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immoralimmortals · 4 months ago

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A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 31: Sally's Song

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Summary of chapter: What’s so wrong with Kakuzu playing around? It’s not like her affection will last. Nothing ever does.

Author's Note: I have a very strong attachment to this song. I try not to be *super* 1-1 with my personal experiences to what the reader analog "Takara" is supposed to be, but this one can't be helped. I love this song, it's the first song outside of church that I memorized, first song I sang for the purpose of wanting it to sound good. If Sally's Song has no fans, that means I am dead.

I really, really admire the Fiona Apple cover of this song especially, but for whatever reason it was removed from Spotify, apparently a couple of years ago. The rendition added to the fic playlist will be a music box instrumental by Music Box Rockstar. (Forgive me if I change my mind later).

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And does he notice my feelings for him?

And will he see how much he means to me?

I think it's not to be

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dappling light is a lot more awe-striking when you’re relearning how to see the world, the way it blots over each thing like flecks on a watercolor painting and makes you reevaluate its shape. The sun isn’t visible right now where the performer is, instead diffusing its rays through the fading foliage in this magical way. It’s fascinating, really, how in autumn so many plants seem to give one last hurrah by bleeding out all their bright colors before it’s time to die. There’s a similar reason why the performer is now stuck with her once favorite dress and sweater.

She wears both now, of course, as there is nothing else in her wardrobe. In the springtime with Hidan and Kakuzu’s initial company, it was quite fitting! White with pink and blue detailings, sort of like flowers fresh from the melting snow. Summer managed to fit still, sweater removable and sunhat appropriate. But now in fall, the warming hues of crimson, orange, gold, and brown make her miss a scarf she used to have with matching colors. The fiery rainbow refracts in her eyes until a cool-toned finger gently brushes up and down her arm. Kisame always oozes with a strange, contagious sort of vibrancy even though he doesn’t bounce off the walls like Tobi nor raise his voice like Hidan. It’s subtle, and though his color is blue, it’s an attitude that suits red maple leaves and yellowing morning glory vines that climb up old, moss-sodden lattice.

“Told you it’d be nice to get out of the place,” he asserts, having figuratively dragged her from bed for this. And she beams up at him, as though the woman is bone-tired, he is still right.

“Hey!"

…Someone shouts to get their attention. A head of spiked hair perks up with double the attentiveness for his ward who can hardly blink, shifting his shoulders to turn them both around. Once it's had, Hidan purses his lips and gives the fish a judging look; he lets it sink in before putting in his two cents. "You shouldn't be carrying her everywhere.”

The privacy is quickly shattered, the interrupting voice reminding the performer of how, exactly, she even managed to go outside: that Kisame only got her here by picking her up and taking the lady himself. He’s so strong that it became second nature for a few minutes, and the silly thing entirely forgot that she is a grown-ass woman that can suddenly be held like a toddler. Mute, she instantly shrinks closer to his cloak— which he now dons over his indigo tank top with the chiller weather— a redness on her cheeks. The taller man blinks with a frown at his sudden opponent with gray hair and righteous attitude. "It's better than her staying in one spot for too long, isn’t it?”

Hidan effectively scrunches one half of his face, corner of his mouth pulling up and the right eye squinting. He’s seen her move on her own; why not just let her? It doesn’t make sense! Will she forget how?! “Then have her walk!”

A whimper is all she’s got, hiding more into the dark cloth at the shark’s neck. Kisame defends, a snarl curling his upper lip: "She's enjoying it."

The shirtless grim reaper stares long and hard to verify this to no avail, rolling his eyes back up to the fellow Akatsuki. "She looks unhappy, asshole."

"Yeah, now that you're scolding her,” the swordsman parries, holding her just a little bit closer as if the arm of his cloak can shield the poor woman from misunderstanding cruelty. “Can you either get with the program or shut up?"

"What?!” Hidan, of course takes offense, redirecting his attention to the one he’s actually worried for. “Girlie, hey! Look over here!" To Kisame’s dismay, ever so slowly…she abides, and he notes the anxiety in her eyes. "You enjoying that?" A flush in her cheeks...but she nods. There is no way to deny that this is oh so very wonderful. The priest blinks twice in disbelief. “W—... really?”

Hidan’s double down is about to knock her off her feet (metaphorically, too):

"Then— then let me carry you, too!"

Kisame’s response is immediate: "...What the hell?" he blinks back with his own shock. His shaming doesn’t work on a man who has no shame to speak of.

