devout follower. If they think we’ve ‘corrupted’ him or taken him from their god…”

Shikaku shrugged again, popping a piece of gum Asuma didn’t even realize the man had, into his mouth. “I’m already planning on feeding the Hunter-nin that come after Zanuza to my Forest dwellers, what makes you think I wouldn’t do it to some Jashinist cultists? Besides, Hidan’s loyalty to Naruto is stronger than his loyalty to Jashin. You saw the report. He practically melted at her scent. He’s not going anywhere, and if his cult comes knocking, we’ll handle it. Konoha has faced worse.”

Asuma’s eyes flickered to the scarred side of Shikaku’s face and on his own knuckles, a silent reminder of exactly what ‘worse’ looked like. He leaned back, the old chair groaning under his weight. “Fine. But we need to brief the council. Hiashi’s going to have an aneurysm when he hears Naruto’s collected another two S-ranks like they’re stray cats.”

Shikaku’s grin was sharp, predatory. “Let him choke on his tea. It’ll save us the trouble of dealing with his complaints about ‘clan purity’ again.” He unfolded himself from the chair, the movement fluid and deliberate. “Besides, Tsunade’s already handling the fallout. Her scroll mentioned she’s drafting a letter to Ōnoki. Something about ‘blood sovereignty’ and ‘Uzumaki reclamation rights.’ The old Tsuchikage won’t know whether to rage or cry.”

Asuma rubbed his temples, the phantom ache of a headache already forming. "Blood sovereignty? Tsunade's invoking *that*?" It was an ancient, near-mythical clause buried in the founding village treaties—one that acknowledged the clan’s right to reclaim scattered bloodlines, regardless of borders or allegiances. A dangerous precedent. "Ōnoki will see it as an act of war wrapped in legal parchment."

Shikaku ignored that, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the frame, and glanced back. The afternoon light caught the scars on his face, deepening the shadows. "Would you like me to call a council meeting? Or do you want to handle the Hyūga tantrum yourself?" His tone was dry, almost amused. "Hiashi’s going to combust when he hears Naruto’s collecting more S-ranks like stray cats."

Asuma sighed, the weight of the Hokage hat suddenly heavy. "Call it. But give me an hour. I need to just… process the fact that Naruto now has a literal bomb-maker and an immortal cultist calling her 'Hime'." He slumped into his chair, the polished wood cool against his palms. Outside the window, Konoha bustled, blissfully unaware of the diplomatic storm brewing. Shikaku’s chuckle was a low rumble as he vanished down the corridor, footsteps echoing with grim satisfaction.

——————————————

An hour later, Asuma is sitting at the head of the meeting room’s table, watching his council— technically a new council because he fired all the old ones once he became Hokage— file into the room one by one. And he swears that hour went by way too quickly.

The first to arrive was Shikaku because the man was already at the Hokage tower, soon followed by Itachi Uchiha, who is always usually the first to arrive if Shikaku isn’t already there. Then came Hiashi Hyūga, his expression already pinched as if sensing trouble. Shibi Aburame entered with his usual silent precision, followed by Chōza Akimichi, whose cheerful demeanor faltered slightly when he caught Asuma’s grim look. Inoichi Yamanaka slid into his seat with a raised eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Shikaku. Tsume Inuzuka next, her ninken Kuromaru padding beside her, sniffing the air as if catching the tension. Kurenai Yūhi and Might Guy arrived last, the latter giving a thumbs-up that no one returned.

The only empty seats were Kakashi, because Kakashi was currently with Naruto, so that was fine, he already knew what was going on, and Tenzō. Tenzō kids caught strep throat. He can figure out what happened later. 

Asuma took a deep breath, his fingers tapping the polished wood. "Alright, everyone, I'm sure all of you remember the meeting we had about a year ago about Zabuza and his wards." He paused, letting the memory sink in—the shock, the arguments— everyone yelling at Hiashi—, the eventual acceptance. "Well, we’ve got... additions. It seems that Naruto has found more of her kin.”

Hiashi’s knuckles whitened where they gripped the table. “More? How many more, Lord Hokage?”

“Two,” Asuma said, bracing himself. “Hidan of the Jashin cult and Deidara, the beloved missing grandson of the Tsuchikage. Both of them were confirmed to be… full blooded, a hundred percent… Uzumaki… by Tsunade-sama herself.”

A stunned silence fell over the council chamber. Shibi’s insects buzzed faintly within his coat, the only sound. Tsume leaned forward, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Hidan? The immortal lunatic who carves up his own organs for fun? And *that* explosive brat from Iwa? Both Uzumaki?” Her voice held disbelief, but also a flicker of interest. “Naruto-chan’s pulling in some real firepower. First, it was Zabuza, and the only survivor of the Kaguya clan who happens to be a Kaguya-Uzumaki hybrid, along with the last known living Yuki clan member, an’ the last three living Hōzuki, and now these two? The kid’s rebuilding her clan with the most dangerous strays she can find!”

Shikaku steepled his fingers, his expression calm amidst the rising tension. “Precisely. Each addition strengthens Konoha’s position through Naruto’s claim. Blood sovereignty is absolute. Ōnoki cannot demand Deidara back without declaring war on the Uzumaki matriarch’s right to her kin. And Jashinists… they revere power and bloodline purity above all. Hidan pledging himself to an Uzumaki heir? That’s a theological earthquake for them. They might even send tribute. Though that’s just a fifty to fifty guess I’ve made, they might actually just try to kill us all.”

Hiashi’s knuckles whitened on the council table. “Absolute? That girl flaunts tradition at every turn! Allowing S-rank criminals—terrorists—into our walls under the pretense of clan reunion? It’s an insult to the very foundations of this village! And that sword she carries… Kyūbi no Ken— don’t think I didn’t notice it when she left to be village Kushina used to carry it around like it was something precious— it reeks of the beast’s malice. How long until her recklessness invites catastrophe?” His Byakugan flickered with restrained fury.

Shikaku’s lips curled, “You have no idea what you’re speaking of Hiashi-san. Our first two founders would be more than proud of what Naruto is doing.” He leaned back, his gaze sharp. “Besides, Kyūbi no Ken is a relic of the Uzumaki’s own making. It’s no more malicious than the chains Mito-sama once wielded.”

Itachi, silent until now, spoke with chilling calm. “I’m okay with this development. Naruto-san can do what she pleases with her clan.”

“OH! Please! You always go with whatever the brat wants!” Hiashi snapped, slamming a palm on the table. The polished glass vibrated under the force. “She’s a walking disaster! First the Mist swordsman and the Kaguya, now an explosive artist and a Jashinist fanatic? Next she’ll drag in Orochimaru and declare him her long-lost uncle!”

“Orochimaru can come back to the village whenever he pleases.” Asuma’s voice cut through Hiashi’s outrage, low and deliberate. “For the last time that man did nothing wrong. Just because he doesn’t look like you, doesn’t think like you, doesn’t move like you, because let me remind you he comes from the Kirāhebi Clan, the Kirāhebi Clan are snake people, but that does not mean he is a monster.” The Hokage leaned forward, knuckles pressing into the table. “And if Naruto brings him home? Good. We’ll welcome him.”

Hiashi’s face purpled. “You’re insane! That— that creature experimented on our children! He—”

“He never harmed a Konoha citizen,” Asuma interrupted, his tone glacial. “His subjects were donated corpses to science, people that knew they were dying and wanted to help, or willing volunteers. The only ones he ever truly harmed were prisoners of war and criminals sentenced to death. That’s more mercy than most nations show their enemies.” He straightened, the Hokage hat casting a shadow over his eyes. “Orochimaru left because people like you treated him as if he was nothing more than just a snake. His defection was a loss, not a victory for Konoha. He is a person. He is a Konoha shinobi. And he deserves to come home.”

The council chamber fell into stunned silence. Hiashi’s knuckles whitened on the table. Shikaku chuckled, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he crossed his legs. Tsume’s eyes widened, her sharp canines flashing in a grin. “Damn, Asuma. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Hiashi’s voice was a low hiss. “You would invite *that* snake back? After what he did? After the experiments?”

Asuma stared him down, his expression twisting into something dark. “You know what, Hiashi, i’m going to ask you something and you better tell me the truth.” He leaned back in his chair before standing up, reminding everyone that he is a big man. “Tell me, if this is how you talk about Orochimaru when we don’t even know if he’s dead or not, how do you speak to his child and students that still live in the village? How do you speak to his grandkids his son adopted? How do you speak to the people that loved him? Tell me the truth, Hiashi, do you go to the graveyard just to spit on Orochimaru’s dead partner's graves? Do you?”

Hiashi flinched, his face paling. “I would never—”

“Liar!” Asuma slammed his palms on the table, the wood cracking. “You spit venom about a man who sacrificed everything for this village’s medical advancements. Who do you think perfected the antidote that saved your clan during the Kumo ambush? Orochimaru. Working in secret because he knew fools like you would burn his research if they found it. You’re lucky he left his damn research here before he defected from the village or your clan would be dead.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous rasp. “Tell me, Hyūga. When you look at his son, Tenzō, do you see a monster? Or just a boy who lost his father to this village’s hypocrisy?”

Hiashi recoiled, his Byakugan veins pulsing erratically. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The council chamber was silent, thick with tension. Tsume’s knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the table. Shikaku watched Asuma with hooded eyes, a flicker of approval in their depths.

“Now,” Asuma took a soothing breath, pushing himself off of the table as he sat back down in his chair. “If we are done with that little tangent, we can get back to the matter at hand.” He looked at the council members. “What can all of you tell me that you know about Hidan, the Immortal Bloodthirsty killer, huh? Let’s start with that. See where everyone is at.”

Shibi cleared his throat, his insects buzzing softly beneath his collar. "Hidan is a zealot of Jashinism. His immortality stems from a ritual involving mass sacrifice. He requires constant bloodshed to sustain it." His voice was calm, analytical. "Konoha's intelligence suggests he was born in Yugakure but exiled after murdering his entire family during a Jashinist rite. He operates on impulse, with no regard for strategy or consequence."

“Half right,” Asuma murmured, lighting a cigarette. The flame flickered in the dim council chamber. “He’s impulsive, yeah.” He sat down his lighter, picking up the scroll Tsunade had sent. “But he’s not mindless. According to Tsunade-sama, he was not exiled, defected on his own free will, and he’s impulsive… because he’s a child.”

“A child?” Tsume scoffed, leaning forward. Her nails tapped the table. “He’s a grown man, Asuma. He’s slaughtered hundreds.”

“Hidan’s barely 18,” Asuma corrected, exhaling smoke. “Still a child.”

The council chamber fell silent. Shikaku shifted in his seat, his fingers steepled. “Immortality at such a young age… That explains the impulsiveness. His brain hasn’t finished developing.”

“Doesn’t excuse the blood rituals,” Hiashi snapped, but his voice lacked its earlier heat. He rubbed his temples, the Byakugan veins fading. “A child wielding that power… It’s unnatural.”

Asuma hummed, setting down the scroll as he reached into his Hokage robes, pulling out a different scroll. “This scroll arrived about fifteen minutes before the meeting started. Much like the first one, it is from Tsunade-sama.” He unrolled it, his expression pinching. “She… probed Hidan, I guess you could say, talk to him in a way that got him to open up. Apparently, he was taken by the Jashinists when he was… fourteen… by a man in his forties that… claims to… love… him.” The words tasted like sewer water in his mouth. “Groomed, Tsunade-sama says. Brainwashed…. R—” Asuma takes a deep breath, his eyes locked on the word, “Raped”, written in Tsunade’s handwriting. “He was… raped… repeatedly by the man that supposedly loved him until he left… for some reason. Though, Hidan claims it was all consensual because he loved him too.” Asuma’s knuckles whitened against the scroll. “According to Tsunade-sama, he’s deep in the fog of grooming. The Brainwashing. He doesn’t understand what happened to him wasn’t love. That the stuff—” Asuma couldn’t finish reading that, he threw the scroll onto the table, a awful gagging sound coming from him as he looked away from the scroll as if it had burned him as a hand shot up to his mouth. “I-I-I can’t—!” He gagged again, bile rising in his throat.

Tsume’s eyes widened, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled sharply. “Oh….” Her voice was soft, horrified. She looked at Shikaku, her eyes wide and horrified. “Oh, Kami….” She whispered softly, her hand tightening on Shikaku’s shadow that had curled around her wrist. Shikaku’s eyes were dark, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared at the scroll on the table as if it were a snake ready to strike. He didn’t say anything, but his knuckles were white against the armrest of his chair.

Guy hesitated for a moment before reaching out to grab the scroll, Kurenai looking over his shoulder to read with him. As Guy's eyes scanned the words, his usual exuberance evaporated. His jaw tightened, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. Kurenai gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth as she read the explicit details Tsunade had documented—how Hidan's "lover" had systematically broken him down through isolation, religious indoctrination, and brutal physical control disguised as devotion. "This... this is monstrous," Guy whispered, uncharacteristically quiet. "No wonder he clings to violence. It's all he was taught love looks like."

Chōza reached over, grabbing the scroll once Guy’s fingers went slack around it. His eyes widened as he scanned Tsunade’s meticulous handwriting—clinical descriptions of Hidan’s starvation, beatings disguised as purification rites, and the cultist’s twisted justification that pain was Jashin’s love made flesh. The Akimichi patriarch’s gentle face hardened into something unfamiliar: a cold, protective fury. "He was a *child*," Chōza growled, his knuckles whitening around the parchment. "He *is* a child."

Inoichi snatched the scroll next, Hiashi leaning over his shoulder to read with him. Inoichi’s analytical mind dissecting the report with brutal efficiency. The Yamanaka patriarch's face— and Hiashi’s— paled, fingers trembling as he absorbed the depths of psychological manipulation—how Hidan's captor had weaponized his immortality against him, framing torture as divine favor. "His mind was reshaped," Inoichi murmured, voice thick with revulsion. "Like clay molded before it could harden. This wasn't defection; it was annihilation." Across the table, Shibi remained motionless, but his beatles shot out, snatching the scroll before it could fall, bringing it to him silently.

Chōza slammed his fist onto the table, the wood groaning under his weight. "Starved? Beaten? And they call themselves faithful?" His voice shook with a cold fury that silenced the room. "That boy didn't choose darkness. It was poured into him drop by drop." The markings on his cheeks seemed to darken as he glared at Hiashi. "If Konoha turns its back on victims because their pain makes us uncomfortable, what does that say about us?"

Shibi hummed, spreading out the pages of the scroll as he quickly read through each and every one of them. The Aburame patriarch remained outwardly impassive, but his insects buzzed with agitation, forming dark, shifting patterns beneath his collar. "The systematic destruction of self-worth," he stated flatly. "His captor isolated him, then defined his entire reality. This is not zealotry. It is survival." He pushed the scroll toward Itachi, who hadn't moved from his seat. The Uchiha heir's Sharingan spun faintly, absorbing the report in seconds.

Itachi paused on the last page, a flicker of something— might have been pity, might have been something else entirely—crossing his stoic features before vanishing. "According to the last page of this report, it seems that Hidan-san is in a… I wouldn’t say healthy relationship, but something definitely healthier than what he was subjected to with Deidara. Though she says it’s hard to tell if they’re in an actual relationship, or just…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely— because he sure as hell is not going to say ‘fuck buddies’ out loud—. “… letting off steam with each other.”

Guy slammed his fist onto the council table, cracking the polished glass. "YOSH! Such youthful suffering demands our understanding! This Hidan-san clearly expresses affection through violence because it was the only 'love' he was taught! We must guide him towards the Springtime of Compassion!" Tears streamed down his face, thick as paint.

“But… how exactly are we going to do that when his whole… Kekkei Genkai…? Jutsu…? Do we even know what type of ability he uses for his immortality?” Kurenai asked softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the cracked table. Her crimson eyes held a deep weariness. “If he’s truly unkillable…”

“… I think something was sealed inside of him.” Shikaku’s voice cut through the tension, low and deliberate. He gestures towards the scroll detailing Hidan’s regenerative limits. “… immortality is not a thing that exists naturally. The people that get close to it are the Uzumaki, and I believe the oldest one to ever live from what I know was 762-years-old, that was a long time, but not immortal. As for abilities, Tsunade-sama’s Creation Rebirth is the closest thing to immortality we have, but even that requires immense chakra and skill.” He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Hidan’s ability… it feels like something *forced* upon him. A curse disguised as a blessing.”

“So… we treat it as a seal?” Kurenai pressed, her brow furrowed. “Something that can be… undone?”

“Yes and no,” Shikaku murmured, scratching his jaw. “Do I believe It can be undone, yes, but possibly it was a seal to keep something in him like how the Bijuu and some types of chakra can be sealed.” He paused, glancing toward the window that overlook the Village. “I believe something similar to Bijuu, but man-made, was sealed inside him. And that’s what is giving him his abilities.”

“Man-made?” Guy’s voice boomed, fists clenched. “What kind of monster would—?”

“Everything that is feared will eventually gain a living, breathing form,” Shikaku murmured, tracing a phantom seal pattern on the council table. His shadow flickered unnaturally in the lamplight. “The Jashinists supposedly worship the god of death, who is apparently named Jashin, but how can that work when we know the God of death is a reaper named Shinigami. A literal God made by the Uzumaki because those lucky bastards are so good at avoiding death they made him into a Jutsu. So what if Jashin is something else? Something born from collective human terror?”

A heavy silence fell. Guy’s knuckles whitened. Kurenai leaned forward, her crimson eyes sharp. “You’re suggesting Hidan hosts… a conceptual entity? A manifestation?”

Shikaku nodded slowly, his shadow stretching long and thin across the polished wood. “Fear given flesh. Hatred given breath. The Jashinists didn’t summon a god; they *created* one. A parasite feeding on suffering, granting immortality to bind its host eternally.” He tapped the table. “Hidan isn’t ‘blessed’ *by* Jashin. He *is* Jashin’s cradle.”

Guy slammed his fist down. “Then we free him! Smash this cursed thing!” His voice cracked with protective fury. “No one deserves—”

“He’ll die if we take it out.” Shibi’s quiet voice cut through Guy’s fury like chilled steel. The Aburame head remained unnervingly still, his sunglasses reflecting the lamplight. “If what Shikaku says it’s true, he had something sealed within him like the Bijuu are to their Jinchūriki. Removing the Bijuu kills the host. Removing this… entity… would kill Hidan.”

Silence descended, thick and suffocating. Guy’s fists trembled on the polished glass table, top, knuckles white. Kurenai shifted, leaned even more forward, her crimson eyes sharp. “Then we don’t remove it. We contain it. We help Hidan control it, like Jinchūriki control their Bijuu.” Her gaze swept the table. “Isn’t that what Naruto’s doing with the Fox? Turning a weapon into an ally?”

“No,” Shikaku countered, his voice low and deliberate. “Kurama’s always been an ally. Plain and simple. This is something else.”

“… Kurama?” Hiashi echoed, finally speaking up after Asuma had chewed him out, confusion coloring his tone at the name. Across the table Itachi stiffened, throwing a glance over to Shikaku with a panicked expression. “Y-you— you know of Kurama?” Itachi asked Shikaku cautiously.

“Oh, so you are aware, huh?” Shikaku grinned, leaning against the table. “I had my guesses that you were aware of our little… fox friend running around without a leash, but thanks for confirming it.” He chuckled softly as Itachi’s eyes widened slightly. “Relax, Uchiha. It’s not exactly a secret to those who pay attention.”

“What are you talking about, Shikaku?” Chōza asked, his brow furrowed deeply. The room felt suddenly colder, the lamplight catching the dust motes swirling in the tense air. “Who— or what is Kurama?”

Shikaku leaned back, steepling his fingers. His gaze swept the council table, lingering on Itachi’s pale face. “Kurama,” he said, the name dropping like a stone into still water. “Is The Nine-Tails name. Who’s been running around the village unsealed from Naruto for at least the past five years, but I would say much longer than just five years.”

Silence. Utter, suffocating silence. Itachi looked like he was about to bolt, not from fear, but from sheer violation of a secret he’d guarded since childhood being out in the open now. Hiashi’s Byakugan flared instinctively, veins bulging around his eyes as if searching the room for the fox itself. “Impossible,” he hissed, voice trembling with disbelief. “The Kyūbi is sealed within Naruto Uzumaki. It cannot manifest independently!”

“You forget, Hiashi, Naruto is an Uzumaki princess, that makes her a princess of seals, what makes you think she couldn’t have modified her seal?” Shikaku countered smoothly, his voice cutting through the stunned silence like a blade. He gestured toward the window, where distant rooftops gleamed under the afternoon sun. “Kurama walks among us. At least he did before Naruto left the village for her training trip. Form can fluctuate to whatever size he chooses, but he prefers a size no larger than a hunting hound. Bright orange fur, nine tails. Sharp eyes.” He paused, letting the image sink in. “He’s Naruto’s closest confidant. Her best friend. And he despises almost everyone except her.”

Chōza slammed a meaty fist onto the table, “And you knew?” His voice was thick with betrayal. “All this time, Shikaku? You knew a tailed beast roamed free in Konoha? Unsupervised? Uncontained?”

“I was also aware of this,” Asuma cut in before a fight could erupt. “This is nothing new, this is something that has always been able to happen with the Jinchūriki of the Fox. Ever since his first host he was able to come and go freely from his hosts.”

“That’s impossible,” Hiashi hissed, his Byakugan flaring unconsciously. “Tailed beasts are chakra constructs. Mindless forces of destruction. They don’t form—

“Kurama is a Uzumaki.” Asuma cut in, his voice sharp and final. “The mindless forces of destruction you speak of do not exist, what you remember about the Ninetails attack on the Village was forced, all of you know this. You know the fox was put under a Genjutsu and forced to attack the Village. Do not act surprised that Kurama is sentient, you know better than that.”

Hiashi recoiled as if struck, his Byakugan veins receding. The council chamber crackled with tension thicker than storm clouds. Guy leaned forward, knuckles white on the table. "So... Kurama-san walks freely? And protects Naruto?" His voice held fierce admiration.

“Mmmm, yes, I, Shikaku, and a few others like Tsunade-sama and Jiraiya-sama have been aware of this for a bit. According to Naruto she undid Minato-sama’s seal at a very young age, she has been talking to Kurama since she was four…. Now, let’s get back to the idea that Shikaku brought up about Hidan having something sealed inside him.” Asuma said, rubbing his temples. “Shikaku?”

Shikaku shifted forward in his chair, elbows on the table and fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Like I was saying, everything that is feared will eventually gain a living, breathing form. And the Jashinists supposedly worship the god of death, who is again apparently named Jashin, but how can that work when we know the God of death is a reaper named Shinigami. Who the Uzumaki turned into a Jutsu. So, i’ll say it again, what if Jashin is something else? Something born from collective human terror?”

He paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air. “Hidan’s immortality defies all known biology and fuinjutsu principles. It’s parasitic, feeding on pain and faith. My theory? That ‘Jashin’ isn’t a deity. It’s a conceptual entity—a manifestation of humanity’s fear of death—sealed within Hidan during his childhood trauma. Removing it might kill him… or unleash it. So, my idea is to just let him continue what he’s doing—” he ignored the shouts of protest that immediately started, raising his voice just enough to be heard over them “— but have him become one of Konoha’s personal assassins. One of our Hunter-nin. And if whatever is sealed inside of him still needs more, tell him he can only go after… abusers, rapist, pedophiles, child molesters, murderers who kill children, etcetera. That way, he’s doing something good and whatever that thing is whispering sweet little nothings in his ear is satisfied, and won’t do something like… I don’t know… try to take over Hidan’s body or something.”

Silence descended again, thicker this time.

“… makes sense,” Shibi Aburame murmured, the hum of his kikaichū filling the sudden quiet. His dark glasses tilted towards Shikaku. “If we cannot remove the thing that has been sealed inside of him without the risk of him dying during the removal or unleashing whatever it is that’s sealed inside of him, then containment through controlled application is logical. Assigning him targets who inflict suffering aligns with Konoha’s interests.” His insects buzzed louder, a sound like dry leaves scraping stone. “And it would be good for his… trauma…. Most trauma victims when it comes to his… certain type of… treatment—” Shibi sounded as if he didn’t want to say what had happened to Hidan. “— have shown to heal from it more easily whenever they have something to focus on, and have someone *gently* giving them guidance concealed as commands.” He put extra force on the word, gentle. “Because that is what they believe they deserve.”

Kurenai Yūhi leaned forward, her crimson eyes sharp. “Containment through purpose… It’s elegant, Shikaku-san. But who monitors him? Who ensures this… entity doesn’t gain influence? And what of Deidara? The Ōnoki’s grandson?” She tapped a finger on the polished table. “That old man has been searching for the past year and a half for his ‘precious grandson’. Iwa’s Tsuchikage won’t accept ‘Uzumaki sovereignty’ as an answer. He’ll see it as Konoha harboring his wayward grandson.” Her gaze swept the council. “We risk war over a boy who blows things up for art.”

“Tsunade-sama is dealing with old man Ōnoki.” Asuma exhaled a plume of smoke, the scent of tobacco sharp against the council chamber’s tension. “Pray for the old man that she doesn’t threaten to rip the man’s balls off and stitch them to his forehead.” He leaned back, the chair groaning under his weight. “She’s already drafted a scroll outlining Deidara’s ‘voluntary asylum’ under Uzumaki Clan protection. Cites historical precedent—Uzumaki sovereignty predates the Five Great Nations. Ōnoki can rage, but legally? His grandson chose sanctuary.” A grim smile touched Asuma’s lips. “And the draft Tsunade-sama sent me of her scroll, has a signature that includes a footnote about the viability of granite testicles as decorative paperweights. Subtlety isn’t her strength.”

Shikaku’s fingers drummed the tabletop. “Ōnoki will throw a fit, but he legally will not be able to make his grandson come back to Iwa. Deidara is a Uzumaki, and the home of the Uzumaki is Konoha.” His gaze swept the council. “He can bitch, moan, and groan all he wants, but he can’t make Deidara come back to Iwa.”

Itachi’s Sharingan flickered crimson. “The Tsuchikage will escalate. Deidara possesses strategic knowledge of Iwa’s defenses and jutsu. Ōnoki won’t accept asylum; he’ll demand extradition or retaliate.” His voice remained low, but the warning thrummed like a plucked wire. “Konoha must prepare for covert operations—sabotage, targeted assassinations. They’ll exploit perceived weakness.”

“I’m already feeding Kiri Hunter-nin to my Forest’s inhabitants because of the rumors that Zabuza will become a Konoha shinobi. I’m sure my little pets will enjoy the taste of Rock ninja.” Shikaku’s voice was calm as he traced a finger along the map of Konoha’s eastern border. “Let Ōnoki send his shadows. They’ll vanish into the Nara woods, and their bones will fertilize the mushrooms.” He glanced at Tsume, whose grin showed too many teeth. “Your wolves need fresh meat?”

Tsume leaned forward, claws tapping the table. “My pack’s been restless. Rock-nin jerky sounds delightful.” Her gaze swept the council. “But Hidan first. Who oversees him?” Kurenai’s fingers tightened around the table top. “Assign him to me. Genjutsu can contain his bloodlust during missions.”

“Hidan won’t be coming to the Village until Naruto returns,” Shikaku countered, his eyes sharpening as he scanned the council. “That won’t be for another one or so years, so we’ll have plenty of time to figure out his actual personality and ticks by Tsunade-sama’s scrolls before we assign him a handler. If he’ll even need a handler. Being insane and traumatized doesn’t mean you can’t be a functioning member of society.”

Tsume snorted, leaning back with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Tell that to Anko. Girl’s still banned from three teahouses after that ‘incident’ with the exploding dango.”

“Wait— Anko,” Chōza cut in, leaning forward. “Anko might be the best choice, they’re both hyper, eccentric, and have explosive personalities, they’d get along like a wildfire in a dry forest.” He paused, scratching his chin. “Though she might encourage his... tendencies.”

Tsume snorted, crossing her arms. “Anko? Last I heard, she fed a spy to her snakes while laughing. You want her mentoring Hidan? They’d turn Konoha into a demolition derby.” She glanced at Shikaku. “Still... chaos recognizes chaos. Might keep him contained.”

“… that kind of makes sense.” Inoichi mused, tapping his temple thoughtfully. “… Anko always gave off the feeling of a rambunctious big sister who never grew up to me. Hidan’s… well, Hidan. They’re both damaged, volatile, and thrive on chaos. Pairing them could either be catastrophic or surprisingly stabilizing.” He paused, considering. “She’s also fiercely protective of those she claims as ‘hers’. If she bonds with Hidan… she’d shield him from exploitation fiercely. Possibly even curb his worst impulses through sheer force of personality.”

Shikaku leaned back, steepling his fingers, his expression unreadable. “Anko’s loyalty to Konoha is absolute, forged in the fires of betrayal she endured. Her methods are… unorthodox, but effective. Assigning her as Hidan’s handler serves multiple purposes: it utilizes her unique skill set, provides Hidan with a relatable anchor point, and keeps both potent wildcards monitored under a single, manageable umbrella.” He glanced at Asuma. “Her snakes *would* also be an effective deterrent against any Rock-nin foolish enough to try retrieving Deidara through force. Maybe having her play big sister to both of them would be beneficial.”

Asuma sighed, rubbing his temples as he thought about it. Anko… did give off that big sister who will whoop your ass if you step out of line, but will also murder anyone who touches you vibe. And she’d definitely keep Hidan’s impulses in check with sheer chaotic energy. "Okay," he conceded, “I’ll summon her and ask if she is willing to take on Hidan, and possibly Deidara as her wards.”

————————————————

It was ten minutes later when the Council meeting room’s door slid open abruptly. Anko Mitarashi stood framed in the doorway, her violet ponytail slightly askew and a half-eaten dango stick clenched between her teeth. Her sharp, pupil-less eyes swept the assembled faces, lingering momentarily on Tsume’s smirk and Shikaku’s impassive stare before landing squarely on Asuma. She pulled the dango stick free with a wet pop. "You rang, Boss?" she drawled, stepping inside, her tan coat swirling around her thighs. The faint scent of cinnamon and ozone clung to her.

“How do you feel about possibly becoming a impromptu big sister for two s-rank missing-nin?” Asuma asked bluntly, leaning forward as he propped his chin up in his hand.

Anko froze mid-chew, her eyes narrowing to slits. She swallowed hard, the dango stick lowering slowly. "Define 'big sister'," she countered, her voice losing its playful edge. "Because if you mean babysitting unstable lunatics who might try to blow me up or sacrifice me to their creepy god, count me out." Her gaze flickered to Tsume. "Unless Tsume-senpai’s wolves need feeding?"

Asuma sighed, idly wondering how she got so on the nose about the assignment. "Look at this,” his hand hovered over the scroll that all of his council members had looked over, not even wanting to touch it with the sheer filth that had happened to Hidan that had been written on it. “This scroll gives you a deep dive of what had happened to one of them.” He finally managed to grab the scroll and toss it towards Anko. “The other one, Deidara, is a former Iwa-nin. He’s a bomb expert. And the grandson of the Ōnoki.”

Anko snatched the scroll mid-air, her knuckles whitening around the parchment. She unrolled it swiftly, her eyes scanning Tsunade’s clinical handwriting detailing Hidan’s childhood – the cultist, the grooming, the brainwashing, the raping, the forced rituals. How little eighteen-year-old Hidan still thinks it's okay because he says ‘it was all consensual’. The physical and mental abuse barely concealed as love and devotion. Her usual smirk vanished, replaced by a grimace that deepened with each line. “Fuck,” she muttered, the word sharp and brittle in the tense council chamber. She read it again, and again, and again, and again as if she read it enough it would change. Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. “This… this isn’t just filth. This is… *rot*.” Her gaze lifted, sharp and dark, locking onto Asuma. “And you want me to… what? Fix him? Un-fuck his head?”

