#chrome console table

[bellisarioo]

Transitional Dining Room Orlando Example of a mid-sized transitional porcelain tile enclosed dining room design with gray walls

[crimsonmuzzle]

Family Room Inspiration for a large, enclosed game room remodel that includes black walls, a wall-mounted tv, and no fireplace

[m-vd]

Hall - Mudroom Mid-sized contemporary entryway idea with a dark wood front door and a brown floor, gray walls, and brown flooring.

[mchaib]

Master Bath - Bathroom Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless master white tile marble floor bathroom remodel with a console sink and gray walls

[waverlyrowan]

Family Room Austin Game room - large enclosed carpeted game room idea with black walls, no fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[allonsyblue]

Family Room Game Room

[ancuninfiles]

Lithium Pt. 5

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

10.1k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: Ronnie must reflect on what Astarion had told her the previous day, while she plays with the strange but somehow fitting gift he gave her.

She's to meet him at the park, and they get up to 🌶️no good🌶️ past the treeline.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Tags: smut, AU modern setting in London UK, mental illness, p in v sex, creampie, semi-public sex, car sex, fingering, darkfic but NOT a dead dove. PLEASE READ FULL TAG LIST ON AO3.

MASTERLIST (Other works and chapters)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (recommended)

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Beginning notes:

I wasn't expecting to finish this chapter so soon, but I fixated on it. This might be the chapter that I'm the most proud of so far :)

This chapter is a whopping 10.1k words.

I can't believe it.

I'm still trying my best to breathe life into Ronnie, but I've been finding it very difficult so bear with me as I periodically go back to previous chapters and tweak her internal thoughts.

I'm BEGGING you to read on AO3 for proper spacing and formatting </3

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐧

꧁꧂

It'd been less than twenty-four hours since she last saw Astarion.

And she'd spent those past twenty-four hours thinking about him.

She laid in bed with her blackout curtains closed, as it was eerily dark outside by this time of night. The lamp inside her bedroom was warm, and tungsten-like. It sat on her reddish, wooden bedside table, and had a ceramic base and an off-white lampshade, stained with specs of blood.

Nag champa incense that Jen had let her take burned on her bedside table, creating a ribbon of smoke that dispersed as it flowed towards her eggshell-white ceiling.

She let herself sink into her navy-blue duvet, wearing headphones and the soft rope Astarion left—tied in a noose—draped loosely around her throat like a pearl necklace as she listened to music.

The rope… it reminded her of him.

All day, she'd been playing with the blue chrome balisong he'd gifted to her, decorated in intricate baroque-esq engravings. It was a real one—sharp as hell, and she was careful not to cut herself on it.

She ran her thumb in a line down the engravings on the handle. The metal was warm from holding it all day, and polished like its maker had put in a great deal of care.

Her lips pulled into a smile, admiring it.

When he'd given it to her, her immediate thought was that it was insensitive of him to gift her a weapon.

—Of all things.

But then, when she actually held it—felt its weight through her arm, and the smoothness of the pins—it felt like home. That was the only way she could explain it.

Something felt familiar about the balisong. 

When Astarion gave it to her, he'd taken it out of its—equally blue—velvet-lined box and given it a toss.

Everything he'd done with the knife should've been impossible to keep track of—with all of his complex tricks—but somehow, Ronnie felt names for each one on the tip of her tongue. She could almost feel the motions in her own hands as she watched him play.

Magnificent, she thought, the way he whipped it around. She couldn't wait to try it herself when he left.

When she did…

Well…

It was automatic—she could whip the blade around just as well, if not better than Astarion had. 

A part of her stirred with worry. Why was she so good at this? 

The only reasonable conclusion was that she'd done it before.

She didn't like that.

But a single consolation made the fact tolerable: Astarion would go mad once he saw her wielding the knife like a seasoned professional.

—Oh—he'll be so proud.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he—being the chaotic little gremlin he was—would be impressed at her skill.

The thought made her blush, and he wasn't even fucking there.

She opened the balisong and clipped its handle together, hugging it to her bare chest. She let her heels slide closer to her bottom, the blanket flitting in their wake.

Her knees came together and she closed her eyes. 

—Astarion…

   —Astarion…

      —Astarion is a vampire.

What a confession that was.

The vampire man—Astarion—had finally given her his number, but he explained that they had to talk in code, just in case his boss saw. Although, he assured her that that wouldn't happen.

The thought of it freaked her out, though, sending a chill down her spine.

—It'd better not happen.

Nevertheless, code or otherwise, she was glad to finally be able to text him.

She’d given him her work schedule, and he said he wanted to meet up with her as much as he could.

—As much as he could.

She wanted that too. Hell, she'd be elated to spend every waking hour with the bloke if it were on the table.

She'd board up all the windows in her flat—whatever it took. 

The bite mark on her neck had been itchy. She tried not to scratch it. She scratched it. It bled more, smearing blood on her fingertips and beneath her nails.

He said she was the first person he'd ever drank from. That his hunger got the best of him, but that it shouldn't have been able to.

…

He described his ties to his boss as some sort of pact, similar to a “deal with the devil”. Theoretically, it was supposed to make him physically incapable of refusing orders.

Drinking the blood of a “thinking creature” went directly against those orders. 

But he tried to run before, and he wasn't supposed to be able to do that, either, as it went against Mr Szarr’s orders. 

When Mr Szarr found him, Astarion was punished severely—he was locked and buried in a coffin for a whole year. 

Without food.

Without blood.

He didn't have time to explain everything. He had to leave Ronnie's flat before the sun came up. 

Astarion doesn't sparkle.

But, up until the moment he left, he’d been very… attentive towards Ronnie. He'd cleaned her up, and gotten her a blanket and water.

And she passed out on the couch when he showered.

The process of being carried to her bed and untied roused her from her sleep.

“See you,” she whispered, half asleep as he tossed the blankets over her.

“See you,” he responded as he walked out of her bedroom.

Ronnie worried that he might get caught. If Mr Szarr could compel him to do anything, could he force the truth out of him?

He said that he and his “siblings” had historically been able to get away with half-truths and redirects. Astarion in particular had somehow refused his compulsions entirely before. 

He wasn't sure why he could, but he said that he “couldn't afford to squander any blessings.”

“I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure that you'd be safe,” he assured her.

He sounded so… genuine. His eyes were dark and serious as he squeezed her thigh over the throw blanket.

“Trust me,” he said.

She wasn't sure yet if trusting him was wise, but intuitively, it felt right. Had he given her any reason to distrust him?

Well…

other than the first day they met, when he lured her there. 

But he wasn’t… he wouldn't do that again.

But it played in the back of her mind—turned her stomach.

It scared her, but… she didn't care because it doesn't matter what happens to her, really. She doesn't have a family, or many friends. Her life… it’s going nowhere. 

What did she have to live for? What if not for the feeling of being held? That felt like something worth living for.

Something worth dying for.

She didn't possess such hubris to deny the inevitability of her kismet.

Death and abandonment were all her cards read. That, or she’d spend the rest of her sorry life working for pennies, living in her musty basement flat, stealing, and getting fucked up. 

She'd probably end up in prison eventually—it astonished her that it hadn't happened yet.

It was inimitable—the way she’d felt in his arms. Not even Jenevelle could make her feel this way. Not ever.

But… she didn't want to kill. Was it not against everything she'd been working so hard to become?

…

But as Astarion said: Mr Szarr owns slaves—kills multiple people a week, himself. Wouldn't it be better to kill him than not? Wouldn't it actually save people? 

—Isn't that justice?

Calling the cops wouldn't work, Astarion was adamant in that—Mr Szarr had been paying them off for decades.

“He must die,” Astarion expressed, as his eyes conveyed a newly surmounted level of intensity. 

This was all too much to process in a single day… especially after they…

That was unexpected.

Maybe it was selfish, or maybe it was self-destructive—hard to tell which.

Was it okay? Her mind raced. He made her feel so… good. But she somehow felt… ugly—ugly on the inside. 

She saw a grotesque, grey pile of sludge, tar, and sticks staring back at her in the mirror of her mind's eye.

That made her feel ugly on the outside, too.

Really, even if Astarion was doing this all as a ruse to lure her and sacrifice her again, she would deserve an end like that.

Dying sounded peaceful.

—Anyways…

She didn't want to think about it—it didn't matter. 

Nothing matters. 

—But other people matter. And keeping them safe.

… But not her.

—Ugh.

Her self-loathing was draining.

When Astarion told her that he was a vampire, she considered whether or not she should believe him. The internet said that vampires aren't real, but she called Jen, and Jen said that she thinks they're real.

Jen not only said that she thinks vampires are real, but also that her family are descendants of lycanthropes. 

It all seemed a bit “woo woo”, but Astarion took a picture of Ronnie's neck with her phone, and showed her the bite marks. 

Then she noticed the blood on his lips.

And it was hot.

It made sense. She’d never seen him in the daytime, his skin was always cool, and his eyes… she had originally thought they were a deep hazel, never having seen him in daylight, but they were red.

So either he was a vampire or she was the most gullible girl in the world.

She was supposed to meet him at one of their designated meeting spots soon.

He texted her earlier. It said: “23-green”, which meant that they would meet at the park near her house at eleven PM.

If he told her to meet her somewhere, she would. 

She realised that about herself.

…

Her own thoughts and feelings were discordant—they were sickeningly overwhelming. 

—It might be a good time to take those anti-anxiety meds.

Ronnie pushed herself upright, her slippers grazing the floor as she moved. Passing by the wall where her bag hung, she idly toyed with her balisong. With a practised flick, she snapped the knife shut and fastened it. The bag came off its hook, the blade slipping inside with a muted thud.

Settling onto the sofa, she leaned into the cushions and began rummaging through her bag. Her fingers sifted through the contents, searching for the medication Astarion had given her too much of that first night.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, shamefully navigating through her crumpled receipts and loose peanuts that littered the bottom of her bag.

Finally acquiring the small orange pill bottle, she read the label for the first time ever. It said: “LORAZEPAM 0.5MG SL—Dissolve 1 tablet under the tongue when needed.”

—Huh…

—Only one…

One to curb the anxiety and five to be completely incapacitated. 

—How many should I take this time?

The bottle rattled as she poured the pills into her hand. They were tiny blue things, with an “A” on one side and “0.5” on the other. It was hard for Ronnie to believe that such a small thing could do so much.

—Maybe just one, she decided.

So she let the spare pills fall back into the bottle and inserted one under her tongue. She closed the bottle with a strong palm, and put it back in her purse.

The flavour this time was almost… sweet—notably less bitter than the last time.

—Good.

She liked the feeling of something so powerful, right beneath her tongue. As if she were changing the will of the gods.

The park was a five-minute walk—she had to leave soon. 

꧁꧂

She left early.

She would not be late this time.

Wearing a long, dark-grey peacoat that billowed open as she moved, she locked her door and ascended the stairs of her building's corridor towards the heavy, metal exit.