"If you get to, so do I,” Hidan argues, folding his arms matter-of-fact. “Simple as that!"

...By technicality, that is true. The kiri-nin looks to her attached to his side for approval or lack thereof once more. "You don't have to say yes...” he reminds under his breath.

But the consideration is heavy, her soft eyes glancing over to the silver-haired man standing on this path outside their house. Is Hidan only asking because he's jealous? Does he even want to? They haven't really talked since they…you know. But the firmness there... Regardless of motive, it does seem to be a sincere want. But she has her own, in spite of how she misses him: "I don't...want to be a bother..."

To that he frowns, and his hands lower onto his waist in a sure, somewhat annoyed stance. "Yer not." His half-lidded stare alone dares anyone to ask why he wants this, including her.

Unable to formulate an acceptance as an apology...she just nods up to the shark to abide by the other man’s wishes. Kisame reluctantly, awkwardly passes her to him, muttering something about not fucking dropping her, and she’s unsure what to do with her own arms in this exchange—

"Come ‘ere."

So Hidan does the actions for her, careful fingers with a ring like dusty dry blood adjusting her hands to loop around his neck and the back of her knees to go over his cloaked arm. The way he looks at her...hooded eyes so close to her own... Geez, it's a bit more believable Kisame is so strong, being so very tall and less human looking. Hidan is just... a guy. But she gives him no problem whatsoever...!

She remembers abruptly how heavy his scythe was. Oh.

…

...

"Okay..." Hidan asks the swordsman after glancing her up and down, "Now what?"

It's Kisame's turn to raise an eyebrow this time. "...What do you mean,” he asks flatly.

"The fuck do you do next?"

Kisame squints so much harder that his actual eyes aren't visible, merely small black gills over a widening grimace. He is starting to regret this pass-off. "You...hold her...?"

"I'll do it, un."

Before Hidan can argue his place, a blonde takes her into his own sure, smooth grasp. Oh dear. He's even smaller than Hidan but picks her up like she's lighter than a kitten...! It shuts her up into pure, unadulterated silence with a stare as big as two dinner plates. "Hey, darling." The artist blinks, smiling still but brow curling, shy girl saying nothing to help alleviate tension. "...What are we carrying you for...?" Deidara inquires.

"That’s what I was asking! Now let her down, okay?"

"Why?” Deidara scoffs at Hidan, backing half a step away as the latter ninja approaches to grab her back. “You were the one holding her, un."

"You didn't ask!"

"...Did I need to?"

"Yes," both fish and Jashinist confirm in aggravated unison.

Ohhh my gosh. Her face hurts from blushing so much, eyes from being so wide. Kisame takes it as his cue and he tentatively steps up, reaching out to take her back from this problem he incidentally started. "Let me...just—...” he stammers, ready to rescue from a social faux pas. “Come here, Takara-hime—"

"Swoop!"

With a flash of black and orange, an unexpected fourth man slips between them and flees, pastel-dressed prize in his arms. He trots away with the speed of a child stealing from a candy store, reaction stagnated by shock just until his long, trailing scarf is out of sight:

“TOBI!”

“TOBI?!”

“TOBI, YOU GODDAMN COCKSUCKER!!!”

The chase begins, a whine at the back of the kidnappee’s throat that wavers with each bounce of his feet. “Heehee!” he laughs, “Takara-chan is mine, mine mine mine!” the jester teases, shit-eating grin surely behind the spiral he wears as he revels in the tight grip lovely fingers make into his clothes. The swift shinobi weaves around one corner of the house, speeding through a pile of leaves which scatter about like Tobi had stepped on coals of a fire, flying sparks and embers that crunch instead of crackle. “If—” he huffs an exaggerated breath, “—They can’t decide who has you—” Breath. Another corner of the house is rounded. “—Then—” Breath. He stomps through a couple-days-old puddle, water droplets splashing cold against her legs. “It’s gonna— be me!”

The thief twists around one more side of the ancient home lined in dead vines like a gold trim only to be caught by surprise. Abrutptly, he stops to a halt, seeing something before his dear Takara-chan can register the new danger.

“Oh?” One...Two...Three. Surrounded!

Kisame is grinning to the left, Hidan is frowning to the right, and a fuming Deidara is directly behind, sliding open the back door with Tobi’s name cursing from the back of the tongue within his head. She’s not even the one running and this is all making the traveler lose her breath. How the hell did they move so fast...?! It’s only been all of, what, ten fucking seconds?!

"Oh— guess you got me!” He's playing, the fellow performer can still tell. Something's up his sleeve. Okay...so what does that mean—? “Catch!"