“No… I don’t want you to fix him,” Asuma said quietly, leaning forward, his elbows resting heavily on the council table. “I want you to *protect* him.” His gaze swept the room, lingering on Hiashi’s stony disapproval, Chōza’s grim understanding, and Shikaku’s weary nod. “Protect him from anyone who’d exploit that rot again. Including himself. He’s like you, excitable, loud, hyper, and prone to violence. He needs someone who gets that fire without letting it burn everything down.”

Anko’s fingers tightened around the scroll, knuckles white. The horror hadn’t faded—the details of ritualized grooming, forced isolation, and twisted scripture carved into Hidan’s psyche—but a familiar, protective snarl twisted her lips. Orochimaru-sensei hadn’t fixed her either; he’d simply shielded her until she could shield herself. She understood shielding. “And the bomber?” she asked, voice clipped.

“Supposedly Hidan’s boyfriend,” Itachi spoke up, the only page of the scroll that hadn’t been filled with gruesome details about Hidan’s past and instead filled with details about Hidan and Deidara’s weird relationship in his hand. He held it out. “Or… they’re in a Situationship. Tsunade-sama didn’t describe it as stable or healthy, but it was… mutual.”

Anko snatched the page, scanning it. Her brow furrowed. Deidara’s profile screamed instability—obsessive artistry, volatile pride, a history of fleeing Iwa. Yet… the notes on his interactions with Hidan painted a bizarrely functional picture: mutual acceptance of flaws, shared dark humour, fierce protectiveness. Possessiveness. It was messy, chaotic, and utterly unlike anything Anko had encountered. "Situationship," she muttered, tasting the word like sour candy. "Fine. Where are these walking disasters?"

“You have time to prepare,” Asuma said, rubbing his temples. “They’re currently… occupied. But they will be returning to the village whenever Naruto and Shikamaru Nara return from their training trip in about a year or so. Until then, they’re under Tsunade-sama and Jiraiya-sama supervision.”

Anko snorted, folding the scroll with a sharp flick of her wrist. “Occupied? With what? Blowing up mountains? Painting the sky with entrails?” Her snake-pendant gleamed under the council chamber’s harsh lights as she leaned forward, palms flat on the polished table. “But… yeah… I’ll do it. Someone’s gotta keep ‘em from turning Konoha into a crater.” Her gaze swept the council—lingering on Hiashi’s rigid disapproval—before settling on Asuma. “Just don’t expect me to play nice with the Hyūga if they start hissing about ‘threats.’”

————————————————

Meanwhile, elsewhere…

Ōnoki watches his son and granddaughter sulk into his office. Kurotsuchi looked a mixed of beyond embarrassed, horrified, and terrified. Kitsuchi looked ready to murder someone. Ōnoki sighs. "Tell me you at least found Deidara."

Kitsuchi slumped— slammed himself down— onto a chair opposite of Ōnoki's desk, the wood groaning under his weight. His knuckles were white where they gripped the armrests, veins bulging along his forearms. "We found him," he ground out, the words tasting like ash. "In Shirahaba."

Kurotsuchi hovered near the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her face was pale, eyes darting nervously between her grandfather and father. "He wasn't alone," she added, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks starting to burn scarlet. "He was with... someone."

Ōnoki leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Someone?" he prompted, his gaze sharpening. "Who? And did you bring him home?”

Kitsuchi’s chair creaked ominously as he shifted. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "The Immortal Bloodthirsty Killer," he spat, the title dripping with venom. "Hidan of Yugakure. That degenerate had his hands all over Deidara—touching him, taunting us..." His voice cracked, fury choking him. "He claimed Deidara *ran* to him willingly!"

Ōnoki’s bushy eyebrows shot up. "Hidan?" He slammed a fist on the desk, rattling the inkwell. "That S-rank lunatic? The one who carves up villages for fun?"

Kitsuchi nodded grimly, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. "He was... possessive. Like Deidara was some prize." He shuddered, recalling Hidan’s hand lingering on Deidara’s thigh, the mocking squeeze. “I was going to fight him… but Deidara… grabbed onto that psycho before he could pull out that cursed scythe. Freaking out and yelling at Hidan that he wasn’t allowed to kill me or Kurotsuchi.”

Ōnoki’s eyes narrowed to slits. "Allowed?" The word tasted like ash. "Deidara ordered him?"

“No, he panicked, that’s why I said he freaked out and yelled.” Kitsuchi’s voice cracked, frustration twisting his features. “He screamed at Hidan not to kill us—like he knew the bastard was about to do it.” He clenched his fist. “Then Hidan kissed his wrist. Called him ‘Doll-face.’ Said he was ‘playing nice’ because Deidara asked.”

Ōnoki leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes distant. “And Hidan listened?”

“Like a damned dog,” Kitsuchi spat, bitterness thick in his throat. “Deidara wrapped around him like—like he belonged there. Hidan smirked. Told us to back off unless we wanted to be ‘decorations’ for his god.” He shuddered, the memory of Hidan’s arm snaking possessively around Deidara’s shoulders burning behind his eyelids. “We chased them across half the village rooftops before they vanished. Poof. Gone.”

Ōnoki leaned back in his creaking chair, steepling his fingers. The silence stretched, thick with the dust motes dancing in the lamplight. Kurotsuchi shifted near the door, her knuckles white where she gripped the frame. “Grandfather?” she whispered. “Deidara… he wasn’t hurt. Not physically. But the way Hidan touched him…” Her voice trailed off, thick with unspoken dread.

“… how exactly was the immortal touching him?” Ōnoki’s voice was dangerously low, the gravelly tone scraping against the tense silence. His knuckles whitened where they gripped the armrests of his chair.

Kurotsuchi flinched at the sudden sound. She kept her gaze fixed on the worn rug beneath her grandfather’s desk, unable to meet his eyes. The memory of Hidan’s smirk, the casual way his hand had squeezed Deidara’s thigh before vanishing… it replayed in her mind, sharp and sickening. "He... he… it was sexually…. Hidan was touching him sexually…”

Kitsuchi slammed a fist onto the heavy oak desk, making the inkwell jump. “That degenerate had his hands all over him! Claimed Deidara belonged to him!” His voice cracked with impotent fury. “And Deidara just… let him. Didn’t fight. Didn’t scream. Just clung to that monster like—” He choked off, unable to voice the horrifying image burned into his mind: his son, pressed against the immortal killer, fingers digging into Hidan’s jacket not to escape, but to hold on.

Ōnoki’s face turned ashen, the lines deepening like cracks in stone. He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “Sexually?” The word hissed out, sharp as shuriken. His gaze pinned Kitsuchi, demanding confirmation. “Define it. Exactly.”

Kitsuchi’s jaw worked, knuckles white where they gripped the chair back. He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. “He… when we found them, they were in a alleyway. Hidan had Deidara pinned against a wall. His hand was…” Kitsuchi swallowed thickly, the memory raw and ugly. “His hand was *inside* Deidara’s pants. Groping him.” The words tasted like ash. “Deidara—

“Hidan Was Giving Deidara A Blowjob!” Kurotsuchi blurted out when her father took too long and was trying to sugarcoat it. Her voice was shrill, trembling with horrified embarrassment.

Silence crashed down in the Tsuchikage’s office, thick and suffocating. Ōnoki froze, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the edge of his desk. Kitsuchi stared at his daughter, aghast, his face draining of color. Kurotsuchi flushed crimson, shrinking back slightly under the weight of their stares, but her chin jutted out defiantly. “It’s true! That… that *creature* had his head… down there! Deep throating!”

Ōnoki’s face drained of colour. The image slammed into him with visceral force: Deidara, his grandson, pinned against filthy alley bricks, forced to endure… that. Rage, cold and sharp, sliced through his shock. He turned slowly, deliberately, to Kitsuchi. “You saw this?” His voice was dangerously quiet, a tremor beneath the steel. “You saw Hidan violate my grandson… and you did *nothing*?”

Kitsuchi flinched as if struck. “Father, I— Hidan is immortal! He moves like a demon! Kurotsuchi screamed for me to stop! Deidara… he wasn’t fighting! He just… froze!” His fists clenched, knuckles cracking. “I tried to intervene! I charged! But Hidan vanished with him before I could land a blow!” Shame warred with fury in his eyes. “He teleported away with some jutsu, laughing with Deidara slung over his shoulder like a sack!”

Ōnoki’s jaw tightened. The silence stretched, thick with horror. Kurotsuchi shifted, her voice small but insistent. “Deidara… he didn’t scream. Didn’t push him away. He just… stood there.” She swallowed hard, avoiding her grandfather’s piercing gaze. “When Hidan kissed his wrist… Deidara didn’t pull back. He had flinched… but didn’t pull away.” The implication hung heavy – terrifying acceptance, or paralyzing fear? Ōnoki’s knuckles cracked against the polished wood of his desk. The image of Deidara frozen, violated by that immortal monster while his own father stood helpless, ignited a cold fury deeper than any battlefield rage. This wasn’t just kidnapping; it was desecration. His grandson, his brilliant, volatile artist, reduced to… prey.

“Immortal,” Ōnoki spat, the word tasting like ash. “He thinks that makes him untouchable.” His gaze snapped to Kitsuchi, sharp as fractured obsidian. “You saw the violation. You saw your son assaulted. And you let him vanish?” Kitsuchi flinched, shame warring with helpless fury. “He moved too fast, Father! One moment he was there, mocking us, the next… gone! With Deidara!” Ōnoki slammed his fist down. “Then find him! Mobilize every tracker, every sensor! I want Hidan’s head mounted on my wall! And Deidara…” His voice faltered, the cold rage momentarily replaced by a chilling dread. “…alive. Bring him home.” He turned to Kurotsuchi, his tone softening only a fraction. “You. Detail everything. Every word Hidan spoke, every gesture Deidara made. Leave nothing out.” Kurotsuchi nodded, trembling but resolute, steeling herself to relive the alley’s horror.

“… jiji… I think Hidan’s a… Uzumaki,” she finally found her voice after a long pause, her words barely audible. Ōnoki froze, his head snapping toward Kurotsuchi. “What?” The word was a low growl, disbelief warring with dawning horror. Kitsuchi’s eyes widened, his own shame momentarily eclipsed by shock. “Kurotsuchi?” he breathed, voice thick.

“I mean, he might not be, BUT…!” Kurotsuchi stammered as she walked further into the room, her hands twisting nervously. “Deidara… Hidan had similar features to Deidara’s clan. The red hair— though Hidan’s had gray-silver streaks—and the eyes… they were… slitted, sharp, like Deidara’s. And teeth, when he smirked he had the sharp teeth like Deidara has, where they started at the canines and went back.” She paused, swallowing thickly. “And his chakra… it didn’t feel right. Thick and… solid, and hot like Deidara’s.”

Ōnoki’s face paled, the wrinkles deepening into crevices of dread. The Uzumaki Clan—destroyed years ago, their legacy scattered to the winds. If Hidan carried their blood… their monstrous vitality, their sealing prowess… combined with Jashin’s immortality? It was a nightmare given flesh. Kitsuchi slumped into his seat, a choked sound escaping him. “An Uzumaki… with that cult…”

Ōnoki’s knuckles whitened on his cane. “Deidara,” he rasped, the name heavy with dawning horror. His grandson hadn’t just been taken by a madman. He’d been claimed by a relic of a dead clan, bound to a god of slaughter.” Kurotsuchi stepped closer, her voice trembling as she moved to stand beside her grand. “Gr—!”

She jumped as she was cut off, the door to the Tsuchikage’s office slamming open, smacking against the door to reveal a frazzled looking messenger ninja. The man was pale, clutching a scroll sealed with Konoha’s insignia—and a smaller, hastily added Uzumaki spiral. His voice cracked as he spoke. “Lord Ōnoki! An urgent missive from the Slug Sannin, Tsunade Senju!” The messenger ninja stumbled forward and over to Ōnoki’s desk, placing the scroll down.

Ōnoki snatched it, breaking the wax seal with a sharp twist. His eyes scanned the elegant, furious script—Tsunade’s handwriting was a controlled storm. *‘I have found your grandson, Deidara Uzumaki, and his boyfriend, Hidan Uzumaki.’* was the first line. Ōnoki choked. *Boyfriend?* Kitsuchi leaned over the desk, eyes widening as he read the scroll in his father’s hands. Kurotsuchi’s breath hitched.

The letter continued, coldly formal: *‘Under ancient Uzumaki blood sovereignty treaties, predating the founding of Iwagakure, Deidara Uzumaki’s lineage has been formally reclaimed by Naruto Uzumaki— heir to Uzushiogakure, Hime of the Uzumaki, and current clan head of the Uzumaki. Deidara Uzumaki has voluntarily accepted asylum within Uzumaki jurisdiction. Any attempt to retrieve Deidara will be interpreted as an act of aggression against Uzumaki sovereignty. The last page of this scroll will be from Deidara. Please continue reading to see all the details.’*

Ōnoki’s hands trembled as he flipped the scroll to the last page. Deidara’s handwriting— unmistakably his— sprawled across the parchment in jagged, carefree strokes: *‘Gramps— I’m fine, un! And whatever Tsunade said about boyfriends, she’s lying. Me and Hidan are just… traveling companions that do… stuff sometimes. Don’t send anyone. Seriously. I’ll blow them up—’* Deidara had written about a page and a half of telling them to leave him alone and how he’d blow up any Anbu or Shinobi that tried to come after him and a whole bunch of other stuff that Kurotsuchi didn’t bother reading.

Kitsuchi’s knuckles whitened around the desk's edge. "He’s… fine?" The words tasted like ash. Kurotsuchi snatched the scroll from her grandfather’s grip, scanning Deidara’s messy script. Her eyes narrowed at a hastily scribbled addendum near the bottom: *‘P.S. Tell Kurotsuchi she owes me for that alleyway thing. And Hidan says hi.’*

Kurotsuchi choked on air, her face flushing crimson. "That—that little—!"

Ōnoki snatched the scroll back, his knuckles bone-white. The implications crashed over him like a mudslide. Uzumaki blood sovereignty. Naruto Uzumaki, that Konoha brat, claiming Deidara? Declaring him *hers*? And Hidan… an Uzumaki? The red hair, the feral eyes, the monstrous chakra density—it fit. Horror warred with fury. An immortal Uzumaki Jashinist. The combination was apocalyptic.

Kitsuchi stared blankly at the tatami mats. "She… Naruto Uzumaki… she *owns* Deidara now?" His voice was hollow, stripped of its earlier rage. The sheer audacity of Konoha’s move left him reeling. This wasn’t just kidnapping; it was a formal, treaty-backed annexation of his son.

Ōnoki crumpled the scroll in his fist, the parchment crackling like dry leaves. "Worse," he hissed, veins bulging at his temples. "She doesn't *own* him. She *claims* him. By the ancient treaties carved into the Stone of Uzushio itself. Deidara is Uzumaki property now.” He practically ripped the scroll back open, looking through the about ten pages for any mess up he could use to deny it.

His gaze swept over Tsunade’s precise calligraphy, the official seals of Konoha and the Uzumaki spiral glaring back like accusations. Every clause was airtight, invoking treaties older than the Five Great Nations.

Ōnoki’s jaw tightened. "Uzumaki property," he repeated, the words ash in his mouth. He stabbed a trembling finger at Deidara’s appended note. "And this? This insolent scribble? 'Just traveling companions'? After what Kurotsuchi witnessed?" He turned on his granddaughter, eyes burning. "You saw him. In that alley. Did it look like companionship?"

Kurotsuchi flinched, face turning a shade of red that could make a tomato jealous. She stared at her grandfather’s feet, unable to meet his eyes. "He… didn’t look completely unwilling," she mumbled, the words thick with discomfort. "Deidara didn’t fight him off… looked… quite… comfortable."

Kitsuchi snarled, slamming his fist onto the polished table. "Comfortable?! That monster had his hands—!"

“Dad! Stop!” Kurotsuchi’s voice cracked, sharp as shattered glass. She gripped his arm, knuckles white. “Just… stop….” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look up at the scroll, finally saying what she’s been wanting to, but unable to talk over the yelling duo. “Look, it says Deidara is willing to see us. When he wants to. But only if we don’t try… anything… if we just… calm down, we can figure this out, we can… talk to Deidara in person.” Her voice trailed off, thick with unshed tears. “Please.”

Ōnoki’s eyes snapped to the scroll’s bottom paragraph, previously overlooked in his fury. His brow furrowed as he reread the cramped, almost smug handwriting. It was just a simple sentence: *"You can visit. When I feel like it. If you behave."*

Silence descended upon the office, thick and suffocating. Kitsuchi’s clenched fist slowly uncurled, the knuckles pale. Kurotsuchi watched her grandfather, holding her breath. The old Tsuchikage lowered the scroll, his gaze distant, fixed on the swirling dust motes caught in a shaft of afternoon light. The frantic energy that had fueled his rage moments before seemed to drain out of him, leaving behind a weary, brittle shell. He sank back into his chair, the leather creaking softly.

"Behave," Ōnoki rasped, the word tasting bitter. He traced the characters of Deidara's message with a calloused fingertip. "He dictates the terms. Like a prisoner granting visitation rights." A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "My grandson. Annexed. Protected by treaties older than this village." He looked up, his eyes sharpening as they landed on Kurotsuchi. "You saw him. Truly saw him. Beyond the... indignity. Was he afraid? Was he hurt?"

Kurotsuchi swallowed, "He… he wasn't afraid, Jiji. Not of Hidan. Annoyed, yeah. Embarrassed when Hidan… grabbed him." Her cheeks flushed even more at the memory. "But afraid? No. He yelled at Hidan, told him to stop provoking Dad. He intervened to stop the fight." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "He looked… flustered. Angry. But underneath? There was this… weird kind of confidence? Like he knew Hidan wouldn't *really* hurt him, even when Hidan was being a complete bastard. He… didn’t try to get away from Hidan, except for yelling at him to put him down when Hidan picked him up and started running… If anything… I believe I even heard Deidara… l-laugh?" She finished softly.

Ōnoki closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. Ancient treaties, bloodlines thought extinct, and now his grandson, willingly bound to an immortal zealot under Uzumaki sanction. "So," he rasped, the bitterness thick in his throat, "My grandson chooses… *that*. Over his family. Over Iwa." He slammed a fist onto the table, making the scroll jump. "Fine! Let him play house with his psychotic boyfriend and his Uzumaki keeper! But mark my words," his eyes snapped open, sharp and cold, "The moment that creature Hidan steps one foot outside protected territory, or harms Deidara in a way even their twisted laws can't ignore…" He trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air.

Chapter Text

(I like to think since in this fanfic I made Tobi a puppet controlling Obito’s body of sorts that controlled its host body that Zetsu talked and talked and talked some more than he would yap and yap, and then yap and talk and talk some more and he would talk more and more and more, and then he would speak and yap and talk some more because he didn’t think Obito could do anything about it.)

(Also in this fic Kisame looks like that one Fan Art of his and Itachi in Akatsuki attire, and Kisame is a LAT bigger and has a shark tail. I can’t find the OG artist, but @mitathatgirl on TikTok posted a slideshow of different Naruto Art characters redesign)

Kisame currently has one thought on his mind as he follows Obito down the dirt path of some back water village in Hot Water Country.

What the actual fuck is Obito Uchiha made out of?

Because Kisame’s blade, Samehada, has been sucking down chakra from him for the past four hours like he was Samehada’s personal all you can eat buffet, not because of anything to do with malice or whatever. It’s just…

Kisame believes this guy needs a nap, just one, one very long nap. So he just let his sword do his thing, The tiniest little nick on Obito’s hand the guy didn’t even register so Samehada could do it’s thing, but the guys just been go go go go go go go go go go!

Kisame’s been watching Obito for the past four hours. Obito’s been walking non-stop, talking non-stop, pacing non-stop, and Kisame’s sword has been draining his chakra non-stop. And Kisame’s starting to think Obito’s made out of pure chakra and spite. Because the guy hasn’t slowed down once. Not even a yawn. Not even a stumble. Kisame’s starting to wonder if Obito even needs sleep. Or food. Or water. Or anything. Kisame’s starting to wonder if Obito’s even human. Because Kisame’s seen some weird shit in his time, but this? This is new. This is… concerning.

He glanced sideways at Samehada, and even the chakra eating sword seemed a bit worried. The scales were vibrating softly, a low hum that Kisame felt through the wrappings. It wasn't hunger. It was… concern. Samehada was full, bloated on Obito's seemingly endless chakra, yet the Uchiha kept talking, gesturing wildly at the sky as he paced ahead. His words tumbled out in a frantic river – something about Hashirama cells, Madara's manipulation, the sheer stupidity of the Infinite Tsukuyomi plan and how he was going to stop it now that the puppet that was Tobi controlling his body was gone.

"—and the sheer *arrogance* of it, Kisame!" Obito spun on his heel, his scarred face contorted with manic energy. His good eye, dark and intense, burned with a feverish light. "To think we could just *impose* peace like that? It's madness! Worse than madness! It's… it's…" He trailed off, staring at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. Then he shuddered violently, a tremor running through his entire frame. "It's *wrong*. All of it. Wrong."

Kisame watched, Samehada humming uneasily against his back. Hours. They'd been walking for *hours* through the dense forests bordering Hot Water Country. Obito hadn't stopped talking, hadn't paused to eat or drink, hadn't shown a single sign of fatigue. His chakra, when Kisame subtly probed, still felt like a vast, turbulent ocean – immense and strangely *untouched* by Samehada's constant, draining pull. It was unnatural. Unsettling. Like watching a ghost fueled by pure, desperate will.

Obito stumbled mid-rant about Madara's hypocrisy, catching himself against a moss-covered tree trunk. His breath hitched, ragged and sudden. For a terrifying second, the manic energy flickered out. His shoulders slumped, the frantic gestures falling still. He pressed his forehead against the rough bark, his scarred face hidden. A tremor, deeper than before, shook him.

"Kisame..." The word was a rasp, stripped bare. "Do you ever... feel like you're drowning? Even when you're breathing?"

Kisame shifted Samehada's weight, the blade humming a low note of unease against his spine. He studied the slump of Obito's shoulders, the tremor running through him. This wasn't exhaustion. This was something deeper, a crack in the frantic dam he'd been holding back. "Drowning's familiar," Kisame rumbled, his voice low. "But breathing while drowning? That's new."

Obito slowly slid down the tree, sandals digging into the dirt path. His fingers curled into the moss, knuckles white. "He made me... *believe* it. That everything was ash. That pain was the only truth." His voice scraped raw against the quiet forest air. "But Kakashi... Rin..." A choked gasp escaped him. "They weren't ash. They were *light*. And I... I tried to extinguish it." He slammed his fist against the earth, a dull thud echoing. "For *what*? A lie wrapped in moonlight?"

Kisame crouched beside him, Samehada's bindings creaking softly. He didn't offer platitudes. The shark-man understood the taste of betrayal, the sting of wasted loyalty. "Madara used your grief like a whetstone," he stated flatly. "Sharpened you into a weapon pointed at the world. Easy to believe everything's rotten when you're drowning in your own blood."

Obito's shoulders trembled, not with tears, but with the aftershock of shattered delusion. He stared at his scarred hands – tools that had carved graves for friends, built nightmares for strangers. "The Ten-Tails... the Tsukuyomi... it's not salvation. It's *cowardice*." The word hissed out, venomous. "A world where no one hurts? Where no one *chooses*? That's not peace. That's... embalming."

Kisame grunted, shifting his weight. The moss beneath them felt damp, real. "So what now, Uchiha? You tear down Madara's dream. What fills the hole?"

“Kill Zetsu,” The words came out with such chilling hatred that Kisame felt Samehada stiffened against his back. Obito’s eye burned with a cold, focused fire. “He’s the architect. The parasite whispered in Madara’s ear long before I was born.” His fingers dug into the moss again, tearing clumps free. “He nurtured the rot. Fed Madara’s bitterness until it became a world-eating plague.”

“… Zetsu? The guy with the white and black skin?” Kisame frowned, recalling the strange, plant-like man who always seemed to slide out of shadows. “He’s Madara’s… gardener?”

Obito barked a harsh, humorless laugh that echoed through the damp forest. “Gardener? He’s the *root*. The poison vine choking everything.” He pushed himself off the tree trunk, swaying slightly but standing tall. The manic despair was gone, replaced by a terrifying clarity. “Madara was his puppet long before I was. Zetsu whispered the plan, nurtured the hatred, manipulated events for centuries. He *made* Madara believe the Tsukuyomi was salvation. He *made* me believe Rin’s death was Kakashi’s fault.” His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “He used my love like a key to unlock hell.”

Kisame watched him, the sheer depth of the betrayal settling like ice in his gut. Samehada pulsed against his spine, a low thrum of unease. “Centuries? How?”

“Zetsu’s not human,” Obito wiped at his eye and nose as he started to walk again, hearing Kisame push himself up with a grunt to follow. “… you know of the goddess Kaguya. The stories about a rabbit goddess who came from the sky? The mother of the goddamn Tailed Beasts?” Obito’s voice was rough, scraped raw from emotion and exhaustion, yet it carried a chilling certainty. He didn’t wait for Kisame’s nod. “She was real. And she wasn’t just a goddess, she was a fucking parasite. And Zetsu is her bastard fucking son. He’s a mommy‘s bitch and he’s pissed off his ‘precious mommy’ got sealed away by her own children.”

Kisame stumbled, catching himself on a moss-slicked branch. Samehada hissed against his back, a sound like grinding bone. "Her *son*?" The word tasted absurd. Gods didn't bleed. Gods didn't scheme in shadows for centuries. Gods didn’t have sons who skulked in shadows.

Obito kept walking, his pace relentless. "Half of her. Born from her will when she was sealed. Black Zetsu. The other half, White Zetsu…" He spat onto the forest floor. "...are… Fuck, they’re literally her fucking sons. Black Zetsu was born out of pure, goddamn spite about her will of… get this… wanting to have all of the chakra in the world to herself. So Black Zetsu, her little puppet, spent centuries twisting history, manipulating Uchiha and Senju like fucking chess pieces. He whispered poison into Madara’s ear, made him believe that fucking Infinite Tsukuyomi nightmare was *his* idea." Obito’s voice cracked with disgust. "He orchestrated Rin’s death. Made Kakashi kill her right in front of me. All to break me, to make me Madara’s perfect little vessel."

Kisame’s grip tightened on Samehada’s handle. The sword pulsed, agitated, tasting the raw fury radiating off Obito. Centuries. Rin’s death. All orchestrated by… what? A parasite born from a goddess’s tantrum? It sounded insane. Yet, the sheer venom in Obito’s voice, the way his Sharingan blazed crimson with his emotions… Kisame had seen madness. This wasn’t it. This was terrifying clarity.

“So,” Kisame rasped, his voice rough from disuse and disbelief. “This Black Zetsu… it’s Kaguya’s puppet. Pulling strings since before the villages existed.” He watched Obito’s shoulders tense, the ragged breathing audible even over the rustle of leaves. “And Madara? He was just…”

“A pawn,” Obito cut in, whirling around. His one eye faded back into dark and haunted, locking onto Kisame’s. “A powerful, arrogant pawn who thought he was playing god. Black Zetsu fed him lies, twisted his grief, made him crave that false peace.” He slammed his fist against a tree trunk, bark splintering. “And I was the *next* pawn. Broken. Molded. Used. The Akatsuki, believe it or not, it used to be a peaceful organization, a organization that promoted world peace of all fucking things, ran by three orphans… Yahiko, Nagato, Konan… Black Zetsu manipulated Hanzo of the Rain into slaughtering Yahiko, forcing Nagato down Madara’s path. Everything… *everything* is Zetsu’s design.”

Kisame leaned back, the weight of centuries-old manipulation settling like silt. “So, the entire Akatsuki…?”

“Pawns,” Obito confirmed, his voice cracking with bitterness. “Every single one of us dancing on his strings. Madara. Nagato. Me.” He gestured sharply toward Kisame. “Even you. Black Zetsu needed strong tools, chakra batteries for the Ten-Tails. He manipulated events, stoked conflicts, ensured powerful ninja fell into despair… became ripe for recruitment. Easy to control.”

Kisame’s grip tightened on Samehada’s hilt. The revelation wasn’t just shocking; it was corrosive. His entire bloody path, his belief in a world without lies… orchestrated by some parasitic will clinging to Kaguya’s ambition? The grotesque absurdity of it scraped raw against his cynicism. He’d embraced the Akatsuki’s brutal honesty, only to find it was built on the oldest lie of all. “So,” Kisame rasped, the sound grating like stone, “what’s the play now, Doll-face? Hunting ghosts?”

Obito grinned, a slow bearing of teeth that made Kisame's instincts prickle. "Hunting ghosts?" He chuckled, low and dangerous. "No. That dirty bastard will come to me once he realizes I’m not just out wandering because I couldn’t do anything else with the seal on my heart." He tapped his chest where Kisame’s kunai had sliced through flesh and curse. "He’ll come sniffing around, trying to figure out what went wrong, why his precious pawn snapped the strings." Obito’s lone eye slowly pulsed crimson. "And when he does…" His hand clenched into a fist. "I’ll rip him out of whatever shadow he’s hiding in and make him *scream*."

Kisame watched him, Samehada humming faintly against his back. The Uchiha’s aura wasn’t the desperate sapphire blue anymore; it was a volatile mix of deep indigo rage and flickering crimson determination. It felt less like a trapped soul and more like a storm barely contained. "And Kaguya?" Kisame asked bluntly. "You said Zetsu wants her revived. You planning to stop that too?"

“Zetsu can’t revive her without the Ten-Tails,” Obito stated flatly, his voice stripped of its earlier fervor. He swore quietly, leaning back on his heels as he rubbed his face roughly. “And the Ten-Tails is just a husk without all nine bijū. It’s the Tailed-Beast psychotic older brother you could say. It’s name is Deidarabotchi or— fuck— fucking Datara or something stupid like that. It’s the husk that Kaguya fused with to become the Ten-Tails originally. That’s what the Gedō Mazō statue is— its corpse. Zetsu needs to stuff all nine bijū back into it to resurrect Kaguya.” His hand fell from his face, his scarred fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against his thigh. “That’s why Akatsuki’s trying to collect them. That’s *his* endgame. Not Madara’s moon plan. Not peace. Just… her.”

Kisame’s brow furrowed. “So you’re saying we need to stop Akatsuki from capturing the bijū? That’s… ambitious.” He paused, eyeing Obito’s restless tapping. “Especially since you helped build the damn organization.”

“Tobi,” Obito corrected near instantly, his voice tight with bitterness. “Tobi built Akatsuki. Not me.” His tapping stopped abruptly as he clenched his fist. “And yes, we stop them. Starting with Zetsu.” He turned back around, swaying slightly before finding his balance. He hesitated for a second, stopping with his foot barely off the ground before squaring his shoulders. “You’re free to walk away, Kisame. I won’t stop you. But if you stay…” A grim, almost feral smile touched his lips. “…you’ll help me tear that parasitic bastard out of the shadows and make him scream.”

Kisame stared at him. The sheer, unadulterated hatred radiating from Obito was palpable, thick enough to taste – metallic and sharp. It wasn’t the cold, detached malice of Akatsuki; it was personal, visceral, a wildfire fueled by centuries of stolen agency. Kisame glanced down at Samehada. The sword hummed softly against his spine, a low thrum that felt… intrigued. It liked Obito’s chakra. It liked the *rage*. Kisame’s own lips curled into a shark-like grin. “Walk away? After that show?” He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides,” he added, hefting Samehada off his back and resting its massive blade casually on his shoulder, “Samehada’s hungry. And parasitic chakra sounds… tasty.”

