Character/Pairing: Yamamoto Takeshi, Chrome Dokuro.
Annoyed, she swung open the door. A quiet gasp escaped her lips, both hands rising to contain it.
Standing in the doorway, he grinned, a bar of chocolate dangling from his teeth. As this prevented him from speaking, he tipped his wide-tipped fedora hat. His tie was loosened, shirt disheveled and half-untucked from his pants - a flush high on his cheekbones.
She took it all in one glance.
He closed one eye sheepishly.
And was promptly nearly bowled over as she leapt at him in a crushing hug.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered fiercely.
The chocolate slipped. His arms rose to catch her, eyes widening, “W-wait, are you crying?”
Drawing back, she thumped a hand upon his chest. He barely noticed, eyes wide as she continued with uncharacteristic anger, ” How dare you ask that, how do you think I’d feel, you disappearing for half a month or so - and then turning up like - like this!” and she jabbed her tiny hand at him, as if his mere existence was an offence.
Chrome, when mad, didn’t look particularly intimidating with her narrowed one eye and thin pouting lips drawn in a frown - but he knew otherwise. As she drew back fully to cross her arms, eyebrows raised in expectation; all he could say was -
“H-happy Valentine’s Day?”
Characters: Chrome Dokuro, Sasugawa Kyoko, Miura Haru, I-Pin, Bianchi.
The tip of a white shoe stepped out to the room, followed by a flowing trail of silk and lace. She had let down her long purple hair and a simple amethyst tear-shaped pendant hung from her lace collar to dangle between her delicate collarbones, slim shoulders laid bare.
But that was not the reason for the audible gasps that rang through the hallway.
“Chrome-chan!” both her bridemaids rushed up to her, eyes round ; Kyoko and and Haru half-held their mouths in surprise. “Y-your eye!”
The young woman only smiled at them. The third and youngest bridesmaid stepped after her, also smiling - I-pin, the maid-of-honour and only one not asked to step out for just a moment in the midst of her bridal preparations.
Chrome let out a laugh, quiet, serene, the sound of tinkling bells. “It’s only an illusion,” she tapped the side of her face, her eyes crinkling in mirth - both her eyes, two eyes of similar round shape, deepening purple shades and ringed irises. It looked odd, seeing her face so… full after all the years they’d known her with an eyepatch usually dominating the left half of her face.
The for today went unsaid, a single gold band glinting on her finger.
“You look beautiful,” the last member – beautiful, long-haired Bianchi - commented. She stepped off from the wall where she’d been leaning against to observe the action, and striding forward, touched her cheek with fondness.
Coming from the elder woman, whom she’d so admired, Chrome blushed. Her fingers were cool to the touch, in it she read the unspoken
He better be worth it.
It was a threat, it was protectiveness and she appreciated it all the more.
More reassuring than her own returning touch to the arm then were the soft smiles of both bride and groom later as, ceremony finished, they stepped out into the golden sunlight and falling flower-petals.
Hands twined together, there was only sheer bliss writ all over their features.
She can’t be a maiden without the Flower. -Cheza, wolves.
They do not make it obvious but there is a very tangible rift between them - or rather, “her” and “them.”
They are the wolves, she is the Flower Maiden - and with that simple fact, they become more and more distant.
They travel in a pack, fierce and strong, whilst she is small, fragile, fleeting, alone.
At their first meeting, there was awe but a sense of familiarity; and so they approached with easy cordiality and filial reassurance. One thoughtfully covered her with a fur coat, the other competed with sturdy bloom-coloured boots.
It flattered and pleased her, they were so welcoming, warm.
But as the journey went on, her beauty (their purpose) began to enamour them -
paradise - paradise - paradise -
and unconsciously they were pushed apart, so there were different names and specifications between them - the wolves and the Lunar Flower Maiden -
the key to Paradise -
They would not touch her, perhaps Kiba, maybe Tsume – but it was with reverence, when they wanted to protect that vital thing –
she will take us to Paradise –
When she cried, they sat and guarded and watched and became saddened. They would not, could not put an arm around her, comfort her, stop her tears: they did not think to. To them, there was an obvious line between them: status, order, a line not to be crossed. The Moon Maiden’s tears were not to be trifled with –
we will go to Paradise –
They wondered and were pained by the sadness of her cries – but she was higher than them and so they did not interfere, placing importance even on that.
They did not realize she had begun to regard them as family –
I’m not leaving her! –
For whom else would she sacrifice herself so freely and so lacking in hesitance as she walked straight into danger’s path, back into the hands of those who would so cruelly use her –
I’ll be waiting –
Blood staining the snow, a flower withered –
See you in Paradise –
Characters/Pairings: Suboshi, Miaka Yuki
He hates her voice, chattering non-stop, going on and on and on. It is high-pitched, shrill, with not one iota of calm or maturity -
as he steps forward, wobbling, bloody.
