#tak writes

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

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.)

Battat is starting to wonder if he really needs the points from a second job. 

“OH OH!” his boss– yes, Tenna of all people– is here, fawning like a goddamn pippins over the ice cream display as if he isn’t 15 feet of wires and wrath. He feigns chewing his nails, bringing them up to his lips as he hums and twists his antennas in a bunch. “Hmm… Oh golly there’s so many flavors to pick from!” And then he says a name– it’s yours of course– and he looks to the side for a helpful input from his savior. 

Battat finally feels some relief as you interject, ending the whole spectacle. 

“Well,” you offer, nonjudgmental, “You always end up telling me you wish you got a scoop of vanilla with whatever you wanted.” Oh, how attentively he points his nose down at you, raises the brow of his screen. “Why not get the first flavor that catches your eye and add some vanilla on top.”

And Tenna beams like you solved all his problems.

“Starshine, my dear, I swear sometimes you know me better than I know myself!” And a comical aside under his breath: “And I know myself like the back of my hand!” 

Battat forces himself to laugh in the absence of a laugh track, doing his best not to roll his eyes. The pink apron and silly striped diner hat is enough. Why, oh why, does he end up working both jobs at once! Might as well put the Mike head on at this rate. You catch the tiniest glimpse of his sorrow and give him a smile.

Well, at least one of these two cares, he thinks. With a sigh, the green pippins watches his scary, scary lord of the screens hop on his tip toes and point to a brown tub. 

“This one!!! Chocolate with ONE SCOOP of vanilla!” He raises his chin and points to the ceiling. “If you PLEASE!”

Another exhale. “...Are you sure you just want one?” Battat asks, feeling the cool of the ice creams rise from below his reach into the rows of flavors.

“Yes, yes, only ONE!”

“You got it, boss.”

“I’m not your boss here, call me sir!”

“You got it…” And his smile looks more and more like a grimace by the second. “--Sirrrrrr.”

You have to stop yourself from giggling, instead putting a hand over your mouth and smiling.

Plop. A single scoop of vanilla is placed on the tub of chocolate. With a huff, the small darkner hauls the entire container onto the open counter, leaving the scooper inside. Tenna’s white gloves wiggle their fingers and he digs right in.

While his tail wags and mouth moans almost inappropriately, you politely order your favorite flavor and pay– or attempt to. 

“Nah, he’s just gonna get mad if I do that. He owns the place anyway,” Battat says, leaning his elbow against the counter and his palm against his angular face. “If you really wanna do me a favor? Just skedattle.” And he offers a weak smile, but it’s a real one. “Intimidates the other potential customers when he’s around, y’ know?”

You abide, taking your cone in one hand and Tenna’s arm in the other. He stoops below the entry and you both walk down the street. You’re looking for a place to sit while your TV, evidently, is looking for something else. You hardly catch him in her peripheral as his index finger swipes over your shoulder.

“H-hey!”

Plop!

It’s too late. He’s gotten a flick of your ice cream and put the tip of his digit into his mouth, a blush on his cheeks betraying how wrong he knows he is for doing so. “What, my darling!” he protests to you. “It looks delicious! And it is!”

“Tenna, why don’t you just ask!”

“Well, you see!” he points out, tilting down to get his screen near your face. “It tastes better this way.”

“How?” you blink, confused. But he just giggles, a tub in one arm and the other gripping the scoop with a hand on his hip. 

“You know,” he replies deviously.

And you do.

That’s why you grab him by the tie and get a taste right back.

The hum of his lips reverberates into your mouth as you suck on him, the fuzz of the static strangely warming the flavor of your choice as you retrieve whatever was left on his face. It almost tastes more…marshmallow-like, not raw but the kind heated by a fire. Maybe it makes sense; he’s getting hotter by the second.

You pull back with a gentle smack and grin, fluttering your eyes as you know very well what you did.

You see his lip tremble.

You hear his voice stutter.

And then you watch a man reset.

“We need to get home right now,” he whispers. And all of a sudden you know what you just signed up for.

─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ.☆. ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

“T-Tenna–!” you stagger, on your back and knees in the air. He wasn’t kidding; the man practically scooped you into his arms and ran all the way to the bedroom in anticipation of where a mind goes when it gets a lick of sweet things. He raises your shirt and loops his pinky into the band of your panties.