She pushed it open with some effort, letting it slam shut behind her, and took long strides between the parked vehicles, crossing the empty street as it glistened with the remnants of a previous storm. The air was thick with the earthy scent of rain-soaked pavement and the subtle hint of ozone, lingering in the tiniest, invisible beads that stuck to her skin.

“Ronnie?” called a rich voice from behind her.

She froze, halfway across the black, rain-slicked street, a smile spreading across her face...

—Astarion.

Stopped in her tracks, she slowly spun on her heels, her eyes locking onto his. She tried to maintain a straight face, but the corner of her lip quirked up, betraying her attempted composure.

He was leaning against her building with his hands in his pockets, smiling with a slight furrow in his brow. He wore a white button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows and black formal trousers.

She took a deep breath. “I thought you wanted to meet me at the park?”

With a fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat, his cool demeanour faltering. “Well… I thought it might be safer if I walked you there.”

When he said that, it felt the same as when he had asked Ronnie, “How are you?”—as if it was his first time ever saying it.

“Right,” Ronnie said, stepping off the street and walking towards him.

She watched her own step up onto the curb, but was stopped by his gesture.

He offered his arm… again.

Her eyes flitted from his arm to his eyes, as if she didn't know what was happening. But she did—she knew he wanted her to take his arm.

And she loved it.

But she couldn't show him just how much she loved it.

He nudged his arm towards her. “Still playing coy, Ronnie?” he smirked.

She loved the way he said her name.

Gritting her teeth, she begrudgingly took his arm. “No.”

She tugged him, and they started walking across the street together.

And she realised that she had walked to him.

—Desperate.

—Fuck.

She was practically dragging him across the street—leading the way—but she forced herself to settle down when they reached the other side, loosening her grip around the back of his elbow and slowing to a more suitable pace.

She glanced up at him, and he had that stupid smile on his face. Again.

“Having fun, are we?” he asked.

“I just wanted to get across the street, and you were too slow,” she said, huffing and looking at the ground ahead as they approached a cobblestone alleyway.

“Oh, yes. Thank you kindly for saving me—your little damsel in distress. What would I do without you?” He laughed.

Ronnie clenched her fists. He was so… annoying.

—Ugh.

She wanted to rip away from him and walk ahead—to make him follow her the rest of the way. But she stayed. And they walked onwards through the dingy alleyway, past a smelly dumpster towards the street over.

Ronnie held her breath until they were far enough from the dumpster. When she finally breathed again, she tried to do so slowly—undramatically.

“So…” she began, gearing up for her question, “How are you able to come and see me if your boss’s rules are so… strict?”

Astarion sighed, pausing for a moment. “My siblings are able to pick up my slack for… this… cause,” he explained.

Ronnie felt the familiar pang of guilt in her stomach. “And by that, you mean they’re… bringing victims to Mr Szarr for you?”

“Instead of me,” he spat. “It's not as if I want him to have any more victims.” His face twisted in misplaced anger.

Ronnie had assumed what his job entailed before, but every time she thought about it, it stirred something pained and uncomfortable within her, almost like the smell of the dumpster. She didn’t want to think about it.

—But maybe talking about it would help.

She pressed more, “Dalyria… is she… having sex with people to lure them like how you did with me?” Ronnie asked.

Astarion stopped on the sidewalk, and, consequently, Ronnie did too.

He walked in front of her, gripping both of her arms at her sides.

She looked up at him, witnessing the subtle intensity in his brow.

“I’m. Sorry.”

Again, he said something as if it was his first time uttering the phrase.

Ronnie tensed her shoulders closer to her ears. He looked… scared.

His grip loosened, and his thumbs rubbed along the front of her arms. He was clearly attempting to soothe her, but it was like he’d forgotten how. He’d been caring and affectionate after their couplings, but outside of that, he was a bit… awkward—like he was trying his very best to keep something contained.

Ronnie wondered what that was.

“Hey—it’s okay.” She bit her lip.

“It was my job to bring you to him,” his words echoed in her memory. “Nobody has ever bested him like that.”

“I—I want to help you.” The words leaked from her. She didn’t know why.

“Just—” don’t leave me when this is all over, she wanted to say but didn’t. Couldn’t.

He wouldn’t lure her there again.

—He doesn’t even want to be there. Ever again.

Closing his eyes, he huffed out an exhale through his nose. He held his arm out for Ronnie again, looking ahead—away from her.

She squeezed and unsqueezed her hands a few times, noticing they were suddenly clammy. Hooking onto his arm, she followed his lead to the park.

꧁꧂

The swings creaked in the cool breeze, their metallic squeaks echoing in the still night. The grass and rocks around the playground glistened with moisture, dark and wet from the earlier rain. Beyond the playground, a dense treeline marked the beginning of a small patch of woods. The sky remained overcast, the stars obscured by clouds.

They walked across the damp ground and paused before the playground, standing side-by-side, the night air filled with the scent of wet earth and foliage.

“So… why did you want to bring me here?” Ronnie asked, her voice tense. She held her breath, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a nervous habit.

“The trees,” Astarion replied, “they make for accessible targets to practice on.” He released her arm and looked down at her. “Did you bring it?”

He hadn’t even asked her to bring it, but—of course—she did. Just more evidence of how embarrassingly obsessed she was with him. And he’d surely pick up on it.

She exhaled sharply. “Yeah, I have it.” Reaching into her bag reluctantly, she grasped the cold metal of the balisong and pulled it out, feeling its familiar weight in her hand.

She wanted to show him what she could do.

“Perfect. Can I see it for a moment?” he asked, extending his hand.

With a hint of reluctance, she placed the weapon in his hand, not saying a word.

While it remained closed, he tossed it a few inches into the air, catching it with ease as if gauging its weight. “Here—come,” he said, gesturing to the trees and beginning to walk towards them.

She hugged herself, though she wasn’t cold.

Following in his footsteps, she did as he asked.

She wanted her knife back.

When they reached the trees, he glanced back to ensure she was watching. Unclipping the balisong, he unfolded it and snapped it open with practised ease.

This time, when he tossed the knife, he threw it higher. It spun in the air before he caught it effortlessly by the hilt.

—I could do that.

He flung it at a tree, it spun on axis and it hit with a satisfying thunk, embedding itself into the wood.

—The poor tree.

“Want to try?” he asked, walking over to pull the knife out.

Easing the balisong free with a careful, vertical wiggle, he inspected the blade for damage.

Seemingly satisfied, he took steps toward her and offered her the blade on his open palm, like he was offering a treat to a bad dog.

Ronnie removed her hands from under her arms and took her balisong back, avoiding his gaze as she dropped her bag on the ground against a nearby tree.

Taking a few steps back from where he'd thrown it, she tossed the knife in the air just as he had, catching it by the hilt.

She hadn’t tried this before, but it felt as natural as breathing. She wasn't scared.

She glanced at him and saw him grinning, arms crossed.

He was looking at her like that again.

Eyes snapping back to the tree in embarrassment, she blushed unbiddenly and steadied herself on her two feet, a bend in her knee.

Inhaling slowly through her mouth, she held her breath.

Exhaling, she flung the balisong… 

And it stuck in the exact spot he'd hit.

And she wasn't scared.

Straightening up, she turned her head to him to gauge his reaction.

His eyes widened, and his arms uncrossed as he stared at the tree. He looked back at Ronnie, cleared his throat into his fist, and painted on a smile—placing his knuckles on his hips. “You've been practising?” he laughed facetiously.

Ronnie made way to the blade-struck tree, freeing it from its peril, just as Astarion had previously. She, too, inspected the blade's tip for any damage, and she was grateful that it remained just as flawless as it'd been before.

“No, I… I just know how to do it.” Ronnie forced a smile. “Retrograde amnesia. Sometimes people forget everything from their past, but retain—uh,” she paused, swinging awkwardly, “certain skills or talents like… playing the piano. And other things, apparently.” Despite her stiff demeanour, her hands shook as she undid the handle and clipped the blade closed. She stared at the balisong in her hand. “Thanks for this, by the way. It was… actually really thoughtful,” she said, holding it tightly. Her eyes flicked back to Astarion, and her lips formed a tight line.

Meeting Astarion was one of the keys to uncovering her past.

She couldn't hide from it anymore—not when it was staring at her like this.

She'd hoped that her paroxysms were only ever a consequence of her “brain injury,” but the knife…

The knife—it changed things.

The knife meant that she'd always been this way, or something like that.

Fresh out of the hospital, she only had a few large scars. Now, she was swarmed with them.

How many people had she killed? How in the hells did she know how to wield this weapon so well?

Were there any other skills she possessed but didn't know about?

She sank to her knees on the pine-needle-covered dirt ground to place her balisong back in her bag. She pushed her palm into the earth and felt the thump of the weapon as it fell to the bottom. She grabbed at the dirt, letting the pine needles poke between her fingers. It felt good.

The wind blew through the trees, shaking raindrops from their branches, and she didn't feel anything except sick.

She heard Astarion crouch beside her.

“Ronnie?”

She wondered if that was her name before.

He brushed her hair behind her ear, and when she looked at him, her vision was blurred by tears.

Her chin was seized by a gentle grip between his thumb and finger.

And she felt the nausea fade away a little bit.

She closed her eyes.

She could stay there forever.

Until she died.

But she felt his breath on her lips, and then his lips.

And they were so soft.

She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want him to go. He made her feel better. He made her feel normal.

Tilting her head, she nudged closer into him, deepening the kiss. 

He let go of her chin and slid his hand under her peacoat, to her back, grasping at the fabric of her shirt like he'd fall right off the earth if he didn't.

She could do anything with her hands, so she chose to hold his head, carding her fingers through his hair on both sides with a thumb in front of either ear.

She breathed through her nose as he pulled at her shirt, lowering her and kissing her into the dirt, his hand flattening under the weight of her ribcage.

Her arms flopped around the back of his neck as he unslotted his hand from her back only to hold her waist while his elbow dug into the dirt beside her. 

He was between her legs, and she wrapped herself around him. It was like nothing else. Nothing had ever made her feel so… safe.

She felt safe like this.

With him.

She broke their kiss. And breathed. And opened her eyes. 

And he was there… 

looking at her.

He was so beautiful.

“Astarion,” she whispered, “thank you.”

His brow tensed again.

—Was he afraid for the same reason?

He tucked his face between her head and shoulder, and she held him tighter.

Allowing himself to collapse onto her, she felt his nose nudge her neck.

He was hungry.

And if she could give him a semblance of what he'd give her, she'd do it. 

“You can drink from me again, Astarion.”

Groaning, he pushed his hips into her core. 

And she held him so close.

“I can't.” he rasped.

Ronnie closed her eyes. “Because of—” Mr Szarr? she held her tongue.

He didn't say anything, he just rocked into her, and she could feel his hardness straining against his trousers as he hid away in the crook of her neck.

“Astarion.”

“I love it when you say my name, Ronnie.”

—How is this real right now?

She released one arm from around him to rummage through her purse beside her, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape as she watched him.

When she found her balisong, her fingers curled around it. “Can you sit up?”

He nodded, pushing himself up and back to sit on his heels, her legs draped over his thighs.

