#birthday neon signs

[creativeneonsign123]

Creative Neon Sign

Creative Neon Sign At Creative Neon Sign, we believe that every business deserves to make a bold statement. That’s why we offer the finest custom neon sign services in Queens, NY. Our team of skilled artisans and designers is dedicated to turning your vision into a vibrant reality.

Neon signs have long been a staple of advertising and artistic expression. They possess a unique ability to capture attention and leave a lasting impression on anyone who sees them. With our expertise and passion for creativity, we can help you harness the power of neon to showcase your brand or personal message in a stunning and captivating way.

[fancyloveavenue]

5 Easy & Affordable Ways to Decorate Your Home for Any Special Occasion

When there’s a special occasion on the horizon, decorating your home can make it feel magical without spending more. You don’t need to hire professionals or break the bank to transform your space into something festive and inviting. With a little creativity and some budget-friendly ideas, you can make your home stand out and feel special for any celebration. Let me walk you through some easy and inexpensive ways to do it.

1. DIY Decorations: Let Your Creativity Shine

You’d be amazed at how much a little DIY can do. Making your own decorations saves money and adds a personal touch to your home.

Think of simple ideas like paper garlands, bunting, or handmade flowers. You can use cheap materials like colored paper, tissue paper, or fabric scraps you already have. If you have kids, this could be a fun project for them too.

Another idea is to repurpose things you already have. Empty glass jars can be turned into candle holders or vases. Add some ribbon, lace, or string lights for a cozy, festive vibe.

With DIY, the possibilities are endless—just let your creativity flow!

2. Custom Neon Signs: A Statement Piece

Have you ever thought about custom neon signs? They’re perfect for adding a bit of modern glow to your decor.You can pick it for a birthday party, anniversary, or even a festive holiday. These neon signs instantly make a space feel special.

You can personalise the message to suit the occasion—maybe a cheerful “Happy Birthday!” or even a simple “Celebrate” in a fun font. What I love about neon signs is that they’re not just decorations for one day. You can keep them up as a stylish feature in your home even after the occasion.

Sparky Neon offer a wide range of customisable options, so you can choose something that fits your theme and budget. It’s not as expensive as you might think, and the best part? You don’t need to worry about storage—they look great all year round!

3. Rearrange What You Already Have

Now, this might sound too simple to be effective, but trust me, a little rearranging can completely transform a space.

Start by decluttering and clearing out anything that doesn’t fit the occasion. Then, move furniture around to create an open and inviting area, especially if you’re hosting guests.

You can also bring out your “special occasion” items—maybe that fancy tablecloth, candles, or a few extra cushions. Rearranging doesn’t cost a thing, and it allows you to highlight different areas of your home for the celebration.

Sometimes, less is more, and simply refreshing what you already own can make all the difference.

4. String Lights for a Warm Glow

There’s something about string lights that instantly makes a room feel magical. They’re versatile, affordable, and easy to set up.

Drape them around windows, across walls, or even weave them through your DIY decorations. If you have an outdoor space, string lights can transform a garden or balcony into a cosy, twinkling haven.

You don’t need to buy anything fancy—simple fairy lights or warm LED string lights work beautifully. You could also experiment with battery-powered options if you don’t want cords everywhere.

The soft, warm glow of string lights creates an ambience that’s perfect for any celebration, no matter the occasion.

5. Flowers and Greenery: Nature’s Touch

Adding fresh flowers or greenery to your space is one of the easiest ways to decorate. You don’t even need to spend a lot—wildflowers, leaves, or branches from your garden can work just as well as store-bought bouquets.

Arrange them in vases, jars, or even teapots for a charming, rustic look. If fresh flowers aren’t an option, you can use artificial ones, which can be reused for future events.

Another idea is to create a small centrepiece for your dining or coffee table. Add candles, fairy lights, or a bit of ribbon to the arrangement, and it will feel effortlessly elegant.

Flowers and greenery add life to a space and help tie everything together, making your home feel fresh and festive.

Final Thoughts

Decorating your home for a special occasion doesn’t have to be expensive. With a little creativity and effort, you can create a cozy, welcoming, and festive space.

Start by trying some DIY projects to add a personal touch, and consider adding a statement piece like a custom neon signs, it’s a stylish, versatile choice. Rearrange your furniture, add some string lights for a magical glow, and finish off with some flowers or plants to bring in a touch of nature.

The best part? These ideas don’t just help you save money—they make your home feel unique to you. So go ahead, try these tips, and enjoy celebrating in a space that feels as special as the occasion!

[psykopaths]

[our-lady-of-mcr]

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[neonluminositysigns]

Happy Birthday Neon Lights

Design Your Custom Happy Birthday Neon Lights!

Mark your special day with our radiant 'Happy Birthday' neon sign. Tailored to elevate any birthday celebration, this sign shines with a festive spirit.

Perfect for party decor or as a memorable gift. Crafted for longevity and brilliance.

[neoneoworld1]

Happy Birthday Neon Signs from Neo Neo World may provide a brilliant touch to birthday festivities. Select from a wide range of patterns and hues to fit the birthday person's interests and disposition. With our exquisitely crafted neon signs, you can add an additional, unique touch to every occasion.

[thewinter-eden]

That Your Man?

images are mine (except middle LK pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Apparently all the ATE pcs are my inspo this time.

part 2 of my skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: mugger!Minho holds you and your bf up in an empty parking lot one night, ready to give you the old ‘your money or your life’ routine, but when your bf pushes you into the line of fire so he can run away, Minho has second thoughts.

warnings: Fear, Minho has a gun, attempted mugging (obv), asshole bf, rude Minho, scared but defeated reader, Minho's kinda soft but he ain't gonna admit it, language, satire, unrealistic robbery, unrealistic Minho, food-related insecurity, nerve/muscle/twitch-related insecurity, hurt/comfort, Minho’s a softie but also a criminal coffee.

Comment and reblogs appreciated!

word count: 4k

series info PART 2 INFO

“Shit, babe, don’t cry.” Your boyfriend pulls you off to the side, a playful laugh on his lips as he uses your scarf to wipe your face. It’s a brand new scarf—he just gave it to you for your birthday, and some of the fibers stick to your face. “It’s just a movie.” He crouches low to your face, diminishing his own height more than necessary in a way that makes you feel so small.

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, and you do your best to pull yourself together. This is not at all how you thought this would go. Crying in front of him is one of the less enjoyable ways to spend an evening, particularly when he’s in a diminutive mood, as he is right now. You’re both standing outside the theater, huddled together in the glow of the neon sign, while people pass you by with the scent of popcorn and chocolate on their clothes.

“Sorry,” You laugh at yourself. It’s easier to deal with him laughing at you when you’re already laughing at yourself. The movie was a biopic on a musician you’ve always loved, and the final scenes had been comprised of the last footage taken of them before their death. You didn’t mean to cry through the credits, but here you are, sniffling into your new scarf.

“Aww, that’s okay, babe.” Your boyfriend coos, and gives your arm a squeeze. He’d thought the movie was ‘sensationalist crap.’ “You wanna grab food? We can get whatever takeout you want.”

That’s how you found yourself crossing the dark parking lot towards McDonalds, Jake’s debit card in hand for his half of the bill. You hadn’t really wanted crappy fast food for your birthday dinner, but while you had been considering your options, Jake had caught sight of the famous golden arches gleaming across the lot.

He couldn’t go with you to collect the food, of course. He had a work call to make and would rather sit in the heat of his car than walk through the cold as he did.

This behavior isn’t new.

You’re used to it.

You’re independent, you can handle being left to your own devices.

And his work calls are boring as hell to listen to, anyway, so why not make the most of the situation and take a walk?

It’s even starting to snow.

It’s a beautiful night for a walk.

As you turn your face to the sky to catch fresh snowflakes on the tip of your nose, you hear running footsteps behind you. “Babe!” Jake’s voice pants.

You turn to find him fighting the slick of the icy parking lot to catch up with you. He’s laughing, rolling his eyes at himself, waving his wallet at you. “I totally forgot.”

You open your arms to catch him as he comes skittering into reach, shiny black shoes nearly slipping out from under him. His long limbs flail briefly before settling against you, his weight thrown against your hip to keep himself upright.

He’s got his earpiece in, his phone clutched in one hand, the word ‘conference’ rolling across the info line. His side of the call is muted so he can speak to you.

You thread your fingers through his jacket, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, but he’s too busy digging through his wallet to receive it. Your lips glance off his chin and are left cold and unsatisfied.

This is also normal. You’ve stopped letting it sting.

“Here.” He plucks his debit card from your hand and replaces it with another. “Use my work card for my half. I can technically write this off as an expense since I’m working.” He gestures to his phone significantly and then pinches your cheek fondly. “Thanks babe. Love you.”

Derision swirls in your gut, but you fight it down. “Love you too.”

But he’s already checked out of the conversation. His eyes float somewhere above your head, listening to whomever is speaking on his call. A twinge of annoyance twists his lips.

Deciding to leave him to his work, you turn on your heel and continue your jilted jaunt to McDonalds, only to run smack into someone in the otherwise empty parking lot.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You pull yourself away from the man you’ve just plowed into, looking for his face past the blackness of his hood and face mask to gauge how much you might have just pissed him off.

Because that’s just what you need—getting chewed out by a stranger in the cold.

“Babe?” Jake’s voice wonders behind you. “You okay?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because you’ve just seen it.

Poking through the folds of the stranger’s dark jacket, the muzzle gleaming in the light of the street lamps, and pointing straight at you, is the barrel of a handgun.

You’re frozen.

The man steps closer and you see his eyes then, narrow and focused. They meet your gaze for an instant, flickering with some unreadable thought, and then settle just over your shoulder. He’s sizing up your boyfriend, still silent as the night.

“Babe, answer me, are you—holy shit.” Jake is standing next to you then, his searching gaze landing on the gun, and his hand grips your arm.

You’re mentally going through your options, working your way through potential scenarios.

Most likely, it’s your average mugging.

Probably nothing like the time you and your nephew gathered up all of his tiny plastic play kitchen mugs and pelted them at your brother, all while shouting “You’re being mugged!” Great fun for a six-year-old, probably not so much for this man.

He’ll take your phones and your wallets, maybe even your car keys, but he probably won’t shoot anybody. He just wants quick cash, maybe for drugs or rent, and he’s probably not interested in being a wanted murderer.

He looks too old to be a teenager, and he’s rock solid, calm and collected, which comforts you. He’s not a stupid kid, and he’s not totally strung out. You might just be lucky enough to rely on some rational decision making.

While you’re thinking your way through your chances of surviving, Jake is erupting into panic next to you.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. This isn’t happening. Oh my god.” His hold on your arm is like a vice, clenching around your muscle with more than enough strength to bruise. Half of you wants to pry his fingers off before they splinter the bone, the other half wants to hide behind him and pretend this isn’t happening.

“Calm down.” The stranger scolds your boyfriend coolly, but he’s cut off.

“Oh my god, please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I have an electric car, just take it.” And then Jake’s scrambling through his pockets, while the stranger’s eyes further narrow into slits.

His gaze darts to you, where you’re still frozen.

“Take it easy, Romeo,” The stranger takes a step closer, an action that completely spooks Jake.

Your boyfriend lets out a wail of terror and promptly dives behind you, his hands hurling you forward. You scream, your body colliding with solid warmth. In the next second he’s gone, bolting back across the parking lot towards his car.

You hardly notice the flash of headlights or the screech of tires as he squeals out onto the street, because your boyfriend’s actions have just launched you directly into the arms of the man who’s trying to mug you.

The stranger had caught you by reflex, his gun now jammed forcefully into your ribs, and you definitely hadn’t accounted for this scenario.

There’s a rush of grunts and tangled limbs and skidding shoes as you shove yourself away from him, your eyes wide, lungs gasping, but the stranger is staring in the direction that Jake just drove off in.

“Shit,” He mutters in disbelief, and finally turns back to you.

You’re still petrified, terrified, abandoned.

Where are you gonna go now? Hoof it to McDonalds and hope the bigger, stronger man doesn’t catch you before you get there?

Well.

Then again.

Might be your best option.

But then the stranger reaches behind himself and tucks the gun into his waistband, bringing his now empty hands back into view. In a second, he’s knocked his hood back and tugged his mask down, revealing shocks of fluffy brown hair and the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. He hooks a thumb back towards the street. “That your man?”

It’s enough to open the floodgates.

You burst into tears, so relieved that you’re no longer at gunpoint, terrified because you’re alone with the man who tried to mug you (did he even get the chance?), pissed and hurt because your boyfriend shoved you into the arms of a gunman, confused because the gunman is now speaking casually to you.

It’s a lot.

At your sudden explosion of emotion, the man leans back on his heels, sighing at you. This isn’t how he expected the altercation to go, but now that he’s left in the whirlwind aftermath of your nightmare boyfriend saving his own ass, all he can do is stare as you dissolve into a puddle of tears.

Through sobs, which you barely manage to hide in your scarf, you squint up at him past the falling snow. “What do you want? Are you robbing me?” You might as well ask—what is he gonna do, shoot you?

After a few seconds of pensive silence, the man steps forward with a nod. You flinch backwards, but he just lifts his empty hand, palm up. “Yeah, I am. Give me the card he just gave you.”

You blink, tears momentarily paused. “The card?”

He nods towards where your hand is still clenched around the company credit card. “Yeah I heard all that ‘pay for my half with the work card’ bullshit. I saw that lame-o pathetic kiss, too. He’s a real winner. Gimme.”

His fingers crook at you expectantly, and you’re so tense that you jump and immediately pass the card over. He tucks it into his pocket, and then cocks his head oddly at your scarf. “What is that fucking monstrosity and why are you wearing it with the tag still on it?”

He doesn’t know what to do, either. None of his victims have ever sacrificed their girlfriends to him before; admittedly at a loss, he decides to play it by ear. You haven’t called the cops yet, so he still has some time to see where this goes.

