multicream

was thinking about an AU where obito & madara are found post-final battle relatively powerless but alive, and team 7 decides they should be rehabilitated. and who better to get stuck with that job than sakura “only living person who can deal with uchiha bullshit” haruno.

So, this is based off @multicream ‘s art, which I would post a link to but I don’t know how. It’s pretty amazing though. I have her permission to post a fanfic of her fanart, so please don’t freak out.

Now, this is vaguely humorous, but mostly just an introduction/one-shot. I have no idea if I wish to continue it or if it should be continued at all, but for now I feel it is probably complete enough that people shouldn’t be wanting more, exactly. But if you DO, let me know! It might motivate me for a part two.

~*~*~

Sakura stared down at her bubbling cauldron. It was a bright pink when it should have been a dark, waxy silver. Brows furrowed, she mentally recalled all the ingredients she had added.

Sprig of fresh rosemary picked under new moon, check. Ash of sage, check. Pickled frog tongue, check. Hercules beetle carapace, shredded, check. Boiled cedar sap, check. Strip of dried birch bark, check. Base of pig’s heart blood, check.

“What am I missing?” she wondered aloud. She wracked her mind for a moment, stirring the potion absently, and mentally reviewed what was usually used in potions of protection. Eucalyptus leaves, she thought, or elm leaves. Something that started with an ‘E,’ certainly.

If she had known she was going to forget, she would have gone to Mistress Tsunade for help. However, this particular potion, called the Potion of Yoroi, or Potion of Armor, was very time-sensitive. She was already cutting it close.

With only about five seconds before it was all going to be ruined—and the rosemary that had to be picked under the new moon, an ingredient rather hard to come by because of the timing and its necessity for so many potions, would be wasted—she decided upon elm. She grabbed a few leaves beside her, clipped them neatly into quarters, and then tossed them in. The potion, er, belched a blood-red smoke, and fizzled into dark black.

“Oops.”

The rosemary had definitely been wasted. Mistress Tsunade would not be pleased.

She waited a few moments to see if there were going to be any effects she should watch out for. Nothing for the first sixty seconds—most would count by minutes, but in potion brewing exact seconds were what was the norm for measurement—and then at 74 (not a good number, not at all)—the potion exploded into black smoke.

Sakura knew that protocol in this instance was to cover her nose and mouth so as to not inhale any, but she was so surprised that she gasped and took a particularly large inhalation of the smoke that immediately felt like tar in her lungs.

“Shit,” was all she could manage as she tried to cough out the suffocating substance. But nothing came out, and then she felt it almost…melding?…into her lungs, and then she could breathe just fine again.

Eventually the smoke dispersed and Sakura found herself alone in her room with a disastrously ruined potion and a possible health hazard seeped into her lungs, but alone and most likely safe if she wasn’t already dead after inhaling whatever she had.

With a sigh, she gathered up her silver stirring spoon and pewter cauldron, ready to clean up her things and perhaps go to bed. At this time of night, Mistress Tsunade would be passed out from drinking and Shizune would be cleaning up after her. If Sakura had felt that she was in danger, she would have sought them out, but she felt fine.

“Completely fine,” she reassured herself. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

Sakura tensed at the baritone male voice coming from behind her, but didn’t panic. The voice wasn’t immediately recognizable, but she had no reason to be worried just yet. She was good at being calm under pressure—otherwise, Tsunade wouldn’t have taken her under her wing.

Witchcraft, even if used for good, could be terribly dangerous, and cracking from stress could spell her death.

Slowly, she turned around to see whomever was talking to her.

Oh.

Oh.

So, in these circumstances, Sakura thought it was probably a good time to panic. And run for her life while she was at it.

Sitting behind her on her bed was a man with long black hair that seemed to defy gravity with its spikiness. He was dressed in dark red robes with strange symbols on them, but even though them she could tell he was well-built, definitely the physique of a combat warlock. He was also gorgeous, but in a definitively dangerous and Do-Not-Touch kind of way: he had a sharp, angular jaw, an aristocratic nose, full lips, and pale, pale skin.

That wasn’t what bothered her, although under difference circumstances she might have been bothered in a markedly different way.

No, it was his eyes: the accursed sharingan, but at an impossibly transformed state. Red irises with black patterned pupils in a way that she had never seen before, but had heard that one person—thing—possessed them.

His name was Madara, and he was possibly the most dangerous thing to ever been summoned. They said that he had never been seen, or rather, anybody who had seen him only saw him once—right before their death.

“Ah. So, I take that back.” She paused, trying to keep calm. “Er…how can I help you?”

“You called me.”

“Uh…no. No, I didn’t.” Because Sakura wasn’t an idiot.

“I’ve been locked away for a thousand and six years,” Madara replied, sounding darkly amused, “by that Hashirama.” Now he wasn’t amused. “And the only way I could be returned to the world of humans was by being specifically called.”

“I did not specifically call you at all,” Sakura argued. “So…you can, er, leave. Now. If you want.”

Madara chuckled and leaned toward her, voice seductive. Sakura leaned just as far back. “Leave? When I have such a beautiful human right before me? I think not.”

Sakura blushed, flattered and disgusted at the same time. It was hard to pick a reaction in her flustered state. “Right. Well, I called you,” she totally hadn’t, “so I’m telling you to leave. Go.”

“You should know that it’s not so simple,” he replied, a smug smirk on his face. His face was practically right up against hers now, and Sakura could only stare.

“Summoning you-” by accident, “-was simple, so I’m not sure I follow.” She didn’t. Not at all.

He only looked more smug. “You don’t have to, koishii.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he asked, and it was not a question. Sakura had the feeling that she was not going to get a choice in this.

“Well…stay here. I’ll…be back then.” Sakura stood quickly, ready to bolt, but Madara wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back down.

Why on earth had she been brewing on her bed, of all places? It didn’t seem so good of an idea anymore.

But Sakura was too shocked by the decidedly warm contact to have any reaction. She needed to get Tsunade, though. This was considered an emergency that no amount of drunkenness could be excused.

“Stay here for a little while, koishii,” he murmured into her ear. “We could…play.”

No. Sakura did not want to play. She did not want to do anything with this person. She hadn’t even meant to summon him!

Because Sakura was not so stupid that she would summon a goddamn demon.

Notes: 74 is not a good number, as it contains two unlucky numbers in it for the Japanese—7, shichi, and 4, shi. Shi is the word for death in Japanese, and therefore these numbers are typically avoided. Also, elm is associated with shadows, darkness and depression and was used to mark off tainted areas of the countryside (per http://www.uponreflection.co.uk/ogham/plant_lore_ah.htm). Also: koishii = dear, beloved.

i miss you guys!! here’s one of the commissions i’ve been catching up on.