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secureidprint · 3 months

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A Comprehensive Guide to ID Card Printing

ID cards play an important role in identifying individuals in schools, workplaces, events, and more. With advances in printing technology, it's now easier than ever for organizations to create customized ID cards onsite. This guide will explore everything you need to know about ID card printing.

What is ID Card Printing?

ID card printing refers to the process of printing personalized identification cards on blank card stock. It typically involves using a direct-to-card printer (DTC) that can print full-color images, text, logos, barcodes, and more directly onto the cards.

DTC printers offer many benefits over traditional offset printing for ID cards:

Fast turnaround: Cards can be printed on demand as needed, without having to wait for an external print shop.

Customization: Organizations can fully design and personalize the ID cards.

Security: Sensitive data can be kept in-house.

Convenience: New employees can get ID cards printed immediately. Lost or damaged cards can be replaced quickly.

Why Do Organizations Need ID Cards?

There are many reasons why companies, schools, and other organizations need identification cards:

Security – ID cards allow controlling access to facilities and events. Cards can contain RFID chips, barcodes, or magstripes.

Identification – They enable quickly identifying employees, students, event attendees, etc. This improves security and efficiency.

Information – ID cards store useful data like names, ID numbers, departments, access levels, and more.

Branding – Organizations can reinforce their brand by including logos, colors, and other branding elements.

Membership – ID cards serve as a membership card and proof that someone is affiliated with the organization.

Tracking – Usage tracking, time tracking, and other metrics can be tied to the ID card.

Key Components of an ID Card Printer

Direct-to-card printers contain several important components that enable printing directly onto blank cards:

Card feeder – This is the input tray that holds the blank cards and feeds them into the printer one at a time.

Printhead – The printhead contains ink cartridges and precision print nozzles that print the graphics, text, and other elements onto the card's surface.

Encoder – The encoder writes information to the card’s magstripe or RFID chip.

Lamination module – Some printers apply lamination to cards for protection and security.

Cleaning station – Rollers clean and remove debris from card surfaces before printing.

Card flipper – Units that print both card sides contain a mechanism to flip the card over.

Output hopper – The newly printed cards are deposited into the output tray.

ID Card Printer Features

Today's ID card printers offer many features and options:

Single- or dual-sided printing – Print on just the front or both sides of the cards.

Full-color printing – All modern direct-to-card printers offer full-color printing. Most use dye-sublimation for photorealistic images.

Magnetic stripe encoding – The printer can encode magstripes with data that can then be swiped through readers.

Contactless card encoding – Smart card chips and antennas can be encoded with data for contactless ID badges used in access control systems.

Lamination – Applying lamination protects printed cards from wear and tear.

Connectivity – ID printers usually connect via USB or Ethernet and come with card design software.

Print speed – Print speeds generally range from about 100 to over 1,000 cards per hour.

ID Card Printing Supplies

Printing ID cards requires certain supplies, most importantly:

Blank cards – You’ll need blank card stock made of PVC or PET plastic. Cards come in different styles and thicknesses.

ID card ribbons – Ribbons contain the color panels used during dye-sublimation printing. YMC with resin black panels are common.

Lamination pouches – Transparent laminate pouches are applied to card surfaces to protect printing.

Cleaning supplies – Cleaning kits and swabs help clean the printhead and rollers.

Magstripe cards – You’ll need blank cards with magnetic stripes for encoding.

Smart cards – These have embedded RFID chips and antennas for contactless encoding.

It’s important to use only approved supplies that meet your printer manufacturer’s specifications to ensure optimal print quality and performance.

ID Card Printer Costs

Here are the main costs associated with ID card printing:

ID card printer – Printer prices range widely from about $1,000 to $5,000 or more depending on features, print speeds, etc. Additional options like magstripe or smart card encoding increase costs.

Supplies – Ongoing costs for blank cards, ribbons, laminate, and other supplies need to be factored in. These are usually fairly inexpensive per card.