More confused than ever, your eyes fall to the bright orange and blue felt scarf, and realize that there is in fact a tag sticking out of one of the folds. Before you can take a closer look at it, the stranger’s hand snaps out and plucks the scarf off your neck. A rush of cold air chills your skin where the fabric once was.

He’s…stealing your scarf?

“Hey, wait—” You argue, and then freeze when his challenging eyes snap back up to you. “That was a birthday present, please don’t take it.”

He holds up the tag, a neon green discount marker from a local thrift store. “Who gave it to you? Because—”

You snatch the scarf back, humiliated. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” You can’t believe you just yanked something out of the hands of the man with the gun.

He gazes at you for a long moment, hands jammed in his pockets. He doesn’t know much about you, except for the fact that you handle duress better than your boyfriend does, but he did overhear the company card conversation which suggested you were expected to pay for your own dinner while your boyfriend wasn’t even willing to pay for his own, and that you were sent to collect dinner by yourself, and, now, that your birthday gift had been a horrendous piece of second hand garbage that—by the looks of your clothes—isn’t your style at all.

“Your boyfriend got you a thrifted scarf for your birthday.” He repeats blandly.

You sniffle, putting a few more feet of distance between you. “He knows I like cozy things.” There’s not much you can say to defend Jake at this point, but you can’t take any more degradation right now.

“Tell me he got you something better last year.” The stranger scoffs.

You scowl at him. “Aren’t you robbing me?”

His teeth flash in the lamplight, and he waggles Jake’s company card at you. “I already did. Shall we go get him fired?”

Voracious, incredibly stressed laughter bursts out of you. “What?”

This guy holds you up in a dark parking lot at nearly midnight, witnesses the most embarrassing display of emotional betrayal you can imagine, and is now offering to get your boyfriend fired as payback for abandoning you?

He tucks the card back in his pocket with a shrug. “Just seems to me like it’s more worth my time to give that asshole what’s coming to him than to steal the money you probably don’t have, considering he makes you pay for shit.”

There’s nothing in the world that could have prepared you for that.

Your mouth falls open. “I have money!”

“Are you offering?” His hand goes back towards the gun in his waistband, his smirk teasing, and your heart leaps into your throat. His joke falls flat when your gaze drops to the ground, chin tucking against your chest, your entire personality seeming to instantly deflate.

His heart sinks at the sight, which is not something he wants to decipher right now.

“Alright, wait.” He drops the edge of his jacket back down over the gun. “I was kidding, please don’t cry again. I’m Minho, what’s your name?”

“Why the hell would I tell you my name?” You snap. Then you shoot him a look. “Why the hell would you tell me your name?”

He shrugs again—an action he seems very fond of—and nods to the scarf still in your hands. “Throw that piece of shit away and come with me. There’s a coffee shop right over there that’s still open. You can warm up while you order another ride.”

You balk, moving backwards once again. At this point, you could fit an entire shopping cart train between you, and Minho is smiling.

“I’m not going with you!” You exclaim, clutching the scarf like a shield.

He points to the other side of the parking lot, where a coffee shop pours warm light out onto the pavement. “We would be walking. Just come with me for a cup of coffee. Alright? You said you like cozy things.”

A few seconds of tense silence pass. He blows snowflakes out of his eyelashes and blinks at you expectantly. You can’t understand what the hell is happening right now.

“Why?”

Minho sighs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You just got mugged, alright, you’re in distress. You just got stranded here with a dangerous stranger, and you look like you’re turning blue. I can’t just leave you here.”

“You had no trouble robbing me at gunpoint, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

The teasing smile falls from his face and he frowns at you. “Because I just robbed you at gunpoint and that’s not even why you’re crying. That’s a whole new level of pathetic. I can’t in good conscience leave you here.”

You burst into tears all over again.

He lifts his hands in surrender, approaching you carefully. “Alright, listen. I’d rather run up a shit ton of debt on your ex’s company credit card than keep making you cry. So can we start with a cup of coffee? Please? Once you’re in the Uber I’ll be on my way, buying TVs and chipotle gift cards until he’s out of a job. I swear.” He crosses his heart.

“He’s not my ex.” You sniffle, because he’s not. Who wouldn’t be terrified in the face of an armed robbery? You can’t totally blame Jake for his reaction, as miserable as it makes you feel. Did he even think about coming back for you? What if you had been shot after he left?

Minho shakes his head at you and watches you crumble all over again. “Come on, jagi, why are you this upset over that deadbeat nobody? You’re making me feel funny.” Pity. The nurturing monsoon swirling in his gut is pity—something he’s never felt for somebody he’s mugged before. His eyes lift to take in the movie theater behind you, and then at the scarf still clenched in your fists as you weep.

“Don’t tell me today is your birthday.”

You sob harder, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. You’re not afraid of this strange criminal anymore, rather heartbroken and disappointed that your already lame evening has taken such a miserable turn.

“Well, shit.” Minho mumbles. “Wait, shit. He was going to make you pay for your own fucking McDonalds on your birthday?”

“Why do you care so much?” You screech, reeling away when his hand touches your arm.

He throws up his hands in equal amounts of frustration, eyes widening as much as yours. “Because you look like an abandoned fucking kitten and I’d be a horrible person to just leave you here.”

“You are a horrible person.” You shout back, and then your mouth clamps shut. Your hand slaps over your lips, staring at him in utter terror as you realize that you’re firing insults at someone who could just shoot you if he decides you’re offensive enough.

But he just laughs at you. “Yeah, fair enough. So, come on—coffee?”

Without a single sane reason to support this decision, you walk across the parking lot with him and step into the comforting heat of the busy coffee shop. It’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but in the past five minutes he’s showed you more interest than Jake has in three months, and you can’t help but want to spend a few more minutes in the company of someone so attentive.

And as the light washes over his decidedly attractive face, you realize that he’s not so bad to look at, either.

After all, he robbed Jake—not you.

Minho stands at the counter, ordering your drinks, and then nudges you and points at a display case full of cake. “Eh? For your birthday?”

Your stomach rumbles with hunger, but your face flushes with heat. “Oh, no, I’m good.”

He frowns. “I’m not going to make you pay for it, not after the way that ass treated you.”

“Because it was so much worse than the way you pulled a gun on me?” You hiss, eyes flashing to the barista who miraculously doesn’t hear you.

Minho rolls his eyes. “If you were my girlfriend, I never would have pulled a gun on you, much less pushed you in front of one. It’s completely different. Get a slice of cake.”

The barista’s eyes go wide.

You wave his suggestion away. “No, really. Thanks anyway.” The cake does look incredible, though.

“I can hear your stomach growling. Would you rather go get something different? Protein?” Minho pushes, glancing around your person as though he expects you to faint right in front of him. It’s almost sweet enough to cancel out your suspicion of him as he waits for you to order a slice of birthday cake.

You step away from the register instead. “I’ll eat at home.”

Minho squints at you. “You don’t eat in public?” It’s sarcasm.

“…No.” It’s not sarcasm.

“Because…”

You’re getting antsy, the barista’s getting antsy, and the three people in line behind you are getting antsy.

Minho doesn’t care.

Why would he? He’ll just rob them all later.

“Because I have a facial spasm when I eat.” You whisper, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

The man before you looks like he’s not surprised at all by this information. “So? That’s not uncommon.”

“But it embarrassed my boyfriend—”

“Your ex.”

“It embarrassed him so we stopped doing meal dates in public.”

He stares at you. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, my face twitches really badly and it’s embarrassing. Just the coffee please. Please. I can’t take this anymore.” You can’t stand the fact that you’re spending so long holding up the line, so you shake your head at him and move towards a table in the corner, refusing to delay the process any longer.

Your retreat forces Minho to turn around and complete his order, paying with Jake’s company card, but a few moments later he’s approaching your table with two plates of cake. He puts one in front of you with a hard set frown. “Just eat the damn cake. Your ex is shit. It’s not like your side of the booth faces the room anyway, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.”

He sits across from you, scooting his own plate closer to himself.

“He’s not my ex.” You argue quietly. “And my side of the booth still faces you.” It shouldn’t matter, to show one of your more mortifying qualities to the guy who held you up in the parking lot, but it does. You want to put your beautiful slice of cake into a to-go box and take it home to eat it curled up in your armchair where no one can see you.

Minho doesn’t look up from his cake. “He’ll be your ex boyfriend after tonight. There’s no reason for you to be holding on to the bitch ass who throws you at the barrel of a gun on his worst day and is too ashamed of you to take you to dinner—or let you fucking kiss him—on his best. Now eat your cake before he becomes your late boyfriend.”

Blood drains from your face as you reach for your fork. “Please don’t hurt us.” The words break past your lips in a whisper, but you scoop up a bite of cake. It nearly wobbles right off your fork as your hand trembles, but you manage to keep it onboard. “I really don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to chill out and have some birthday cake.” Minho glances up at you right as you take a bite and lift your hand to hide your face politely. He frowns as you chew. “Put your hand down. Did I tell you to cover your face?”

Your eyebrows lower, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’re being kinda mean to me.” It’s too weird, the juxtaposition of the man who mugged you at gunpoint outside and the man who is having cake and coffee with you in celebration of your birthday.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t really get the chance to rob you before Jake freaked out, so does it really count?

He just stares at you blankly. “Would you rather I take you out back and mug you again?” Before you can start crying again, he nudges your foot under the table with his own. “You’re safe, jagi. I’m sorry I scared you out there.”

It takes a second, but you convince yourself to relax. You’re safe.

You eat your cake, you drink your coffee, you smile every time Minho calls you jagi, exactly as he intends; you force yourself stop paying attention to the twitching in your cheeks while you chew, not even knowing that he’s watching you because it’s cute, not because it’s weird. He spends ten minutes trying to convince you to break up with Jake, and by the end of the meal—the first meal you’ve had in public since you started dating Jake a year and a half ago—you’ve decided you agree with him.

No more Jake.

Minho all but cheers. No more Jake.

At the end of the night, he watches you order an Uber, and then he borrows someone else’s phone. Actually borrows it, doesn’t steal it.

“Yes, hello, police? A woman has just been mugged. The guy had a gun, and he drove off in an electric car—” And, despite your insincere protest, he gives a description of your boyfriend as the assailant before hanging up. Minho returns the phone, waits with you for your Uber, and then sends you off with a cheeky wave of Jake’s company card.

He keeps the scarf.

Let me know what you think!

PART 2 INFO

taglist:

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa

[chxrryhansen]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐌𝐁 𝐀𝐔

Pairing; Dark!Club Owner Ari x Shy!Reader

Warnings; dark themes, unbalanced power dynamic, daddy kink, no smut in this part but as usual Minors Please DNI!!

Summary; You knew it was a bad idea showing up to the most notorious club in the city, but it’s your best friend’s birthday and you can’t say no, right? So, what happens when the owner himself, Ari Levinson, spots you at the bar, claiming you as his own from the moment he laid eyes on you.

It’s finally here! The first instalment of my very first series, apologies for no smut but i promise the next part will be very smutty to make up for it 👀 bare in mind this is just the introduction!!! please don’t be afraid to ask questions and remember to reblog and comment💗 i love to hear your guys feedback!

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

You climb out of the uber, reaching to pull the hem of your dress down as you and your friends stumble towards the club.

You had finally agreed to try out the biggest club in the city, "Cherry Bomb.” Since it was your best friend Sarah's birthday your group decided it was only fair she could choose which clubs you were going to tour for the night. You had been putting it off ever since the opening night a few months ago, the reputation not being something you had particularly wished to be involved with.

All you knew was bad things happened there, and from what you had heard the owners, Ari Levinson and Lloyd Hansen, two brothers in arms, were so cruel and unforgiving that even the richest men in the city dared not to step foot in the place, and those who did shortly regretted it. Their names were known around the streets, the most notorious club owners to exist, 70% of clubs in the city all belonging to them, more money under their belt than the government itself.

An incident a few weeks back had became the talk of the town, according to Sarah a well known patron had gotten a little handsy with one of the clubs dancers and when he was given a warning to back off, he refused. Claiming he spent enough money in the club grounds to do as he pleased, including groping innocent dancers without permission.

Long story short the bouncers ended up forcibly removing the man, cussing and struggling on his way out of course, you know, the usual druken male rage and feeling of entitlement. Seemed like a pretty convenient coincidense that the exact same night the man was found beaten to a bloody pulp in a back alley, his face practically unrecognisible.

It wasn't long before the 'rumour' was quickly snuffed out. They were good at that, making things.. people, dissapear. Almost as if it never happened... as if they never exhisted.

Now that you were standing infront of it, you couldn't deny, it was beautiful. Even from the outside, the bright neon sign glowing in the moonlight, multiple bouncers blocking the large glass stained doors, making sure to check each persons id before unhooking the stanchion, allowing said persons entry. The queue seeming endless.

Lucky for you, your friends had been gifted VIP tickets, you didn't even bother to ask who they got those from, or how. You didn't want to know. You flashed your id at the pretty bouncer, his buzzed hair, large muscles and stern face making it quite obvious as to why he had the job he did.

You bounced your foot as he scanned over your card before opening the barrier and letting you inside. Sarah was quick to grip each of your hands, practically dragging you inside once you began to hesitate, not wanting you to change your mind so soon.

"Come on, babe, let's get those sweet legs moving!" Sarah hollers from ahead, her hand intertwined with your own as the rest of the girls hurried towards a booth.

"I-I don't know if this is a good idea, Sare.." you mumbled, fiddling with your fingers as she tugged you towards your friends and giving you a slight nudge into the cushioned seats, the red velvet material instantly soothing your hot thighs as you sat.

She reached down, holding your cheeks in both hands and facing you towards herself, sliding into the booth next to you "Listen, i know you're worried and if it makes you feel better i promise we can leave and go somewhere else, but just give it a try, please...for me?" she pleaded, giving you her famous puppy dog eyes.

"You know i can't resist that face." you whined as she cheered.

