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Boruto Uzumaki never got used to Momoshiki's presence.
It wasn’t every day you had the ghost of an Otsutsuki prince lingering in your shadow, invading your space, and occasionally making snide remarks only you could hear. It was a constant tug-of-war between trying to ignore him and wondering if he’d ever actually go away.
Today was no different.
The sun was high above Konoha, and Boruto sat outside a small burger joint with Sarada and Mitsuki. A warm breeze carried the aroma of sizzling patties and fries, and he eagerly bit into his burger.
And then, there he was.
Boruto froze mid-chew as he felt it — a faint but undeniable pressure. Momoshiki had materialized behind him, leaning lazily against the back of his chair. Boruto didn’t need to look to know; he could feel the weight of the Otsutsuki’s head just over his own, their shared space humming faintly with energy.
"Do you plan to gorge yourself on this unremarkable mortal cuisine every day?" Momoshiki’s voice was cool and disdainful, dripping directly into Boruto’s mind. "Your habits are as repugnant as they are predictable."
Boruto clenched his jaw, chewing deliberately as if ignoring him might make him disappear.
"Hey, you good?" Sarada asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
He swallowed. "Yeah, yeah. Just... zoned out for a second."
Mitsuki tilted his head. "That’s the third time today. Are you sure you’re okay, Boruto?"
"Fine!" Boruto snapped a little too quickly, glancing at the two. His voice softened as he added, "Really. Let’s just eat, alright?"
Momoshiki chuckled lowly. "They worry about you. How quaint. Shall I tell them the truth, boy? That their beloved Boruto is slowly losing his mind?"
Boruto gritted his teeth and took another bite of his burger. Ignoring him. Ignoring him.
Momoshiki shifted his position, now practically draped over Boruto’s shoulders. His phantom form was invisible to everyone else, but Boruto could feel him there, unnervingly solid despite being an echo of his former self.
"You know, you could at least share this pathetic meal with me," Momoshiki said mockingly, his voice a whisper in Boruto’s ear. "Though I doubt it would satisfy me."
Boruto almost choked.
"Seriously, Boruto, are you choking?" Sarada asked, leaning forward.
"I’m fine!" he said, coughing slightly.
"Perhaps you’re finally realizing how fragile this mortal shell is," Momoshiki mused. "A single misstep, and your existence could end. How amusing."
Boruto’s fingers curled around his drink cup, squeezing it tightly. Sarada gave him another concerned glance, but Mitsuki was already changing the subject, launching into a conversation about their next mission. Boruto nodded absently, his focus split between his friends and the ever-present Otsutsuki ghost lounging in his peripheral vision.
Later that evening, Boruto sat at the dining table with his family. Himawari chatted excitedly about her day while Naruto nodded along, exhausted but attentive. Hinata placed another dish on the table, and Boruto tried to focus on the warmth of home.
But then there was Momoshiki again, reclining in a corner of the room, his eyes glowing faintly as he observed the scene with detached amusement.
"You cling to this fleeting happiness as though it means something," Momoshiki said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Foolish."
Boruto’s chopsticks hovered in the air. He took a deep breath, forcing a smile as Himawari nudged him.
"Boruto! You weren’t listening!"
"Sorry, Hima," he said, ruffling her hair. "What were you saying?"
"You’re so distracted lately," she pouted. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it," he replied, shoving more food into his mouth to avoid further questioning.
Momoshiki stood, walking leisurely toward the table. He loomed behind Naruto, tilting his head curiously as he examined the Hokage.
"Such a weak man to wield such power," he mused. "Do you admire him, boy? Or do you resent him for the shadow he casts over you?"
Boruto’s grip on his chopsticks tightened. He dropped them a little too loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.
"Uh, I’m full," he said quickly, standing up. "Gonna head out for a bit."
Naruto frowned. "You barely ate."
"Not hungry," Boruto muttered, grabbing his jacket.
The night air was cool as Boruto wandered aimlessly through Konoha’s streets. The glow of streetlights and the chatter of villagers did little to quiet the storm in his head.
Momoshiki appeared beside him, walking in step with an irritatingly smug expression.
"Running away again, are we?" the Otsutsuki teased. "How predictable."
Boruto shoved his hands into his pockets. "I’m not running."
"No?" Momoshiki’s grin widened. "Then what would you call this aimless wandering? Seeking solace in the mundane to escape the inevitable truth?"
"Shut up," Boruto muttered.
Momoshiki stopped, forcing Boruto to halt as well. The air grew heavy as the Otsutsuki leaned in, his glowing eyes boring into Boruto’s.
"You cannot ignore me forever, boy. I am a part of you now. Your every triumph, your every failure — I will be there. Watching. Waiting. And when the time comes, you will realize that your fate is not your own."
Boruto clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "You’re wrong. I decide my fate, not you."
Momoshiki laughed, the sound echoing in the empty street. "We shall see, Boruto Uzumaki. We shall see."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Boruto alone under the flickering streetlight.
Boruto exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the weight of the encounter. Momoshiki might be a constant presence, but Boruto refused to let him dictate his life. He wasn’t just some vessel. He was Boruto Uzumaki.
And he would prove it.
It was happening again.
Boruto Uzumaki’s hand hovered over the burger in front of him, his appetite fading as the faint, cold pressure of fingers pressed against his cheek. It wasn’t real—not in the sense that anyone could see it—but Boruto could feel it as clearly as if someone were standing right next to him.
Momoshiki’s presence had become a constant shadow, always there, always whispering, and lately... always touching.
"Are you going to eat that, Boruto?" Sarada asked, snapping him out of his daze.
"Yeah," he muttered, picking up the burger and taking a mechanical bite.
"You're acting weird again," she said, squinting at him. "What’s going on with you lately?"
Boruto swallowed hard, trying to muster a normal response, but the sensation of Momoshiki’s hand tracing the edge of his jaw was distracting—infuriatingly so. The Otsutsuki wasn’t even subtle about it anymore.