She’s no longer talking as she catches his fall, cushions his head in her lap; her sobs broken, dry and rasping - hiccupping horribly as if she’s choking in each breathe.
Now she’s whispering his name, again and again, chanting it desperately like a sacred mantra.
Closing his eyes, he decides - just this once, he likes it.
It’s still nothing compared to his brother’s flute, of course.
Characters/Pairings: Chrome Dokuro, Sawada Tsuna, I-pin and Lambo.
His face is pale, blood drained from it to highlight the very slight hollows beneath his straining eyes and the cheekbones finally emerging from rounded puppyfat. His voice is filled with mock-horror as he intones,
“This is a conspiracy.”
She can only shrug helplessly at the tenth mafia don, sticking safely to the shadows as two tiny kids – a growing Chinese assassin and Italian Mafioso but still – run circles around his seated body, screaming cheerfully as they continually wrap – restrain - him in ribbons, trailing the seemingly innocuous material behind them like little streamers.
His face, just before similarly disappearing beneath the coloured cloth, promises retaliation as soon as he’s free again.
Chrome decides to make herself scarce for the next few hours.
Characters/Pairings: Chrome Dokuro, Basil.
She is used to shades of mud, the most common of her nationality’s eyes – she an exception with her violent ones - so she is surprised to meet his. There are two of them – rather than Mukuro-sama’s singular one – and that broadens their intensity, coupled with the richness of their colour.
She compares them to the ocean, a casual thoughtless murmur slipping from her lips without realization - and he laughs, not of malice or mocking of her perhaps naiveté but a good-nature one, faintly surprised.
His eyes sparkle just so as the light hits them and she can tell he is very flattered by such an assessment.
She smiles back.
Characters/Pairings: Chrome Dokuro, Rokudo Mukuro. TYL.
Even if her heart is breaking, the least she can do but watch.
“Look, Chrome,” her master says, commands, a whimsical smile on his lips as she indeed does so.
He had played the jester’s part to perfection, entertaining kings and queens whilst secretly plotting behind their backs, bringing about the demise and destruction with a few well-chosen words in the guise of joking suggestions and sits back to revel in the bloodied madness.
“Watch, Chrome,” he says softly, and there is nothing else she can do.
Characters/Pairings: Chrome Dokuro/Nagi, her mother, the Kokuyos.
It’s an image that’s layered on top of eachother againandagainandagain-
Before she’d almost-died, she’d never seen her mother’s face, only heard those few choice words, absolutely refusing her very existence –
“no one would want that child anyway”
And now, all she has left are worn clothes crumpled carelessly where her treasured uniform once lay and an impersonal note that simply instructs –
Those turned backs that she could never reach.
Characters/Pairing: Neliel tu Odelschwanck/Ulquiorra Cifer. Pre-war.
His chest is so empty, hollow, bared for all to see.
She feels a faint sense of morbidity as she trails her hand down his jaw, his throat, his collarbones - her fingers slipping as his skin tapers off and dipping ever so slightly into that small circular hole.
As if someone had punched the heart right out of him.
Though she cannot feel it herself (throbbing, pulsating, red-blood-pumping), she like to imagine one beating within her own chest, concealed as it is with her generous flesh and high-necked wraparound top.
His fingers are long and spindly, bone-white as they peel the pale cloth away; each faint brush against her more tanned skin makes her chest rise, her non-existent breath hitch and tremble; never mind her ample bust, her ribs themself feel barely a barrier against his wandering hands.
Cool, soft and gentle, there’s still a sense of deliberation, carefulness to his hands, his spidery digits. There’s also the blank curiosity in his wide green orbs as they lower, then press firmly to the dimpled small of her back and she arches, lets out an audibly gasp-
and she decides it’ll be fine.
She will just have to have enough heart for the both of them.
Characters/Pairings: Nagi. Pre-series.
It all comes down to this, with her damaged eyes – eye – gazing sightlessly into an ironically clear blue sky and the bright red blood dribbling from her lips.
The noise around her is chaotic staccato that filters soothingly through the previous silence of her life – screams, shouts, gasps, sobs -
It’s strange that, with her innards mangled in her chest and spilling out into the road, this is the closest she’s ever felt to feel so alive.
Characters/Pairing:Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers.
She wakes to an arm curled around her. For a moment, she is disoriented what happened - where am I and then she is focused where’s my poison lipstick - I’ll finish the job –
But then she stops.
The air is distinctively clear, calm, clean; all she can smell is the very faint scent of laundry detergent and fresh soap on human skin. Pale sunlight filters through airy curtains to land on cotton sheets that are spotless, dry, pale blue - childish - she notes. It is also wrapped comfortably, securely around her. It’s strange and decidedly domestic. The arm is respectful too - not crushing her to a naked chest or groping her breast - but just loosely draped across her camisole-clothed waist.