Software – Many ID printers include card design software. More full-featured software ranges from about $500 to thousands for enterprise systems.

Training – Some training on the printer operation and software is recommended to get started.

Overall, ID card printing offers tremendous convenience and professional results at relatively affordable costs for most organizations. For large volumes, outsourcing production may have advantages over in-house printing.

How to Design ID Cards

The first step in ID card printing is designing the cards. Here are some best practices for ID card design:

Include organization branding like logos, colors, and fonts to maintain consistency.

Make sure text is legible by using sans serif fonts and reasonable font sizes.

Use both text and photos/graphics – don’t make it text-heavy.

Focus on key information like names, titles, ID numbers, departments, expiry date, etc.

Front-load important info at the top/front of cards.

Use white space and borders to segment content.

Make any barcodes large and scannable.

Provide visual cues like color coding for easy identification.

Keep it simple. Avoid cluttering the design.

Proofread content closely before finalizing designs.

Consider both aesthetics and functionality.

Using ID card template software simplifies otherwise complex design work. Work with your printer vendor to verify card designs before printing.

How to Set Up an ID Card Printing System

Here are some tips for setting up ID card printing in-house:

Choose a dependable, high-quality ID card printer that fits your volume needs and feature requirements. Top vendors include Zebra, Fargo, Magicard, Evolis, and IDP.

Buy supplies like blank cards, ribbons, and laminate from reputable sources to avoid quality issues.

Install print driver software and card design software that comes with your printer.

Familiarize yourself thoroughly with the printer’s operation and maintenance requirements.

Establish ID card design standards and templates for consistency.

Train staff on designing and printing ID cards properly.

Store blank cards and supplies securely with limited access.

Plan for distribution of finished ID cards to new personnel.

Budget for ongoing card and supply replenishment. Factor in defect rates.

Schedule periodic printer maintenance and calibration to maximize uptime.

Maintaining Your ID Card Printer

To keep your ID card printer running smoothly:

Perform cleaning cycles regularly using cleaning kits. This maintains print quality.

Replace spent ribbons and laminate pouches promptly. Use only approved supplies.

Calibrate the printer as needed if print alignment drifts or cards aren’t being fed properly.

Update printer firmware when new versions are released to fix bugs and improve performance.

Don't expose the printer to dust, debris, liquids, or extremes of temperature or humidity. Keep covered when not in use.

Establish a maintenance schedule for tasks like cleaning the printhead, rollers, and sensors.

Visually inspect cards in the output hopper for defects so any printer issues can be caught early.

If print quality declines, try cleaning the printhead more aggressively and replacing old ribbons.

For smart card encoding issues, try cleaning the encoder head with a fiberglass pencil.

Taking good care of your ID card printer will ensure maximum uptime and print quality. Most issues can be resolved by keeping the printer clean and well-maintained.

Troubleshooting ID Card Printing Issues

Some common ID card printing issues and solutions:

Blank cards – The ribbon is finished or not installed correctly. Replace the ribbon.

Partial printing – Clean the printhead and check ribbon alignment.

Blurry printing – Clean the printhead, rollers, and cards. Calibrate the printer.

Misaligned printing – Realign and calibrate the printhead. Check card thickness.

Card jams – Clear the card path. Clean rollers and sensors. Lube the card feeder.

Encoding errors – Clean the encoder head. Check the card positioning.

Driver errors – Update printer drivers and card design software. Reinstall if needed.

** connectivity issues** – Check cabling, ports, and Ethernet connections. Update firmware.

Feed problems – Clean the card feeder components. Lubricate per manual instructions.

For any persistent issues, contact your printer vendor for support. Provide photos, videos, or sample defective cards to aid troubleshooting.

Key Takeaways on ID Card Printing

Direct-to-card printers allow fast, high-quality card printing in-house.

Proper ID cards enhance security, identification, tracking, and more.