"Nothing," he said, avoiding Sarada’s gaze. "Just tired."
Momoshiki’s laugh echoed faintly in his mind. "Such a poor liar, boy. Your pathetic attempts to appear normal amuse me greatly."
Boruto’s grip on the burger tightened, and he nearly crushed it.
"You okay?" Mitsuki asked, his calm voice laced with curiosity.
Boruto nodded quickly. "I’m fine," he said, shoving the last bite into his mouth and standing abruptly. "I gotta go."
Sarada frowned. "Go where? We’re supposed to be planning our mission for tomorrow."
"Just... I’ll catch up later, alright?" Boruto said, already walking away.
Back at home, Boruto’s mood hadn’t improved. Dinner was tense, as it often was these days. Himawari chatted happily about her day, and Hinata tried to keep things light, but Naruto’s sharp eyes kept darting toward Boruto, who sat stiffly, poking at his food.
"Boruto," Naruto said finally, his voice calm but firm. "Is something going on?"
"No," Boruto replied too quickly, not looking up.
Naruto frowned. "You’ve been acting strange for weeks. If something’s wrong, you can talk to me."
"I said I’m fine, Dad!" Boruto snapped, his fork clattering against his plate.
The room fell silent.
Momoshiki chuckled darkly, his voice a low murmur in Boruto’s mind. "So fragile. Your composure shatters so easily."
Boruto could feel it again—cold fingers brushing against his stomach, trailing upward in a way that made his skin crawl. He tensed, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table.
Naruto’s expression hardened. "Boruto—"
"I’m done!" Boruto stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I’m not hungry."
He left the table without another word, ignoring the worried looks from his family as he retreated to his room.
Momoshiki was with him, as always.
"You’re becoming more entertaining by the day," the Otsutsuki said, leaning casually against the wall. His glowing eyes followed Boruto as he paced the room, his frustration boiling over.
"Leave me alone," Boruto muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Momoshiki smirked, pushing off the wall and approaching slowly. "Leave you alone? But I am a part of you, boy. You cannot escape me, no matter how hard you try."
Boruto glared at him, his fists clenched. "You’re doing this on purpose. Trying to mess with me, trying to make me look crazy in front of everyone."
Momoshiki’s grin widened. "And you’re making it so easy."
Without warning, the Otsutsuki stepped closer, his ghostly presence somehow solid enough that Boruto could feel the cold press of a hand against his thigh. He flinched, jerking away instinctively.
"Stop it!" he hissed, his voice trembling with anger.
"Stop what?" Momoshiki asked innocently, tilting his head. "No one else can see me, boy. To them, you’re just flailing around like a fool. Shall I touch your shoulder next? Or perhaps your cheek again? I rather enjoy the way you squirm."
Boruto’s breathing grew shallow, his frustration bubbling into outright rage.
"Get out of my head!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the room.
The door burst open, and Naruto was standing there, his face etched with concern.
"Boruto," he said, his voice calm but firm. "What’s going on?"
Boruto froze, his heart pounding as he realized how this must look. Momoshiki stood behind Naruto, his expression smug as he leaned in close to whisper in Boruto’s ear.
"Tell him, boy. Tell your Hokage father that you’re losing your mind."
"I..." Boruto stammered, his throat dry. "I’m fine. I was just... talking to myself."
Naruto didn’t look convinced. "Boruto—"
"I said I’m fine!" Boruto snapped, pushing past his father and storming out of the room.
The days that followed weren’t any easier. Momoshiki’s invasions grew more frequent, more intrusive, and Boruto found it harder and harder to keep his composure.
During training with Sarada and Mitsuki, Momoshiki’s hand would brush against his arm, throwing off his aim.
At lunch with his family, cold fingers would press against his stomach, making him flinch and spill his drink.
Even in the middle of missions, the Otsutsuki’s touch would send a shiver down his spine at the worst possible moment.
Boruto’s teammates noticed, of course.
"You’re distracted," Sarada said after training one day. "You can’t keep zoning out like this, Boruto. It’s dangerous."
"I know," Boruto muttered, his voice tight.
"Then fix it," she said bluntly.
"I’m trying," he snapped, his frustration spilling over.
Momoshiki chuckled softly, his voice like a shadow draped over Boruto’s mind. "Poor boy. Your friends think you’re weak. Your family thinks you’re broken. And all because of me."
Boruto clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he fought the urge to scream.
He didn’t know how much longer he could take this.
Boruto had been dealing with Momoshiki’s presence for months now.
At first, it was just annoying: the feeling of cold fingers brushing against his arms, his shoulders, his cheeks. It was distracting, sure, but Boruto had managed to ignore it—most of the time. But then the touches became more persistent, more deliberate.
The first time Momoshiki hugged him, Boruto froze entirely.
It had happened out of nowhere, during a quiet moment in his room. Boruto had been sitting on his bed, staring out the window, when he felt it: arms wrapping around his shoulders, the ghostly weight of a body pressing against his back.
He went stiff, his breath catching in his throat.
"What... What the hell are you doing?!" Boruto hissed, his voice trembling.
Momoshiki’s laughter was low and unsettling, echoing in his mind. "What does it feel like I’m doing?"
Boruto tried to move, to shrug him off, but the sensation lingered, cold and unrelenting. He felt completely paralyzed, his mind racing.
"Get off me!" he snapped, his voice louder than he intended.
"Relax, boy," Momoshiki said, his tone infuriatingly calm. "You waste so much energy resisting me. If you would only accept my guidance, you might actually amount to something."
Boruto shoved himself forward, breaking free of the phantom embrace. He stood there for a moment, trembling and furious.
"You’re insane," he muttered, glaring at the empty space where Momoshiki stood. "Stay out of my head—and off of me!"
Momoshiki smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "We’ll see about that."
The next day, Boruto was training with Sasuke. Normally, he looked forward to these sessions—Sasuke was one of the few people he truly respected, and his lessons were always intense. But today, Boruto couldn’t focus.