Ronnie pulled the blade from her bag and placed it down in the dirt to shrug off her coat. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and onto the ground behind her.

His hands slid up her thighs, fingers tracing the skin beneath the hem of her loose t-shirt, lingering at the elastic waistband of her leggings.

It was very distracting.

She laid back on her coat and picked up her balisong, unclipping it, opening it, and admiring the detailed engravings on the blade.

It was really her, and that didn't make sense.

She held the blade to her scarred wrist, swiftly slicing a small line close to her hand. Blood immediately began to bead on the surface of her skin.

His expression shifted as he eyed the bleeding cut, restrained and hungry, like when she had bitten her lip. He watched the small droplet raptly as it journeyed over and around the other scars on her arm, trailing downwards towards her elbow.

“For you,” Ronnie whispered, “please.” She held up her wrist, offering herself to him.

He looked at her, seeking reassurance. She nodded, eyes steady, urging him on.

His gaze dropped back to her wrist as he took it in his hand, his thumb pressing into her palm. Their eyes locked as he leaned closer, propping himself up with one hand in the dirt.

She let him take his time, shivering as he kissed the backs of her fingers first.

This made her blood flutter in her veins.

She didn't know what this was—it felt like falling, but it was good, better than any drug she'd ever done.

He closed his eyes, turning her wrist along with his head, placing the flat of his tongue on the tiny trailing droplet. He closed his eyes so tight, as if savouring the taste.

She was entranced, watching him work his way up her arm.

The way he looked—she wanted to taste him, too.

The trees creaked and swayed, moonlight speckling through his curls.

He finally reached her wound, wrapping his lips around it. His groan of pleasure resonated through her.

It tickled, sending shivers down her spine.

She felt his tongue roll on her skin, and his hips roll into her.

He pressed his tongue onto her skin one last time before pulling away, leaving nothing left but the scratch she'd made.

She had stopped bleeding, but she knew it wasn’t enough.

He let go of her wrist, and she started to sit up. “Here,” she murmured, shimmying out from under him.

She stood, looked around, bent down, and grabbed her jacket. She flung it over her shoulder and laid it out beside a tree.

“You can sit with your back against this tree. What do you think?” she asked, her voice soft and inviting, hoping to make him feel comfortable.

He stood up and walked to her. “What have you got planned?” he asked, smiling.

“A treat,” she replied, smiling back and gesturing to the tree with both hands.

He looked at her sceptically but walked over and sat on her coat as she had asked.

Ronnie already started lowering herself to sit between his legs, her back pressed against his chest.

It was as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Ronnie leaned her head back on his shoulder, looking up at him. “I’m here.” She smiled, then looked away, pulling her hair to one side and exposing the bite marks from the night before. “Please—just try.”

She tilted her head for him and closed her eyes.

His arms found their way around her torso, holding her arms to her ribcage.

His breath was shaky, each inhalation expanding his chest against her back. His exhalations blew cool puffs of air against her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

She could feel his hesitation in the way he gripped her, his fingers tracing the marred skin on her arms as if unsure where to rest. The closeness of their bodies made her hyper-aware of every sensation—the lifelessness of his breath, the steady thrum of his strange heartbeat against her spine, the way his chest rose and fell.

“Please,” she whispered, “I trust you.”

His lips brushed against the tender skin of her neck, and she felt a wave of heat wash over her. The anticipation, the tension—it was intoxicating.

He hesitated for a moment longer before pressing his lips to her neck, his mouth lingering over the bite marks from the night before. She gasped softly, feeling a mix of pain and pleasure as his teeth grazed her skin.

His grip tightened around her, his hands finally finding their place as they held her closer. Each breath—each touch—was electric, sending jolts of desire through her.

“Your heart’s not racing, Ronnie. Why not?” he murmured.

—The medication.

“I took one of those little blue pills before we came here,” she said.

“You were scared?” he asked.

“I was… stressed. Just—thinking too much,” 

“About us?”

—Us?

Her cheeks bloomed with blood, the warmth spreading across her face.

“That’s better—quicker,” he noted, his breath cool against her neck.

“Do you like it better like that?” she asked, her voice breathy and trembling.

He pressed his lips to her throat. “It drives me crazy,” he whispered, grazing his fangs along her pulse point. He squeezed her arms, his grip possessive. “Stay very still, darling,” he cooed.

When he sank his fangs into her neck, she winced quietly at first as he held her taut against him.

Winced—at the pain, but it faded into a numb drumming.

It felt like everything.

He groaned again, his breath tickling her throat as he exhaled through his nose.

She tried to stay still, to keep breathing steadily—she wanted to make this easy for him.

His fingertips pulled at the skin on her arms, and she felt him take his first gulp.

She could feel him growing needy—the outline of him, against her back—and she couldn't blame him because she was feeling needy herself, with the way he held her like a vice.

Small grunts of pleasure escaped his chest as he imbibed. The more he drank, the less frantic his grip became, his hands travelling across her torso—one hand searched under her shirt, and the other ventured past her navel, slipping below her waistband.

He moved slowly and carefully, his cool fingers applying pressure to her skin on their journeys. It made it difficult for Ronnie to stay still.

She could feel her heart beating faster than before, each thump echoing in her ears. She wondered if that was why he was teasing her.

The sensation of his touch, the way he drank from her… it was stupefying, overwhelming her senses. His hands explored her body with deliberate slowness, igniting a cascade of sensations that rippled through her most sacred spots.

His one hand moved upwards, under her shirt until he was pulling down her bralette, making her breast fall out. Ronnie gasped—every way he touched her left sparks on her skin. 

He grabbed her mound, and she bit her inner lip, trying not to move or gasp like before—she had to remember to breathe.

But once he had a hold of her breast, his other hand journeyed lower—under her leggings. She parted her legs for him, and when his fingers slotted between her folds, her entire body tensed—his touch was still initially electric on her starved skin.

When he felt how wet she was, he moaned deeply into her claimed neck, and that incited her unbidden squirming further.

He moved through her folds under her tight pants, and dipped two fingers into her, palming her clit. He held her like that—close to him as he hooked into her cunt and latched onto her neck like a feral animal.

She didn't dare move—she needed him to feel comfortable.

But the longer they stayed like that, the more her stomach fluttered and her cheeks burned. She hummed a small moan—she couldn't stop it this time, but he groaned his approval at her noise, rewarding her with a wiggle of his fingers inside of her and a thumb across her nipple, which only made her moan more.

He kept going like that, and her breathing picked up—she didn't know how he expected her to stay still like this. It was torture, truly. Maybe he was evil, after all. 

He pressed his pelvis into her back—it was clear that he was hard.

Something felt different this time—like more than just sex. She thought of his mind and where it might be at, or if he felt the same way at all.

She hopes.

She thinks he does. 

He sometimes held her like this—like he was afraid of losing her. She knew she felt like that—afraid of losing him. Afraid that he'd disappear and she'd be alone again. Alone, and messy, and fucked up.

But she felt okay like this. To feel okay was an anomaly—it never happened, not really.

Not for people like her.

There was always a shadow, following her everywhere she went, casting over everything she did, like a tall building that blocked the sun and consequently stopped the flowers from blooming there.

She felt like her flowers were blooming with him.

And it was stupid.

She was stupid.

But maybe it was okay…

She felt okay.

A soft sigh escaped her as she felt the bristling trees shake themselves dry—a drop, landing on her cheek.

And she realised that things inside her were fading away—all the worst parts being washed off and leaving her pure and… free.

And he was still there…

Pulling his fangs out with a pop and pressing his lips on the wounds he made—like an apology.

He pulled his fingers out, and took his hand out of her shirt just to… hug her. He wrapped his arms around her like before, but much softer this time—like he was okay too.

Ronnie rested on him, and they stayed there, breathing together like they had all the time in the world, or like that was enough.

The clouds were all gone, and the summer air was heavy and humid, leaving a thin layer of it on their stacked bodies. 

If they were out of the city, they might have been able to see the stars, or lay in some tall grass and pick out the constellations.

She shut her eyes, and let her breaths come and go with his now-warmer arms around her.

“Thank you, too,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, and he was looking down at her. His brow was scrunched like he was afraid, again.

Ronnie turned and placed her hand on his chest. And she kissed him, like how he did for her. 

A kiss meant “I'm here”.

She broke the kiss, and gazed down to where her wrist met his chest. For some reason, looking into his eyes felt like too much—as if it made a time bomb start ticking and the only way to stop it was to look away.

She gave his shirt an affectionate scrunch before turning away again. 

They could still see the park through the trees, completely desolate except for the occasional squeak of the swings in the warm breeze. Everything was so dark and quiet—safe.

Ronnie imagined the sounds of people—children playing on the slides, parents chatting at the picnic tables. It hit her that she had never actually been to this park before. She lived so close, yet had only ever walked by.

“How do you feel?” Astarion asked from behind her.

She laughed softly. “Me? Just thinking about this park, wondering if it's always this quiet at night.” She laid her head back on his shoulder.

“Hmm… I suspect we just got lucky.”

Just then, a group of teenagers approached the park, smelling of spliff, laughing and hushing one another.

“Well now. Fun's over,” Astarion said.

Ronnie hung her head, sighed and then came onto her hands and knees to push herself up. She stretched her arms far above her head and then adjusted her bralette so it lay properly. 

With her sneakered feet standing on her coat, she turned and offered a hand to Astarion to help him up.

He stared at her hand for a moment, then took it and pushed himself up.

Every spot his body had touched her lingered. 

They began to walk away, leaving the quiet park and its fleeting serenity behind.

꧁꧂

“Do you remember being a teenager?” Ronnie asked as she walked beside Astarion down the sidewalk, her hands tucked into her peacoat pockets. It was easier that way.

“I—er—honestly, no,” he replied, his hands in his pockets as well.

Maybe he had the same idea.

“I can't remember much of my past—centuries of torment will do that to you.”

“Centuries?” Ronnie didn't know why, but she’d assumed he was younger.

“Two hundred years—give or take a few.”

“So you were here through it all. World War One? And Two?”

“Oh, yes. Work didn't stop for Mr Szarr’s spawn, either. We still had to bring…” His face twisted in disgust. “...bodies back to him.” He smiled sarcastically, turning his head to face Ronnie as they walked. “It's much easier—so to speak—to kill horrid people.” His head turned to watch the pavement in front of him. “People who the world would be better off without. By nature, my sisters are better at luring those… rotters.”

Was that what she was? A rotter?

“Here we are,” he said as they stopped on the sidewalk, between his Hummer and her building's door. “Suppose this is where we part ways.”

The aura between them was thick and heavy.

“Right.” She nodded curtly.

She stood stiffly for a moment, staring at the ground and clenching her clammy fists.

Turning to face the door, she dug in her purse for her keys, but she wasn’t ready to leave yet.

She wanted to stay with him. They still had so much time before sunrise. Still, it didn't feel right for her to pursue this; even if she could be restrained in private, it didn't change her fate.

She felt the balisong in her purse.

She began to turn to thank him again.

But he was already so close—right there.

