Request: "May I request soft akatsuki headcannons for a reader who loves to bake and cook? It's a passion of mine, and a great stress reliever! There's nothing I won't try and try to make!"
Notes: First of all, I'm sorry it took me so long to respond 😭 I also like cooking and I completely agree with you! I hope you like what I wrote, good reading!
"Are you hungry, love?"- Akatsuki
Warnings: no pronouns; no use of "y/n"; pure cuteness.
Gender: Soft Headcanons.
Characters: Itachi; Kisame; Deidara; Sasori; Kakuzu; Hidan; Zetsu; Tobi/Obito; Pein; Konan.
Itachi Uchiha
He always offers you help in the kitchen.
He is very picky when cooking for someone but is easily satisfied with whatever you cook for him.
He feels obligated to return the favor by cooking for you too. That's why he took charge of breakfast, always waking up before you to prepare what you like.
Likes hot foods and pasta. Loves handmade sweets.
He prefers traditional foods, but accepts trying new flavors when he's with you.
He loves going out to buy new ingredients with you, he knows a lot about the subject and would be of great help.
Kisame Hoshigaki
You know that popular saying that the best way to conquer a man is through his stomach? It applies very well to this man.
He likes to be spoiled with food and will be grateful for it so.. please cook for him.
His heart feels warm when he comes home and smells something delicious you are preparing.
He likes foods with a sweet and sour taste, and he loves meat. He also loves sweets, so it's not hard to please Kisame.
He loves trying new flavors with you. If you want, he'll even help you in the kitchen, but he's not very good (he's a bit clumsy).
He'll find a way to say thank you, whether it's washing the dishes, giving gifts, taking you out to eat, all of the above, whatever you prefer.
He's the kind of guy who would eat what you prepared even if it was completely burnt if he knew you put effort into it.
Deidara
He likes fast food, but is very happy when you cook for him.
Thanks to you, he's starting to eat more healthily, because he has a childish palate and is very resistant to exploring new flavors.
He likes spicy foods because are like an explosion in the mouth.
"I have to say, honey, your cooking is an art!" - he says with his mouth full when he really likes it.
One of his favorite moments of the day is when you're eating something you've prepared or he's bought, watching a movie and talking about anything.
It's something very simple, but if you make a cake just for him on his birthday, he'll feel so loved that he might even cry a little.
(Sometimes he brags to the other members about having such a skilled s/o in the kitchen).
But please keep this boy the hell away from the kitchen! When I say he's a complete chaos cooking, it's because the kitchen almost always explodes! Literally!
Sasori
He often forgets that he still needs to eat due to his puppet body, so he's grateful that you remind him. He still needs to eat a little every now and then to ensure a bit of vital energy or something.
And yes, that was the lie he invented to not disappoint you. And regardless of whether you believed it or not, he always eats your food, even though he knows how much work it will take to clean his insides afterwards (don't worry, he'll probably come up with something to solve this).
Understand, he lied because he knows how important cooking is to you, he sees how much you work at it, but had the misfortune of being with a guy who doesn't need to eat… but he couldn't risk hurting you for something that's his fault.
Sasori only eats your food and no one else's, no matter how much they insist.
He likes foods with strong spices, he no longer feels flavors in the same way as when he was a human.
At the end of every meal, he politely thanks you for the delicious food and offers to help with the dishes.
Kakuzu
He likes hot, very hot, and traditional foods. Doesn't like sweets.
He's great in the kitchen and sometimes cooks for you too, as a thank you. Kakuzu has many years of experience in the kitchen, take the opportunity to ask questions and get some tips, he may not show it but he really likes to help you.
Maybe you don't know, but Kakuzu practically never eats out, he knows that some people want him dead and could easily poison his food. So for him to eat everything you prepare without hesitation is really a great show of trust.
He is very silent while eating, but he doesn't mind if you want to talk about your day, he will be listening to every part.
He really appreciates your food, getting involved and asking about the spices you used, how you prepared it, he really likes it when you test a new recipe.
Always at the end of every meal he thanks you for the food and gets up before you to clear the table and wash the dishes, a silent way of thanking you.
Hidan
Spicy and crunchy foods and sour desserts, it's true heaven for him...
As incredible as it may seem, Hidan is very picky about his food, it's unbearable to go out to eat with him, it seems like he always makes a point of finding some flaw.
But it's the total opposite with you, he eats everything you prepare without complaining too much, just teasing you a little as always. Except if he is angry with you for some reason, then he will be impossible, no matter what you prepared, he will not eat it.
Hidan has a very annoying childhood palate, so don't force him to eat something he doesn't really like, like vegetables for example.
You'll probably have some arguments about him drink any kind of blood but not wanting to eat the soup you made (for example), but it won't change anything.
Whenever you enter the kitchen, Hidan follows right behind to find out what you're going to prepare and also because he loves to annoy you while you're cooking. He tickles you, bites you, hugs you, kisses you and even steals some utensils to disturb you before you kick him out of the kitchen.
Zetsu
He likes meat a lot, in fact you thought it was the only thing he could eat.
He is very impatient and even hugs you trying to convince you to let him eat before you finish.
"I don't care that it's not ready yet and it's raw, I'm hungry, love. Let me eat it just the way it is."
Not a very good critic of your recipes, he will eat literally anything you put in front of him and thank you for it.
You are the one who teaches him to have a more refined palate and he loves trying new flavors with you.
Zetsu grows a vegetable garden just for you, with everything you need fresh and tasty for your recipes.
Tobi/Obito Uchiha
Tobi >loves< sweets, make sweets for him and you'll have him curled up in the palm of your hand.
Both Tobi and Obito don't like spicy food.
He feels so loved when you cook for him <3 (a tip: prepare ramen for him when he's sad, it'll make him feel better).
Whenever he comes home early he brings you some sweets he bought at the bakery as a treat.