Momoshiki was there, of course, hovering at the edges of his mind. His presence was stronger than usual, and every so often, Boruto felt the unsettling brush of cold fingers against his skin.
"Focus, Boruto," Sasuke said sharply, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Your chakra control is sloppy. Again."
Boruto nodded, trying to push Momoshiki’s presence aside as he formed a Rasengan. But just as he was about to release it, he felt it: Momoshiki’s hand sliding down his thigh, cold and invasive. Boruto flinched, losing control of the jutsu.
The Rasengan fizzled out, and Boruto stumbled, barely catching himself.
"What's wrong with you?" Sasuke asked, his voice stern.
"Nothing," Boruto said quickly, avoiding Sasuke’s gaze.
"Don’t lie to me," Sasuke said, narrowing his eyes.
Before Boruto could respond, he felt it again—Momoshiki’s presence, stronger than ever. This time, the Otsutsuki’s hand wasn’t just touching him; it was guiding him. Boruto’s chakra flared unexpectedly, the flow shifting in a way that felt completely foreign.
"What are you doing?!" Boruto hissed under his breath, his voice barely audible.
"Helping you, boy," Momoshiki said smoothly.
Boruto’s body moved almost on its own, his chakra aligning perfectly as he formed another Rasengan. The technique felt... different—stronger, more stable.
When he released it, the Rasengan shot forward with unprecedented power, slamming into the training dummy and leaving a deep crater in the ground.
Boruto stared, stunned.
Sasuke was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke. "That was... impressive. But your chakra control was completely different. What changed?"
"I..." Boruto hesitated, his mind racing. He couldn’t exactly tell Sasuke the truth—not without sounding insane. "I just... focused more, I guess."
Sasuke didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press the issue.
As they continued training, Momoshiki’s voice echoed in Boruto’s mind, smug and self-satisfied. "See? My guidance has already improved you. Perhaps you’ll finally stop wasting your potential."
"Shut up," Boruto muttered under his breath, clenching his fists.
That night, Boruto couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened during training. As much as he hated to admit it, Momoshiki’s interference had actually helped him. But that didn’t make it okay.
Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and confusion.
"You’re troubled," Momoshiki said, his voice soft but unsettling.
Boruto groaned, pressing a pillow over his face. "Of course I’m troubled! You won’t leave me alone!"
"Why would I?" Momoshiki asked, his tone almost amused. "You’re my vessel, boy. My future. Everything you achieve, everything you become, will be because of me."
Boruto sat up abruptly, glaring into the empty space where he knew Momoshiki’s presence lingered. "I don’t need you. I’ve gotten this far on my own."
"Have you?" Momoshiki asked, stepping closer. Boruto could feel the cold weight of his hand resting on his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine. "You wouldn’t have survived without me. You wouldn’t have grown as strong as you are now. Deep down, you know this."
Boruto clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "You’re wrong."
Momoshiki leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. "Am I? Tell me, boy... when will you stop fighting the inevitable?"
Boruto didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
As the days went on, Momoshiki’s influence only grew stronger. He was always there, always touching, always whispering. And no matter how hard Boruto tried to ignore him, he couldn’t escape the feeling that the Otsutsuki was right.
But he wouldn’t give in. He couldn’t.
For now, all Boruto could do was keep fighting—against Momoshiki, against himself, and against the growing fear that he was losing control.
Boruto Uzumaki had reached a point where fighting back felt pointless. For months, Momoshiki had been a relentless presence, invading his mind and, increasingly, his personal space. At first, Boruto had fought it—swatting at phantom hands, snapping angry retorts into thin air, even pleading for the Otsutsuki to leave him alone.
But nothing worked.
Eventually, Boruto stopped trying.
Now, he simply accepted it. He let the ghostly touches linger, let Momoshiki's presence hang over him like an unwelcome shadow. He learned to ignore the cold weight of an arm resting on his shoulder or the chill of a hand brushing against his thigh. It was easier that way—less exhausting.
But things started to change.
It was subtle at first. Boruto noticed he felt a little more tired than usual after training, his chakra reserves depleting faster than they should. He chalked it up to overexertion and shrugged it off.
But the fatigue didn’t go away. In fact, it got worse.
One morning, as he sat in the kitchen eating breakfast, Boruto felt the now-familiar weight of Momoshiki leaning over him, his chin resting lazily on Boruto's shoulder.
“You’re looking drained, boy,” Momoshiki remarked, his tone smug and uninterested.
Boruto ignored him, shoving another bite of toast into his mouth.
“Perhaps you’ve finally realized the cost of housing a god,” Momoshiki continued, his cold breath brushing against Boruto's neck.
Boruto’s hand tightened around his fork. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.
“Talking to yourself again?” Naruto’s voice broke through Boruto’s thoughts.
Boruto stiffened, looking up to see his dad leaning against the counter, arms crossed and a curious expression on his face.
“No, just… thinking out loud,” Boruto said quickly, shoving another bite into his mouth to avoid further questioning.
Naruto didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Boruto. “You’ve been looking tired lately. Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Boruto said, his tone a little too sharp.
Naruto raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue. “If you say so. Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”
“Got it,” Boruto mumbled, relief flooding him as his dad finally left the room.
Momoshiki chuckled, his voice echoing in Boruto’s mind. “Lying to your father now? How charming.”
Boruto ignored him.
By the time Boruto arrived at the training grounds later that day, his chakra felt alarmingly low. Even summoning a basic Shadow Clone left him winded, and sweat dripped down his forehead as he tried to push through the fatigue.
“What’s wrong with you today?” Sarada asked, frowning as she watched him struggle.
“Yeah, you’re moving like an old man,” Mitsuki added, his tone teasing but his expression concerned.
“I’ve just been training more,” Boruto said, forcing a grin. “Gotta stay ahead of you guys, right?”