He begins speaking with a chuckle, but the desperation is still underneath. “S-sorry sweetheart,” though how sorry he really is is debatable. “You just make a fella go crazy, you know!” A quick look between your clothed sex and your watching eyes. “M…may I?”

Drunk on sugar and love, you give permission with a nod. A flower blooms on the tip of his nose.

“Oh, nothing tastes better than you do, starlight…!” he beams. The last layer of cloth is pulled delicately…over your thighs…down your calves…and then taken off your ankles, lest it shackle you like cuffs. He needs your legs as wide as possible.

This isn’t the first time, but it never stops feeling so new.

“Darling…!” he breathes. He guides one leg…and then the other…to go over his shoulders, and he's positioned snugly between you. You feel the burrow of his coned nose for a moment before it disappears; he wants nothing in the way between his lips and yours.

He wants to lick both sets, after all.

Tenna tastes, and you're helpless but to buck. He doesn't mind; in fact, it encourages him. A tongue swirls around and around...your labia, your entrance, your clit. His massive palms caress you so gently as you grip for dear life.

And when you’re done to his satisfaction, he so delicately take your limp legs down to the mattress. His screen raises, nothing but a smile on a black screen. “Nothing sweeter than the greatest flavor of all, right starshine?”

And you’re panting too hard to speak back. That’s just fine. The longer you’re dumb with the glow of orgasm, the longer he gets to bask in it. Meantime, he goes in to taste all over again, every inch of your body he can reach.

Kiss.

Kiss.

“Oh my god,” he stammers. It terrifies you how quiet he is; he’s only this way in one of two circumstances:

He trusts you completely.

He’s fucked up.

And unfortunately, the first choice led to the latter.

You rub your bruised shoulder, half to hide it from his sight and half to soothe it. You hear him sniff, hands raised and unsure what to do.

“I–” he stammers, absolutely shocked at himself. “Starlight! I’m– I’m so sorry–” he squeaks.

You give him a weak smile. “You didn’t mean it. You just got excited.”

“Excited is not an EXCUSE!” he shouts at himself, gripping the desk youre standing on and kneeling, head as low to you as possible. “You– you’re HURT! Oh my god,” he repeats. The static on his face is quivering. “Oh my god…”

“Tenna–”

You move to touch him and he sharply flinches back on reflex. He immediately hits himself over the head.

“No! No!” he swears at himself, a jolt of electricity shocking between his antennas’ bobby ends. “They won’t hurt you, damn idiot, it’s the other way around!”

“Tenna–” you try again, but no budge. He begins to monologue to himself, turning around and gripping his monitor while hunching his back.

“Why are you so USELESS! You should be smaller around them. Why did you let yourself stay big?! Useless, useless STUPID–”

“Tenna!”

This is a demand, and so he spins around, breathless. “S-sweetheart?” he stammers, a tremble in his lip.

Knowing, sweet you, you raise an eyebrow and crook your finger for him to come here, a smile on your face. Like an obedient dog, he returns to his position before, chin on the wooden desk and looking up at you. You, however, kneel down.

“Stay still,” you instruct, and he fights every reflex to flee lest he hurt you again.

You walk up…and up…until…

You hold his nose, the very thing he bashed into your shoulder as he lifted you up and squeezed you close in delight. Your hands are gentle, forgiving, and you kiss the tip.

You pull back and open your eyes, and there’s a big red flower on a confused face.

“We’ll learn,” you promise him, and if it was anyone else he wouldn’t believe it. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

“But…what if you’re ever afraid of me?” he whimpers, hesitant to hope.

“Never,” you promise before kissing his lips. “Never ever.”

She wakes up and there's morning light streaming in through the window-- alien to her for a while now since his realm seems to be eternally dark. She wakes up in a fluffy bed in a spacious nook in a tower. Flowers grow in the cracks of the stone and the windows are open, fluttering pale curtains as butterflies wander in and out at their leisure. She walks out to the balcony as a shadow begins to cast in despite no clouds in the sky. It's Null, leaning as he stands tall-- taller than usual-- with his back to the building and his arms crossed. There's something on his head that she can't quite make out with this angle and shadowing light

"Tenna?"

He turns around, smiling at the sight of her-- much more freely than she's used to. "There she is. The princess is awake. How was your sleep?"