This is another man who is very easy to win over with his stomach. He'll feel very special if you tell him you've prepared something just for him. Make him your guinea pig for new recipes, he really doesn't mind and always gives you great feedback.
He always offers you the first bite out of respect, he is as happy to see you eating and talking about how tasty it is as he is to eat something you prepared.
Pein
Pein went through long periods of starvation as a child, so as much as it may seem, he isn't very picky about what he eats.
Likes hot and spicy foods. Hate sweets.
He is a great fan of your food, even if you've accidentally burnt it or overdone the seasoning, he'll be happy to eat something you've lovingly prepared.
Due to his work as leader of Akatsuki, he often forgets to eat properly. It's you who show up at his office and remind him to eat, with something you've prepared in hand, he's really grateful for your care.
He is always attentive to your needs. Did you like a cuter utensil kit than the ones you have? It's yours. Wanting new seasonings? Suddenly they appear in your pantry. Everything you need.
Pein always makes it clear how he likes you to cook but that he doesn't want you to be overwhelmed with it, so he does everything to make this task easier for you, including ordering something from restaurants for you to eat and enjoy your free time together.
Konan
She likes mild sweets and, ironically, spicy foods. (Please make sweets for Konan, she likes a lot).
She will always feel like she is bothering or burdening you when you cook for her.
Konan isn't that good in the kitchen, so she's grateful to have a s/o who cooks so well. Sometimes she watches you cook to try to learn something, in an attempt to return the favor one day.
Buy a lot of sweets for you and make a point of always keeping your pantry well stocked so you don't have to worry about buying ingredients.
As I said, Konan doesn't like to burden you, so very often she takes you on restaurant dates.
Konan loves the culinary tours you plan, she could listen to you talk for hours about techniques, recipes and ideas. She loves seeing how excited you get talking about it.
I think the Akatsuki members would LOVE playing 2 truths and a lie.
Deidara: would come up with the most outrageous little things. You would speculate all of his shit might be lies to gas himself up. No way, he absolutely did notlet itachi catch him in that genjitsu just because he was curious, no he isn’t the youngest shinobi to desert his village, no way he had the opportunity to take over as the head demolition expert because he didnt want to be a sell out.
Sasori: would come up with the seemingly most boring shit…until you actually think about it late one night and go wait a minute wtf did he mean by that. Shit would be low key haunting. Shit like he only hid inside a horse twice. Does that mean he hid in a horse a different number of times like 3 or 1?
Kisame: would be very obvious because he really just enjoys being a bit silly. Like yea im actually super scared of heights, im a disney fan and white sharks are my fave.
Itachi: would use the game as an opportunity to cultivate more street cred for being a dangerous psycho while making himself relive the guilt as punishment. Honestly itachi is just as much of a masochist as Hidan but emotionally instead if physically.
Kakuzu: would never actually reveal what the truths and lies were. Maybe they were all lies who knows? Certainly not you. Did he really fuck Hashirama, did he really kill Orochimarus parents, did he really have a beard back in the day?
Hidan: Just spurts out whatever and is always surprised by what people think is the lie. Like of course hes put his dick in a bowl of jello and yess he absolutely has had more piercings than pain they just dont stay. The lie is he killed his dog when he was 10, no one wouldve let that boy have a dog also jashin isnt looking for animals anyway.
Akatsuki Boys react when their s/o comes from the future
Warning: fluff, Funny
Characters: Itachi, Kisame, Hidan, Kakuzu, Deidara, Sasori, and Tobi
Hidan
-He’s currently poking your iPhone with his scythe. "What do you mean this 'Siri' bitch knows everything? Does she know Lord Jashin?!" He gets into a 20-minute screaming match with your voice assistant because she can't find the nearest ritual sacrifice site.
Kakuzu
-He is vibrating with greed. He doesn't care about the timeline as he’s stared at your designer sneakers. "The stitching... the unique design... I could sell these to a Daimyo for the price of a small country." He’s currently trying to figure out how to harvest your "future organs" for a premium price.
-Run for your life
Deidara
-You showed him a video of a Michael Bay movie on your phone. He’s been crying for ten minutes. "The CGI... it’s so... soulless! Where is the passion? Where is the explosion and excitement?!" He’s offended that future explosions don't have the same passion. He tries to C4 your phone because "it's an insult to the craft, hm!"
Sasori
He’s fascinated by your wireless earbuds. He’s currently trying to figure out how the sound gets in there without wires. "Small. Efficient. No pulse. This is the closest thing to 'True Art' I’ve seen from a human." He’s 5 seconds away from turning your AirPods into a weaponized puppet.
Itachi Uchiha
-He’s standing in the corner, looking cool and mysterious, but he’s actually using his Sharingan to memorize your Candy Crush patterns. He’s already reached Level 4,000 in his head. He subtly asks if "The Internet" is a Genjutsu, because honestly, it sounds like one.
Kisame Hoshigaki
-My Man!
-He’s delighted by Starbucks. You gave him a Frappuccino and the sugar rush is making him dangerous. "Samehada likes the whipped cream, ne? Tell me, little girl, in the future, do people still try to eat sharks, or do we finally win?"
-Poor baby🤣🦈
Tobi
He’s running around in circles because he found your Snapchat filters. "DEIDARA-SENPAI! LOOK! TOBI IS A KAWAII DOGGY!" He is obsessed with the "dog ears" filter and keeps trying to take a selfie with a very murderous-looking Itachi.
ive always wondered if the akatsuki had a medic and if it was sasori because he makes the most sense. i mean kakuzu just reattaches limbs but thats it. but sasori is clearly an anatomy, biology and chemistry expert. (also in engineering so hes like the most knowledgeable of them all but idk if yall ready for that one) also i thought it was implied that chiyo taught sasori to make poisons and antidotes which would mean he can make regular medicine.