Sarada didn’t look convinced. “If you say so. But maybe you should take it easy. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
Boruto waved her off, laughing nervously. “Nah, I’m fine! Don’t worry about me.”
As Sarada and Mitsuki exchanged doubtful looks, Boruto felt Momoshiki shift behind him. The Otsutsuki’s cold hands pressed against Boruto’s shoulders, his weight leaning fully into Boruto’s back.
“You’re running out of excuses,” Momoshiki murmured, his voice low and taunting. “How long do you think you can hide this from them?”
Boruto gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He could feel Momoshiki’s cheek pressed against his, the sensation far too real for comfort.
“Shut up,” Boruto hissed under his breath, his voice barely audible.
“What was that?” Sarada asked, turning to look at him.
“Nothing!” Boruto said quickly, forcing another laugh. “Just talking to myself.”
Sarada frowned but didn’t press the issue.
That night, Boruto lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as his mind raced.
His chakra reserves were dangerously low. He could feel it—an emptiness inside him that hadn’t been there before. And the worst part was, he had no idea how to fix it.
Momoshiki’s presence was stronger than ever, his touches more tangible, more invasive. It was as if the Otsutsuki was becoming... real.
“You’ve finally noticed,” Momoshiki said, his voice breaking the silence.
Boruto turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Noticed what?”
“That my presence is no longer just in your mind,” Momoshiki said, a smirk playing at his lips. He sat casually at the edge of Boruto’s bed, his posture relaxed. “Your body is adapting to me. Accepting me. And in return, I am becoming... solid.”
Boruto’s blood ran cold. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Momoshiki leaned forward, his crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? My touch. My weight. It’s real now, boy. And it comes at a price.”
Boruto’s heart pounded in his chest. “You’re... you’re draining my chakra?”
“Not draining,” Momoshiki corrected. “Integrating. I am merely taking what I need to fully manifest in your world.”
Boruto sat up abruptly, his fists clenched. “You can’t do this! I didn’t ask for this!”
Momoshiki chuckled, his voice low and mocking. “You didn’t have a choice. You’re my vessel, boy. You belong to me.”
Boruto’s mind raced as panic set in. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let Momoshiki take over.
But as he looked down at his trembling hands, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it might already be too late.
The next day, Naruto pulled Boruto aside after breakfast, his expression serious.
“Your chakra levels are dangerously low,” Naruto said, his tone laced with concern. “What’s going on?”
Boruto forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve just been training a lot, that’s all. Trying to get stronger.”
Naruto frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. Take a break for a while, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Boruto said quickly, eager to end the conversation.
As he walked away, he could feel Momoshiki’s presence looming behind him, his hand resting lightly on Boruto’s shoulder.
“Your lies are growing thin, boy,” Momoshiki said, his voice dripping with amusement. “How much longer can you keep this up?”
Boruto didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
All he could do was keep moving forward, even as the shadow of the Otsutsuki threatened to consume him.
Boruto’s dreams had been restless for weeks, filled with fragmented images of white eyes and cold, unrelenting touches. But that night, his sleep was shattered by something far worse—a scorching, suffocating pain that clawed its way through his body.
He woke abruptly, his chest heaving as if he’d just surfaced from drowning. His vision was blurred, his breath ragged, and his entire body felt impossibly heavy. But the worst part, the part that made his stomach twist in fear, was the emptiness.
His chakra—every last ounce of it—was gone.
For a moment, he lay there in stunned silence, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. Slowly, he forced his eyes open, blinking against the haze.
And there he was.
Momoshiki.
But something was different.
The Otsutsuki wasn’t standing in his usual spectral form, a flickering presence hovering just out of reach. No, this time, he was there, fully there, solid and tangible.
He was sitting on Boruto’s hips, his hands braced on either side of Boruto’s head, pinning him to the bed. His horns were gone, leaving his face strangely human yet still unnervingly otherworldly. His pale hair flowed loosely around them, spilling across Boruto’s bed like liquid moonlight.
And he was naked.
Boruto’s breath hitched, his body frozen in shock.
Momoshiki looked smug, a self-satisfied smirk playing at his lips as he gazed down at Boruto with those piercing white eyes.
“What… the hell?” Boruto croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Momoshiki tilted his head, his expression amused. “Surprised, boy?” he drawled, his tone low and smooth. “You shouldn’t be. This was inevitable.”
Boruto stared, his heart pounding in his chest. “What… what did you do?”
Momoshiki’s smirk widened. “I took what I needed.”
Boruto’s stomach churned. “My chakra… you took all of it.”
“Not all,” Momoshiki said, his voice casual. “Just enough to finish what I started.”
“What you started?” Boruto repeated, his voice rising with panic. “What the hell does that mean?”
Momoshiki leaned closer, his hair brushing against Boruto’s skin. “It means, boy, that I am no longer a mere shadow in your mind. I have fully manifested in your world.”
Boruto’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. “You… you’re real now?”
“Real,” Momoshiki confirmed, his tone laced with amusement. “And it’s all thanks to you.”
Boruto’s hands clenched into fists, his anger momentarily overpowering his fear. “You had no right! This is my body, my chakra! You can’t just—”
“Can’t?” Momoshiki interrupted, his smirk fading into a cold, unreadable expression. “You forget, boy, that you are mine. You became mine the moment you killed me and bore my mark. Everything you are, everything you have—it belongs to me.”
Boruto gritted his teeth, his body trembling with suppressed rage. “You don’t own me,” he spat.
Momoshiki chuckled, the sound low and sinister. “Keep telling yourself that.”
For a long moment, they stared at each other, the tension between them thick and suffocating. Boruto’s mind raced, searching desperately for a way out of this nightmare, but his body refused to move, pinned beneath Momoshiki’s unyielding presence.
Finally, Momoshiki leaned back slightly, his hands still braced on the bed. “You should be grateful, boy,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “I’ve made you stronger, more powerful than you could ever have been on your own.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Boruto snapped.
“No,” Momoshiki said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But you’ll come to appreciate it in time.”
