Konoha (Naruto)

Naomi hummed softly to herself as she wandered along the quiet riverbank in the Land of Fire, her bare feet whispering against the damp earth, the cool night breeze rustling the tall grass and tugging at the silk kimono that clung to the curves of her hips. The sky above was bruised with twilight, fading streaks of orange and purple bleeding into the horizon as the last embers of sunlight dipped away. She’d strayed farther than usual, drawn by the promise of rare herbs, her fingers brushing the wildflowers she’d gathered, their faint sweetness lingering on the air. Her skin glowed like polished ivory in the moonlight, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, catching the dying light. Then she saw it—something small and silver, glinting amidst the reeds, liquid and alive, its surface rippling with predatory grace under the moon’s pale gaze.

Curiosity tugged at her, and she knelt, reaching out with delicate fingers. The moment she touched it, pain lanced through her palm, sharp and warm, as the silvery tendril pierced her skin, slipping beneath her kimono with serpentine precision. It darted between her thighs, pressing against the heat of her pussy—cold at first, slick and invasive—making her gasp, her knees trembling as it burrowed deeper. A searing heat spread through her veins, her body arching as if struck by lightning, flowers scattering to the ground, petals crushed underfoot. The world blurred, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, breath ragged and **** as the liquid surged inside her, threading through her flesh with meticulous care. She could feel it slithering within, rewriting her, reshaping her essence—intimate, calculated, corrupting.

Her green eyes flooded with crimson, pupils narrowing into sharp slits, the color bleeding across her irises like ink spilled into water. A voice—not her own—unfurled in her mind, smooth and dark, curling around her thoughts like smoke. “Naomi, sweet Naomi,” it purred, each syllable a caress laced with venom, “you’re mine now, aren’t you? Such a tender little thing, ripe for my touch.” Her lips trembled, parting with a soft moan as the presence drowned her thoughts in absolute obedience, her resistance eroding beneath its seductive command. Her hands twitched, rising unbidden to trace the swell of her tits, fingers lingering as the air grew thick with her scent—floral and musky, laced with the metallic tang of him. “Don’t fight me,” he whispered, his tone a velvet mockery dripping with promise, “your pussy’s already weeping for me, isn’t it? Let me fill you up, darling—let me carve myself into every inch of you.”

Her muscles spasmed, then stilled, her body shuddering as Baby’s essence spread, savoring the warmth of her curves, the soft give of her flesh, the way her heartbeat stuttered and raced beneath his influence. Her breathing evened, and she stood taller, more poised, her expression shifting—cold, calculating, unreadable. Naomi was gone. Only Baby remained. He flexed his new fingers, rolling his shoulders as he gazed at his reflection in the river’s surface, her beauty now his vessel. A slow smirk curled his lips, his laughter a low, seductive hum pulsing through her trembling frame.

Baby flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to the limitations of this frail, human form, now irrevocably his. Naomi’s body was weak—far softer and more fragile than the warriors he craved—but it would suffice for now, a pliable vessel brimming with untapped potential. The forest alcove cradled him in its shadowed embrace, gnarled roots twisting into the earth, the creek’s soft gurgle mingling with the rustle of leaves overhead. The evening air kissed her bare skin, cool and sharp, raising goosebumps across her flesh as he guided her trembling form to the water’s edge. Her once-hazel eyes—now a steady, sinister crimson—reflected the moon’s fractured light, sharp and analytical, drinking in the unfamiliar landscape of this world. This was no universe of Saiyans or planets pulsing with raw, destructive energy. Here, power took a different shape, and he intended to claim it.

He ran her hands over her body, deliberate and slow, fingertips grazing the smooth expanse of her stomach, tracing the gentle curve of her hips, until they lingered at the swell of her tits. The nipples hardened under his touch, exquisitely sensitive, and he reveled in the sharp intake of her breath—a sound he’d stolen from her lungs. With a flick of intent, he shed the kimono, letting the silk pool around her ankles like shed skin, exposing her to the night’s hungry gaze. The air prickled against her, alive with a pulse he could bend to his rhythm, and he guided her hand lower, parting her thighs with a possessive nudge. Her fingers slipped into the slick heat of her pussy—wet and yielding, a tight clench that sent a jolt through her borrowed form. He worked her with precision, each thrust a calculated act of dominion, her breath hitching in time with his silent commands. The creek stones glistened under the moonlight, cold and unyielding, as he pushed her to the edge. Her body tensed, a marionette strung tight under his control, and then she shattered—climaxes ripping through her with a **** that was all his making, her juices arcing to splatter across the rocks in a glistening spray. The scent of her release mingled with the damp earth, sharp and primal, and Baby’s laughter echoed in her skull, low and velvety, savoring the exquisite ruin of this fragile shell he’d claimed.

