Disclaimer: Naruto (including all its familiar characters, settings, plot points, et cetera) doesn't belong to me. This story is for entertainment, not for money.
This story deals with a complicated, messy, and admittedly unhealthy dynamic between Sakura and her captors/liberators, Obito Uchiha and Sasori. Obito is thirty-one years old, Sasori is thirty-five years old (but looks much younger), and Sakura is twenty-two years old. Personally, I always fantasized about older men as early as my preteen years, which is why I write taboo pairings. It's harmless fiction to me.
Constants and variables: My highest priority is always to stay true to the original characterizations to the best of my ability and knowledge no matter where the setting takes us. There are no shinobi, hidden villages, or jutsu in this. It's a modern setting with cities and technology.
The premise reads fairly lighthearted at first. But Sasori is a merciless killer, and, under his mask, Obito is mostly apathetic to human suffering. They will force Sakura, a law-abiding citizen and humanitarian, to go against her personal ethics and morals in their mission to dismantle Konohagakure's entire way of life. The end justifies the means.
I hope you enjoy.
Chapter I: Infiltration
In the dead of night, Sakura Haruno, passed out on her couch in her starched medic's uniform, was startled from her sleep by an insistent banging on her apartment door. She wiped the drool from her lips and licked them, and, after a moment of grogginess, checked the time.
Random inspections at unholy hours weren't uncommon, especially considering the recent terrorist threats. Steep fines existed for all manner of rule-breaking, such as leaving out food or unclean dishes to draw insects. With that thought, her mind went to the unwashed fork in the kitchen sink.
Exhausted from another all-day shift at Konoha General Hospital, she hadn't the energy to do more than pop her boxed dinner ration into the microwave and rub her aching feet in the five minutes it took to heat the rice and dry chicken. It had the consistency and flavor of sand, and she washed it down by cupping her hands under the faucet and drinking the metal-tinged water dribbling out. She vaguely remembered throwing away her trash and leaving her fork in the sink.
She could never afford a fine.
"Just a second!" she called, stumbling toward the kitchen in total darkness and fumbling for the light switch along the way. Yellow light flickered overhead. Making a mental note to wash it after her unknown visitor left, she shoved the dirty fork into its appropriate drawer.
The knocking ceased, but it picked back up with a vengeance as Sakura hurried across her living room to unlock the door.
Her reflexive apology clung to the tip of her tongue when she opened her apartment to the silhouettes crowding her doormat. She caught only a glimpse of the image of a bold red cloud circumscribed by white before someone shoved her hard enough to send her careening across the carpet. With a hiss between clenched teeth, she gripped the new burn on her arm and looked up at the intruders.
Two figures forced their way into her home and slammed the door shut behind them, locking it with an ominous click. Straw hats and black cloaks consumed their forms and any trace of their identities.
"What a dump," uttered the shorter of the two. His masculine voice carried soft and unaffected despite the harsh words, and he tilted his head, seemingly considering the surrounding space.
In stark contrast, the taller of the two threw his gloved hands into the air in what could only be excitement. "At least we have somewhere to hide. And—oh, look, this apartment comes with a pretty girl! Aren't we lucky, Sasori?"
Sakura, struck silent with fear, jolted as the taller one stabbed a long finger in her direction. Her eyes darted between them as she inched her way backward. She pictured the knife in her utensil drawer.
"Tobi, restrain her before she tries something," ordered the shorter one, Sasori, in a tone that oozed boredom. "I'll investigate the other rooms."
A short cry tore from Sakura's throat as the taller one, Tobi, advanced on her, and she scrambled to her feet. Before she could take more than two steps, the weight of a cackling grown man tackled her and sent her to the floor once again. Squashed on her front, Sakura dug her nails into the carpet and tried to drag herself the rest of the way, but the man lying on top of her reached out to collect her wrists in one tight-fisted grip. He pinned her body down with his.
"Let go of me!" Sakura screamed before a cloth-covered forearm was shoved into her mouth. She gnashed her teeth, soaking the fabric with her saliva, but she could tell some kind of padding protected his flesh.
Meanwhile, Sasori stepped around their flailing limbs and disappeared through the doorway to her dim bedroom.
She writhed and bucked beneath Tobi, whose laughter grew stifled. In the scuffle, his straw hat flew from his head, and it rolled and hit the refrigerator. He lowered his face, and what felt like the edge of an unsanded wooden mask ground into Sakura's cheek.