And then he was on her—on her lips, on her everywhere.

He stole her breath with a hand through her peacoat and under her shirt, splayed out on the small of her back. His other hand carded through her hair, holding her head at the right angle.

Her own hands found purchase anywhere they could on his body with how fervently he kissed. 

His splayed hand changed its goal, as he pulled at the front of her leggings' waistband, causing her to lose footing.

Her body moved instinctively, tugging at his dress shirt to untuck it at the front and undo his leather belt.

But he grabbed her wrist to stop her. And he withdrew from their kiss.

She thought she ruined it—grossed him out, or made him uncomfortable with her eagerness.

But when he said, “My car or your flat?” she thought she might fly out of her body.

“Car,” she said.

Her whole body was becoming all too hot under her peacoat as he pulled her towards the large vehicle by her wrist. He reached into his pocket, grabbed the fob, unlocked the doors, and swung one open.

The vehicle's doors were high, and the fob was tossed somewhere on the floor inside.

With his hands around her ribs, he lifted her like a ballerina into the backseat, and she watched him crawl in gracelessly as she backed away on all fours.

Once he was in, he closed the door and pressed a button to lock it.

Every window was tinted, including the windshield—making things private but not too secluded.

Astarion sat on one heel, with his other leg off the seat, and started unlacing her sneaker.

He removed it quickly, his brow knitted in focus. The other one came off with the same level of ease.

Both sneakers were tossed on the ground and he hastily slotted his fingers under her leggings, pulling them down along with her knickers and socks in one go. The rush to undress filled the vehicle with the constant rustle of fabric.

Ronnie shimmied to sit on her bum and then shook her coat and bag off before lifting off her t-shirt and then her bralette.

Everything was happening non-stop without any time to breathe between beats.

By the time all of her clothes were off, Astarion had already thrown his own shirt on the front seat, slid off his shoes, and he'd begun to unbuckle his belt.

Ronnie thought he was the hottest person she'd ever seen, with his abs wrinkled as he slouched to view his buckle.

He focused on unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, and he stood with one knee on the seat and his foot on the ground as he used his thumbs to pull his formal trousers below his hip bones.

He stood, crouching under the Hummer roof to get the rest of his trousers off—his socks following immediately after.

He was completely naked and his cock was already hard. 

Ronnie lay back on her coat—as she had earlier that night—and parted her knees for him as he stroked himself impatiently. She was already soaking from their mischief in the trees.

He brought two fingers through her folds, slipping them inside and feeling her out for good measure. When he pulled them out, he grabbed the back of her thigh, pushing it back before lining himself up with her seam, fisting his swollen length with urgency.

Once he had the tip in, he let go of his hardness and grabbed at Ronnie’s hips to twirl himself inwards, slowly. 

The stretch felt lurid, and she pulsed around him as he worked his way to her cervix. It didn't take much effort for him to do so, and she knew it wouldn't take much effort for her to cum, either.

“Fuck, Ronnie. You're so tight and warm around me,” he cursed, pulling out almost completely before snapping back in. “And I can almost fit all the way inside of you.”

He began his motions, ebbing and flowing into her.

The inside of her coat was silky—it reminded her of a plush and expensive blanket. She felt like a princess as she jostled on it.

His thumb was already toying with her clit, and the rolls of his hips were sultry and languid—almost matching the rhythm of his thumb.

The car was probably rocking, and the windows were becoming steamy like the lid of a pot of boiling water.

He was gorgeous—his mouth hung open, exposing his fangs as his eyes lay fixed on Ronnie's body; looking from her bouncing tits to their lower entanglement. 

And then finally: her face—her eyes. 

They hadn't truly looked at one another since their coupling in the trees. It stirred something inside her—both her chest and stomach tightened and tingled, as if birds were trying to fly out of her body like it was a cage.

She didn't want to look away, but the gaze between them was no longer playful—there was something behind his eyes that synchronised with her own.

And it was terrifying.

She didn’t deserve this.

She didn't deserve any of this.

Yet he was so good to her.

It felt wrong to question what they meant to one another, but she knew he made her feel a psychotic level of yearning that was a constant effort to quell or quench. It went beyond just the physicality of it all—beyond their ready bodies that so clearly wanted each other.

And she was fitted around him like his formal wear always was. He wasn't even going fast when she came—breathing heavily as her whole body lit up with surges of ecstasy. She had to grab onto the seat to ground herself, scratching at the leather fabric with her short nails.

He rasped a lengthy “Oh” when she fluttered around him. 

Gods, he was so hot.

He kept going as she rode out the tail end of her orgasm, removing his thumb at just the right time—before he started rutting much faster… and harder.

Ronnie's body was tired and limp from her climax, and he looked her over with smouldering eyes. 

Her arms had fallen so that her hands rested lazily on her torso.

He got her body moving almost like liquid—that made it clear he wasn't done with her yet.

The sounds they made were sloppy and uninhibited—Ronnie's coat would surely be a mess by the end of this. It probably already was.

She could feel each push and pull of his hips everywhere inside her, pervasive like dry red wine on her tongue.

With tepid hands, he pushed her knees towards her shoulders by grabbing the backs of her thighs, leaning into her closely—the herbaceous scent of his cologne whelming her.

He drew out his motion. “There we go—all the way in, now,” he cooed, a thrust breaking his sentence.

Once he settled into a rhythm, his movements intensified, growing more vehement and purposeful.

She wanted to hold him. She could hold him. Again.

So she wrapped her forearms around the back of his neck, his skin sticky and glistening as she urged him towards her for a kiss.  He complied, their lips meeting in a messy, fervent lock; all while his hips were relentless.

She could still taste her ichor on him, and smell it lacing his minty breath as their lips, teeth, and tongues fumbled against one another.

When he was done with her lips, he tucked his damp head between her neck and shoulder—the undertones of his scent always perforated her the most when he did that.

He was warmer than she'd ever felt him before, but still cooler than her. Despite his coolness, he still sweated, and he somehow made that look beautiful, too. It was unfair.

She uncrossed her hands and grabbed his shoulders, beginning to slide her fingers down his back. But she felt ridges on his skin—they felt like her scars.

They were scars.

In one swift movement, he pulled away from her, grabbing one of her wrists a bit too tightly at first. 

Her heart skipped at the suddenness, breath catching in her throat and expanding the top of her chest, causing her shoulders to near her ears.

His eyes were wide, almost panicked, his hold firm as if anchoring himself to reality.

Ronnie subconsciously mirrored his expressions as he went. She just knew she did something wrong.

In the subtle intensity of his eyes and brow, Ronnie sensed that fear again.

It was a fleeting expression, but he mustn't have wanted her to feel what she'd felt on his back—his own scars.

His eyes darted away—he wasn't looking at her, but rather somewhere irrelevant as he held her wrist; half zoned out or something.

His pace became offbeat, like he didn't want to be doing this with Ronnie anymore.

She didn't want it if he didn't want it, but that wouldn't change the way she'd never forgive herself for screwing everything up.

It was always too good to be true, anyways. 

“Astarion—” she began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. She didn't want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing.

Now, she was scared.

His eyes snapped to her, intense and searching. He took a deep breath, eyes closing as his thumb traced a comforting path along her wrist before letting her go. “I—” he began, but his words faltered.

And he was still fucking her, each thrust a contradiction—steady, but full of tension. Every motion was a blend of need and hesitation, making it difficult for Ronnie to track his aura.

But her body felt so right—she still couldn’t help but lose her breath each time he went into her again. However, she could almost see the cogs turning in Astarion’s mind, like conflict was carved into every movement.

She remained silent—like no words available to her could bridge the gap. Surely, nothing she could think to say would fix what felt broken between them.

It felt like everything they'd been building together was crashing down in an instant—her hands as the wrecking-ball. All she could do was lay there and take it.

Her heart hammered in the silence—

—Why hasn't he stopped yet?

She kept herself still, her hands withdrawn—since they were the grubby creatures that fucked things up in the first place. 

She fucked things up.

The silence was heavy, punctuated only by their breaths—primarily Ronnie’s—and the lewd, wet sounds of their bodies moving together. His hands anchored him to her, thumbs skimming soothingly over her pelvis—steady, grounding. Like a wordless promise that he was alright. 

Or nearly there.

Then, a small, stuttered whine escaped him as he rocked forward, raw and unfiltered. His eyes opened, sliding slowly from where they were joined.

Up…

Up…

Up her body, until they fixed on her neck, lingering there.

Although discomforting, it made sense. Her neck was a safe spot—far from the intimacy of her eyes, where every glance felt too close, too revealing. It was a place he could focus on, even if her clothes were still on. A place where the only scars were the ones he’d left behind, not the others that marred her skin.

The ones she wished she could erase.

She would rip herself out of her own skin if she could… 

If she could have a pretty body.

But something clicked in him when his gaze met hers.

His movements grew faster and his presence hastily morphed into something needy and desperate.

He leaned in and parted her mouth with a gentle press of his thumb, tasting herself on his skin. He pressed her tongue down, eyes locked on her lips. 

She could feel every ridge of his thumbprint as he drew a line, slipping it in further.  She tried to relax, but her tongue betrayed her, flexing beneath the weight of his touch.

He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed entranced, his thumb pushing against her bottom teeth, inching toward the back of her throat. She felt like a dog being trained—told not to bite, not to act, just to receive. The thought of scaring him away kept her still, though every fibre of her being ached to respond, to give in fully.

On her taste buds, he moved left and right, like he always did when trying to soothe her, his flavour a familiar metallic tang—iron, life, her remnants.

The darkness around them was absolute—an endless void that swallowed everything. But him—he was clear, vivid, a beacon in the dark. It was her blood that reddened his cheeks, a vivid flush that belonged there, like ink sinking into the coarse fibres of parchment.

He could have it. He needed it more than she did, anyway.

If only he knew she'd give it all, would he take it?

He slid further in, pushing to the back of her tongue until his palm rested against her bottom teeth. She struggled not to gag, but he brushed so deeply into her throat that she couldn’t help it. The reflex came, and with it, watery eyes and a hope that he liked this evidence of his effect on her.

His eyes darkened, filled with a focused intensity, as if he were a schoolboy holding a magnifying glass to an anthill, watching her reactions with a mix of curiosity and control.

Retracting his thumb, he used her saliva to trace a slow, deliberate circle around her plump, swollen lips, painting them like a canvas.

Like he needed it.

Ronnie thought she might just die from that—right then and there. The way he looked at her—treated her—like she was the most precious thing in the world… like a shiny diamond ring, gleaming in the dark.

He slid his thumb in again, and she looked up at him, wanting him to proceed as he focused on playing with her mouth.  He parted her mouth wider this time, pulling her jaw down with the firm pressure of his hand beneath her chin. His face inched closer, the air between them charged with the electric hum of anticipation.

And then he kissed her.

He drank her in with a ravenous intensity, his fingers threading through her hair, while the moist imprint of his thumb caressed her cheek with a tenderness that belied the ferocity of his kiss.