Printer options include dual-sided printing, encoding, and lamination.

Supplies include blank cards, ribbons, laminate pouches, and cleaning kits.

Design focuses on organization branding and key cardholder information.

Proper printer care includes maintenance, calibration, and using approved supplies.

Support from printer vendors can help resolve any issues not fixable in-house.

With a quality ID card printing system and reliable supplies, organizations can produce personalized IDs reliably, quickly, and affordably.

#ID card printing #Custom ID cards #Employee ID badges #Identification cards #Plastic ID cards #Photo ID cards #ID card design #Access control cards #ID card solutions #ID card services

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idcardservices · 3 months

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ID Card Services: Elevating Security and Efficiency with Expert ID Card Printing Services

Introduction

In the ever-evolving landscape of identity management, ID card services have become indispensable for organizations seeking secure and efficient solutions. This article delves into the world of ID card services, emphasizing the pivotal role played by expert ID card printing services in providing tailored and reliable identification solutions.

Unveiling the Essence of ID Card Services

Beyond Traditional Identification

ID card services encompass a spectrum of solutions designed to go beyond traditional identification. From thoughtful design to advanced security features, these services aim to provide organizations with versatile tools for enhancing security, streamlining processes, and fostering a sense of community.

The Components of Effective ID Card Services

1. Design and Personalization

At the core of every effective ID card service is thoughtful design. Expert ID card printing services facilitate the creation of cards that not only meet security standards but also reflect the unique identity and brand of the organization.

2. Advanced Security Features

Security is paramount in ID card services. Professional services integrate advanced features like holographic overlays, biometric elements, and encrypted data to fortify cards against unauthorized access and counterfeiting.

3. Multi-Functional Capabilities

Modern ID card services go beyond mere identification. Integration with access control systems, time and attendance tracking, and even cashless transactions contribute to a multifunctional approach that enhances efficiency.

The Role of Expert ID Card Printing Services

Precision in Printing

ID card services demand precision in printing. Expert services ensure that each card is printed accurately, capturing the intricacies of design and security features with fidelity.

Consultation and Customization

Expert services offer consultation on the optimal design and functionality of ID card services. They understand the unique needs of each organization, providing customized solutions that align with specific requirements.

Enhancing Efficiency Through ID Card Services

1. Streamlined Processes

ID card services streamline various processes within an organization. From access control to time management, these services contribute to efficiency and workflow optimization.

2. Visitor Management

ID card services extend beyond employees to visitor management. Temporary cards can be issued, allowing controlled access to visitors while maintaining overall security.

Conclusion

In conclusion, ID card services represent a comprehensive approach to identity management, incorporating design, security, and functionality. Expert ID card printing services play an indispensable role in ensuring that these services are not only reliable but also tailored to meet the unique needs of each organization.

#plastic id cards #id card solutions #id card printing #identificationcards #idcardservices

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threadbenderart · 8 months

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Discover how plastic ID card printers function to create secure identification cards. Learn about the printing process and key components

#Plastic ID Card Printers #ID Card Printing

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amazepixels-blog · 2 years

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Amazepixels provide a quality plastic id card designing and printing, visiting card designing and printing, letter pad designing and printing, Photo album designing and printing for all.

#quality plastic id card designing and printing #visiting card designing #letter pad designing and printing #Photo album designing

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sirfrogsworth · 6 months

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Froggie's (Almost) Very Productive Day

I try to fit as many out-and-about chores as possible into a single day so I only have one set of post-exertional malaise consequences instead of consequences after each day of doing a thing. So any time I decide to drive, I try to find several tasks to accomplish all at once.

My first stop was the Family Services Division in the hopes of getting some help with grocery bills. I am making ends meet, but it seems to be getting harder each month. And maybe I could have skipped my trip to Florida and saved that money, but if I don't do something drastic for my mental health, I fear this first holiday season without a parent could send me into the darkness.