(i dont realistically see him being a medic in canon because he would rather have them dead.. but if he was forced to he absolutely could )
also dude had a sleeper agent jutsu and was the akatsuki’s spy networker?? arguably one of the most important akatsuki members. hes underrated (btw hes the most gorgeous and beautiful. im sorry konan ur second)
"My hands are tied, my body's bruised, got me with. Nothing to win and nothing left to lose."
summary: the orders were clear: find him, stop him, end it. But nothing about him had ever been simple. Not the way he fought. Not the way he left. And certainly not the way you loved him. What began in fire would end the same way. But between the sparks, there was still something left—a touch, a breath, a choice. Not peace. But maybe… something like it.
pairing: deidara x female reader
genre: lovers to enemies to lovers, drama, tragedy
word count: 6,6k
warnings: fighting scenes, mature content/mature language, mentions of intercourse, blood/bleeding, mentions of wounds, death
author's note: this story was deeply inspired by the song With or Without You by U2. There’s something about the aching tension and quiet desperation in that song that stayed with me — and I knew I wanted to write something that carried that same weight.
I set out to create a piece that hurts — the kind that clings to your chest and doesn’t let go right away. The kind that leaves behind a trace of longing, of something beautiful and broken all at once.
The forest here was older than most. You could feel it in the way the roots twisted above the earth, gnarled and reaching, and in the hush that pressed low against your ears, like the trees themselves remembered too much. Moss carpeted the stones beneath your feet, soft and damp, and the fading light slanted through the canopy in fractured shafts of gold. Each step you took stirred the air—scattering leaves, bending shadows, and still the silence clung to you.
You weren’t thinking about the trail today. Not yet. You let your steps guide you without urgency, without purpose, as if the past itself had laced the path in front of you. Some days were like that—when memory pulled harder than duty.
Deidara had always walked ahead of you on these paths. Even when you told him not to. He’d turn just often enough to make sure you were still behind him, flashing that grin that never asked for forgiveness.
You remembered him at twelve, sprinting up a muddy hill, slipping, laughing, and shouting something about how the storm made everything more alive. You’d followed, soaked and annoyed, but secretly warmed by the way he threw his arms wide like he could hold the whole world.
You remembered him at fifteen, lying beside you under a half-collapsed shrine, the rain drumming on the roof and his fingers inches from yours. His voice soft in the dark.
"You ever think about what we’d do if we weren’t shinobi?" You hadn’t known how to answer. You still didn’t. And then there was that one night—the one neither of you spoke of afterward. The one where the world felt too fragile, and you both leaned in. Not with words, but with a kind of silent gravity. His hand on your cheek. Yours in his hair. Breath shared, slow and unsteady. The kiss had been brief. But it was enough. Enough to know that something had shifted. It was always like that with him. Sudden and bright and irreversible. He used to talk about beauty like it was a kind of violence. How things were only real when they were fleeting. How art had to vanish to mean something. You never argued, but you never agreed, either.
And maybe that was where the breaking began. Somewhere small and quiet. A fracture beneath all the closeness. Because when he started talking about change, about truth, about tearing it all down—you didn’t follow. You couldn’t. He’d asked you to. Not once. Not dramatically. Just—quietly. Like he believed it was inevitable. "You see it too, don’t you?" he’d whispered one night, eyes lit by firelight and fever dreams. "This system… it eats people like us. I want to make something that lasts. Even if it has to explode first."
You remembered the way you’d reached for his hand, fingers curling just shy of his. "And what happens to us?" you’d asked. He’d looked at you then, really looked. "We survive it. Together." But he had gone.
And he hadn’t taken you with him.
It curled just at the edge of your senses—thin and acrid, half-hidden beneath the scent of pine and cold stone, but it was there. Real. Present. And suddenly, the weight of the present returned with full force. This wasn’t just a walk through memory. This wasn’t just mourning someone who was still alive. You were here for a reason.
Now, the silence between the trees was thick with the shape of him. The sound of his voice still clung to the undersides of your ribs. The memories were soft and sharp in turns, like worn-out fabric hiding glass. You stopped at the edge of a ridge, letting the wind push your hood back. The sky was beginning to bruise with dusk. You breathed it in slowly. The pine. The old, wet stone. The smoke of some distant fire.
Deidara.
Your mission had been given in quiet tones, behind closed doors, the kind reserved for names that held weight. The kind that burned when spoken. S-rank missing-nin. Target to be eliminated. No room for sentiment. No room for history. Just the cold efficiency of ink on scroll and blade in hand. And you’d nodded. Of course you had. You were a shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Stones. Loyal. Trusted. Bound by duty to protect what remained. Even if that meant turning your blade toward the ghosts of your past.
Even if it meant killing him.
Your superiors didn’t know the depth of what you shared—not really. They only knew the broad strokes: that you’d trained together, come up through the ranks side by side, that you’d once been close. But closeness was common in war. Bonds formed quickly when death was never far. They assumed it was just another thread cut clean when he left. They didn’t know what he had been to you. They didn’t know the pieces he’d taken when he disappeared.
And yet—you’d accepted the mission. Because you had to.
Because you’d seen what he’d done since. The villages left smoking. The broken bodies. The signature left behind in every crater, in every flash of clay-born flame. He wasn’t the boy you knew anymore. That’s what you told yourself. But still—your grip on the strap of your pack tightened. Your jaw clenched against the wind. The ache in your chest remained a quiet, insistent thrum. You didn’t want to kill him. But you didn’t know if you could walk away, either. The forest thinned slightly as you moved forward. The trail was clearer now—heavier footprints in the dirt, bark scuffed along a trunk where someone had passed through in haste. And there—caught on the jagged end of a low branch—a thin strand of golden hair.
You reached for it without thinking, fingers brushing the delicate thread. It shivered in the breeze before slipping free and vanishing into the wind. Just like him. You closed your eyes, steadying yourself. Focus. Breathe. Don’t remember— but it was impossible not to. You remembered the first time you realized he was gone for good. Not on a mission. Not lost in battle. Just—vanished. No word. No goodbye. Just silence where there had once been fire and laughter and the sound of his boots pacing outside your room when he couldn’t sleep. They called it betrayal. You understood why. But for you, it had felt more like abandonment.