Their teeth clashed, breaths mingling as they devoured each other in a frantic, primal exchange. He caught her lower lip with his fang, the sharp edge breaking the skin just enough to draw a bead of blood.

And he sucked on it and growled like a feral and possessive creature. But even as he overtook her, his fingers remained gentle, coaxing, subjugating her with the lightest touch.

And the sounds that rattled out of him were visceral and untamed.

“You make such a mess of me, Ronnie. You—” His voice broke off in a hiss—he was so close.

He parted his glistening torso from hers, reaching down to circle her bud. 

His gaze into her pupils was commanding, a silent order that left no room for hesitation, pulling Ronnie into his desire.

He was… so intoxicatingly beautiful. 

Her body was feeling so much for him.

Too much.

She had to look away.

“Eyes up here, darling,”

And then she was climbing into oblivion as soon as she looked back. 

His crimson gaze… it was like a ship aflame, drifting in the middle of a dark lake.

His hand synchronised with his hips. And with that, he brought her through that burning ship.

Through oblivion.

And he was doing it, too. He was there. With her. Swimming through the heat and darkness.

And then floating down. 

Descending onto Ronnie, and becoming a tangled mix of sweaty limbs—his weight on hers like hydrostatic pressure; it was pervading.

He was in her in so many ways, it felt surreal. 

Like possession. 

He came into her like an omen, and kissed the breath out of her lungs—kissed her face from cheek to cheek. And from cheek to neck.

It felt like worship. He was worshipping her in the back of a fucking Hummer.

She let her hands drape lazily above her head.

His hips pulled from hers and she was left feeling messily revered as he poured out of her—a trail of him.

Their breathless forms, too apathetic to catch up just yet.

His arms hugged under her head, cherishing her and her neck—clearly a spot of interest.

She grinned sadly, her brows canting up. “I'll let you drink all of me one day, Astarion.”

It felt like the ultimate way to atone for what she'd done. Not only to him, but Alfira, and anyone else she'd hurt and forgotten about.

“Don't say that,” he said into her neck. “Then who will be there for me to practise sutures on?”

She didn't deserve this, but the urge to balance how much to truly show took over, causing her mind to revert and her shell to cover her once again.

Ronnie pouted. “Mean.”

Laughing, he sat up. “I mean it. That was fun—playing with my food.” He placed his hand flatly on her stomach, looking there while he stretched out his fingers. Sighing, his grin vanished.  “It's not something I've had the chance to do until—”

Ronnie watched the pain wash over him—twisting in his brow. 

If she could take it away—fold it up into a pill and drink it down until it swelled her brain and stopped her heart—she would.

“Let's get you cleaned up,” he said.

She should've said no—that she would take care of herself so he wouldn't have to deal with the hard parts—but something drove her to accept his offer.

Something selfish and impulsive and stupid.

He led her into her apartment with an arm around her back. Her clothes were slung over her bag strap and she folded her peacoat closed, walking down the corridor stairs, wearing her chucks undone.

Although it happened very fast, everything after that felt like slow-motion.

From her coat and bag dropping to the ground, to him tying her, to the bath they took where her ropes got all wet.

And she could finally see his back while they were in the lavatory… 

Someone had carved intricate rune-like patterns into him. Like a summoning circle, or something of that nature.

She didn't pry. She didn't stare. She just let everything soak into her pores—all the soaps that he scrubbed under her restraints… under candlelight.

Maybe she could wash him, too, one day.

He patted her down, as well as himself, and then changed her ropes with the help of the cuffs on the pole—all within their sanctuary of silence.

In the bed, after all was said and done, they shared her blanket.

Until she woke up to him untying her. And with a kiss to her brow, he was gone.

He always leaves.

It hurts.

꧁꧂

Her dream had been so peaceful, similar to the one she had at the pub. 

She'd been stoking the flames of a woodstove in a cottage she lived in, heating the home for the autumn. Out the window, the tall grass had turned beige, signifying the summer's end as it blew in waves with the breeze.

A kettle whistled on the stove for tea.

“Milady?”

She ended its whistling by opening its spout and removing it from the heat. Then, she poured the steamy water into a ceramic mug, its lip lined with gold.

The water glugged into the mug, turning red from the teabag that floated towards the top.

“Milady? A word, please?”

She grabbed a steel spoon, its handle engraved with a symmetrical floral pattern. The metal clinked against the ceramic as she plopped it in the water.

She turned to her green, vintage-style fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of soy-milk. Pouring it into her tea, she stirred it slowly until the liquid reached the gold.

“Milady!”

Ronnie felt a weak tug at her blankets, waking her from her slumber. 

She strained her sleepy eyes open, her heart racing as she craned her head forward to make out what was in front of her, coated by darkness.

Hastily propping herself on her palms, she flicked on her lamp with a shaky hand at the bulb’s base.

Before her, stood a small man-like creature, only his nose was bony and beak-like, his chin and ears were long and pointed, and his skin was grey—lifeless, like a corpse.

He wore a dated suit, and tophat, standing at Ronnie's bedside, near her feet with his lips stretched into a smile.

“Milady! A most joyous day it is, indeed. At long last, I have found you, oh depraved one!” said the creature, bowing. “Sceleritas Fel—your ever-faithful and adoring butler—at your service.”

꧁꧂

End notes: I hope you liked this chapter! Sorry if the Discord link expires. I believe it only lasts 7 days. :')

[starryficsfinishwen]

[Slight NSFW] love me harder ⋄ chrome one-shot

heaven sent you to me

a.n. // just chrome. and this artwork plus love me harder by ari and the weeknd just gave me ✨inspiration✨ and I promised other PGR character stories but don't worry! will post it very soon mwehehe

pairing // chrome glory x f!commandant reader

c.w. // sexual tension kek. some fluff. in denial chrome. just chrome. reader is wearing a skirt. mutual pining ofc. guess some suggestive parts here too

words // 2,988

For the first time in his life, Chrome was disoriented.

Core captain of Strike Hawk, "Smith" — and many other titles that one could imagine in Babylonia. Chrome was a prodigy, a masterpiece carved to perfection; no problem that would pass him would ever escape his mind.

Yet, there was this one thought that somehow made all the titles he had rendered useless: you.

The esteemed and beloved commandant of Gray Raven. You were supposed to be nothing more but a colleague to him. But since all the missions that fate and the council had brought together...

A sudden banging sound reverberated along the four-cornered walls of Strike Hawk's dormitory, causing the occupants inside to jump in surprise.

❝Captain!❞ Kamui's voice shook Chrome back to reality. Blinking a few times, he drifted to the large cracks of the table before him.

❝Ah,❞ Chrome sighed, sinking back to his chair, ❝Sorry, guys.❞

❝Captain, if the recent missions are bothering you, you should consider taking a break.❞ Wanshi yawned, resting his chin on his propped palm, ❝you seem to be out of place lately.❞

❝Wanshi's right, capt.!❞ Kamui beamed as if a tail was wagging behind him.

❝That's also the fourth time this week.❞ Camu snickers, causing Kamui to nudge him with a mumble.

❝I know,❞ Chrome sighs once more, running a hand over his hair, ❝I'll consider your suggestion, Wanshi. Thank you.❞

❝I guess I'll talk to the commandant again today. I'm sure she wo-❞

Chrome shot up from the chair, attempting to stop Kamui from standing, ❝-don't!❞

However, the hard force of Chrome's hand colliding with the table became the final blow to it falling apart, making Camu holler with a burst of loud laughter. Ridden with a creeping warmth to his cheeks and embarrassment, Chrome covered his face from the rest of the baffled Strike Hawk members.

Wanshi though had a curious expression on his face. ❝Captain, do you not want to see the commandant?❞

❝Of course, I do.❞ Chrome spoke, still looking away, ❝I just. I wish not to disturb the commandant with such trivial matters like these. I can fix this.❞

Kamui, in an attempt to console the laughing Camu, spoke, ❝true, but I always talk to the commandant. In fact, she likes it when she keeps visiting here, y'know.❞

❝Still,❞ Chrome coughs, ❝this is the least we can do for her. She doesn't have to be distracted by us again.❞

❝Hey, capt.,❞ Wanshi pipes, ❝are you sure you don't want to disturb the commandant, or are you just looking for excuses to not see her?❞

Chrome looked up to see Wanshi's signature sleepy expression on his face. Disregarding the familiar warmth tingling his ears, he scoffed, ❝of course not. I'm not avoiding the commandant.❞

❝The other day, when we met the commandant by the hallway, you just passed her instead of waving back at her.❞ Kamui nodded.

❝and you also said you didn't want to see her face.❞ Even Camu finally snapped out of his laughter.

❝It's not like that, you guys!❞ Chrome exasperatedly sighed, ❝I was just busy thinking.❞

❝Everyone here notices, captain. Even the commandant herself,❞ Wanshi shrugs, ❝I think you should at least clear it up with her.❞

But alas, despite Chrome's smart brain, his pride was on another level.

❝I can fix it myself.❞

A master of weapons.

Yet, a jester in fixing things. Chrome feels like a clown, really. Bet a clown has a better life than him right now.

As Chrome puts down the chunk of wood on the table he tried to fix, he can't help but wonder once again. These few weeks were pent-up pressure — especially after the confrontation with the agent. How the missions that made you closer to him, and the feelings he was not supposed to feel kept resurfacing, no matter how many times he's denied it. Were constructs supposed to feel this way? He tries to remember the directions and the basic functions of a construct. Yet, no notable data would pop up.

Was he really having feelings for you, or was his M.I.N.D. overloading?

Chrome was no stranger to these feelings. Other than the books he used to read back when he was human, he has always dreamed of having to love someone, too.

Perhaps it was time for him to call for Lee's help. Or Asimov's. Whichever was suitable for his situation. Yet, as if the universe heard his plea, there was a ring from the front door of their dormitory. Probably from the delivery, thought Chrome. Though, by the time he opens the door, the cold seemed to pool over his feet.

❝Chrome-?❞ your equally confused and surprised expression mirrored his.

The world really had to play a game with him, huh? Despite the raging feeling his chest was digging in his chest, he stepped away to make room for you.

❝Commandant,❞ even trying to level his trembling voice, he tries to welcome you, ❝I'm...really sorry for disturbing you. You must have had a lot of things to do.❞

❝No, it's okay, Chrome.❞ You assured, lightly laughing, ❝I'm not disturbed at all. It's a pleasure to be around you and the rest of the Strike Hawk members anyway...❞

Your gaze drifted to the scene behind you, before looking back at an expectant Chrome. ❝Wanshi, Kamui, and Camu are not around?❞

❝Ah, they said they would be out to training. I guess you can say it'll just be the two of u-❞

Chrome promptly looks back at you, who had an eyebrow raised. Coughing, he looked away from you. ❝-um, don't mind that. Please come inside, commandant.❞

Being the gentleman he is while trying not to be with you , he tries to make you settle well into the room. Serving snacks, giving you water — anything just to keep you entertained.

All the time you tinkered around with the monitors, grateful for Chrome's hospitality, Chrome can't help but look at you. The expertise in everything — despite him being at the same level as him. In fact, he felt more embarrassed though; a mere thing such as fixing a broken table was done by you instead of him.