——————————————

And it seemed Obito was right, it took about three more months before Zetsu showed his face.

They were walking towards the border of Sound Country when Kisame felt it first—a crawling sensation beneath the skin, like roots burrowing. Samehada shuddered against his back, scales rasping a warning. But Obito had… seemingly flipped a switch, going from Obito’s personality to Tobi’s, all happy-go-lucky idiot persona, humming tunelessly. Kisame understood instantly; the bait was set. He played along, grumbling about the humidity.

“Tobi! Kisame!? What in the world are you two doing all the way out here?” Zetsu’s— both black and white— voice slithered from the shadow of a gnarled oak, its smooth, oily tone dripping with false concern. Its yellow eyes glinted as it peeled away from the bark, forming a sleek, ink-black silhouette against the moss. “And… what happened to your mask, Tobi? It’s unlike you to be so careless.”

“Sorry, Zetsu-Chan! Tobi broke it!” Obito chirped, bouncing on his heels with exaggerated cheer. His eye, however, burned with a cold, predatory stillness beneath the facade. Kisame kept his hand casually near Samehada’s hilt, the sword’s scales vibrating faintly against his spine. It sensed the parasitic chakra radiating from Zetsu like rancid honey.

“You’re not mad at Tobi, are you?” Obito launched himself at Zetsu, clinging to him much like a child. Kisame watched as Zetsu’s black half stiffened, its yellow eyes narrowing. Samehada’s hunger pulsed against Kisame’s spine—a visceral craving for the oily chakra seeping from Zetsu’s form. The parasitic energy felt ancient, wrong. Kisame shifted his weight, ready.

Obito shifted, babbling on and on and on much like Tobi would, but faster than Kisame could track, Obito reached into one of his weapon pouches, ripping out a red Kunai— do not ask Kisame where he gets red Kunai, because he absolutely has no idea— and managed to stab Zetsu in the chest— two, five, seven, nine— nine times before the creature shrieked, its form rippling violently as it ripped itself from Obito’s grip. Kisame moved without hesitation, Samehada’s scales flaring wide as he swung, biting deep into Zetsu’s black mass. The blade screamed— a sound Kisame had never heard it make— as it devoured the oily chakra. Zetsu’s yellow eyes widened in genuine shock. “Impossible—!”

Obito slashed again before it could finish speaking, and idly Kisame thought the stabbings Obito was giving Zetsu looked like he was trying to spell something, but Kisame didn't know what. Kisame tore Samehada free, ripping chunks of Zetsu's oily flesh away as the blade shuddered, gulping down the parasitic chakra. Zetsu screeched, its form bubbling where Samehada had bitten—black ichor dripping onto the forest floor, sizzling like acid. "You think—this changes anything?" Zetsu hissed, its voice fraying at the edges. "Mother's will—cannot be undone by some mere mortals!”

The impending fight lasted longer than any battle Kisame has ever fought. Zetsu fought with terrifying ferocity, its form shifting wildly—tendrils of oily darkness lashing out, hardening into spikes, or dissolving into acidic mist. Kisame kept Samehada moving, the blade shuddering with gluttonous pleasure each time it tore through Zetsu's unnatural flesh, gulping down the corrosive chakra. Obito was a blur of red fury, his kunai flashing like crimson lightning, each stab precise and brutal. He wasn't just fighting; he was carving.

But Kisame didn’t know what exactly Obito was carving into Zetsu, getting more and more frustrated every time Zetsu’s body healed itself until Obito was finally fast enough to finish whatever he was trying to spell. Kisame saw Obito stab Zetsu one last time with the red kunai, twisting it violently before tearing it free. Zetsu screamed, a sound like tearing metal, and Kisame saw the wounds weren't healing, and Zetsu was… frozen?

Frozen as if he was trapped in ice, Kisame saw Obito carve a final symbol into Zetsu's chest—a jagged version of a Paralysis seal mixed with something Kisame couldn’t recognize. Samehada thrashed eagerly against Kisame’s grip, sensing the parasitic chakra leaking from Zetsu’s wounds. Kisame grinned. "Looks like dinner’s served." He slammed Samehada into Zetsu’s side, the blade tearing chunks of black mass away as it fed.

Zetsu’s yellow eyes flickered wildly. "You fools... Mother’s will... cannot be contained—" His voice choked off as Obito’s hand came up, grabbing Zetsu by the jaw, fingers digging into the black and white mass. "You want to know what I’ve figured out about you?” Obito’s voice was a low growl, edged with centuries of bitterness. “You're immortal, but you still have a soul, not even immortality can escape the Shinigami. You’d live in the belly of the death God until the end of time."

Kisame actually startled at that. The Shinigami? That was a myth, a sealing bogeyman whispered about in hushed tones near cursed scrolls. But Obito sounded utterly certain, his grip tightening on Zetsu’s jaw. The black and white mass seemed to writhe less, frozen not just by the seal, but by sheer terror radiating from those flickering yellow eyes.

“Yeah, bet you didn’t know I knew that fūinjutsu, isn’t that right, Zetsu?” Obito hissed, his Sharingan spinning violently. Kisame watched Zetsu’s yellow eyes widen impossibly further—pure, primal terror. The black mass trembled against the paralysis seal carved into its chest. “You forget I was the fourth Hokage’s student, one of his foster kids, I know all about the Uzumaki from his wife Kushina. And Kushina knew *everything* about sealing. Including how to summon the god of death himself.”

Kisame’s grip tightened on Samehada, confusion and the beginnings of panic starting to creep into his shark-like features. “Obito, what the hell are you talking—”

Kisame didn’t get to finish his question before Obito was shoving him away with surprising strength at the same time he let go of Zetsu’s face, the back of his hand cracking against the creature’s cheek before he started forming hand signs. Kisame stumbled backwards, falling back onto the ground, Samehada thrashing in his grip as if sensing the sudden shift in the air—a chilling stillness that made Kisame’s skin prickle. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the inhabitants of the forest falling silent. Kisame watched, frozen, as Obito’s hands blurred through seals—complex, ancient patterns that seemed to warp the very light around them. Kisame had seen plenty of jutsu in his time, but nothing like this. The air grew thick, heavy, pressing down on Kisame’s chest until he could barely breathe. It wasn’t just chakra; it felt like the world itself was folding inwards.

“Let’s see what you think about seeing a real God, Zetsu!” Obito yelled, pure unadulterated hatred caressing every syllable as he clapped his hands together in the last sign. Kisame felt the world shudder. The ground beneath them groaned, trees swaying violently without wind, and the air thickened with the scent of ozone and decaying earth. Behind Obito, smoke— steam seem to rise from the ground, twisting and coalescing into a towering figure with horns piercing the canopy. Kisame’s blood ran cold as the Shinigami materialized, its purple skin translucent under the moonlight, the long knife clenched between jagged teeth dripping spectral saliva. Its eyes, hollow voids, locked onto Zetsu.

The Death God’s massive hand came down on Obito’s shoulder, its claws digging into flesh as a low, guttural moan echoed through the forest. Kisame scrambled backward, Samehada’s scales rattling violently against the ground. Zetsu writhed against the paralysis seal, his form flickering between terror and rage. "You fool!" he shrieked, voice cracking. "She’ll consume you too—!" Obito ignored him, blood dripping from his nose as he forced chakra into the ritual. The Shinigami leaned forward, its serpentine tongue lashing out to taste Zetsu’s essence. The air turned frigid, frost creeping across the leaves. Kisame tasted iron—the scent of spilled chakra thick enough to choke on.

“You know my toll, don’t you, boy?” The Shinigami pulled it’s tantō out from in between it’s blackend teeth, voice like grinding tombstones. Kisame froze—the blade’s edge glinted with centuries of devoured souls. Obito didn’t flinch. “My soul,” he rasped, eyes locked on Zetsu’s paralyzed form. “And Zetsu’s.” The Death God’s laugh rattled Kisame’s bones. “Clever.” Its clawed hand tightened on Obito’s shoulder, drawing blood that steamed in the sudden cold.

The God Of Death stepped back, releasing Obito’s shoulder as what looked like a soul bound by tree roots appeared in front of it. The creature raised his hand that was holding its prayer beads, tossing them into the air and catching them as they landed perfectly wrapped around its hand and arm.

The God Of Death’s hand spasmed before seal marking started traveling down from its fingertips all the way to its elbow.

“O-Obito! What the hell is— is— what does it mean your soul is the toll!” Kisame choked out, scrambling backwards as the Shinigami’s gaze slid toward him—cold, hollow, hungry. The Death God’s tongue flicked out, tasting Kisame’s terror like salt on the wind. “Quiet, little fish,” it hissed, beads clattering like dry bones. “Your master knows the price.” Obito didn’t look away from Zetsu. Blood streamed from his nose, his Sharingan spinning wildly. “Do it,” he ground out. “Take us both.”

The Shinigami stabbed it’s long pointed nails into the chest of the bound soul with sickening noises, the soul screaming out as if it was being burned alive. Kisame watched in horror as pain seemed to rip through Obito’s body, blood starting to flow out of his mouth like a faucet.

The Shinigami’s hand continued to sink into the soul bounded by roots until it tore through Obito’s abdomen as if it was what was being stabbed. Kisame watched as Obito’s eyes rolled back into his skull, blood pouring from his mouth and nose like a broken dam. The Shinigami’s tongue flicked out, tasting the metallic tang in the air as it’s hand stabbed into Zetsu, latching onto something that made the plant-like creature scream—a sound like tearing roots and snapping branches. Kisame scrambled further backwards, Samehada trembling in his grip as it hissed greedily at the raw chakra bleeding into the air. The Death God’s claws tightened around Zetsu’s writhing form, beads clattering like a death rattle before ripping it out, pulling it through Obito’s body as it retracted its arm free, a seal forming on Obito’s abdomen where the arm had been stabbed through. The Shinigami’s jaws unhinged, swallowing Zetsu’s and Obito’s souls whole with a wet, tearing crunch. Kisame choked on the sudden silence, the air thick with the smell of ozone and decay. Obito swayed, convulsing, his Sharingan fading to dull crimson as blood pooled beneath him. The Shinigami turned its hollow gaze toward Kisame, beads swaying. "The toll is paid," it rasped, tongue flicking over jagged teeth. "Goodbye." Was the last thing the Shinigami said before vanishing, leaving Kisame alone with Obito’s corpse and the echoing emptiness where Zetsu had been.

Kisame lunged forward, catching Obito’s body before it hit the damp earth. The weight was startlingly light—like hollowed-out driftwood. Blood soaked through Kisame’s cloak where Obito’s abdomen had been torn open by the Shinigami’s spectral hand, the wound sealed now by a jagged, ink-black curse mark. Samehada shuddered against his back, its scales rasping hungrily at the residual chakra still crackling in the air—ozone and iron and something ancient, like upturned grave soil.

Kisame doesn’t know how long he stared at Obito, trying to process everything he had just witnessed. The Shinigami’s departure left behind a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint drip of blood from Obito’s lips onto the forest floor. The Shinigami was real, Kisame thought, his mind reeling. He had just seen a god. Kisame gently laid Obito’s body down, his fingers brushing against the cold, cursed seal on Obito’s abdomen—a permanent reminder of the price paid. Samehada’s scales rattled softly against his back, sensing his turmoil. Kisame’s gaze drifted to the spot where Zetsu’s body seemed to be disintegrating. Centuries of manipulation, undone in seconds. He felt no triumph, only a hollow ache. Obito had been a pawn, just like him.

He stared for a long, long, long, long moment, unsure what to do when Obito’s body convulsed and his eyes snapped open as he sat up with a jerk as if he had been electrocuted. Kisame stumbled back, Samehada instinctively unsheathed halfway as Obito gasped—a raw, wet sound—his hand flying to the cursed seal on his abdomen. It pulsed with sickly purple light before fading to bruised, necrotic skin.

Obito looked confused for about five seconds before he started cackling like a madman. Kisame stared at him, Samehada still half-drawn. The laughter echoed unnervingly through the silent forest, raw and jagged. "I'm alive?" Obito gasped between wheezes, pressing trembling fingers against the necrotic seal mark as it slowly disappeared. "That bastard Shinigami forgot to ask what fucking clan I belong to!”

Kisame lowered Samehada slowly. “Explain. Now.”

Obito wiped blood from his chin, still grinning wildly. “Kisame, my friend, have you ever heard of chakra adoption?” He tapped his abdomen where the seal had disappeared. “I was adopted into the Uzumaki clan before I was thirteen. My soul belongs to them—not the Shinigami. That rotting bastard tore Zetsu out, but it couldn’t claim *me*, not unless I gave my soul to him willingly.” He laughed again, hoarse and triumphant. “And I never did.” He fell back, looking up at the sky, mumbling to himself. “I wonder if the records ever got updated about the eye situation. That if the owner of the eyes takes them out nothing will happen?” He whispered to himself, and Kisame ignored it, he didn’t want to think about eyes being ripped out of sockets.

He stared at Obito, he was still laying in the pool of his own blood, grinning up at the sky like a lunatic. Kisame's grip tightened on Samehada. "Chakra adoption?" The concept sounded like something out of a drunken tavern tale. "You're telling me you're... Uzumaki?"

Obito pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing as dried blood cracked on his skin. "Adopted, Kisame. Soul-bound. That rotting Death God couldn't claim what belongs to Kushina's clan." He tapped his abdomen where the necrotic seal had vanished completely, leaving only smooth, pale skin. "Zetsu's gone. Really gone. His soul is digesting in that bastard's belly right now."

Kisame stared at the spot where the Shinigami had stood, the air still thick with ozone and the metallic tang of spilled blood. Samehada stirred against his back, humming faintly at the lingering traces of Uzumaki chakra—wild and deep as an ocean trench.

His gaze turns to Obito’s grinning face, noticing the subtle differences in Uchiha features: sharper teeth, fox-like pupils, and stuff like that he hadn’t noticed before.

Kisame stared for a moment longer before setting down Samehada with deliberate care. He crouched beside Obito, his shark-like eyes tracing the subtle shifts in his companion's features—the unnatural sharpness of teeth revealed in Obito's grin, the faint vertical slit bisecting his iris where the Sharingan once burned.

He stairs for a moment longer before deciding fuck it, looming over the man he just watched die and come back. Kisame’s fingers close around Obito’s throat, not squeezing— but pressing just enough to feel the frantic pulse beneath clammy skin, and he swears he sees that flash— a shine swirling through Obito’s eye of purple and red like spilled ink catching light— he’d been seeing flashes of the entire fight in between them and Zetsu ever since he first hit the plate and ripped out a creature of its flesh. But Kisame ignored it, and pulled the shorter man into a kiss.

Obito froze— Kisame’s lips were rough, chapped from wind and battle, tasting of salt and iron. Then he melted into it, fingers tangling in Kisame’s sweat damp hair. They broke apart, breathing ragged. "You," Kisame rasped, voice raw, "are a fucking nightmare."

Obito grinned, sharp teeth glinting. "And you kissed me anyway."

Kisame snorted, releasing Obito's throat. "Don't flatter yourself." He scanned the clearing—Zetsu's corpse lay nearby, already decaying into black sludge. Samehada shuddered against his back, reacting to the lingering Uzumaki chakra clinging to Obito like ozone after a storm. Kisame frowned. "Your eye... that shine. What is it?"

Obito’s grin instantly disappeared, and he turned a lovely shade of lobster red. "I— Kisame, that was—" He stammered, fingers instinctively touching his lips where Kisame’s rough kiss still burned. "That’s not— I mean—" He trailed off, utterly flustered. Kisame watched him flounder with detached amusement.

“Look, we didn’t have many Uchiha in Kiri, maybe like three, and they were all bastard children,” Kisame said, leaning against Samehada’s form. His shark-like eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “But I heard rumors—something about their eyes changing colors when they’re obsessed.” He paused, studying Obito’s flushed face. “Is that what this is? Purple and red swirling like spilled ink?”

Obito froze mid-stammer, his fingers dropping from his lips. The panic in his eye shifted into something guarded, almost vulnerable. He turned away, staring at the place where Zetsu had vanished. “It’s… complicated,” he muttered, voice tight. “The Shine happens when an obsession locks into place. Like a gear clicking.” He traced the edge of his sleeve. “It’s not just attraction. It’s… survival instinct. We fixate on strength because weakness can destroyed what we love.”

Kisame tilted his head, Samehada humming softly against his back. “So that purple-red glitter in your eyes? That’s you deciding I won’t break?” He snorted. “Bit late for that, Obito. I saw you die five minutes ago.”

Obito’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around. “It’s not about *you* not breaking,” he whispered, the words raw. “It’s about… believing you *could* break stuff. That you have the power to shatter everything.” He finally glanced back, cheeks flushing a brighter red. The purple-red Shine pulsed faintly in his eye. “Like… like ripping Zetsu’s arm off with Samehada…”

Kisame’s grin widened, sharp teeth gleaming. “So my strength turned on your Uchiha wiring?” He pushed off Samehada, stepping closer until their boots nearly touched. “And that kiss? Did it… lock the obsession in place?” His voice dropped, rough with curiosity.

Obito suddenly felt like a rabbit pinned under a hawk's gaze where he still sat on the forest floor. Kisame's closeness—the scent of ozone and damp earth clinging to him—made Obito's pulse spike. He swallowed hard, fingers digging into the moss beneath him. "Lock it?" His voice cracked slightly. "No. The Shine... it's… it’s automatic.”

Kisame’s shark-like grin widened, predatory and fascinated. He crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face level with Obito’s. “Automatic?” His tone was low, amused. “So every time I ripped Zetsu apart back there—” He mimed tearing flesh with his hands. “— you got a little… *flash*?” The purple-red Shine flared brighter in Obito’s eye as Kisame spoke, pulsing like captured starlight. Obito flinched, turning his face away, but Kisame caught his chin with rough, calloused fingers. “Don’t look away.” His thumb brushed Obito’s cheekbone, tracing the flush there. “Tell me what it feels like.”

Obito’s breath hitched. The contact sent a jolt through him—part fear, part electric thrill. “It’s… like static,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Under the skin. Warm. And… loud.” He swallowed. “Everything else gets… quiet.” Kisame’s proximity, the scent of blood and ozone clinging to him, the sheer *presence* of him—it all narrowed Obito’s world down to this moment, this man who could break mountains.

Kisame chuckled, a deep rumble vibrating through Obito’s jawbone. “Loud, huh?” His thumb pressed harder against Obito’s cheek, forcing his head back slightly. The Shine flared again, violently bright, painting Kisame’s shark-like features in eerie purple-red light. “Is it loud now?” Obito nodded mutely, his pulse hammering against Kisame’s fingers. “Good.” Kisame leaned closer, his breath hot against Obito’s lips. “Tell me what you want.”

The question hung in the air, thick with ozone and the metallic tang of Zetsu’s remains. Obito’s mind raced—safety? Power? Control?—but the Shine burned it all away, leaving only instinct. “You,” he rasped, the word scraping raw from his throat. “To see you… break things.” Kisame’s grin turned feral. He released Obito’s chin only to grab his wrist, hauling him upright with terrifying ease. Obito stumbled, the world tilting as he collided with Kisame’s chest. The shark-man’s free hand slid under Obito’s torn shirt, calloused fingers tracing his ribs. Obito shuddered, the touch igniting phantom sparks beneath his skin.

“Break *what*, exactly?” Kisame murmured against his temple, breath hot and damp. His thumb pressed into the dip above Obito’s hipbone—a silent threat. Obito’s breath hitched. The Shine pulsed, painting Kisame’s face in violent violet and crimson. “Everything,” Obito gasped. “Mountains. Nations. Gods.” He tilted his head back, baring his throat. “*Me*.” Kisame’s laugh vibrated through them both, low and approving. His teeth grazed Obito’s jawline. “Starting with *you*.”

Kisame’s laugh rumbled through Obito’s chest—dark, delighted. “Careful, little Uchiha. You’re playing with hurricanes.” His teeth grazed Obito’s jaw again. “But I like your ambition.”

—————————————

(Warning!! Warning!! Warning!! Warning!! Warning!! Warning!!: Talks about children forced into marriage and consummation and under age pregnancy!! Warning!! Warning!! Warning!! Warning!! Warning!! Warning!!)

A couple hours later, and after finally finding a village and ignoring the questions about why are both of them covered in blood, Obito found himself being pinned down to an Inn bed, Kisame’s teeth sinking into his shoulder. Obito hissed, arching off the mattress as Kisame’s rough hands ripped away the last shreds of his shirt. “Hurricanes?” Obito gasped, clawing at Kisame’s back. “Try… fucking tsunamis.” Kisame chuckled against Obito’s collarbone, the vibration rattling Obito’s bones. “Tsunamis drown,” Kisame murmured, biting down harder. Obito cried out—sharp, jagged—before dissolving into breathless laughter. “Drown me then.”

Kisame’s hand slid down Obito’s hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh above his thigh. Obito shuddered as Kisame leaned in. “You want to see me break mountains?” Kisame’s voice was gravel, low and dangerous. Obito nodded frantically, his breath catching. “Nations?” Another nod, desperate. “Gods?” Obito’s hips jerked off the bed. “Yes.” Kisame’s thumb traced the jut of Obito’s hipbone. “And you?” Kisame pressed down, his weight crushing Obito into the mattress. “You want me to break you?” Obito’s eye flared—purple-red light swirling like spilled ink catching fire. “Break me,” Obito whispered, raw and broken. “Break me until I forget my own name.”

Kisame’s teeth sank deeper into Obito’s shoulder, drawing blood. Obito gasped, arching into the pain. Kisame’s free hand tangled in Obito’s hair, yanking his head back. “Look at me.” Obito’s gaze locked onto Kisame’s shark-like eyes. The Shine pulsed brighter, illuminating the sweat-slick planes of Kisame’s face. “This obsession,” Kisame growled, his breath hot against Obito’s throat. “It’s a noose.” Obito’s laugh was ragged. “Then hang me with it.”

Kisame’s hand slid lower, fingers digging into the muscle of Obito’s thigh. He pressed down, grinding Obito into the thin mattress. The inn’s wooden frame groaned under their weight. Obito shuddered, his nails raking bloody furrows down Kisame’s back. “Show me,” Obito demanded, voice cracking. “Show me the storm.” Kisame’s lips curled. “You asked for drowning.” He shifted, pinning Obito’s wrists above his head. Obito struggled—not to escape, but to feel the restraint tighten. Kisame leaned close, teeth grazing Obito’s ear. “Beg for it.”

Obito’s breath hitched. The Shine flared violently in his eye—a whirlpool of violet and crimson. “Break me,” he whispered. “Until I’m nothing but *yours*.” Kisame’s laugh was low, predatory. He bit down again, this time on Obito’s collarbone. Pain bloomed sharp and bright. Obito cried out, arching against Kisame’s hold. Blood welled, dark and slick. Kisame licked the wound, tasting salt and iron. “Good,” he murmured. “Now scream louder.”

Obito did so. He let out a loud, shuddering moan when Kisame’s teeth ripped deeper into his flesh, the sound echoing off the inn’s thin walls. Blood trickled down his collarbone, pooling on the stained sheets beneath them. Kisame’s hand tightened around Obito’s wrists, grinding bone against bone. “Louder,” Kisame commanded, his voice a guttural rasp. Obito obeyed, his cry sharpening into a ragged scream as Kisame’s free hand slid down, fingers digging into the fresh bite mark. The pain was electric—a white-hot current that fused with the dizzying swirl of the Shine in Obito’s eye.

Kisame watched the colors intensify—violet and crimson bleeding together like spilled ink. He leaned in, his lips brushing Obito’s ear. “You want mountains shattered?” he whispered. Obito nodded frantically, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Nations drowned?” Another nod, desperate. “Gods broken?” Obito’s breath was a broken rasp, unable to find his words, he craned his neck, going to bite down on Kisame’s shoulder just like Kisame did to him, when the man moved back, avoiding the bite. Kisame’s laugh was low, predatory. “Watch it.” His hand slid lower, fingers wrapping around Obito’s throat, pressing just enough to blur vision.

Obito made a ragged, confused noise at Kisame pulling away from him. He licked his lips, trying to get his thoughts back in order. “Y-you— you don’t like b-being bit?” He asked, his voice cracking as he took a deep breath, the scars on his right side stretching tight in his chest. He’s kind of disappointed Kisame didn’t let him bite him.

Kisame’s eyes narrowed slightly. He leaned back in, his breath hot against Obito’s skin. “I like biting,” he corrected, his tone darkly amused. “But… having you bite me is different.” He pressed a thumb against Obito’s lower lip, forcing it down to expose sharp teeth. “Biting a Hoshigaki… it’s not just teeth meeting skin.” His gaze flicked down to Obito’s neck, where his own bite-mark still bled sluggishly. “It’s a claim. A vow. A promise written in blood and scar tissue.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “For my clan, marriage isn’t about love or children. It’s survival. Protection. We bind ourselves to those strong enough to pierce our hide, strong enough to stand beside us against the deep’s darkness. And we wear their mark… proudly.” His thumb traced the edge of Obito’s jawline. “Visible. Always visible. So the world knows who holds the power to break us… and who we’ve chosen to guard our backs.”

Obito blinks a couple times, still trying to come out of the fog of pain-pleasure. Kisame's words sink in slowly, like stones dropped into deep water. A vow…? … Marriage? He stares at Kisame for a moment longer until what the shark-man had said fully click. He squeaks— actually fucking squeaks!— raising his knees to his chest to slam them shut as flashes of Kakashi and Rin flash through his mind. What the fuck is he doing? Shining for someone when Kakashi is somewhere out there and Rin is buried in Konoha’s soil! Oh, god, Rin! Kakashi! He’s betraying Rin! He’s betraying Kakashi! He feels sick! He’s—

Kisame sees the panic flood Obito’s eyes, the sudden recoil, the way his knees slam shut. He feels the shift instantly – the frantic pulse under his skin, the sharp intake of breath that isn’t arousal but terror. A low growl rumbles in Kisame’s chest, vibrating against Obito’s pinned wrist. "Stop." Kisame leans down, his shark-like teeth inches from Obito’s face, his breath hot and smelling faintly of saltwater and iron. "I don’t know what your thinking about, but stop it."

Obito flinches, trying to twist away, panicking. He was panicking. All he could think about was Kakashi and Rin, who he was betraying by being here, by letting Kisame do this to him, by Shining for Kisame. He shouldn’t be Shining for Kisame! He shouldn’t be Shining for anyone! Rin was dead! Kakashi was— Kakashi was Kakashi! He was betraying Kakashi! He was betraying Rin! He was—

“HEY! Breathe!” Kisame barks, shaking Obito roughly. The panic doesn’t fade; it sharpens into jagged gasps. Rin’s smile flashes behind Obito’s eyelids. Kakashi’s cold stare. Betrayal coils thick in his throat. He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t crave Kisame’s teeth, his strength, the terrifying promise of being shattered. The Shine pulses violently in his eye, purple-red light spilling onto Kisame’s face like spilled ink catching fire. It’s a physical ache, this obsession warring with guilt.

Kisame’s grip tightens, hauling Obito upright. “Look at me.” His voice drops, rough and deliberate. “Not them. Me.” He presses their foreheads together, forcing eye contact. “Your ghosts don’t own you anymore. I don’t know what’s going on in that Uchiha head of yours, but you need to breath. Come on, stop holding your breath.” Obito’s chest hitches, air scraping in. The Shine flickers, casting eerie shadows across Kisame’s shark-like features. “Good. Again.”

Obito trembles, shame burning through him. “They’d hate me,” he rasps. “Rin… Kakashi… I’m—” he shuddered, unable to finish. Kisame’s thumb brushes the fresh bite mark on Obito’s shoulder, drawing a sharp gasp. “I’m sorry— I-I— I should have s-said something be-before we got here— I’m— I’m sorry— I’ve sh-shined for— for two others— when-when-when I was a k-kid—”

Kisame’s shark-like grin returns, worries still etching its way onto his face as he continues to watch Obito panic. “So?” He leans closer, breath hot against Obito’s ear. “You think Hoshigaki cares about secret partners? You said they came before me, right, so why would I care?” His thumb digs into the bite mark again, not cruel, but grounding. “Focus. You’re here. With me. Breathing.” He pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto Obito’s swirling purple-red shine. “Who were they? Names.”

Obito swallows hard, the taste of panic still sharp on his tongue. The command slices through the panic haze. “K-Kakashi Hatake,” he whispers, shame thick in his voice. “And Rin Nohara.” The names feel like ash in his mouth. “When I was nine. Before… everything.” He flinches, expecting disgust, mockery. Kisame just nods, a low hum vibrating in his chest. “Hatake… The Copy Ninja? Interesting.” His gaze sharpens. “And the girl? She’s the one who passed?” Obito nods mutely, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

Kisame’s thumb strokes the bleeding bite mark almost thoughtfully. “Okay,” he breathes, the word rough but lacking judgment. His gaze doesn’t waver from the frantic purple-red whirlpool in Obito’s eye. “You want the Copy Ninja? Okay, we can find him, drag him kicking and screaming into whatever mess we’re making.” He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “But the girl? She’s gone. Dust. You can’t betray dust, Obito. You can only carry it.” His hands grasp Obito’s jaw, forcing stillness. “But, right now, it’s you and me, we’ll find your Copy Nin, but the ghost, my clan can see ghosts aura, but we can’t bring her back. So stop drowning in ghosts.”

Obito’s breath hitches. Kisame’s words land like physical blows, stripping away layers of tangled grief. Rin *was* gone. Truly gone. The frantic guilt over betraying her memory felt… hollow suddenly, exposed. He stares into Kisame’s shark-like eyes, searching for mockery, finding only stark pragmatism. The panic recedes, leaving behind a raw, aching exhaustion. His shoulders slump slightly under Kisame’s grip. “I… I know,” he rasps, the admission scraping his throat. “It’s just… Kakashi…” The name hangs heavy, laden with years of misplaced hatred and unresolved pain. He hadn’t just lost Rin that day; he’d lost Kakashi too. And now Kisame was offering to… to what? Drag Kakashi into *this*? Whatever *this* was becoming?

Kisame’s thumb presses harder against the bite mark, a possessive anchor. “Hatake Kakashi,” he states flatly, tasting the name. “The Ghost of Konoha. Heard stories. Fast. Clever. Annoying.” A grin flickers across his face. “The man of over a thousand mastered jutsus. Good. Makes breaking him more satisfying.” His gaze sharpens, predatory. “Tell me where he nests, little Uchiha-Uzumaki. We’ll hunt him. Drag him out of whatever shadow he’s hiding in.” He leans closer, his breath hot against Obito’s ear. “And when we find him? I’ll show you what shattering a legend looks like. Piece by piece. Until he’s *yours* again.”

Obito’s breath hitched, the thought of hurting Kakashi making him want to be sick. Kisame’s possessive grip tightened. "No,” Obito choked out, shaking his head violently. “Not like that. Never like that. He’s… he’s mine to protect. Not break.”

Kisame chuckled, low and dangerous. “Protect? From what? Me?” His thumb dug deeper into the bite mark, drawing a sharp gasp. “Too late for that, little fox. You Shined for him. That means he’s tangled in your web whether he likes it or not.” He leaned back slightly, studying Obito’s panicked expression. “Fine. No shattering. Yet.” His grin widened, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “But he belongs to you. And you belong to me. That makes him *mine* too. Indirectly. We’ll find him. See what state he’s in. Decide then.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no— no, Kashi’s already broken,” Obito rasped, fingers digging into Kisame’s wrist. The panic wasn’t fading; it was crystallizing into something jagged and cold. “You can’t hurt him, other people have already done that— he’s— he’s already shattered.” His Sharingan spun wildly, replaying Kakashi’s hollow stare after Rin’s death, the way he’d carved his father’s name onto the Memorial Stone with trembling hands. “He’s *mine* to put back together after— after what they did to him. Oh god, Kisame, the old council of the village tried to marry him off when his dad killed himself when he was six! SIX! And they were trying to marry him off! Because he’s the last of his clan! Tried to force him to have consummation sex to get knocked up when he was like eleven because he is the last of his clan! And I’m pretty sure the old council got the consummation thing to happen like three times before it stopped, and the person he had to do it with was like seventeen or something like that and he was eleven, and Kashi’s trans so-so-so it would’ve been-would’ve been him getting pregnant at eleven! And it had happened, b-but-but there was a miscarriage—” Obito started rambling, saying anything and everything he knew about Kakashi that would convince Kisame not to break Kakashi. He rambled, and rambled, and rambled, and rambled, and rambled, throwing in please not to hurt him every time his breath stuttered until Kisame— surprisingly gently— placed a massive hand over his mouth.