You had waited. You had hoped. For weeks. For news. For anything. But all you got was a report. Cold. Clinical. Stamped with the Tsuchikage's seal. Missing-nin. Name: Deidara. You should’ve hated him then. You didn’t. Instead, you folded the report and tucked it into the back of your journal. It stayed there for two years before you could finally throw it into the fire. Even now, some nights, when the wind howled low, you thought you could still hear his voice in it—bright and impatient, complaining about rations or politics or the way your hair never stayed tied back in a fight.
You kept walking.
The trail sloped downward, stones slick beneath your boots, and the smell of smoke grew thicker. You adjusted the strap across your chest and quickened your pace. The trees parted ahead—just slightly—and through the gap you saw the curl of black ash rising against the pale sky. A campfire. Recent. Still alive. Your heart slammed against your ribs. This was it. No more shadows. No more memory.
Only him.
You dropped low, moving silent and swift. Each breath was measured, each step deliberate. Training overtook emotion. You fell back into the rhythm of mission mode, of muscle memory. The edge of your cloak barely whispered against the undergrowth. And yet, beneath it all, the war inside you raged. Because what waited at the end of this path wasn’t just a target. It was the only person who had ever made the world feel loud and bright and endless. The only one who had made you believe that maybe you weren’t just a tool to be wielded and discarded. That maybe—just maybe—you could choose your life. But he had chosen first. And you were here to finish what he started. Another step. Another breath. Your fingers brushed the hilt of your blade.
Duty.
Loyalty.
Honor.
These were the things you were meant to live by. The things you had always lived by. But as the campfire flickered into view, small and stubborn beneath the hush of dusk, you felt them crack like old stone inside you. Because this wasn’t just another mission. This was Deidara. And you didn’t know if you’d come to end him—
—or to see if there was still anything left of him worth saving.
The fire was smaller than expected. Nothing but embers now, tucked into a shallow pit of scorched earth. Still warm. Still breathing. Whoever had been here hadn’t left long ago. You crouched low at the edge of the clearing, gaze sweeping across the site. The coals whispered softly, pulsing with that fading orange glow — not yet dead. A single clay cup rested near a moss-covered stone, half-full of cooled tea. No footprints around it. Just one. Singular. Careful.
Deidara.
You didn’t call out. Didn’t move too fast. You let your senses stretch beyond the fire, reading the brush line, the trees, the rhythm of wind through leaves. It was quiet in a way that didn’t feel right. No birdsong. No distant insects. Just hush. Watching. The camp was minimal, sparse to the point of impermanence. A pack had been left near the fire, sealed. A folded scrap of cloth set neatly on top. It wasn’t like him to be neat. Not unless it meant something. You stepped forward slowly, testing each shift of weight as if the ground itself might betray you. Your fingers brushed the pack.
Click.
Instinct screamed — you jumped back, chakra flooding to your feet, just as the first explosion hit. It was small — a flash, a blast of light and smoke — meant to disorient, not kill. But it was enough. Enough to send your ears ringing. Enough to scatter your focus. And then—
The second came from above.
A shape dropped from the trees, sharp and fast, a blur of blond and black and red — a streak of chakra-laced precision. You barely brought your blade up in time, the clang of steel ringing too loud in the hollow space between you. The impact forced you back. You hit the ground hard, rolled, came up in a crouch with your kunai drawn. Your vision cleared just in time to see him — really see him.
Deidara.
Standing at the far edge of the clearing, still in that damned cloak, still with that same wild, ungovernable hair. A little longer now. The shadows carved sharper lines into his face, age and battle and distance making him something stranger — something more dangerous. But his eyes…
His eyes were the same. They met yours and held — and for a second, neither of you moved. Just breath. Just the thunder of blood in your ears. Just the ghosts.
“I was wondering when you'd show up,” he said at last, his voice low, careless in that practiced way of his. But there was something underneath it. Something brittle. You didn’t answer. Didn’t trust yourself to. Instead, you stood slowly, keeping your blade between you. The silence tightened. The air tasted like ash and something else—something older. Familiar.
“Still fast,” he mused. “I thought maybe you’d slowed down.”
“You set the trap,” you said quietly, ignoring the tremor building in your chest.
“Of course I did,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “I knew it’d be you.” The words struck somewhere deep. You didn’t flinch, but you felt them all the same. You studied his stance, the way he stood with weight shifted back, like he wasn’t sure whether to run or strike again. Or maybe he was just waiting. He always had a flair for timing. For showmanship. But this moment — this breath between you — it didn’t feel like an act. It felt like memory crawling out of the dirt between you and refusing to die. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, softer now. “I could say the same.” His lips twitched — not quite a smile. “But you came anyway.” You tightened your grip. “You left me no choice.” At that, something flickered behind his eyes. Brief. Unnamed. He took a step closer. “No. I gave you a choice. You just didn’t take it.”
The words landed sharp. Too sharp. You almost said his name, but bit it back. Not yet. Not like this. Instead: “This ends now.” He tilted his head. “Does it?”
His hand moved, slow — too slow for a real threat. But your body braced anyway. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, familiar shape — a clay bird, half-formed, delicate and incomplete. He held it up between you. “I kept making them,” he said. “Even after.”
The world held still. You didn’t lower your blade. And yet—
Part of you did.
Something inside you pulled taut, fraying at the edges. “Why?” you asked. Not because you needed the answer. But because the silence would’ve broken you if you didn’t fill it with something. He looked at the bird in his hand, turning it slightly in the firelight. “Because they’re beautiful when they fall.” Of course he would say that. Of course he would still believe in that same fleeting brilliance — the art of vanishing things. And you were tired of being one of them. “Are you going to fight me?” you asked. He didn’t look up. “Are you here to kill me?”
You said nothing.