As you slowly got more drunk you began to forget why you didn't want to visit. The atmosphere was astronomical, the whole club being fit for royalty. The girls hooted and hollered as you trotted off towards the bar on your way to buy in a round of drinks. You waited at the bar with your card in hand but as you went to hand it over to the bartender he paused you.

“It’s on the house.” he says while he wipes down the bar with a rag, a smile on his face. He was handsome in all fairness, standing at around 6'2, his bright blonde locks and pretty blue eyes causing you to pause for a moment before giving him a puzzled look, tilting your head sideways.

“Is it a nightly special or something? I didn’t see anything about free drinks on the poster outside…” you begin yet he’s already scuttling off to take another couples order, shooting you a sly smile over his shoulder. Leaving you even more confused than before.

You slowly reach for the tray of shots when you feel a large hand on your shoulder, causing you to spin around in shock, ready to fight off any unwanted men. You pause yet again, having to look up to catch the mans face.

His 6’5 form towers over your much smaller figure, dressed in a dark purple suit and tie, his pearly blues shining in the colourful strobe lights, looking down at you with a slight smirk. His dark beard covered most of his face and his long curtains framed his godly sculpted face. Even with his suit on his arms bulged through the material, his thick biceps almost bigger than your head.

You shortly snapped out of your daze as his leather gloved hand squeezed your arm. “C-Can i help you, sir?” you stammered, worried incase you had been caught gauking.

He laughs “Not even a thankyou, Sweetheart? I thought you’d have better manners than that.” he teases, his rough voice sending shivers down your spine. You stutter as you try to find your words, seeming as they were lodged in the back of your throat.

“I’m kidding, name’s Ari…you gonna’ give me the curtesy of knowing yours or you just gonna’ keep starin’ at me with those pretty eyes?”

“A-Ari as in… Levinson?” you question, swallowing harshly as the nerves quickly built in your stomach.

He shakes his head gently with a smirk "So you know me, huh?"

Your eyes widen at the realisation of who the mystery man is, your arms instantly beginning to shake, your card still in hand. You were never good at dealing with situations such as this one, always being labled as the 'shy girl' of your group. Sarah being the complete opposite. Usually men in this situation would back off, sensing your uncomfortable trembles and leaving you alone, but not Ari. If anything the smirk on his face grew wider at the sense of your fear.

"Steve, why don't you head over to booth two, give the girls their shots." Ari calls out towards the handsome bartender from earlier.

The man, Steve, is at your side in an instant "No prob man, have fun you two." he winks, collecting the glasses and sauntering off with a wink.

Ari shakes his head with a laugh, “Why don’t you come with me.” he leans down to whisper in your ear. The vibration of his vocals in your ears sending shivers down your spine before he struts forwards, holding out his thick palm for you to grab on to, and almost as if your in a trance, you begin to trail behind him without hesitation. Sliding your smaller palm into his own as he led you through the club.

Your nerves never allowed you to talk much, or make your own decisions, that being the reason you followed the stranger without any question asked, which is exactly why Sare was usually always there to do it for you. But, your drunken confidence had allowed you to go to the bar alone, which you were beginning to really regret. Your confidence being blown out of the park as the attractive beast watched you from infront with a careful eye.

Shortly you arried at the unknown destination, trailing nervously behind Ari as he unlocked a large door, which was infact bolted shut. He pushed open the door, looking down at you, edging you to enter, and so you did. Your eyes lit up as they searched the vast room, expensive furnature lining the room, bottles of champagne worth more than your house filling the cupboards above his desk.

Ari pushed the door closed, moving to sit on a cushioned purple chair, his thick thighs spread wide as he removed his gloves, pouring himself, and you, a glass of his finest drink. His cold eyes beckoned you forwards, your legs shaking as you stepped towards him, standing inbetween his spread legs.

He patted his thigh with one hand "Sit." he called out, his voice sweet yet stern.

You looked at him shocked, your lips parting slightly, were you really going to sit on his lap? A man you just met? Who you didn't even know? "I-I don't think i should Mr Levinson." you whispered.

His eyes grew shades darker at your refusal, not even giving you time to debate your decisions he reached out, gripping your waist in his thick palm and pulling you down, sitting you sideways on his lap as you gasp in shock. His other hand pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear as you squirmed under the pressure.

"Pretty girl, next time i ask you to do something, you do it. No questions asked. You understand?" he asked in a low growl.

You swallowed your nerves and nodded gently under his deep gaze, your body trembling.

"Ah ah, words baby."

"Yes, M-Mr Levinson, I-I understand."

Ari groaned underneath his breath, not understanding how lucky he had gotten that a pretty little thing like you would just waltse right in at the perfect moment, almost as if you were made for him. Like a lamb in a lions den. "As much as i love the way you say my name, call me Ari, sweet girl."

Again, you followed his command. "Yes, Ari."

"Good girl." he rumbled, pulling your bottom lip gently inbetween his index and thumb, loving the way you felt on his lap. Your innocence and submissive nature automatically triggering his dominance, his cock growing hard in his slacks as your plump ass squirmed on his knee.

You keened at his praise, a fluttery feeling appearing in your lower half. Of course Ari noticed this, the way your pussy pulsated on his thigh told him all he needed to know.

"You ever been with a man before, sweetheart?" Ari asks while he strokes your hair, not even having to shout due to the soundproof room blocking out the clubs music.

"Um, n-no i haven't, my Grandma wouldn't really approve of that sort of stuff, she said i should wait till m-marriage." you whisper shyly.

Ari blows out a puff of air at your innocence, desperately trying to control himself. All he wants is to ruin you, in every way you can imagine, and more. He smirks, leaning into your shoulder, pressing his nose against your sensitive neck and taking a deep inhale. Groaning softly, your sweet scent driving his instincts wild.

"Your Grandma seems like a very smart lady, little girl. You live with just her, huh?"

"Yeah, i never really knew my m-mom and dad, and my grandpa died shorly after i was born s-so it's pretty much always just been me and her. She does her best to take care of me, taught me everything i know." you speak with a bright smile, Ari notices how your stutter stopped when talking about her, he thought it was sweet, how much you must care about her.

However, the dark side of his mind was quick to take a seat, the realisation that you never had a father figure making his cock impossibly harder. Knowing he could be that for you, and knowing you needed a strong man like him in your life to make all those decisions for you.

"I think i changed my mind, baby. Why don't you call me daddy from now on, mkay?" he spoke softly, yet the edge in his tone still clear.

"D-Daddy?" you muttered, confused as to why he would want you to call him that.

He moaned hearing your sweet voice call him by his new found title. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, choosing not to elaborate on his previous statement. "Good girl. I'm gonna' take care of you from now on, yeah? Anything you need, you come to me. Pass me your phone, sweet girl."

"Oh, i-i don't have a phone.. daddy."

Ari's eyebrows knit together softly "You don't have a phone? Why not?"

You shake your head, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "We uhm, w-we can't really afford that sort of stuff."

"Well that just won't do." he speaks in a teasing tone, tickling your waist making you giggle softly.

Suddenly a loud bang causes you to shoot upright, you quickly dash off Ari's lap, moving to stand away from him, his office door slamming shut as a tall moustached man enters. Your eyes widen in fright, knowing how violent the man standing infront of you truly was. You knew who he was too, Sare had told you plenty of stories about the cruel Lloyd Hansen. You often wondered if he even had a soul.

"Man it's fuckin' packed down there, what the fuck are you doing up here." the man groans, not even noticing you until he turns. He lifts his sunglasses, staring you down, his eyes scanning over your figure, pausing and licking his lips at the soft flesh beneath the cut of your dress, your pretty pink dress having ridden up your thighs.

"Lloyd." Ari bellows, sighing in annoyance at his disruption.

A smirk similar to Ari's appears on the man, Lloyd's, face. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he speaks in a sultry voice. He begins his descent in your direction and the second gets a little too close, Ari shoots up out of his seat, moving to stand infront of you. A low rumble vibrating through his chest.

Ari stood slightly taller than Lloyd, with broader shoulders and thicker legs, the muscles in his back visible as he stood infront of you, almost as if he was protecting you, a hand wrapped around your hips rubbing his thumb in circular motions over your dress….and of course the most important detail, his luscious full beard compared to Lloyds 90s porn stache. They stared each other down, asserting some sort of dominance over one another… Ari seemingly winning as Lloyd begins to back up.

He lets out a chuckle, lifting his hands in a surrender position, taking a few steps back. "I mean no harm, just wanna' ask the pretty girl for her name, s'all."

You begin to quiver yet again, Lloyd's presence scaring you back into your shell. His dangerous aura sending goosebumps across your trembling figure. "I-I think i sh-should go." you whisper, tugging at the hem of your dress in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves.

"Don't move, sweets. Lloyd. Get the fuck out of here man." Ari bellows.

“I think you’ll find this club is mine just as much as it is yours, big bro. C’mon. Introduce me to the beauty.” he chucked yet again, probably at Ari’s fury. Steam was practically pouring out of his ears at this point. He didn’t even want Lloyd looking at you, nevermind talking to you.

“I mean it Lloyd get the fuck outta’ here man-“

Before he can stop you, you make a quick dash for the door and at the sound of Ari's resistance your legs carry you quicker than you could've ever imagined. Not looking back once as you pull the door open, swiftly shutting the door behind you.

You take a deep, your chest heaving at the stress of the situation, wiping your sweaty hands on your dress and making your descent down the club stairs, shaking your head in confusion and fear, eager to find your friends, craving their comfort and hearing a hushed "You fuckin' asshole." in the distance.

[mymessyfandomlibrary]

The Hand That Feeds

Featuring; Sevika x AFAB!Reader

Rating; 18+

Other Notes; Mutual pining, strangers to kinda-friends to 'yeah, we fuckin' -> Porn with plot. This was a gift that I wrote for a friend's birthday. I already shared it with them and got good feedback, so, I'm unleashing it to Tumblr.

Content Warnings; Smut, reader is AFAB, if you don't like the nickname 'princess' my condolences. Smut won't be until the second NSFW banner.

Word Count; 3.3K

Link to Masterlist

You have a tradition. 

Every new moon you would sneak out of your aunt’s residence — she was a kind lady and took you in and gave you free reign — and travel across the river into Zaun.

Yet, despite what others may have thought at your regular travels, it wasn’t for thrill seeking or for nefarious activities. Part of it was out of sheer boredom, as Pilotver, while being the city of progress, was also a city of bureaucratic stillness and policy. A dreadful place when you needed a bit of chaos and authenticity.

Which is how you found yourself in The Lanes time and time again. But it wasn’t purely out of sheer boredom and wanderlust that you kept on coming back into the Undercity. 

While many people had their own interests at the forefront — both in Piltover and in Zaun — you mainly came to help; bringing in fresh food. Bread, fresh vegetables and fruit, and cured meats. You used the bit of wealth that you had left from your family to give to others less fortunate. To those that had no one else to turn to. 

You had been doing this long enough that you knew familiar faces and even some names. And tonight was no different in that regard.

You may not be from Zaun, but you have been to The Lanes enough to also recognize people who stuck in the background, watching.

For the past five months, a woman always stayed in the background, leaning outside of The Last Drop. She never approached you, but when your eyes crossed paths, you knew that she had been watching you give food to those that you could.

The past five months when you had come into the city she had only watched, assessing what you were doing. Seeing if it was for some ulterior motive. 

Was the food spoiled? No. 

Was it poisoned or traced with something? Also no. 

As far as she could see and from the information that the people gave her about you, you did this for no other reason than you wanted to. And Sevika knew from when she first saw you that you weren’t from the undercity — there wasn’t the same edge that the people here had, you were sweet.

You were giving food out and this time she approached you. The dim lighting from the flickering neon signs reflected on her metal arm, catching your eye. Giving a little boy enough food for the day — as giving them too much would make them a target for theft — you turned to the newcomer.

She didn’t say anything, just giving you a once over, still assessing you.

“So,” she cocked her chin to the side a bit, talking down at you in a guarded yet curious tone, “how long have you been doing this for, topsider?”

Topsider.

You knew that you didn’t really fit in in The Lanes, but most people didn’t give you any trouble, just giving you a side glance before minding their own business.

A small smile, born out of the expected politeness of Piltover, graced your face. “Years? It’s hard to say.”

Sevika quirked her brow, “Why?”

“Why not,” you answered back.

Sevika’s mouth twitched in both amusement but also annoyed at the answer. Amused because you said it genuinely, as she was expecting a bit of sass and entitlement. Annoyed that you seemingly had no ulterior motives.

“Alright then.” Sevika just stood there for a moment, and you resisted the urge to shuffle as she continued to assess and try to come to a conclusion. Your eyes once again cross paths and she turns back and goes into The Last Drop again, leaving you alone.

Strange.

You were back in The Lanes and the sack of food had been emptied, all of it being handed out.

Ever since the woman with the metal arm had been keeping an eye on you there were fewer people who tried to push you around. It could also be the large visible knife that you kept strapped to your thigh, but having her presence around also kept people with ill intentions away, letting you be able to help the people you needed to and wanted it.

She was at her usual spot, standing by the door of the pub. Watching. 

It has become a part of your routine. You had come to expect her to be there. Even though you didn’t even know her name, she had become a comforting presence in the background, like she was watching your back.

She wasn’t there tonight though.

No one had tried anything, as the knife was good enough deterrence for now, but it felt off without her there.

Placing the empty bag in your personal satchel you took the time to explore The Lanes. This was the original reason why you came into the undercity, but upon seeing how much worse the conditions here were, you sought to try and help where you could. People were just trying to survive and make ends meet.

“There’s a fight–” a guy bumps into you and keeps on walking, talking to his companion.

Around the bend you could hear a commotion, and curiosity got the better of you and you followed the noise.