Kisame was looking off to the side, had been looking off to the side since he mentioned the attempted marriage at six, the consummation shit, the miscarriage at eleven. His shark-like features were utterly still—unnaturally still—and his gills fluttered in shallow, rapid pulses. The hand over Obito's mouth wasn't just silencing him; it was trembling. Kisame’s knuckles were white where they pressed against Obito’s jaw.

"Stop," Kisame said, his voice low, gravelly, thick with something Obito had never heard before—not anger, not disgust. Horror. Pure, distilled horror. Kisame’s eyes, when they finally slid back to Obito’s, were wide, the pupils contracted into pinpricks. "Just... stop talking." He removed his hand slowly, as if afraid Obito might shatter. "Konoha did *that* to him? To a child? To *your*..." He trailed off, the word 'obsession' hanging unspoken but heavy between them. Kisame’s jaw worked silently for a moment before he spat onto the Inn’s floor, a violent, visceral rejection. "Monsters. Worse than me."

Obito flinched at the venom. He hadn’t expected this. Kisame Hoshigaki, the tailless tailed beast, trembling? It felt wrong. Alien. He breathed in once, twice, three times before it hitched and fifteen plus years of anger, sadness, horror, and grief spilled out. He curled inward, arms wrapping around Kisame as if the shark man was the only thing holding him together as violent sobs tore through him. Each gasp echoed Kisame’s disgust. Monsters. Worse than Kisame. Worse than Zetsu. Worse than Madara. Konoha. His Konoha. His Kakashi. His Kakashi who’d been— “please,” he choked out against Kisame’s chest, the scent of ozone and saltwater sharp in his nose. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s been hurt enough.”

Kisame didn’t push him away. Instead, one large, calloused hand settled hesitantly on Obito’s back, the other cupping the back of his head. The touch was awkward, unpracticed, but grounding. “Hurting him isn’t the plan,” Kisame murmured, his voice rough but quieter now, the earlier fury banked into something colder, more dangerous. “Hurting *them* is.” Obito felt the low rumble in Kisame’s chest vibrate against his own. “The ones who did it. The ones who let it happen.” His fingers tightened slightly in Obito’s hair. “He’s yours. That means his pain is mine too. And Hoshigaki don’t forget debts owed.”

——————————————

It’s been about two weeks since Obito told him about Kakashi. Kisame hasn’t stopped thinking about it.

They had left sound country, and crossed hot water country again, heading towards Kiri.

Kisame had to talk to his father, his clan, about Kakashi Hatake. About what Konoha had done. The Hoshigaki weren't gentle, weren't soft, but they understood strength forged in suffering. They understood *sacrifice*. What had been done to Kakashi wasn't sacrifice; it was desecration. Kisame's jaw clenched as he walked beside Obito through the dense, mist-shrouded forests bordering Hot Water Country, the damp air clinging to his skin like a second layer. He could still feel the phantom tremor that had run through him when Obito had choked out the truth – the tempted forced marriages, the consummations, the miscarriage. A child treated like breeding stock. It curdled something deep inside Kisame, a visceral disgust that surprised even him. Violence was his trade, cruelty a familiar tool, but *this*… this was a rot that needed cutting out.

He took a deep breath, forcing him to stay calm so he could focus on what he wanted to talk about Obito with now. Kisame glanced sideways at Obito, walking beside him through the dripping forests bordering Hot Water Country. The mist clung to Obito’s dark hair, slicking it against his temples.

“… Obito?” Kisame breathe out his name, loud enough for Obito to hear him over the dripping forest mist. Obito’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide and wary. Kisame didn’t look away. “… I want you to bite me…” he said it slowly, deliberately, testing the words. “… Like I bit you…” Kisame’s voice was low, rough, but utterly serious. “… Claim me…” He stopped walking, turning fully to face Obito. The mist curled around them, muffling sound, isolating them in the damp gloom. “… Make me yours…” Kisame’s shark-like teeth gleamed faintly in the dim light as he spoke. “… Bind me to you… with teeth and blood… the way Hoshigaki do…”

Obito froze. His breath hitched audibly. The mist seemed to thicken, pressing in. Kisame didn’t move, didn’t blink. He just waited, his gaze locked on Obito’s face, watching the play of shock, confusion, and a dawning, terrifying understanding flicker across that single eye. The purple-red shine Kisame had seen swirling within them earlier seemed to pulse faintly now, reacting to the intensity of the moment. Obito’s hand twitched at his side. “… Kisame…” Obito’s voice was barely a whisper, strained. “… You… you—”

“If you bite me, my clan will have to do something about your Kakashi because of him being yours, making him mine by extension,” Kisame pressed, stepping closer through the damp mist. His voice dropped to a growl, low and urgent. “But… if you bite me, you’ll need to know that I also have someone else, someone else like you have your Kakashi. Someone… strong.” Kisame’s shark-like grin widened, sharp teeth glinting. “Someone who broke me first. He just never bite before disappearing.” He leaned down to be face-to-face with Obito, holding his hand up to Obito’s mouth— the part in between his thumb and pointer finger. “So, if you can live with the Demon Of The Mist, Zabuza Momochi, as one of our mates when I finally find him again… bite. Teeth bind bloodlines. Make the claim, Obito. Seal it. Right here. Make it deep.”

Obito’s breath hitched. Kisame’s words echoed—Zabuza Momochi, the name alone conjuring images of Kirigakure’s bloody mist and a sword larger than most men. The thought of sharing Kisame with another predator, another force of nature, sent a thrill through him. His lips parted, trembling slightly. He hesitated only a heartbeat longer, then lunged forward. His teeth sank deep into the thick flesh between Kisame’s thumb and forefinger, tasting iron and salt. Blood welled instantly, dark and rich, dripping onto the moss-covered forest floor. Obito bit down harder, grinding bone, sealing the Hoshigaki ritual with ferocious intent. A low, possessive rumble escaped his throat—half snarl, half vow.

Kisame didn’t flinch. Just watched, eyes sharp and approving, as Obito tore into his hand. Blood flowed freely, staining Obito’s chin, dripping onto the damp earth between their feet. "Good," Kisame rasped, voice thick with satisfaction. He pulled his hand back slowly, examining the deep, ragged puncture wounds. Obito panted. The taste of Kisame’s blood—salty, potent, alive—lingered on his tongue, a tangible claim settling into his bones. *Mine. Ours.*

————————————————

It didn’t take them long to get to Kiri after that, a week and a half, maybe an extra day, neither Kisame or Obito had really been paying attention to how long it had taken to get to the border of Kiri, until they actually got to the border and had to sneak in.

The sneaking in was as easy as ever, and Kiri is literally supposed to be run like a military base when it comes to Shinobi, but Kisame knew every crack, every blind spot, every shift change. He moved through the mist like a ghost, Obito a silent shadow at his heels, the thick fog swallowing their footsteps whole.

It didn’t take long to get to the Hoshigaki compound, and it was just as easy to get into the gated off area. 

The Hoshigaki compound wasn’t actually in Kiri, the Hoshigaki weren’t actually a Kiri clan, they lived outside the eastern border of Kiri, but it was just easier to walk through Kiri then walk around the entirety of the village gates.

The entire Hoshigaki compound was put on stilts, water sloshing against the wooden pillars with stone slab separated a few inches apart as pathways and bridges connecting each building. Kisame walked through the misty compound with Obito trailing behind him, the air thick with salt and the faint scent of fish. Kisame’s steps were heavy, purposeful, echoing against the wet wood.

Kisame easily navigated their way to the main house—a sprawling structure perched on thick stilts above the churning water. He slid open the heavy wooden door without knocking, stepping into the warm, humid air scented with brine and simmering kelp. Obito followed, his Sharingan instinctively scanning the dim interior—low tables, woven reed mats, and weapons mounted on walls. Kisame’s family sat clustered near a sunken hearth: Drakon Hoshigaki, massive and imposing, sharpening a tanto; Kiyomi beside him, her fingers deftly mending a net; Daisuke and Karasu playing shogi; Rika stirring a pot over the flames; Kasumi polishing a shark-tooth necklace. All heads turned. Silence fell, thick as the mist outside.

Kisame purposely waves with the hand Obito bit, the deep puncture marks stark against his skin. And in an instant the three women in the room screamed as if they had won the lottery, Kasumi dropping her necklace, Rika abandoning her pot, Kiyomi throwing her net aside. They surged forward, crowding Kisame, fingers prodding the bite mark, voices overlapping in a chorus of excitement. "Who?!" Kiyomi demanded, her eyes wide. "Is it Zabuza? Did he finally—?" Kisame shook his head, a grin splitting his face as he jerked a thumb towards Obito, who stood frozen near the doorway, shifting nervously under the sudden scrutiny behind him. "Him. Obito.”

Drakon rose slowly, his massive frame casting a shadow. He approached Obito, his shark-like eyes narrowed. "An Uchiha?" he rumbled, his gaze lingering on Obito's Sharingan, then drifting to the faint red highlights shimmering in Obito's dark hair. “Not full Uchiha.” He sniffed the air. “Smells like the Mizukage’s boy. So part Uzumaki too.”

Kiyomi circled Obito, her fingers brushing his jawline. “Sharp teeth,” she murmured approvingly. “Fox-sharp. And those eyes… cat-slit pupils. Definitely Uzumaki mixed in.” She tilted his chin toward the light. “But the bone structure… Uchiha doll-face beneath the fox angles. Interesting blend.”

Daisuke and Karasu followed Drakon, their gazes tracing the scars that marked the entire right side of Obito's body—the legacy of his sacrifice for Kakashi, but it’s not like any of these people know. “He's been through hell," Karasu murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "Look at those scars. Survived something vicious." Drakon grunted, a sound like grinding stones. "Strength leaves marks. Good." His massive hand clapped Obito's shoulder, making him stagger. "You bit my son. That makes you ours now. Welcome to the clan, boy."

Obito blinked a couple times, regaining his balance as he looked from the hand to the man it’s attached to. In an instant his entire body went pink.

“AWWWWWWWWWWW!” Rika clapped her hands together, delighted. “Kisame’s got a cutie that blushes!” She pinched Obito’s cheek, ignoring his flinch as she pushed his bottom lip down to reveal sharp teeth that start from the canines and go back. “Look at those sharp little teeth! And those eyes! Oh, he’s practically *made* for biting!”

Kasumi leaned in, her grin widening. "Oh, he's definitely Uzumaki-touched. Those teeth? That fox-slit gaze?" She tapped Obito's chin. "Who adopted you, boy? And when? You smell like Uzumaki, but not like a hybrid."

Obito stuttered, pulling his face away from Rika’s proving fingers. “Uhhh… my— A person to do my chakra adoption was-was the late Hime of the Uzumaki clan. Kushina Uzumaki, the Red Hot-Blooded Habanero of Konoha. And— I was thirteen when she did it. She was my foster mom.”

Kasumi whistled low. “Kushina? Damn, boy. You got adopted by a legend.” She ruffled his hair, ignoring his squawk. “Explains why you’re still breathing after Kisame dragged you here.”

Kisame whistled, walking further into the house. “Hey, Pops, I need to talk to you.” His arm brushed his father’s shoulder. “Important clan stuff.” Drakon’s eyes sharpened instantly. He nodded, gesturing towards a sliding door leading to a private study. Kisame glanced back at Obito, who was being bombarded with questions by Kasumi about Uzumaki sealing techniques. “Don’t break him, mom. I just claimed him.”

“Oh, we won’t *break* him,” Rika purred, tracing the edge of Obito’s jaw. “Just… inspect thoroughly.”

Kisame watch them until he turned a corner and couldn’t see them anymore. He sighed softly. He glanced sideways towards his father. Drakon raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging between them. Kisame’s jaw tightened. "You’re not going to like this, Pops, not one bit." He muttered, pushing open the door to the study. The scent of old paper and ink washed over them.

Drakon settled heavily onto a worn cushion behind a low desk, fingers, tracing the pipe that was sat neatly beside a stack of papers. "Out with it, boy. Important clan stuff doesn’t usually involve bringing home stray Uchiha-Uzumaki hybrids." His tone was gruff, but his eyes held genuine concern.

Kisame— very purposely— sat himself down gently, placing his hands on his father’s desk as he finally let’s all of the anger and horror he felt spill out. His voice was low, gravelly, thick with disgust. "Okay… let’s start at the beginning.” He paused, gathering himself. “ Both of us understand vicarious— Extensions of the relationship, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah partner’s a partner had before biting a Hoshigaki, also becomes the Hoshigaki’s responsibility.” Kisame’s eyes hardened, the pupils contracting. “Obito’s previous partner… Kakashi Hatake. The Ghost of Konoha.” He leaned forward, knuckles whitening. “Dad… Konoha did things to him. Things that make my gut churn.” He spat the words out like poison.

Drakon’s expression remained impassive, but his fingers tightened around his pipe. “Define ‘things’, Kisame.”

Kisame rubbed his face roughly, taking a deep breath as he stared out the window overlooking the mist-shrouded Land of water. He stayed silent for a moment longer before slowly leaning back, before deciding to just rip it off like a band-Aid. Spending the next fifteen minutes telling his father all the rambles he was able to dissect from Obito’s panicked ranting—the attempted marriages that started at six after his father committed suicide, the forced consummations starting at eleven, the miscarriage, the council’s cold insistence on breeding Kakashi like livestock solely because he was the last Hatake. Kisame’s voice remained low and controlled, but the tremor in his hands betrayed the fury simmering beneath the surface. He described Kakashi’s shattered state, the way Obito clung to the hope of putting him back together, and finished with Obito’s desperate plea: *‘Please don’t hurt him. He’s been hurt enough.’*

Drakon listened without interruption, his expression hardening into granite. When Kisame finished, the silence in the study was thick enough to choke on. The older Hoshigaki’s gills flared once, twice, a sharp intake of breath. "Konoha," he finally growled, the word dripping with venomous disbelief. "They did this? To a child? To a *clan heir*?" His fist slammed onto the heavy oak desk, making the inkwell rattle. "This isn't negligence, Kisame. This is calculated cruelty. Monstrous." His gaze, sharp as a harpoon, locked onto his son’s. "And Obito… he *bears* this? The weight of that boy’s suffering?"

Kisame nodded curtly. "Like It’s fused to his bones, Pops. Worse than any wound I’ve ever seen. He sees Kakashi’s pain as his own failure. His obsession isn’t just possession; it’s… penance." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the image of Obito’s tear-streaked face burned into his mind. "He begged me not to add to it. Not to break Kakashi further.”

Drakon’s nostrils flared, a low, rumbling sound escaping his throat like distant thunder. "Break him?" The words were a snarl. "That boy was shattered before he could understand what breaking meant." He pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping harshly against stone. "This changes things, Kisame. Radically. An Uchiha Obsession solidified *toward you* is a weapon beyond price… but tethered to a victim of Konoha’s rot?" He paced to the window, staring into the swirling mist as if seeing ghosts. "Obito’s pain *is* Kakashi’s pain. And Kakashi’s pain…" He turned, his eyes like chips of obsidian. "...is a debt Konoha owes *us* now. Through Obito. Through you."

Kisame felt the weight of that declaration settle over him. It wasn’t just vengeance anymore; it was a clan matter. "So, we hunt the architects?" he asked, the familiar predatory grin twisting his lips. "The council worms who orchestrated it?"

Drakon’s answering smile was colder than Kiri’s deepest trenches. "Eventually. But first, we secure the asset." He tapped a thick finger against the fogged glass. "This Kakashi Hatake. Where is he now?"

Kisame sighed, smile slipping. “From what I know he’s not been in Konoha for the past year or so. Maybe he went rogue? Maybe he’s on a mission? Obito doesn’t know either.”

Drakon’s eyes narrowed. “Find him,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Before Konoha buries him deeper or breaks him beyond even your little Uchiha’s capacity to reassemble. A Hatake, alone… is vulnerable prey.” He turned fully from the window, his imposing frame casting a long shadow. “And Kisame? Bring him *here*. The Hoshigaki owes no allegiance to Konoha’s filth. Within our walls, under our protection, he becomes leverage. A living testament to their crimes.”

Kisame stared at his father for a long, long moment, reluctant to drop the bombshell Obito had told him. “I… if you want him here, I might have to drag him here.” He admits, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. “He’s not just a Hatake… he’s a… Hatake-Uzumaki hybrid. Not by chakra adoption, from what Obito has told me, his father was a Hatake and his mother was a Uzumaki. And… a Ouji of both the Hatake and Uzumaki… making him the older brother of the Uzumaki Hime.” Kisame says slowly, watching Drakon’s eyes widen slightly. “He’s… and the Uzumaki Hime lives in Konoha. And apparently, the tree huggers don’t even treat the princess the right way, because Obito has told me Konoha’s former Hokage— who she calls her grandfather— made her start living in an apartment by herself in the red light district when she was five-years-old. You know how Uzumaki are, all about packs and their Hime. I doubt he’ll leave his baby sister, even if the third Hokage never let him see her.”

Drakon’s expression darkened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Konoha starves its own royalty? Forces its princes into breeding pens?” He ran a hand down his face, tracing the teeth shaped scar on his jaw. “They’re worse than animals. They’re *vermin*.” He leaned forward, eyes sharp as kunai. “Find Kakashi Hatake-Uzumaki. Bring him here. Use force if necessary, but *do not harm him*. He bleeds, you bleed. Understood?”

Kisame nodded once, sharp and final. “Understood.” His gaze flickered toward the door where Obito waited, anxiety radiating off him like heat haze. “He won’t come easy. Not without his sister. And Naruto Uzumaki… she’s tangled deep in Konoha’s roots.” He paused, gills fluttering. “She’s the Nine-Tails’ jinchūriki. From what Obito had told me.”

Drakon’s growl deepened, vibrating through the floorboards. “A princess used as a cage? And they isolate her?” He spat onto the polished wood, the gesture thick with contempt. “Their rot runs marrow-deep.” He stood abruptly, towering over Kisame. “Go. Track the Hatake-Uzumaki prince. Use the clan’s resources—the mist whispers, the currents remember. Find him and his sister *before* Konoha remembers they exist.” His eyes narrowed. “And Kisame? If that village so much as breathes on him while you’re hunting… drown them.”

Kisame flashed a shark-toothed grin. “With pleas—!” He was cut off by the sound of the shoji door giving out, and multiple bodies hitting the floor with a thud. His head whipped around to see his other parents— Daisuke, Karasu, Kiyomi, Rika, and Kasumi— sprawled out in a heap of tangled limbs, and if Kisame had to guess from their expressions, they had been spying on the entire conversation between Kisame and Drakon. Kisame sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seriously?”

————————————————

A couple hours later in a guest room of the Hoshigaki compound…

Kisame crawled into bed with Obito after finally fighting off his parents. He doesn’t remember them being this clingy. Obito was already asleep, curled up under the thick blankets, his breathing slow and even. Kisame slid in beside him, careful not to jostle the mattress. The room was dark, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the paper shoji screens. He could feel the warmth radiating from Obito’s body, a stark contrast to the cool night air of The Land Of Water. Kisame’s mind churned—Drakon’s orders, Kakashi’s shattered state, Naruto’s precarious position as Konoha’s weapon. And Obito, tangled in the center of it all, breathing softly beside him.

Obito stirred, mumbling something incoherent in his sleep. Kisame watched him, the way his brow furrowed even in unconsciousness, the tension still coiled in his shoulders. He reached out, pressing his thumb in between Obito’s brows, smoothing the furrow. The Uchiha-Uzumaki hybrid leaned into the touch, his breathing deepening again. Kisame’s own thoughts were a storm. Drakon’s command echoed—find Kakashi. Find Naruto. Before Konoha decided to cage its jinchūriki tighter or break its Silver Fang completely. The Land Of Water’s damp chill seeped into the room, a familiar embrace, yet it felt alien tonight. Obito belonged to the mist now, tangled irrevocably with him. But Kakashi… Kakashi belonged to Konoha’s rot. And Naruto? She belonged to ramen stalls and loud declarations about becoming Hokage according to Obito.

——————————————

Meanwhile, elsewhere…

Sasori sighs— though since he doesn’t have to breathe, he has to purposely do it—, as he idly listens to Kakuzu in the opposite room throw a fit that could make a toddler blush. He was yelling about something or another about another Akatsuki member going missing— Sasori didn’t really care enough to listen. Instead, he reached over, turning up his music coming from his radio— a cassette tape playing an old Sunagakure folk song—, drowning out Kakuzu’s ranting. He leaned back in his chair, examining his freshly painted nails. Teal. A nice color. It reminded him of the ocean. Not that he’d ever seen it. But he’d heard stories.

He stares at his nails for a moment longer before looking off to the side, his mind wandering to the last actual conversation he had with Kisame before the shark-man had disappeared like smoke. Kisame’s frantic insistence that recruiting Zabuza Momochi— Uzumaki— was a terrible idea.

His mind wandered further, thinking about the demon of the mist being an Uzumaki…. He had pretended to be surprised at Kisame’s revelation back then, but Sasori had known. Known since he first saw the man’s photo in the bingo books. It’s not hard to recognize your own clansmen, especially one whose features screamed Uzumaki lineage as loudly as Zabuza’s did.

Sasori leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back to reveal his neck as he tilted it, looking at his reflection in the small mirror above his desk. He traced the sharp angles of his jawline, the constellation of freckles across his nose. His grey-brown eyes, slitted like a fox’s, stared back at him. *Uzumaki*. Kisame’s panicked warning about Zabuza had been amusing, but pointless. Sasori had known the truth the moment he’d seen the man’s file years ago—the impossible resilience, the chakra density that bled off the page, the crimson hair. Only an Uzumaki could survive what Zabuza had endured in Kirigakure’s bloody graduations.

He’s honestly surprised Kakuzu or some other Akatsuki member realized what he is. He’s not trying particularly hard— at all— to hide it. He’s never hidden it. If someone asked him, he’d freely admit it. A half blood.

Sasori turns his head once he hears a loud crash coming from outside his room accompanied by Kakuzu’s muffled cursing about "ungrateful brats" and "wasted investment opportunities." Sasori sighed, dipping his brush back into the teal lacquer. He couldn't care less about Kisame, Tobi, or Zetsu vanishing—Akatsuki recruitment was always messy business.

Speaking of the Akatsuki… it’s getting boring, and this is coming from Sasori who can spend hours creating his masterpieces without brakes. Kakuzu’s tantrums were predictable, like clockwork whenever money slipped through his fingers. Sasori dipped his brush into the pot of teal lacquer, the pungent scent sharp in the quiet room. He applied another careful stroke to his thumbnail, admiring how the colour gleamed under the lamp light—cool and deep as ocean water. Outside, Kakuzu’s voice rose again, thick with fury. "—disappeared without a trace! That’s thirty million ryo down the drain, you hear me? Thirty million!" A heavy thud followed, likely Kakuzu kicking the wall. Sasori didn’t flinch. Kisame’s vanishing act was Kisame’s problem. Tobi’s erratic comings and goings were Tobi’s chaos. Zetsu… well, Zetsu was Zetsu. None of it concerned him.

Though…. Sasori frowned, slowly twisting the nail polish wand in between his thumb, middle finger, and ring finger. If the Akatsuki doesn’t start getting their act together, he’s going to have to leave. He’s not going to waste his time on a sinking ship. He’s got better things to do than watch Kakuzu have a meltdown every time somebody goes missing. He’s got his own goals to pursue. His own puppets to make. His own art to perfect.

Sasori freezes his fingers, glancing off to the side towards his puppets. He might have made his own body into a puppet, but he still has four vital organs. His brain. His heart. His eyes. And his chakra coils. He could follow that… whatever that is at the back of his brain that’s been scratching at it for the past four years. He could leave. He could leave right now. He could leave the Akatsuki behind and go find his own way. He could go find that Uzumaki brat— Naruto Uzumaki, yeah, that’s her name, she’s one of the Jinchūriki Pain-Sama wants— that right. Sasori his eyes, pupils contract as he looks back to his mirror.

He’d nearly ripped out Pain-Sama’s throat when the man had suggested capturing Naruto Uzumaki. He didn’t know why, but something had… *itched* at the thought.

He had blacked out, and he didn’t even know he could still do that with his puppet body. But when he came to, Pain-Sama was pinned to the wall, one of Sasori’s poisoned kunai buried deep in the muscle. The Rinnegan eyes had stared at him with something like… understanding. Pain-Sama had dismissed him without punishment. That itch hadn’t gone away. It had gotten worse.

Leaving is starting to sound like a good idea. Sasori caps the nail polish bottle with a soft click, the scent of solvents sharp in the air. Kakuzu’s ranting about Kisame and Tobi’s disappearance, and now Zetsu’s fades into background noise—a persistent, irritating hum. The Akatsuki’s crumbling structure feels less like an organization and more like a poorly maintained puppet theater. Strings snapping everywhere.

He flexes his wooden fingers, admiring the flawless teal finish under the dim light. Uzumakis don’t belong in cages, even gilded ones like this. Pain-Sama’s bleeding neck flashes in his memory—the shock in those Rinnegan eyes, the lack of retaliation. *Understanding.* That had been the most unsettling part. The instinct that drove Sasori’s kunai into his leader’s throat wasn’t rage. It was protection. Primordial and vicious, coiled deep in blood he rarely acknowledges. Naruto Uzumaki. Just the thought of her name makes the chakra in his puppet core hum, resonant and low.

Chapter Text

Naruto sighs, one hand on her hip as she watches the scene in front of her unfold with an expression that is much similar to a mother’s pinched expression when she catches her teenage son and their friends trying to duct tape themselves to the ceiling. Kurama sits at her feet, his expression a mix of amusement and disgust. His tails flicked lazily, and he let out a low chuff. *"This is why I hate humans,"* he grumbles mentally, though his ears are perked forward with interest. *"They’re idiots."*

Naruto ignored him, looking over to her godfather and Tsunade— who were standing on the left side of her— watching the same scene unfold, before she looked to the right looking at Shikamaru— Shikamaru was holding her hand— and Deidara, who were also watching the scene on fold.

The six of them were on the outskirts of some village called Urarano or something like that, while Shizune and Tonton, along with Zabuza, Haku— and bunny rabbit—, Chōjūrō, Mangetsu, Suigetsu, and Kimimaro were in the actual village doing shopping.

Hidan had been… jumpy and agitated lately, so Deidara told her how his jujutsu— Death Controlling Possessed Blood— works and Kurama had pranced off like some kind of omen, saying in his words, ‘I’m going to find some worthless human that is no better than scum the Hidan brat can dismember so he doesn’t start ripping off his own limbs.’

“This… cannot be healthy for Hidan.” Naruto says after about fifteen minutes of her, Deidara, Granny Tsunade, Shikamaru, Kurama, and Jiraiya have been watching Hidan and that man who hit his pregnant wife Kurama had dragged back. Hidan was stabbing himself, and somehow it was hurting the man. The man was screaming and crying, begging Hidan to stop hurting him. Hidan was laughing maniacally, his eyes wide and wild with religious fervour.

She glanced back over too Tsunade and Jiraiya, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with matching grimly resigned expressions. Tsunade’s fists were clenched, knuckles white. Jiraiya’s usual smirk was absent, replaced by a tight line across his lips. Deidara shifted beside Naruto, his fingers twitching toward the clay pouch at his hip. "Hn," he muttered. "The ritual's messy, yeah, but Jashin demands sacrifice. Hidan’s faith isn’t… subtle."

Naruto rubbed her eyes, the crimson braids of her hair swaying as she shook her head. She peaks through her fingers to watch as Hidan plunges his ritualistic blade into his own thigh again. The man tied to the tree opposite him shrieks, fresh blood blooming through his trousers in an identical spot.

She rubs her eyes again, grumbling about the mess. Her eyes have been starting to… not hurt, but throb like she’s been staring at the sun too long. She glances over at Tsunade, who’s watching Hidan with a frown. She stares at her for a moment longer before turning her attention to Kurama, who was staring right at her with an unblinking gaze. She stares back, confused.

She waves her hand in a “what,” motion at Kurama. The fox just stares, tail flicking once. *Your eyes,* he murmurs in her mind, his voice a low growl. *They’re glowing.* Naruto blinks, confused. Glowing? She frowns, feeling around her pouches and pockets until she finds her compact mirror and pulls it out, flipping it open. Her reflection stares back—crystal blue eyes, pupils sharp slits, but now… they were glowing like they were dim lights, a vibrant, intense blue color. She snaps the mirror shut, heart pounding. *Why?* she thinks fiercely at Kurama. *Did you do something?*

Kurama’s ears flatten. *No. This is you. Your chakra… reacting.* Before he can elaborate, Hidan lets out a triumphant shout. The ritual was complete. The bound man slumped, dead, his wounds mirrored perfectly on Hidan’s own body. Hidan yanks his blade free, licking the blood off with a satisfied smirk. “Jashin-sama accepts the offering!” he declares, turning towards the group. His gaze lands on Naruto, and he freezes. “Whoa, Boss,” he breathes, pointing. “Your peepers are lit up like the full moon!”

Naruto starts freaking out. Everyone else starts freaking out because Naruto— who just watched Hidan mangle himself to kill someone— started freaking out.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! What is happening!? What is happening!? What is happening!? What is happening!? What is happening!?!” Naruto is freaking the hell out, squirming and jumping in place as she waves her free hand at her face like she’s trying to cool off something, while her other squeezes Shikamaru’s hand so tightly he winces. Her eyes are glowing brighter now, casting faint blue light on her cheeks, it felt like her eyes were changing. She did not like that. She snapped her head towards Tsunade and Jiraiya, the world spinning. “Granny Tsunade! Pervy Sage! Do something! Do something! Do something! Do something! Do something!”

Tsunade is already moving, her hands glowing green as she gently cups Naruto’s face. “Hold still, brat! Let me see!” Her brow furrows as she examines Naruto’s eyes. The pupils are slitted, like a fox’s, but now the irises seem to be swirling with intricate patterns of deep blue, like whirlpools forming within the crystal blue. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s not the—”

“Oh good Lord! Everyone shut their traps!” Kurama yelled over the rising panic. He shoved his way through the group, his orange fur bristling. “Let me see, you idiots!” His voice softened as he pressed his snout close to Naruto’s face. “Deep breaths, kit. Don’t make me bite you.”

Naruto’s breathing hitched, but she obeyed, her eyes wide and terrified. The swirling blue patterns pulsed like miniature galaxies. Kurama sniffed delicately, his whiskers brushing her cheek. "Hmm," he muttered, a low growl vibrating in his throat. "It’s not chakra exhaustion. Not possession either. Feels... ancient." He pulled back, his tails flicking in agitation. "Kit, when did this start? Exactly."

“Start?” Naruto echoed, squeezing Shikamaru’s hand even tighter. “It just… my eyes started hurting a couple weeks ago. I just thought it was allergies because— because we’ve been camping a lot recently.”

Kurama’s ears flattened. “And you didn’t think to mention it?”