She walks closer, realizing that the window is actually to the floor-- openable like doors to a balcony. She steps onto it; it's perfect height for him to curl his clawed fingers over the railing and rest his chin level with her

She gets a better look at his head. He still has the curved amplifiers, but his regular antenna have been replaced with horns. "What happened…?" she asks, neglecting his question. His teeth look especially sharp as he answers eagerly.

"Every princess in a tower needs a dragon, don't they?"

They both remember last night. A lot had happened. She had finally let go, screamed and flailed her arms and been angry. It was wonderful to him…and it was terrifying. It was a catalyst for a change of pace, even if it wouldn't last forever.

Just the two of them, where the only appearances they have to keep up are the ones they choose for each other.

She's still getting used to the role, however, half asleep and just waking up into it. The princess's frilled nightgown sleeves raise to hold her hands to her chest, and he observes her observing the new world. Bright…quiet but not silent, chirping of birds and the soft chorus of bugs. It wasn't quite his style, but he can tolerate it-- if it's for her. My, what beautiful eyes she has, a perfect curve to her nose as it turns in profile to look up her new walls and towards the sun. He could stare forever.

…Her lashes flutter a few blinks…and she gives him a rarity: an unconscious smile. "I missed this." Nature, that is. "You really did all this…for me?"

"As any princess deserves," he replies. She's so sweet it's predictable; he's had that answer in his pocket waiting and ready to go since he came up with the whole thing. "Return at your leisure, my lady." He turns back around. Underneath the arms behind his back is his tail, normally tied and hidden but now flicking with a relaxed pace. "There's nowhere to be except where you wish to go."

She stands at the balcony for a moment longer as he returns to his post. He's just standing there, an ease in his shoulders and a small tap in his left foot, but she makes no mistake of the intent: he's standing guard.

She is safe.

And protected.

And treasured.

Exactly as she should have been all those times before. Not hurt again…never again.

Just as she begins to go inside, he calls over his shoulder: "Oh, one more thing. I picked out your clothes this morning. Better suited for you than the rags from yesterday." As if she's worn anything that hasn't crossed under his nose first.

Cautious but excited, she closes the door and looks around. It really is like the daydream of a storybook princess. Flowerpots and vines crawl around vintage furniture embellished with fainted paintings. The smell of candlesmoke wafts to her as they're snuffed, as if by the magic of the sunrise. She takes a few steps forward and looks down past her toes; a spiraling staircase leads down to another room, and all the smells coming from it-- bread, fruit, flowers, juice-- remind her of the color orange, same one that glistened into her window. It looked so beautiful against his horns.

She looks over her shoulder to him, and he's gone. Right…she has to get ready, too.

Null can see the shape of her, the shadow cast against the rocky slope beside him, as she finds the clothes laid out for her and undresses.

─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ.☆. ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

The dragon walks alongside the princess wherever she goes. He sits next to her in the grass as she lays down in it, looking at the sunshine that he made with his own magic. She smiles in ways he hasn't seen before, yes…but he's changing too. He hasn't had time to himself, not like this. vulnerable and able to be off guard. His shoulders relax more and more each day, and he begins to feel like his old self-- before everything went wrong and he had to change lest the cruel world change him first. It scares him, and he wants to retreat, and in a way he does. He spends more moments with his back to her, guarding against an evil that logically will never come and yet he wishes it would. It's easier to fight things you can see. He watches the sun set on her tower, orange light cast over his sitting knees, and he begins to understand why someone could enjoy it as she does. Mister Midnight has met his match.

Morning… His morning… ─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ.☆. ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

She loves feeling beautiful, but it scares her, too. She's not pretty; she knows she isn't. She carries herself as two different people. The first is the one who doesn't think. She's a little girl dressed in clothes only princesses get to wear, silks and laces and and frills in different colors and shapes. But then she sees herself-- or simply feels her own body against the seams of the fabric around her-- and she remembers that these are not meant for someone like her. She appreciates his kindness-- they are all very gorgeous clothes--…but it's hard to appreciate it fully when it feels like it's on the wrong body.

One day, it's raining. It's just a little gray outside, and the drops are thin and light as not to frighten but refresh. This is of Null's own design; he needs to figure this out.

"Is your wardrobe uncomfortable, my princess?"