It means she's not ready for what's next, not all.

“AAAAAAH-!”

The woman screams as she’s tossed unceremoniously up to the clouds, feeling the force of gravity first in the way that her body attempts to break it, climbing up and up and up with the power of his throw. A couple of times on roller coasters have prepared her instincts well: her stomach sinks in anticipation for the rest of her, just as the acceleration slows and the drop is about to begin.

“AAA—” … And she waits for a fall that does not come. “...Oh…?” The first thing in her vision is the bright blue sky in contrast to the vast forest. Wow...what a view. It’s open like she’s high above—

—Oh. Oh Jesus. Is she really two stories up in the air? TOBI?!

A heavy, heavy sigh is heard from an open window nearby, practically behind her ear. It wakes her up to look down, first at the guys staring up at her from the ground, then a bit closer to her own self. Black threads wrap around her body, around from her back and then loop over and over around her legs; it feels as secure as, well, if you somehow warped metal straight out of the flame to a custom fit just for you. The sight of herself is enough to swallow further shrieks, much to the relief of he who has rescued her from such reckless affairs.

Kakuzu leans down, open fist outside the threshold of the window pane with threads weaving out of rips in his skin that keep her in place. Menacingly, his glower rolls down to the ants below. "You...stupid motherfuckers."

"IT WAS TOBI, JACKASS!" Hidan quickly accuses, pointing to the culprit. A growl and a death glare is all it takes for the masked man to whine like a scared puppy. That’s good enough to appease Kakuzu. For now.

Ironically enough, it's his turn in this ridiculous game: "Come on, then..."

The three watch as the woman flies back into the house, a small eek on the back of her tongue and window promptly shut behind her with a slam. A moment of silence, all four men staring up to where she was spirited away.

…

“He’s going to kill you, you know,” Hidan states without any urgency, glancing over to the orange spiral. “He’s kind of famous for that.” And though Tobi fakes shaking in his boots very, very convincingly, everyone else still thinks he’d deserve it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What will become of my dear friend?

Where will his actions lead us then?

Although I'd like to join the crowd

In their enthusiastic cloud

Try as I may, it doesn't last

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What a mess, Kakuzu thinks. He exhales, fully undressed besides a pair of pants, no face covering nor shirt to cover his unnerving stitches. Thanks, Tobi. A small “oof” is muttered as the woman is set down on his bed without a second glance, man himself turning around to retain what little respect he has left. It's an opportunity for the performer to briefly gain her bearings. Kakuzu’s room, she vaguely recalls. Really has been inside it only once— no, not even inside . She’s only seen into it less than a handful of times. Frankly, it’s pretty...ordinary. It’s clean. It at first seems to lack hobbies. No piles of clay, no sword to polish (re-wrap??? Samehada is a stick of bandages, after all), no circle to pray in. But it becomes apparent that what he has instead of things to humor him is...finances. Receipts and bills are nicely organized or are in a pile waiting to be, a bingo book of wanted criminals open that perhaps may promise enough funds to keep this makeshift horrid fucking family alive another day. A couple of briefcases are neatly lined next to his desk, metal and heavy looking as if to transport valuables.

Her head shifts side to side. Grumbling, taking no heed, the treasurer has walked over to his closet in search of attire to make him better suited to be around a lady. He forgets so easily that the strangest thing about him isn't just the stitches but what they lead to on his backside…

"What...?"

Thinking this is about the metal threads, he looks over his shoulder as she finally looks to him and speaks. “They—” he begins. But, oh. Oh, no, it isn’t those her eyes are locked on; the threads have slunk back into his hollowed body already. What he sees, instead, is her pointing squarely at the masks. There's four of them, different animals and colors.

"Are those...attached to you?"

Ah. Right. Damn . He exhales yet again, not moving so she gets a good long look, ogles to her heart's content at the freak he is, get it out of the way. Guess it was inevitable she find out. "Yes." Then he reaches forward, a tank top chosen off the shelf with an open back for these creatures. It’s more comfortable, for one, and for another makes it easier to fight if they don’t have to pop through and ruin a perfectly good shirt. Never can be too prepared. Not too fast as to not scare, he turns his front back around despite his bare chest facing her. She looks so small, somehow, head hunched down and eyes angled up as she sits upon the edge of his own bed. How do they always get off the wrong foot when they don't even try?

"I'm sorry." Because of course she is. There’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

One thing is sure: "Don't be."