“I thought it was allergies!” Naruto yelled loud enough for Hidan, who is still making his way over, to wince. Kurama’s red eyes narrowed, boring into hers. The swirling patterns in her irises deepened, pulsing with an inner light that cast faint blue shadows across her cheeks. Tsunade’s healing glow flickered uncertainly against it. “It wasn’t that bad! Just a little stingy sometimes! Dattebayo—! Oh good Gods, I’m going to be sick! OOooOoooOoooooOOOOOoo— I can see everything!”

Kurama’s voice cut through her panic, sharp as a kunai. “Focus, kit. Describe what you see.” His chakra brushed against hers, a warm anchor in the storm. Naruto sucked in a ragged breath. “It’s like… like everything’s made of threads. Bright ones, dim ones, tangled up. Hidan’s got this ugly, sticky black one wrapped around him like a scarf, and it’s hooked to that dead guy over there. And Deidara’s hands— they’re buzzing with little explosions of light, like tiny suns. And— and!” Her voice pitched higher. “What the FUCK is happening!?”

Tsunade’s brow furrowed, her healing glow intensifying as she probed deeper. “It’s not an infection. Not a genjutsu. It’s… integrated. Like it’s always been there, dormant.” She exchanged a loaded glance with Jiraiya, who had stopped scribbling in his notebook, his usual levity replaced by intense scrutiny. “Jiraiya… you remember that one time my grandmother took us to Uzushiogakure before it got destroyed?” She kept her voice low, deliberate. “The temple mural. The eyes.”

Jiraiya’s breath hitched. “The Sōzōgan.” The name hung heavy in the air, thick with implications. Kurama’s ears flattened against his head, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Impossible. That ability died out centuries ago. I haven’t seen The Eye of Creation for well over five hundred years.” His gaze sharpened, scrutinizing Naruto’s swirling blue irises. “But the proof is undeniable. The chakra threads she described? That’s the Sōzōgan’s perception at work. Only it can dissect energy down to its atomic flow.”

“WHAT—!” Naruto's voice cracked now, less scared and more panicked beyond belief. “What do you mean ‘died out’?!” Her eyes were wide, the swirling blue light pulsing brighter as her heart raced. She grabbed Kurama’s chakra form, shaking him. “Kurama! What’s happening to me?!”

Kurama’s tails flicked in irritation, but his voice was steady. “… it’s one of the first ever Kekkei Genkai to exist…. Naruto Uzumaki, you currently have the eyes of a God.” He stated it plainly, as if discussing the weather. “The Sōzōgan. The Eye of Creation. It’s an Uzumaki birthright, older than your clan’s sealing arts. It sees the fabric of chakra itself—threads, flows, the very pulse of life and technique. And it bends space to your will. Infinity made manifest.” He paused, letting the weight settle. “Washi hasn’t seen these eyes since the Sage walked the earth. They were thought extinct.”

Silence.

The word hung in the air like a physical weight. Naruto stared at Kurama, her frantic shaking stopping abruptly. Her fingers dug into the soft, chakra-formed fur of his shoulder. The swirling blue light in her eyes intensified, casting sharp, dancing shadows across her face. "A… God?" she whispered, the word tasting strange, alien. Her mind raced, replaying the last few minutes – the threads of Hidan's dark chakra, the explosive potential coiled in Deidara's palms, the way space itself seemed to thrum around her. It wasn't just seeing; it was *knowing*. And Kurama… Kurama called it a God's eyes. Her breath hitched again, a different kind of panic bubbling up, mixed with disbelief. "But… I'm just… me. Dattebayo!"

Tsunade leaned forward, her medical instincts warring with the sheer historical magnitude of the revelation. "Jiraiya," she murmured, her voice low and urgent. "The mural in Uzushiogakure… the central figure… the eyes were depicted exactly like this. Swirling blue vortices. We always thought it was symbolic artistry." Her gaze snapped back to Naruto, sharp and assessing. "Naruto, focus. Tell me exactly what you felt when the pain started. Not just the sensation – the context. Where were you? What were you doing?"

“J-just— just training like usual!” Naruto stammered, practically shrieking as Shikamaru’s grip moved from her hand to her shoulder. Her eyes flickered wildly, the blue light pulsing like a trapped heartbeat. “It started after that spar with Pervy Sage last month! My eyes got all hot and itchy, like I’d rubbed ’em after chopping peppers! I thought it was just… pollen or something, dattebayo!”

Kurama’s chakra-fox form shifted, pressing closer to her side. His voice rumbled, low and ancient, cutting through her panic. “Foolish kit. Pollen doesn’t make you perceive the fabric of reality. What you dismissed as irritation was your chakra pathways straining to accommodate the Sōzōgan’s awakening. The spar with Jiraiya—his sheer power must have been the catalyst.” He flicked one of his nine tails dismissively. “Typical Uzumaki stubbornness. Ignoring the divine until it bites you.”

Naruto smacked Tsunade’s hands away, looking back over towards Hidan, then to Deidara, then finally looking at Shikamaru. Her eyes were wide and her pupils were shaking. “I don’t want god-like eyes!” Naruto shouted, her voice cracking. “I just— I just want to be normal! Like everyone else! Dattebayo!”

Shikamaru’s grip tightened on her shoulder, grounding her. “Normal’s overrated,” he murmured, his usual lazy drawl sharpened by concern. “And you’ve never been normal, Uzumaki. That’s why you’re gonna be Hokage.” His dark eyes flicked to Tsunade. “Can it be controlled? Or is she just… stuck like this?”

Tsunade looked utterly lost, glancing towards Kurama for support. The fox huffed, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Control? Washi doubts it. The Sōzōgan isn't some trick to be switched on and off. But something dark like sunglasses for blind people. The really dark ones… I guess something like that could help with the fatigue. But the sight itself? It’s part of her now. Like whiskers or that ridiculous hair."

Naruto tuned out their conversation, trying to calm herself down. If this was a Kekkei Genkai, that means it was a jutsu, and jutsu are cool. If it can’t be turned off, it’s like those fancy eyes Sasuke showed her that one time in the Uchiha district in some old records. She remembered how he bragged about the Rinnegan being able to… do a lot of things. She really didn’t pay attention to the details. But if she had eyes that could do things, then she could be stronger, right? That’s a step closer to becoming Hokage. She could protect everyone better. That thought made her smile.

The panic started slowly fading away as the adults talked about blindfolds and chakra strain. Naruto pulled herself out of her thoughts to see Hidan and Deidara both crouching in front of her. She couldn’t help but laugh, “This is so fucking cool!” She yelled, her voice echoing in the clearing as she looked around, taking in the world with her new eyes. The leaves on the trees weren’t just green anymore; she could see the tiny veins of chakra pulsing through them like golden threads. The air itself shimmered with faint energy currents, and the insects buzzing nearby left trails of light in their wake. “I can literally See EVERYTHING!”

Hidan grinned, his sharp teeth flashing. “Damn right, Boss! Those eyes? Pure Jashin’s blessing!” He slapped Naruto’s shoulder hard enough to make her stumble. “Now you can see exactly where to carve the heathen filth!” Deidara rolled his eyes but nudged Naruto’s arm. “It’s more than that, un. With perception like that? Your explosions’ll be fucking art. Precision on an atomic level? Yeah.” His fingers twitched like he was already sculpting clay.

Naruto cackled as if she was a superhero villain, and Jiraiya glanced over as if she might start breathing fire. Kurama’s voice echoed inside her skull, dry and amused. *"Tch. Finally appreciating the gift, kit? Took you long enough."* She grinned wider, ignoring the fox's sarcasm. Her gaze drifted to Tsunade, who was rubbing her temples like she could already foresee the chaos Naruto’s new eyes would unleash. "Oi, Granny Tsunade! Where do I get sunglasses cool enough for these babies?" Naruto demanded, gesturing wildly at her glowing blue eyes. "They gotta be black and shiny! Like a spy's!"

—————————————————

Naruto hums to herself, laying right on top of Shikamaru with her head propped up in her hands as she looks down at him.

It’s been a couple days since she got her eyes— Sōzōgan-thingy, and she realized that— ‘Shikamaru’s even more pretty with my new eyes’, Naruto thought, tracing the lazy swirls of Shikamaru’s chakra beneath his skin—a soft, earthy green that pulsed like a slow-burning ember. It was mesmerizing, intimate in a way she’d never felt before. She poked his cheek, grinning when he didn’t open his eyes. "Hey, Shika," she whispered. “You look real pretty like this. All… glowy.”

He sighed, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against her palms. "Troublesome woman. You’re crushing me." But his hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in the crimson waterfall of her hair spilling across them both. She could see the faint flush creeping up his neck, his chakra flickering brighter for a heartbeat.

Naruto leaned closer, her Sōzōgan narrowing on the subtle shift of his lips. "But you *like* it," she teased, her breath ghosting over his jaw. "Your chakra’s all… wobbly.”

Shikamaru’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly in her hair. "Wobbly isn’t a scientific term." His voice was dry, but the green glow of his chakra pulsed like a captured star in her vision, betraying him. She traced the outline of his collarbone through his shirt with a fingertip, marveling at how the energy beneath his skin hummed in response to her touch.

“When do you think the others are gonna finally realize that we’re dating?” Naruto murmured, fingers still tracing chakra pathways. The Sōzōgan painted Shikamaru’s lazy sprawl in mesmerizing detail – the slow, deep-green pulse of his chakra, the faint warmth radiating from his skin, even the way his breath hitched when her thumb brushed the hollow of his throat. It was intimate, overwhelming, and utterly fascinating. “I’m not trying to hide it in the slightest…. But I don’t know if I want them to figure it out yet or not. Granny Tsunade and Pervy Sage would definitely make us stop sleeping in the same room if they knew.”

Shikamaru exhaled slowly, a puff of air stirring strands of her crimson hair pooled on his chest. “They already suspect. Your ‘subtlety’ involves tackling me in public corridors and declaring my chakra ‘shiny’.” His hand remained buried in her hair, fingers idly twisting a thick lock.

Naruto grinned, her fox-slitted eyes gleaming with mischief. “But it *is* shiny! Like… like moonlight on deep water, dattebayo!” She shifted, propping her chin on his sternum. “It’s pretty… but… what if they don’t realize?… you know, cause we did all the couply things before we were actually together?”

Shikamaru’s chakra flickered—a ripple of dry amusement. “We did,” he conceded. “… maybe they will, maybe they won’t. But if they do, and they try to interfere…” His thumb brushed the sharp line of her jaw, a silent promise. “Let them try. I’m not easily moved.” The unspoken threat hung in the air, cold and precise. He wasn’t just a lazy genius; he was a Nara, and Naras didn’t yield.

——————————————

Meanwhile, elsewhere, the next day…

Kiba’s socked feet slide across the floor as he slides around the corner, Akamaru following him as he skids to a stop, watching his mom.

Tsume was leaning against Kuromaru as she slid on her shoes with an annoyed grunt.

Kiba’s gaze wanders down to his mom’s stomach. It’s still mind-boggling to him that he was going to have a baby brother or sister in five months. His mom is pregnant. Four months. With Shikaku Nara’s baby. He still can’t wrap his head around that. He watches Tsume struggle with her boots, her balance slightly off. Kuromaru shifts to steady her, a low whine rumbling in his chest. Kiba steps forward, his voice hesitant. "Need a hand, Mom?"

Tsume grunts, waving him off. "Got it, pup." She finally snaps the last buckle into place and straightens, one hand instinctively resting low on her belly. The gesture is still new, protective. Kiba catches the faint scent of ozone and pine clinging to her skin—Shikaku’s scent—stronger than usual. It sparks a fresh wave of awkwardness. "Heading out?" he asks, trying to sound casual.

“Grocery shopping,” Tsume shift slightly, moving to slide on her other boot. “How does Massaman Curry sound for dinner?” She asked, her voice carrying a rare softness that still felt foreign to Kiba’s ears. “Shikaku’s coming over. Said he’d bring that cold smoked maple salmon you and Hana like so much. It’s fresh, apparently great Grandma Nara just made a new batch just for you and Hana.”

Kiba’s nose twitched at the mention of the prized Nara delicacy, a flicker of excitement battling the lingering awkwardness. Akamaru whined softly, tail thumping against the floorboards at the word ‘salmon’. “Sounds… good,” Kiba managed, watching as Tsume finally got the second boot secured. He couldn’t help but blurt out, “Is… is he staying over?” The image of Shikaku Nara’s perpetually tired face sharing their chaotic breakfast table was almost as jarring as the pregnancy itself.

Tsume straightened up, stretching her back with a low groan. Kuromaru nudged her gently. “Nah,” she said, a sly grin playing on her lips. “He’s got a group of Genin he has to lead through a walk-through of the Nara Forest tonight. Those kids need to learn which parts will swallow them whole before they stumble in unsupervised. Annoying, but necessary.” She patted her belly. “Besides, I need my space to sprawl tonight. This little beast kicks like a mule practicing taijutsu.”

Kiba frowned, rocking on his heels, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “Are you ever going to tell me what the walk-through is? You keep saying it’s important, but you never say *why*. You don’t tell me *what’s* in it.” He glanced at Kuromaru, who huffed softly, ears flicking. Even the ninken seemed to know something Kiba didn’t. “… I’ve tried asking Hana, but she just laughs and says I’ll find out when I’m older.”

Tsume paused, her hand resting on the doorframe. She turned, her expression unreadable for a moment, the usual wild energy banked. “It’s not about keeping secrets, pup,” she said, her voice lower than usual. “It’s about… readiness. The Nara Forest isn’t just trees and deer. It’s old. Older than Konoha. And things live there that don’t follow shinobi rules.” She met Kiba’s gaze, her eyes sharp. “The walk-through teaches genin which shadows move on their own, which ponds will drag you under and keep you, which clearings are hungry. It teaches them to recognize the scent-markers the Nara leave – the ones the forest’s *real* residents respect. It teaches them when to run, when to be still, and when to offer respect. It’s not just survival training, Kiba. It’s learning that the world is bigger and stranger than any academy scroll tells you. And that lesson… it hits harder when you see it for yourself. When you’re ready to understand it.” She ruffled his hair, claws gentle. “You’ll find out. Soon enough. When you graduate from the Academy. And not a day before.”

Kiba scowled, but the heat had bled out of it, replaced by a flicker of reluctant understanding. Akamaru whined softly, pressing against his leg. Tsume’s words painted pictures in his mind – shifting shadows that weren’t shadows, water that pulled, clearings that *watched*. Things that respected the Nara scent. He shivered despite himself. “Fine,” he muttered, kicking at the floorboards. “But Shikaku better not nap through the dangerous bits.”

Tsume’s sharp bark of laughter filled the hallway. “That man could nap through a hurricane and still win. Efficiency, pup. Remember?” She winked, the wild glint back in her eyes. “Now, stop sulking. Wash up. Shikaku’ll be here soon.” She started heading for the door, grabbing her grocery list when Kiba spoke up again.

“Wait, I have another question!” Kiba practically glompped himself onto Kuromaru’s back, ignoring the growl rumbling through the massive ninken’s chest. Tsume paused, one hand on the doorframe, eyebrow raised. Kiba blurted out the question that had been burning since breakfast: “i… ummm—… I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” He shifts, sitting on Kuromaru’s back as if he was a chair. “Is Shikaku… like… *our* dad now? Or just Shikamaru’s?” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. Akamaru whined softly, pressing close to Kiba’s leg, sensing the sudden spike of uncertainty radiating from his partner.

Tsume turned slowly, her expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, a slow, fierce smile spread across her face, sharp and warm all at once. She crossed the distance in two strides, her calloused hand landing gently on top of Kiba’s spiky hair. “Kiba, my wild pup,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft. “Shikaku cares about you. He cares about Hana. He cares about this whole loud, messy pack.” Her claws scratched lightly against his scalp, a familiar, comforting gesture. “He’s not trying to replace anything. He’s… adding to it. Like finding a good hunting partner who covers your blind spots. He’s pack, Kiba. *Our* pack. Got it?” She paused for a second, her expression shifting slightly. “But… if you want to call him ‘Dad’, you can. He’d probably grumble about the noise, but… he’d like it. Deep down.”

Kiba stared up at her, the scent of pine and ozone suddenly less alien, more like… home. Akamaru whined softly, pressing his wet nose against Kiba’s hand, sensing the shift in his boy. Kiba swallowed hard, the lump in his throat dissolving. “Okay, Mom,” he mumbled, a flicker of a smile touching his own lips. “Got it.” The word ‘Dad’ felt strange, heavy on his tongue, but the concept… the *pack* part… that settled something restless inside him. He pictured Shikaku’s lazy eyes watching him train, the rare nod of approval, the way the man always seemed to know exactly where the best hunting trails were.

“… if Shikaku’s…” Kiba hesitated to say the word ‘Dad’, so he just waved his hand vaguely. “…if he’s pack, then Shikamaru is too, right?” He paused, then added, “… is… when’s Shikamaru’s birthday?” He shifted where he sat on Kuromaru’s back, fingers tangling in the ninken’s fur.

Tsume gave him a look that was a mix of curiosity and confusion. “… it’s in September…? September 22nd I’m pretty sure. Why?” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Kiba’s expression.

Kiba let out a breath. So he was older than Shikamaru. His birthday is July 7th. Shikamaru is younger than him. That meant... "I'm the big brother?" The words tumbled out. The thought sent a weird feeling through his chest, a mix of pride and something else. He'd always been the baby of the immediate pack. Hana was the big sister. But Shikamaru... Shikamaru was younger. And lazy. And always sighing. *He needs looking after*, Kiba thought fiercely, a protective instinct flaring. Akamaru yipped agreement, tail wagging.

Tsume's sharp bark of laughter startled Kuromaru beneath him. "Big brother? To *Shikamaru*?" She wiped her eyes, still chuckling. "Oh, pup, that's rich. That boy's brain runs circles around most Jounin. But..." Her expression softened, a thoughtful glint in her eyes. "...in the ways that matter for pack? Yeah. You are." She reached out and ruffled his hair, claws gentle. "He needs someone loud to drag him out of the shadows sometimes. Someone who doesn't overthink every damn thing. Someone like you." Her gaze drifted towards the door, "His old pack... it wasn't safe. Not like ours. He needs to learn what that feels like."

Kiba straightened on Kuromaru’s back, the weird feeling in his chest solidifying into fierce determination. Akamaru yipped again, sensing his resolve. "I can do that," Kiba declared, puffing out his chest. "I'll show him how pack *really* works! No more lazy naps when there's training! No more sighing when we wrestle! And I'll teach him all the best sniffing spots!" His mind raced with plans: dragging Shikamaru on patrols, sharing his secret stash of beef jerky, maybe even letting him help brush Akamaru. The image of Shikamaru trying to keep up with his energy made him grin.

——————————————

Shikaku shifts where he sits crisscrossed on his engawa, drinking his coffee and watching things flit and flutter through his trees.

His gaze wanders down to the gap in between the grassy ground and his engawa as scraping-struggling noises, accompanied by grunts and very pissed off and embarrassed sounding growls, come from underneath it.

He watches, blinking slowly as a Wendigo struggles to get out from underneath his engawa, scratching up his yard as it struggles. It was lanky and skinnier than the others, and its movements were kind of awkward. Perhaps it’s a teen.

“… what were you doing under there?” Shikaku asked, his voice low and calm as he watched the young Wendigo thrash beneath the engawa.

The creature froze, its long, bony limbs tangled in the roots and dirt it had disturbed. Its deer-skull head tilted, empty sockets fixed on Shikaku. A low, guttural whine escaped it, more embarrassed than threatening.

Shikaku raised an eyebrow, not bothering to get up from his seated position.

The young Wendigo made a series of clicking sounds, punctuated by a whine that sounded suspiciously like a teenager caught sneaking out past curfew. It finally managed to wrench one long, bony leg free, sending a clump of dirt flying onto the immaculate Nara grass.

Shikaku sighed, the sound barely audible. "Troublesome." He didn't move, simply watched the creature struggle. "Shikamaru’s still not back. You know that."

The Wendigo let out a frustrated huff, scraping its claws against the wooden beam supporting the engawa. It managed to free its other leg, stumbling backward into the manicured grass. It stood there, towering over Shikaku even in its awkward, adolescent frame and sprawled out in the grass, its skeletal limbs trembling slightly as it shook the dirt off its body. The scent of damp earth and something ancient, like dry bone left in the sun, filled the air.

Shikaku merely blinked, sipping his coffee. “Does your mother know you’re so far away from the deep woods?” he asked, voice flat.

The young Wendigo tilted its head, antlers scraping against a low-hanging branch of a bonsai planted in the garden surrounding engawa. It made a low, guttural sound that might have been a whine. Its glowing eyes darted toward the forest edge, then back to Shikaku. A single clawed finger pointed vaguely south.

Shikaku followed it’s clawed finger towards the deeper woods where a much bigger Wendigo stood partially hidden behind the trees. The older Wendigo’s antlers scraped the canopy as she moved.

Shikaku sighed again, setting his coffee down and waving over the massive Wendigo. "Come on out, mother. He's fine, just tangled." The elder Wendigo emerged fully, towering over the compound. Her skeletal form moved with eerie silence, stopping beside her offspring. She nudged the youngling with her snout, a low, chiding rumble echoing in her chest. The juvenile whined pitifully, ducking its head.

Shikaku watched for a moment, taking a split second to recognize the female Wendigo as the one who followed him through the woods as a kid. She had been a juvenile then, too. He remembered her antlers barely scraping his shoulder. Now, she was a matriarch. “… Chika?” He asked, the name coming from somewhere deep in his memory. The Wendigo paused, her massive head tilting. A low, rumbling sound vibrated from her chest – not a growl, but something softer, almost like recognition. She nudged her offspring, who stumbled forward, looking chastened as it stumbled into the engawa, chin knocking against the wood.

Shikaku’s hand landed on the juvenile’s skull head without hesitation, patting the rough bone between its antlers. “Troublesome,” he murmured, but there was no bite in it. The action seemed to startle the young Wendigo more then when it got caught under the engawa. Chika watched, her posture shifting from imposing matriarch to something… curious. She leaned down, her massive deer skull head level with Shikaku’s face. Her breath smelled of damp earth and pine needles.

“I smell different, don’t I?” Shikaku asked, his voice low and calm. He didn’t flinch as Chika’s massive snout brushed against his cheek, inhaling deeply. He reached out, patting Chika’s jaw. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”

Chika rumbled again, a sound that vibrated the wooden floorboards beneath Shikaku’s feet. Her large, dark eyes, deep within the sockets of the deer skull, studied him intently. She nudged him again, this time with deliberate gentleness, pushing against his shoulder. Shikaku understood. “Did you hear?” He shifted, bringing his knees up so he could rest his arms loosely on his knees. “From the Skinwalkers? I divorced Yoshino a while back. A few of them chased her off whenever I banished her from the clan.” He paused, glancing at the juvenile Wendigo, who was now cautiously sniffing the edge of Shikaku’s sleeve. “I met someone new. Someone who—… She’s… loud. Wild. She smells like thunderstorms and wet earth.” He smiled faintly. “She’s carrying my Fawn. I’m going to have another child.”

Chika tilted her head, the massive antlers casting long, shifting shadows across the engawa. A low, resonant hum emanated from her chest, a sound Shikaku hadn’t heard since Shikamaru was a toddler lost in the forest. It was a sound of approval, of understanding. The juvenile, emboldened, pressed its cold, bony snout against Shikaku’s hand. Shikaku scratched the base of its skull where the coarse fur met bone. “She’s Inuzuka,” he added quietly. “Tsume. You might remember her from that one time she walked through the forest with me when she and I were both young. I had to fish her out of the lake because she tried to wrestle a Kelpie into submission.”

A rasping, clicking noise echoed from Chika’s throat – Wendigo laughter. The juvenile mimicked it, a higher-pitched chirp. Shikaku felt a familiar weight settle beside him. He didn’t need to look; the scent of ozone and ancient pine announced the arrival of the towering Leshy, its bark-like skin brushing his shoulder. “Tsume Inuzuka,” the Leshy rumbled, its voice like wind through dead leaves. “The wolf one. She chased a Blight into my grove last season. Called it a ‘mangy squirrel.’”

“Omar,” Shikaku greeted without turning, his fingers still scratching the juvenile Wendigo’s fur. “She hasn’t changed. Still thinks anything that moves is a challenge.” He paused, recalling Tsume’s furious sprint after the shrieking Blight, her laughter echoing through the trees. “She’s carrying my child now.”

Omar’s moss-covered head tilted, hollow eyes flickering with green light. “The wolf one carries life? Good. The forest tires of weak blood.” Its branch-like fingers tapped against the engawa wood. “The boy… Shikamaru. He walks with the Uzumaki girl beyond the mountains. The forest misses his shadow.”

Shikaku smiles softly, a chuckle escaping his lips. “… my Fawn is in love,” he murmured, the admission hanging in the cool air. Chika tilted her massive skull, antlers scraping the engawa roof. Omar’s hollow eyes fixed on Shikaku, the green light within them intensifying. “With the Uzumaki girl,” Shikaku clarified, tracing the grain of the wood with a fingertip. “When he writes to me he talks about Naruto like she’s a goddess. He’s… happy. Happier than I ever saw him with Yoshino under this roof. He… fixated on her, a clan princess of all things.”

Chika let out a low, resonant hum that vibrated the floorboards. It sounded like approval. Omar’s leafy beard rustled. “The Uzumaki Princess,” he rasped, the sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. “Strong blood. Old blood. Good for the forest’s shadow. Good for your Fawn. He needs fire to warm his shadows.” The Leshy nodded decisively. “We will watch for their return. The forest misses its clever Fawn.”

Shikaku felt a familiar pang – the ache of Shikamaru’s absence. But Omar’s words soothed it. The forest itself acknowledged Naruto’s worth. “She’s… chaos incarnate,” Shikaku admitted, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips as he recalled Naruto’s last explosive prank before leaving. He shifted, stretching his legs out before crossing them to sit crisscross. “Loud. Unpredictable. She sets fires just to see the smoke. Yelled at the third Hokage on a daily like he was a misbehaving puppy.” He chuckled softly. “But she looks at Shikamaru… and he looks back. Like they’ve found the missing piece in a complex seal.”

Omar hummed and silence took over for a moment, the only sound being the juvenile Wendigo climbing onto the engawa on the other side of Shikaku and Chika settling down on the grass in front of them, her massive head laying across Shikaku’s lap. Shikaku froze for a second before relaxing, his hand resting on the cold bone of her skull. He could feel the deep, rumbling vibration of her contentment through his palm.

“… my boy?” Omar finally spoke after the silence stretched for a while. The Leshy’s wooden face tilted, moss shifting. “… The forest and its dwellers knows that you and Yoshino fight like foxes and badgers. But… there’s a rumor that reached my neck of the woods… the Skinwalkers aren’t the best at speaking when they’re not pretending to be something or someone, so maybe they got it wrong… but they said… Yoshino… she hurt you and the Fawn?”

Shikaku’s hand, resting on Chika’s skull, stilled. The cold bone beneath his palm seemed to leech warmth from him. He stared out into the dark forest, the shadows suddenly feeling deeper, the silence heavier. He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the trees where the memory of Yoshino’s sharp voice and sharper hand still echoed. The juvenile Wendigo shifted beside him, letting out a soft, questioning whine.

“… I never let her lay a hand on Shikamaru…” He settled on after a moment, it wasn’t confirmation laid bear, but the puzzle pieces were easy to put together. ‘Yeah, she’d hurt me’.

Omar’s bark-like face twisted into a grimace. The Leshy’s mossy fingers curled into fists, knuckles cracking like snapping branches. “The Skinwalkers spoke true then. The one who birthed your fawn dared to strike the stag?” His voice was a low rumble, vibrating through the forest floor. Chika lifted her massive skull from Shikaku’s lap, her empty sockets fixed on Omar, a low, bone-rattling growl starting deep within her ribcage. The juvenile Wendigo whimpered, pressing closer to Shikaku’s side.

Shikaku’s hands slid up the bony jaw of Chika. She used to be so small, he idly thought. Now she could swallow a man whole. “She struck me,” he confirmed, voice low and rough. “She’s the one who gave me my sca—!” He sucked in a breath, stopping midsentence as he realized what he was about to say. He didn’t like talking about it. He never told the forest about Yoshino’s violence. He didn’t want them to know.

But it was too late to take anything back. It wasn't hard to figure out the last word he was going to say.

Omar’s eyes narrowed, the bark-like skin around them creaking with tension. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and ozone. Chika’s low growl deepened into a subsonic rumble that vibrated through the engawa, rattling the teacups Shikaku had left out earlier. The juvenile Wendigo whimpered, burying its face against Shikaku’s thigh.

“She scarred you,” Omar stated, his voice like wind through dead leaves. It wasn’t a question. “The Skinwalkers spoke true. She marked the forest’s son.”

Chika’s growl exploded into a guttural roar. Her massive head snapped up, dislodging Shikaku’s hand. Her jaws gaped wide, revealing rows of jagged, yellowed teeth. The scent of decay and fury rolled off her in waves. The juvenile Wendigo scrambled back, whimpering, its eyes wide pools of terror.

Omar didn’t roar. His bark hand raised out, tracing the scars that cut through Shikaku’s face, his neck, the ones on his arms, every one that wasn’t covered by his clothes. "These are her marks?" The Leshy’s voice was dangerously quiet, like the hush before a forest fire. Chika’s breath hitched, a wet, ragged sound as she leaned closer, her snout trembling with suppressed rage. The juvenile Wendigo pressed itself flat against the engawa, trembling. Shikaku nodded, his jaw tight. "Every one."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Then Omar moved. Not with speed, but with the terrible inevitability of a landslide. He turned towards the deeper woods, his moss-cloaked form seeming to merge with the shadows. "She struck the forest’s son," he repeated, his voice carrying through the trees like a cold wind. "She marked what is ours." Chika rose to her full, terrifying height, her form blotting out the morning light. A low, resonant call echoed from her throat – not a roar, but a summons. Deeper in the forest, answering cries rose, sharp and hungry.

“You can’t leave the forest,” Shikaku said, going to stand up and grab Omar, but the juvenile Wendigo practically pounced on him, laying across his lap like some overgrown, bony cat. “Omar, wait, you know the rules. You can’t leave the forest. If you leave others think they can too. You know what happened last time.” Shikaku tried to push the juvenile off, but damn, was this skinny ass thing heavy. He grunted, trying to shove it off. “Omar! Stop! You can’t leave the forest!” He yelled, “Are you listening to me? You can’t— I forbid you from leaving the forest! This is not a request, Omar! I forbid you from leaving the forest!” He yelled, finally managing to shove the juvenile off his lap. He scrambled to his feet and took off after Omar. He tripped over the roots the juvenile had pulled up from the ground when it was trying to get out from underneath the engawa, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him painfully.

Chika roared again, the sound shaking the trees and sending birds scattering into the sky. Shikaku pushed himself up, groaning as he felt something crack in his ribs. He ignored it, stumbling after Omar. “Omar, please, listen to me. You can’t leave the forest. If you leave, others will think they can too. You know what happened last time. The village will panic. They’ll send Anbu. They’ll try to seal you away or worse.” He gasped, clutching his side as he ran as fast as he could after Omar. The pain was sharp, radiating through his chest with every breath. He could feel the warmth of blood seeping through his shirt where he’d landed on a sharp rock. “Omar, stop!”

Omar didn’t even glance back. His form shifted, becoming more indistinct, blending with the shadows of the ancient trees. “She marked what is ours, Shikaku. The forest’s son. The rules bend for this. For blood owed.” His voice was a low growl, resonating through the ground. Chika followed him, her massive form moving with terrifying grace. Behind her, the juvenile Wendigo scrambled to keep up, its bony limbs clicking against the earth. Shikaku could hear other creatures stirring now—the rustle of dry leaves, the snap of twigs, the low hum of something ancient awakening. The forest was answering Chika’s call. He could see eyes glowing in the darkness—dozens of them—all moving in the same direction. Towards the edge of the forest. Towards the village.