There was a fight in full bloom, and the woman that you had expected to be silently watching you was in the heart of it. The fight was reaching its end though, both parties looking worse for wear, but the guy she was fighting was way worse off. The thing about having a metal arm is that it does a lot of damage to whoever it hits, and Sevika may have had some of her blood on her, but most of it was from the other guy.

He hit the ground, unconscious, and Sevika crouched down and whispered something in his ear before getting back up and walking away, but not before she saw you in the crowd. She paused for a second before continuing on, walking away from you. She had changed direction, like she was avoiding you. Going against your better judgement, you followed her, going into a dimly lit pub and looking through the sea of faces before you spotted her at the bar, ordering something.

You don’t know her. Why are you doing this? This is a stupid thing to do— 

You sat down next to her and she gave you a sideways glance.

She had a cut on her face and a bloody nose. There was definitely going to be a large bruise on her arm by tomorrow. And despite being just in a fight and looking worse for wear, she was taking a long drink like this was nothing. But it probably is nothing to her.

This was also the closest that you had gotten to her, and despite her being beat up and the shit lighting in the pub, she was a very — pretty isn’t the right word, she was more than that — handsome woman.

“What are you doing,” she asked, slightly turning her head so she could properly look at you.

“You’re hurt,” and I wanted to make sure that you’re okay. But you don’t add that. You two don’t know each other. You aren’t friends. Hell, you don’t even know her name!

Sevika huffs, amused. “You saw the other guy.”

You had. “Still.”

She puts down her drink and fully turns to you, leaning forward a bit. “Listen, sweetheart, I can handle myself.”

Sweetheart. The nickname, while meant to be demeaning, made you … you didn’t know what it did, but you liked it.

She leans back, pays for her drink and leaves the pub, leaving you alone.

Sevika was back to standing guard over you. She had picked it up after hearing the silent murmurs about a topsider frequenting The Lanes.

In the months that she’s been watching — far longer than you had started noticing her — she knew a few things.

You always visited during the nights of the new moon, using the darkness as a cover.

You carried a large knife on your thigh. You never had to use it, since people knew she was keeping watch, but she saw how you would twirl it around when bored — it wasn’t just for show.

You were kind. She may not know your name, but she mentally called you Sweetheart. It seemed fitting.

And a new forth thing: you apparently made it a habit to be in the same places that she frequents when you really ought not to.

The fight had been by accident, but she hadn’t expected you to follow her into a pub. 

Then again when she was making rounds — you had crossed paths with her and you gave her a nod before continuing on.

Once when she was coming out of the brothel that she frequents when pent up — something that was becoming more often as of late. You didn’t say anything, but you did walk past faster than usual, and Sevika felt a tinge of disappointment.

She had come to expect you. As much as she was an expected presence in your routine, you had become one in hers.

Tonight was the new moon, and Sevika was standing where she typically did. Waiting for you.

But you don’t show up.

Some of the regular people ask her where you are, as whenever Sevika is watching guard, you aren’t far behind. But she didn’t know. She didn’t like that she didn’t know where you were. It lingered in the back of her mind the next night.

This time you do show up, and when the last bit of food gets handed out she walks towards you, determined.

“Where were you last night?”

You turn around, not expecting her to really take notice that you were missing last night, but also she noticed. 

“There was a blockade last night. The city is on high alert, so I couldn’t cross last night,” you answer. 

It was true. Due to recent events, Piltover was on high alert. You couldn’t have crossed, not without suspicion or your monthly visits coming to light, so you decided to wait it out.

Sevika runs her tongue across her teeth, trying to think of something to say, but all that she knows is that she’s relieved to see you. She accepts your answer though, giving you a grunt.

You both stand there for a moment, as if waiting to see who would say something first. Who would break the slightly awkward tension. Hell, it was worse than the time you had bumped into her after she came out of a brothel — that was awkward.

You lick your lips, “Did something happen last night? When I was gone?”

No, nothing happened. “No. People just missed you.” I missed you.

Sevika caught the motion of your mouth and she also noted your appearance. She had always thought you were pretty, hell, beautiful, but she never made a move. Why, though? 

She was a cautious woman, especially with those she let close. “Be careful, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again. This time you felt something warm in your chest, but she had already walked away.

You had finally learned your mystery woman’s name. Sevika. It had been several months — a year to be exact, but like you were keeping track of every time you saw her (you were) — and you finally knew her name from asking one of the bartenders at The Last Drop.

You were standing in her usual spot. You were early, the sun just starting to set, and Sevika was not expecting for you to be waiting for her.

“We need to talk,” you said, getting up from where you were leaning.

Sevika crossed her arms, not expecting the bold move. “About what?”

You walked over to a more private area, a back alley, “You keep watch over me. You have been for a while. Why?”

Ah, you finally asked the question that Sevika had been asking herself. Now, she could be honest about it — which would shed light that she had taken an interest from the rumours and then taken an actual interest in you — or she could keep it simple. Uncomplicated. 

And then she remembers your answer to her question all those months back when you had first talked. “Why not?”

You pause, looking at her. You hadn’t expected that answer. You hadn’t expected her to be giving you an intense longing look that screamed more than just wanting to talk. 

Fuck it.

You stepped forward and did something that you’ve wanted to do for months, placing your mouth onto hers.

And Sevika’s mouth slotted against yours, reciprocating the kiss you initiated. Once given the permission, she threw caution to the wind, finally doing what she had also been wanting. The reason why she was so pent up. You. 

She ran her tongue across your lip, asking for silent permission to enter your mouth and once you did, your tongues moved against each other and she groaned into the heated kiss before breaking away. Her eyes were simmering with want, and like hell she was going to continue what you started in a dank alley.

“Didn’t know you felt that way, sweetheart,” she huffed, breath hot against your ear, making the hair on the back of neck prickle in a pleasant way.

You groaned when she pulled back. You had finally started to get what you wanted only for her to pull away. “And you feel the same way.”

It wasn’t a question. You knew. It was damn telling the way that she took over and led the kiss that she wanted you the same way you wanted her.

Sevika hums at your answer, her hand playing with the ends of your hair gently, “Do I?” 

She usually wasn’t a tease, but she enjoyed seeing your reactions, wanting to hear you say the words. “What do you want, sweetheart?” She asked, nearly purring.

This woman will be the death of me.

You place yourself to where one of her legs was in between yours, “You.”

Sevika ground her leg into your core, sending some much needed friction to where you wanted her. “You’ll have to wait for a minute, princess.”

Like hell she was going to ravish you here, so picking you up, she went to a better place, using one of the back doors to get into one of the private rooms of the pub where no one would intrude — thankfully this one had a bed. 

Once the door is locked, you’re both back to being on each other. Hot mouths clashing. And then the back of your knees were hitting the mattress.

You sat down, bringing Sevika with you, and she began kissing down your neck, leaving you wanting more. 

A thought came into her mind, and she left a rather sharp nip on the space between your neck and shoulder, her thigh slipping between yours and flipping your positions to where you straddled her thigh. “Ride it, sweetheart.” 

The timbre of her voice made you shudder and a pool of heat to form again at your core. You began to grind yourself against her thigh, annoyed that you were both clothed but wanting some sort of release. “Clothes,” you mutter, trying to control how desperate you were for her, “off.”

Sevika chuckled, amused, but obliged, taking off both of your clothes — again, leaving hot kisses on your shoulder. Once her damned pants were off, you began grinding on her again, and she could feel how wet you were and she grinned.

She could tell that you wouldn’t be able to get off just with that, but you were putting on a good show for her. “You’re doing so good, baby. You feel so wet. Fuck.” She groaned, popping one of your nipples in her mouth, and rolling the other in her mouth.

You keen, arching into her touch, wanting more. While the friction from her muscular thigh was delicious you needed more. “Sev, I –” you slightly push her head down, silently asking for her to go down on you.

Sevika put her hands on your hips and dragged you up towards her mouth, “I know.” And she placed a kiss to your inner thigh before tracing your cunt with her tongue, taking your clit into her mouth.

“Fuck,” you moan, finally getting the friction you so badly wanted. Your hands tangling in her hair for something to hold on and she groaned, the vibrations just adding to your pleasure.

Slowly, Sevika added a finger into your cunt, probing until you arched when she found your g-spot. She could tell that you weren’t sitting so she nipped your clit when she felt you hovering, “Sit.”

Once you put your full weight on her face she hummed, satisfied, and added another finger to reward you, putting extra pressure there. 

With her fingers going in and out of your cunt and her tongue tracing your clit, you were reaching your climax, feeling your thighs clench up when Sevika removes her fingers and slows down on your clit, delaying it.

“W-why did you stop?”

Sevika hummed, taking the fingers that were once in you into her mouth, cleaning them off. “I didn’t.” And she moved you higher up so that her tongue was now in you and her nose ground into your clit.

She loved seeing you like this, fucked out on her fingers and her tongue, and if her tongue wasn’t doing the most mouthwatering movements in you, she would be telling you how gorgeous you were. Praising you and your body — mind you, she fell for you for how you treated others first. 

You grabbed for her hand, the one that was just in you a moment ago and placed it on your neck, and Sevika carefully squeezed, choking you in the right way. “You’re doing so good, princess.”

You were reaching your high again, and Sevika was not slowing down, if anything, feeling the way that your thighs tensed on her face made her push forward. The slight pressure on my airway made you melt in her hands, and did a particularly mean nip to your clit before continuing eating you out. You were sweating by now, and moaning into her touch.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” She groaned, and added a bit of pressure to your lower stomach, her tongue going in deep. 

Tugging a bit more harshly at her scalp you felt your breathing hitch, your eyes roll back, and you shuddered as your high finally came.

Sevika didn’t ease up, instead taking the hand that was on your neck back down to your cunt, adding three fingers inside you this time as her tongue continued on your clit. That move during your climax and the stretch alongside the pressure on your lower stomach had you seeing white and Sevika groaned as she felt you release.

You whined a bit as Sevika slowed down her movements, sensitive from your climax, working you down from it. 

Giving your inner thigh a kiss, she laid you down next to her on the bed, before getting up and grabbing a warm damp cloth to clean you up with, even though your release was still on her face. She licked it off of her lips and dragged some down from her cheeks to her mouth before using the same cloth to clean her face and thigh, laying back down next to you.

She placed a hand on your face, tracing the planes of it.

You snaked your hand downward, but Sevika stopped you, bringing your hand back up, “You don’t worry about that.”

“I want to make you feel good,” you breathed, annoyed that she had stopped your wandering hands.

Sevika traced her tongue over her lip, looking at you, “You did.”

Oh. Even though she had literally just eaten you out within an inch of your life, hearing her say that she was satisfied just by giving you pleasure made you clench your thighs. 

That movement didn’t go unnoticed, “Mmm, you’re still sensitive, sweetheart.” Her hand travelled down your body, promising another round once you weren’t so sensitive, although she wouldn’t mind seeing you cry from it.

[buntanteen]

svt fic recs list <3 - lee jihoon/woozi b'day edition - sfw & nsfw ver.

summary: 28 days of sfw & nsfw jihoon reader insert fics for woozi's birthday

contains: 18+ nsfw (mdni!!) majority is afab reader, mostly sub!jihoon

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

✩ sfw ✩

❥ woozi bf headcanon samples - @wooahaee

this makes me just feel so happy and giddy and helps calm me down to go to sleep. the tid bits of what he might be like as a bf is making me crazy *rams head into wall*

❥ princess treatment - @emocheol

i just wanna give him so much love and care. hoonie really deserves the love he receives and so much more

❥ crushing!jihoon - @emotionalsupport-ljh

oh he's SHYYYYYYYYYY (me acting like i'm not shy too jfgkbd) and a bit patheticccc (perfect for me heheh😘) i'm kicking my feet and giggling this is so cuteee HE'S SO CUTEEEEE

❥ pouty - @qmrzi

omg pls give this baby attention, i will sob if he doesn't get it😭 baby was just excited to show his hairrr (also, bro looks SOOOOO fucking good blonde dfjkbd)

❥ the seventeen members as boyfriends - @catboyieejeno

woozi's section gimme gimme all of it thank you~ the quality time?? the massages?? the gym pump omg kvhfbk

❥ jihoon & hand-holding - @ylangelegy

and if i sob?? jihoon wanting to express love outside of songs kjfdb the triple touch to signal "i love you"??? as someone who can't always verbally say what i want to say, i love this 🥺

❥ seventeen when you reject their kiss (as a prank) - @emocheol

jihoon's section is just so *sobs* HE'S SO LIL AND CUTE I WILL GIVE U ALL THE KISSES U WANT

❥ shadow - @babyleostuff

i just know hoonie would drop everything to comfort someone he loves and i hope he has people that do the same :3

❥ 16:33 - @fairyhaos

YOU'RE SO REAL HE IS SO SO PRETTTY

❥ all the ways jihoon kisses you - @wifeyoozi

(putting it in sfw cuz the nsfw is minimal) THIS IS SO CUTE AND SWEET 🥹 JIHOON KISSES GIMMEEE

❥ simp jihoon (texts) - @wooziorgans

I'M CACKLING HE'S SO???!?!

✩ nsfw ✩

❥ lazy morning sex - @sluttywoozi

OH THE PICS YOU USED KDFJGBFDKG oh the vibes in the fic are just *chef's kiss* it is just jkbgdk kjgbkdfb fdkjgbdkfgbdk bgbdfkjgb ya know?

❥ sub!jihoon - @hannieehaee

going slightly insane over praising pretty jihoon and marking him up and him getting flustered and insane over praise d hfhdhdbdb obssessed. u threw so much of what i want to do to woozi into this fic i'm really going through it rn i cannot handle the lack of sanity rn

❥ under the neon lights - @dirtysvthoughts

OH THE IMAGES IN MY HEAD AHHH. lemme "celebrate" his birthday with him PLS PLS PLS. fuck this fic is so hooootttttt

❥ sub!woozi - @hanniehae

FUCKKK i wanna praise him sooooooooo bad and see him flush all red from compliments. does he even know how pretty he is?? (editing this fic rec and i didn't realise that i had literally recommended it 2x dfkjgbk IGNORE THAT)

❥ OT 13 : edging vs overstimulation - @svtswhorehouse

jihoon's section...ah fuck, him being a wildcard. overstimulating or edging depending on his mood. i cannootttt

❥ simp!jihoon - @boofeine

(op's account got suspended so the fic isn't available :/) if i died after woozi saying babygirl....hahahhaha no i didn't??