A thread drifts away from his bicep like an autonomous, thin tentacle, locking the door just in time to hear the nob shift futility and Hidan knock ever so impatiently to be let in. His head turns sharply, a snarl on his face. She notes how the way his eyes scrunch up is such a common expression above his usual mask; does he always frown like that when they do? "Give the girl ten damn minutes without your nonsense!"

Vague but clearly angry response muddles through the closed door, but Kakuzu's expression stays and so does his order. A moment of silence and gradually the arguing fades, something about promising to be back later. The hunter’s tense brow relaxes and so do the corners of his lips, and red and green eyes stop bulging. In. Out. He catches his breath and turns boiling rage to a simmer. For her sake. Calm down, for her sake.

The stitches on his face move with his cheeks, she can tell from where she grips the edge of the bed; they are, most certainly, not just burns or scars or face paint. His eyes catch hers, a challenge in them that regains a sliver of the anger he managed to beat back, daring her to call him a monster. Unnatural. Hideous. It’s all true, just get it over with. A flash of something else was before that, though, on his face. It's an emotion that feels familiar in her own chest.

Despite his expectations, she reaches out to him, slowly raising her wrist with a begging, upward-facing palm. He doesn't flinch, eyes starting at the woman’s fingertips, trailing up her arm and to her face.

"...What?"

How can she say it? Both palms, now, come back, gesturing together for him to come here. Out of pure confusion and desire to know what the hell she means, Kakuzu simply obeys.

Shaky hands go to the brown arm as he grunts with the unexpected contact, even as her touch is more gentle than he could have imagined. Maybe even especially so. As she sits on his bed, one hand goes under his palm to steady it in place while the other wanders up to explore, both visually and tactilly...

The bounty hunter…has two tattooed bands on his forearm. At first she assumed that's where they come from, but no, the actual stitches are higher up, unmistakable as the source of his eldritch-seeming threads. She traces up to the shoulder, then under his chin. There's even more of these lines on his torso, seen far, far too easily as he hasn’t yet slipped on his top in this unexpected intermission, and she can tell they all lead like train tracks to the masks embedded into his latissimus dorsi. Her eyes consume him, taste him, know him. She's far from the first to witness him like this, in battle or otherwise, and so he ignores the sense of novelty that washes over him and behaves with expectations that are tried and true. Something Kakuzu and his musician have in common is how they’ll insult themselves with the truth before you can turn it against them first.

"...I know. I know what I look like." But she acts like she hasn't . She's seen him before, though, the times she barged in at the peak of midnight...why is it different now?

Sometimes trauma heightens the senses, lets you take in things better than before. The quivering touch of the performer moves to reach further upon his skin, still. In awe, fingertips barely brush against his chest and most unbelievably, he doesn't stop her.

Tears well up on her eyes, which to his surprise turn up to his own instead of staying locked lower down on his ugly, deformed self.

"Does it hurt?"

...That’s not something he's been asked before. IF it hurt, yes, when “it” happened decades ago. If it does when hearts pump out of his back to attack and spew the elements at his enemies. Yes and yes, answers to both as well as if others have been so brave as to inquire directly to the bastard himself. But does he hurt now , merely existing with this curse? It's been so long with the aches stitched into him that he's forgotten, so he searches the numbness under his skin for what the answer may be.

"...Yes," he discovers, despite how it might make her cry. He knows she likes the truth. "...But it's better than before,” Kakuzu softens. In several ways. Better off with than without them. Better off than being fully human. Better off than being dead.

He sits down next to her and unbelievably, after rubbing the saltwater from her face, this woman shifts. Yes, yes, he is not mistaken; this woman now crawls onto his lap.

And he lets her.

All hearts pounding in discordant, unmatched pulses, he lets her. Legs wrap around his side, thighs seated atop his own. She trusts him. Even after everything, even seeing him like this...—? Oh so delicately, with a hesitance that draws her away before curiosity pulls her back in, this soothing lady traces the metal woven into him. The way he is… It reminds her of something. Something distinct. A visceral sort of memory, one from long, long ago…

…Kakuzu notices before she does that his performer is humming.

It's a tune both sweet and melancholy, befitting a creature like her and somehow, too, the way she approaches a beast like him. His gaze softens, lips no longer a stern, stretched line, and he drinks her wonder in. Kakuzu missed the songs that used to always tinge her voice, and this is the first it’s come back since she has come back home to him, even if so, very small.

“...Oh…!” The woman pulls back, somehow both after too long and far too soon, and she...smiles up at him. This…who he is…makes her happy? “...You remind me of...a rag doll.”