“Omar, seriously stop! We’re going to have kids in the forest tonight!” Shikaku yelled, scrambling after him, stumbling slightly. He ignored the sharp pain in his ribs. “A Field trip! Genin! You can’t—”

Blood dripped from in between his fingers, landing on the ground. Everything froze.

Omar stopped. Chika stopped. The juvenile Wendigo froze mid-step. The eyes in the darkness blinked, then vanished. The hum died. The forest held its breath.

Shikaku panted, pressing his hand harder against his side running right into Omar at the sudden stop. The Leshy’s bark-like skin felt rough and unyielding against his shoulder. Omar slowly turned, his moss-covered face inches from Shikaku’s. Those deep-set eyes, like knots in an ancient tree, fixed on the blood seeping through Shikaku’s fingers.

"Blood," Omar murmured, his voice a low vibration that made the fallen leaves tremble. "Our son bleeds." Chika loomed behind them, her massive Wendigo form radiating cold fury. She sniffed the air, the scent of iron feeling the air. The juvenile Wendigo whimpered, pressing close to her leg.

Shikaku grimaced, pain sharpening his words. "It’s nothing. Just a scratch from—"

Omar’s mossy hand closed around Shikaku’s wrist with surprising gentleness, pulling it away from the wound. The blood—dark and glistening—dripped onto the forest floor. Chika let out a low, guttural sound that vibrated through Shikaku’s bones. The juvenile Wendigo darted forward, licking the blood from the earth with a rasping tongue before Chika nudged it back with a warning snarl.

"This is not nothing," Omar said, his voice like roots grinding stone. "The forest tastes your pain. It remembers." He pressed a hand over the wound, and Shikaku felt a cool, numbing energy seep into his skin. The bleeding slowed, the torn flesh knitting beneath Omar’s touch. "She marked you. Now the forest marks her."

Shikaku swallowed hard. The Leshys’ healing abilities always made him feel nauseous. He could feel the forest’s energy knitting his flesh back together—a cold, invasive sensation that left his skin prickling. "Omar, please," he rasped, his voice strained. "… if you feel you must get revenge…. Ask one of the mimics or skinwalkers to pretend to be me or someone and lure her back into the forest. Don’t bring the hunt to Konoha’s streets. If she’s inside the forest you can do whatever you want to her. Promise.”

Omar tilted his head, moss shifting like a living cloak. The juvenile Wendigo chittered softly, pressing against Chika’s leg. "Clever," Omar rumbled. "Very clever, son of the forest. We will weave a lure she cannot resist." He raised a gnarled hand, and the shadows beneath the cedars deepened. Shapes detached themselves from the gloom—pale, humanoid figures with too-long limbs and faces like stretched bark. Skinwalkers. They melted into the trees, their movements silent as falling snow.

Shikaku exhaled, relief warring with dread. "Thank you." He pressed his throbbing temple to Omar’s moss-covered shoulder, the earthy scent grounding him. "Thank you."

———————————————

“Oh! Yoshino, dear, long time no see.” Yoshino looked up from where she was debating on what vegetable she should get when she heard a familiar voice. She turned to see Reina Akimichi, her basket already overflowing with fresh produce.

“Reina,” Yoshino forced a smile. “How are you?”

“Oh, busy as ever! Chōji’s appetite grows faster than he does.” Reina’s eyes softened with warmth as she patted her basket. “And you? It’s been ages since we caught up.”

Yoshino’s smile tightened. “Just… adjusting.” She didn’t elaborate. How could she explain the forest’s whispers still chased her in her dreams? Or the way Shikaku’s cold dismissal felt like an open wound? She focused on the vegetable stall, selecting a bundle of bitter melon. “Shikamaru’s doing well,” she offered, the lie tasting like ash. She hadn’t seen her son since the banishment. Hasn’t gotten a single letter or reply from hers she sends him.

“Mmm… yes, such a sweet boy. He writes me and Chōza just as much as he does Chōji.” Reina’s voice was light, conversational. “He tells me he gets to spend all his time with Naruto. She’s such a lovely girl. Chōji absolutely adores Naruto. She’s good for both the boy’s. Keeps them on their toes.” She paused, examining a plump eggplant. “Shikaku must be pleased. He always worried Shikamaru needed… well, more fire in his life. Less… quiet.”

Yoshino’s knuckles whitened around the bitter melon. *He writes them. He writes them about Naruto.* The name was a jagged stone in her gut. That loud, brash, red-haired menace who had somehow bewitched her son and stolen her place. Shikamaru never wrote *her*. The silence from her son was a constant, gnawing ache. And Shikaku? Pleased? While she was cast out, scrambling for scraps of dignity in the marketplace? Rage, cold and sharp, pricked behind her eyes.

Reina didn’t seem to notice as she hummed a little tune, tapping her foot as she continued. “Did you hear?” She asked, her smile somehow softening even more.

Yoshino’s eyes snapped back to her. “Hear what?”

“Shikaku’s got a baby on the way,” Reina chirped, adjusting her basket. “With Tsume Inuzuka, of all people! Isn’t that wonderful? The forest must be so happy for him!” She beamed, oblivious to the way Yoshino’s breath hitched. “It’s been so long since the Nara Forest had a baby to protect. Shikamaru’s practically grown now! Oh, and, Shikaku Fixated on sweet Tsume. Isn’t that just lovely? Tsume’s littlest boy is already calling Shikamaru ‘little brother’, it’s just the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I walked past him earlier today and he was all like, ‘if I’m going to be the older brother that means I have to protect him. So I have to get stronger!’ It was so cute!”

Yoshino dropped the melon. It thudded dully on the packed earth, rolling away unnoticed. *A baby.* Shikaku’s baby. Tsume’s baby. Growing inside Tsume, who Shikaku had Fixated on. Protected by the forest she was banished from. While *her* son called another woman’s child brother. The world tilted, colors bleeding into a sickening smear of greens and browns. Reina’s cheerful voice became a distant buzz, drowned out by the roaring in Yoshino’s ears. Her chest tightened, a physical ache spreading beneath her ribs. *He replaced me. He replaced me completely.* The thought was a knife, twisting.

She barely registered Reina’s concerned touch on her arm. "Yoshino? Are you alright? You've gone pale as a ghost!" Reina’s brow furrowed, genuine worry replacing her earlier cheer.

Yoshino wrenched her arm away, the motion sharp and sudden. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the fabric of her faded yukata. "Fine," she bit out, the word brittle and unconvincing. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on the melon lying in the dirt. *His baby. His new family. My son, calling that Inuzuka runt brother.* The images crashed into her mind: Shikaku’s rare, genuine smile directed at Tsume, Shikamaru’s quiet contentment beside Naruto’s blazing presence, Kiba’s boisterous claim over *her* son. It felt like a violation, a theft meticulously planned. He hadn’t just banished her; he’d erased her.

Reina took a hesitant step back, sensing the storm brewing beneath Yoshino’s rigid posture. "Perhaps you should sit down? You really don’t look well—"

"I said I’m *fine*," Yoshino snapped, her voice cracking like dry wood. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the white-hot fury clawing its way up her throat. *He did this. He made them forget me.* Her gaze darted wildly around the market—the bustling stalls, the laughing villagers, the oblivious happiness everywhere. It was suffocating. Without another word, she turned on her heel and shoved through the crowd, ignoring Reina’s startled call behind her. Her sandals slapped against the packed earth, each step echoing the frantic drumbeat of her heart. *Replaced. Erased. Like I was nothing.*

She didn’t realize where her feet were taking her, dodging people that looked way too eager to talk to her and only giving half hearted conversations until the shadows of the Nara Forest loomed ahead, thick and impenetrable. The boundary path stretched empty before her, the air unnaturally still. A low, guttural moan drifted from the trees—Shikamaru’s voice, raw with pain. "Help... please..." Yoshino froze, her blood turning to ice. That was her son. Her Shikamaru. Without hesitation, she plunged into the treeline, branches snagging at her yukata like skeletal fingers.

Little did she forget. Shikamaru still hasn’t returned to the village.

"Shikamaru? Where are you?" she shouted, her voice swallowed by the oppressive silence. Another whimper, closer now, to the left. She followed it, deeper into the gloom where the sunlight couldn’t reach.

The forest floor gave way beneath her. She crashed into a shallow pit, damp earth crumbling around her ankles. Above, the mimic’s illusion shattered—Shikamaru’s voice warped into a chorus of chittering laughter. Pale shapes detached from the trees: slender, white-limbed creatures with too many joints, their jaws unhinging slowly. Yoshino scrambled backward, her hands sinking into cold mud. "Stay away!" she shrieked, fumbling for a kunai pouch that wasn’t there. The closest creature tilted its head, red eyes gleaming.

“Why?” The thing’s voice rasped like dry leaves scraping stone, its jaw stretching impossibly wide. “Why stay away?” Another crept closer, its limbs bending backward unnaturally. “You came to us.”

Yoshino’s breath hitched. She clawed at the slick earth, panic icing her veins. “I heard my son!” The lie tasted bitter. Shikamaru wasn’t hers anymore. Not really. The creatures hissed, a sound like steam escaping a kettle. “Liar,” they whispered in unison. “You heard *us*.” Their bony fingers brushed her ankles, cold as grave dirt. She kicked wildly, connecting with something brittle. A sickening snap echoed, followed by a gurgling screech. The injured creature recoiled, clutching its shattered wrist. The others paused, heads cocked. Assessing.

“Hurts,” it rasped, clutching its twisted limb. The others tilted their heads, clicking softly. “She kicked… *hurts*…” Their pale eyes flickered toward Yoshino, no longer hesitant but coldly assessing. The mimicry of Shikamaru’s voice vanished entirely. “I tell Shikaku you hurt us,” the injured creature hissed, its jaw clicking sideways. “He’ll be angry.” The others shuffled closer, forming a loose circle around her. “Very angry. With you.”

Yoshino froze. Shikaku. He’d sent them. He’d *known* she’d come. The realization slammed into her—this wasn’t just forest monsters; this was a trap laid by the man she’d once called husband. Betrayal choked her. “He… he did this?” she whispered, her voice raw. The creatures didn’t answer. They simply watched, unnervingly still. One reached out a spindly finger, tracing the air near her cheek. “Pretty,” it sighed. “Shikaku likes pretty things.” Its finger drifted lower, toward her throat. “But Tsume’s prettiest now.” The words dripped with childish malice. “He doesn’t want *you* anymore.”

Panic surged. Yoshino scrambled backward in the dirt, kicking wildly. Her foot connected with the injured creature’s wrist again. It shrieked, a sound like tearing metal. Instantly, the circle tightened. Cold, bony hands clamped onto her ankles, her wrists, pinning her flat. “Hurts!” the injured one wailed, its voice echoing unnaturally through the trees. “She hurts us! Tell Shikaku!” The others hissed in agreement, their grip tightening painfully. Yoshino thrashed, terror overriding thought. “Get off! Let me go!” One leaned close, its breath smelling of damp earth and decay. Its lipless mouth stretched into a grotesque imitation of a smile. “Shikaku said… you hit him.” Its clawed finger tapped her temple. “Hit him here.” Another tapped her cheek. “And here.” Their touches were light, probing, terrifyingly intimate. “We don’t like hitters.”

Yoshino froze. Shikaku had told them. He’d shared her shame, her violence, with these… things. Humiliation burned hotter than fear. They knew. They *all* knew. The creature near her head tilted its head. “Tsume doesn’t hit Shikaku.” Its voice held a strange, mocking lilt. “Tsume is nice. Tsume gives pats.” The others chittered softly. “Nice pats.” The injured one whimpered, cradling its wrist. “We want Tsume pats. Not Yoshino kicks.” Their red eyes fixed on her, devoid of mercy. “Shikaku said… Yoshino is banished.” The word hung heavy in the air. “Banished means… forest food.” Slowly, the circle leaned closer. Jagged teeth glinted in the gloom. Yoshino screamed, a raw, desperate sound swallowed by the ancient trees. Shikaku had sentenced her. Not just to exile. To *this*.

The creatures flinched back momentarily at her scream, their heads swiveling towards the sound as if it were a physical object bouncing off the trees. Then, as one, their unnerving focus snapped back to her. The injured one shuffled closer, its damaged wrist held protectively against its chest. "Scream loud," it hissed, its voice raspy. "Call Shikaku? He won't come." A chorus of clicks and chitters echoed the sentiment. "He's with Omar and Chika and Chika’s baby," another added, its bony finger pointing vaguely eastward, towards the compound. “He ask us not to get you. Forbade us from leaving forest. But if he didn’t say yes, we would have left the forest to hunt you.” The creature leaned in, its breath smelling of damp earth and decay. "He didn't say no."

Yoshino choked on her next scream, terror crystallizing into cold understanding. Shikaku hadn't just banished her. He'd thrown her to them. He hadn't explicitly ordered her death, but he hadn't forbidden it either. He’d left the door open. Forbidden them from leaving the forest? But she was *inside* the forest. He’d known she’d come. He’d known the mimics would lure her. He’d set the trap and walked away. The creatures sensed her dawning horror. Their lipless mouths stretched wider, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. "Tsume gives pats," the injured one repeated mournfully, nudging Yoshino's leg with its good hand. "Soft pats. Warm." Its touch was chillingly cold. "You give kicks. Cold kicks." The others shuffled closer, their jointed limbs clicking. "We are cold," one murmured. "Hungry." Another sniffed the air near Yoshino's neck. "You are warm."

Panic surged anew. Yoshino thrashed wildly, kicking out at the closest creature. Her foot connected solidly with its rib cage. A sickening crunch echoed in the pit, followed by a high-pitched shriek of pain. The creature stumbled back, clutching its side. The others froze, their clicking ceasing instantly. An eerie silence fell, thick with sudden, palpable rage. The injured creature straightened slowly, its head tilting at an unnatural angle. Its eyes, previously dull and mournful, now glowed with a feral, crimson light. "You," it breathed, the word thick with venom. "Still kicking." Its voice dropped to a guttural growl. "Still hurting." The other creatures hissed, a sound like dry leaves skittering on stone. They closed in tighter, bony fingers flexing. The injured one lunged, its good hand snapping out impossibly fast, clamping around Yoshino's throat. Its grip was iron, cold and unyielding. "Forest food," it snarled directly into her face, its breath frosting her skin. "Doesn't kick back."

“Omar, where are you taking me?” Shikaku’s voice suddenly washed over the pit, it was quiet as if it was far away, but just barely close enough to hear. The creatures froze instantly, their heads snapping toward the sound. The grip on Yoshino’s throat loosened slightly. Hope flared, wild and desperate, in Yoshino’s chest. She tried to scream, but only a choked gasp escaped. The creatures exchanged silent, gleaming glances, quiet chittering laughter echoing through the pit. “Shikaku! She hurt us! Yoshino came to us! We just talk and she kick! Broke bones! I bleed!” The injured creature whined, its voice shifting back to that mournful tone, the crimson glow fading from its eyes. It released Yoshino’s throat completely, stepping back and clutching its ribs and wrist dramatically. “She attacked us! Unprovoked!” Another creature piped up, pointing a bony finger at Yoshino. “She’s violent! Like you said!” They huddled together, suddenly looking like frightened children.

Yoshino scrambled backwards, coughing, her hand flying to her bruised throat. She stared at the creatures. Were they… acting? Playing victims? The sheer absurdity of it warred with her terror. Footsteps crunched on dry leaves overhead. Shikaku’s silhouette appeared at the pit’s edge, Omar beside him. The Nara clan head peered down, his expression unreadable in the gloom. Omar’s large, dark eyes scanned the scene – Yoshino dishevelled and terrified, the creatures whimpering and the injured one clutching it’s injuries.

The injured one scrambled out of the pit, climbing up the side of Shikaku like he was some kind of tree. It clung to him much like a koala would, wrapping its arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Shikaku didn't seem bothered by it at all. He patted its head gently as it buried its face into his shoulder. "She hurt me," it whimpered, its voice trembling. "She kicked me so hard, Shikaku. She broke my ribs and wrist." It lifted it’s wrist. Snapped in the wrong direction and slowly bleeding.

Shikaku’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Yoshino. "Is that true?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

The creature nodded frantically. "Yes! She attacked us for no reason! She yell and scream at us!"

Omar stepped forward, his large eyes fixed on Yoshino. "She was threatening you?" he asked, his voice deep and resonant.

"She said she kill us all." The mimic’s chorus in unison.

Yoshino stared at them in disbelief. "That's not true!" she protested, her voice hoarse. "They attacked me first! They were trying to kill me!"

Shikaku looked at her, his expression cold. "Why would they lie?" he asked. "They have no reason to lie to me." He gestured to the creature clinging to him. "Look at him. He's terrified of you." The creature whimpered again, burying its face deeper into Shikaku's shoulder.

"She's lying," Omar said softly. "They were just trying to talk to her, and she attacked them."

Shikaku sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yoshino," he said, his voice tired. "Why can't you just leave us alone? Why do you have to cause trouble wherever you go?" He looked down at her, his eyes filled with disappointment. "You're not welcome here. You know that."

Yoshino felt a surge of anger mixed with despair. "They're lying!" she insisted. "They were going to eat me!"

Shikaku shook his head. "They wouldn't do that," he said firmly. "They know better." He turned to Omar. "Take her to the edge of the forest," he ordered. "Make sure she leaves and doesn't come back."

Omar nodded, reaching down to grab Yoshino's arm. She tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. "No!" she screamed. "Don't let them take me! They'll kill me!" Shikaku ignored her, turning away as Omar began to drag her through the trees.

The creature clinging to Shikaku lifted its head, its eyes meeting Yoshino's. A slow, cruel smile spread across its face as it waved goodbye with its broken wrist. Yoshino's screams echoed through the forest as Omar pulled her deeper into the darkness.

The mimic’s chittered one Shikaku was out of sight with the injured one. Omar’s grip tightened as Yoshino thrashed, her sandals kicking up damp leaves. "Let go!" she screamed, but Omar merely adjusted his hold, his moss-covered fingers digging into her bicep. Deeper into the forest they went, where the canopy choked out the sunlight and the air grew thick with the scent of decaying wood and something metallic.

“Shikaku angry! Shikaku angry! Shikaku angry! Shikaku angry!” The mimic’s voice echoed, a cruel, singsong taunt. “Shikaku angry Yoshino hurt us! Shikaku angry!”

Omar’s grip tightened, his bark-like fingers digging deeper into Yoshino’s arm. She stumbled over gnarled roots, the forest floor swallowing the sound of her ragged breaths. The air grew colder, thicker, smelling of wet earth and something sharp, like ozone before a storm. Shadows writhed around them, twisting into shapes that seemed to watch.

“He is aware of what we are doing,” Omar spoke after about forty minutes of dragging Yoshino and ignoring her screams and struggles. His voice was a low rumble, like shifting earth. “He knows they lead you here on purpose. He knows they lied.” He stopped abruptly, releasing Yoshino’s arm. She stumbled back, hitting a thick tree trunk. Around them, the forest felt impossibly ancient, the trees towering like silent sentinels. The air hummed with unseen energy. Omar’s mossy face was unreadable in the gloom. “He banished you. You are forest food. He just didn’t want to watch.”

Yoshino’s breath hitched. The truth slammed into her harder than any physical blow. Shikaku hadn’t been deceived; he’d orchestrated this. He’d sent her here to die. Betrayal, cold and sharp, pierced through her terror. “Why?” she whispered, the word scraping her throat raw. “Because of Tsume? Because of the baby?”

“You marked the son of the forest,” Omar replied, his moss-covered form shifting slightly. “Your hands scarred Shikaku’s flesh. Your voice poisoned Shikamaru. The forest remembers every bruise, every tear shed by the fawn.” He gestured vaguely toward the deeper woods, where shadows seemed to writhe. “This is the Tooth Fairies’ territory. Why don’t you run?”

Yoshino scrambled backward, roots snagging her ankles. A high-pitched chittering echoed from the canopy above. Glowing eyes blinked open among the branches—dozens of them, sharp and hungry. Tooth Fairies. Their skin gleamed faintly in the gloom, needle-like teeth bared in grotesque smiles. They dropped silently onto the forest floor, surrounding her.

A few of them landed on Omar’s shoulders, chittering softly as they scurried across his body like some kind of parasitic insects. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at Yoshino with those cold, unblinking eyes. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. He just turned and walked away, leaving Yoshino alone with the Tooth Fairies. They didn’t move immediately. They just stood there, staring at her with those unnerving eyes, their heads tilted to the side like curious children. Their mouths hung open, revealing rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth. They were unnervingly silent, save for the soft clicking sounds their teeth made as they gnashed them together. Yoshino scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to fight them. She didn’t even know if she could fight them. She took a step back, and they took a step forward. She took another step back, and they took another step forward. They were herding her. They were pushing her deeper into the forest. She could feel the panic rising in her chest, threatening to choke her.

She turned and ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, branches whipping at her face, roots snagging at her feet. She didn’t dare look back. She didn’t want to see how close they were. She could hear them behind her, their soft chittering growing louder, closer. They weren’t running. They were moving with an unnerving, skittering grace, keeping pace with her easily. They were playing with her. She stumbled, falling to her hands and knees. Before she could push herself back up, something sharp clamped down on her ankle. She screamed, kicking out wildly. Her foot connected with something hard and brittle. There was a sickening crunch, and the pressure on her ankle vanished. She scrambled back, pressing herself against the thick trunk of a tree. One of the Tooth Fairies lay on the ground a few feet away, its head twisted at an unnatural angle, its porcelain skin cracked. The others stopped, their heads snapping towards their fallen kin. They didn’t look angry. They looked… intrigued. They circled the body, prodding it with their long, spindly fingers. Then, as one, they turned their attention back to Yoshino. Their chittering intensified, becoming a high-pitched, excited buzz. They advanced again, faster now, their movements jerky and predatory. Yoshino pressed herself harder against the tree bark, tears streaming down her face. This was it. This was how she died. Eaten alive by monsters in a forest her ex-husband had thrown her to. The unfairness of it all, the sheer betrayal, burned hotter than her terror.

——————————————

Meanwhile, elsewhere…

Kiba stairs, suddenly very aware of what his mom meant when she said ‘The laziness is a mask’.

He and Akamaru had ended up going to the market with his mom, but he had wandered off probably two hours ago, and for the past hour had been dealing with clan racists.

They weren’t much older than him, probably from the ages of thirteen to fifteen, but they were Chuunin already, and Kiba was still just an Academy student. But if you asked Kiba what clan they were from, he couldn’t tell you, hell, they just might be civilian-born Shinobi, they didn’t look particularly special.

But still, they were being assholes. They hadn’t gotten physical, not yet, but they were calling him and Akamaru “mutt” and “dog-boy” and worse things about his mom. Trailing behind them just close enough for their nasty whispers to carry. Every time Kiba spun around, fists clenched, they’d scatter like roaches, melting into the crowd only to reappear moments later. Akamaru growled low in his throat, fur bristling along his spine, his small body pressed protectively against Kiba’s leg. Kiba’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth. He wanted to lunge, to sink his own teeth into one of them, to make them bleed.

He’d managed to lose them twice, but it seemed the longer he ignored them the more pissed off and determined they got. Kiba had turned a corner, getting distracted by making eye contact with Shikaku, who was in a pharmacy. They had both looked confused until Kiba heard a frustrated shout— something about ‘I’m tired of them meaningless mutt ignoring us!’— and turned his head just in time to see the fist coming towards his face.

The fist connected with enough force to snap Kiba's head sideways, sending stars exploding behind his eyes. He stumbled back, tasting copper as his lip split against his teeth. Akamaru erupted into a frenzy of furious barks, launching himself at the attacker's leg. The chuunin – a lanky boy with greasy hair – yelped as Akamaru's tiny teeth sank deep into his calf. "Get off, you flea-bitten mutt!" he snarled, trying to shake Akamaru loose.

But this is when Kiba’s first thought came to mind, when his mom had said about Shikaku, ‘The laziness is a mask.’ Kiba barely had time to try and reorient himself— the world was spinning— when he saw Shikaku move.

Kiba blinked once, then twice and Shikaku was standing over the greasy-haired chuunin.

Now, Kiba knew Shikaku was a big man, both in the way of muscles and height, but now he looked… massive, and it took Kiba a second to realize he looked massive because he wasn’t slouching anymore, or… at least he was nearly not slouching anymore, he was slouched just enough to curl his upper body over the chuunin. Shikaku’s shadow stretched unnaturally long and dark, engulfing the greasy-haired boy who froze mid-kick, his eyes wide with sudden terror. Akamaru dropped to the ground, whimpering softly as he limped back to Kiba’s side. Kiba pressed a hand to his throbbing lip, his own anger momentarily eclipsed by… something…

Shikaku was still staring at the three teenagers, but instead of looking like the lazy man that took naps anywhere and everywhere— even of the floor of his home— he looked more like one of those monsters his mom likes to tell stories about to scare people that hide in the woods and eat people. Kiba’s never seen his eyes like that. They were cold, so cold… so… so mean, so scary, it felt like looking into the pits of hell.

When Shikaku spoke he didn’t sound like himself either. His voice was… not right, it sounded like a monster trying to mimic a human's voice. It was good, it sounded real, but it was just… not right. “Explain. Now.”

The greasy-haired chuunin stammered, “H-he started it! That mutt bit me!” He gestured wildly at Akamaru, who whined and pressed closer to Kiba’s leg. Kiba bristled, blood hot in his veins again. “Liar! You hit me first!” he yelled, spraying a fine mist of crimson from his split lip.

Shikaku didn’t move. His shadow deepened, stretching unnaturally across the cobblestones like spilled ink. The air grew thick and cold. “Did you,” Shikaku murmured, the words low and wrong, like stones grinding together deep underground. His head tilted slowly, unnaturally far to the side. The chuunin flinched back. “Strike… a child?” The unnatural stillness radiating from Shikaku froze the bustling market crowd. Vendors stopped haggling, shoppers paused mid-step. Only the terrified whimpers of the three chuunin broke the silence. Shikaku’s shadow pulsed, tendrils snaking out to coil around their ankles like cold iron shackles.

“… Nara…” One of the vendors sounded like he was choking. “Maybe—… maybe you should take a breath?” Shikaku’s head snapped towards the voice, his neck moving with the jerky precision of a puppet. The vendor recoiled, dropping his basket of persimmons. They rolled across the cobblestones, ignored. Shikaku’s gaze returned to the trembling chuunin. “Answer.” The command wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It vibrated in Kiba’s bones. “Why did you think it was acceptable to strike him?” Kiba felt Akamaru tremble violently against his leg.

The greasy-haired chuunin’s bladder gave way. The sharp scent of urine cut through the market’s usual smells of spices and fish. His friends tried to shuffle back, but Shikaku’s shadow tendrils tightened, rooting them in place. “H-he’s… Inuzuka trash!” the leader choked out, desperation warping his face. “Always causing trouble! We were just—”

“SHUT UP!” Kiba snarled, blood dripping from his split lip onto the dusty ground. Akamaru growled low beside him, hackles raised. “They threw rotten fruit at Akamaru! Called him ‘mutt’! I told them to stop! Then *he*—” Kiba jabbed a furious finger at the leader, “—punched me! You saw!” He glared at Shikaku, defiance burning through the pain. “They started it!”

Shikaku didn’t move. His shadow, thick and unnaturally dark, pulsed where it pinned the bullies’ feet. The unnatural stillness radiating from him deepened, chilling the air. The market crowd remained frozen, breaths held. The greasy-haired chuunin whimpered, trembling violently.

Then Shikaku forced himself to take a deep breath. The unnatural stillness snapped. The oppressive chill lifted slightly, replaced by a sharp, controlled anger. His shadow tendrils dissolved. The bullies stumbled backward, gasping, the leader collapsing into his own puddle. Shikaku’s voice, still cold but recognizably human now, cut through the silence. "Leave. Now." He didn't shout. The quiet command carried terrifying weight. The bullies scrambled to obey, dragging their leader away, faces pale with shame and lingering terror.

Kiba wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his gaze flicking between Shikaku and the retreating bullies. Akamaru nudged his leg, whining softly. Shikaku took another moment, taking a few more deep breaths before turning to Kiba. He didn’t say anything, but walked right up to the boy and scooped him up, ignoring Kiba’s squawk of indignation mixed with a protest. His chin rested on Shikaku’s shoulder with the way he was held. Shikaku’s voice was low, almost gentle, but still carrying the edge of lingering fury. "You okay?" Kiba nodded stiffly against Shikaku’s shoulder, Akamaru trotting alongside them. "Yeah. Just… lip."

Shikaku carried him through the unnaturally silent market crowd. People stared, but no one dared speak. The scent of ozone and pine clung thickly to Shikaku, mingling with the metallic tang of Kiba’s blood. "They insulted Akamaru," Kiba muttered, fists clenching in Shikaku’s coat. "Called him vermin." Shikaku’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "Hn. Fools." He didn’t offer platitudes. Didn’t tell Kiba to ignore it. But his grip did tighten as he hoisted Kiba higher. Kiba pressed his face against the rough fabric of Shikaku’s coat, inhaling the sharp, comforting scent. Akamaru trotted close, nudging Kiba’s dangling leg with a worried whine.

“… we’re going to cut through my forest, kid, do not look.” Shikaku’s Voice was rough as he knelt down, snatching Akamaru by the scruff and shoving the pup in between his and Kiba’s bodies. He moved fast, shifting Kiba’s weight onto his hip with one arm while the other pressed Akamaru firmly against Kiba’s chest. “Hold him tight. Do not look. Not even if you hear something.” He tugged Kiba’s hood over the kid’s head as far as it could go, over his eyes and ears. “Do not look.” He repeated, his voice dropping into a low growl that vibrated through Kiba’s ribs. “And whatever you smell in that forest, no you don’t.”

Kiba froze, Akamaru whimpering softly against his chest. He could smell it already—a coppery tang beneath the pine and ozone, thick and wet. Blood. Lots of it. Old and fresh. And something else… something rotten-sweet, like decaying meat left in the sun. He buried his face in Akamaru’s fur, the familiar scent of dog a small comfort against the overwhelming stench of death flooding his senses. Shikaku’s footsteps crunched on something brittle—twigs? Bones?—as he moved off the main path, plunging them into the deeper shadows where the light barely penetrated. Kiba squeezed his eyes shut beneath the hood, obeying. He heard rustling nearby, a wet tearing sound, and the high-pitched, chittering laughter of something small and sharp-toothed. Something crunched under Shikaku’s boot. Akamaru trembled violently.

“Puppy! Puppy! Puppy! Puppy! Puppy! Puppy!” Multiple things chittered, their voices overlapping in a high-pitched chorus. The sound echoed unnervingly close. “Shikaku brought a puppy! Can play with us like Shikamaru?” Kiba’s breath hitched. *Shikamaru?* The voices were high-pitched, gleeful, and terrifyingly close. Their chittering echoed around him, punctuated by wet tearing sounds and the snap of small bones. Akamaru whined, pressing harder against Kiba’s chest, trembling uncontrollably.

The stench of blood and decay thickened, coating the back of Kiba’s throat. Shikaku’s grip tightened around him, “he doesn’t know about the forest yet,” Shikaku said firmly, his voice cutting through the chittering. “He’s not playing.”