I needed to do an interview to finish applying for SNAP. I wanted to do a phone interview, but the next appointment was in January. So I went to social services where they allow walk-in appointments. I waited in a tiny plastic chair for several hours until they called my name. She yelled out "Benjamin" because when most people see "Grelle" they aren't really sure how to say it. (Rhymes with belly.)

She started my interview and it was going swimmingly at first. But then she started asking questions about the house and my inheritance and my trust. I had no idea what to tell her. It feels like a mistake now, but I have had pretty much no involvement in that process. I have no idea how it works. And I started to panic because she was acting like I was committing fraud or something by not mentioning the trust. But the entire point of the trust was to protect my benefits. Nothing is mine. I own nothing. I have no access. But I had no idea how to explain that.

Maybe my lawyer can help me apply, but I did not want them investigating everything and screwing things up before we even have the estate through probate. We specifically hired a lawyer and went through this convoluted process to make sure everything was on the up and up. But she really made me feel like I was doing something wrong. And that made me panic, which probably made me look even more guilty of something. So I just canceled everything and left.

After a few hours in a crowded government office, I decided to head to a different crowded government office.

I know I didn't need it until 2025, but I decided to go ahead and get my Real ID thingie before my first flight. I was kind of hoping they'd retake my picture because my current driver's license is... well...

And I'm so glad they took my big terrible picture and made it into a smaller, more terrible picture.

People complain about the DMV, but the one near me runs like a machine. It was filled with people and I still only had a 10 minute wait time.

I'm starting to wonder if all of those 80s comedians who were all, "What's the deal with the DMV?" were exaggerating.

Good stuff, Jerry.

I head up to the counter and ask for a Real ID. She asks for two pieces of mail and my birth certificate.

And this disappointed me a little bit.

I did my research. I went to the Real ID website and used their interactive guide to figure out exactly which documents I would need. They gave me this entire checklist and I printed it out and went through all my records and mail trying to find everything.

I had to wait a week for my internet bill to come because it's the only thing I forgot to change to paperless. This took a lot of effort and I was ready to be validated for being so prepared.

And she asks for two pieces of mail.

Any mail.

So I was off to get new tires.

Driving around on 8 year old bald tires was giving me anxiety. I didn't have the money for new tires, but I remember the guy saying they had financing. Recently several of my past debts went past the statute of limitations, and so my credit score lifted itself out of the pits of "poor" and into the realm of "fair." So I decided to take a chance and apply for a Discount Tire credit card. It's a 6 month payment plan with no interest, so that didn't feel as predatory as all the credit card offers I get in the mail with 8000% interest.

We started going through the approval process and I was answering all of the questions and then I saw the name of the bank offering the credit. It was the same bank that tried to sue me and also the bank that can longer collect due to the statute. I was worried they put me on some sort of list and would deny me. But, to my surprise, they approved me instantly. And wouldn't you know it, they gave me almost exactly the amount needed for a new set of tires.

I'm hoping we'll be doing another auction of the house stuff soon, so I plan to pay off the card and then cancel it, but this was the only solution I could come up with to drive safely until then.

I was having a weird day where photos of crusty rich wide dudes followed me everywhere I went. Here is my good ol' boy governor at the entrance to social services.

And at the tire place, I noticed this fella...

Why does every rich CEO think they are a font of wisdom capable of creating compelling quotes?

Does he think no one has ever said "work hard" and "have fun"? And after he said this was he like...

"That's gold, put that in *every* store."

"Oh, and use that picture of me where it looks like a handsome gal just grabbed my undercarriage."

He probably thinks, "Well, no one has put these specific generic platitudes together into a single mega-platitude. I am a genius."

"Be honest, work hard, have fun, be grateful, pay it forward" sounds like he had a bunch of motivational posters on his wall and started reading them all at once.

Like, every line could have a picture of an eagle above it.

