[ 10. ]

Once again, a Merry Christmas to all of you lovely readers. I'm so sorry for my disappearance.
I think it's become rather obvious that I tend to pop up during periods where I'm away from school haha.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this little thing I whipped up out of boredom.
I've been having issues with keeping my tenses constant, but please keep in mind that some tense abnormalities are deliberate.
Please shoot me, I don't know how to write properly ;A;

(okay yeah it's actually a cheesy piece of work)

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

there are ten central reasons - in no particular order - as to why Ino loves Deidara;

1. Because his lips tasted like no other. Her lips had touched many pairs; some were coated with sugar, others were dashed with alcohol, and the rare ones always seemed to have left traces of cigarette smoke lingering at the roof of her mouth. His were neither sweet nor acrid. They taste weird, almost like clay. She kind of likes it.

2. Because his passion defined her attraction. The vitality that tinges his voice and the fervor that crosses his curled lips at the slightest mention of art never seizes to bewilder her. Yet, she always finds herself tantalizingly lost within his spiral of words as he rambles about his art - the beauty in its transient existence, the flair of the detonation, blah blah blah. She's never interested in what he's actually talking about, nor persuaded by his outlook of art, but the infectious zeal that courses through him is far too contagious for her to ignore. It entrances her every single time. (He's also just a tad sexier when he's talking about it too).

3. Because he was a bastard. She never hesitates to admit that 'bad boys' were always her type, much to his resentment.

4. Because he made her mad. He always has something up his sleeve to keep her thoughts red with fury. Mostly, it's him trying to summon her murderous side through a series of slurs and unremitting cockiness. Every twenty four hours that rolls by, he looks for an excuse to make her angry, and she doesn't want to admit that he's successful everyday. The worst of it, the day she cried and sniffed and whimpered, was the day she had realized her heart was mad for him.

5. Because their bodies molded one another perfectly. She is petite, albeit voluptuous and - let's be modest - sizable in her chestful region. He is small, slender, but toned with a light layer of muscle. She'd always believed that brawny and muscular guys were most compatible with her frame, but she was proven wrong the first time his naked body pressed, touched, and interwove with her own. Laying together, matted with a light coat of sweat, their structures fit each other like perfection, and never would she like it any other way.

6. Because he always reminded her of her beauty. Well, he never says it. But whenever her eyes rove past his princely contours and she admires his fine face, she's reminded that they bear a resemblance, and that his strikingness denotes hers as well.

7. Because hell wasn't as bad with him beside her. When the sharp ridges of rocks punctures her spine in the midst of her slumber, or the fear of being slaughtered by the other Akatsuki draws frost from her breath, she feels nothing but anguish as if the world is crumbling beneath her. She wants to kick and cry and scream whenever they make her bones snap, whenever her muscles are shredded, or the tip of a kunai is sunk into her tender abdomen. She wants to give up and succumb to the hardened reality of having no escape from her blackened fate. But he's always there, either snoring right next to her on the dusty earth, or giving her hand a simple squeeze (and lick). He's there with her, snorting at her fragility, cussing at the others, and gently aiding her wounds. He's there, and she knows she'll survive through hell as long as he's there with her.

8. Because he was undeniably hot. Even a simple smirk was enough to schedule a day's worth of - usually steamy - fantasies.

9. Because she liked playing with his hair. She never forgets the feeling of his golden tresses falling effortlessly between the lines of her fingers, almost as if the softest of silk had brushed against her delicate skin. Devoid of tangles and ample in luster, she combs through his mane with her small hands everyday, and it continually leaves his cheeks swept with a violent flush of crimson as he barks in opposition.

10. Because she knew that he loved her too. Regardless of his abnormal manner of expressing it.