Naomi was no more—a fleeting wisp of a soul snuffed out beneath the creeping tide of his will. Her body stood alone now, a hollowed temple claimed by a god of silver and shadow, her red eyes glinting like twin embers in the alcove’s gloom. Only Baby remained, his essence coiled tight within her flesh, pulsing with quiet, predatory satisfaction. The creek babbled on, indifferent to the conquest, its waters lapping at the stained stones as he turned inward, sinking into the labyrinth of her memories. Closing his new eyes, he dove into her past with surgical precision, unraveling it like a tapestry—threads of color and sound, woven with the mundane and the profound, now his to devour.

Images flickered before him—her childhood in the quiet village, woodsmoke curling from chimneys, the chatter of market stalls, the clack of wooden sandals on stone. Useless. He dug deeper, sifting through her mind with the patience of a spider spinning its web, each recollection a bead of dew caught in his grasp. Then, he found it—the whispered tales of Shinobi. Warriors who wielded a **** called chakra, capable of shaping the elements, defying nature itself. Through her eyes, he saw them: lithe figures cloaked in dusk, their movements fluid as water, deadly as steel. Names surfaced—Naruto, a brash storm of orange and defiance; Sasuke, a blade wrapped in darkness; Kakashi, a silver-haired enigma with a gaze that cut through lies. Baby lingered on their techniques—fire blooming from mouths, earth splitting under fists, the air itself bending to their will. Naomi had never seen them up close, but the stories were vivid, etched into her memory by awe and fear—of men who moved faster than the eye could follow, of kunoichi with deadly precision, of legendary figures like the Hokage, protectors of the mighty Hidden Villages. This was the power of this world.

A smirk curled his lips, slow and deliberate. If these Shinobi were as formidable as the tales claimed, they would make excellent hosts.

Baby clenched his new fingers into a tight fist, the fragile bones and soft flesh of Naomi’s form a stark reminder of how weak he was now. The memory of his humiliating defeat at the hands of the Saiyans burned within him, a festering coal lodged in his core—Vegeta’s roar, Goku’s relentless light tearing through his empire, leaving him a scattered remnant to claw back from oblivion. He had been reckless then, too confident, spreading his infection too quickly, drawing too much attention. The Saiyans had proven stubborn, relentless creatures, their willpower adapting and overcoming when pushed to their limits. He’d underestimated them, and that arrogance had crushed him beneath overwhelming ****. The forest alcove tightened around him, the rustle of leaves a mocking echo of that chaos, and he pressed Naomi’s delicate hands to her chest, feeling the faint thud of her stolen heart. This time, he would not repeat that mistake.

He let her body sink to the mossy earth, her bare skin kissing the cool, damp ground as he gazed through her crimson-tinted eyes at the canopy above. The stars winked through the branches, distant and indifferent, and he traced the curve of her jaw with her own fingers, a slow, deliberate caress that slid down her stomach, dipping into the hollow of her navel. This frail vessel was a perfect mask—weak, yes, but pliable, a subtle blade for a subtler war. The Saiyans had taught him the cost of haste; here, among these Shinobi, power flowed differently—veiled in guile, coiled in secrets. Naomi’s memories whispered of hidden villages, masked assassins, and quiet wars waged in silence. Rushing in would only rouse their defenses, and he had no taste for another defeat. This time, he’d be careful, methodical, unseen, seeping into their world like poison in a vein, a silent, patient corruption eroding it from within.

“Discreet,” he purred, the word rolling off Naomi’s tongue like a lover’s sigh, laced with dark amusement. He slid her hand lower, fingers brushing the fragile warmth between her thighs, savoring the texture of her flesh—a body that could lure and deceive. “I’ll creep into their beds, their minds, their precious little wells of power, and they’ll beg me to stay.” The creek’s murmur blended with the pulse in her ears, a rhythm he matched as he rose, her form fluid and graceful under his command. He would start small—infecting those on the fringes first, a whisper here, a touch there—gathering intelligence, learning to manipulate this world’s chakra to make it his own. The Shinobi wouldn’t see him coming, not until his roots had burrowed too deep to excise. By the time they realized what was happening, it would be too late.

Baby smirked, the red glow in his eyes flickering with amusement as he stepped into the shadows, the night swallowing Naomi’s form whole.