"I recommend Pretty Girl stop struggling so much," he breathed in her ear. "Tobi is having way more fun than he should be."
It took her a few more seconds of fighting against his unyielding form before she realized what he was referencing: a formidable erection nestled between the line of their bodies. She released a muffled shriek of protest at the discovery.
"Sorry," he whispered. Through the haze of terror, Sakura noticed that his high-pitched voice had deepened into a smooth baritone. He knocked her teeth through her cheek with the mask when he swung his head. "I warned you."
"She's the only one here," Sasori reported as he returned to the living room, "but that doesn't necessarily mean she lives alone. Girl, do you live with anyone else?"
Sakura craned her neck to look up at him. With a mouthful of forearm, she made to shake her head in a truthful negative—but stopped just in time. She nodded instead.
"Pretty Girl is lying! She's a liar!" Tobi sang in her ear, once again in that grating, childish way. She was sweating from the sheer amount of body heat radiating from him, and the musty smell of her carpet nauseated her. "Sakura Haruno: age twenty-two, medic at Konoha General, single. District two-five-five-seven-zer-oh, class one, apartment twelve. No living family members."
What…? Sakura thought in a panic. How does—
"So, this wasn't a random pick like you led me to believe." Sasori knocked Tobi's hat aside as he opened the refrigerator. Inside was a half-empty container of low-fat milk, a lopsided carton of eggs, and a few packages of vanilla yogurt, the latter being her snack during work. "Pitiful selection. Is there anything worth eating in this place?"
"Well, her rations comprise single-person types A and D, sooo…"
"That means nothing to me."
Who were these men? The night's events stupefied Sakura—and she was still hyper-aware of the appendage digging into her backside. Something about the situation clearly excited Tobi. Every time the man on top of her shifted his weight, it returned to her immediate attention.
With a noise of disinterest, Sasori closed the refrigerator. "I guess we'll be staying here for a while. Security will be too tight to slip through until Leader makes the next move. I'll try to contact him in the morning. Do you want the bed or couch?"
Tobi considered the question before chirping, "Bed, please."
"All right, couch is all yours. I'll leave the girl to you. Night." Sasori turned the corner, leaving her at the mercy of his companion.
"Sasori picks the opposite of what Tobi says," he told her conspiratorially, dragging her with him as he stood. He retrieved cloth and a length of rope from the depths of his cloak, and he gagged her and fastened the cloth with a knot behind her head. He tied her wrists together at the small of her back. "I wanted the couch. Tobi is a clever boy."
He was far too tall for the couch, but that didn't stop him from flopping down and bringing her with him, complete with exaggerated, "Wheee!"
What's going on? Sakura's mind cried.
Lying on the chest of a man she didn't know, in his arms, bound and gagged, and doused in a sickly yellow light, she endured the most miserable, bewildering, and sleepless night of her life.
Sakura's apartment, like every other apartment in her district, contained only the essentials: a kitchen-and-living-room combination, bathroom, and bedroom. Furnishings were sparse; housing regulations didn't allow "wall mutilations" such as hanging pictures or anything else that required a nail through the drywall, so she kept a small stack of photographs and sentimental objects in a drawer beside the refrigerator.
Other than the barebones appliances she needed to store and cook her food and a rolling island counter, she was allocated a single radio to listen to mandatory broadcasts, a digital clock, a spindly legged stool, a personal fold-out stand for eating on, and a ragged brown couch with two holes in the cushion.
A cubicle shower, toilet, and sink completed her bathroom, and a simple rectangular closet and twin-sized mattress filled out her bedroom. The sandpaper carpet, stained from previous occupants, was the color of squashed raspberries. The walls were an unobtrusive and pale gray.
It wasn't much, but it was home, appointed to her based on her hourly wage, marital status, and family size. Fifty credits an hour, single, one female adult: These were several designations that determined her quality of living and social standing in the totalitarian dictatorship of Konohagakure.
She lived on the lower end of the spectrum, housed far away from the wealthy districts belonging to the politicians, judges, and chief executive officers—people who could be bribed to spin their cogs a certain way. Sakura, a diligent medic, vowed to save as many lives as possible no matter how much they paid her, and she wasn't ashamed to admit it.