Boruto’s jaw clenched, his anger boiling over. “Get off me,” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Momoshiki raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And if I don’t?”
Boruto’s fists tightened, his nails digging into his palms. “I’ll make you.”
For a moment, Momoshiki said nothing, his gaze locked onto Boruto’s with an intensity that made his skin crawl. Then, slowly, he leaned in again, his face mere inches from Boruto’s.
“I’d like to see you try,” he murmured, his voice a chilling whisper.
Boruto’s breath caught in his throat as the door to his room creaked open. His father stood there, backlit by the hallway light, his wide eyes taking in the scene before him.
Naruto Uzumaki, the Seventh Hokage, froze, his jaw dropping. “What the hell?! You have someone in your bed?!”
Boruto’s mind went blank. He stiffened, his face rapidly turning crimson as his brain scrambled for an explanation. Behind him, Momoshiki shifted slightly, tilting his head so that his long, pale hair obscured most of his face. The Otsutsuki’s Byakugan eyes glinted faintly in the dim room, though his expression was one of mock innocence.
Naruto’s face grew redder by the second, a mix of shock and disbelief etched onto his features.
“Dad, wait, this isn’t—” Boruto stammered, his voice cracking.
But before he could say another word, Momoshiki leaned forward, pressing his face into Boruto’s neck in an exaggeratedly delicate gesture, as if trying to hide. The motion was deliberate, a calculated act that painted him as a shy, blushing maiden.
Boruto froze, his heart pounding as he felt Momoshiki’s smirk against his skin. The bastard didn’t care—no, he was enjoying this!
Naruto sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. “Just… keep it down. Don’t wake your mom.” He stepped back, shaking his head in exasperation. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
And then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
The silence in the room was deafening.
Momoshiki finally pulled back, his smirk widening as he snickered softly. “Your father is… amusing,” he murmured, his tone dripping with mockery.
Boruto whirled around, his face still bright red. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he hissed. “Do you realize what you just did?!”
Momoshiki arched a pale brow, clearly unbothered. “Yes. And?”
Boruto groaned, burying his face in his hands. He could still feel the lingering heat of Momoshiki’s body pressed against his, his larger, slender frame somehow both infuriating and impossible to ignore.
“Get out,” Boruto muttered, his voice muffled.
Momoshiki didn’t respond. Instead, he stood and casually made his way to Boruto’s dresser, rifling through the drawers with an air of utter indifference.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Boruto snapped, his head snapping up.
“I’m getting dressed,” Momoshiki replied coolly, pulling out a pair of pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He held them up, inspecting them briefly before slipping them on with infuriating grace.
Boruto could only stare, dumbfounded, as the Otsutsuki dressed himself as though he owned the place. The sight of Momoshiki wearing his clothes—his clothes—felt oddly intimate, and Boruto didn’t know whether to yell or hide under his blankets.
Once dressed, Momoshiki turned and strolled back to the bed, lying down beside Boruto without a hint of hesitation.
“What are you doing now?!” Boruto demanded, his voice rising.
Momoshiki gave him a sidelong glance, his expression one of mild amusement. “Sleeping,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“You can’t just—” Boruto started, but the words died in his throat as Momoshiki closed his eyes, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.
Boruto sat there, flabbergasted, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The most dangerous and arrogant being he’d ever encountered was now lying beside him in bed, completely unfazed.
After a moment, Boruto let out a long, frustrated sigh and flopped back onto the mattress, his body tense and his mind racing.
“I hate you,” he muttered under his breath.
Momoshiki’s lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained closed. “And yet, here we are.”
Boruto groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.
Sleep would not come easily that night.
Boruto’s eyes fluttered open, the morning light spilling into his room. For a fleeting moment, he hoped it had all been a bad dream—a strange nightmare conjured by his stressed-out mind.
But then, he saw him.
Momoshiki’s face was inches from his, those godlike, otherworldly features impossibly real. The pale Otsutsuki looked serene, his Byakugan eyes half-lidded as he gazed back at Boruto, a smug knowingness lingering in his expression.
Boruto froze, his breath catching in his throat. His first instinct was to scream, but the absurdity of the situation—and the terrifying presence of Momoshiki—kept his voice locked in his chest.
“Staring is rude,” Momoshiki muttered, his voice a low drawl as if still half-asleep.
Boruto’s face flushed, and he looked down, only to realize with mounting horror that Momoshiki was hugging him. Both arms were wrapped around Boruto’s torso in an uncomfortably intimate hold, their bodies pressed together in a way that made his skin crawl.
“Get off me!” Boruto hissed, trying to push himself out of the Otsutsuki’s grip.
Momoshiki didn’t budge, his hold tightening slightly, as if amused by the boy’s struggles.
“Stop squirming,” Momoshiki said coolly, his tone laced with annoyance.
“No! Let go, you freak!” Boruto snapped, his panic and frustration boiling over.
He continued struggling, his movements frantic as he glared at Momoshiki. “I hate you! I hate this whole situation! This is your fault! My dad’s probably waiting outside to yell at me because of you! And you’re just—just—using me! Sucking away what little chakra I have left like some parasite!”
Momoshiki’s smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, unyielding stare. The air in the room grew heavy, and for a moment, Boruto felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“You dare?” Momoshiki hissed, his voice low and venomous. His Byakugan eyes seemed to glow as his grip on Boruto’s shoulder tightened painfully.
Boruto’s retort died in his throat as a sudden, searing pain erupted through his body. It felt like the very sky had collapsed on him, the weight and agony so intense that he almost screamed. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. If he screamed, his parents would come running, and he couldn’t let them see this.
Instead, he gritted his teeth, his whole body trembling as he fought to endure the pain.
The Otsutsuki leaned closer, his presence oppressive. “You are a fool, vessel,” Momoshiki said, his tone icy. “Do you think your existence holds meaning? That your defiance matters to someone like me? You are nothing. Insignificant. I could snuff out your pathetic little life with a mere thought.”