He finally raised his gaze to yours. And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you saw the boy beneath the cloak. The boy who once made you laugh without trying. The boy who used to walk ahead of you, just to turn back and make sure you were still behind him. You saw him. And it hurt. He lowered the bird. You didn’t move. The fire crackled softly between you.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said.
But the distance between you said otherwise. The years. The blood. The duty. The ache. You shifted your stance. “We already are.”
You moved first. Just a twitch — a forward shift in your weight, the barest narrowing of your eyes — and he caught it, like he always did. His hand dipped to his pouch, fingers ghosting over clay, but he didn’t throw. Not really. You surged toward him in a blur, blade arcing low. He turned with it, letting the steel kiss the edge of his cloak. Sparks flared. No blood.
“Still predictable,” he murmured, stepping back into the half-dark. “Still arrogant,” you shot back, twisting, your heel driving a spray of dirt as you struck again. He dodged cleanly — just barely. Your blade sliced a lock of hair as he dipped and rolled to the side, landing light on the balls of his feet. You followed. Quick, clean, a punch aimed for his side. He caught your wrist, your bodies colliding in a tangle of old instinct and breathless adrenaline. Too close.
Too close.
For a second, neither of you moved.
You felt his fingers tighten around your wrist — not painfully. Not yet. Your heart was a drum in your ribs. He was warm. Solid. The scent of smoke and wind and something familiar clung to him — the ghost of a life you never got to live. His eyes flicked to your lips. Yours stayed locked on his. “Careful,” he said, voice low, breath brushing your cheek. “You’re getting reckless.” “You’re holding back,” you replied. He didn’t deny it. Neither did you.
Your hand rose, fast — kunai pressed flat against his ribs, right beneath his heart. He didn’t even flinch. Just looked at you like he had all the time in the world.
“You won’t do it,” he said. You hated how sure he sounded. You hated how right he might be. His grip loosened. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting you go without stepping back. The distance between you remained a breath. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because in that space, something broke open. Or maybe it had never fully closed.
You saw him — not as the Akatsuki rogue, not as the missing-nin with blood on his hands — but as the boy who once whispered your name like it was a secret worth keeping. The boy who reached for your hand in the dark. Who pressed his lips to your collarbone like it meant something more than survival.
And suddenly, the memory was there — alive beneath your skin, blooming like heat through old scars.
That night.
The last night.
Before he left.
It had rained for hours, the kind of storm that rattled the roof and blurred the line between night and morning. You’d both returned from a mission — bruised, tired, damp to the bone. But neither of you had slept. He’d come to your door, wordless, eyes wild and searching. You let him in. You always did.
And in the quiet hush of candlelight, with the storm howling just beyond the shutters, you let the world fall away. It hadn’t been fast. Or desperate. It had been real. The slow slide of fingers over skin, the catch of breath in your throat, his name on your lips — half-spoken, half-swallowed. The way he’d looked at you like you were more than shinobi, more than function, more than weapon. Like you were his. Your bodies had found rhythm in the hush, not in hunger but in knowing — that this might be the first and last time. You remembered the way he’d touched your face afterward. Reverent. Almost afraid. As if memorizing you. You hadn’t said it. Neither had he. But it had been there, in the silence. And now—
Now that same silence pulsed between you, thick with what had been and what could never be again.
Deidara’s hand hovered near yours. His eyes flicked across your face — not calculating. Not cold. Just looking. “Why did you really come?” he asked. You didn’t answer right away. Because the mission had always been a shield. Because saying the truth aloud might crack it open too far. But your voice came anyway. Bare. Shaky.
“To see if there was anything left of you.”
Deidara didn’t answer you. Not in words.
Instead, he shifted — a flicker of movement, fast and angled, like a spark catching dry air — and you were already moving to meet it. You didn’t know who struck first. Maybe it didn’t matter.
The first clash was fast and sharp, chakra humming through the air as your blade met the thick sweep of his arm, reinforced with earth. He twisted to the side, boot kicking up moss and ash, and your momentum carried you into a tight arc, steel slicing through smoke where his shoulder had been a breath before.
His laughter came soft — not mocking. Not quite. “Still chasing shadows.”
“And you’re still hiding behind tricks,” you spat, pivoting low to avoid a clay spider skittering through the grass toward your heels. It hissed once before erupting in a crack of white light. He barely waited for the smoke to clear before launching another — two birds this time, half-formed, flaring with chakra. You leapt into the trees, caught a branch with one hand and flung a kunai with the other. It shattered the nearest bird mid-air, the explosion splintering bark beside your ear. You dropped hard, knees bending, blade raised. His voice came again, closer now. “You really came to kill me?”
You didn’t answer. Not when the truth curled too close to the bone. Instead, you rushed him.
And he let you.
The next exchange was faster. Rougher. You pressed in with precision, your strikes landing with just enough force to bruise — not break. And he returned each one with matching speed, his hits sharp but shallow, calculated to remind you he could have gone deeper. He could have ended this. But he didn’t. Neither of you did.
You moved like a memory pulled taut, the rhythm of your bodies still echoing that old training yard tempo — strike, pivot, breath, dodge, circle, clash. You saw the flicker in his eyes before he formed the next seal — you remembered that twitch of his fingers, the way he exhaled right before his chakra spiked. You ducked just in time. A bird the size of your chest swooped over your head and exploded against a boulder behind you. Stone rained down in fragments. He watched you through the dust, breathing hard. “You knew I’d be here.”
“I hoped you'd be here,” you corrected, chest tight. “I followed smoke and silence and too many ruined things. That usually means you.” A beat passed. Something unspoken coiled in the air between you. The forest had gone unnaturally still again — as though the land itself was listening.
He stepped forward. You did too.
Another crash — blade against bracer, chakra pulsing between your palms, breath rushing from both your lungs. His hair brushed your cheek for the briefest second. And with it — the memory returned.
That night. The first time.