In any case, the guy at the tire store, Dakota, was really nice. He made the experience very low anxiety. And he really liked my Thor's Hammer keychain with built in fidget spinner.

He went around showing it to all his coworkers. "Look, it even spins!" And they were like, "Dude, where did you get that??" And I was like, "Amazon." Now I'm just imagining 10 dudes at a tire store all fidgeting their hammers.

As nice as he was, Dakota was still a salesman and had a job to do. He gave me two tire options and tried to upsell me. The cheapest tires had a "1" rating for winter. He said they get "super hard" in the cold... I tried not to giggle. But I explained I drive about twice a month and mostly to the grocery store. If it is a bad winter day, I'll just wait or get delivery. He understood and set me up with the cheaper tires.

He then checked out my car and noticed my tire pressure sensors were dying. I keep getting a warning light on my dash. Apparently they all have tiny batteries in them that die after 7 years. And you can't just replace the batteries so you have to install brand new sensors.

And this is where my social anxiety got me into trouble.

I don't actually need these sensors. They are usually inaccurate. I prefer to test my tires with an actual gauge. But I got so caught up in his sales pitch that I agreed to replace them... at $60 each. For that I could have gotten the fancier tires. I really don't care if an orange light shows up on my dash. And I looked up the price online and a pack of 4 is $30. Though that is without installation.

But still... I wasn't thinking and he was so nice that I was just like, "I want to please Dakota. Saying no might make Dakota sad." Dakota's job is selling me but that doesn't mean I have to buy anything. He would live if I had said "no thanks."

To make my blunder more blunderous, when they finished the tires he asked for my key fob. And it decided that was the time for the battery to die. And in order to reset the system for the new tire pressure sensors, you have to press two buttons on the fob for 7 seconds. Thankfully I had a spare fob at home, but if I want my fancy new $240 sensors to work, I have to return to Dakota and have him initialize them.

I really hope these are the Cadillac of sensors.

Or, like, the ones they use on Cadillacs?

They better be accurate, is what I'm saying.

I do feel safer with new tires. So I am glad I did that. And I gave them a good obligatory kick and felt the tread. They seem nice enough even if they get boners in the winter. It's crazy how bald my other tires were in comparison. Like, I can fit half my finger down into the tread on the new ones—which did not get them super hard.

The way I drive, I probably won't wear them down. They'll probably start to rot before I do.

Before I do, meaning before I wear them down.

Not before I rot.

I am not in a rotting competition with my tires.

I was then off to Sam's. I decided all of my hard work accomplishing 2 out of 3 goals deserved some sushi. So I grabbed some California Rolls and headed home. On my way out, a Hummer and a Porsche nearly collided in the parking lot. And they sort of got stuck facing each other. One of them needed to back up and they both signaled at each other like "You back up, I'm not backing up." And it was just this weird standoff between the two douchiest looking cars you could imagine.

I mean, you have to be a douche to drive a Hummer.

I still remember the mystery Hummer dialysis patient from when my dad was going 3 time per week. We could never figure out who owned the Hummer, but we knew it was not the underpaid nurses and techs. So it had to be one of the patients. And none of them seemed the type. We never solved that mystery.

That hummer started off a delightful safety yellow. (Elon would cry.)

They decided this wasn't extra enough... so they did this...

Katrina and I could never decide... are these cow spots or the world's least effective camoflauge?

There was another patient who drove this old beater...

And I loved seeing this car because we had the same one when I was a little kid. I'm afraid the aesthetics of the 1980s Caprice Classic did not stand the test of time, but it had great sentimental appeal for me.

But this maroon beast that squeaked and sputtered its way from here to there belonged to a very sweet older gentleman. Sometimes he and my dad would be dialysis buddies—sitting next to each other in the recliners. And the worst thing about dialysis was the boredom. All you have to do is watch broadcast TV with 4 channels.

