KUSHINA UZUMAKI
Her breath caught in her throat, turning into a strangled inhale.
"You sick little thief," she hissed beneath her breath, barely loud enough for her ears, chakra flaring just enough that her hair lifted slightly — a warning any shinobi with a sense of preservation would recognize.
He only cocked an eyebrow, as if he'd been half-expecting that reaction.
Kushina glanced at the hallway, toward Naruto's bedroom. His door was still closed, the faint rustle of cloth and bootstraps the only sign he hadn't stopped dressing.
She didn't dare raise her voice.
"You stole those," she whispered sharply, storming up to him in three quick steps. She went for the panties—snatched—but his reflexes were faster. The fabric shifted out of her reach effortlessly, like he'd rehearsed it.
Kushina's eyes went wide.
"Give. Them. Back. Now." Her tone was deadly quiet.
Eishin just met her eyes for a long, maddening beat.
"I thought they were a souvenir," he said blandly. "Didn't expect you to miss them."
Her jaw flexed.
"You're disgusting."
"You weren't complaining when you left them behind on the floor," he murmured, too calmly, leaning in a half-inch closer.
Oh kami. Her vision went red at the edges—not from rage, but from the humiliation spiking through her gut, straight into her clenched thighs.
"Don't—don't you dare speak like that in my house," she seethed, voice low and trembling at the edges. "You have no idea who you're playing with."
Kushina's glare had made enemy shinobi flinch. But he—the bastard—just looked back at her like she was interesting. Like, her rage was adorable.
Her fists twitched at her sides.
The heat twisting through her wasn't just fury, and that infuriated her more. She could feel her face flushing, not from the effort of controlling herself, but from—
Ugh. No. Snap out of it, you idiot.
"Don't test me," she hissed again, voice barely above a breath.
The maddening brat just smiled faintly.
Kushina narrowed her eyes, controlling her exhalation. She needed a new approach. He wasn't scared—that much was clear. And his confidence, rather than shrinking under threat, swelled. Like he was…
Wait.
Her stomach twisted, suspicion blooming cold and sharp.
He wanted something.
Her mouth thinned. Her imagination has been right all along?
"You trying to blackmail me?" she asked, voice low but lined with steel. "Is that what this is, huh?"
The panties. The sick little smirk. The nerve.
"I thought you were just a reckless pervert," she added, chin lifted half an inch. "But this? You're dead wrong if you think I'll play along."
She expected pressure. Gloating. Leverage.
But instead…
He blinked. Then tilted his head, somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
"Blackmail? Oh, dear, no," Eishin said simply. "Why would I, when I got what I wanted?"
Kushina frowned. Caution creeping into her spine. "...What?"
"You."
She froze.
"…What the hell does that mean?"
"More specifically, your scent," he smiled again. "And these," he nodded to the still-dangling panties in his hand, "are mine now."
Kushina stared at him, chest tight behind her apron strings. The words rattled in her brain like wind through an old training bell. Not the vulgarity. She could handle crudeness. She grew up in barracks, ate with boys twice as filthy. She'd gut a man for blinking at her wrong.
But this wasn't vulgarity.
It was the outrageous intimacy of it.
Her scent. Not just her body. Not even her panties. But the part of her that lingered, clung, soaked in cotton and salt and warmth.
It shouldn't have turned her on.
It shouldn't have, but when the Hungry Whirlpool awakened, nothing will get it back to slumber.
Her stomach bottomed out and flared right back up in the same instant. Heat curled under her skin like chakra under pressure, with nowhere to go. Her thighs pressed together instinctively. The idea—the audacity—it was…
"…You little shit," she whispered, not even sure what she meant by it anymore.
He didn't deny it.
"You think you can just—" She swallowed, teeth gritting. "Take something like that and walk away as if—"
"You gave them to me," he said, quiet now. "Even if you didn't mean to."
She took a slow breath in through her nose and shoved the anger and what came with it down, stuffed it like laundry into a sack, and jammed it in her mental closet.
Men like him—brats like him—enjoyed that kind of reaction. She'd given him too much already.
"Hmph." Arms crossing under her chest, Kushina lifted her chin and lied through her teeth. "You know..." she began, cool now, voice curling with honey-venom, "if you're going to collect trophies, you might want ones that are a little more impressive. Those are old. Been through a lot of wash cycles."