❥ simp!woozi - @hannieehaee

dear lord he's so down bad and so horny and so needyyyy

❥ dishes - @wooziorgans

it started off so sweet and then.... if i moaned??? THAT'S BETWEEN ME AND THE FIC

❥ things you do that make svt bust quick - @pochaccoups

jihoon's section....dear lord i have a thing for his longer hair and it is so well shown in this vkjfbkjb

❥ slow motion - @cherriegyuu

OHOHOHOHO FRIENDS TO LOVERS HEHEHE. the tension building is just so goooood. the proximity pushing it to the edge? i love itt

❥ riding needy jihoon - @boofeine

(op's account got suspended so the fic isn't available :/) needy??? jihooon? *screechesss* OH THIS IS TOO MUCHHH

❥ loser!woozi - @hannieehaee

confident!reader with loser!jihoon?? sign me up

❥ boyfriend!woozi headcanons (sfw + nsfw) - @wifeyoozi

oh dear, he sounds perfect for meeeeee. being too shy for pda but clingy in private??? YEET ME!! god of music and god at making you cum- *gets dragged away* HE'S JUST SO LOVINGGG

❥ lee jihoon as your producer - @woozivrsefactry

oh dear...he's so whippppeedddd~ AND FUCK THEY'RE BOTH SO PEVERTED?!!?

❥ next stop till nirvana - @wifeyoozi

ffs the images this writing casted in my head is INSANE. he's look SOOO pretty overstimulated

❥ sub!jihoon x sub!reader - @hannieehaee

he's insane for reader and i'm insane for him jkgfbdk cockwarming to fucking hoonie in his studio PLS SEDATE MEEE

❥ no song without you - @hannieehaee

genuinely just obsessed with how jihoon is characterised in this fic?? the tension between reader and him is insane!! the concept for their song is something i would love to see jihoon in too. him being lowkey pathetic and inexperienced makes my brain go brrrr skjfdgbdk he's so down bad for reader and i am down bad for him djfkgfbd this is the fic that made me start reading more woozi fics haha

ames' song recs: q&a (ft. ailee) by seventeen, ruby by woozi, chemistry by kiss of life & boyfriend by yeonjun

ames note: sorry for dropping off of tumblr for a bit haha. i got overwhelmed from posting. LMAO THE WAY I ONLY HAVE LIKE A FEW SFW FIC RECS I'M SORRY Y'ALL JKBVFKJ can you tell i like subby jihoon... kfjbd and i love jihoon so so much?? anywaysss, everyone enjoyyyy~ wooahaeee ς(.>‿<)

[creativeneonsign123]

Radiance Redefined: Unveiling the Brilliance of Creative Neon Sign in the Heart of New York City

Welcome to the luminous realm of "Creative Neon Sign" in the heart of New York City, where brilliance meets bespoke artistry. As the premier destination for custom neon creations, Creative Neon Sign has redefined the way individuals, businesses, and contractors illuminate their spaces.

Crafting Brilliance At Creative Neon Sign, each creation is more than just a light source; it's a statement, a memory, and a piece of personalized art designed to brighten your world. From vibrant colors to intricate designs, our team of skilled artisans handcrafts each sign with meticulous attention to detail. The result is a neon masterpiece that not only illuminates but captivates.

Our Story Founded on the belief that every space deserves a touch of brilliance, Creative Neon Sign has been transforming environments since its inception. Nestled in the bustling streets of New York City, our workshop is a hub of creativity where ideas come to life. We take pride in being more than a neon sign shop; we are storytellers, crafting narratives through the mesmerizing glow of neon.

Collaborate and Illuminate Whether you're a business owner looking to elevate your brand presence, a contractor seeking a unique touch for your projects, or an individual with a vision, Creative Neon Sign is your trusted partner. Our custom solutions cater to a diverse range of needs, from storefront displays that leave a lasting impression to personalized signs that add character to homes and events.

Quality Assurance At Creative Neon Sign, quality is non-negotiable. Each sign undergoes rigorous testing to ensure it not only meets but exceeds the highest standards. We are committed to delivering a product that not only glows brilliantly on day one but continues to light up your space for years to come.

Bringing Ideas to Light Dream it, design it, and watch it come to life with Creative Neon Sign. Our team is ready to collaborate with you on custom designs that transcend the ordinary. Whether you have a logo, a quote, or a unique concept in mind, we turn your ideas into stunning neon reality, ensuring your space speaks volumes in its own vibrant language.

Visit Us or Connect Online Located in the vibrant city that never sleeps, our physical storefront is a testament to the creativity pulsating through every corner of New York. Step inside, immerse yourself in the glow, and let the possibilities unfold.

For those beyond the city limits, our digital doors are always open. Connect with us on Instagram, where we share glimpses of our neon artistry, customer spotlights, and the behind-the-scenes magic that brings each creation to life. DM us to start your custom project, schedule a consultation, or simply share your ideas. At Creative Neon Sign, we're not just illuminating spaces; we're illuminating stories.

Embrace the brilliance. Illuminate your narrative. Choose Creative Neon Sign.

Creative Neon Sign

[fancyloveavenue]

Neon Signs: Illuminating Art That Glows

Ever noticed those bright, glowing signs lighting up the night as you walk down a city street? Those are neon signs! They’re those colorful lights that make everything look super cool and glowing. But what exactly are neon signs, and how do they work?.. Let’s explore together.

The Basics of Neon Signs

So, basically, what are neon signs? Simply put, a neon sign is a kind of electric sign lit up by long tubes that have neon or other gases inside. These signs were first made in the early 1900s and quickly became popular for advertising. Originally, they were used for store signs, but now you see them everywhere – in bars, restaurants, art pieces, and even home decor.

How Do Neon Signs Work?

Now let’s get a bit technical. Neon signs work through gas discharge. A neon sign has a sealed glass tube filled with neon gas at low pressure. When an electric current is passed through the electrodes at each end of the tube, it lights up the neon gas, making it glow. The color of the light depends on the gas in the tube. Neon gas gives a bright red-orange light, while other gases like argon or krypton can make different colors. By using colored glass or coatings inside the tubes, you can get even more colors.

The Rise of LED Neon Signs

Now, we'll talk about something new in the neon world: LED neon signs. Traditional neon signs are beautiful but have some drawbacks. They can be fragile, costly to maintain, and not very energy-efficient. This is where LED neon signs come in.

LED (termed as: Light Emitting Diode) neon signs look like traditional neon but have many benefits. They’re made with flexible LED strips that can be shaped into almost any design. LED neon signs are more durable, use less energy, and are safer to use. Plus, they offer more options in terms of colors, brightness, as well as customization.

Custom Neon Lights: Express Yourself

One of the coolest things about neon signs today is custom neon lights. Imagine having a neon sign with your name, a favorite quote, or even a logo. Custom neon signs let you show off your personality or brand in a fun and unique way.

Personalized neon signs are great for adding a personal touch to your home or office. They make fantastic gifts too! Think about giving a newlywed couple a neon sign with their names or a friend a sign with a shared inside joke. It’s a thoughtful and creative way to brighten someone’s day.

The Popularity of Personalized Neon Signs

Personalized neon signs have become quite trendy, especially with social media. People love sharing pictures of their custom neon signs on Instagram and Pinterest. They add a trendy, modern touch to any space, making them perfect for home decor, weddings, events, and even storefronts.

Business owners love personalized neon signs because they attract customers and make their brand stand out. A unique neon sign can be a great marketing tool, drawing people’s attention and making your business more memorable.

The Art and Craft of Making Neon Signs

Creating neon signs is an art. It takes skill and precision. Traditional neon signs are handcrafted by skilled artisans called neon benders. These craftsmen heat and bend glass tubes into various shapes and designs. It’s a delicate process that takes years to master.

LED neon signs are easier to make but still require a good eye for design. The flexible LED strips need to be carefully arranged and secured to create the desired look. Whether traditional or LED, making neon signs is a blend of art and technology.

Conclusion: The Everlasting Charm of Neon Signs

Neon signs have a charm that never fades. Whether it’s the nostalgic glow of a vintage neon sign or the modern look of an LED neon sign, they always captivate us. They’re more than just lights; they’re pieces of art that convey messages, evoke emotions, and create ambiance.

So, next time you see a neon sign, take a moment to appreciate its beauty and the craftsmanship behind it. And if you ever think about getting one for yourself, remember that there’s a whole world of custom neon lights and personalized neon signs out there waiting to light up your life.

[captain-hawks]

SOMEDAY WAS ALWAYS JUST RIGHT HERE.

hajime iwaizumi x f!reader

wc: 3.4k tags: 18+ only, friends to lovers, pining, feels, smut, grinding, fingering, unprotected p in v, praise kink, protective iwa -> requested

“I hate this place,” Iwaizumi grumbles when your group slows to a stop on the sidewalk, the neon purple sign above the entrance of the club washing his face in a vivid hue that only serves to further highlight his displeasure.

“Well, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa elbows him in the ribs, “when it’s your birthday, we’ll all stand in a room looking annoyed with our arms crossed watching paint dry or something.” 

He pats him on the shoulder before striding ahead, following Makki and Mattsun inside. 

It’s been almost six months since the five of you have all gotten together, thanks to the demands of full-time jobs in different cities. 

You missed this. 

You missed them. 

Iwaizumi turns to you, like you’ll be his saving grace with some off-the-cuff excuse to get the hell out of Dodge before the other three notice you’re gone. 

(But you missed him the most, this you know for certain.)

“Oh no,” you tell him. “I spent too much time getting ready to bail now.”

(Though the idea of fucking off with Iwa to some dimly-lit diner with sticky, decades-old menus and watered down soda like you used to when you were teenagers is wholly tempting—)

He sighs but follows you in all the same, albeit the slightly begrudging drag of his feet as he mutters, “I feel like I should have started drinking before we got here.”

Truth be told, if it wasn’t Makki’s birthday, you also wouldn’t really want to spend your only night in town here of all places. But without much of a choice in the matter, and with Oikawa’s none-too-subtle encouragement regarding a certain something last week, you’ve decided to make the most of it—although you’re still not going to get your hopes up. 

—

Oikawa: sooo Oikawa: you said you were going shopping today for something to wear this weekend Oikawa: did you find anything

>>>: [image sent] >>>: Pick a color. I’ve been to ten stores. I’m over it.

Oikawa: well i’m partial to blue  Oikawa: but iwa-chan will loooove the black dress ;)

>>>: TOORU

Oikawa: :)

>>>: You swore yourself to secrecy >>>: Please don’t say anything

Oikawa: i’m just saying Oikawa: maybe show him what he’s been missing out on~ Oikawa: absence makes the dick grow harder!

>>>: I’m blocking your number

—

You’ve been friends with the boys since your days at Aoba Johsai, and you’ve maintained an impressively solid track record at keeping your feelings for Iwaizumi buried under lock and key for just as long. 

That is—until you made the horrid mistake of drunkenly bemoaning your unrequited pining to Oikawa last time you saw them all for a reunion party at Mattsun’s place. A party which happened to include Iwaizumi’s on-again off-again girlfriend. 

(They’re now very much off, permanently. As of the last two months, intel courtesy of the nosey brunette who has now decided to make your mockery of a love life his latest charity case.)

Now, Oikawa falls into step beside you, Iwaizumi shooting him a suspicious glance before he shoos him off toward where Makki and Mattsun are already leaning over the bartop to order drinks. 

“I told you black was the way to go,” Oikawa murmurs under his breath in a singsong voice, appraising your outfit with a satisfied smirk. 

“And I still don’t think dressing nice is suddenly going to make him decide he’s in love with me,” you whisper back in annoyance.

“First of all, he’s been in love with you since high school. Second, he hasn’t stopped looking at you since we picked you up.”

You blink at him several times, chest swelling with warmth and dumbfounded confusion, but any chance of a retort dies on your lips when Iwaizumi returns to your side. 

“You said you didn’t wanna drink tonight, right?” he asks, holding up a glass of what appears to be soda. 

He’s always had a habit of listening to you. 

Oikawa looks infuriatingly smug when he throws a glance back at you from behind him, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis. 

“Thanks,” you smile, fingertips incidentally brushing against his when he hands you the cup.

He nods, something soft flickering across his face for a brief moment, though it disappears when Oikawa starts shouting your names from afar like a scorned lover. 

You try not to overthink the way his hand gently hovers against your lower back when the two of you make your way through the throng of people to find the table your friends have claimed, or the way his thigh briefly presses up against yours when you slide into the booth.

–

“This feels counterproductive,” you yell over the music to Oikawa as he drags you out onto the dance floor twenty minutes later, a few paces behind a very loud and equally inebriated Makki. Mattsun’s off getting more drinks. “Iwa will die before he comes over here.”

Oikawa’s hands hover over your hips, though there’s nothing suggestive about the touch as he casually urges you to follow the rhythm he’s already moving to. “You really have no idea, do you?”

You huff in annoyance, letting your limbs loosen up as you sway. “He’s not into me, Tooru. I don’t know what you think you’ve been seeing, but you’re wrong.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but Makki sidles up beside you with a flushed face and a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on his head that he definitely didn’t walk in with, hands grabbing both of your arms as he pulls you deeper into the crowd. 

A tall man eventually edges his way between where you’re dancing beside Oikawa, an uninvited hand falling against your hip as he leans into your space and says loud enough for you to hear over the music, “That dress looks gorgeous on you, but it would look even better on the floor.”