She looks up from the recipe book in her hands. The ceiling is low so even shrunken, Null's horns nearly touch it as he crouches and holds his legs. He recognizes now the manner in which her eyes blink and look down; she's thinking, in that corner of her brain that makes her sugarcoat whatever is wrong. Instead of saying what he wants (that he can take the insult) he decides to practice his restraint. He's rewarded, as she gradually begins to turn her head side to side.

"No… They're all lovely."

"What is it then? It isn't nothing."

Her hands unconsciously grip the apron covering her pale skirt. "I…I just…" A smile, big and forced and sad. "I'm not used to things like this."

His lip purses ever so slightly at the unsettling answer. He takes advantage of her looking at him, a faint spiral and hum emanating from his screen. "Tell me why."

Her smile remains, straining, and a tear falls from one eye. "I'm not pretty enough."

The dishes on the table rattle as he hits his fist on the floor, his chest rising and falling as he tries to contain himself. It's too late. Her expression is scared and she's looking at the floor. "Sorry-- just--" He swallows, and his voice is smoother. "Look at me. Please."

…She obeys, hesitant but obedient. "Good girl. There's my princess."

There's nothing subtle about his hypnosis anymore. It's his whole screen, not even a mouth to move as he speaks. His hands reach out, palms and claws up, and after a long second, she rests her hands on them. It's a touch so gentle it nearly makes him want to cry.

"There's not a single inch of you inside and out that doesn't radiate," he says, and it goes straight into her mind and settles at the seat of her soul. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met." The tears begin to get thick at the corners of her eyes, but he's not done. "You are so much more than what you think you are. You're sweet…thoughtful…special beyond compare." He visibly swallows, reaching in to a space of his heart he normally avoids. "I look at you and I think that's what sight is for. You…that's what life is about."

His thumbs stroke the back of her hands, comforting the shaking lightner.

"I won't accept you thinking so little of my greatest treasure," the dragon says. "You've tamed me, and I'm too hard to get rid of." ─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ.☆. ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

That night, or perhaps another, she's preparing for bed and he's standing there, just a bit taller than an average man's height. He's folded his arms and watching the window, keeping watch just like he's promised this whole time. A thought passes her mind. "You can shrink, too? Smaller than your usual size?"

…

He eventually concedes. "Yeah." His tail flicks. "I don't usually need to."

"So you can get so small you could--" She imagines it, her hands cupping an invisible shape not bigger than a softball. He snorts, teeth poking out of the corner of a small smirk.

"Silly, yeah."

"I bet it'd feel so nice to be that small. You know…when I'm that small against you…it feels so good."

There's a bit of a rainbow on his cheeks and a quarter of an inch more air above his head than there was a second ago.

"I…like being held like that," she continues. "It's still…raining outside. Can I-- return the favor?"

"…You really want it that bad?" he asks under his breath, vulnerable again.

"If that's okay."

He snorts again. "Well now I have to," he jokes.

Before she knows it, he's shrinking the closer he gets, until he's standing on the end of her bed, the size difference comparable to when he's his usual size, just in reverse.

She holds him to her chest like a teddy bear, so soft and warm and loving…and the stiff man begins to melt.

Blink. Blink. Blink…

…

He wakes up, tiny monitor on a big pillow, blanket heavy across his chest. His brow furrows and unfurrows, and then he turns to the side and sees her-- back to him, leaning against the mattress as she sits on the floor, standing guard just like he has for her all these days and nights.

He stares a long moment before feeling compelled to get up, his shape growing as he crawls up and sits next to her on the floorboards, about her size. She's asleep. He half chuckles; shitty job keeping watch.

…

His smile grows fond. He's not used to quiet moments yet, but they've begin to infect him. Make him feel…fuller than he'd be without them. He reaches forward to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and her eyes open.

She's silent with disbelief and something else as she stares at what she wakes up to, an adoring expression and an ease he's always lacked.

"My morning…" he whispers under his breath, and he leans forward and rests his cheek on hers before turning…to kiss it.

It's not the first time a kiss has happened. He's taken her hand while kneeling before and done so, as one often does for royalty. But then she took his hand in turn and kissed it as if it was an exchange, and something's changed in him ever since.

Her sleepy mind drags worries along, not full thoughts but feelings. Worries of disappointment. Of not being what she'd like to be to him. Of being pitied. But…they all melt away.