Your bare skin beneath his hands. His mouth tracing your collarbone like it might vanish come morning. His breath catching like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“You gave yourself away the day you left.” You struck harder than you meant to. And he caught your wrist. Held it there. Not in restraint. But in something like remembering. Your blade pressed against his collar. His fingers twitched with chakra. A stalemate. Again. But neither of you moved. “I never meant for you to follow,” he murmured, gaze locked on yours. “You knew I would,” you replied. The next moment shattered the stillness. He spun, breaking contact — a flash of movement, sweeping your legs from beneath you. You hit the earth hard, rolled, came up swinging. Your blade sliced open his sleeve, clay scattering from his pouch. He retaliated in kind — a sharp jab to your ribs, a second explosion close enough to scorch your coat. You wheezed but didn’t fall. Instead, you slammed your shoulder into his chest, knocking him back into a tree trunk with a grunt.
“Still angry,” he coughed. “Still here,” you snapped, lunging again. The fight grew messy after that. Less style, more ache.
He threw everything you once admired — elegant forms, beautiful devastation — but his timing faltered in ways you remembered. The way he didn’t like getting close. The way he always struck high first. You read him like you used to. And he read you. He dodged a spin-kick you hadn’t used in years. Caught your wrist mid-feint like he’d been waiting for it. You broke free, kicked out hard, and he stumbled. Blood streaked his cheek. Your lip split.
The forest reeked of smoke and clay and the copper tang of shared pain. Still, you didn’t stop. Because something in you had to see it through. Not the mission. Not even the outcome.
Just him.
Deidara, after all these years. Still impossible. Still brilliant. Still yours, in some quiet, ruined place you’d locked away and pretended didn’t hurt. “I’m not the same girl you left,” you hissed between breaths. “I know,” he said. He sounded almost proud. You clashed again. Slower now. Breaths shorter. Blows less precise. More weary than wild. You drove him to one knee — he knocked your blade from your grip.
You pinned him — he flipped you both.
He loomed over you, forearm pressed to your collarbone, breath ragged. His face hovered close. Too close.
“I never stopped looking,” he said. You blinked against the sting behind your eyes. “Then why run?” “Because I wasn’t enough to stay.”
And there it was. The truth between all your battles. The thing that always burned. You shifted beneath him, not to escape, but to breathe. “You should’ve let me decide that.” He swallowed, throat working hard. “Would you have come with me?” You didn’t answer. Because the truth was this:
You almost had.
You had packed your things once, stood at the edge of the village gates, wind in your hair, heart breaking in your chest. But you hadn’t moved. And he hadn’t waited. Now, your legs tangled in his cloak, your blood on his knuckles, your heart beating like a war drum — you both breathed the same silence.
You pushed against him with a force born of desperation, your legs sliding from tangled cloak to solid earth. The impact jostled your breath, but you caught yourself, pushing upward, knees bending, feet steadying on the mossy ground. Deidara’s eyes narrowed, calculating, as he rose too — that familiar spark lighting behind the calm facade. The dance was far from over.
Steel and flesh had tested limits, but now it was chakra, the real language between you, spoken in bursts of flame and clay. You took the lead. Your fingers flicked open a seal, breath steady despite the storm pounding in your chest. The air trembled as you summoned the chakra to your palms, coiling it like a living thing. You felt the familiar surge — the pull between power and control — and then let it burst forth. A ribbon of fire spiraled from your hands, weaving through the trees toward Deidara with a roar that shook the leaves. His grin flashed, wide and reckless, but not without shadow.
With a fluid motion, he countered, molding his signature clay — hands moving fast, shaping a cluster of small birds, their wings fluttering with ominous life. They darted forward, a swarm of fragile death, twisting through the flames with reckless grace. You barely dodged as the explosion shattered a nearby trunk, the heat scorching your cheek. Pain bloomed, but your eyes never left his. The forest was a cage and a stage, each breath thick with ash and memory.
You unleashed another burst — tighter this time, a whip-crack of flame aimed to trap him against the ancient stones. His birds scattered, diving and exploding like bursts of violent petals. But Deidara twisted, clay shifting into something larger, darker — a dragon coiled and snarling with molten edges. The fire met earth and clay with a cataclysmic crack.
You stumbled back as the dragon surged, snapping jaws that sent shards of burning clay hurtling like deadly shards of glass. One grazed your arm, burning deep, flesh sizzling beneath the surface. You clenched your teeth and ignored it. Deidara moved with a terrible grace, every strike painting the air with destruction and art entwined. His eyes held a wild light, fierce and broken — a man caught between brilliance and ruin. “Why do you fight so hard?” he called over the roar. “Is it loyalty? Duty? Or something you won’t admit?” You spat blood from between clenched teeth.
“It’s what’s left of us.”
He hesitated — just a fraction — before shaping a massive sphere of clay, veins pulsing with chakra. The orb exploded in a wave of searing heat that threw you to the ground, wind knocked from your lungs. Pain radiated from your side where the clay had grazed you, burning through layers of clothing and muscle. You pushed yourself up, vision blurring but determination steady. Your voice was hoarse but clear. “I’m not the girl who left.” “You’re not the boy who stayed,” he replied, voice cracking under the weight of years.
You summoned your chakra again, hands weaving seals faster now, flames licking higher, hotter. The fire swept over the clearing, turning shadow to ash, the scent of burning pine and earth filling your senses. You saw his eyes flicker with respect — and regret. He didn’t just defend. He attacked. Clay birds rained down like hail, each strike precise and merciless. One clipped your shoulder, sharp pain exploding through your arm. You gritted your teeth, forcing your fingers to steady your blade as you deflected the next wave. Breath came hard, ragged. You traded fire for clay, each blast echoing the other’s desperate yearning — destruction for creation, chaos for control.