You blink at him, body cringing with discomfort at the sleazy look on his face and the way his hand has begun to slip lower toward your backside. While you’re not opposed to dancing with strangers to get your mind off of the man who’s probably still sullenly scrolling through his phone at the table, something about this guy’s presumptuous touch sends you reeling with discomfort. 

Intending to catch Oikawa or Makki’s attention, you quickly turn, only to bump right into Iwaizumi.

His jaw is firmly set, eyes brimming with something dark as he pulls you against him, and the knot of anxiety in your chest immediately loosens at the feeling of his body heat sinking into yours.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, unconsciously pressing even closer to him, and he tightens the arm that’s wrapped around you a fraction. 

“What the hell, man?” The guy glares at Iwaizumi, like he’s ruined his chances with you. 

“You wanna dance with this guy?” The question is a warm huff of air against the shell of your ear. 

“Absolutely not,” you tell him, eyeing the creep warily.

“She’s not interested, man,” Iwaizumi replies. 

“What, you her boyfriend or something?” The guy sneers, clearly attempting to save face now. “Wouldn’t have known any better with all the guys she’s over here dancing with.”

Iwaizumi shifts forward, fist clenched. “What the fu—“

“Oooookay, time to fuck off now!” Oikawa interrupts, smoothly stepping in between the two men. 

The man looks like he wants to argue more, but Matsukawa moves to stand next to Oikawa, arms crossed, and it quickly becomes a moot point as he sulks off in defeat. 

Iwaizumi lets you go, though his shoulder remains pressed against yours. 

“Iwa-chan, how nice of you to join us,” Oikawa coos, ruffling his hair for good measure. 

Iwaizumi slaps his hand away, glaring. “Well since none of you know how to spot creeps before they become a problem.”

Oikawa offers him a patronizing smile, “We’re not all equipped to be the definition of scary dog privilege like you are.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Iwaizumi grumbles something under his breath before putting his arm around your shoulder and steering you away from the other three. 

“Thanks, Hajime, but I do still want to dan—“

“I know,” he replies, coming to a stop and turning you to face him. 

“So what are you—”

Your words die a spectacular death at the shallow bridge between your tongue and your teeth as Iwaizumi lifts your arms and places them around his neck, moving his own hands to your waist. 

And this time, when the vivid overhead lights wash over him, his expression is soft. 

“We’re dancing,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Like his fingers aren’t a burning hot brand against the curve of your hips. 

“You hate dancing,” you reply dumbly. 

The corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth tilts upward a little. “Yeah, I do.”

The crowd around you moves with vigor, laughing and grinding and shouting over the thrumming, pulsing music. But Iwaizumi’s hand just gently slides to your wrist, and he slowly guides you outward into a full-body spin, his eyes sweeping down your form. 

When you find yourself back in your original position, albeit a bit closer than before, he adds, “But I can be convinced.”

Your heart swells. 

You’ve always been attracted to Iwaizumi, endlessly fond of his dark, messy brown hair and perpetual scowl. But the years have been more than kind to him, his boyish teenage features of days long past now cut into something solid and achingly handsome in a way that leaves your gut churning with heat every time you look at him. He’s taller, and broader—though you try not to let yourself dwell on the second point much for the sake of your own sanity. 

And now he’s looking at you expectantly with his stupidly attractive face, a challenge flashing in his eyes as he waits for you to move. 

So you do. 

For a partner that claims to hate this, Iwaizumi doesn’t miss a beat when you start to move, falling into sync with the rhythm of your body. And all you can think is how the way he holds you, the steady pressure of his hands on your waist—it’s nothing like how it was with Oikawa. 

It’s borderline possessive.

Almost.

It’s a battle in and of itself to resist the urge to let your hand slide to the nape of his neck, to card your fingers through the soft, shorter hair at the back of his head. 

Your insides feel raw, flammable. 

Doused in years worth of longing and desire that have soaked you to the bone, left you shivering with want, pliant and porous with need.

And the audible hitch in Iwaizumi’s breath as you spin and place your back to his front is the match. 

The space between your bodies closes as you lean back into him, as he pulls you in. The aftershocks of his touch spiderweb across your nervous system without mercy. 

You press back into him, harder. The beat of the music overheard is lost to you, drowned out by the blood that rushes in your ears as his grip on you tightens.

“You gonna move?” he teases, voice a little rough. “‘Cause I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

Your legs bend at the knee as you drop your body down just enough, ass brushing his thighs, before rolling back up against him. His fingers flex, and he curses hoarsely under his breath.

So you do it again.

Iwaizumi’s mouth is hot when it lands just behind your earlobe, less of a kiss and more of a labored exhale. You shudder at the sensation all the same, and he turns just enough to drag his nose down the side of your neck.

“Hajime,” you gasp.

He lets out a sound that sounds like a broken off laugh, low and abrupt and a little incredulous.

Turning your head, your lips nearly meet, the layer of saliva coating yours prickling against the warmth of his breath that breaches the gap. 

Iwaizumi, as it turns out, is a quick study.

He drags your hips in a rolling motion, rocking forward into you, mouth finding purchase where your neck and shoulder meet. And he does kiss you this time, a hot, slick brand against your skin, your neck, one that sinks in deeper as you breathe out his name again with need punctuating each syllable. 

You’re dizzy on your feet.

And he’s ridiculously hard against you.

Giving in to an urge that spans years beyond this moment, you reach back, dragging your fingers through his hair from the front. You can feel the way he shudders against you. 

“I think I’m done dancing,” you breathe out. 

He doesn’t misunderstand your meaning.

You text Oikawa to let him know you’re heading out, both to save time and to avoid being on the receiving end of what you can only assume will be his most smug look yet.

The taxi ride back to Iwaizumi’s apartment is quiet, but his pinky rests against yours in the middle of the leather backseat. 

He helps you out of your heels as you step through the doorway, his fingers lingering against your ankles as he slips open the buckles.

And you’re sixteen again, biting the inside of your cheek as Iwaizumi kneels in front of you at the run-down local roller rink and tightens the laces on your skates.

He gets you a cold glass of water.

You’re nineteen again, hiccuping and sobbing at two o’clock in the morning on the ugly orange couch at Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s place as the latter mumbles choice words about your ex-boyfriend under his breath. He grabs your wrist to steady the cup of water you’ve nearly spilled twice.

He leads you into his bedroom.

You’re twenty four and you’re hundreds of miles away in a one-bedroom apartment that still doesn’t feel like home. And Iwaizumi’s rolling his eyes fondly on the other side of the phone screen as he takes you for a tour of his new place, making a dramatic grand gesture to show you exactly where he put the omamori you’d sent him via post—on his nightstand beside the bed. 

It’s still there now, nestled beside a pair of reading glasses and tube of chapstick.

And when he settles down on the edge of the bed and looks at you with his palms flat on either side of him and face tilted with a smile—

—your face feels hot, and you choke out a sob that feels equal parts pathetic and cathartic as you stand there before him.

Iwaizumi pulls you into his arms, and his voice is strained as he says, “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

It suddenly makes sense now, the subtle, distant change in him after you received your scholarship letter what feels like a lifetime ago.

“And if I said I want to stay this time?”

You hate your job. 

Your lease is nearly up.

He cups your face in both of his hands, his low, rough tone betraying his steady gaze. “Do you?”

You smile, and his thumb strokes away the next tear that trails down your cheek.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

The shape of his lips mirrors your own. “I miss you all the time.”

And when his mouth finally finds yours, when he cups the back of your head and parts the seam of your lips with his tongue while you straddle his lap, as you both go tumbling backward against the mattress—this feels like home. 

–

“Is it too late for me to tell you how good you looked in this tonight?” Iwaizumi says from where he’s lying beneath you as you tug off your dress, his hands finding a home against your bare sides.

You shiver at the sensation, tossing the black material to join his shirt and pants on the floor. 

He watches it fall. “...I guess it does look better there tho—”

“Don’t you dare.”

He grins, surging up to kiss you, hands deftly flicking open the hinge of your bra as his mouth slots against yours. You nip at his bottom lip, taking it between your teeth, and he groans, drawing an equally needy whine out of you as he cups your bare breast and drags his thumb over your pebbled nipple. 

A little embarrassed by the desperation in your tone, you inhale sharply, and he presses an open mouthed kiss to the corner of your lips as he rasps, “No, I wanna hear you.”

He dips his head down, mouth closing over one of your nipples, and your body arches into his as pleasure dances down your spine. You moan.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth from your sternum to your collarbone before hotly kissing his way up the side of your neck.

You’re helpless to stop the whimper that leaves you at his whispered praise, and he knows it—you feel him smile against the curve of your jaw. 

When he slides off your underwear, and as you hook a finger in his boxers in turn, you nearly expect him to crawl forward, to lay you flat on your back. But he pulls you back into his lap instead, groaning softly over how wet you are as he slides two fingers through your slick, dripping folds. 

It’s so intimate—rocking back down onto the length of his fingers as he stretches you open, as his chest rises and falls while he watches you tremble. He kisses you hard, the sounds of your moans echoing in the back of his throat as his tongue scrapes against your teeth, fingers slipping and plunging against your plush inner walls. 

And for all that he’s rendered you hopelessly drunk on his touch, he’s equally as affected, his forehead dropping against your shoulder when you finally wrap your hands around his shaft. Iwaizumi lets out a shuddering breath, taking your skin between his teeth.  There’s a breathless conversation that passes between the two of you, his eyes briefly darting toward his nightstand in question, but the matter is settled on other terms.

Iwaizumi’s eyes burn into yours as he grasps your hips and eases you down onto his thick cock, fingers digging in when you keen at the stretch. Your cunt spasms, slick walls eagerly taking each inch until he’s bottomed out inside of you, his mouth pressed to yours as he rasps again, even softer this time, “Good girl.”

You find yourself worried for a moment that in this position, your trembling legs won’t find purchase in this molten sea of pleasure, but the firm pressure of Iwaizumi’s hands on your hips is a stark reminder of how very observant he is. He guides your body upward, enough that the head of his cock rubs against your aching entrance, and then rolls his hips as he drags you back down. 

“Hajime,” you whimper, rocking your throbbing clit against him once he’s buried to the hilt.

“Keep saying my name like that, and I’m not gonna last,” he groans, voice like gravel, cock now thrusting in and out of you repeatedly. 

Reaching up, you card your fingers through his hair and pull, bringing your mouth to his as you exhale against his lips, “Hajime.”

He cups the back of your head, licking his way into your mouth and deepening the kiss before reaching down to drag his thumb over your swollen clit. The coil in your abdomen trembles with the need for release as you feel yourself start to go up in flames faster than you ever could have anticipated.

“Let me hear you come,” he breathes out, eyes locked on yours.

The pleasure cresting inside of you explodes.

You cry out, every muscle in your body going taut as your climax stretches you open wide. And Iwaizumi kisses you hard, fucking you through it until you’re whimpering from overstimulation. He pulls out of you, the base of his cock rubbing against your sensitive clit and soaking wet folds as he rapidly strokes himself, gasping when you replace his hand with your own. Hot ropes of cum splatter between your bodies as his hips jerk upward into your touch, his mouth halfway slotted against yours as he breathes hard and fast. 

You don’t bother going back to your hotel that night.

(You’ll take the afternoon train back.)

–

Months later, home is tangled up in these sheets that smell like his body wash and your shampoo.

It’s quiet mornings on the couch and laughter in the kitchen.

It’s slow dancing in the living room and kissing under the string lights on the tiny balcony. 

Home is here, with Hajime, the reassuring warmth of his fingers threaded into yours.

[zaynes-nieve]

Zayne Confirmed Lore

Anything confirmed by the developers, including any accounts or information within the game! (I will update you as the game continues, and I appreciate any info I can get from you all as well!!!!)

Tender Moments | Memoria | Bond | Devs/Offical/Messages/Calls | Main Story | Annecdotes

Basic Info:

Zayne's Birthday is September 5th | About Him

Other Names: Rei (JP), Lee See-Oen (KR) and Li Shen (CN)

Zayne's Constellation sign is a Virgo (like me)| About Him

Zayne is 6'1 | About Him

Zayne's age is 27 | About Him

Zayne is the Chief Cardiac Surgeon at Akso Hospital | About Him

Zayne's evol is Ice | About Him

Daily Life and a good chunk of the lore

Zayne is a workaholic, and he likes it | Gentle Twilight/About Him

He is good at snowboarding! | Everlasting Snowdrop/About Him

He knows how to peel an apple in one go | Spring Remnants/About Him

He is good at drawing (those anatomical diagrams, ftw!!!) | Suprise Encounter/About Him

He has a sweet tooth (like me) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

He gets toothaches (unlike me) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

He is a terrible patient (Strict against others, indulgent to his own whims) | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

Zayne is a teetotaler (a person who never drinks alcohol) | Drunken Intimacy/About Him

He is good at pool but is a strict teacher | Exclusive Tutorial/About Him

His Parents are also Doctors and work with Doctors without Borders overseas | Eternal Attachment/About Him

He sends them a message on his birthday each year, telling them he is just fine! | Eternal Attachment/About Him

Zayne has a hard time controlling his Evol | Main Story 4-10/Never Ending Winter ch.4

Starcatcher Awardee (2046) | Main Story 4-5

Linde Award Winner (Year 2046) | Main Story 4-5 / Never Ending Winter ch.10? Last chapter mention

His patients all are obedient (terrified) of him | A Pure White Heart ch. 3

Dr. Zayne and Dawnbreaker see each other in their dreams | (Never Ending Winter Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.4)

He has a pet squirrel named after the medication, Clopidogrel! | Feed the Squirrel/Message

It appears Zayne also frequently volunteers to assist in medical relief for disasters or joins the medical teams assisting hunters fighting wanders in high-frequency zones | Dawn's Shadows, Foreign Aid/Video Call, Hidden Motive, Medical Rescue

He is quick to forgo his well-being to save others in dangerous situations. He truly puts his own duty as a doctor above everything else.| Medical Rescue, Neon Night

He is surprisingly (not to any of us but to MC ig) a novice to the art of sleeping in. | Fluffy Treatment/About Him

When he is sick he dodges the cold medicine for Hot Cocoa. | Engraved Affection/About Him

His Past:

Zayne was one smart cookie and skipped several years! But because he was so young and his classmates were not. He had a hard time making friends | Delicacy/About Him

When he was in medical school, he visited a barbeque stall a lot | Delicacy/About Him

He has a good tolerance for pain😭and he gets injured a lot, leaving many scars | Medical Rescue/About Him

Dr. Zayne was in the 35th Cohort of the Skyhaven Medical School in a PhD Program | Never Ending Winter ch.1

He was an intern under Dr. William (took him under his wing) | Never Ending Winter ch.1

It's implied he had to kill William after those black crystals seemed to be turning Dr.William into a Wanderer (Do we consider this confirmed enough?) | Never Ending Winter ch. 6

He Plays Tennis (and won a prize!) | Tennis Game/Messages

Due to the time travel shenanigans and our boy being the best at everything, Zayne is now an expert Jade carver! | Moonlit Dream

He briefly studied keyboards as a child. But quit after a month. | Heartstring Notes

All he knows how to play is Little Lamb | Heartstring Notes

When he worked at the hospital during New Years, the Akso Hospital Staff celebrated the holidays together | Cherished Longing/About Him

His Likes:

He really hates carrots!!! | A Frozen Promise/About Him

He visits medical museums to relax, or he will go look out at the river | Heart Within Reach/About Him

Our Story 💙❄️☃️

He gave us a little snow seal when we were children (we thought it was a snowball) | A Frozen Promise/About Him

After seeing our name on the volunteer list for the Frontlines, he follows us. Hidden Motive/Insta Acc.