He clutched Boruto’s shoulder tighter, making him wince as fresh pain flared. “You will obey. You will not fight me again. Unless, of course, you wish to endure more pain?”
Boruto stared at him, wide-eyed, his anger and fear giving way to something rawer. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn’t give Momoshiki the satisfaction.
He turned his head away, burying his face in the pillow to hide his trembling. He felt the Otsutsuki’s eyes on him, sharp and unrelenting, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let him see the tears that threatened to spill.
“Tch.” Momoshiki clicked his tongue, pulling back and rising from the bed with a fluid motion. He straightened his borrowed clothes, his pale hair cascading down his back as he sneered down at Boruto.
“You humans are so weak,” he said disdainfully. “So fragile, so pathetic. Letting your emotions rule you—what a wretched existence.”
Boruto didn’t respond. He lay there, his body trembling and his face buried in the pillow, as Momoshiki’s words echoed in his mind.
Boruto let his tears to soak into the pillow. He hated this. He hated Momoshiki.
And he hated how powerless he felt against him.
Boruto's tears had finally dried, leaving his face hot and flushed. He glanced up cautiously, only to see Momoshiki casually rummaging through his belongings. The Otsutsuki’s movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if this were his home and not Boruto’s.
A mix of anger and fear bubbled up inside Boruto. He wanted to shout, to demand Momoshiki stop, but the godlike presence that radiated from the man held him in check. Boruto clenched his fists. He was nothing compared to Momoshiki—a spoiled brat, insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway. His heart leaped into his throat, panic flaring to life.
“Momoshiki!” Boruto whispered harshly, his voice barely audible.
Momoshiki turned to him, his expression unreadable. Then, in one swift movement, he was in front of Boruto, taking the boy’s hand and pressing it to his chest.
Boruto’s Karma mark flared, glowing faintly as Momoshiki’s body turned transparent. His form didn’t vanish entirely, though—it hung there, ghostlike and mocking, his presence a chilling reminder that he could return whenever he wanted.
The door creaked open.
Naruto’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around the room, his expression filled with suspicion. “Boruto,” he said, his tone stern, “what’s going on? Who was in here?”
Boruto froze, his breath hitching. His mind scrambled for an answer, but nothing came. His heart raced as he tried to avoid looking at Momoshiki, who stood just behind him, faintly transparent, his smirking face the picture of mockery.
“I… uh…” Boruto stammered, his throat dry.
“You can’t even look me in the eye,” Naruto said, his voice rising. “Don’t tell me you’re not even going to explain it, you had someone in your bed!”
Boruto’s face turned crimson. “I—It’s not what you think!” he blurted, but the words felt hollow even to him.
Naruto crossed his arms, his Hokage presence looming over Boruto like a storm cloud. “Oh really? Then what is it? Because I came in last night, and I saw someone.”
Boruto’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He was painfully aware of Momoshiki standing there, watching with that insufferable grin.
“You’re not saying anything!” Naruto snapped. “So what am I supposed to think? Huh?”
Boruto clenched his fists, his head hanging low. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Naruto ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Look, I’m not trying to be the bad guy here. But if something’s going on, you need to tell me. This isn’t just about you. You’re my son, Boruto. I need to know what’s going on in your life!”
Boruto bit his lip, his frustration boiling over. “It’s not something you’d understand, okay?” he snapped, his voice cracking.
Naruto’s eyes softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. “Try me.”
“I can’t!” Boruto shouted, standing up abruptly. He realized too late how desperate he sounded, and it only made him feel smaller.
Naruto took a step back, startled by the outburst. For a moment, the room was silent.
Finally, Naruto sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, I can’t force it out of you. But this isn’t over, Boruto. You’d better have a good explanation when you’re ready to talk. And until then—” He gave his son a hard look. “No sneaking around. Got it?”
Boruto nodded stiffly, avoiding his father’s gaze.
Naruto turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. “We’ll talk about this later. Don’t let your mom find out, or you’ll have more than just me to deal with.”
As the door shut behind him, Boruto collapsed back onto the bed, his entire body trembling.
Momoshiki chuckled softly, stepping back into view. “That was… entertaining,” he mused, his tone dripping with amusement.
“Shut up,” Boruto muttered, covering his face with his hands.
“You’re lucky I didn’t make things worse for you,” Momoshiki continued, his smirk widening. “Next time, though…”
Boruto groaned, sinking deeper into the mattress. His life was officially a nightmare.
Boruto wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles aching from hours of solo training. He tightened his grip on his kunai, focusing on perfecting the fluid movements of his jutsu. The forest was quiet except for the sound of his exertion.
And then, as if summoned by his frustration, Momoshiki appeared.
“Still sloppy, boy,” the Otsutsuki remarked, stepping into view. He was still wearing Boruto’s clothes—his shirt hung loosely on the taller man, and the sight made Boruto’s stomach churn.
Boruto didn’t respond. He threw his kunai again, embedding it into a nearby tree.
Momoshiki tilted his head, observing with faint amusement. “Ignoring me, are we?”
Boruto clenched his fists but said nothing.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Momoshiki added casually, stepping closer. He pointed toward Boruto’s stance. “Your weight is uneven. Shift to your left foot when you throw.”
Boruto stiffened, biting his tongue to keep himself from retorting. Against his better judgment, he adjusted his footing and repeated the move, this time with more precision. The kunai hit the exact center of the target.
“Better,” Momoshiki said, his tone annoyingly smug.
Boruto glared at him but kept his mouth shut. He focused on his training, repeating the motion over and over as Momoshiki offered occasional corrections.
As aggravating as it was, Momoshiki’s advice worked. Each throw became sharper, more controlled. Still, the weight of the Otsutsuki’s gaze on him made Boruto’s skin crawl.
“Such narrow thinking,” Momoshiki said after a while, stepping closer. Before Boruto could move away, the Otsutsuki leaned against his back, his long arms draping lazily over Boruto’s shoulders. “You could be so much more if you’d stop clinging to your childish notions of pride.”