The world around you burned, trees splintering, earth cracked, the sky darkening with smoke. It was a battlefield for more than just skill — a war of souls, of memories and broken promises. Deidara’s voice broke through the fury, quiet and raw: “There’s nothing left to win.” You didn’t answer. Because you knew it was true. Still, you fought. Because losing without a fight would mean forgetting everything. You closed the distance, your flames colliding with his clay like a storm crashing on a shattered shore. The heat pressed against your skin, sweat and ash mixing, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
You were burning — inside and out.
He was too.
Your arms slammed into each other, strength meeting strength, until the clay cracked beneath your grip and you both stumbled back, bruised and bleeding but unbowed. For a moment, the world held its breath. You stared at each other — two ghosts bound by fire and pain, tethered by something neither could fully let go. “Why won’t you stop?” you whispered. “Because without this,” he said, voice breaking, “there’s nothing with you.”
The weight of his words hung between you like a fragile thread stretched thin over a chasm you both feared to cross.
Your breath hitched, chest tight with the ache of everything unsaid. The firelight flickered across his face — shadows playing over scars you’d never seen, eyes that held the same restless longing you felt clawing beneath your ribs. You could have stopped then. You should have. But the silence wasn’t peace. It was the storm before the last fall.
Deidara’s fingers curled into fists, shaping a final seal with trembling precision. The earth trembled beneath your feet as the air thickened with tension. You matched him, weaving your own chakra with a desperate clarity — flames licking your skin like ghosts, hungry for release. The clash was inevitable. His clay surged forward like a tidal wave, monstrous and raw — a dragon unfurling wings wide and wild. You met it with a blaze of flame that roared like a cry in the dark, consuming the earth in its path.
The collision tore the forest apart — trees exploding into shards of wood and ash, the ground fracturing beneath your feet. The heat seared your lungs, the world reduced to fire and fury. You fought like two halves of a broken whole — destruction and creation locked in a desperate embrace. Each blow cracked the air with the sound of a heart breaking.
Your arms burned, muscles screaming as you blocked a crushing strike that sent shockwaves through your bones. You retaliated with a burst of flame, a wave meant to end it — to end him.
But Deidara was relentless, weaving his clay with frantic grace, shaping beauty in devastation, his eyes wild and fierce. Pain blossomed in your side, sharp and cold, a cruel reminder that this fight was more than skin deep. You staggered but refused to fall. Because somewhere beneath the rage, beneath the fire and the fury, a silent truth whispered:
You couldn’t live without him.
The night around you thickened, smoke curling like dark fingers against the fading stars. Your breaths came ragged, each inhale a battle against the weight of exhaustion and loss. Deidara faltered for a heartbeat, his breath shallow, a streak of blood trailing from his lip. You seized the moment, launching forward with a final, desperate strike — a flame that wrapped around his clay like a lover’s embrace, searing and consuming. He countered, clutching at your arm with a grip that was fierce and tender all at once. The world seemed to tilt, time slowing to a breathless pause.
You met his gaze — eyes locked in a silent confession.
The silence between you was no longer held by tension. It was the kind that settled over battlefields after everything had been said and done.
You couldn’t feel your left arm anymore. Not truly. It hung useless at your side, the blood that poured from your shoulder soaking into the scorched earth beneath you. Every breath was a struggle — wet, shallow, thick with the taste of iron. Your ribs were cracked, maybe broken, and the wound across your abdomen was too deep to clot, too messy to bind. Warmth kept spilling from you, leaking like time you no longer had. Deidara wasn’t much better. His face was pale, slick with sweat and streaked with blood — not just yours. A gash above his brow had bled down into one eye, half-blinding him. You could see the way his hand shook when he moved, how he favored his side — the right, where your blade had pierced deeper than either of you intended. His breathing was uneven, rattling through a punctured lung, and when he coughed, you saw red on his tongue.
You watched him as he staggered, trying to stay upright, hands still curled in habit around his clay pouch — but there was nothing left to give. No chakra. No tricks. Just a body breaking down the way all bodies did, when pushed too far for too long. The forest, now a graveyard of ash and ruin, stood still. The stars blinked into existence above the clearing, indifferent. “I don’t… think I’ll make it to sunrise,” you murmured, voice hoarse, barely audible.
Deidara turned his head slowly toward you, every motion slow, deliberate. His mouth curved into something soft. Something sad. “I won’t either,” he said. And there it was. Not drama. Not fear. Just the truth.
There would be no returning. No running. No next time. You were both dying — not in the abstract sense of ‘someday’ or ‘soon’ — but now. Minutes. Maybe less. Every heartbeat louder than the one before. You could feel your pulse in your ears, dull and heavy. Everything else began to feel far away. Except him. Deidara.
The boy you loved.
The man you couldn’t stop loving.
Even now — maybe especially now.
There was something tragically poetic in it: that neither blade nor fire had killed you. It was your memories. Your love. The way you’d fought not to destroy, but to hold on. Deidara’s hand trembled as it brushed against your cheek, fingers tracing a line that burned deeper than any wound. “Don’t leave,” he whispered, voice raw. You wanted to say you wouldn’t. But the flames in your veins screamed otherwise. The fight had claimed more than your bodies now. It had claimed your hearts.
The night had folded around you like a shroud, thick with smoke and the bitter scent of blood. The forest, once alive with the clash of chakra and steel, had gone silent—its breath held, waiting for the final note to fall. You and Deidara stood tangled in each other’s arms, swaying where the battlefield had gone still, his hand splayed across your back, yours clutching weakly at his cloak. Blood soaked the fabric between you, warm and heavy, mixing until it was impossible to tell whose was whose. Your bodies leaned into one another like dying trees, held up only by shared gravity and the will not to fall.
Your vision blurred, the world tilting like a fading dream, but through the haze you found his eyes—those fierce, wild eyes that had haunted your memories and dreams since the day he left. They were softer now, touched by something raw and unspoken, a vulnerability neither of you had dared to show before.
“You always were impossible to forget,” you murmured, voice ragged, every breath a jagged shard in your chest. Deidara’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “And you… you were the only reason I ever stopped wanting to disappear.”
