the forest was thick with shadows, choking the light even before the storm rolled in. branches clawed at the sky like broken fingers. naruto moved through the undergrowth like a man possessed — every punch to the bark, every breathless sprint, every drop of blood smeared across his knuckles was a prayer he didn’t know how to say. he didn’t feel like a hero anymore.

not since sasuke vanished. not since jiraiya’s body was lowered into the dirt. not since the weight of the world began to carve into his bones like kunai. his skin burned with rage he couldn’t name. grief he couldn’t carry. chakra pulsed just beneath the surface, wild and unstable, begging for a reason to be unleashed.

and then—she was there. he didn’t hear her approach. just that shift in the air. like the forest itself was holding its breath. she watched him from the tree line, silent and still. not a friend. not a foe. just there, wrapped in black, eyes like smoke, mouth painted like blood. her presence slid over him like venom — slow, dangerous, and warm.

he didn’t speak at first. didn’t flinch when she stepped closer, boots silent in the mud. didn’t move when her fingers ghosted over the torn fabric of his jacket, down to the raw skin beneath. she smelled like stormwater and iron — something wild, something wrong.

his chakra spiked violently the moment her hand touched bare skin. his body tensed, breath caught between fight and surrender. she didn’t flinch. she wanted this — the storm in him, the brokenness, the monster beneath the leaf. he stared at her, jaw clenched, fists bleeding. “you don’t know what i am,” he growled, voice low and frayed and yet she still didn’t pull away. she moved like she already owned him. like the darkness in him wasn’t something to fear — but something she came to worship. his heart pounded louder than the thunder above. there was no kindness in her touch. only heat and claim. “you want the worst of me,” he whispered, trembling from the storm within, “i hope you choke on it.”

he didn’t kiss her. he crashed into her, mouth crushing against hers with a hunger that tasted like vengeance and surrender. nothing soft. nothing sweet. just teeth, breath, heat, and the kind of violence that had been caged too long. the rain poured harder. but the fire between them didn’t go out. it only grew — devouring whatever was left of the boy who once believed love had to be pure.