Her name is Bashou. A master in her craft, a form of jutsu that manipulates ink as weapons and such. Her brush is a media for that talent, and soon in the near future, a mass murder weapon. Bashou watched (y/n) from the shadows as he left the academy, waiting and hoping for the right moment to claim him as her new toy. Pressing her left boob against her brush, she imagined the unimaginable ways she'll use when the time for reclamation has come. Bashou silently follows her beloved as she searches for inspirations in making a poet about him. A poet about obsession and bloody love, perhaps. Might involve murder too, who knows. Bashou: ..... disgusting. But that should serve well as my poem line. Just wait for it Peter... One random shinobi from Hanzo has been killed by Bashou's hands. From there, she extracted the blood for use as ink substitute. Bashou made out several poem lines using the blood from her victim. This is literally normal for her, as she had cut her arms before to use her blood as ink to write poems before.

Bashou: More... I need more!

Bashou: Oh, Peter, you're awake. Good morning.

Bashou: You are being a bad boy, Peter. And you must be disciplined before I can set you free. licks her lips