NARUTO: Tobirama/Sakura - "The Lost Ones" drabble series [Part Nine] - #tobisakuweek2023

    

Prompt: Fake Dating

Rating: T, maybe M later
Squicks: Misunderstandings, loss of family, misunderstood intimacy

A/N: Age Chart


Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine ||

#

Curiosity got the better of Tobirama, several days later, as he scrolled through a website on his phone in between recording takes. His brow furrowed as he flipped between several pages of information.

Tobirama jumped when Hashirama leaned over his shoulder and asked, “Looking to trade in the Pilot?”

“No,” said Tobi, pocketing his phone. “Back to work.”

Hashirama nodded and herded the rest of the band back to the studio.

Tobirama focused on his hand-written notes as the band tuned up for the next set.

It was funny, though, though Hashirama; he hadn’t known Tobirama appreciated vintage cars.

#

“Stop touching everything,” sighed Tobirama a few months later.

Hashirama looked up from the sound board outside the smaller of Tobirama’s personal recording studios in his converted warehouse-home. 

“I’ll be done in a few minutes. I need to pack up the—stop that.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Tobi frowned at his elder brother, narrowing his eyes. “Get away from the mixing panel. You’ll break it.”

“I was just looking—”

“Look with your eyes, not with your hands,” snapped Tobi, pushing Hashirama away from the rig. “It’s expensive.”

“Why do so many of the buttons flash—?”

“I said stop it!”

#

Tsunade’s voice echoed and faded in Sakura’s head. Then it repeated, louder than the ambient rumble of the aircraft’s engine.

“Sakura… wake up… You have an interview in an hour…”

“Five more minutes,” mumbled Sakura, yawning and turning onto her side—or trying to—but failing when the seatbelt restrained her. She groaned under her breath, lifting the edge of her face mask and scowling.

“We’ll be landing soon,” said Tsunade, glancing at Sakura before checking her tablet. “Go wash and freshen up your makeup.”

Sakura accepted the travel cosmetic pouch Tsunade shoved at her and stumbled to the washroom.

#

Backstage, Tsunade stared at Sakura with hard eyes, examining the dark smudges beneath her normally brilliant emerald orbs where Sakura dabbed on concealer, the pale hollows of her cheeks where Sakura blended in her contouring to fake a rosy, healthy glow.

“I’m fine,” said Sakura, evenly applying her eyeliner. Her eyes popped as she brushed on mascara.

“Madara and Hashirama have both been busy,” remarked Tsunade aloud, folding her arms across her ample bosom. “Who’s been checking in on you?”

“Ino.”

Tsunade’s brow dipped with her frown.

“I’m fine,” repeated Sakura, snapping the cap on her lipstick.

She lied beautifully.

#

“Welcome everyone… Sakura!”

The crowd roared as Sakura strutted on stage and waved enthusiastically at them.

“Hi!” she called, blowing them kisses. “I missed you, too!”

Security had been beefed up for Sakura’s visit to the popular entertainment show, but even their ranks strained to contain the wild fans. Their bulging arms stretched to support the transparent partitions that separated the audience from their hosts.

“Just keep walking,” calmly instructed the stage coordinator in Sakura’s ear piece. “You’re fine.”

Sakura hugged the hosts, took her seat, and smiled widely before winking at the crowd.

—then the partitions crumbled.

“Shit, run.”

#

Tobirama and Hashirama paused as a stampede crashed several studios away, screaming and yelling rising.

“Oh wow, we must have someone popular over there!” joked one of the late show hosts as they rehearsed that night’s set together, checking lighting, sound equipment, placement and more. “We don’t have many visitors who would bring the house down like that.”

“Is everyone alright?” asked Hashirama, turning to the growing noise.

Unease curled through Tobirama’s veins.

“Oh it’s fine, security’s there,” assured the other host. “I think they said Sakura was coming in today for a—”

The yelling escalated to screams.

Tobirama sprinted.

#

Tobirama and Hashirama skidded to a stop as they encountered the mad sea of fans, outpouring of security, and overall chaos that had levelled part of the studio’s set. Footage of Sakura continued to play on the overhead monitors flanking the stage but the sound system was disengaged from the video and instead a firm voice ordered the audience to back away from the stage for first responders to pass through and assess the scene.

A harried man wearing a headset to their left vehemently shook his head as Tsunade shook him physically.

“—I don’t know! She disappeared!” he cried.

#

“This way,” urged a stage hand, grabbing Sakura’s elbow and rushing her through an employee-only door that blended into the set. 

“But—Tsunade—”

“She’ll meet you downstairs!”