All of the TVs require headphones. They give you your own set of super cheap headphones in the dialysis welcome bag. They were very uncomfortable so I ordered my dad better ones with cushioned ear cups.

His dialysis buddy noticed them and thought they looked nice. And then he revealed that his free headphones broke and he didn't know how to get new ones. He had been watching TV with no sound for weeks. So, I bought another pair with the soft ear cups and my dad gave them to his friend. And it just made me happy imagining the two of them watching The Price is Right in matching headphones.

I do have to make fun of this sweet old man a little bit. When I walked passed his car I noticed he implemented the world's most effective anti-theft device ever created.

That's right... The Club™.

If someone decides they have to have a 40 year old car with an engine that sounds like a dying hyena and a hubcap missing... they are out of luck.

But hey, you gotta protect what is important to you. And if I needed a getaway car and my choices were between his beater and the Cow Hummer, I'd take his ride for sure.

Well, I'd try... and then get arrested because The Club™ is undefeatable.

Do NOT look that up on YouTube. It's 100% true. (And the Lock Picking Lawyer doesn't count due to him being able to break into Fort Knox with a paperclip and then doing it again to make sure it isn't a fluke.)

The dialysis center is in the same complex as my local Tolerable Schnucks and I still see that maroon boat of a car every once in a while. I always smile whenever it is there because it lets me know he is hanging in there and hopefully still has sound for his TV.

Wow, I went off on a mega-tangent.

I didn't even finish talking about my day. Where was I? Oh, the douche standoff finally ended. The Porsche Douche capitulated and backed up. Probably due to the fact the Hummer Douche has 0 visibility behind him.

When I got home I started devouring my sushi. I finally heard back from my lawyer. He submitted the last of the evidence for my appeal. And I was finally able to confirm he got the records of my ECT treatments from 20 years ago. I worked so hard to get those. At first, they forgot to send all records before 2011. I had to call back and figure that out. They shipped them and they didn't arrive until a week before we had to file. Everything was so last minute and my anxiety has been... palpable. It felt like when I did my science fair project on Sunday night.

He's hoping to get a decision at the beginning of next year. He warned me that these appeals are usually rejected. And that the most effective method of approval was a hearing in front of an administrative law judge. But that could be delayed by up to a year. So I might need to figure out how to survive until 2025. As long as my brother does what he is legally required to do, I should be okay. But counting on that also gives me palpable anxiety.

And that was my day.

Every time I go out is always an adventure.

But remember...

BE NICE. EAT YOUR VEGGIES. PET CUTE DOGS. DREAM BIG. KEEP YOUR TIRES WARM... FOR REASONS. 5 LIFE LESSONS -Froggie, Mildly Famous Internet Person

#long post

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scintillasofbeomgyu · 22 days

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ᯓ★ from me to you — chapter four: daydream

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader. genres: slice of life, social media au, body swap, fluff, angst. wc: 2,5k. warnings: language, they’re in a hospital. i am not a doctor, so if there are any medical inaccuracies in this chapter do not @ me 😭 they will be discussing depression and anxiety, and beomgyu does have a teeny episode, mention of blood (but it’s kinda a funny situation 🤣). an: first three screenshots, then written part, then the last three!

It is Spring. The world is doused in the bright colours of budding flowers that have overcome the harsh cold of winter. The breeze is cool and gentle, and the sun is warm and cozy, leaving the air in a comfortable equilibrium. At this time, the serene trail at Apsan Park would be teeming with hikers eager to conquer it and admire its entrancing beauty, families would be excitedly preparing for picnics under fluffy-clouded blue skies, and who could dare to forget Spring’s shining star: Daegu’s cherry blossoms, that would be out in full bloom at the Flower Garden, in their best and prettiest shades of pinks and whites, swaying on branches and sailing through the air like magic.