She gave a soft, dismissive snort. "Honestly, for someone so 'charming,' your taste is a bit… lacking, don't you think? Not worth your effort, are they? I mean... how exciting can a pair of panties from an old woman be?"
He frowned. Good. If it stung, she hoped he'd flinch. Or better, throw them away in disgust.
"You're not old," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous timbre. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that pinned her in place. "You're gorgeous. And you move better than most twenty-year-olds." He paused, something raw and hungry flickering across his face. "Don't ever call yourself that again."
Kushina's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
The words hit her like a physical blow. The absolute conviction behind them. This wasn't mere flattery or manipulation. The way he looked at her stripped away years of seeing herself as just Naruto's mother, just the Hokage's wife. For a moment, she was just Kushina—a woman desired for exactly who she was.
Her pulse stuttered, then raced. The heat that spread through her wasn't just in her cheeks or belly—it radiated from somewhere deeper, some core part of herself that had been dormant for too long. Her skin prickled with awareness of every inch where cloth touched flesh.
His eyes never left hers, refusing to let her hide from the truth of his words. In that moment, she believed him, and that belief was more intoxicating than any touch could have been.
Her stomach gave the faintest shiver.
Minato used to say things like that. He was the shy sort, and his compliments were as rare as gold. But that was years ago. Before marriage castrated their flirtation.
She still loved Minato—his gentleness, his brilliance—but somewhere along the way, they'd settled into comfortable domesticity rather than passion. When was the last time he'd looked at her like this, young jonin did? When was the last time she'd felt that electric anticipation from her husband's gaze? The guilt of these thoughts made her anger burn hotter.
There had been no one who dared beside Minato. She didn't think that from anyone else, or so she thought…..
This brat...
Kushina had never been modest—but she'd let that kind of attention, that self-awareness, wither. Years of raising Naruto. Years of being the anchor. And married to a man more in love with peace and silence than touch.
No wonder this damn brat was turning her inside out. No! No, it's not Minato's fault. If there was anyone to blame, then it was her and this brat's mouth.
She was still reeling from that thought when, without a damn ounce of shame, he lifted her panties — her panties — and pressed them against his nose.
And the fucking pervert sniffed.
Kushina's brain short-circuited.
A flash of heat shot between her legs so fast she stiffened, whole body momentarily paralyzed with locked-knee shock and embarrassment-gasping arousal. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. A single bead of sweat traced down her spine beneath her clothing, cool against fevered skin.
"You freak," she hissed, hands jerking out to snatch them—but—
He saw it coming.
His arm lifted smoothly, just out of reach—and her momentum, off-kilter from impulse and fury, tipped her forward—
Right into him.
She gasped as her palms landed on his chest.
Oh.
He was solid.
Close like this, he felt dense. Warm. Broad upper body under the thin dark shirt, and something hard at the center of his core muscles, tight, like he trained seriously. Her hands curled before she could help it, not quite grasping, but feeling.
She remembered all too well what else was hard about him. How impossibly full he'd made her feel, stretching her in ways that had left her sore and aching for more long after they'd finished.
She froze there. Body stiff. Eyes caught on the sharp knot of his collarbone, his throat, the angle where his jaw tensed.
His scent hit her.
Smoky. Clean. Hair still damp from a shower, with something faint and woodsy underneath.
"You sure you want them back?" he murmured, voice low above her ear.
There was no teasing in it. Just hot, quiet certainty. His free hand hovered near her elbow, not quite touching—a strange courtesy that somehow made everything more intense.
Kushina couldn't breathe, froze where she stood, palms flush against him, chest so infuriatingly close she could feel his heartbeat thud against her ribs like a steady drum.
Hers was pounding louder.
Her mind screamed at her to move. Back up. Push him away. Rip the stupid panties from his damn hand and bury them—or him.
His scent hit her again. Not overpowering, but warm, clean, tinged with something masculine and natural and young. A flash of memory—his breath against her neck, fingers pressing into her hip with surprising strength—made her inhale sharply.
"Let me go," she said finally, her voice still firm, but low. Frayed at the edge.
He didn't argue. Just held the panties where she couldn't reach and let her linger.
Another breath. One second too long.