…

Dark brown hair drifts past his face as he savors that nickname, elaborates to himself on the implications. He’s been called it before, yeah...usually just before deciding to detach the person by their arteries. How can it seem so... kind from those lips? So adoring…? She has an answer, and it’s silly just like her.

“When I was little…” the performer tries to explain with stilted words, as plainly as she can so as to not confuse, “...I loved a story. It had a rag doll...who...stuffed herself with leaves.”

The Frankenstein's Monster stays silent, does so regardless of if there’s more for her to add. The slightest, softest inhale and the humming begins again...this time closer to the singing the Akatsuki miss, just without words. Down, up, and up...down… Down, up, and up...down… Lovely indeed, whatever it is, even if simple and bouncy. It was, after all, one of the first melodies she memorized on her own volition. Idly, she traces him again, finding a spot just at his collarbone and right at her line of sight. The threads are stiffer than they look, less like woven fabric and more like surgical staples. How do they move with such lithe grace, so little effort?

As she ponderers this question, one of his own springs off Kakuzu's tongue like a diving board.

“...You never sang when you were alive?” To his relief, the humming doesn’t stop; it’s such a piece of her, this melody that she can do it without thinking. A free hand wipes her eye again, and despite the nature of everything, her tiny smile does not waver nor flinch away as she answers.

“...I wanted to,” she murmurs after a moment, voice light and wispy much the same way as she seems next to someone rough like himself. “I wanted to be a singer...a musician…” A guitarist, a keyboard player, a...star. A performer. “I...learned...to stop doing it...just because I felt I had to, and started doing it...for fun by myself.”

Eyes close, and she tries to identify these marks on him with touch alone, tries to narrow down exactly what he feels like skin on skin. Kakuzu wonders if she can feel how his pulse is stronger than one any normal person should have.

“You could have been.” And she is now, he reminds himself. Or at least she will be once this nonsense is said and done and she can get back to a nondescript civilian life. But...she shakes her head.

“Too scared,” the woman says, “Too shy.”

“How do you know that? Did you try?” Perhaps foolish to challenge; the thing she is surest in besides the persistent strength of humanity is the failures of her own making.

“I had the chance...I was offered...to be in a play…” The smile widens, showing teeth and hiding a grimace. “...I was too little and too scared. And I never…”

…

She doesn’t continue that thought.

“Why didn't you try again? You were just a child, right? Children are allowed to be wrong.” But as soon as he says it, he knows this isn’t true. He knows from experience. So does she. A long, painful silence...and then her eyes open. The humming continues, sweet and sad. She reaches up into his hair, delicately, to see if it feels as smooth as it looks.

"She falls in love with someone...who can't see his demise coming,” the woman explains of the rag doll with leaves. His brown hair is silky and soft. “She tries to help. In the end...it gets her in trouble. He realizes she's in danger and saves her." Kakuzu raises a brow, stitches at his mouth exaggerating a purse of his lips.

"What monster pairs with a living rag doll?" And to his surprise, she beams once more:

"A skeleton!"

...Oh. He grunts, his way of chuckling without being so vulnerable as to give off actual mirth, eyes hooding and smirk forming. "I know what you're going to say, Takara...that that’s like us."

The combing stops, big eyes blinking their befuddlement as the curled fingers pull away. "Excuse me?"

...Oh, dammit. She has never even seen Hidan's ritual form, and so Kakuzu feels his face flush at making the connection himself. Goddammit… As if Hidan could ever save him. It's always the other way around...

"Am...am I...a...a skeleton?" she stutters, not getting it.

"No,” he cuts in sharply. Too sharp, in fact— “I mean— ...never mind."

…

The now free hands of the woman fidget index fingers, pressing tip against tip. "There's another character...that's filled with bugs," she adds, as if this is helpful in any way whatsoever.

"…" Kakuzu answers, gaze narrowed and mouth in a straight line.

"I like bugs."

And so he exhales yet-fucking-again. "Takara, you're very fortunate I happen to be tolerant of the dumb shit you say." Hidan owes him for that, too, really.

"Oh." The woman on his lap doesn't need to say: she's sorry. She gets shy and withdrawn and her hands drift even further away. Exasperated, Kakuzu takes them into his own grasp.

"...But it's better than you never talking again."

He can't touch her with his own hands; surely he's too rough, both literally and figuratively. The threads come instead, strange and cold and inhuman. It only makes her remember what it was like to hold him by the fingers, though, as she did once when Kakuzu taught her how to read the stars.

"...Can I ask you something rude?"