The door opens and Beomgyu’s reverie is pulled from under him. He falls back down to earth where his attention is drawn to the doctor stalking into the room on his squelching black crocs with a grave look on his face. He appears engrossed in whatever is printed out on the clipboard in his hands.

The ID card hanging from the lanyard around his neck — Yeungnam University Medical Centre, Dr. Seungcheol Choi, Internal Medicine — rattles in its plastic casing as he moves quickly and swiftly to the desk. He doesn’t look up to acknowledge Beomgyu where he stands by the window just behind the desk, but gestures for him to sit in the hard leather seat on the other side of it. Beomgyu purses his lips in a forced smile and nods.

The office is small, cold and smells strongly of disinfectant. The lack of indoor lighting makes the room look grey and dreary, the only colour at all provided by the medical posters and charts stuck against the glossy white walls. He supposes they are meant to serve an informative purpose, but merely feel eerie to him.

There is a long wooden bookshelf under the wall and against the window where he had stood, where, amongst the array of white papers with indecipherable scribbles written on them, is a sole photo of Dr. Seungcheol Choi and a friend at what appears to be their graduation ceremony.

Among the many things which unsettled him about being in this office, the photo and their big smiling faces brings Beomgyu a sense of solace.

After a long few minutes, Seungcheol sets the clipboard on his desk and finally considers his younger brother. Beomgyu takes the opportunity to notice with greater effort what he had noticed when he arrived at the hospital that morning: his brother looks older.

His cheeks have hollowed and his features are more prominent. His dark hair is cut like their father’s. There is fine stubble creating a light shadow along his jaw and below it. The thick bags under his eyes drive concern into Beomgyu’s heart. He wonders what his brother’s eyes have seen to give them the fatigued yet mature glow they shone with now.

“The good news is,” Seungcehol says, and even his voice sounds deeper when he speaks, “the results from the blood sample we took and sent for testing does not reflect anything terribly wrong. Your iron is a bit low, though, so I do recommend a good diet change. If that doesn’t work, iron supplements are readily available over the counter. If it gets worse, which I doubt in your case, you can make another appointment and they will give you an intravenous iron supplementation here at the hospital.”

The tension in Beomgyu’s shoulders eases just an inch and he sinks into the chair a little more comfortably. An iron deficiency was manageable. An iron deficiency made sense. And iron deficiency was not alarming. “That’s good. Very good.”

Seungcheol nods in agreement, but the frown pressed into his forehead tells there is more to it. Beomgyu slightly tenses up again. “What is it, Hyung?”

His brother picks up the clipboard, presumably carrying the details and results of Beomgyu’s check up, and turns to a specific page before handing it to him. “The results of the mental wellness screening test we did is a bit of concern for me.”

Beomgyu takes it from him and scans the page. Then he frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“Beomgyu, this screening test works a little like how a multiple choice test would. The only way to get everything wrong is if you know what all the right answers are. And your answer to every one of these questions seems to suggest that you strongly believe nothing is wrong with you. Which leads me to believe something strongly is.”

Beomgyu’s throat dries and chest feels heavy. His fingers press into the paper carrying test he had taken earlier that very morning. The answers he had marked with his own hand now glare back at him like an inescapable house of mirrors. The seed of fear that had been dormant by his own efforts begins to take root.

“I am not in the position to make an accurate diagnosis based on the screening test; I am not qualified in that way. I can, however, refer you to one of the best psychiatrists in Seoul – Dr. Junmyeon Kim. He’s a good sunbae of mine,” Seungcheol says, fishing in a drawer for a notepad and pen from the desk, “and he has lots of experience dealing with idols, actors – entertainment industry cases – specifically. I trust his abilities wholeheartedly,” he scribbles something on the paper and hands it to Beomgyu. “He is actually here today meeting with the psychiatry department. You can take that with you and –”

“What do you think it is, though?” Beomgyu’s voice comes out thick and shaky. He swallows heavily and finally manages to tear his eyes away from the paper in his hands to search his brother’s face. “Because it sounds like you have a pretty good idea.”