Wrong.
Kushina jerked back like she'd touched fire, even though it was the opposite. Something hot had twisted inside her that didn't burn—it coiled. Tighter and tighter. The space between her thighs ached with not-pain.
She took two quick steps back, her red hair swaying behind her like the tail of a pissed-off cat. Her arms came up, defensive, and she crossed them under her chest again. Her gaze snapped to the wall, anywhere but him. Her mouth opened—and betrayed her again with silence.
He was still watching her.
Calm. Patient. Self-assured in a way even Jonin captains didn't bother to be. And young. She hated how young he looked and how vividly her body remembered exactly what that youth felt like when pressed up against her…. or inside her. So thick she'd had to bite her lip to keep from crying out, so deep she'd felt him against her very core, leaving an emptiness her body still hungered to fill.
"...Give them back," she said finally, low.
He said nothing.
"I said—"
"You really want them back?" he interrupted gently, lifting a brow. "You ought to offer something of equal value."
Kushina snorted, glaring at him. "So it is blackmail?"
"No, not a blackmail; a trade," he cut in smoothly, a bit too calm. "I'm not making you do anything. It's just…" He uncurled the fabric between his fingers, holding it like something fragile. "These are officially my most prized possessions. I'm not letting them go for nothing."
That caught her. Flattened her protest mid-sentence.
She blinked, her brow twitching slightly.
This was the same confidence that had bent her over that kitchen table days ago—not forcing, never that, but with an assurance that left no room for her pride to hide behind. As if he could see right through her protests to the hunger she'd been trying to smother since that afternoon.
A small, grudging smile crept up her lips. Not that she let it live on her face for more than half a second. Her pride smothered it fast.
"…You're impossible," she muttered, then exhaled harshly. A flash of the legendary Red-Hot Habanero returned to her eyes as she pivoted toward him. "Fine," she said with wilful control, the tables turning as she found her footing again. "How about ramen?"
His eyes flicked up in interest. She got him.
Kushina gave him a smirk, now fully leaning into it. "My specialty is extra-spicy miso ramen. One bowl will make a jounin cry."
Her hips tilted with her stride, confidence returning. If he wanted a counter-offer, she'd make damn sure it came piping hot and searing. He'll cry, alright.
"And if you think I'll go easy on spice just because you're young and stupid—think again," she added playfully, tapping a finger to her lower lip. "You might just learn your lesson for being a panty thief."
The brat chuckled, gaze flickering with temptation. His stomach probably growled. She could almost taste the win.
But then he shook his head. "I really would love your cooking," he said, almost regretfully. "Especially if it was made just for me. But…" His eyes fell to the panties in his hand. "This? It's not just about a meal. These have your scent in them. That doesn't compare."
Scent this, scent that. Kushina's eye twitched. She was not some damn perfume.
"…You." She held up a finger, inhaling through gritted teeth. "You're absolute. Pervert." She ignored her cheeks warming. Just a little. She looked over her shoulder, crossed her arms, then hissed quietly. "You're disgusting, y'know that?"
"That's so true."
Kushina narrowed her eyes, a bit taken aback by how casually he agreed.
"…My scarf," she muttered begrudgingly, facing him again. "I've got one. Red. I wear it a lot. You want something with my scent in it? Trade for that."
He looked at her for a moment but then shook his head. "…It's not the same," he said, almost pained.
She bristled. "Oh, come on."
Eishin's eyes met hers.
And slowly…
They lowered.
And settled on her stomach, and lower.
Kushina stilled.
Her fingers twitched against her arms.
She felt hyper-aware of the waistband of her underwear now. Of the slight dampness from earlier tension. Of where exactly his thoughts had drifted. The Red-Hot Habanero indeed—she felt like she was burning from the inside out, heat spreading beneath her skin in waves she wished they had to do with anger.
Her spine straightened on instinct.
"Panties," he said. "For panties."
It took her a moment to understand.
"I'll give you these"—he lifted them, slowly—"if I can have the ones you're wearing now."
Her eyes widened, indignation bubbling up. She wanted to laugh. She clenched her fist instead, pulsing chakra through her body to smother the rebellious, reckless, slightly flattered part of her that wanted that to comply. Her spine straightened, hips angling slightly as her center of gravity lowered.