Nothing more happens than he takes her into his arms and holds her close for the rest of the night.

Over time, it happens again. He finds himself close, his hands on her body, and so much in his heart all he can do is press his lips wherever they first reach. Her fear begins to melt. He's not asking anything of her. There's no bravado, teasing, taunting. It dawns on her that he just feels…safe.

"I'm sorry for being glooby.”

It comes out of the blue in the middle of your favorite time– cuddle time. The TV man furrows his brow as he holds you on his lap. 

“What on EARTH are you talking about, dear?!” His brow pinches and unpinches like he’s blinking curiously at you. “But you seemed fine to me!”

“Well…” you drawl, but you’re too slow; Tenna continues, using his free hand to emphasize his speech as the other cradles you into his chest.

“Your voice was so strong! Your smile so vibrant! And you even SMALL TALKED with everyone after the show!”

You smile in appreciation, but it strains to reach your eyes, which instead glance down and aside from his beaming stare. “Yes, well–”

Another interruption, as if he won’t hear any of it. “You’re not glooby at all!”

…

“Wait…” 

Seconds pass, and something shows up that wasn’t there before. Even as you try to hide your face as subtly as you can, all Tenna has to do is tilt a few degrees to the left and all of a sudden he sees it– now that he’s finally been told to look.

“...Oh…!” he whispers, and his antenna slowly tangle like wringing hands. “You– Now you do look glooby…!” A swallow, a quiver of his lip. “Oh no…! Oh no, oh no, oh no!” 

You lose your breath as he brings in his other hand and holds you as close as he still gently can. “I made you…glooby!” he realizes, horrified.

“T–Tenna–!” You press your palms into his chest, less creating space between you yourself and more signalling for him to make it; always so attentive, he abides. He’s sworn up and down he’s unable to cry, but it sure does look like that’s being tested with the way he looks right now. You exhale deeply.

“No… You didn’t. I promise you didn’t.”

“But–” he stammers, the tip of his glove stroking your cheek. “But–”

“I was…glooby before,” you confess, and what you say next snaps him out of the frying pan and into the fire. “I am…a lot of the time. I…guess I hide it well, is all.”

Tenna gulps, and somehow his mouth feels dry. “A lot…of the time?” he repeats. And oh, you can practically see guilt wash over him in a wave. “Oh, starlight…!” You grunt again as he returns you close to his chest, right where you started. Shit. “I failed you!”

“Tenna!” Your hand is more bold this time in how strongly you push back, and now he removes his grasp entirely. A smile can’t help but crawl up one corner of your mouth with how sensitive he is. “Not at all! You did your best. I promise.” 

He shakes his monitor head. “It’s not enough!” he gasps quietly, still sounding on the verge of tears. “It’s not enough if you’re still sad!”

You tilt your head as you reverse positions from before, Tenna now hiding his face by turning away as you easily follow from down below. “Tenna…it’s okay to be sad sometimes.” This is stated as a reminder, but the showman surprisingly seems to take it at face value.

“But it ISN’T!” he exclaims; you bounce a little as he whips his monitor around, causing him to squeak and place his palm behind your back for balance. “S-sorry! But I mean it! It’s not okay AT ALL to be glooby when you’re in paradise! Or…” His antenna unknot and flick one at a time– left and right– in thought. “...It should be paradise.” And then they shoot straight up in alarm as his spine curls to get his face right in yours, desperate for answers. “What’s wrong with it? Was it the show?! Is it the new coasters? Oh, I bet it’s the new coasters! They don’t work for shit–! Why WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON–”

“Sweetie.”

Oh it’s rare for you to pull out the nicknames. He freezes without you even pressing pause; the tiniest bit of pink lights in the spaces beside his nose– his cheeks. Your touch is so soft, almost like there’s a static fuzz to your body, too. 

You make him see your smile before talking; unlike before, it’s real. Even under your tired, sad eyes, it is real. Hard for it not to be, seeing a man so worked up over little old you. A sigh breezes from your lips, and it passes over his screen and brushes his vents.

“I know I opened this by saying I’m sorry,” you explain, “But that’s because sometimes being glooby changes your behavior.” A pause. He still doesn’t get it, you can tell. “What I’m not sorry about is that I’m glooby in the first place. It’s what you do that matters…” you tell him, and your fingertip touches the hand around your body in demonstration before it reaches forward to tap his heart. 