Unfortunately, you're also now lounging in Chrome's room. Sitting so pretty on his bed, paying attention to your work; and he, admiring you.

❝Chrome,❞ you coughed, finally catching his attention, ❝so, um. Kamui told me you've been occupied lately.❞

❝Yes, I have been. Fa- I mean, Mr. Smith has been keeping tabs on me, and I've decided to take on a lot of tasks to keep me busy.❞ He sat opposite of you, careful not to somehow face you.

❝Busy enough to not talk, I presume?❞ The hint of sarcasm was somehow noticed by Chrome, who sighed in regret.

❝I-I'm sorry, Commandant. It really just slipped my mind.❞ Awkwardly scratching the back of his nape, he looks at you apologetically, ❝I'll try to notice you more.❞

❝It's not that I blame you, Chrome.❞ You reached out to caress his hand, the Captain with his eyes wide open, ❝I'm just worried about you. I think you should ease on the tasks, hm? I think that should stop you from overworking yourself.❞

As you spoke ever so softly and calmly, Chrome, on the other hand, felt a wave of unwelcomed warmth crawling once more on his skin. A myriad of memories prior to switching to his Glory frame also began to replay in his M.I.N.D., making the heat rise to his cheeks.

❝Chrome?❞ You asked, stepping forward to look closely at his reddening face, ❝are you alright? Are you overhea-❞

Before you could touch his face, a sudden jerk on the ground caused the both of you to lose balance — and the both of you tumbling to the floor.

A shake occurred before the lights of the dormitory turned off, switching to the emergency red lights. Your vision fails to return as a cushion was smothered to your face, still not used to the dark.

❝Emergency shutdown commenced.❞ The automated voice blared through the speakers before Celica's voice comes up. ❝Apologies for the sudden power interruption. We'll get it back shortly.❞

❝Chrome,❞ you huffed, ❝you alright?❞

There was no response. You tried looking up, and you were met with dimly glowing, shocked blue eyes. You, then, realize you were on top of the Captain. Chrome, even in the dark, had cheeks burning noticeably with the glow of his eyes.

Unknowingly, the grip you never knew was on your waist was gripping you tightly, ❝u-um...Commandant, are you alright?❞

❝I am, what about you?❞

Chrome sucks in a breath. ❝I should...get you to bed.❞

Chrome remembers how ethereal you were, even in the middle of the haze he was in.

It was a life-and-death situation: a scary, uncertain future if he were to undergo the switching of his new frame. Yet, you were there. How, despite his humanoid sense, your touch felt human. How, in the dim light of the operating table, your soft voice managed to calm him down. How, in the haze and the will of your support and care for him as you kept him in control in his M.I.N.D., greatly affected him in a good way. It was enough to keep him alive, it was enough to let him see another day with you.

Perhaps, that was the day he fell in love with someone — you.

But you deserved someone better than him. Someone that was human. And that's what made Chrome hesitate.

The raging feelings that danced wildly in his chest felt like they wanted to break out as he held your hand. The both of you were sitting at the edge of his bed. You both tried to get out, but unfortunately, even the power source made the door unlockable. The only light source you had was the emergency lights and the glow of his eyes...and the heat of your hand radiating off of his own.

In the first few minutes, you've joked that you would have to use him in evening patrols. It did take a laugh out of him, but now you were both back to zero.

❝I remember that you were scared of the dark.❞ Chrome whispered. You nodded, faintly glad he remembered that trivial information.

❝Yeah. I hate that I can't see a thing.❞

❝Do you still feel uncomfortable? I can brighten up my eyes for you.❞

❝No,❞ you squeezed his hand, ❝I feel completely fine if you held me like this.❞

Though, you were even more uncomfortable with the awkward small talk and in-between silences. You wished nothing more than to make him talk more. And so, determined to make him break the silence, your own heartbeat started to beat loud as you mustered the courage to speak the very question you've been wanting to ask.

❝Chrome, can you please tell me the truth?❞ you began, mouth trembling, ❝I think you've been ignoring me lately. Is something wrong?❞

And again, the Captain is silent. Sighing, you prod on, ❝I don't get if it's your professionalism, but it's not like we're not friends or something. Was it what I said last mission? Did I offend you?❞

❝No-❞ he sighs, ❝-it's nothing like that.❞

❝Yeah? Why are you really ignoring me, then?❞

❝...it's hard to explain.❞ was all he said.

And it made you scoff. At first, you were letting the issue go because you respected his privacy. But now, even his initial reason wasn't that applicable; it seemed like lying.

And so, you let your mouth do all the thinking instead. ❝okay, fine. To be honest, I don't believe you. I mean, why though? I know Asimov has been keeping an eye on you and you're both keeping me out of the true reason.❞

❝Commandant,❞ if you hadn't listened to his voice. then you would have missed the slight growl he made as he spoke of your title.

❝I'm right, isn't it? That Asimov is making you play a little game? That's why you're ignoring me?❞

To be honest, you seem to sound more like a brat at that point, but the bitter words seem to endlessly flow out of your mouth.

❝Honestly, Chrome, that's just low. You may be not one of my constructs but I care for you, too. Asimov's little game won't try to-❞

❝-[Y/N].❞

The next time you blinked, you fell into the bed. Wrists gripped above your head and the ability to talk seemed to disappear as Chrome's face hovers above you, dangerously close.

❝This is why I'm ignoring you.❞

Even in the dark, your eyes were mesmerized by the heat of Chrome's glowing and hungry gaze. Your breath was held in the way he had your hands, and the growing weight between your legs as he settled nicely there.

❝You have no idea how much you've been driving me insane. Whenever our paths meet, you make me feel like this. Whenever you're so close to me, I want to keep you right here in my arms. When I see other people talking to you, I want to take you away from them so that you can only keep your attention to me.❞

A tiny gasp escaped your lips intertwined with his low groan as you felt the lingering touch of his other free hand on your thigh, skirt rising as he lets your legs wrap around his waist. Both of your breathing became labored — the hand that was on your leg had his index now tracing the outline of your jaw, before settling on your bottom lip. His eyes were no longer on your own, instead, they were looking at your lips.

❝You make me want to do things to you like any human would want to do with someone they love.❞ His voice was now a whisper, the heat on your cheeks rising, you feared he'd notice.

❝Like what?❞ You whispered back.

Without a word, his hand was trailing down from your face to the curves of your hips, before easing to rest on your exposed thigh. You breathed a gasp as his touch felt like fire trailing on the light marks his fingers left.

❝You make me want to touch you.❞ He spoke, fingers now rising to trail on your hips, a delicate trace of aimless lines that tickled you, ❝you make me think of things that aren't supposed to be thought of.❞

Now, his fingers are on your stomach, two of them mimicking footsteps as they danced on the surface of your exposed stomach. ❝You make me want to feel you.❞

And now, his hand was back on your cheek, thoroughly cupping yours so gently. His eyes trailed back to your own. The breath you held was exhaled, in time for him to open his mouth.

❝You make me want to kiss you.❞

For what it's worth, you've always liked Chrome. For as long as you can remember.

He was always kind to you, always a gentleman. There was never a time when he was never far from you, or from the times when you've been in trouble. Chrome was always there to save you, to be with you.

Even now, with the weight of him in between your hips, and the proximity of your faces that no breath could escape the both of you as your lips were aching to be touched. You wanted no more than for him to shove himself on your needy lips.

But here we are anyways: speechless. No words could escape your lips and no kiss would happen unless you would try to do something.

But Chrome must have noticed your uncertainty, as he quickly excused himself from your warmth (and frankly, you hated the unknowing cold). His cheeks and ears were of the brightest shade of pink you've ever seen, even in the dim light.

❝C-Comandant.❞ Chrome stuttered, looking anywhere but you, ❝I'm...I really am sorry. That was wrong of me to do that. I will let you stay in my bed, and I'll be by the other room.❞

Was he leaving again? Full of frustration, you sat up and yanked him by the cuffs of his uniform as hard as you can, making him turn to look at you. Forcing your strength to drag him to your seat, you successfully switched positions: him laying on the bed, and you, enclosing him by straddling his hips.

❝Why didn't you do those, then?❞ You glared at him, ❝if you wanted to touch me, feel me, kiss me, or whatever — why didn't you?❞

The surprise in Chrome's glowing eyes gave you a sense of pride. ❝I...I was never sure you would even like that.❞

❝You...❞ the words died in your throat. His hands were now situated at the back of your thighs, squeezing them softly. ❝Then, you should have asked, you idiot.❞

❝Commandant,❞ his voice was now another whisper, ❝I'm not a human. What if I can't satisfy you as another human could?❞

This time, it was your turn to speak. Your hands wandered along the creases of his forehead, to the tip of his nose, the shape of his jaw — the urge, the need to touch was growing impatiently in your stomach and drawing a haze in your head. Especially with his own hands encouranging you in your ministrations.

❝Chrome,❞ you leaned, lips a hair's breadth away from touching his, ❝you just need to love me harder, then.❞

In the next few touches and times, there was no other words to say — only the language of unspoken love and longing for two people.

...except that the lights were finally back on.

❝Yo, captain! You never guess what kind of freaky stu- GAH?!❞

And alas, the poor soul of Kamui, who walked into a new territory, was scarred for life as he witnessed the sneak peek of his captain's private life.

At least, now — for the first time in his life, Chrome understood.

Please don't steal, copy & paste, or repost this elsewhere without credit from me!

extra a.n.: wasn't supposed to include the Kamui part but honestly, it seemed funny lmao

[wolverina2002]

Whittle´s crew

My boy Whittle got a promotion to Sergeant! Here´s he and his proud little squad of batshit insane flightdeck engineers.

Whittle

Our man himself. Enthusiastic, cheerfull, no hesitation to do something crazy with a fighter to achieve the result he wants. Can and will test new fighter updates himself and has a few scars from crashes as a result. The one of his nose is from a sparring accident, though.

Cogs

Serious, detail-oriented, observant. Whittle´s 2IC and the quietest member of the group. Always looking out for mistakes before they escalate - or standing watch against the brass if neccessary. Designated Holder of the mandatory industrial grade Fire Extinguisher.

Ctrl

The slicer and programmer of the squad. Can and has slice just about every fighter console. Thinks the basic programming of Incom and Subpro fighters are flamming heaps of trash and not in a good way. Loves to program flight sims and has dreams to one day write his own game.

Wires

Expert in starfighter engines and can make them do just about anything. The oldest member of the squad and looks the calmest, until you find out the Explosion Statistics. Thinks Whittle has a few loose screws for letting his squad run free, but certainly isn´t going to say anything. The main reason fire extinguishers are mandatory for the squad.

Chrome

Design oriented and with a fascination for historical starfighter designs. Loves to design somewhat impossible things sometimes. Named himself for the Naboo method of covering their ships in chrome, absolutely adores the design style. Wants to one day design something similar.