A chorus of disappointed sighs followed. Kiba heard frantic scrambling nearby, followed by a wet ripping sound. Something small and sharp bumped against his dangling leg. He flinched violently. “Shikaku’s puppy smells scared!” one giggled. “Not like Shikamaru! Shikamaru smells like clever shadows!” “Shikamaru plays! Gives us fun puzzles!” another chirped excitedly. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Shikaku! Bad lady gone! Bad lady screamed loud! Bad lady tasted… sour!” Kiba’s stomach churned. He squeezed Akamaru tighter, burying his face deeper into the hoodie. He heard Shikaku’s footsteps shift direction, stepping over something heavy and soft.

The chittering intensified, sounding almost frantic. “Bad lady gone now!” one announced proudly. “All gone! Only little bones left! Little bones for Shikaku?” Shikaku’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Keep them. Play nicely.” The chittering erupted into delighted squeals. Kiba felt Shikaku begin moving again, faster now, leaving the horrific sounds and smells behind. The oppressive silence returned, broken only by the crunch of Shikaku’s boots and Akamaru’s soft whimpers. Kiba dared to peek one eye open beneath the hood.

Through the gap, he glimpsed a patch of mossy ground stained dark crimson. Small, pale fragments littered the stain. He snapped his eye shut again, heart hammering against his ribs. *Bad lady. Gone. Little bones.* The words echoed in his mind. *Shikamaru played.* He clutched Akamaru, the image of Shikamaru’s lazy, sighing face clashing violently with the horrifying implication. *What did Shikamaru do?* The forest felt colder, darker. Shikaku carried him onward, deeper into the ancient woods.

“It’s okay, their just curious,” Shikaku murmured, his voice vibrating against Kiba’s side. The reassurance felt thin against the lingering scent of blood and the memory of those chittering voices. “Just think of this as a pre-emptive walk-through. You’re handling it well.”

Kiba didn’t feel like he was handling it well. His entire body trembled against Shikaku’s solid frame, Akamaru’s frantic heartbeat syncing with his own. The scent of iron and rot clung to his nostrils, thick and suffocating. *Bad lady screamed loud. Bad lady tasted sour.* The words looped in his head, sharp and terrifying. He squeezed Akamaru tighter, the puppy’s whimper muffled against his chest. Shikaku’s footsteps crunched over unseen debris, steady and unhurried, carrying them away from that awful clearing. The oppressive silence of the deeper forest pressed in, broken only by the distant drip of moisture from unseen leaves and the frantic drumming inside Kiba’s own ears. He kept his eyes squeezed shut beneath the hood, replaying the glimpse of crimson-stained moss and those pale, scattered fragments. *Little bones.* He shuddered violently. Shikamaru’s face swam in his mind – bored, sighing, slumped against a tree. *Shikamaru played.* What did that mean? What kind of puzzles? The disconnect between the lazy genius he knew and the implication of… whatever happened… was jarring, terrifying. He felt a sudden, desperate need to see Shikamaru, to look him in the eye and *know*.

“Move,” Shikaku sounded more irritated than anything as he spoke to whatever blocked their path. “He’s not like Shikamaru. He doesn’t know about you all yet. You can’t just crowd him.” Kiba heard rustling, like leaves skittering away. He dared a peek from under the hood. Between Shikaku’s shoulder and his own hood, he saw twisted roots pulling back into the earth and patches of moss shifting aside. The forest itself was making way. Akamaru whimpered louder, burying his nose deeper into Kiba’s jacket. The scent of wet earth and pine was slowly replacing the metallic tang of blood, but Kiba’s stomach still churned. He focused on the steady rhythm of Shikaku’s breathing, the solid warmth against his side. It was the only anchor in a world suddenly turned alien and terrifying.

They broke through the treeline into the opening where the Nara compound stood bathed in late afternoon sun. Shikaku sighed, and from a distance Kiba heard his… mom’s voice? “… I guess It didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.” Tsume’s voice cut through the lingering forest dread like a knife. She sat on the engawa, arms crossed, Kuromaru at her side. Her eyes scanned Kiba’s pale face, the dried blood on his lip, and Akamaru’s trembling form still buried against Kiba’s chest.

“He took it better than most Genin,” Shikaku murmured, lowering Kiba onto the sun-warmed wood. Akamaru instantly scrambled free, pressing against Tsume’s leg with frantic whines. Kiba stayed frozen, his eyes wide, fixed on Shikaku’s shadow stretching unnaturally long on the porch. “Though, I did find him fighting with some Chūnin that thought they were hot shit. One of them pissed their pants when I showed up.” Shikaku added, his tone flat.

Tsume's expression flickers with something protective before she snorted loudly at the ‘pissed their pants’ part. She sighed, heaving as she moved to sit down beside her son, her large hand landing heavily on Kiba’s shoulder. Her scent—wild dog, earth, and something fiercely maternal—was a grounding anchor. Akamaru pressed his wet nose against Kiba’s knee.

“You okay, pup?” Tsume asked, her voice low and rough, devoid of its usual sharp bark. Her thumb brushed gently over Kiba’s split lip. The scent of forest decay clung to him, mingling with the sharp tang of fear-sweat and old blood. Kuromaru whined softly, nudging Kiba’s other knee.

“… what— what the hell was that?” Kiba choked out, his voice cracking. He flinched away from Tsume’s touch instinctively, scrambling backwards until his spine hit the sturdy wooden pillar of the engawa. Akamaru whined, torn between pressing against Tsume and staying close to Kiba. “The forest… it *moved*. And those voices… talking about… about…” He couldn’t say it. The image of those pale, gnawed bones flashed behind his eyelids. “And Shikamaru! They said… they said Shikamaru *played*!” His gaze snapped to Shikaku, standing silent and implacable in the fading light. “Shikamaru wouldn’t… he’s lazy! He naps! He complains about *everything*! He wouldn’t… *play*… with *that*!” The word ‘play’ tasted like bile.

“… I told you this was a bad idea.” Shikaku’s voice was low, weary, as he stepped onto the engawa beside Tsume, sitting down beside her. He didn’t look at Kiba, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the compound walls, towards the dark line of the forest. Watching things Kiba refused to turn and look at. “He wasn’t ready.”

Tsume didn’t take her eyes off Kiba. She watched him for a moment longer before she let out a sigh, the breath seemingly dragging the tension from her own shoulders. She reached out slowly, deliberately, giving him time to flinch away again if he needed to. When he didn’t, her calloused hand settled firmly on top of his head, claws retracted, pressing warmth into his scalp. Her scent—earth, ozone, and the faint metallic tang of old blood—washed over him, thick and familiar. Pack. Safe ground. Akamaru immediately pressed his entire furry body against Kiba’s side, a low, comforting rumble vibrating through him.

“… I just didn’t want him to get curious and wander in by himself,” Tsume murmured, her thumb rubbing slow circles on Kiba’s scalp. Her gaze flickered to Shikaku, a silent communication passing between them. “Better he sees a glimpse with us holding him, than stumbling blind later.” She turned her full attention back to Kiba, her amber eyes sharp and unwavering. “Listen, pup. I saw that curiosity this morning when you were asking about the forest. I know you’d try to walk through it by yourself.” She paused, letting the weight of that sink in. “So Shikaku showed you a *controlled* piece of it. Enough to warn you. Enough to scare you straight.” Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “That fear? That’s smart. Hold onto it. It’ll keep you alive.”

Kiba swallowed hard, the metallic taste of his own blood still faint on his tongue. The image of those shifting trees, the whispers, the glimpse of something pale and sharp… it warred with Tsume’s grounding scent and Akamaru’s solid warmth. “But… Shikamaru?” he choked out, confusion warring with disbelief. “He… he *plays* with that? He’s lazy! He hates effort!” The idea seemed utterly alien, impossible to reconcile with the boy who groaned at climbing stairs.

“… Shikamaru grew up with those things coming up to the house to see him,” Shikaku stated flatly, leaning back until his back hit the engawa. His shadow stretched long and unnaturally still in the late afternoon sun. “He didn’t *choose* to play with horrors, Kiba. He learned their names because they were outside his window before he could walk.” He met Kiba’s wide, terrified eyes. “What you saw? That’s his normal. That’s why he sighs. That’s why he naps. Because the world outside his shadow is… loud.” Shikaku’s gaze drifted towards the darkening forest edge. “He doesn’t fear them like you just learned to.”

Tsume’s hand tightened on Kiba’s shoulder, claws pricking gently through his jacket. “Different woods, pup,” she murmured, her voice a low rumble. “Not like ours were the most dangerous thing we got is a pissed-off badger.” Her gaze flicked to Shikaku, sharp and assessing. “You okay?”

Shikaku grunted, pushing himself upright with a fluid motion that belied the weariness in his eyes. “Fine. Just… didn’t plan on running into the clean-up crew.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening. “… they seemed to like Kiba, kept calling him a puppy.”

Tsume snorted, a sharp, canine sound. “Course they do. He smells like wet dog and trouble.” She ruffled Kiba’s hair again, her touch firm. “You handled it better than most would’ve, pup. Saw the ugly, didn’t scream, didn’t piss yourself. Good.” Her praise was blunt, but warmth bloomed in Kiba’s chest despite the lingering chill. Akamaru licked his cheek enthusiastically.

Kiba leaned into Tsume's touch, the lingering terror slowly receding beneath the familiar scents of pine, earth, and pack. Akamaru whined softly, pressing his wet nose against Kiba's bruised cheek. The forest's unnatural whispers still echoed faintly, but Tsume's grounding presence and Shikaku's weary honesty anchored him. "They... liked me?" Kiba mumbled, bewildered. The memory of those chilling voices cooing "puppy" sent a fresh shiver down his spine, conflicting sharply with the warmth of Akamaru's fur.

“Mmmm…” Shikaku hummed, shifting to sit with his knees brought up, arms loosely laying across his knees. “… I think it’s because you smell like your mother… I used to have to chase her through the woods so she wouldn’t try to eat them.” He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that spoke volumes of exhaustion. “… They like her scent on you. And mine. Makes you smell like… ours.”

Kiba blinked, processing that. The creatures liked him because he smelled like Tsume? And Shikaku? Like… theirs? He glanced down at Akamaru, who whined softly, pressing closer. The idea was weird, unsettling even, but also… strangely reassuring. They weren’t just random monsters. They were part of Shikamaru’s weird, terrifying normal. And they’d accepted him. Sort of.

Tsume snorted, a sharp, amused sound. “Course they like him. He’s got good instincts. Didn’t scream, didn’t bolt. Just watched.” She ruffled Kiba’s hair again, claws catching gently. “Told you the forest teaches its own lessons, pup. You passed the first one.”

Kiba leaned into her touch, the scent of pine needles and damp earth still clinging faintly to Shikaku’s clothes mixing with Tsume’s wild ozone smell. It *did* feel like belonging. A fierce, protective kind. He thought of Shikamaru, napping under a tree while things with too many teeth watched from the shadows. “… Shikamaru really knows all their names?” he asked quietly.

“Not all of them have names, but yeah, he knows.” Shikaku’s voice was low, tired. “He learned them before he learned Konoha’s street names. The forest was his playground.” He rubbed his temples, looking towards Tsume, the two of them seemingly having a silent conversation. Shikaku blinked slowly and sighed for the eighty millionth time that day as he looked towards Kiba. “… you want to meet one of them? Properly?”

Kiba froze. Akamaru whined, pressing against his leg. The image of shifting shadows and gnashing teeth flashed behind his eyes. Tsume’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder. “Only if you’re ready, pup,” she murmured, her voice steady. “Shikaku wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t safe. Not now.”

Kiba swallowed hard, the phantom scent of ozone and damp earth filling his nose. He looked at Shikaku’s weary face, then at Tsume’s fierce, protective gaze. “…Yeah,” he managed, his voice rough. “Yeah, okay.” He wasn’t sure he was ready, but the fierce determination to understand Shikamaru’s world, to be the *big brother* Shikamaru needed in that strange place, pushed the fear down. Akamaru gave a soft, supportive bark.

“… okay, stay here, I’ll be right back,” Shikaku sighed, pushing himself off the engawa, hesitating for a moment as he looked over towards Tsume. “Tooth fairy? They’re the smallest things out there. Least likely to scare him. But it’s up to you, if you want me to, I’ll go find something else.”

Tsume’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She glanced at Kiba, who was trying very hard to look brave, fingers buried deep in Akamaru’s fur. “Tooth fairy,” she decided firmly. “Small. Manageable. And their kinda cute… in a creepy, tiny-murder-beast sorta way.”

Shikaku nodded, stepping toward the forest edge. He waved lazily towards Tsume and Kiba as he disappeared into the shadows. "Wait here," his voice drifted back, already muffled by the ancient trees. Kiba shifted nervously, Akamaru pressing against his leg with a low whine. Tsume rested a hand on Kiba’s shoulder, claws retracted. "Easy, pup. First meetings are always tense. Remember your scent – you’re pack. They know it."

A rustle came from the undergrowth – too deliberate to be wind. Shikaku reappeared, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were tight with barely concealed annoyance as a little creature scurried its way across his body like a squirrel. It clung to his shoulder, chirping excitedly in a language that sounded like clicking pebbles. Its skin was the mottled grey-brown of weathered bone, stretched taut over a disturbingly humanoid frame with the bottom half resembling a spider. Large black eyes dominated its face, reflecting the fading light like polished obsidian. Its mouth was a lipless gash filled with rows of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. It chittered softly, a sound like pebbles rattling in a tin can.

Kiba froze. Akamaru let out a low, instinctive growl, hackles rising. Tsume’s hand tightened on Kiba’s shoulder, grounding him. "Easy," she murmured, her voice low and steady. "That’s a Tooth Fairy."

The creature tilted its head, its obsidian eyes fixed on Kiba. It chirped again, a rapid series of clicks. Shikaku sighed, the sound heavy with long-suffering. "This is Hakari," he introduced flatly. "He’s… enthusiastic."

The tooth fairy, Hakari, crawls across Shikaku’s shoulders, staring at him curiously much like a toddler would to a stranger. Then it jumped. And Kiba swore his soul left his body because that thing could fly with fair-like wings. Akamaru shrieked as if he was being murdered, running away to hide under Kuromaru.

Hakari landed on the engawa floorboards with a soft *tick-tick-tick* of chitinous legs. He tilted his head, studying Kiba with unnerving intensity. His needle-teeth glistened. Akamaru’s terrified whimpers echoed from beneath Kuromaru.

"Enthusiastic?" Kiba choked out, pressing back against Tsume. "It flies! Why does it *fly*?"

“Because it’s a fairy,” Shikaku heaves himself back onto the engawa, watching the little things skitter around the five of them, before finally seemingly realizing Tsume’s pregnant belly and immediately crawling towards her. “And they’re harmless unless you’re dead or dying. Or if you attack them first.”

Hakari chirped, bony fingers tapping against Tsume’s swollen stomach. “Shikaku’s baby,” the voice that came from the fairy sounded much like the ones Kiba had heard earlier in the forest—a high-pitched chittering.

Tsume didn’t flinch. Instead, she reached out a clawed hand and gently scratched the top of Hakari’s skull. “Yes, Hakari. Shikaku’s baby.”

Kiba watched, wide-eyed, as the Tooth Fairy pressed its ear against Tsume’s belly. Akamaru whined softly, tail tucked, but Kiba forced himself to stay still. *Pack*, he reminded himself. *Shikamaru knows these things. So should I.*

Hakari’s head snapped up, its too-many teeth clicking in excitement. “Baby strong!” it chittered. “Loud! Like *you*!” It pointed a bony finger at Kiba, making him jump. “And like *him*!” It gestured towards Shikaku with a jerky movement, skittering off of Tsume and climbing up Shikaku, nestling itself on the Nara’s shoulder. “Good bones! Strong bones!”

Kiba swallowed hard, forcing his shoulders to relax. Akamaru nudged his hand, a low whine in his throat. *Okay. Okay, it’s just… weird. Like Kuromaru after too much catnip.* He took a shaky breath. “So… Hakari? You… you know Shikamaru?” The name felt strange on his tongue in this context.

Hakari’s head tilted almost 180 degrees, its dark eyes fixed on Kiba. “Shika-ma-ru!” it chirped, the name fragmented but clear. “The Fawn! Sleeps in the moss. Shares his shadows with us. Lets us nibble the bad teeth!” It skittered down Shikaku’s arm, bony legs tapping a rapid rhythm on the engawa wood. “He is *ours*. Forest’s Fawn. Not like *her*.” Hakari spat, a sharp, brittle sound. “*She* screamed. *She* tasted sour. Bad bones. Weak.”

Kiba flinched at the mention of those bone pieces, the image flashing back. Akamaru whined low in his throat, pressing closer. "Nibble... bad teeth?" Kiba echoed, confused but morbidly fascinated. The creature seemed genuinely fond of Shikamaru in its own twisted way.

Shikaku sighed, a low rumble. "He loses baby teeth like any kid. The fairies collect them. Considers it a... trade. He leaves them milk bones sometimes in return. Mutual respect." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing squirrels at a bird feeder.

Hakari chittered, flopping down on the engawa dramatically. “When Fawn come back?” It sounded almost petulant. “Forest misses its lazy shadow. The moss grows too quiet.”

Kiba’s nose wrinkled. “He’s training,” he blurted, puffing his chest slightly. “With Naruto! Getting stronger. For the pack.” The word felt solid, grounding him. Akamaru yipped agreement, even if he was still halfway hidden underneath Kuromaru.

“Sunshine!” Hakari shrieked, scrambling upright. Its needle-teeth clicked in excitement. “The Red Fox! Sharp teeth! Sharp eyes! Shiny hair!” It spun in a rapid circle, bony legs a blur. “Fawn’s lady-love! Forest *likes* her!”

Shikaku’s lips twitched. “She does tend to leave an impression.” He glanced at Tsume, whose grin was sharp and knowing. Naruto’s chaotic energy was a force of nature even the ancient things acknowledged.

Kiba blinked, momentarily thrown. "Lady-love?" He'd seen Shikamaru and Naruto together… always together. Kiba’s not sure he can remember a time he saw Shikamaru without Naruto nearby. But the way Hakari said it, with that bone-rattling chirp of approval, made it sound… bigger. More real. Akamaru whined softly, sniffing cautiously at Hakari’s spindly leg. The Tooth Fairy didn’t seem to mind, tilting its head at the pup.

"Sharp teeth," Hakari repeated, clicking its own needle-sharp fangs together. "Sharp eyes see *everything*. Forest feels her chakra… like sunshine through leaves! Warm. Bright. Makes the shadows dance!" It did a little, jerky hop. "Fawn brings her sometimes. Shares his shadows with her. She shares her *ramen*!" Hakari shuddered dramatically. "Too salty! But Fawn eats it. For her."

Kiba’s mind whirled. Shikamaru, eating ramen he didn’t like? For *Naruto*? That lazy lump who complained about the effort of chewing sometimes? That… that sounded serious. Akamaru nudged his hand, sensing his confusion.

“… Ino doesn’t seem to like Sunshine,” Hakari deflated slightly, going back to that petulant child tone. “She smells… sour. Like spoiled milk. When Fawn home, Ino pushes Fawn away from Sunshine sometimes. Tries to.” The Tooth Fairy’s head tilted at an unnatural angle. “Fawn doesn’t like it. His shadows get… spiky. Angry…. We think Ino wants to be Fawn’s lady-love.” Hakari’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But Fawn already has Sunshine! Forest knows. Forest *sees*.”

Kiba’s eyes widened. He knew Ino had a crush on Shikamaru – everyone knew. But hearing this forest creature confirm it so bluntly, and sensing Shikamaru’s reaction through the lens of the shadows and the forest’s perception… it was unnerving. “Shikamaru… he gets mad?” Kiba asked, his voice small.

Hakari laughed, a high-pitched chittering sound like breaking glass. “Mad? Fawn’s shadows *bite* when Ino gets too close to Sunshine! They wrap tight around Sunshine’s legs. Like vines. Protective vines.” The Tooth Fairy mimed wrapping something with spindly fingers. “Forest feels Fawn’s heart. It beats *only* for Sunshine. Loud. And starting to beat loudly for that little moon too. Like drums in the deep woods. Ino’s sour smell makes the drums angry.” Hakari sighed dramatically, flopping onto the engawa again. “Fawn should come home. Bring Sunshine to the forest more. Forest misses her fire. Forest wants to meet the little moon.”

Shikaku’s expression softened, a rare warmth touching his eyes. “Shikamaru will be home soon, Hakari. And he’ll bring Sunshine with him. As for Little Moon…” He paused, considering Sasuke’s guarded nature. “That one’s harder to lure. You might have to wait for him to graduate from the Academy to see him properly.” Hakari’s tiny form vibrated with excitement, chittering about “sharp-eyed moon cubs” and “fox-fire games” before vanishing into the ferns with a rustle.

Kiba stared at the spot where the creature had vanished, his mind reeling. Sunshine? Little moon? If Naruto was Sunshine, who the hell was Little moon? And Shikamaru’s shadows got angry when Ino tried to pull him away from Naruto?

Tsume’s hand settled on his shoulder, grounding him. "Forest sees things differently, pup. Naruto’s chakra burns like wildfire to them – bright, untamed. And Sasuke? Cold and distant, like moonlight on snow. They’ve been watching."

Kiba squawked, his confusion growing at the mention of Sasuke. “Sasuke? That Uchiha ice cube? Why would Shikamaru’s shadows care about him?” His nose wrinkled. “And why’s the forest calling him ‘Little moon’? That’s just weird.” The idea of Shikamaru, lazy and perpetually annoyed, having his shadows react to *Sasuke* felt absurd.

Shikaku’s shadow stretched unnaturally long in the afternoon light, a subtle ripple passing through it. “Sasuke Uchiha,” he stated, his voice low and resonant. “The forest sees what most miss, Kiba. That ‘ice cube’ carries a storm inside…” he paused for a moment, glancing towards the compound gate. “Speaking of which…”

There was a messenger hawk perched on the gate’s arch, its sharp eyes fixed on Shikaku. It swooped down when it was finally noticed, landing silently on Shikaku’s extended forearm. A tiny scroll was tied to its leg. Shikaku unrolled it, his expression shifting from weary resignation to focused intensity as he read.

It was from his son.

*They’re trying to kill me.* was the first thing written on it. Not a hello. Not a how are you. Not even a signature.

Shikaku coughed, clearing his throat as he tried to suppress a chuckle. "Dramatic little shit," he muttered under his breath, though Kiba caught the flicker of concern in his eyes.

Shikaku glanced over too Tsume’s curious expression and he rolled his eyes, sighing as he started to read the letter aloud. “Dad, were you aware that the Uzumaki have a Kekkei Genkai? Naruto has recently awakened hers. It’s called the Sōzōgan…” Shikaku trailed off, his eyes scanning the rest of the letter. His lips moved silently as he read, a flurry of emotions flickering across his face. “… a Dōjutsu Kekkei Genkai…”

Kiba tilted his head, confused. “Sōzōgan? What’s that?”

“… Sōzōgan, doesn’t that translate to the eye of creation, doesn’t it?” Tsume asked, a tinge of confusion mixed with concern. “That’s a bit… dramatic, even for a Dōjutsu.”

Shikaku shifts where he sits beside Tsume, his gaze flicking over the scroll again, pausing on one particular sentence, “The Dōjutsu gives her the ability to see everything…” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a near whisper, starting to read his son’s letter again. “Down to the flow of chakra like threads of light, the very structure of jutsu laid bare… and atomic-level control over her own energy. The Sōzōgan Limitless, the name for the abilities the Sōzōgan grants, brings the concept of infinity into reality. She can manipulate space itself.” He pauses, his knuckles whitening around the scroll as one single photo slid from in between the multiple pages. He snatched it up, looking over it.

It was a close-up shot of Naruto and Shikamaru, looking like Naruto had dragged his boy into taking a picture with her. Naruto was grinning like a fool, pushing a pair of sunglasses down her nose as she wiggled her eyebrows, and Shikamaru looked like he just wanted to take a nap.

But what Shikaku’s gaze and mind immediately zeroed on was Naruto’s eyes. They were a brilliant, almost blinding blue that seemed to glow from within, like twin suns captured in her skull. The pupils were slitted, sharp and predatory like they always had been, but the irises… they were different. Deep blue patterns swirled within the crystal blue, intricate and impossible, like whirlpools forming in an ocean. They pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light even through the photo, like miniature galaxies spinning in the depths of her gaze.

*Sōzōgan.* The Eye of Creation. Shikaku felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool forest air. He remembered Kushina spewing random history knowledge she knew when she got drunk enough to talk about her clan. She spoke of ancient Uzumaki legends, of eyes that could unravel the universe stitch by stitch. He'd dismissed it as clan myth-making back then. Now, staring at the photo clutched in his hand, the impossible blue whirlpools gazing back at him from Naruto's face, the myth felt terrifyingly real. Those weren't just eyes; they were windows into infinity itself. And they belonged to an eleven-year-old girl who thought ramen counted as a balanced diet.

After a moment of silence, Shikaku couldn’t help but laugh—a low, rumbling sound that startled Tsume and Kiba. "Of course," he murmured, shaking his head as he handed the photo to Tsume. "Only Naruto would awaken a legendary dōjutsu and immediately use it to annoy Shikamaru into taking pictures."

Tsume squinted at the image. Naruto’s grin was blindingly bright, her Sōzōgan eyes blazing like captured starlight—swirling galaxies of blue with slitted pupils that seemed to pulse even in the stillness of the photograph. Beside her, Shikamaru looked exasperated but fond, his shadow subtly curled around her like a possessive tether. "Damn," Tsume breathed. "Kid’s got Kushina’s fire and Minato’s chaos wrapped in one package. Those eyes… they’re real, then. Kushina’s drunken ramblings weren’t just fairy tales."

Kiba leaned in, nose twitching. "So she can see chakra flows? Like, *all* of them? Even mine?" He sounded equal parts awed and unnerved.

Shikaku nodded, tapping the photo. "Atomic-level perception. She'll see your chakra pathways clearer than you see your own reflection." His gaze drifted toward the forest’s edge, where shadows pooled thick and restless. "And she’ll manipulate space itself once she masters Limitless. Remember the lessons you had on the fourth. Now imagine his Hiraishin without markers… just pure, instinctive warping."

Tsume whistled low. "No wonder Shikamaru’s shadows cling to her like that. Her chakra’s a lighthouse in a storm." She paused, nostrils flaring as she caught Kiba’s anxious scent. "Relax, pup. Naruto won’t dissect you. Probably."

Kiba flushed, scratching behind Akamaru’s ears. "Still creepy! What if she sees me pickin’ my nose or somethin’?"

Shikaku’s expression sobered as he refolded Shikamaru’s letter. "She’ll see everything," he murmured. "The flicker of a lie, the tremor of fear… and the rot beneath pretty surfaces." He remembered Yoshino’s cold eyes in the Nara Forest, the way the shadows had swallowed her screams. Naruto’s Sōzōgan wouldn’t just perceive chakra; it would dissect intent, layer by layer. A tool of terrifying clarity—or a weapon waiting to be honed.

Chapter Text

Ino shifts where she sits at her desk, staring down at the blank piece of paper she’s been staring at for the past two hours, trying to force herself to write something. Anything.

She hasn’t talked to Shikamaru since he left the village for that training trip all those months ago. She has not sent a single letter to him and he has not sent a single letter to her.

They haven’t spoken since that fight. That fight were Shikamaru actually yelled— no, screamed at her— for the first time. She remembers his voice cracking, shadows writhing like living things around him, his eyes dark and furious.

*“Take it back, Ino! I said take it back! She’s Not A freak!”*

Shikamaru’s scream echoed in Ino’s head, sharp and raw, as she stared at the blank page. Months. Months of silence stretched between them like a canyon, and her pen felt heavy as stone. She’d started a dozen letters – apologies, excuses, casual greetings – but each one ended crumpled on the floor. How could she bridge the gap when his shadows had felt like knives that day? When he’d looked at her like she was poison? She traced the edge of her desk, the polished wood cool under her fingertips. Outside, the cheerful chatter of the Yamanaka Flower Shop drifted up – her father’s gentle voice advising a customer on lilies – a world away from the cold knot in her chest.

Downstairs, in the flower shop in front of the compound, Inoichi paused mid-sentence, his senses prickling. He felt the familiar, jagged spike of his daughter’s chakra – frustration mixed with a deep, aching loneliness. He excused himself quietly, making his way to her. He found her hunched over her desk, shoulders tense, the air thick with unshed tears. He didn’t speak immediately, leaning against the doorframe, observing the crumpled balls of paper littering the floor like fallen blossoms. "The words won’t come, will they, petal?" he finally asked, his voice soft, carrying the scent of earth and chrysanthemums from the shop below.

Ino jumped, hastily wiping her eyes. "Dad! I’m… I’m fine." Her voice cracked. She gestured helplessly at the blank page. "It’s just… stupid. Writing to Shika. After everything."

Inoichi moved silently, picking up a crumpled paper ball. He smoothed it gently. Scrawled words peeked through: *"I’m sorry"*, *"Didn’t mean"*, *"Miss talking"*. He sighed, the sound heavy with understanding. "It’s not stupid, Ino. Missing someone… hurting because you pushed them away… that’s real." He knelt beside her chair, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. “Shikamaru’s anger… it wasn’t just about Naruto. It was about you dismissing something precious to *him*.” His voice softened further. “He sees Naruto differently.”

Ino stared at her father, confusion warring with the ache in her chest. "Differently?" she echoed, her voice small. "How? She's just... Naruto. Loud, messy, eats ramen constantly, pulls pranks..." The list felt hollow even as she said it, failing to capture the strange intensity Shikamaru showed around the red-haired girl.

Inoichi sighed again, shifting to sit on the floor with his back propped up against Ino’s desk drawer’s edge. He tilted his head toward the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. "Shikamaru sees things most people miss," he began slowly, his voice softening. "He notices patterns—in clouds, in shadows, in people. Naruto... she’s a pattern he can’t unravel. Not just her pranks or her ramen, but *why* she does it. Why she smiles so wide when the village turns away." He paused, letting the words sink in. "… you’ve seen it. Thing's can only really grab a Nara’s attention if it’s a puzzle they can’t solve. Naruto is that puzzle for Shikamaru."

Downstairs, the bell above the flower shop door jingled as a customer entered, the faint scent of lilies drifting up through the floorboards. Inoichi didn’t move, his focus entirely on his daughter. “Somethings are just… different,” he sighs, shifting as he scratched under his nose with a finger. “Different in a way some people can’t see…. I’m trying to say Shikamaru’s in l—”

Ino’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No! He’s not!” The denial burst out, sharp and instinctive, her cheeks flushing crimson. She couldn’t even let her dad finish the word. Shikamaru? Feeling *that*? About *Naruto*? It felt impossible, absurd. Yet… the memory of Shikamaru’s furious scream echoed louder than her protest.

Inoichi watched her carefully, his expression gentle but unwavering. He didn’t push the word again, but the implication hung thickly in the quiet room. “He values her deeply, Ino,” he corrected softly. “Deeply enough that dismissing her… dismissing *who* she is… felt like dismissing a part of himself.”

Ino stared down at the crumpled, ink-smudged paper. Shikamaru’s furious face flashed before her eyes – the way his shadows had coiled like living things, the raw, unfamiliar anger twisting his usually placid features.

*Deeply enough that dismissing her felt like dismissing a part of himself.*

The words settled like stones in Ino’s stomach. Her fingers tightened around the ruined letter, the paper whispering under the pressure. Below, the faint scent of lilies drifted up from the shop, a cheerful counterpoint to the chill creeping through her. Shikamaru’s fury hadn’t just been anger; it had been a fracture. She’d seen his shadows writhe like cornered serpents, felt the yard grow unnaturally dark and cold. That wasn’t the Shikamaru she knew, the boy who found everything troublesome. That was something primal, protective… terrifying.

“… okay, i’m going to show you something,” Inoichi stood up with a grunt, heaving as he placed his hands on the desk and pushed. “Stay here, I’m going to go get something.”