“...Not how you feel.”

His face briefly shimmers static. You blink, cautious and observant.

“Tenna…?”

“I…” Shimmer again, stronger this time, and it changes how he looks. His face is back, a frown with no nose. “I’ve…” a cartoon mouth says, “...Never heard of that.”

And you melt on the spot. Your arms open and you reach up– not to be held, but to hold him. “Oh…Tenna…”

You had your suspicions all along, but this is the first time– even if inadvertently– that he’s acknowledged that sometimes Mr. “Never Glooby”...can in fact be glooby sometimes.

“Come here, sweetie pie...” you coo, though hardly needing to as he shrinks down…down…down. Eventually he’s so little that you slip off his lap and he slips onto yours. You know the answer to the next question, but it doesn’t matter– not what it is. What does count…is someone finally asking it.

“Tenna…” you whisper, cupping the tiny, tiny bug to your chest. “Do you feel glooby right now?”

…

…

“Yeah,” he confesses, voice so very soft, so very small. “I guess I do.”

You exhale, just barely, and oddly enough…you don’t feel quite as glooby yourself anymore. Grateful for this gift, you focus on him, now, and kiss the center of his forehead.

"I'm...I'm a little nervous. You see?" Tenna says this as he raises his head, looking to you straddling his lap. Everything up until now had been going nice and steady-- perfect, even. But now... You can tell by the strained grin on his face that he's clamming up. "You want to stop?" you ask gently. Maybe it's his first time, after all. It'd surprise you given how handsome he is, but anything is possible. One of the hands keeping him lifted off of his back raise further to give a desperate gesture of dismissal. "Oh! NO! N-no, not at all!" The same hand tugs at his collar, already loosened with a few buttons undone to help the vents air out. "I just...I might...need to. Need to stop."

Well, that's a glooby voice if you've ever heard one. "Why? Can you say?" you guide. He gulps visibly. "W-well," his shaky voice begins. "I'm not sure what sorta anatomy you're used to! But mine is...different." You blink. All of a sudden the bulge in his pants is more prominent to you, even if it hasn't changed at all this last minute. "...You're worried I won't like it," you deduce. His antennas droop as he nods his head, now tilted away like he has eyes to hide in shame. You're quick to fix it, taking his case into your palms and kissing him again. A beautiful red flower is there to fill the space you took up as you pull away...but his smile doesn't last. "That's uh. That's the problem!" he tries to chuckle, though it comes off more as a whimper. Tenna points to his nose, and you scoff. "What do you mean?! I love it when you do that!" "You're misunderstanding, star!" he interjects before your spiel on how cute and romantic his nose-sprouting is. "It's uh..."

He gestures down from his nose...to his waist.

...

...

Your eyes go wide in realization.

"Oh I KNEW you'd hate that!" he cries, bringing his forearm to shield his face in the most dramatic display of rejection a man can muster. "EVERYONE hates it! They call it WEIRD and UNATTRACTIVE and that it ruins the--"

Kiss. Your lips are so soft, but they rest on him firm, like a reminder.

"...Mood," he murmurs, a blush in his glow. Pop, and the flower blooms again. "You gotta make me stop doing that!" he warns under his breath, half a joke and half real, sincere fear. You stroke the petals with the tip of your fingertip, and he shivers.

"I love you," you say. "No strings attached. I think-- I think I'll like it just fine," you promise, "But even if I don't...we won't know until we try. Right?" "...Yeah," he admits, being brave just for you. "I guess we won't." The workup and foreplay begin again, though this time you're more wary of yourself-- of your movements, your touches, and most of all: his reactions. He is adoring, trailing his lips over your neck and shoulders. He is delicate, doing nothing to force the stages further and letting you set the pace. It finally comes time, and you slip off his underwear.

"Why are you with that fool?" Kakuzu asks one night when it's just you and him at the foot of the fireplace. He doesn't even look up from his literature, grace you with an accusing glance. Something about that is a bit more insulting than if he did.

You hum, curling and uncurling your warming toes as you purse your lip and tilt your head. "Why are you asking?"

"You know why."

And you do...but you don't have to like it.

"It's been months, Kakuzu... Why only now?"