Wrench

The jokster of the squad. Most likely culprit when there´s once again slime, glitter or a mixture of the two oozing somewhere. Also the youngest in the group and not above abusing that fact to get an extra pudding cup.

Chute

If you want the torpedo or rocket capabilities of your fighter modified, Chute is your guy. Occassionally experiments with making the rockets they´re issued go boom twice as big. Second main reason for the fire extinguisher mandate and banned from proton torpedos by medical orders, citing allergies.

Radio

Coms expert. Weather fudging with frequencies or wiring the actual devices of any size, ask her. The reason Whittle always knows where his squad is and what they´re up to. Thinks GAR coms security is about as useful as pissed on flimsi. Curses more than anyone else and will throw her tools.

Laser

Can, will and has put laser cannons in the most unlikely places. There is no such thing as "enough turrets" for this engineer, or "enough firepower". Pilots fear him. Chute´s batchmate and the third reason for the fire extinguisher policy. Actually the most likely to give Whittle gray hairs.

Ashley Antilles

Fresh graduate from the academy with a degree in hyperdrive engineering. Was not planning on going to war. Is now in a war. Does not like this. Thinks crawling through machinery capable of crushing them, covered in grease and grime, is the best thing in the galaxy. Drinks everyone under the table and actually helped assemble that still everyone pretends doesn´t exist.

[marys-little-cringes]

Let me start with a clean slate Pt.3

Pt.1 - Pt.2

Fandom: Smallville

Relationship: Clark Kent/Lex Luthor

Additional Tags: Bromance, Bromance to Romance, AU, Curtain Fic, Pre-Slash

Summary:

[4s17ep "Onyx"] An alternate ending in which the Lexs didn't reunite, instead Alexander is captured by Lex.

A/N:

I finished watching season 7, I am sad and frustrated. Starting with Belle Reve, it became vital for me that everything would be fine, because I can see perfectly well how everything is f*cked up. This series has become some sort of guide for me to the world where these two have a chance. The thing is, English isn't my native language and this is my first ff in English, so my also not-native-speaker-editor @nigthwingsleftbuttcheek and me did our best.  Anyway feel free to mark my typos or other errors if you find any. I would be most grateful!

Part 3

 Day X fell on Saturday. Clark stayed overnight at the mansion on Friday evening, so as not to waste extra time on the road in the morning. He couldn't sleep. He was tossing and turning on an unusually luxurious bed. He couldn't get the thoughts out of his head — one was worse than the other.

 Clark decided to take a little walk and suddenly found himself at Lex's room. Dim light streamed from under the door, and muffled footsteps could be heard. Clark had an impulse to knock, he gathered his strength for a few minutes, but eventually he didn't dare. He already felt out of place here, but it was at this moment that the feeling became unbearable. It seemed to him that after all the lies he had told, he just didn't deserve Lex's trust. He would have liked to repay him, but instead he felt like the rottenest friend. How could he even consider himself a friend if it was Lex who came to Clark's place, and asked to see him as something more than a way to solve endless problems? Asked him. Clark Kent — such an exemplary and thoroughly positive good Samaritan! Disgusted with himself, Clark returned to the guest room and lay awake all night.

 They had exchanged only a few words all morning — they had unanimously decided to do without breakfast. They spent the whole trip in the car in silence, and in the laboratory, Lex spoke only to the scientists: he asked for something and gave short orders.

 The one who called himself Alexander was already lying in the cell where the merger was planned. He was being brought out of a medically induced coma, still unconscious. Lex went in the same place, lay down on the chrome medical table next to him. Clark stood in the doorway, looking at nothing. He only moved when a voice over the speaker said, 'We're ready to start, Mr. Luthor.' The head of security took him warningly by the shoulder and looked at Lex with a mute question. He just nodded. A strong hand released Clark's shoulder and he approached the table. He searched his head diligently for the right words, but couldn't find any at all.

 “It was a waste you hadn't come in,” Lex told him quietly, smiling with the corners of his lips.

 Kent choked on air. Alexander stirred faintly nearby and he looked at him warily.

 “Hey, Clark?” Lex's hand squeezed his wrist, pulled; the young man bent over him. “Don’t give up on me just yet. Being your friend is the best thing that has happened in my life.”

 “Never.”

 Lex's smile was strained. He released Clark's hand and nodded toward the door.

 “I'm here, Lex, you hear me?” he blurted out a moment before the heavy door cut them off from each other.

 He was lucky: the kryptonite crystal was hidden under a protective casing before the experiment began. And now, thick walls, capable of containing the explosion, protected Clark. He was looking at Lex from above, through the observation window in the control room, the researchers were sitting at the console.

 “Starting the heating, Mr. Luthor,” one of them said into the microphone.

 Clark could clearly see the alarm in Lex's gaze as he glanced into the observation window. The young man put his palms to the glass. Green light flooded the room. Alexander opened his eyes and twitched violently in his binding. He saw Clark too. He grimaced in disdain and muttered something, looking at Lex. At the last moment, before the camera was vanished with a blinding flash, Clark saw Lex's expression change. His stomach clenched. He didn't need to have super hearing to understand exactly what Alexander said.

 Clark recoiled from the window. His first impulse was to run away and never come into Lex's field of vision again. It took all his restraint to overcome this impulse and give himself at least a minute to find out what would happen next.

 He tuned in his hearing. The door to the cell opened.

 “What— Where am I?” Lex asked weakly.

 “Mr. Luthor, you are in the special department of the LuthorCorp Research Laboratory,” the researcher spoke up. “You are here of your own free will…”

 Clark listened, as Lex was getting re-briefed.

 “What do you remember, Mr. Luthor?”

 “I don't know. Everything is fragmentary, like pieces of a dream. My last clear memory is of me in the laboratory, looking at the results of an experiment on seeds…”

 Clark was thinking hard about what he should do now. The instinct of self-preservation in Jonathan Kent's voice screamed at him to run and not look back. At the same moment, Lex's face was in front of his eyes, and Clark could still feel Lex's hand gripping his wrist. His feet carried him down the stairs by themselves.

 “Clark?” Lex said, discouraged, when he saw a tall figure standing in the doorway.

 He got off the table, staggered. The researcher who was measuring his blood pressure took him by the elbow, but Lex pulled free and stepped forward, leaning on the table with his free hand.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “You asked me to be here when they put you back together,” the young man grinned awkwardly. “So here I am.”

 Lex stared at him unblinkingly for what seemed like an eternity. Clark caught himself thinking cravenly, “Isn't it too late to escape?” but then Lex unfroze.

 “Thanks,” he said and smiled.

***

 Lex disappeared from the radar after that day. Of course, Clark had plenty to do without him. Smallville can't save itself from meteor freaks, after all. Studying, the Torch, and working on the farm also took up enough time. And yet, Clark felt that he was really missing him by the end of the second week. Chloe couldn't get enough of the fact that he finally stopped spending all his time with Luthor.

Leaving the school, Kent, out of habit, took a cursory glance at the parking lot where Lex often waited for him. He looked around without much hope and suddenly stood rooted to the spot, several students bumped into him. Chloe, enthusiastically talking about plans for a new article, stopped too and followed his gaze, and then rolled her eyes. Justifying her bleak expectations, Clark muttered something like, “Chloe, I'll... uh... see you tomorrow, right?” and, without an answer, hurried to the parking lot, where Lex Luthor was standing next to another senselessly expensive (in Chloe's opinion) car.

 “Lex, hey! How are you?”

 “Hello, Clark,” he nodded. “Well, it seems that losing my memory is becoming another bad habit of mine.”

 “You still don't remember anything, do you?” Clark hoped he didn't sound too worried.

 “Nothing coherent, no. But I spent a lot of time looking at the CCTV footage in the mansion.”

 Clark petrified.

 “You have surveillance cameras?”

 “A recent, but already proven investment of mine. By the way, that's exactly the reason I'm here. Will you ride with me?”

 “M-my truck—” Clark stammered.

 “—Will be delivered wherever you say, if you just hand over the keys.”

 The figure of Lex's guard appeared next to Clark. Taking the keys out of his pocket, Clark almost dropped them of his trembling fingers. He got into Lex's car, staring in front of him in a daze. Lex, as if nothing had happened, put on his glasses, started the engine, and, screeching with wheels, his car abruptly flew out of the parking lot.

 “Clark, I couldn't help but notice,” Luthor began, and the young man shrank into his seat, ready to break through the door at any moment and run away at superspeed, “that you and I have spent a lot, I would even say an unusually long time together over the past month. This is also consistent with the testimony of my staff.”

 “What are you talking about, Lex?” Kent was genuinely surprised. “I hope you don't want me to reimburse you for the losses to LuthorCorp for the time you spent with me?” he laughed nervously.

 Lex smiled.

 “I don't expect your father would approve of the fact that you were literally enslaved to the Luthors. I don't know how else you're going to cover my losses. But I can't help but agree that I really should have been saving my business instead of going to cinemas and concerts. The thing is I just wanted to find out what happened between us. There are surprisingly many mentions of you in my diary for the next month.”

 Clark struggled to hold back a sigh of relief and filled Lex in as much detail as he could.

 “So, that's it?” Lex asked for some reason.

 “What else?” Clark was a little bit baffled.

 He suddenly noticed something very strange. He could have sworn that Lex closes his eyes for a second and exhales in relief.

 “I just want to be sure that at least on one side the gap in my memories will be filled completely,” he said calmly. “So… Coffee?”

There's more where this came from: Too sweet

[designonglass]

Best Living Room Mirrors and Modern Bathroom Designs for Small Spaces

When it comes to decorating your living room and modern bathroom in small spaces, mirrors can be a great addition to enhance the overall aesthetic and functionality. Mirrors not only add a touch of elegance and style to a room but also create an illusion of more space and light, making the area feel larger and more inviting. In this article, we will explore some of the best living room mirrors and modern bathroom designs that are perfect for small spaces.

Living Room Mirrors:

Wall Mirror: A wall mirror is a classic choice for decorating a living room. It can be placed above a console table or fireplace to create a focal point in the room. Choose a large, ornate mirror for a traditional look or a sleek, modern mirror for a contemporary feel. Additionally, opt for a mirror with a decorative frame to add a touch of sophistication to your living room decor.

Mirror Decor Ideas for Living Room: -Create a gallery wall of mirrors in different sizes and shapes to add visual interest to the space. -Hang a mirror behind a light source, such as a lamp or candle, to create a warm and inviting glow. -Place a floor-length mirror against a wall to make the room feel larger and brighter. -Mix and match mirrors with other wall art and decor pieces to create a stylish and personalized look.

Modern Bathroom Designs for Small Bathrooms:

Floating Vanity: In small bathrooms, a floating vanity can help create the illusion of more space by giving the room a clean and seamless look. Opt for a sleek and minimalistic design with built-in storage to maximize functionality while saving space. Additionally, consider installing a wall-mounted faucet to further enhance the modern aesthetic of the bathroom.

Glass Shower Enclosure: A glass shower enclosure is a great choice for small bathrooms as it visually expands the space and allows natural light to flow through, making the room feel brighter and more spacious. Choose frameless or semi-frameless glass for a clean and contemporary look that will elevate the overall design of your bathroom.

