KUSHINA UZUMAKI
It had been weeks since she'd last seen him. Weeks since she'd punched his smug face and warned him—swore to him—that if he ever breathed a word of what happened, she'd cut his balls off and bury him deep enough that even an Edo Tensei wouldn't find his damn name.
Weeks since the infuriating bastard looked right at her, smirking and waving, daringly, her underwear in her face like he'd been carved to mock her existence, and made her feel…
Don't say it. Don't even think it.
Every time her mind wandered back, her gut twisted; yes, from fury, but there was something else hiding in the twist. The Hungry Whirlpool always stirred when she remembered that look—the boy had not flinched. She could scream herself hoarse, and it only seemed to amuse him. And somehow — damn fool woman — stirred heat in her.
He'd saved Naruto, she reminded herself, jaw setting. He bought enough time for her son to live. She should've gone into that hospital room, thanked him like a decent person. She hadn't. She couldn't. Because every time she imagined standing beside his bed all she saw was that… table. Her body pinned down, her voice raw, her threats empty, her pride stripped.
So when he stepped into her hall now, after needling her at the door until she "insisted," when the Anbu outside couldn't see her anymore, she was done pretending. The door clicked shut, and every ounce of rage she'd swallowed outside came roaring back. Time to remind this smug brat exactly who he was dealing with. Time to put the fear of Kami into him so he'd never dare pull that crap again.
Her palm smacked flat beside his head; her other hand jabbed at his chest like a blade. She leaned inches away, venom hot in her whisper. "Don't you DARE play me like that again, brat. You think I don't see through your little games? You'll wish you'd stayed in that damn hospital bed if you ever mock me in my house again."
He didn't even wince. His lips curled. Shameless. Infuriatingly calm idiot. He was taller than he—how she hated looking up at him. Uzumaki Kushina had stared Sannin in the eye without blinking, but this boy… this boy had the gall to enjoy her rage.
He just tilted his head, meeting her glare with that infuriating calm, his eyes far too self‑assured for someone her son's age.
"Is this how you treat the man who nearly gave his life to keep your son alive?"
Her breath caught. Just like that, the center of her fury shifted. Kushina's finger trembled against his chest as guilt and fury warred in her throat. He was right, damn him, he was right. Naruto breathed because this smug brat had stayed behind. Naruto's life, Naruto's laugh, Naruto breathing safe because of him — and she hadn't even visited him in that hospital once. Fool woman. Fool mother. Fool wife.
"You really think saving him gives you the right to toy with me? You fought for Naruto, and I am grateful," she hissed through clenched teeth, nostrils flared, but the fire dimmed. "But don't mistake a mother's debt for permission to make a mockery of me in my home."
His eyebrow quirked. He tilted his head like he was honestly mulling something over. That smirk infuriatingly lingered. "Didn't I already do more than that… in this home, Kushina-san?"
The insolent— Something tore through her gut like a hot knife. Her finger froze against his chest. Her ears burned. Her belly knotted. That cursed Whirlpool spun hard, ripping against the walls she'd built for years.
Don't react. Don't give him anything, damn it.
The blood drained from her face, then rushed back twice as hot. Her voice cracked lower. "...You DARE!" She swallowed. "What did I say I would do if you ever spoke of that again?"
He tilted his head as if reflecting, the bastard actually thinking about it. "Mmm… something about chopping off my balls, wasn't it? Burying me so deep, even a summoning circle couldn't find me?"His tone turned infuriatingly fond. "Romantic, really. That a woman would threaten to erase me just because she couldn't forget one time. Can a man be flabbergasted more than this?"
How does such a man exist?! Her jaw locked hard enough to ache. It was like he was born to be a thorn in her side. Yet even if he angered her to no end, red still flushed up her cheeks. Fool woman. She felt the heat in her cheeks, and she knew, kami above, she knew, that it wasn't just from rage. That Whirlpool whispered cruel things. He remembered every word. He hasn't forgotten. Neither have you.
It was an odd thing to fixate upon but…..
Kushina shoved her finger harder into his chest. Her whisper broke raggedly. "Don't twist my words into—"
The world tilted. One moment, she was jabbing her finger into his chest; the next, his hand wrapped around her wrist while his other arm swept around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The solid warmth of his body pressed along hers from chest to hip, and every nerve ending she'd spent weeks trying to numb suddenly blazed to life.
No. The thought scattered as The Hungry Whirlpool roared awake, recognizing this—the strength, the heat, the way he didn't flinch from her fury but pulled her closer instead. This was what it had been starving for through the years.
Wha…..
"…. r-release me RIGHT NOW or I swear—" she snapped, but her voice lacked its snap; it sounded thin, breathier than she'd intended. She tried to wrench her wrist free, pushed against his chest with her free hand, but quietly, always quietly, with Naruto sleeping inside.