Boruto tensed, his entire body rigid as Momoshiki pressed against him. The proximity made his stomach turn, but he forced himself to keep throwing kunai.
“Let go of that limited perspective,” Momoshiki murmured near his ear, his voice low and condescending. “Think beyond what you see in front of you. Surely, you should understand what I mean by now.”
Boruto wanted to shove him away, to yell, to do anything to get him to stop. But he couldn’t. Momoshiki’s presence was suffocating, and Boruto hated how powerless he felt.
Then, a sudden rustle in the trees caught his attention. Boruto froze, his kunai mid-throw, and turned his head toward the sound.
Momoshiki didn’t move, still leaning lazily on Boruto’s back as if he hadn’t noticed—or didn’t care.
Standing on a tree branch, Sarada stared at them, her Sharingan spinning faintly as her gaze flicked between Boruto and the figure practically draped over him.
Her face turned bright red.
“I—I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she stammered, her voice cracking slightly. She spun around before Boruto could say a word and disappeared into the trees.
Boruto stood there, stunned. His arm fell to his side as he stared at the spot where Sarada had been.
“Dammit…” he muttered under his breath, his face burning with embarrassment.
Momoshiki chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. “Humans are so easy to manipulate,” he said, his grin widening as he straightened up.
Boruto turned to glare at him, but he couldn’t find the words. Momoshiki’s smug expression only made it worse.
“Shall we continue?” the Otsutsuki asked, gesturing toward the target.
Without another word, Boruto picked up his kunai and resumed his training, his movements stiff and mechanical. His frustration bubbled beneath the surface, but he refused to let Momoshiki see just how much he’d gotten under his skin.
Boruto sat on his bed, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he stared at Momoshiki. The Otsutsuki was lounging near the window, scoffing at Boruto’s clothes with an expression of pure disdain. He flipped through one of the drawers in Boruto’s room and pulled out a tie, clearly unimpressed by the messy contents inside.
With an air of indifference, Momoshiki tied his hair into a perfect high ponytail. His fingers worked with practiced ease, making the action look almost effortless. The sight of him doing something so ordinary—but with such grace—made Boruto’s heart beat a little faster. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than it should have. Momoshiki looked… well, Boruto had to admit, he was attractive in an irritating way. He had a way of making something as simple as putting on a tie look far too captivating.
Boruto’s face flushed at the thought. “What the hell am I thinking?!” he muttered under his breath, mentally scolding himself. He tried to brush it off. It’s just because he’s an Otsutsuki… he reasoned. He's a god. That’s all it is. He couldn't be attracted to someone like Momoshiki—someone so dangerous, so manipulative. This was just another one of his tricks, right?
But despite his attempts to reason with himself, he couldn’t shake the lingering feeling in his chest.
Momoshiki finished adjusting his hair and, without a word, grabbed a grey hoodie from the pile of clothes in the corner of the room. It was one Boruto rarely wore, but now the Otsutsuki was slipping into it with a casual grace that only seemed to heighten Boruto’s discomfort. When Momoshiki turned toward him, his lips curved into a smirk.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice smooth, almost mocking.
Boruto opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t quite find the words. Confused and uneasy, he followed Momoshiki as the Otsutsuki grabbed his hand and pressed it to his chest. Boruto’s breath caught for a moment as the familiar shift of chakra enveloped them, turning Momoshiki transparent once again.
The cold night air hit Boruto’s face as he exit the house.
Momoshiki materialized in an instant, pulling Boruto along with him as they arrived in the bustling shopping district. The Otsutsuki walked with a sense of ownership over the place, as if the entire city belonged to him. Boruto tried his best to ignore how disoriented he felt, but the sight of Momoshiki comfortably strolling through the crowd made his stomach churn.
To his surprise, Momoshiki didn’t waste any time. He immediately started to pick out expensive shoes, tossing them into Boruto’s arms as he continued walking through the stores, completely uninterested in whether or not Boruto followed him.
“Seriously?” Boruto muttered under his breath, still not fully processing what was happening. “You just—are you actually using my money?” he asked, trying to sound annoyed, though he knew it was pointless.
Momoshiki gave him a side glance, not answering, but there was a glint in his eye that made Boruto want to do nothing more than walk away from the entire situation. He hated the way Momoshiki didn’t even need to ask permission, like everything was just his for the taking.
After what felt like hours of wandering the streets, they eventually ended up in a restaurant. Boruto couldn’t help but feel a knot of dread in his stomach. Being out with Momoshiki—physically out in public like this—was different now. Before, Momoshiki was only visible to him, but now, anyone could see him. Boruto tried his best to ignore it. He kept his head down as they were seated, but his nerves were on edge.
Just as they were about to eat, Boruto noticed a familiar group walking into the restaurant. Shikadai, Chocho, and Inojin. His stomach dropped, panic bubbling up in his chest. The last thing he wanted was for them to see him with Momoshiki, especially considering the odd way the Otsutsuki was acting. His heart raced as he realized they had already spotted him.
Before Boruto could do anything to cover it up, Momoshiki, with an almost casual arrogance, turned his back to the group and kissed Boruto right on the lips.
The world seemed to slow down as Boruto felt his blood run cold. His mind screamed for him to push Momoshiki away, but his body froze, paralyzed by both shock and the undeniable taste of blood on his lips. It was nauseating. The taste lingered, making him want to vomit.
From across the room, Boruto could hear Chocho’s shocked squeak, followed by the hurried scraping of chairs as the group quickly turned away. They didn’t even wait to find a table—they left in a hurry, clearly uncomfortable, avoiding Boruto’s eyes altogether.
Momoshiki, ever smug, didn’t even flinch as he pulled away. He straightened himself, his expression one of complete satisfaction. "Pathetic," he murmured. "Humans are so easily manipulated. They're nothing more than playthings."