Compact Fixtures: When selecting fixtures for a small bathroom, opt for compact and space-saving options to maximize efficiency and functionality. Consider a wall-mounted toilet, pedestal sink, or corner shower to free up floor space and create a more open and airy atmosphere. Additionally, choose sleek and modern fixtures in chrome or matte black finishes for a sophisticated touch.

In conclusion, mirrors and modern design elements can transform the look and feel of your living room and bathroom in small spaces. By incorporating the best living room mirrors and modern bathroom designs, you can create a stylish and functional environment that maximizes space and aesthetics. Whether you opt for a wall mirror in your living room or a glass shower enclosure in your bathroom, these design ideas will help you make the most of your small space and create a beautiful and inviting home.

[homedesignmodern]

Y2K Aesthetic: A Nostalgic Trip Down Memory Lane

The Y2K aesthetic, a revival of the late 1990s and early 2000s pop culture, has made a comeback in recent years. This nostalgic trend has influenced various aspects of fashion, music, and technology, and it's now making its mark on home design. Y2K home decor blends elements of futuristic minimalism, vibrant colors, and playful patterns, creating a unique and eye-catching aesthetic.

Key Elements of Y2K Aesthetic

Bold Colors: Vibrant colors like hot pink, neon green, and electric blue are essential elements of the Y2K aesthetic. These colors create a sense of energy and excitement.

Futuristic Elements: Incorporate futuristic elements like chrome accents, geometric shapes, and sleek lines. Think of sci-fi movies and video games for inspiration.

Playful Patterns: Experiment with playful patterns like tie-dye, animal print, and polka dots. These patterns add a fun and whimsical touch to the space.

Nostalgia: Embrace nostalgic elements like retro furniture, vintage toys, and old-school technology. These items can create a sense of nostalgia and evoke fond memories of the past.

Minimalism: While Y2K aesthetic often involves bold colors and patterns, it also emphasizes minimalism. Keep your space clean and uncluttered to avoid overwhelming the senses.

Incorporating Y2K Aesthetic into Your Home

Color Blocking: Use bold color blocking to create a visually striking effect. Paint walls in different colors or use colorful furniture and accessories.

Retro Furniture: Incorporate retro furniture pieces like bean bags, bubble chairs, and acrylic furniture. These pieces add a nostalgic touch and create a fun and playful atmosphere.

Neon Lights: Neon lights are a signature element of Y2K aesthetic. Use neon signs, neon lamps, or neon-colored light bulbs to create a vibrant and energetic atmosphere.

Vintage Technology: Display vintage technology like old-school computers, boomboxes, and video game consoles. These items can serve as decorative pieces and spark conversations.

Graphic Patterns: Use graphic patterns like checkerboard, plaid, or herringbone for wallpaper, flooring, or textiles. These patterns add a playful and energetic touch to the space.

Y2K Aesthetic in Different Rooms

Living Room: Create a Y2K-inspired living room with a colorful sofa, a retro coffee table, and neon lights. Add vintage video game consoles or a boombox for a nostalgic touch.

Bedroom: Paint the walls in a bold color like hot pink or neon green. Decorate with retro bedding, vintage posters, and neon lights.

Kitchen: Use colorful kitchenware and appliances to create a vibrant and playful kitchen. Consider adding a retro-style refrigerator or a neon light fixture.

Balancing Y2K Aesthetic

While Y2K aesthetic is about embracing bold colors and patterns, it's important to maintain a sense of balance. Too much of a good thing can be overwhelming. Consider using neutral colors for the base of your design and then adding pops of color with accessories or accent pieces.

Conclusion

Y2K aesthetic offers a fun and playful way to decorate your home. By incorporating bold colors, futuristic elements, and nostalgic touches, you can create a unique and stylish space that reflects your personality. Whether you're a fan of the 90s or simply looking for a new design trend to try, Y2K aesthetic is sure to inspire you.

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Creating a contemporary living room with ARV Furniture can bring a modern, sleek feel to your home. Here’s a guide to help you craft the perfect space:

1. Choose Neutral Colors Palette: Start with neutral tones such as white, beige, gray, or black for your walls and large furniture pieces like sofas. ARV’s leather or fabric sofas in these shades can serve as an excellent foundation. Accent Colors: Incorporate bold accents like navy blue, emerald green, or mustard in your décor—throw pillows, rugs, or wall art. 2. Sleek Furniture Sofa Options: Look for clean-lined, minimalist sofas from ARV Furniture, such as click-clack sofas or low-profile sectionals. Upholstery in neutral shades or subtle textures works well in contemporary spaces. Coffee Tables: Opt for glass or metal coffee tables with geometric shapes. ARV might have glass or chrome-finished options, which can add a polished look. Storage Solutions: Contemporary style favors clutter-free spaces, so incorporate sleek storage like console tables or floating shelves from ARV. 3. Open Space and Light Layout: Keep the layout open, and avoid overcrowding with too much furniture. Choose multifunctional pieces, such as a sofa with storage or a modular sectional. Lighting: Add sleek, modern lighting like floor lamps with metal finishes. ARV Furniture might offer some LED lighting options that can complement the space, possibly similar to your LED upholstered bed but for the living room. 4. Textures and Materials Mix Textures: Combine textures like smooth leather, soft fabrics, or even some polished metal or wood accents. A glossy coffee table or side table can contrast nicely with fabric sofas. Rugs and Throws: Layer rugs with a subtle pattern or texture, and add throws or cushions to balance comfort and style. 5. Minimalist Décor Art and Décor: Opt for large statement pieces of art or minimalist sculptures. ARV might offer some stylish décor pieces that can help maintain that clean, modern vibe. Mirrors: Strategically place mirrors to reflect light and make the room feel more open. Look for ones with metal or sleek wooden frames. 6. Tech Integration Media Center: Use sleek media consoles or wall-mounted units from ARV to organize your entertainment system. Conceal cords and opt for a minimalist design.

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Maximize Light and Space with Chic Glass Furniture

In modern home design, maximizing natural light and creating an open, airy atmosphere are key trends. One of the best ways to achieve this is through the strategic use of glass furniture. Whether it’s sleek glass tables, elegant shelving units, or minimalist desks, glass furniture not only enhances the aesthetic of any room but also makes spaces appear larger and more inviting. If you're looking to transform your home with stylish and functional pieces, consider sourcing from a reputable Glass Manufacturer in Dubai, known for creating high-quality, durable glass furniture that adds sophistication to any interior.

1. The Illusion of Space

One of the main advantages of glass furniture is its ability to create the illusion of space. Unlike bulky wooden or metal furniture, glass pieces blend seamlessly into their surroundings, allowing light to pass through and giving rooms a more open feel. This is especially beneficial for smaller spaces such as apartments or cozy living areas. A glass coffee table or dining set can make a compact space feel less cluttered while still providing functionality and elegance.

2. Natural Light Enhancement

Glass furniture plays a crucial role in enhancing the natural light in your home. Because glass is transparent, it reflects and amplifies light, making rooms appear brighter and more welcoming. Whether you're placing a glass dining table in your kitchen or a glass desk in your home office, these pieces help distribute natural light throughout the room, creating a warm and vibrant environment. In spaces that lack abundant natural light, glass furniture can still work wonders by helping artificial light bounce around, further illuminating the area.

3. Chic and Contemporary Aesthetic

For those who appreciate minimalist or contemporary design, glass furniture offers a chic and stylish solution. Its clean lines and transparent surfaces add a modern touch to any room, making it ideal for both residential and commercial spaces. From glass console tables in entryways to glass shelves in living rooms, these pieces exude sophistication and can easily complement various interior styles. Pairing glass furniture with other materials, such as wood or metal, can also create a visually interesting contrast, adding depth to your decor.

4. Versatility in Design

Glass furniture is incredibly versatile and comes in a variety of designs to suit different tastes. Whether you prefer clear glass for a subtle look or tinted glass for a bolder statement, the options are endless. Many pieces are designed with metal or wood accents, blending traditional elements with modern glass features. From minimalist coffee tables with chrome legs to intricate glass dining sets with wooden bases, there’s a wide range of styles to choose from that fit both contemporary and classic decor.

5. Durability and Maintenance

Contrary to popular belief, glass furniture is durable and long-lasting when sourced from a reputable manufacturer. Tempered glass, which is often used in furniture, is designed to be stronger and more resistant to shattering than regular glass. Additionally, maintaining glass furniture is relatively easy. A quick wipe with a glass cleaner will keep your pieces looking pristine, ensuring they maintain their chic appearance for years to come.

6. Showcasing Your Decor

One of the unique benefits of glass furniture is its ability to showcase other elements of your interior decor. Glass tables and shelves allow the eye to focus on the items displayed around them, such as decorative vases, artwork, or area rugs. This makes glass furniture an ideal choice for those who want to highlight specific design elements in their home without overpowering them with bulky furniture.

7. Glass Furniture for Every Room

Glass furniture isn’t limited to just living rooms and dining areas; it can be used effectively in almost every part of the home. In bedrooms, glass bedside tables can offer a touch of elegance without crowding the space. In home offices, glass desks create a clean and professional environment, while in bathrooms, glass shelving units provide functional storage that doesn’t visually weigh down the room. Whether you're redecorating a single room or your entire home, glass furniture offers endless possibilities for customization.

8. Sustainability and Eco-Friendliness

Choosing glass furniture can also be an environmentally friendly decision. Glass is a sustainable material that can be recycled, making it a great choice for eco-conscious homeowners. Many Glass Manufacturers prioritize sustainability in their production processes, offering products that not only elevate your interior design but also contribute to a greener planet.

9. Combining Glass with Other Materials

For a truly unique design, glass furniture can be paired with other materials to create a stunning visual impact. Combining glass with wood can add warmth to a space, while pairing it with metal can create a sleek, industrial look. The transparency of glass allows these combinations to stand out, adding depth and texture to your decor. For instance, a glass dining table with a wooden base can bring both modern and rustic elements into your dining room, creating a balanced and harmonious atmosphere.

10. Customizing Glass Furniture for Your Space

Many homeowners opt for custom glass furniture to suit their specific space requirements and design preferences. Whether you’re looking for a custom-sized glass dining table or a unique glass shelving unit, working with a skilled glass manufacturer allows you to create pieces that perfectly fit your home. Customization also ensures that your furniture reflects your personal style, making your space truly one-of-a-kind.

In conclusion, glass furniture offers the perfect blend of style, functionality, and versatility, making it an excellent choice for those looking to maximize light and space in their homes. With designs that suit both modern and traditional interiors, glass pieces can transform any room into a bright and open haven. Whether you're searching for a chic glass dining table or elegant glass shelves, finding the right pieces from a reliable i ensures top quality and craftsmanship.

For homeowners looking to blend glass with other materials, working with a Sheet Metal Supplier in Dubai can further enhance your decor by adding sleek and modern metal accents to your furniture. Together, glass and metal create a striking combination that can elevate the style of any room.

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