He ignored her words and struggle, instead he lifted her captured hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles that sent electricity shooting up her arm. She felt that kiss in her stomach, damn it, low and hot where the hunger and emptiness lay. She involuntarily squeezed her thighs together.
His voice dropped to something husky and intimate that she felt in her bones.
"I missed you so much."
What…. what was he saying? The fight went out of her like air from a punctured balloon. Her rigid posture softened, confusion flooding in where fury had been. This wasn't—this wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be frightened, to shake in fear the Red-hot Habenero. Run away to never bother her and the peace she had built.
"I know what you are thinking."
You do?! Don't blush, Kushina, don't you dare blush. And yet her skin betrayed her, alight with treacherous heat. His hand felt so warm and so strong on her lower back.
"But I'm not here to demand recompense for doing my job. No."
She wanted to heave a sigh of relief. No, he doesn't know. Of course, he didn't. Kushina herself had no fucking clue. But still, it did cross her mind that he might use that to take advantage of her, but she quickly brushed it off. She had already confirmed last time that he was not that type of man.
No, not a man. He is a boy. An annoying brat. Not a man. Never a man.
He squeezed her waist, made her pulse catch, and pulled her out of her spiraling and confused mind. "If anyone should be grateful, it's me. For you. Without your keepsake… your scent… your memory… I don't think I'd have had the strength to fight to stay alive."
Keepsake? He was talking about her… her... Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her throat pulsed dry. Fool woman, say something. Shove him. Hit him. DO something. Don't just stand here like some blushing girl.
But she had no strength. Not with how the Hungry Whirlpool purred, feeding on the validation, the shame, the humiliation alike; the proof that someone had wanted her enough to carry pieces of her into battle. She had long since stopped struggling herself free. She rested her free arm on his shoulder and just let herself be wrapped in his warmth.
"What… what are you…?" The words stumbled out of her mouth without her permission. "That's not… you can't just…" Her chest heaved against him. His eyes never left hers.
He leaned closer, his mouth descending toward hers, voice low enough to scrape her womb. "Thank you, Kushina."
And Kushina was in danger. Kami helped her—she didn't shove him. She didn't scream. The Hungry Whirlpool eagerly throbbed in her belly, spiraling, clawing, and her breath halted, and her neck tilted, anticipating as he drew closer.
She had already lost to her flesh once; what was one more time? She….longed for it. The intoxicating feeling of being stretched, the void filled, and once again getting satiated after so—
She turned her head away at the last second. Some strength as a mother still remained in her. His lips brushing her offered cheek instead, and that residue of maternal strength evaporated as well. The simple contact sent heat spiraling through her, and she hated how her body relaxed further into his hold, hated how right it felt to be wanted like this.
But she knew if those lips had found hers, it would be worse; she'd have drowned in that Whirlpool and never clawed out again.
Until she was overfed like last time.
"…Let me go," she whispered. Not angry, not venomous. The words were steady, but stripped of all fire. They felt like begging herself as much as him. A quiet request from a woman who suddenly wasn't sure what she wanted anymore.
And she knew it was a plea, not a demand. She was begging him to make the choice for her because she couldn't trust herself to make it. The Whirlpool had awakened fully now, years of starvation making her body sing with need, and she knew with terrifying clarity that if he pressed further, she would welcome it, yield to it as easily as flipping a shogi tile. She would open for him right here against this wall, consequences be damned.
Please, she thought desperately. Please just let me go before I do something I can't take back.
When he pulled her tighter instead of letting go, her heart lurched. So that's it, she thought, sick with both dread and anticipation. He was refusing her plea. Of course he would. He's a man who takes, who never asks. That's how he had his way before, and that's how he'll take me now.
Keep quiet, she told herself frantically as her womb clenched with anticipation. Naruto's sleeping. Whatever happens, keep quiet.
Her womb tightened eagerly, treacherously, like it had been waiting for this moment, and her thighs pressed together, stroking with restless urgency, already slick and ready. The Whirlpool roared its approval, drowning out every logical thought. She was thirty-nine years old, a wife to a husband, a mother to a son, and she was about…...
She hated herself for it. Kushina hated this weakness. Even if every plane of herself, every breath, every heartbeat, memorized it all with greedy desperation, preparing for what was to come.
Her body braced for it.
And then—
He let go.
He nodded and stepped back.
The sudden absence of his warmth left her cold, hollow, and devastated. The cool air rushed in between them, and her body screamed against the loss. The Whirlpool thrashed in her gut, cheated of its prey.
Kushina swayed on her feet. Her body had been coiled tight, and suddenly there was nothing but empty space and the bitter taste of shame. She ought to have been relieved—she had asked him, after all, and he'd respected her words. Instead, disappointment crashed over her like a cruel joke.
Stupid woman, she thought viciously, wrapping her arms around herself. You got what you asked for.
But the Whirlpool disagreed, circling restlessly in her belly, already hungry for more and furious at being denied.
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