The weight of your shared past pressed between you, as heavy and delicate as the ashes drifting from the sky. The silence between your words held the countless moments you never spoke—laughter beneath stars, stolen touches in shadows, the unbearable ache of goodbye. His fingers found yours, weak but steady, weaving a silent promise that needed no words. You squeezed back, heart clenched tight by a love that had survived pain, distance, and time itself. “I never thought… I’d see you again,” you whispered, voice trembling with the fragility of hope and sorrow entwined. “Neither did I,” he breathed, “but maybe some things don’t let go… no matter how much we try.” Your chest ached with a bittersweet warmth, a melody that played softly in your mind—an echo of a song you once heard, its words now etched deep in your soul:
“I can’t live without you.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the memory wash over you like a gentle tide. The pain faded beneath the ache of holding on—holding him—one last time. Opening your eyes, you saw the flicker of tears glistening in Deidara’s gaze. His hand moved to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, the touch tender and trembling. “Do you remember,” he asked softly, “that night? When we were one? When the world was nothing but us?” You nodded, voice barely a breath. “I’ve never forgotten.” “Me neither,” he said, voice cracking. “Not even when I tried.” Your breath hitched as his forehead leaned against yours, heartbeats syncing in the quiet dark. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “for everything. For leaving, for the silence.”
His laugh was low, almost a sigh. “You didn’t leave me. I left myself.” You smiled weakly, tears spilling free, mixing with the dirt and blood on your cheeks. “Then maybe we can be found… together.” Deidara’s smile deepened, filled with both pain and peace—a fragile light in the encroaching darkness.
“I don’t want to be without you,” he said. “Nor I without you,” you replied, voice firm despite the trembling inside.
His lips met yours then, soft and trembling at first, a kiss that held the weight of years and unspoken promises. It was a kiss of forgiveness and longing, of love born from fire and shattered dreams. The world seemed to hold its breath as your souls tangled once more, finding in each other a fragile sanctuary. When you finally parted, your foreheads still touching, the night seemed a little less cold, a little less empty.
Deidara’s fingers curled into a fist, a spark of chakra flickering beneath his skin—a final masterpiece born from chaos and love. “We end this,” he said, voice steady but laced with sorrow, “not with pain, but with peace.” You nodded, the exhaustion settling deep in your bones, the ache of loss mingling with the warmth of a love that had refused to die.
Together, you closed your eyes, hearts beating slower, the world fading to black.
Then — the explosion.
A brilliant bloom of light and sound, a final note in the symphony of your lives, stretching out into the night. And in that moment, as fire and silence intertwined, you found your peace.
HC post for @saintcoyote (I got very into this idea so you also get a short story! I hope you enjoy <3)
♫ Kofi ♫ ☆ Commission info ☆
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Someone could accuse Deidara of being too thick headed to notice something is wrong. Maybe that's true, maybe...but certainly not regarding when his mind locks in on you. As soon as his fellow Akatsuki shows signs of lacking their usual spark at the rendezvous, he's on high alert.
He watches the way you move...slower, more delicately. It's like you're sluggish, thoughts physically manifesting and weighing you down. You try to fight through it-- put on a brave face-- but after staring at your face so many times, he's sees right through the facade.
With your partners in company, he tries to be subtle. Hell, maybe you are being subtle, trying to communicate with him something is wrong without letting on to Sasori and the other partner that you feel weak. He takes the lead for your sake.
"I heard the weather was rough where you came from this week, un," he hums, allowing a way to complain without sounding too out of pocket in front of the others. You bob your head side to side.
"Yeah, but it was doable."
... "Hm," Deidara hums. Tough outer shell on this cookie. He'll just have to wait. He creates an opportunity to be alone himself.
"Sasori no danna," he speaks to the suna-nin, stopping in his tracks and grabbing the back of your arm. "We'll meet your there."
Hiruko stares back, Sasori's voice gravelly in his throat. "What for?"
"For someone to appreciate my art for once!" he smirks. The puppet groans, and your partner, too, waves themself off to continue walking away with Sasori.
...Finally alone.
Deidara practically snaps his fingers to bring life to his art, a small bird from his hand puffing up into the size of a tree. You'd seen this style of bird before-- owls are a favorite of his, after all-- but it's still so marvelous. He gestures, letting you sit upon the bird first. To your surprise, he saddles up right behind you, his chest on your back and arms wrapped around your stomach.
Before you can second guess it, the owl takes flight.
It's so exhilarating-- it always is, hell no Deidara let you become his friend and never let you fly before. But something about it happening now... You look down at the world, getting smaller and smaller...and you feel...lighter.
Deidara begins to speak once the glide becomes more gentle, stable.
"...Everything is so much smaller up here," he says, a purr on his tongue with how fond he is of the view. You nod, watching the patches of the forest pass by like pebbles on a path only just under your feet.
"Darling..." he says in lieu of your name. His head rests on your shoulder. Seconds pass...and the tension in your shoulders ease.
You feel him smirk.
"Good work," he praises, nearly silent, a grateful prayer almost lost in the wind.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Some brief headcanons:
He's a sweetheart, a LOT more naturally empathetic than you might think he is. He doesn't give a shit about most everybody, but when he does, it's like your hearts are connected.
He wants to help in the same way he handles his own issues-- with distraction. He'll take you on flights, just the two of you.
He'll match your volume. If you're loud, he's loud. If you're quiet, he's quiet. He's exactly as upset or as calm as you are.
He's physical, but not demanding. This is all about you right now. (He takes his turn being needy when it's him that needs comfort.)
He WILL find out your favorite animal and you WILL get a little sculpture of it.
Deidara only steps over the line if someone steps over yours. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, he's your guard dog. The man barks and threatens until you're left alone. (He doesn't consider in the moment that this can make you feel awkward or even worse.)
You've never seen someone smirk as softly as he can. He wipes the tear off your cheek and looks at you like he knows something you don't. Truthfully, he does. He knows you've got the strength to make it out okay.