He disappeared down the hall, towards the home library. Ino stared at the blank parchment on her desk, the inkwell half empty. The memory of Shikamaru’s shadows twisting like living smoke around her ankles made her shiver. She’d never seen him lose control like that—not even when she’d accidentally trampled his cloud-watching spot last summer. His voice echoed in her mind: *"Take it back. Say you didn’t mean it."* She hadn’t. Not really. Naruto was just… loud. Messy. Always invading Shikamaru’s space with her endless chatter.

After a moment, and the sound of stuff being shuffled around, her dad reappeared in the doorway. He was holding an old looking book. It was purple, leather, and looked like it was handmade. On the book's spine the words “Flowers-Shadows-Butterflies” were carved into it. “This is a journal and picture book. It’s from the first generation of the Ino-Shika-Chō trio, detailing their time. But there’s pictures of every trio after them too.” He placed the book on the desk.

Inoichi hesitated for a moment, fingering the pages before he flipped it open. “That anger… that… dark you saw on Shikamaru… that was the real him.” He paused, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

It was an extremely old, old, old looking photo. It looks like it came from when cameras were first being made hundreds of years ago.

Ino could easily make out who was who’s ancestor was. There was a man with long blonde hair that had to be a Yamanaka, and a plump man with red hair and swirls on his cheeks that had to be an Akimichi. Both of them were grinning widely like they didn’t have a care in the world, their arms wrapped around the shoulders of the person standing in the middle… if they could be called that… a person.

The man— the Nara, Ino realized with dread— was at least a foot and a half if not more taller than the Yamanaka and Akimichi ancestors. He had long hair pulled up into a ponytail, and a scarred face— a scar that cut completely through his right cheek, showing a few of his teeth. One of each of his arms was slung over the Yamanaka and Akimichi ancestor’s shoulders, hands gripping their shoulders tightly. But that was the only normal thing about the man. It was like the man was looking right at her through the photo that had to at least be a couple hundred years old, and he looked more like one of those monsters her mother used to tell her stories about hidden in the woods that ate people than a person. His eyes. They were cold, so cold… so… so mean, so scary, she felt like she was looking into the pits of hell.

“That…” Inoichi pointed at the photo, at the Nara, “that is what all Nara look like underneath their mask of laziness.” He flipped the page to show more photos: the same trio in battle, the Nara’s shadow stretching like a living nightmare, swallowing enemies whole— no, eating them, there were things in the shadow that had teeth and they were eating the enemies. “They are predators, Ino. Gentle, patient predators. They don’t hunt unless provoked. We forget because they’re so good at hiding it. That crack you saw in Shikamaru wasn’t him losing his cool and lashing out at you. It was him letting you see what he really is.”

Ino stared at the journal, her fingers trembling. She traced the edge of the page where the Nara ancestor’s shadow devoured a man. “But… why would he show me that? Over Naruto?”

Inoichi sighed, closing the book. “Because Naruto isn’t just a puzzle to him. She’s *his*. Like the forest is to the Nara. You called her a freak—you threatened what he’s claimed. And predators don’t tolerate threats to their territory.” He paused, watching her face pale. “I’m not saying Shikamaru is a monster. You know the real him. The lazy boy who likes to take naps and cloud watch, but that’s only the forefront of him. The part he lets the world see. The part he lets *us* see. But underneath? He’s the same as that ancestor. He’s a guardian. And Naruto... she’s under his shadow now. Permanently.”

Ino swallowed hard, her gaze drifting to the window where Konoha’s streets bustled below. She remembered Shikamaru’s shadow lashing out that day—cold, hungry, *alive*. “So... what do I do?” Her voice was small, stripped of its usual confidence.

“… apologize,” Inoichi said quietly. He placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath her skin. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and say he’ll forgive and forget, he may not ever fully forgive you completely. But if you want any chance of mending things, you need to acknowledge what you did wrong. To him, and to Naruto. Even if Naruto doesn’t know what you said about her.”

Ino flinched. “Naruto doesn’t even *care* about stuff like that! She’d probably just laugh it off, dattebayo-style.”

“That’s not the point.” Inoichi’s voice sharpened. “It’s about respect. Shikamaru sees her as someone worth protecting, someone *important*. When you called her a freak, you spat on that. You spat on *him*.” He sighed, the weight of centuries in his gaze. “The shadows remember, Ino. Always. And they don’t forgive insults to their territory lightly. But they forgive for children, children who learn.”

Ino traced the spine of the ancient journal, her fingers trembling. The Nara ancestor’s predatory stare from the photo seemed to burn into her mind. She thought of Naruto—her wild crimson braids, her too-sharp teeth, the way she’d once shoved a bowl of ramen at Ino after a failed kunai throw, grinning. *"Eat up! You throw like a starvin' weasel, dattebayo!"* No malice, just… Naruto.

“… read this, if you like.” Inoichi sighed once more, through his nose this time. He tapped the journal. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but in about a weeks or so, you’re going to start learning about clan history in the Academy. This journal is a bit more… personal than what they’ll teach you.” And with that, he pushed off the desk, ruffling his daughter‘s hair as he left her room.

Ino hesitated, then flipped open the brittle pages. The entry was dated decades ago, penned in faded ink by a Yamanaka ancestor. It described how they met the Nara. *“July 5th 1679: Today, I, Inoke Yamanaka, and Chōnosuke Akimichi met the Ouji of the clan of shadow-walkers. He introduced himself as Shikarou Nara, a teen not much younger than Chōnosuke and I, maybe a year or three. He was quiet, his eyes were sharp, and he had a lazy smile that had my guard dropping faster than a kunai thrown by a child. He seemed harmless enough, he was constantly singing or humming some old Jazz music song to himself never Chōnosuke or I could figure out the name of. A sweet man I had thought. Then, something had happened, we were at a bar, so maybe perhaps it had been a bar fight that got out of hand. But something had been said and Shikarou… just snapped. His shadows had erupted, swallowing the entire building in darkness. When the light returned, the man who had made a crude comment about Shikarou’s blind wife was pinned to the wall, screaming as shadows pierced his body like spears. Shikarou hadn’t even moved from his seat. He just sipped his sake, humming that same tune, while the man bled out. That was when I realized: the laziness isn’t a flaw. It’s a restraint.”*

Ino shuddered. Shikamaru’s humming echoed in her memory—that same eerie calm before he’d snarled at her. She read on. *“After that incident, Shikarou had dragged the wounded man to the back alley, and Chōnosuke and I thought Shikarou was going to finish him off. So we followed, trying to convince him that the man had learned his lesson. When we finally caught up, Shikarou wasn’t doing anything, but there were these… fairy-like creatures no bigger than a pup. Their skin was a mottled grey-brown of weathered bone, stretched taut over a disturbingly humanoid frame with the bottom half resembling a spider. Large, lidless black eyes dominated their faces, reflecting the fading light like polished obsidian. Their mouths were a lipless gash filled with rows of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. They didn’t speak, instead, they made chittering noises, like pebbles rattling in a tin can. They were clinging to Shikarou, climbing across his body like children greeting their father as they gesture towards the man, looking… hungry. Shikarou had just smiled and told us, ‘The forest is always hungry. They’ll take care of him.’ Then, the fairies, whatever they are, pounced as if that was their cue. They didn’t kill him outright. They started… eating. Starting with the teeth. The man screamed until he couldn’t. Shikarou just watched, humming.”*

She slammed the journal shut, breathing hard. The shadows in her room suddenly felt alive.

She’d know of the things in the Nara forest, but she had always just assumed that they were made out of… shadows. That they could be constantly summoned or just formed into something in the forest because of the trees, because it was dark. But the journal entry painted a different picture. The creatures were real. They were alive. They were… things. Things that ate people.

Oh, god! Does that mean every time she walked through the forest to find Shikamaru all those things she saw… they were real? Not just shadow jutsu or something? But actual living creatures? Creatures that ate people?

Ino’s fingers trembled against the worn leather cover of the journal. The air in her bedroom felt thick, pressing in on her. Outside, the afternoon sun slanted through her window, casting long, distorted shadows across her pink bedspread. A vase of lilies on her dressboard seemed to lean forward, their shadows stretching like grasping fingers. She practically flung herself out of her desk chair and onto her bed. She scooted back on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest. It was stupid. They were just flowers. Just shadows. But the image from the journal wouldn’t leave her: Shikarou Nara humming softly while spider-things with too many legs skittered out of the gloom to feast on a screaming man.

Her breath hitched. Every childhood memory of the Nara forest twisted into something sinister. She’d walk past the things in the forest without a second thought because she thought they were made out of shadows. Because she thought they were harmless.

She was wrong.

————————————

Ino stared blankly into her lunch, jumping as somebody slammed their books down beside her, and she looked over to see Sakura scowling at her, dropping her books and bento box onto the desk beside her. She scowled right back. Ino has been staying home the past couple days— two weeks— because of that damn book freaking her out so much, what could Billboard brow possibly want?

“Sasuke’s acting weird.” Sakura leaned in, voice a harsh whisper. Her eyes darted toward the front of the classroom where Sasuke sat, chin propped on his hand as he stared out the window. A faint, dreamy smile played on his lips—the same distracted expression he’d worn for weeks. “He barely notices me anymore.”

“Like he even ever noticed you in the first place.” Ino muttered under her breath, flipping a page of her textbook with more force than necessary. Her own nerves were still frayed from her father’s journal, the image of Shikarou Nara’s humming shadow-spiders feasting seared into her mind.

Sakura bristled, practically ripping the lid of her bento open. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Ino snapped, turning a page sharply. Her knuckles were white in her textbook. The classroom chatter felt distant, muffled by the memory of those journal words—*the fairies fed while Shikarou hummed*. She flinched as Sakura slammed a palm on the desk.

“Listen!” Sakura hissed, leaning closer. Her breath hitched with desperation. “He’s *worse* today. Look at him!” She jerked her chin toward Sasuke.

Ino reluctantly followed her gaze. Sasuke wasn’t just gazing dreamily out the window anymore. He was tracing lazy patterns on the fogged glass with one finger, a soft, almost imperceptible hum vibrating in his throat. His dark eyes held a luminous, unfocused warmth, utterly absorbed in whatever vision played behind them. It was unnerving. The cold, aloof Uchiha was radiating contentment like a sun-warmed stone.

Sakura leaned closer, voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "See? He's been like this all morning! Ever since Naruto—

“Naruto’s Not Here!” Ino snapped, being louder than she intended. “She graduated over a year ago! She hasn’t been in the village for over a year!”

Sasuke’s head snapped toward them at the mention of Naruto’s name. His humming stopped abruptly. That luminous warmth in his eyes sharpened into laser focus, zeroing in on Ino with unnerving intensity. Sakura shrank back, startled by the sudden shift.

Ino froze. The journal’s horrors flooded her mind—Shikarou Nara’s humming, the shadows that stabbed like spears, the skittering things with too many legs. Sasuke’s gaze felt like those shadows: cold, predatory, and utterly still. She swallowed hard. "Sorry Sasuke. I didn’t mean to startle you with my yelling." Her voice trembled slightly.

Sasuke didn’t blink. His focus remained locked on her, sharp and unnerving. "You said Naruto’s name." His tone was low, deliberate. "Why?"

“Haha, just reminding Sakura that Naruto’s been gone forever!” Ino’s laugh sounded brittle, forced. She waved a dismissive hand, trying to shrink under Sasuke’s unnerving stare. “She’s probably off somewhere being loud and eating ramen, dattebayo-ing at clouds or something. Not important!”

Sasuke watched the two girls for a moment longer, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. The air felt thick with tension, Sakura shifting uncomfortably beside Ino. Then, without warning, Sasuke’s expression softened into something distant and warm. A faint smile touched his lips as he turned back to the window, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the glass again. "Naruto’s training," he murmured, his voice almost dreamy. "With Shikamaru. They're in Music Country right now…”

Ino let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Sakura, however, bristled beside her, fists clenched. "Training? Since when do you know where *they* are?" Her voice cracked with accusation. Sasuke didn’t turn, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if seeing something else entirely. "They send letters," he murmured absently, tracing a looping pattern on the glass. "Shikamaru draws constellations… Naruto presses wildflowers into the paper." His thumb brushed the windowpane where phantom petals might have lain. "She says the mountains there smell like lightning and pine.”

Sakura’s jealousy flared hot and sharp. "And you just… *believe* them? They abandoned the village!" The words echoed too loudly in the quiet classroom. Sasuke’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head just enough for his profile to catch the light. His dark eyes, when they met Sakura’s, held none of their earlier softness—only a chilling stillness. "They didn’t abandon anything," he stated, each word precise as a kunai strike. "They’re training with two of the Legendary Sannin. Jiraiya-sama and Tsunade-sama."

The silence thickened. Ino shrunk back in her seat, suddenly fascinated by the grain of the wooden desk. Sakura’s face flushed crimson, not just from embarrassment, but from the sheer, icy weight of Sasuke’s gaze. It wasn’t anger; it was worse. It was utter dismissal, a cold assessment that found her lacking. His words hung in the air: *Legendary Sannin*. Training with Jiraiya and Tsunade wasn't abandonment; it was an honour bestowed only on the most promising. Sakura’s accusation now sounded petty and ignorant.

Sasuke leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs, the afternoon light catching the obsidian strands of his hair. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips – not a smile, but something distant and satisfied. "Naruto sends pressed flowers," he murmured, his voice low, carrying just enough for them to hear. "Bluebells from the Whispering Peaks. Shikamaru sketches the cloud formations." He traced a lazy pattern on his desk table top. "They’re learning things… powerful things. Things this Academy can’t teach." His gaze drifted out the window, that familiar, unsettling giddiness simmering beneath the surface again.

Sakura’s fists clenched on her desk, knuckles white. "Then why didn’t *you* go?" The question burst out, sharp with accusation and a tremor of fear. "If they’re so special—"

“Jaguar?” Before Sakura could finish her demand, a knock came from the classroom door accompanied by a deep voice that Sakura vaguely recognized.

Sasuke’s head swiveled over as if his name had been tugged by a wire. The stillness vanished instantly, replaced by a startled brightness that made Sakura flinch. Ibiki Morino filled the doorway, his scarred face impassive but his eyes sharp. He held a bento box wrapped in dark blue cloth. "Your mother asked me to drop this off. Forgot it this morning." His voice was gravelly, matter-of-fact.

Ibiki strode into the classroom, ignoring the stunned silence of the students. He placed the bento on Sasuke’s desk with surprising gentleness. Sasuke’s fingers brushed the cloth wrapping. "Thanks, Otōsan." His voice was softer than Sakura had ever heard it.

Ibiki’s scarred hand landed on Sasuke’s head, pushing his bangs out of his face, ignoring Sasuke’s protests about his hair. "Eat it all, Jaguar. Mikoto packed extra tomatoes."

Sasuke’s ears flushed pink. "She didn’t have to—"

Ibiki ruffled his hair, ignoring Sasuke’s half-hearted swat. "She worries." His gaze swept the classroom, lingering for a fraction of a second on Sakura’s pale face and Ino’s rigid posture. The air thickened, heavy with unspoken tension. Ibiki’s scarred knuckles tapped the bento box once. "Training tonight. Don’t be late." He turned to leave, his presence receding like a storm cloud pulling back.

Sakura gaped, *Otōsan?* The word echoed in her mind, sharp as kunai. Sasuke never mentioned Ibiki Morino—Konoha’s most feared interrogator—as anything but a distant authority. Yet here he was, delivering lunch like a doting parent.

Ibiki paused at the doorway, his scarred profile half-turned. "Your mother wants you home by sunset, Jaguar. No chasing crows." The nickname—predatory, intimate—hung in the air. Sasuke ducked his head, muttering about "annoying lectures," but his shoulders relaxed visibly. Ibiki waved as he left.

Sakura's chopsticks snapped. *Mother?* Mikoto Uchiha? Widowed Mikoto Uchiha and Ibiki Morino? The classroom buzzed with stifled whispers. Ino stared into her own lunch as if she stared at it long enough, the world would make sense again. Sasuke unwrapped the bento, revealing neatly arranged onigiri and ruby-red tomatoes that gleamed like rubies in clear containers above the bento box. He pops the lid off of the clear container, holding the cherry tomatoes, picking one up, humming softly.

Sakura couldn't hold back. "Sasuke-kun," she blurted, "since when is Ibiki-san your...?" She couldn't say it. *Otōsan*. The word felt forbidden.

“He’s dating my mom,” Sasuke said, popping a tomato into his mouth. His tone was casual, almost conversational. “Has been for a while. He’s the father of my baby sisters.”

Silence swallowed the classroom. Even the whispers died. Sakura’s face paled. Ino’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Sasuke didn’t glance at either of them. He focused on the bento. “They’re twins. Due in three months.” He paused, a flicker of something soft—pride?—crossing his features. “Mom’s happy. Ibiki... he’s good to her.”

Sakura’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Her carefully constructed world—where Sasuke was alone, attainable, needing *her* comfort—shattered. Ibiki Morino? The scarred, terrifying head of T&I? Living in the Uchiha compound? Calling Sasuke ‘Jaguar’? Fathering Mikoto Uchiha’s children? It was unthinkable.

Beside her, Ino’s knuckles whitened around her bento box. Sasuke’s casual revelation echoed louder than any explosion tag. Mikoto Uchiha… happy? With *Ibiki*? The image clashed violently with the journal entry still scorching Ino’s mind—the Nara shadows, the forest’s teeth… and now this. Stability felt like ash.

Sasuke ignored their stunned silence. He flipped open the bento lid, revealing perfectly rolled tamagoyaki and pickled vegetables. “Otōsan’s better at cooking than Fugaku was,” he muttered to himself, flatly, though it was loud enough for Sakura and Ino to hear. He picked up his chopsticks. The casual comparison to his late father hung in the air, another brick in the wall separating him from Sakura’s understanding.

Sakura finally found her voice, shrill with disbelief. “Ibiki… lives with you?” The question was less about residence, more about the terrifying intimacy implied—the shared meals, the nicknames, the impending twins. Sasuke glanced up, a sliver of annoyance flickering in his dark eyes. “Obviously. Where else would he be?” He took a bite, utterly unfazed. “Keeps Mother company. And the compound’s too quiet otherwise.”

Ino remained pale, clutching her own uneaten lunch. The journal’s words—*flesh-eating entities*, *Shikarou’s shadow claws*—blurred with the image of Ibiki’s scarred face calling Sasuke ‘Jaguar’. Two different kinds of monsters, both suddenly terrifyingly real. Her gaze darted nervously toward the dense treeline bordering the academy yard. Were Nara shadows watching even now? Sasuke’s next words snapped her attention back.

“Why do you two care who my mom dates?” Sasuke’s voice was low, edged with a dismissive sharpness that made Sakura flinch. He deliberately took another bite, chewing slowly. The silence stretched, thick with Sakura’s unspoken longing and Ino’s fragmented terror. “It’s not like either of you ever asked about her before.” The truth landed like a physical blow. Sakura’s cheeks flushed crimson – she hadn’t. Her obsession had always been Sasuke alone, his pain about losing his father a stage for her imagined comfort. Mikoto Uchiha was just… background.

Ino’s knuckles were white around her bento box. Her mind raced – Ibiki Morino, Konoha’s Torturer, living in the Uchiha compound. Walking those polished halls Fugaku once dominated. Sharing Mikoto’s bed. Fathering twins. It was mind-boggling enough to push down her lingering fear about the Journal. Sasuke’s casual acceptance was the most jarring part. He called him *Otōsan*.

Sakura finally found her voice, high-pitched and strained. "Ibiki-san? But... he's so... scarred! And terrifying!" Her lunch lay forgotten. "How could Lady Mikoto even—"

“My mom was the one who asked *him* out.” Sasuke’s tone was flat, matter-of-fact as he stabbed one of his tomatoes with his chopsticks. “According to her friends she flirted with him so hard she ended up draped over his shoulder like a trophy deer… her friends are not very good at keeping secrets.”

Sakura’s mouth opened, then closed. Ino stared at Sasuke’s profile, the pieces clicking into place with cold clarity. Mikoto Uchiha—widow of Konoha’s proudest clan head—had pursued Ibiki Morino. Voluntarily. Publicly. The rumors about that night at the bar hadn’t been exaggerated after all.

“… why are you so interested in my mom‘s love life?” Sasuke finally turned his head to look at them, but it was only for a split second before he pointed towards Kiba. “His mom is dating Shikaku Nara. Where’s your outrage about that?” Kiba’s head snapped up from his lunch, cheeks bulging with rice. “Hey! Don’t drag me into this!”

Ino actually knew about that one. Tsume’s going to have Shikaku’s baby. Their baby shower is in like two months. Sakura on the other hand, did not know. Her eyes went wide as saucers. "Shikaku-sama?!" she squeaked, voice cracking. "But he's... he's married! To Yoshino-san!" Her mind reeled – the stern, terrifying Jounin Commander and the wild, feral Inuzuka matriarch? It felt like the world tilted sideways.

Kiba’s brows scrunched together as he sucked on his chopsticks, pulling them slowly out of his mouth with a pop. “Shikaku divorced Yoshino almost two years ago, Forehead,” he said, tone dripping with the casual cruelty only a preteen could muster.

Sakura gaped. “But—but Yoshino-san was—”

“Dead weight,” Kiba interrupted, flicking a grain of rice off his chopstick. Akamaru whined softly beside him, pressing his wet nose against Kiba’s knee. “Shikaku ditched her ages ago. Everyone knows she was batshit crazy.” He shrugged, tearing into his grilled mackerel with sharp teeth. “My mom’s way cooler anyway. Stronger. Doesn’t scream at shadows.”

Sakura’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. The casual brutality of Kiba’s words, the utter lack of reverence for the Yoshino Nara— former Nara, hit her like a physical blow. Ino flinched beside her, her pale fingers tightening around her untouched bento box. The memory of Yoshino’s sharp, brittle laughter at clan gatherings felt suddenly thin and poisonous.

“… Yoshino wasn’t a good woman.” Ino agreed softly. She didn’t look at Sakura, her gaze fixed on the distant training grounds where Naruto had once chased Sasuke with a paintbrush. “Uncle Shikaku is better off with Tsume-san.” Her voice was steady, but her knuckles were white around her chopsticks. The journal’s descriptions of Shikarou Nara’s shadow beasts tearing into screaming bandits flashed behind her eyelids. *Dead weight*. Kiba’s words echoed with terrifying finality.

She took a deep breath, changing the subject. “Kiba, has your mom figured out if the baby is a boy or a girl yet?” The words felt safer, mundane.

Kiba’s grin returned instantly. “Nah! She says it’s a surprise. But she’s craving raw bear liver dipped in honey, so Akamaru and I think it’s a boy!” Akamaru yipped enthusiastically, wagging his tail.

“Baby!” Sakura’s voice cracked with disbelief, her green eyes wide as she stared at Kiba. “Tsume-san’s having a baby? With Shikaku-san?” The sheer impossibility of it—the stern Nara clan head and the wild Inuzuka matriarch—left her reeling. “What is happening?! First Mikoto-san and Ibiki-san, now this?!”

Kiba shrugged, scratching Akamaru behind the ears. “Eh, makes sense to me. Mom’s way happier now. Less yelling. More laughing. Shikaku’s… different around her.”

Sakura blinked. “Different how?”

“Less… shadowy,” Kiba offered, struggling to articulate it. “Like he’s actually awake. He even laughs sometimes. A real laugh, not that creepy quiet chuckle.” Akamaru barked agreement, nudging Kiba’s hand. “And Mom? She’s… softer? Still bites his head off if he’s lazy, but she brings him deer jerky she cured herself. Calls him ‘her lazy stag’.” Kiba mimicked Tsume’s gruff affection perfectly, making Akamaru wag his tail harder.

Chōji leaned back in his seat, where he sat beside Kiba, sipping his… something fizzy drink. "Sakura, you remember the lessons we had a few days ago about clan traditions and biology-instinct stuff?" he asked, his voice calm and thoughtful. "Uncle Shikaku fixated on Ms Tsume.”

Sakura frowned, trying to recall. "Fixated? Like...?"

“Nara Human fixation,” Shino cut in smoothly where he sat beside Hinata, adjusting his sunglasses. “A Nara Child is typically born with an IQ over 200. If someone is able to grab their attention and keep it, it’s like their brain latches onto them. Obsessive focus.” He paused, letting the implication sink in. “My mother calls it ‘them finding their soul’s anchor’.”

Kiba nodded vigorously, leaning forward. “Exactly!”

Sakura blinked, processing this. “So Shikaku-san... fixated on Tsume-san?”

“Yeah,” Kiba confirmed, scratching Akamaru’s ears. The pup nuzzled his hand. “Mom says it’s like he imprinted on her. He’s always watching her—not in a creepy way, but like... hyper-aware. If she walks into a room, he stops whatever he’s doing. Even during clan meetings.”

Hinata’s soft voice piped up from beside Shino. “N-Naruto-chan told me once... Shikamaru-kun does the same with her.” Her cheeks flushed pink, fingers twisting in her lap. “He notices everything she does. Where she sits, if she’s tired... even how she ties her scarf when it’s cold.”

“Shikamaru fixated on Naruto years ago,” Chōji cut in softly, swirling his drink. “… I think it was… it was when we all would have been six? Maybe seven?”

Shino tilted his head, his insects buzzing faintly beneath his jacket. “That aligns with the developmental timeline. Naruto Uzumaki’s chaotic energy would be… stimulating. For a Nara mind accustomed to monotony.” He paused. “It would explain Shikamaru’s tolerance for her pranks. And his strategic interventions when others mocked her.”

“Sp-speaking of N-N-Naruto-chan and Shikamaru-Kun, do you or I-Ino-chan know when they will be returning to the village…?” Hinata asked softly, her fingers twisting the hem of her jacket. Her cheeks flushed crimson at Naruto’s name.

“When we graduate from the academy,” surprisingly it was Sasuke who answered, his voice clipped but lacking its usual sharpness. He didn’t look at Hinata, his gaze fixed on the distant training grounds. “Maybe a few months after.” He shifted, uncomfortable under the sudden attention.

Ino leaned forward, her blue eyes sharpening. “And how do *you* know that, Sasuke-kun?” she pressed, suspicion threading her voice. Her fingers tightened around her bento.

Sasuke’s lip curled, and he stuffed one of his rice balls into his mouth with unnecessary force. "I already told you they write," he muttered, cheeks bulging. "Shikamaru’s letters are full of complaints about Naruto’s 'insufferable hair' and 'fox-like grin.'" He swallowed hard, glaring at the bento Ibiki had delivered. "She’s dragging him through Music Country’s forests, apparently. Making him 'appreciate nature' while she tries to hit birds with kunai."

Kiba snorted, scratching Akamaru behind the ears. "Sounds like Naruto. Bet Shikamaru’s complaining the whole time." He shot a pointed look at Ino and Sakura. "Better than listening to *some* people whine about boys."

Ino flushed crimson, but Shino’s quiet voice cut through the tension. "Observation: Shikamaru’s tolerance threshold for Naruto exceeds statistical norms. His letters indicate irritation yet consistent proximity." He adjusted his sunglasses. "Conclusion: The chaos Naruto generates stimulates his intellect. A symbiotic relationship."

“Dude, Shikamaru’s IQ is 500, Naruto’s probably one of the only things that can get his attention.” Chōji said offhandedly, but everyone in the room— except for Ino, who was already aware of this— swiveled their heads towards him. Even Sasuke’s eyes widened. Hinata’s Byakugan veins pulsed involuntarily. Chōji froze mid-chew, realizing his mistake. He swallowed, his eyes darting nervously. “Uh… forget I said that?” he mumbled, cheeks flushing.

Shino’s glasses glinted. “500 IQ is statistically impossible. Error in calculation.” His voice was flat, but his posture stiffened— the closest he ever got to shock.

Ino sighed, leaning over her desk. “Chōji’s not lying. Uncle Shikaku’s is even higher. It’s 670. All the Nara have crazy high IQs.” She tapped her chopsticks against the edge of her bento box, avoiding Shikamaru’s empty seat. “They just hide it because people get weird about it.”

Silence thickened the classroom air. Sakura’s jaw hung slack. Kiba choked on his rice ball, coughing violently. Hinata’s Byakugan veins pulsed faintly as she stared at Ino, her pale face draining further.

"Six hundred seventy?" Sakura whispered, her voice cracking. "That’s… that’s not human."

Kiba slammed his fist on his desk, making his bento box jump. "Bullshit! No way Shikaku's IQ is that high! That's like... alien numbers!" His cheeks flushed crimson beneath his markings, Akamaru whining softly from his lap. The sheer impossibility of it scraped against everything Kiba understood about brains.

Chōji froze mid-chew, his eyes widening as he realised the magnitude of his slip. A potato chip crumbled unnoticed in his fingers. "I... uh... wasn't supposed to say that," he mumbled, shrinking into his collar. The classroom felt suddenly colder, the air thick with disbelief.

Hinata's pale fingers tightened around her bento box. "Sh-Shikamaru-kun... always pretended not to know answers," she whispered, her Byakugan veins fading as she processed the deception. "He'd sigh about homework..." Her voice trailed off, recalling countless instances where Shikamaru had deliberately underplayed his intellect.

“It’s a mask,” Ino said quietly, her voice cutting through the tension. She stared at Shikamaru’s empty desk, her knuckles white around her chopsticks as she remembered the contents of the journal. “The Nara clan hides their intelligence because they’re predators. They observe everything—waiting.”

Kiba slammed his fist on the table, making Hinata flinch. “Bullshit! Shikamaru’s lazy! He naps through lectures!” But his eyes darted to Chōji, who was sweating profusely as he crammed rice into his mouth. “Chōji! Tell them!”

Chōji looked away, looking much like he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. "He... he naps because he’s bored," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing. "Shikamaru once solved Iruka-sensei’s entire trigonometry lesson in his head while pretending to sleep. Said it was 'too troublesome' to write it down." He fidgeted with his chip bag, avoiding Kiba’s furious glare. "The laziness isn’t fake… not completely. But the intelligence? That’s real."

Shino adjusted his sunglasses, his insects buzzing faintly beneath his collar. "… I suppose an IQ as high as Shikamaru and Shikaku’s in theory may be possible. Like I said earlier Nara children are born already with an IQ over 200. But 500?" He paused, letting the silence hang heavy. "It implies a cognitive processing speed that would make lectures… agonizingly slow. Like watching sap solidify." His voice remained flat, but a single beetle crawled onto his knuckle—a subtle tell of his unease.

Ino sighed, twirling a strand of blonde hair. "Can we… put this conversation on pause? We will be learning about this in like a month."

Chōji nodded vigorously, cheeks flushed. "Yeah, Shikamaru would kill me if he knew I spilled that." He nervously crunched a potato chip, glancing toward the classroom door as if expecting his friend to materialize. "He only pretends to be lazy 'cause... well, everything's just too *slow* for him. Even explaining things feels like dragging rocks uphill."

Sakura stared blankly at her desk, knuckles white around her chopsticks. This is not what she had planned today. Not for all these secrets to come out. She had planned to talk to Ino because Sasuke had started acting weird… giddy when he’s daydreaming. At the beginning, she had thought it was her finally getting to him. Had convinced herself that everyone that said anything about Sasuke shining for Naruto and Shikamaru were full of it. But when she tried to put the moves on Sasuke earlier… he had brushed her off. Had told her to stop touching him. Had told her he was waiting for Naruto and Shikamaru to return.

Her knuckles whitened around her chopsticks. *Waiting for Naruto and Shikamaru.* The words echoed in Sakura’s mind, sharp as kunai. She’d spent weeks practicing smiles, timing "accidental" touches in the hallway—all while Sasuke’s dark eyes drifted past her like she was invisible.