He is our Primary Doctor!!! (we're not gonna talk about the ethics of this LMFAO) | Main Story 1-8/About Him

Zayne said he melted an "old" popsicle (our popsicles at this time) for us when we were kids | Nostalgic Sweetness/About Him

Our Grandmother left us a letter with Zayne, and he seems to know more than he is letting on | Main Story 4-7

We voted for him in the Patient's Favorite Doctor poll on Asko's official account (He also won) | A Vote/Message

HE USES US AS HIS WALLPAPER | Screen Saver/Message

Zayne is not above bribery (whether it is us or his patients) | I Miss You/Message

We gave daffodils to Zayne! (they're garlic) | Gardening/Message

World Underneath

Longly Flame

Williams Girlfriend was named Sienna

She gives Zayne, Williams Martyr Badge.

(See the Everlasting Anecdote for more info on William)

They call Zayne the 35th academic god XD. They pray to him before exams lmfao

Zayne and Dr. Noah are apart of an experiment along with Carter regarding proctores and hearts. It starts growing black crystals

Zayne deletes all of his research

In General this just introduces that Dr. Noah had three protégés; Zayne, Carter and William

Snowy Stairs

Carter didn't get his doctorate degree (what a scum bag)

Carter is stalking Zayne.

He also seems to be playing and is obsessed with life and death

Cabin 607 is a patient, Carter is attempting to use to get Zayne to join him in his efforts at Xander Sciences

His name is Felix, 45 and a teacher

Carter tried to hack Zayne with a Trojan horse. This man is obsessed oml

Carter is now attempting to use MC to get to Zayne and possibly use MC for the X-Heart Experiment

No Morning (The Greyson Anecdote)

Zayne is the type to micromanage

This occurs after Im assuming after MC and Zayne’s trip to Mt. Eternal due to context clues but this may be wrong

Greyson has a crush on a Hunter

Zayne and MC are considered close by the Akso staff

Snowball Flower on Zayne's desk though it looks a little sick according to Greyson

Called a Snow Velvet

Rescue Operation, both Greyson, Zayne attend for 2 days and 2 nights

Awww Greyson got himself a little Hunter girlfriend

CPR and the 6 minutes if they're heart stops. To not give up cause that is when a person is declared dead and can't be resuscitated. (I think Greyson was telling Zayne this but I originally thought it was Zayne telling Greyson)

Overall it really is just getting into how scary being a hunter is from a non hunter perspective. Especially since it's from a surgeon who is like Zayne.

We also learn more about some of the medical conditions that occur with Hunters and protocore symptoms

And once again the mention of the Grim Reaper and again the mention of dark ICE crystals with the dying snow velvet

Dawnbreaker

Anything talked about in this section is written as if you have already had the knowledge before hand.

Never Ending Winter: Zayne Anecdote #2

First mention of Dawnbreaker and also where we get the info of Zayne's Nightmare into Dawnbreaker's world.

Zayne mentions the nightmares again and talks about how his current reality is more bloody than his nightmares (Dawn Breaker World)

We get Dr.Zayne's perspective as he is "in that world of ice and snow" Zayne attacks himself from his perspective with dark crystals (which we know from The third ancedote is the color of Dawnbreaker's ice

Dr.Zayne refers to this black coated version of him as the Grim Reaper.

Zayne almost accidentally killed someone important to him when he was 12. He was 12 when he first started getting dreams of Dawnbreaker

Crystals begin to grow off of William (though, they mention the color of said crystals being black, they dont mention if they're ice)

Future edit: 1/25/25: Infold has made it very clear recently between the difference between the dark ice of Dawnbreaker and the black crystals that seems to involve humans turning into wanderers. Zayne now in the most recent main story with Caleb has made it clear that the crystals on Kevi was the ones that were on William!!!

The people Dawnbreaker killed appear in front of him after he kills William

Still in the Dark: Zayne Anecdote #3

Georgie's first description of Dawnbreaker Zayne is that of a Grim Reaper (hence the connection to all mentions of him in Never Ending Winter)

Georige is a young boy who hires Zayne to help him find the person who killed his mom

Dawnbreaker is the in canon title for the serial killer who leaves no bodys only dark blue crystals

There is footage of Dawnbreaker killing these people, so it isn't speculation

Detective Ivan, the police working on the Dawnbreaker case, gives distrubing insight into the situation, giving his point of view that the people who Dawnbreaker is killing leave behind shards like Wanderer protocores

When he catches Dawnbreaker in the act, he finds the victim with tentacles and attacking Dawnbreaker.

Georgie's mother was a worker at an ungergound protocore factory

Zayne, after running out of chocolate, takes some from Georgie, and so begins the Georige & Zayne duo.

DB!Zayne watches Old Doctor Television Shows

He also only lives off of Nutrient Solutions

DB! Zayne also has a Jasmine Plant

He also oftens visits a decayed plaza with a jasmine field

In their universe, Linkon City is a city from a distant past.

DB!Zayne confirms that he also dreams and that it is of our Linkon City

Chapter 4 is where we get the most intermigle between Zayne & DB! Zayne.

Zayne dreams of MC and the snacks we share with Zayne in particular a popsicle which could be a reference to the bond story Nostalgic Sweetness

He dreams of being a suregon. He started getting these dreams also at the age twelve

He knew at 12 that MC and Zayne would meet at 27

Dawnbreaker lives vicariously though these dreams and the remnants of Linkon he can find in his world.

Zayne calls the Humans who leave behind Protocore fragments "Abominations"

He plays some recording about Zhuangzi and the Butterfly essentially not knowing if he was the dream or if they are. (Butterfly dreaming of being Zhuangzi or Zhuangzi dreaming of being a Butterfly) Dr.Zayne and Dawnbreaker to a T.

Georgie dreams of being a monster (Foreshadowing yall). Zayne notices a bump under Georgies eyes 😭

Georgie, on the day he turns 12, begins to show more obvious symptoms of being an Abomination

IK this has been more of a recount, but we got little to work with Dawn Breaker lore yall

Dawn Breakers first kill was when he was 12, after he killed his adopted father, who became an Abomination

It is also here that we learn that if not killed, these beings turn into Wanderers.

Zayne is the one who murdered Georgie's mother

We find out that Georgie's mother requested that Zayne kills her half a month before she turned.

Her Coworkers having turned into Wanderers (She believes it was due to their long exposure to the protocores)

Zayne kills Georgie after he becomes an Abomination

Detective Ivan gives us the run down that the government and those in power are hiding the fact that some of those wanderers were once human. He also intends to stop and destory the investigation against Dawnbreaker, likely so Zayne can continue doing his job.

Eternal Attachment

Zayne's Birthday Card!!!! What is it doing in the Dawnbreaker section people ask as I slowly sink into despair about the implications of it

( Dropping Soon)

Special Investigation: Zayne

This first main story lore that connects our Zayne with Dawnbreaker. Everything else has come from the anecdotes or something extremely similar

(Dropping Soon)

MYTH STORIES

Foreseer

Master of Fate

Pls hit me up with any more information and where it's from!!

[darlingdaisyfarm]

a small gift

tags: Stan x fem!reader x Ford, birthday, humour, fluff, just had to write this wholesome little fic for them because they deserve to be happy, singing, awkward Ford, sfw, inspired by Lana del Rey song

Stanley Pines leaned back in his old armchair, glancing at the calendar on the wall. His eyes landed on the circled date — June 15th, their birthday. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of his brother, hunched over his never-ending stack of research papers, buried in his makeshift lab. Typical Ford. Always with his nose deep in some crackpot science theory, instead of, you know, enjoying life.

"Yeah, no way I’m lettin’ him get away with that this year." Stan muttered to himself. This time, he thought, Ford’s gonna get outta his damn cave and actually have some fun for once.

Stanley strode towards the stairs, stopping at the basement door. He gave it a sharp, rhythmic knock. "Hey, Poindexter! You better not be down there doin’ more of your ‘save-the-universe’ mumbo jumbo! It’s our birthday, ya know!"

There was a brief pause before a muffled voice responded. "Yes, Stanley, I’m fully aware of the date. Just let me finish these calculations—"

"Calculations, schmalkulations! You been finishin’ calculations for forty years, Ford. Trust me, that last decimal point ain’t gonna make a difference to the end of the world or whatever. Now c’mon!" Stan rapped the door again, growing impatient. "I got somethin’ special planned for us tonight. And don’t even try pullin’ that ‘I’m busy’ crap on me this time!"

Ford’s face appeared at the door, peeking through his glasses, which were just a little too smudged from the constant tinkering. "Stanley, I’ve told you, I’m close to a major breakthrough with this—"

“Yeah, yeah, ‘major breakthrough,’ like I haven’t heard that one before." Stan cut him off, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe. "Newsflash, nerd, we ain’t gettin’ any younger, and you’ve barely stepped foot outside since you got back from that other dimension. So, guess what? I’m takin’ ya out tonight!"

Ford frowned. "Out? To where exactly?"

Stan waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, you’ll see. Let’s just say it ain’t the library."

Ford looked at his brother with disbelief. "Stanley, I have absolutely no interest in your usual haunts, whatever dive bar or—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow your roll, Stanford! It’s our birthday! You’re actin’ like I’m draggin’ ya to a strip club or somethin’." Stanley chuckled, already imagining Ford’s awkward reaction if that was the plan. He slapped a hand on Ford’s shoulder. "Nah, I’m takin’ ya to a place with some class. . . and somethin' that'll remind ya why the real world’s worth livin' in, instead of buryin’ your head in books all the time."

Ford adjusted his glasses, still hesitant. "Stanley, I really don’t think—"

“Ah, save it! It's out of the question, buddy, tonight’s gonna be a birthday to remember! Trust me." he turned, heading towards the door, already sensing his twin following behind reluctantly. "And don’t forget, you owe me for all the times I’ve bailed your six-fingered butt outta danger! So, tonight, you’re gonna relax, have a drink, and maybe even talk to someone who ain’t made of equations or alien technology."

***

Stan grinned smugly as looked at Ford’s face. Neon signs flashed ahead, but this wasn’t one of those rough, rundown places Ford hated. It was something fancier. Classier, at least by Stan’s standards. From the open door came the low hum of jazz, mixed with the clink of glasses and soft chatter.

Stan slapped Ford on the back, ushering him forward. "Don’t make that face, Ford It’s nothin’ crazy, but it’s got live music, good drinks and a whole lotta people who don’t speak in alien gibberish. It’s a start, huh?"

Ford blinked, looking genuinely surprised for once. "This. . . isn’t what I expected."

"Yeah, I bet it ain’t!" Stan chuckled. "thought I was gonna take ya to some cabaret joint, didn’t ya?"

Ford didn’t respond, but his silence said enough.

“Look, Ford, I know you’re allergic to fun, but tonight’s our night. No weird science, no alternate dimensions. Just you, me, and a stiff drink. Let’s enjoy it while we can, alright?"

Ford hesitated, looking at the customers sitting at candlelit tables with soft jazz swirling around them. He slowly nodded, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, but only because you’re my brother."

Stan clapped his hands together, beaming. "That’s the spirit! Now, come on, let’s get some drinks in us. You might even get lucky and find someone who actually understands all that nerdy crap you talk about."

Ford smirked, adjusting his coat. "I highly doubt that, Stanley."

Stan winked. "Well, let’s hope so, Sixer. Let’s hope so."

Stan and Ford made their way deeper, the soft jazz filled their ears. The place was packed, but not in an overwhelming way. Couples sat at small round tables, sipping drinks, while a few loners nursed their glasses at the bar, heads swaying to the music.

Stan led Ford to an empty table in the corner, claiming it like he’d been there a hundred times before. He slid into his seat with a satisfied grunt, slapping the table lightly with the palm of his hand. "Alright, Poindexter, sit your six-fingered butt down. I’ll go grab us a couple drinks."

Ford eyed people with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort, still adjusting to the unfamiliar scene, a little anxiety crept into his head. "Stanley, I really don’t think this is—"

"Ah, none of that thinkin' stuff tonight, Ford. You’ve done enough of that for ten lifetimes." Stan got up, heading for the bar with a mischievous grin. "Just sit back and let me handle the drinks. Somethin’ a little more exciting than your usual black coffee or whatever sludge you drink."

