Eyes of the blind - Deidara x Reader
This came over me, I hope it makes sense. Tagging @missalienqueen and @snuggleboots for my Naruto stuff
The thighs you’re sitting on are strong, the skin pale. You rub your left hand over it, look for the little mole you know must be there.
When you hear a soft sigh you lean forward, your right hand finding a naked shoulder and, fanned around it like a halo, silky blond hair.
“When did you wake up?” You cock your head to the side to signal that you’re listening, but don’t answer, too busy carding your hands through his hair.
You know his eyes are blue because he told you, but you will never be able to see for yourself. His hair though, long and silky and as golden blond as the wheat fields outside, is something you can see, simply because you can touch it.
“You’re making me flustered,” Deidara whispers when you don’t answer and your hand immediately reaches for his cheeks to find a pretty blush there.
In the distance, you can hear the rumble of a house waking up and on the other side of the thin walls, you can hear the creaking and rattling of his comrade getting ready.
But right now, right here, you have him for yourself.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers and you lean in even further, pressing your lips to his.
In a few hours, Deidara will be gone, leaving nothing behind but memories and shallow promises.
You cannot tie him down, so you might as well enjoy the time you have.
-
“A room for the night,” the voice is young, male, and confident.
Suzu names the price. You can hear a bag of coins drop on the table before she’s even finished but there’s also something else, something rattling and creaking, as if he brought a machine with him.
“How many?” You ask from your place in the back, already making your way over.
The dark wood is clean where your hands find purchase, you mostly grip the wood to check, not because you have a hard time moving from one point to the other. Some paths are muscle memory already.
“Oho, aren’t you a pretty one?”
You blink in surprise. “Excuse me?” You ask.
“Excuse my partner,” a deep, almost unsettling voice speaks. It sounds like a machine talking and a shiver’s running down your spine, “He’s easily excitable.”
“Am not, Master Sasori. And even if so, what’s so bad about that? You just don’t find any joy in the world at all!”
“Two… men, I think,” Suzu whispers from the side.
“You are correct,” the deep voice cuts her off.
You stretch out your hand. “I’m the owner of this place. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I’d love to offer you a room. I’m a little particular about one rule, though, you have to shake my hand on it.”
“Like I have to be asked,” a warm hand grasps yours and pictures bloom inside your head. There’s a mouth in the middle of it, the lips closed. His skin is smooth, his muscles strong.
When you move to pull away he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
His mouth is full, his lips soft and pink, pulled into a smirk.
But it’s not that what captures your attention but the silky strands of hair that caress your hand as he pulls away, golden like the wheat fields outside.
You swallow thickly, unable to speak as he drops your hand gently and steps back.
Before you can gather yourself, your hand is grabbed again, rather forcefully this time.
His partner's hands are cold and wooden, distinctly so.
He drops your hand almost instantly and you’re thankful for that.
“You’re welcome to stay,” you croak out, urging to get back to your little office.
-
Warm hands move up and down your arms, pulling you against an equally warm chest.
“I’m back,” Deidara hums into your ear, his lips pressing into your skin so you can see them. “Did you miss me?”
“Maybe a little,” you offer, dragging the paintbrush over the paper one last time.
You can see his pout this time, his lips still pressed to your skin.
“Just a little? I missed you a lot.”
“Mhm, you sure did. Came back after only… what was it, five months this time?”
He sighs. “It’s not that easy and you know that.”
“I know,” you swallow a sigh, “I know.”
“Sorry,” his hands wrap around yours, both mouths pressing kisses onto the back of your hands. “I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. But-”
“Don’t apologize,” you insist. It’s easier if you don’t talk about it.
But the closer you’re getting the more it pops up.
What he does for work. How long he’s gone this time. If he’ll come back.
“I want to take you to the Onsen this time,” Deidara insists, setting the table as you prepare a private Dinner in your rooms. Sasori’s taken his usual room, hiding away for his and your privacy.
“I don’t really like the Onsen.”
“Yeah, because you’ve never been with me,” Deidara insists, eager and excited.
You want to argue against it, but he’s probably going to leave tomorrow or the day after and you don’t want to ruin the time you have with useless arguments.
And it’s nice, in a way, to float in the water with him keeping you safe. To be wrapped in his embrace, letting the warmth soak into your bones.
Your body is pressed against his, letting you see the pale skin, and find all the freckles that dust his back. You want to paint him again like you have many times before.
“Deidara?” You ask in the middle of a story about a mission - he’s vague with information but describes his bombs in great detail. “Do you ever think about marriage?”
He stills underneath you and you curse your tongue, loosened by the relaxing atmosphere.
“Sometimes, yeah,” he confesses, surprising you.
“Me too. Suzu got married two months ago.”
“Oh, how nice,” his hand rubs over your back and you’re not sure if he does it to calm you down or himself.