As Sakura’s heels were not designed for urban combat, she took the employee stairs as fast as she safely could. Her light-headedness tightened her chest and her vision swam but she pressed on. She could rest once they reached the limo’s safety. The stairway darkened as they reached the underground parking level, turning several corridors. 

“It’s a maze,” gasped Sakura.

Her rescuer’s pace slowed and he blocked her.

“You don’t say…”

#

“What’s her number?” demanded Tobirama, pulling out his phone. Hashirama recited it from memory and they raced out of the studio. “Hello, Building Ten? Sakura was abducted. Seal all exits and summon the police immediately. She is presumed to be in physical danger…”

“Which way?” muttered Hashirama to himself as they approached the elevators.

“They would try to leave with her,” said Tobirama. “You take the elevator, I’ll take the stairs, we’ll meet in the parking garage.”

Hashirama nodded, jumping into the carriage when the doors dinged open. Tobirama cursed the ‘hidden stairwell’ architecture and searched for the emergency exit.

#

“Let go of me!”

“Shut up and stop fighting!”

“Fuck you!”

“It won’t be long, once they pay up, just—ow!”

“Asshole! Let me go!”

“Look you bitch, you better come peacefully or else—!”

Sakura screamed long, and loud, and hard—and then head-butted her assailant with the power of professional wrestler on steroids. Then she scraped down his insole with her heels and elbowed him before throwing him over her shoulder and knee-dropping onto his chest, crushing several ribs. Her nails tore at his face and throat, screaming through her rage.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

#

The screams resonated through the stairwell, chilling the blood in Tobirama’s veins. He leapt down the stairs three at a time before smashing through the basement door and flying down the corridor, following Sakura’s terrible voice.

“Sakura,” he gasped, grabbing her around the middle and dragging her off her unconscious abductor. “Easy, it’s me, it’s Tobirama.”

Trembling fiercely in his arms, she hiccuped, tears and makeup streaming down her swollen face. 

“T-Tobi?” she coughed, swaying on her feet.

He nodded, gently cupping her shoulders; and caught her as her knees gave out.

“T-T-Tob-bi?”

“…I got you…”

#

Hashirama found Sakura asleep in Tobirama’s arms and lap as the younger Senju cradled her against his chest. They sat on the bottom step of the steep stairs and Tobi shot Hashirama a warning look as he approached.

“She’s exhausted,” murmured Tobi.

“Did he… hit her?” whispered Hashirama, crestfallen as he saw the bruising around the side of Sakura’s face.

Tobirama nodded once. “Her arms and legs probably aren’t any better. She fought.”

Hashirama’s smile was soft and sad. “Of course she did.”

Tobirama’s jacket covered her. 

Hashirama leaned down to collect her, surprised at Tobirama’s reluctance to let go.

#

Hashirama and Tsunade were bombarded by reporters as they carried and escorted an unconscious Sakura to the awaiting ambulance.

“Is this the first attempt to kidnap Sakura?” 

“Is this part of a greater plot to topple Sakura’s chart-topping status?”

“Was there a sexual assault?”

“Do you believe the sexualization of young female pop stars invariably invites this type of harassment and assault?”

Hashirama’s throat worked as he struggled to maintain his temper. Tsunade placed a warning hand on his arm, reminding him to mind Sakura. He did.

… then Tsunade emptied her explosive, vitriolic wrath publicly upon that particular reporter.

#

Sakura woke in a private hospital room, Tsunade on one side, Hashirama on the other. Further down, Madara held her hand, his face lined with stress. His dark eyes softened as she focused on him and he gently squeezed her hand.

“Hey, little one,” murmured Madara, kissing her palm. “You’re back.”

Hashirama stroked her hair from her forehead, smiling down at her. “You unloaded a world of hurt on that guy. Good job,” he chuckled.

“How do you feel?” asked Tsunade, her firm expression for the first time cracked, her lips tight with worry. “You scared us, kid.”

“… I’m fine.”

#

Earlier that afternoon, a pair of feet were dragged through the Emergency Exit door and down to a lower level of the parking garage. From behind the gray, concrete column, the Honda Pilot’s trunk slammed shut before it navigated smoothly past the media circus. Its driver wore dark glasses and a cap and passed through unobserved, swiping his borrowed media badge. 

That night, Tobirama knocked on the Uchiha mansion’s front door, removing his sunglasses. Izuna answered, the rest of his cousins and brothers behind him. 

Tobirama popped his trunk and a groan sounded from inside.

“Thought you might be interested…”

#

TBC

AN: Please check out this GORGEOUS fanart for "The Lost Ones" by lateroofnights  !!!!