Stanford couldn’t help but observe the people around him. They were just different. Lively. Engaged in conversation. Present. It was strange to him—an entire room full of people who weren’t obsessed with solving the mysteries of the universe. They were just living. He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair.

Stan returned a few minutes later, balancing two glasses of amber-colored liquid. He slid one across the table to Ford with a satisfied smirk. "There ya go. Whiskey. Nothin’ fancy, but it’ll do the trick."

Ford picked up the glass, inspecting it with confused face. "Stanley, you know I’m not much of a drinker—"

“Yeah, well, tonight you are." Stan raised his own glass in a toast. "To another year of not gettin’ ourselves killed, huh? And maybe to you actually takin' a break from savin’ the world for once."

Ford hesitated, then clinked his glass against Stan’s and finally smile appeared on his face. "Alright, to surviving another year."

They both took a sip, though Stanford immediately winced, the burn of the whiskey stronger than he’d expected. Stan, on the other hand, downed half of his glass in one go, letting out a contented sigh.

"Ahh, now that’s the good stuff, that's what I call life." Stan leaned back in his seat, eyeing his brother with a knowing smile. "So, how’s it feel to be out in the real world again, Poindexter? A little better than starin’ at equations all night, huh?"

Ford looked around again, enjoying the warm golden glow of the place. It was nice, he had to admit. The music, the atmosphere. . . it was different from his usual solitude. "It’s certainly a change of pace," he said, chuckling softly.

Stan smiled, shaking his head. "I swear, Ford, you could be sittin’ in a room full of clowns on fire and you’d still be playin’ it cool."

"I’ve seen stranger things, Stanley."

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you have. But look around!" Stan waved a hand at the room. "All these people? They’re just livin’ life. No wormholes, no time anomalies. Just fun, just drinks and music. And trust me, you could use a little more of that."

Ford stared into his drink, swirling the liquid around before taking another small sip. "You’re probably right," he admitted, though his tone was still a little stiff. "It’s just difficult to switch off sometimes. My work, it—"

“Your work ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re always gonna have some world-endin’ thing to worry about. But that don’t mean you gotta shut yourself off from everything else." he leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "I mean, you spent thirty years away from here, Ford. I’m just tryin’ to make sure you don’t spend the next 30 stuck in your own head."

Ford was quiet for a moment, listening to his brother’s words. He knew his brother was right. As much as he valued his research, his wish to understand the universe, he had to admit—there was something refreshing about being out here. With real people. But much better, with his family. With Stan.

Stanley must have noticed the gears turning in Ford's head, because he suddenly slammed on the table, breaking the silence. "Alright, enough of this sappy crap! Let’s get you another drink and maybe we’ll even see if there’s a lady in here who’s crazy enough to listen to you talk about multiverses for more than five minutes."

Ford nearly choked on his whiskey. "Stanley, I’m not here to—"

"Ah, come on! It’s your birthday too, ya know. And don’t pretend you ain’t lonely down in that lab of yours. I saw the way you looked at those nachos. Pretty sad, Poindexter. And frankly, disappointing.”

Ford thought he was imagining it. “I didn’t—“

***

Their evening was going great. Stan entertained himself by cracking jokes at the expense of the room’s more eccentric patrons, while Ford watched, occasionally interjecting with his dry wit. They argued about everything from the proper way to run a business to the existence of life on other planets.

Stan leaned back in his seat, nursing his third glass of whiskey, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Y’know, I gotta admit, It’s good havin’ ya back."

Ford looked at his brother and a genuine warmth was reflected on his face."It’s good to be back, Stanley."

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything because they simply didn’t have to. The jazz band played on and the low murmur of the bar filled the silence between them.

Then, just as the moment threatened to get too sentimental, Stan ruined it in classic Stan style.

"Now, let’s see if we can’t find you a nice gal who can keep up with all that crazy stuff in your head."

Ford groaned, rubbing his temple. "Stanley. . .”

Just as Stan was about to say something to embarrass Ford once more, the lights in the room dimmed slightly, drawing everyone’s attention toward the small stage at the center of the club. A soft spotlight illuminated the area, casting a golden glow over a lone figure standing in front of a vintage microphone. There you were,breathtaking, wrapped in a dark red dress that shimmered in the light like velvet. The fabric hugged your form perfectly, falling to the floor in gentle waves that wrapped around your legs. A high slit revealed a teasing glimpse of your leg as you stood with one hand resting lightly on the microphone stand.

The dress was luxurious, dark crimson in color, like wine aged in the shade. It clung to you in all the right ways, that made you look like something out of a classic movie, a femme fatale come to life. There was something called old-Hollywood glamour about you.

You scanned the audience, searching for faces in the dimly lit room, but two figures near the front caught your attention. Mysterious twins, two men, were both staring straight at you. Their eyes widened, and in unison, as if connected by the same thought, they spoke under their breath.

“Wow.”

But Stan continued. "Well, I’ll be damned. Now that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day."

Your lips curved into a small smile as you began to sing, letting your voice fill the room and as you sang, their attention never wavered.

"I've seen the world, done it all, had my cake now,

Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel Air now,”

Stan couldn’t stop admiring, resting his arms on the table, his grin spreading wider with every passing second. “Well, look at this. Ain’t she somethin’,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. He tipped his head slightly in your direction, his eyes trailing the line of your dress. “Charming girl, isn't she, Ford?”

Stanford sat frozen, his eyes never leaving you, completely entranced by the way you moved, by your voice, dress, face, by everything. He swallowed hard, shifting awkwardly in his seat, his mind racing but his body still, as if locked in place.

“You hearin’ that, Ford?" Stan nudged his brother without taking his eyes off you. "That voice. Like honey, huh? Bet she’s got every poor guy in here wrapped around her finger."

Ford finally said something. “She’s. . . remarkable.” he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Stan, of course, couldn’t let it go. “Remarkable?” he gave a short laugh. “C’mon, Poindexter. Don’t be shy. You can’t tell me you’re not feelin' that.”

You let the lyrics spill from your lips, your voice rising with the music. “Hot summer nights, mid-July, When you and I were forever wild,”

As you sang, your gaze drifted back to them, and you caught Ford, he stared at you dumbfounded, biting his lip. God, he was flushed, was it really that stuffy here? His fingers tapped lightly on the table. He was hooked and he didn’t even realize how obvious it was.

Stan, on the other hand, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Just look at that,” he said, shaking his head in admiration. “This girl’s got it, yeah? Ain’t often you see a performer like that. It’s the whole package - looks, voice, everything.”

But Ford’s compliments weren’t loud, weren’t teased out like Stan’s, but they were there, written all over his red face. The way his brow furrowed slightly, the way his lips parted just a bit when you hit a particularly emotional note, it was clear that he was just as captivated, if not more so, than Stan.

"I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will, Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?" as you hit that line, your gaze settled squarely on them, locking eyes with both brothers, one after the other.

“Now that’s a question, huh?” Stan said with a smirk, leaning closer to Ford. “You think she’s askin' us that? 'cause, uh, if so, I ain’t complainin'.”

Ford’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes fixed on you. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t.

You moved into the next verse.

"I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now, Channeling angels in the new age now,” you didn't just perform, you lived every note, every lyric.

“Look at ya, Poindexter. You're sittin' there like a deer in headlights. Ain't you ever seen a girl before?" he chuckled under his breath, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hell, you’ve seen aliens, damn demonic triangle! this should be easy for you.”

Ford tried to hide it, to look anywhere but at you, but useless, his gaze kept drifting back. He was still speechless, lost in your performance.

Then came the line that took both twins' breath away.

“Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven Please let me bring my man,”

Here, the crowd melted away. It's just you, the music and these two mysterious men. Your voice softened, and you sang with all your heart, with all your soul and love. You looked directly at them, first at Stan, whose grin widened even more, then at Ford, whose breath caught in his throat. You held both their gazes and you smiled at them. It was playful, teasing, what made both brothers mutter another “wow” at same time.

Stan almost spilled whiskey on himself.  “Well, darlin’, I sure as hell hope they’re lettin’ me in, ‘cause if you’re up there, I’m signin’ up early.”

But Ford still couldn’t find his voice. He tried, opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened it again. You had him completely disarmed, and he didn’t know how to handle it. As you continued to sing, you knew their attention locked on you. Stan’s gaze was open, unashamed, drinking you in with every word, while Ford’s was more cautious, but no less intense. They were both falling and you could see it plain as day.

Ford glanced at Stan, then back at you, clearly wrestling with himself. He finally managed to speak, but his voice sounded shaky. “She. . . she has a beautiful voice.”

“A voice? Told ya, she got the whole damn package, Ford! Look at her!”

You smiled, even if you didn't hear what they were talking about as the song drew to a close. You hit the final note, letting it linger in the air, and when the applause came, it felt like a distant sound compared to the connection you’d felt with them, both of them.

The stage lights dimmed as you walked off, your dress sweeping behind you like a crimson river. The applause rang out across the room and you slipped behind the curtain, disappearing from view. Back at the table, Stan and Ford sat frozen, their eyes still locked on the now-empty stage.

Stan was the first to speak, his usual swagger returning full force. “Well, that was somethin’. Hell, she practically dedicated that song to me.” he smirked, tapping his fingers on the table in satisfaction. “She’s got good taste, I’ll give her that.”

Ford shot him a side glance, his expression annoyed a bit. “Stanley, she doesn’t even know you,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Calm down.”

“You jealous? ‘cause I’m pretty sure she was lookin' right at me when she sang that whole ‘Dear Lord’ line.”

Ford stiffened. “I’m not,” he replied quickly. “I’m just pointing out the facts.”

“Sure, sure. No need to get worked up, Ford.” Stan laughed, watching his brother’s obvious discomfort. “Looks like she’s got both of us good, huh? don’t you worry, Poindexter, I’ll let you have a shot. Maybe.”

Ford muttered something under his breath, avoiding Stan’s teasing gaze. He couldn’t shake the image of you, standing there in that dress, your charming voice echoing in his mind. It was magnetic. He wasn’t one to get distracted by things like this, but something about you had hit him hard. Harder than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Stan, meanwhile, was already planning his next move. He stood up, all cocky swagger again. “Alright, Ford, let’s go. We’re meetin' her.”

Ford blinked in shock. “Wait— what?”

“You heard me!” Stan’s grin was all confidence. “we’re gonna find her dressing room. Gotta congratulate the girl on a performance like that, right? Besides,” he added with a wink, “she might want a closer look at the Stanley Pines himself.”

Ford shook his head, already regretting this, but deep down, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see you again. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Nah. It’s genius.” Stan patted Ford on the back as they made their way toward the backstage area. “C’mon, Ford, live a little. Believe me, she’ll be all over us. And hey, if you get nervous, just let ol’ Stan handle it. I’m great with the ladies, y’know.”

Ford sighed, not bothering to respond. His heart was already racing in his chest, his mind replaying the song over and over.

And then they reached the dressing room.

Stan took a deep breath. “Alright, here we go. Follow my lead.”

He knocked on the door and then there was a moment of silence before it slowly creaked open. You stood in the doorway, your stage dress still clinging to your figure.

For a second, neither of them said anything. Stanley suddenly found himself at a loss for words, his usual cocky grin faltering. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mind scrambled for something to say, but all he could think about was how stunning you looked up close.

Ford, standing behind him, wasn’t much better too. His eyes met yours, which took his breath away. Every thought he had prepared vanished the moment he saw you again. Oh god.

You looked at them a bit confused, but tried to hide it with curious smile. “Can I help you?”

Stan blinked, finally snapping out of it. “Uh— yeah, we— uh, just wanted to say,“ he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “That was, umm, one hell of a performance!”

Ford nodded. “Yes, it was really beautiful.”

Stan gave him a quick glance, then forced a grin, trying to recover his usual confidence. “Yeah, what he said. You were amazin’. Best thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Ford shot him a glare, but said nothing, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by their obvious struggle to compose themselves. “Thank you,” you said softly, stepping aside to let them in. “I didn’t expect to have such enthusiastic admirers.”

Stan’s grin returned, a little more confident this time. “Well, y’know, when a girl sings like that, it’s hard not to be impressed.” he winked, but it was so obvious he wasn’t as sure of himself as usual.

The room felt smaller now, air not enough, the three of you standing in this intimate space and this damn silence isn’t making it any better. Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling strangely out of place for the first time in decades. Hell, they were both pushing sixty, damn sixty, and yet, standing here in front of you, they felt like awkward teenagers all over again.

Stan glanced at Ford, mentally asking for support, but his twin looked equally as lost.

For all the things they had seen and done over the years, monsters, mysteries, the paranormal, nothing had prepared them for you.

Surprisingly, Ford spoke up. “What we meant to say is—” he paused, realizing he was rambling, and cleared his throat again. “It’s rare to find someone with such talent. And, um, charisma.”

Stan nodded. “Ya know, we’re not exactly the youngest guys in the room, but damn, if you didn’t make us feel like a couple of teenagers again.” he chuckled awkwardly. “Never thought I’d be this tongue-tied at my age, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at their awkward flirts, it was clear they were both trying hard to impress you, even if they were struggling to find the right words. “You guys really don’t have to flatter me like that,” you said, feeling your cheeks turning a little bit red. “but I appreciate it.”

Stan looked at his brother and then at you. “See? Even Poindexter here’s smitten,” he teased. Ford flushed, shooting his brother a glare, but didn’t protest. If he was being honest, he couldn’t deny it. Being around you, he felt awkward and unsure.

You took a step closer, smiling gently as you regarded them both. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

After that, the room felt lighter now, like the tension had eased into something more comfortable. Stan and Ford, for all their differences, were in this moment, together, both stunned by you, equally out of their element, but somehow, that was okay. You had them both wrapped around your finger without even trying.

Then Stan leaned closer to you, whispering. “If anything, choose me, not this weirdo, he has a fetish for triangles.”