Oh. They’re both dressed too. The arm in particular is clad in soft off-white material, sleeves pushed to elbow and leading, she guesses, to a button-up shirt. For a moment, she is caught in amusement. Pyjamas? The chest behind her, solid, warm, moves and then there’s an exhale, breathe rustling the crimson curls beneath her ear. Full clarity hits, finally, a moment later.
The voice is a mumble, a pleasing low tenor against her shoulder. Blue eyes peer at her, heavily lidded, familiar. Tousled blonde hair and sleepy-sweet smile, he looks like a child, she thinks absently. Without a word, she simply settles closer, pulling his arm tighter about her. He presses a chaste kiss to her lightly tousled hair in response.
Unbidden, the corner of her lips tilts. It’s genuine, unfamiliar.
She’d long forgotten the other uses of a bed until now.
Characters: Chrome Dokuro. TYL, post-Arcebaleno arc.
Cool hands slid in front of her eyes - never mind the fact one was already covered in an eyepatch - and warm breathe whispered past her ear, “guess who.”
She wondered why, of all people, he had chosen to stick to her. Perhaps it was because he could no longer goad a reaction from her old master - and she really was just as good a substitute as any. Sighing, she whipped around, her trident already forming in her hands. This time, her movement was less hindered as she’d cut a second slit up the side of her knee-length pencil skirt.
He had jerked back, laughing slightly, and now floated in the air in a sitting position, arms crossed and small wings fluttering. “Why, Chrome-chan, I’d think you weren’t pleased to see me!” he half-teased.
Sure enough, her consternation was showing in her face as her cheeks reddened, thin eyebrows drawn down. It must have been just her imagination that his eyes had flickered to her bare legs then.
Chraracters: TYL!Chrome Dokuro, TYE!I-Pin.
“Ipin-chan?” she called out.
The little round-headed doll-like person tottering down the street a few feet from her turned around. It took a few moments but she did recognize her, eyes thin and narrow, her round head tilting to one side.
Chrome was confused. Why was her friend suddenly her five year old self?
Kneeling down carefully - for she was in a knee-length pencil skirt and heels - and tucking her legs beneath her, she held out her arms slightly. “Ipin-chan?” she asked again, gently.
The little Chinese girl seemed pleasantly surprised by the gesture as, after a moment’s pause, she ran forward to return it. Her thin lips curved into a smile.
Ah, she must have come from a time before she’d befriended her, the thirteen-year old her.
At the tiny, warm hands grasping her own, barely the size of it, the now twenty-three year old woman resisted a fond laugh.
Explanations (and the meeting she herself had just been heading for) be damned, for the young Ipin had been just so unbearably adorable.
Lifting up her best friend - if a bit de-aged - she smiled.
“Do you want to go get some ice cream, Ipin-chan?”
Character/Pairing: Byakuran Gesso, Chrome Dokuro.
Chrome wasn’t quite sure to make of this.
Dancing in front of her seemed to be a pint-sized version of one of her youth’s terrors. It appeared to be dressed only in red-striped pants, a bell and cat ears, and was pirouetting whilst perched atop a blue- striped balloon.
Hesitantly, she spoke. “…Byakuran-san?”
It responded by finishing its catchy ringtone-like song with a flourish: “-ran-ran-ran - BYAKURAN!” And it posed with its arms spread, hand curled like paws, and balancing on one leg.
Confused by the ensuing silence, instead of the applause it seemed to be expecting (Chrome admitted she did kind of half-wanted to), the little catlike thing looked up and cocked its head. “Nyaaaa?”
Hardly believing her own daring, she prodded it with a finger.
It immediately latched on.
Ignoring the wonderfully chewy time it seemed to be having (its tiny fangs hardly left pricks), she concluded it wasn’t really that harmful.
Stretching out her other hand, she began to pet it.
She was used to stranger things things anyway.
And, she couldn’t help but smile at the purrs vibrating through her palm, he was kind of cute.
Pairing:Yamamoto Takeshi/Chrome Dokuro.
“I’m not cool,” the young black-haired man slumped against the sofa, blankets bunched around his waist and body half-hanging precariously from the edge, admitted with a moan.
Chrome, perched upon the armrest of the sofa across him, only lifted an eyebrow. She was clearly not impressed with his antics.
Reaching up to push her hair behind her ear, she dabbed one last time at the dark soda stain upon her pale lace top. Regarding him quietly, she had to let a tiny small cross her lips. “It was a good first date.”
By the way his self-pitying moans had ceased and the stillness of his body, she knew he was listening intently. She exhaled and shook her head, shoulder-length locks swaying about her face. Her smile was tangible in her voice.
“You don’t have to try so hard, Takeshi.”