She didn't have belongings. She didn't eat delicious food. She didn't have much space. There were no regular parties on her schedule, no galas or mixers. From seven in the morning to seven at night, she spent her time at the rundown hospital and tended to patients with rudimentary tools and medicine. She showered in the morning, simultaneously washing her dirty laundry and body, ate breakfast, and walked the thirty-minute distance to the hospital. At the end of every shift, she headed straight back to her apartment, ate dinner, and slept.
It was difficult to miss something that she never had; her childhood district, designated to low-wage families of three, was a few blocks away and only a slight upgrade to what she now had. She possessed the essentials for living and consumed a diet heavy in iron, lean proteins, and fiber.
Sakura was breathing. Her organs were functioning as intended. She was a productive member of society—and that was the most anyone like her could ask for.
Her outspoken neighbor, Naruto Uzumaki, didn't quite agree with this sentiment.
Naruto also held an hourly wage of fifty credits, was single, and lived by himself. Since he worked the graveyard shift at Mitsuki Limited, they never encountered each other except on weekends, especially Sundays, when they collected their weekly ration allotment from the civic center.
(Mitsuki Limited was hired to deal with product issues so the companies who created and distributed them didn't have to. "Moldy rations? Call Mitsuki Limited. Bug spray doesn't work on that army of super cockroaches breeding in your bathtub? Call Mitsuki Limited. Broken condom? Yeah, you know the drill," Naruto explained when Sakura first bumped into him four years ago.)
He often regaled days far before their time, when Konohagakure was a peaceful village overseen by a compassionate leader and a council of elders. Citizens took jobs based on what they wanted to do—not what they were good at—and bought and rent their own homes and apartments according to their personal tastes. The gates served as protection from the dangerous forests rather than prison bars. Tasty food was abundant and affordable.
Life had been about more than working, about being more than a machine with a single function.
"Hobbies," Naruto enthused. "Sleeping in. Free time to do whatever the hell you want. Say and think whatever the hell you want. Can you imagine it, Sakura?"
She couldn't.
Out of all of their neighbors, Sakura was the only one who sat through his speeches anymore. As Naruto was infamous for picking fights with their patrolling officer, nobody wanted to be seen with him.
Associating with a free-thinker was dangerous.
A six o'clock mandatory broadcast brought few answers and a lot more questions.
Sakura, having just nodded off when she wiggled her way into a more comfortable position against the back of her couch, experienced her second rude awakening when her radio lit up, blaring the militaristic cadence of the national anthem at 5:45 a.m. Jerking to awareness, she peeled her bleary eyes apart and glimpsed the orange lollipop-shaped mask that she spent half the morning studying.
Tobi groaned in protest, yanking his arm out from under her and stretching his long limbs. With an impressive yawn, he snuck a hand beneath his mask to, presumably, scratch at his face.
He had no right looking so comfortable in her apartment. Sakura glowered at him and tossed her unruly strands out of her face. Her dry mouth felt like cotton around the stiff gag. Muffled, she demanded, "Take this out of my mouth already."
"Morning to you, too." His sleep-roughened voice set her hair on end. He threaded his other hand through her pale-pink locks in a mock-affectionate gesture. "Sleep well? I know I did."
She growled and pinched a nerve in her neck trying to dislodge him.
With a dark chuckle, he bucked her off, sending her crashing to the floor just as the national anthem played its last notes. While she spat an incomprehensible string of insults through her gag, he pushed himself upright and combed his spiky black hair with his fingers.
Sakura squirmed to loosen her bindings. A pair of booted feet came to a stop inches from her nose, and she rolled away so she could look up at red-haired Sasori, who had left his straw hat behind. Apathetic honey-brown eyes framed with long lashes briefly acknowledged her.
"What's this noise?" Sasori asked, sounding too bored to care about the answer. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.
Tobi picked up the radio beside the couch and examined it at length, toying with the dials and buttons. "Tobi thinks it's an HL859 with strict permission modifications. Can't turn it off. It has one available frequency and preset volume."
"What's the frequency?"
"FM 101.8."
"We tried that one." Sasori wandered the length of the living room. "They must have RF shielding in the city walls, but I think I know where we can break through. Can you reverse the modifications?"
By way of a response, Tobi retrieved a small toolkit from the arsenal hiding under his cloak and crossed his legs. He took the radio apart with no small amount of enthusiasm.
