Acanthus
|Because I'm not making out with anything but you're mouth. Deidara, OC|
air
The air around them is tense, chilling with a faint lingering intent of killkillkill.
aloof
He expected her to attack or run to their Hokage. But instead she disinterestedly looked at him, registering him for a second before turning to look back at the sunset.
blink
Deidara swore it was her but he can't be too sure, everything was a blur. He stays on his spot, watching the people move on, trying to get a glimpse of her again. The next time they went out, Deidara tries not to blink too much—just in case.
blush
They run their hands through their hair, pushing it out of the way, catching each other's eyes at the same time. They pause at the sudden eye contact, their hands still buried in their hair.
Deidara is the first to look away, pink coloring his cheeks.
curiosity
Deidara's mouth is dry, his curiosity itching to ask, just like how his hands are itching to mold something explosive. He wants to ask—why, but he has this slight fear the if he does everything might e—
cool
Somewhere, the heat is blazing down on Tokyo. Deidara barges inside her apartment, complaining about the heat, un. He scrambles to sit in front of the electric fan only to pushed away by a hand; he turns to look at Miso with a pout forming on his lips.
He stops at the sight beside him; head thrown back, drinking clumsily from her tumbler, Deidara eyes the water that dribbles down from her chin, trailing down her throat.
death
Afterlife was bang and it was not a pretty bang. No, un, not pretty or artfully beautiful at all, Deidara cusses—everything that goes bang was supposed to be artfully pretty.
end
He doesn't want it to end so he shuts his trap and hopes that Tobi (deidara-sempai~) won't tattle.
endanger
He's putting the mission at risk by just showing up at the training grounds and watching her train. He can't help it.
flow
The blood flows red, so red that it stains the ground and his clothing. He stares at her face impassively and she returns it back, she doesn't ask why, the answer was already given so instead Miso stares at his face longer, trying to remember everything.
grace
Miso, he thinks as he watches, is a moving form of art. Gracefully moving, leaving heart breaking, breath taking (lifetaking) attacks behind. Deidara etches, paints the image in his memory, vividly and clearly as he can.
heart
He'll never get tired of molding a new one every time she steals the real one.
heat
She was water and he was an explosion, she lives to extinguish (to save) what havoc he creates. But Deidara doesn't give a damn—he presses his lips against the skin—even if he drowns.
itch
His fingers ghosted over his lips as he watches her flop down—he wants a second, a third, a fourth, if only she stops being so, so stubborn.
kiss
"Kiss me, un." Deidara demands, holding out his palm expectantly at her, Miso's eyes twitched at the sight of the mouth on his palm.
"No." She deadpans, looking him in the eye. "I ain't making out with your hand."
kill
She is an art. And Deidara almost hesitates—thinking: art is eternal and almost believes, almost ready to switch beliefs—but she is waiting expectantly so he swings it down. Thinking: art is fleeting.
miso
"My name is Miso."
"Like the soup, un?" Deidara bluntly ask.
Twitch. Smile.
"Y…y-yes. Like the soup."
painter
Perched high on the ladder, Deidara shouts an apology at the girl below, now dripping with yellow paint. The girl takes off her cap—thank kami, she was wearing it or else her hair—shakes it in attempt to get rid of the paint, before glaring at him. Caught off guard, Deidara learns the flight off falling down from the ladder.
punch
She tries to hold back the urge to punch him, to kill him right here, right now. He smirks invitingly, knowing all too well what she's thinking.
rebirth
Miso picks him up, hands underneath his armpits, holding him at arm's length. A smile tears out her impassive face as she sits him down on the bench. The boy looks at her curiously, the paper crane forgotten, Miso squats down to his level, tentatively reaching out to brush his hair out of the way of his right eye. Blue.
"Dei." It gushes out of her mouth.
steam
He was hot, explosive and she was water, cool. Even if he dies touching her, steam will arise, a hot steam at that, un.
under
He wishes he knows what goes underneath her impassive, what kind of thought runs in her head, what she feels right as he yanks the katana out of her chest.
wings
Deidara attempts to mold a pair, hoping (wandering) it will be enough to meet her halfway.
white
Afterlife is a bitch. Deidara thinks as he sees nothing but white and feels nothing but pain; he lies still wandering what to do next. Closing his eyes for a few minutes, Deidara feels someone shift, cradle his head—feels cool hands touch his cheeks. He opens his eyes in time to watch the person brush away his hair and place a kiss on his haite-ate.
"No fair, un. My forehead was covered, un."
A/N: Dei's a little bit OOC, I think. Anyways read and review.