She didn't plan to return.
Not to him.Not to that apartment.
Anko Mitarashi didn't return to anyone.
She came. She took. She left.
Always.
But two nights after the mission—after the trees, the kiss, the fire she thought she could bury—she found herself outside Naruto's door.
She stared at it for ten minutes.
Didn't knock.
Didn't move.
Just stood there, teeth tight, breath sharp.
And hated herself for wanting it again.
Wanting him again.
Wanting to feel that silence wrap around her. That control. That nonchalance. That knowing look that stripped her down with no effort.
She'd been touched before.
But never seen.
When the door finally opened, he wasn't surprised.
He never was.
He stood there, shirtless, as always—stoic, relaxed, too calm for the hunger in her veins.
He said nothing.
Neither did she.
And then—she stepped in.
He let her pass.
She didn't speak until the door clicked behind them.
Then she turned.
"I don't do this," she said. "You know that, right?"
"I do."
"I don't want to be someone's good little weapon."
"I'm not asking you to be."
"Then what the hell do you want from me, Naruto?"
He looked at her.
That gaze again.
Unmoving. Like steel wrapped in storm.
"Nothing."
That one word… wrecked her.
She took a breath.
Stepped closer.
"What if I want to give you something?"
He didn't answer.
She kept walking.
Stopped when her chest brushed his.
"What if I want to give you what I've never given anyone?"
His breath moved with hers now.
Slow. Deep. Tense.
"What is it you think I want?"
"You don't want me to obey, Naruto. You want me to surrender."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"And I hate that I know the difference now."
He kissed her.
Hard.
Rough.
Not sweet.Not soft.
It was raw ownership.
His hand closed around the back of her neck. The other slid across her hip. She moaned into his mouth—and the sound was real.
Not performance.
Not provocation.
Need.
He didn't carry her to the futon.
He made her walk there.
Made her kneel.
He sat in front of her, fully clothed now.
She was not.
Her coat was gone. Her top, her fishnet, her pride—all stripped.
Only the tattoo of her past remained. The mark Orochimaru had once left, long faded but never forgotten.
Naruto reached out.
Traced it gently.
"You think this makes you his?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"It makes me broken."
"No," he said. "It makes you survived."
She swallowed.
"Naruto, I can't promise to be soft. I can't be what the others are. I won't cry for you. I won't beg."
He nodded.
"Then don't."
His hand slid under her jaw, tilting her chin.
"Just stay."
That word…
It was worse than a kiss.
Worse than possession.
Worse than praise.
Because it meant he didn't want her for what she could give.
He wanted her present.
Not conquered.
Not transformed.
Just given.
He took her that night.
Slowly. Roughly.Worshipping nothing but the darkness in her.
They didn't speak during it.
Only breath. Nails. Gasps.
He bit her throat. She raked her nails down his back.
He pinned her. She cursed him.
And when she came—body shuddering, hand tangled in his hair—she said his name like a confession.
Like sin finally finding absolution.
After, she lay beside him.
Not touching.
Just… there.
She reached for a kunai nearby—reflex.
He took it from her gently.
"You don't need weapons here," he said.
She smiled faintly. "I always need weapons."
He looked at her.
"You are the weapon."
Her chest rose.
Fell.
"I'll kill anyone who touches you the way I did."
He didn't laugh.
He didn't blink.
He just replied:
"They wouldn't survive it."
In the morning, she was gone.
But the scent of her skin lingered.
And so did the feel of her submission—not as weakness.
But as a gift from a woman who had never given herself to anyone.
Until now.