What a weird thing to ask. He shrugs, just barely so not to shake her too much up and down as she sits on him. Is this fine? Is she safe so close to him? Is it proper for a man to let her do it? And yet he can’t bring himself to pull them apart. "Alright."

"Why is your skin... so...?"

It isn’t a sigh this time as he releases air from heavy lungs, but a chuckle. You can tell it comes from deep in his chest, even if quiet. "It'd be rude if you ignored it. That's just how I am now."

She blinks again, lashes fluttering. "You weren't... always...?"

"No. I was someone else a long time ago."

"Like me?"

…

He thinks about this, long and hard. This girl does, after all, remind him of who he used to be. So what does that mean of her before? He recalls her mentions of a life before a death, an existence riddled with agony, debt, and servitude. A broken loyalty to a system that felt nothing for her, and waking up to abandon it by any means necessary. …So, perhaps, they have switched lives. Silly boy to serious man. Serious woman to silly girl. Funny how life works out. They both had a death of sorts in between to make it happen, and here they are.

"Sure. Like you, I guess."

"Thank you," she responds inexplicably, despite the implications he sees, an emotion so bright dripping from her mouth like honey from a hive. There isn’t even a blush on her face; with the next action, it’s all whimsy and instinct and no thought whatsoever. It has to be, to be so silly.

The woman leans up and presses a kiss on his forehead, for once bare of the headband marked with his betrayal. A sensation tingles down his own cheeks, down his neck, into the depths of five dark hearts. Despite it all...he feels joy. It makes him tense up. Alas, this is so easy to pick up on with how close they are, and she jerks back immediately, crawling off his lap just as quickly as she got on. Now her face is red.

"Sorry…! I—... Sorry."

Sorry... That’s the right word for giving a guy like him the time of day, the warmth from a sixth blood-pumping organ somehow tied inseparably to his quintet. "It's fine,” he responds in calculation, choosing not to tell her how much he enjoyed it. “Just...be careful who you do that to. Alright?"

Instead of asking why, she simply says, unable to look him in the face: "I'm bad…" And calmly— oh so calmly compared to a moment ago— he retorts, his own voice murmured and already longing for her song.

"I didn't say that."

...

"I meant it,” the taki-nin elaborates, both as a comfort and an admonition. “We're all like this, Takara. ...If not outside like me then on the inside. Keep your wits about you. Save your affection for those who are deserving. It isn’t you that’s wrong, here. If someone has to be called 'bad'…" Childish worldview as it is, to be so black and white, the answer is undeniable. “...It’s us. They threw you, for god’s sake.”

"But...I...—"

"And if you can't," he adds selfishly, and the next is a whisper. "At least be tactful about it." The scariest part about what happens next is that he does, indeed, mull it over before it’s done. The outcomes are considered, the details poured over, and the fool still does exactly as he's warned her of.

A press of his world-weary lips comes from out of nowhere yet arrives so, so gently, just as soon pulling back before she can even tell what's happened. And though he isn’t brimming with sunshine like Takara can, this old man still can’t hide he’s making a silly, silly choice. "...Duckling."

And that’s it. There’s the slightest smirk on his face as he slinks backwards off the bed, visible until Kakuzu turns around and throws the signature cloak of his ilk over leathery-textured shoulders. The traveler gapes, what she thought as her mistake now his confirmation—

“Oi!” another guilty pleasure beckons impatiently behind Kakuzu’s locks. The bounty hunter huffs, allowing the woman one last opportunity to see a widening grin before the mask slips back on.

“Perfect timing.”

Before she knows it, another, paler set of arms come around the performer, Hidan complaining with his chin upon her head of her terrible, unforgivable absence for all of ten minutes. It really is over so very, very quickly. It has to be, lest the choices grow poorer and poorer between a half-naked man and a lady not even back to herself.

But he hums the lonely rag doll’s song back to himself all the same in private the rest of this day, up through dinner, in the bath, hell— maybe even in his sleep. It somehow sounds just fine on his old, gravely tongue as a mind re-walks the life it’s led just to work up to something as stupid and risky as this. Dead leaves fall down past the window where the zombie scooped her into his waiting lap, and he wonders what it would be like to stuff them underneath his patchwork skin.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And will we ever end up together?

No, I think not, it's never to become

For I am not the one

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#kakuzu x reader #hidan x reader #kisame x reader #obito x reader #akatsuki x reader #deidara x reader #aswtn fic #songfic #btw there are hints of hidan x kakuzu and i will evilly elaborate later

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