“Have you ever gotten… proposed to?” He asks after you’ve been silent for a while.
“No.”
You can hear the water lap against the edge of the pool, you can hear him breathe, but he doesn’t speak.
“No one wants to marry a woman who cannot see.”
When he kisses you this time it’s forceful, almost aggressive. You don’t speak about this topic again for the night, but you think he might disagree with you there.
If only he would say something about it.
-
“Here for the week,” a voice calls out to you. You know that voice.
“Deidara?” You ask, guessing.
“Ah, you remembered me.” He sounds proud.
You get up from behind your table but he’s already there, a warm hand on your arm.
“You’re painting?” He asks, “Can I see?”
“I sell them on the market,” you explain, “It’s not much, but it’s an extra income.”
He hums appreciatively, his hand never leaving you. Maybe he craves touch just as much as you do.
It’s the first night he comes knocking, asking if you want company.
You wake up with your hands tangled in his hair.
You don’t cry when he leaves, don’t dare to hope when he promises he will come back again.
-
“Have you ever had something to fight for?” You ask on a day he insists on keeping you in his lap as you paint, his chin hooked over your shoulder so that he can see what you’re doing.
“I thought so,” he offers, chuckling low as you pick a certain gold shade. “Are you painting me, doll?”
“Maybe I am,” you play along, “But you didn’t? Have something to fight for, I mean?”
“I have my art,” he insists, but you can tell he’s deflecting the question. “I’ll make everyone either believe in it or die.”
“Explain it to me,” you ask, “your art. What is it like?”
You paint as he speaks.
“I think I get it,” you say, putting your paintbrush away. “Even if you want a moment to stay forever, it’s made sweeter by the knowledge that it never lasts. Like kissing you.”
“Aww,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin below your ear, “You’re so smart. I could never have thought of that comparison.”
-
There are stitches on his arms when he comes back. Sasori is no more.
His new partner is too curious and if not for Suzu offering herself up to distract him, you wouldn’t have any time alone with Deidara.
It ends like it always does.
No matter how many times you tell yourself to keep your heart safe, it seems to already belong to him.
He’s resting now, head in your lap as you drag your hands through his hair.
“I love you,” you promise him, “even if I don’t want to most days. I just wished you’d love me back. Loved me enough to stay with me.”
.
“Goodbye,” you say when he turns to leave, press a kiss to the back of his hand like he did when you first met, “I will not forget you.”
“I’ll come back,” he insists, voice heavy with something you can’t begin to untangle.
“No, you won’t,” you shake your head, uncaring of the tears that are collecting in your eyes, “And it’s okay. If your art is more important than me, than so be it. But here, those moments with you will live on forever. Goodbye.”
You turn before he can say anything else. He doesn’t run after you.
And you’re going to be okay, you tell yourself.
No man wants to marry the woman that can’t see.
But at least there was one who dared to love you.
-
“Need a hand?” A voice asks and your head shoots up before your heart has fully registered it. Suzu gasps.
“Deidara?” You ask, tripping on your way out, barely catching yourself in the doorway.
“Careful, doll,” a warm hand grabs your elbow and you can feel the lips there stretch into a smile.
“You’re here?”
“For good,” he offers, voice tired, “If you’ll have me.”
Your hands find his face, bruised skin and burnt off hair.
“Lost an arm,” he explains when your right hand finds nothing below his right shoulder, “Well, lost it again, to be exact. But servers only need one arm anyway, right?”
“Why did you come back?”
You can hear him swallow, your fingertips finding his lips just as he starts to speak.
“I was ready to die when I thought… I just thought, I’d do everything to have another moment with you. And isn’t that more important than becoming art itself, just for a moment, that comes and goes?”
“Only if you mean it.”
Deidara laughs. “Let me prove it to you.”
- - -
“Careful!” Deidara’s voice rings out. “No running in the field where we can’t see you.”
“Yes, Papa!” You can hear your daughter giggling, the sound of her feet hitting the ground as she explores her surroundings.
“How are you feeling?” Deidara’s already next to you, one warm and one cold hand on your shoulders. He’s still getting used to the prosthetic.
“I’m doing great,” you tease him, “I’m just pregnant, not disabled.”
“Very funny,” he huffs, playfully biting your nose, “do you wanna walk around a bit? The wheat’s already golden, you’ll love it.”
“I think I’ve painted enough golden pictures for a lifetime, don’t you think,” you ask, hand finding his hair without meaning to, running through your hands like golden silk.
He gasps dramatically, pressing your hand to his chest.
“Painted enough of me? Have I ever been this insulted?”
You kiss him, burn the color of his lips into your mind yet again.
“Today,” you ask, “show me your eyes. Surely there’s something out there that compares.”
“No, he insists, “Today I’ll show you yours. Even though I doubt there’s something that compares.”
“You’ll have a lifetime to try.”
“That I do.”
My Kofi if you want to tip me