...A few seconds of silence passes before he groans as if you're an insufferable child. You in turn keep your wits about you, refusing to takes your eyes off him, lest one of his famous "rages" comes to pass, while simultaneously keeping your cool. You fully intend to stand your ground as long as possible.

Even if you are kind of laying sideways on a couch like you're posing for a painting. Damn, should have picked a better position. Too late now, huh?

"I suppose I expected you to enact whatever plan you had going on by now," the old man answers, and you're left both baffled and unnerved.

"Plan?"

Another gravely sigh escapes from behind Kakuzu's mask, as he is wont to do. "If you did have a plan, you would have tried to swindle him by now, either monetarily with MY money or gaining his trust to carry out some sort of difficult, otherwise deadly task. Having seen neither--"

Now he looks up, and the fire flickers in such a way that the red of his eyes are brighter, more lively and less dead.

"--...I'm starting to think you're just as stupid as he is."

Oh, if you were a cat your hairs would be standing on end. Your cheeks get hot and you bite your bottom lip to contain yourself, only half successful as the metaphorical steam blows out of your ears.

"Kakuzu!" Oh you practically sound like you're pleading with him! That's a good sign, you curse sarcastically to yourself. "I'm not really sure I need to justify myself when you of all people have spent, what? At least a year together!"

"I have no choice," he puts flatly.

"Don't you?"

"No."

"B-but you do! If you really wanted, you could-- I don't know! Cut him up and bury him in a hole! Then all you have to do to never hear him again is walk away."

...

...

You don't like the way he begins to rub his chin in contemplation. "...Please don't take that as advice," you quickly add.

And then a rare thing happens: he shuts his eyes...and chuckles. It's short, it's rough, but it's still a big thing coming from a guy like him.

"Only you..." he murmurs.

You blink, beginning to pull yourself to sit up. "...What about me?"

The Akatsuki's treasurer shakes his head. "Only you would care so earnestly for a fool like him." The repeated insult makes you frown.

"Please don't call him that...at least not in front of me."

By this point, the bounty hunter shuts his book and places it on the table besides his chair. He's giving you his full attention now. Oh dear.

"I could kill you." His words immediately justify your fear. All of a sudden you are aware of your own pulse, can feel the muscles in your tightened jaw quiver with tension. But wide eyed and scared, you continue to stare him down back.

...

"And yet," he continues, so relaxed in comparison to you as orange from the light washes over his slashed headband. "You stand up for him. And I'm not even certain Hidan ever would for you."

You shake your head both in response and to try to shake off the fear. "He would! I-- I know he would. But...that's not why I'm with him."

That answer seems to surprise him just a little. "Why then?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me."

Kakuzu glares at you for the longest moment, and he doesn't flinch in the slightest...even when he angrily concedes. "Fine." But you don't have time to sigh in relief. "You first."

"W-well..." you begin, crossing your legs on the couch cushion and and rubbing the back of your head. "He kind of...represents a lot to me."

You can see him raising a brow, even in light dim as this tonight.

"Before you get skeptical!" you interrupt nothing at all. "Just...think about it. I'm not like you guys. I'm just...a mortal. Just no one special, not even a genin. Most people in your flock would turn your nose up and treat me like a sheep."

You shake your head again, but for a new and lovely reason.

"Not Hidan though. Every life means something. Everyone...can be someone."

"A sacrifice," Kakuzu corrects, to which you bob your head side to side.

"Yes, maybe, but--" you half agree, "Not just...someone to be used and discarded. Souls are important; everyone...is equal. There's something amazing in that."

"But not unique," Kakuzu answers. And this time you nod.

"There's more than that. He's so...passionate. If he believes in something, he believes it with his whole heart. If he fights, it's not just for himself but for everything he believes in. I--...I wanna be like that. I want to think at least half as much as Hidan does about what it means to live, suffer, and die. I want every piece of it to be as saturated as possible with my blood, sweat, and tears. Isn't that what it means?"

You make sure to look him in the eyes still.

"Isn't that what it means to exist?"

...

...

Kakuzu exhales. "You make his his diatribes...endearing."

You smile at that, even if hesitantly.

"Now it's your turn," you say. To that, Kakuzu folds his arms and hoods his eyes.

"He makes me money."

...

"Are you serious?"

"People have very predictable tastes in men."