Before Boruto could recover from the shock, Momoshiki grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the restaurant without a second glance. Boruto’s mind was a storm of confusion, embarrassment, and anger. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but he couldn’t. He felt humiliated—exposed.
As they left the restaurant, Boruto couldn’t help but wonder what would happen now. How would he ever face his friends again after this? How could he explain anything, especially now that Momoshiki had made things so much more complicated?
Naruto was walking through the village when he overheard some of Boruto’s friends talking in hushed voices about a "rando" Boruto was kissing. The words immediately caught his attention. He stopped in his tracks, his senses sharpening as he overheard the whispers. Without thinking, he moved closer, quickly appearing next to them, causing them to jump in surprise.
“Hey, what are you talking about?” Naruto asked, his voice low and steady, though the concern in his tone was unmistakable.
The group of kids froze, eyes wide, unsure of how to respond. Sarada and Shikadai exchanged a glance before Sarada spoke up. “Uh, we don’t really know much about him. Just... Boruto was with him, and they were... close,” she said, her voice hesitant.
Naruto’s eyes narrowed as he processed this. “Who is this guy?” he asked again, this time a bit more forcefully.
They didn’t have an answer, so Naruto took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I’ve dealt with people like that before, Boruto’s not stupid, but... He needs to be careful.” He paused, remembering the dangerous paths he'd walked in his own youth. “I’ll confront him myself.”
Before anyone could respond, Naruto turned and walked toward the training grounds, his pace quickening as he prepared for whatever confrontation lay ahead. Sarada, Shikadai, and the others decided to follow, all equally concerned.
When they arrived at the training ground, they saw Boruto sparring with someone—a tall figure whose presence immediately made Naruto stiffen. The person was elusive, dodging every strike Boruto threw at him with eerie ease. Boruto’s punches missed by mere inches, and it was clear that the mysterious figure wasn’t even trying to fight back; instead, he was taunting Boruto, making the young ninja look weak in comparison.
Naruto’s heart skipped a beat. He could feel something was wrong as soon as he saw the figure’s speed and the sheer strength in their movements. This wasn’t just some random guy—this was someone dangerous. He blinked in surprise as he recognized something about the person’s voice. No way...
In that moment, realization hit Naruto like a freight train. The person Boruto was fighting, the one evading every move, was none other than Momoshiki. He couldn’t see his face yet, but the aura around him, the way he moved—it was unmistakable.
Naruto wasted no time. He leaped into the field, aiming to attack Momoshiki, but the Otsutsuki easily evaded his move, appearing beside Boruto in an instant. The kids ran up, their expressions filled with fear and confusion as Naruto spat out the Otsutsuki’s name, his voice filled with barely-contained anger.
Momoshiki smirked, his voice laced with amusement. “Ah, so the Hokage finally shows up.” He leaned lazily against Boruto’s back, his grin widening. “Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve found out about me, Naruto Uzumaki? And I’m curious—did Boruto actually want you to know about me?” He taunted, his words dripping with mockery.
Naruto’s fists clenched. He knew he had to keep his cool, but this wasn’t just about protecting Boruto anymore. It was about confronting the god who’d been manipulating his son for who knows how long.
Boruto, meanwhile, stayed still, not sure how to respond. His body stiffened under Momoshiki’s touch, the god’s presence making him feel both trapped and numb. He couldn’t deny how powerful Momoshiki was, but the situation was becoming unbearable.
Momoshiki leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Boruto’s neck as he whispered something inaudible. Boruto’s body tensed, and just as quickly, Momoshiki made himself transparent, leaving Boruto collapsing onto the ground, his strength drained.
His friends panicked, rushing to Boruto’s side, but the young ninja just waved them off weakly. “I’m fine, really,” he said, though the pain in his chest was evident. He just needed to catch his breath.
Naruto, on the other hand, was furious. He immediately wanted to take Boruto to the hospital, but his son refused. “I don’t need to go,” Boruto insisted, though his voice didn’t hold much conviction. It was clear he was just trying to downplay it, to avoid more questions.
Boruto was was brought to an interrogation room and Sasuke, Hinata, Sakura, and Shikamaru soon arrived, all asking the same thing—why hadn’t Boruto said anything about the Otsutsuki? Why hadn’t he warned them? They all knew how dangerous Momoshiki was.
Boruto stayed silent, avoiding everyone’s gaze. He could feel Momoshiki still lingering nearby, grinning at the scene unfolding before him. The god was making fun of the others, knowing full well that they had no idea how deep his influence on Boruto had gone.
Sasuke, who had been silently observing, narrowed his eyes. Something was off. He moved toward Boruto and activated his Sharingan. “I’m going to figure this out,” Sasuke muttered, his eyes locking onto Boruto’s.
The moment Sasuke’s Sharingan made contact with Boruto, Momoshiki appeared out of nowhere. He stood in front of Sasuke, his cold, deadly gaze locking onto the Uchiha. “Don’t you dare use that on my vessel,” Momoshiki warned, his voice low and threatening. “If you try again, I’ll make sure you lose the second eye too.”
The others froze, staring at the scene in disbelief. Momoshiki smirked and once again positioned himself behind Boruto, his hands resting on the boy’s shoulders as he leaned in, making his presence even more oppressive.
Boruto sighed, his shoulders slumping as the tension in the air thickened. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. With a strained smile, he finally spoke up, his voice quieter than before. “Momoshiki has a body made entirely of chakra. He can’t actually use techniques or jutsu the way we do.” He flinched slightly as Momoshiki pinched his ear in reprimand. “But he’s not an active threat... he won’t do anything unless provoked.”
Despite Boruto’s reassurance, the others still seemed unconvinced. The tension didn’t fully dissipate, but at least for now, it wasn’t as suffocating as before. Momoshiki simply leaned back and grinned smugly, his eyes flashing with amusement as the group tried to process the new reality they found themselves in.
Though the Otsutsuki wasn’t actively attacking yet, he had no doubt that Momoshiki wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.