While the two men were occupied, Sakura wormed across the carpet to her kitchen. Her cheek touched cool linoleum, and she angled herself so that her knees were underneath her. She pushed herself onto her feet but remained crouched as she neared her utensil drawer. Raising her chin, she hooked it over the handle and eased the drawer open until it was ajar enough for her to access the contents.
Flexing her burning shins to the sound of her popping joints, she straightened up and lowered her mouth to the waiting knife handle.
The drawer slammed shut a hair's breadth from Sakura's lips, and she choked on her cry. A hand grasped her upper arm and yanked her upright, bringing her face to face with Sasori's pale countenance. With lidded eyes and a cruel half-smile plastered across his strangely angelic features, he made for a frightening sight. Their similar height didn't even register.
"You're irritating," he told her. "Why can't you behave?"
"Tobi thinks she wants her gag taken out," Tobi called from the couch. "Pretty Girl is probably thirsty!"
"Is that right?"
Sakura met Sasori's eyes and, after a beat of hesitation, nodded. He shoved her back against the kitchen sink, snagging a fistful of her uniform, and she tensed in fear, holding her breath as he crowded her space.
"Do you know the punishment for harboring terrorists in Konoha?" Sasori asked.
"Interrogation, torture!" Tobi sang, brandishing a tiny hex-head screwdriver in her direction. "Public dismemberment, execution!"
"In case it's unclear, we belong to a terrorist organization." He bore holes into her with the intensity of his stare. "If you tell anyone about us, you'll only hurt yourself. We'll disappear long before the police arrive, and your government will make your life hell. Got it?"
Sakura furrowed her brow and nodded again, and Sasori leaned in closer, bringing the subtle scent of pine. He found the knot behind her head and unraveled it, pulling the gag from her mouth. She licked her cracked lips to find relief, but it did little to soothe the pain without moisture.
He reached down, brushing across her tense outer thigh, and yanked the utensil drawer open. He withdrew the coveted knife and held it aloft. "Let's make something clear, Haruno: You won't overpower us. If you hit us, we'll hit back. I don't care if you're a woman. Tobi doesn't care if you're a woman. If we tell you to do something, you do it that very instant."
Sick with dread, Sakura flicked her eyes from the sharp blade to his serene face.
"Follow this simple instruction, and, when it's all over, you'll get a prize: your pointlessly fleeting life. Understand?"
"I understand," she croaked. Sasori spun her around and shoved her forward. He grabbed her arm, wedged the knife between her wrists, and sawed the rope apart. She turned on the sink and downed handfuls of the metallic water until she choked on it.
Just as Tobi finished rewiring the radio and screwing the front back on, a rusty voice crackled from the speakers:
"Greetings, citizens of glorious Konohagakure, on this Tuesday morning. First of all, there's reason to believe our city has been breached by the 'Akatsuki,' a negligible band of terrorists. This is not a cause for panic—I repeat: This is not a cause for panic. If you see or hear something suspicious, we advise every citizen to do their duty and report it to the nearest civic center or officer. Otherwise, it's business as usual."
"Don't panic!" Tobi set the radio aside and danced through the living room, performing a flawless pirouette that flared his cloak out around him. He ducked out of sight through the bedroom door.
"In other news…" the voice droned on.
"Haruno, who's speaking right now?" Sasori helped himself to one of her vanilla yogurts after finding a spoon. He did well to ignore both his partner's antics and the glare she sent his way.
"Um, it sounds like Takahiro Nakagawa, Chief of Security," Sakura mumbled. "He's done most of the broadcasts lately."
"Hm. I wonder why." He cocked his head at her and offered a mean smile when she bristled at him. Popping a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth, he took a seat on the nearby stool and spun around once.
"I need to get ready for work." As she headed for her bedroom with a cautious shuffle, she monitored his reaction. He didn't even twitch in her direction, seemingly too preoccupied with gorging himself on her snack.
"Sounds like you have to wait for Tobi to finish up, then." The distinctive sound of running water punctuated Sasori's words.
"Hey!" An outraged Sakura flew across the bedroom to pound on the bathroom door. "Excuse me, I have very limited hot water! You can't just—"
Tobi poked his head out, releasing a cloud of steam and affording a minute glance of pale skin stretched over defined musculature. He had taken off his mask. The door concealed the right half of his face. An onyx-black eye under shaggy hair stared her down. His mouth twisted into a smile. "Do you want to share?"
Rumpled, unshowered, exhausted, paranoid, and furious—Sakura began the thirty-minute trek to Konoha General Hospital.