“I can’t say for sure – ”

“Hyung.” Beomgyu breathes a sharp pain beginning at his temples, “Tell me.”

Seungcheol sighs. “Considering what the screening test reflects, and what your friends have shared with me, you may have some form of high-functioning depression and anxiety. You’re able to go about your day normally: carry out tasks and interact with people just fine, but you still feel the symptoms of these illnesses just as any other patient would. And it sounds as if you may have been trying to suppress them too. Which may be what is causing your nightmares.” His eyes drop to his folded hands on the table for a long moment before returning to his little brother. His eyebrows furrow with concern. “Why didn’t you tell us about Vietnam, Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu’s heart races and his chest tightens. The room feels as if it is closing in on him. His hands tremble and his vision begins to blur so he squeezes his eyes shut.

But I am happy. I have a loving family. I have good friends. I have a job doing what I love. I have adoring fans. I am grateful. So why?

Why do I still feel so empty?

“Beomgyu. Hey, are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, his voice laden with concern as he rushes to his side. The image of the dark bags under his eyes flashes across Beomgyu’s mind, and he forces himself to still.

He feels Seunghcheol’s hand on his shoulder. His eyes open and he smiles. “I’m okay, Hyung. I am sorry that you came all the way from Daegu for this.”

“Beomgyu,” Seungcheol says firmly, yet gently, “it is my job to take care of you. As your brother, but also as a doctor. You need to know that you can ask for help if and when you need it.”

Beomgyu nods absently as he climbs to his feet and returns the report to his brother. He takes the referral from the desk and bows before walking to the door. “Thank you, Hyung.” He grabs the door and pauses, his fingers tightening around the knob. “Don’t… tell mom and dad about this. They’ll worry too much. And thank Kibum-hyung for allowing us to use his office.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment. “Of course. It’s your decision to make. Don’t forget to call after you speak with Dr. Kim.”

Beomgyu nods once more and greets his brother before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

Feet comes thundering down the hallway suddenly and Beomgyu jumps, frightened out of his consuming thoughts. He shoves the letter into his pocket.

His eyes dart around anxiously, but laughs when he finds Yeonjun and Kai racing to him, trying to push and fight in front of one another.

“What did he say?”

“Are you okay?”

“Are you going to die?”

“Of course not, you idiot!”

The commotion begins to draw the attention of other visitors in the hall and Beomgyu groans, adjusting his mask. “Can the two of you be quiet!” He yells at them in a restrained voice, pushing a finger to his lips and offering apologetic looks to everyone else.

They protest as Beomgyu grabs them by their coats and pulls them around a corner for more privacy, demanding answers. As soon as they’re alone however, they both go quiet and stare at him in anticipation. Beomgyu rolls his eyes, but chuckles.

“I am okay. The tests didn’t pick up any major problems.” Beomgyu says and they sigh in relief. He smiles, but the weight of the fumbled recommendation in his pocket makes his stomach twist. “But…”

They both freeze, their eyes flashing between concern and fear. “What?” Kai asks.

Guilt squeezes Beomgyu’s chest. He forces a laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that! He only said my iron is a bit low, so I need to eat better and exercise more.”

“I told you to eat better and exercise!” Yeonjun scolds, fixing his hands in his hips. “Did I not?” Then he turns to Kai, “See! But no, I am the boomer for telling you you need to not game that much!”

“Hyung,” Kai sighs, mirroring Yeonjun’s stance. “I told you. Gaming is relaxing for me!”

They start walking toward the lobby, bickering about Kai’s mistake during dance practice and Yeonjun taking forever in the shower and what they’re going to order for dinner. Beomgyu trails behind them and watches with a faint smile. They’ve all been through a lot. He can’t bring himself to make his matter bigger than anyone else’s.

He’ll work harder to be more thankful.

“Oh!” Yeonjun smacks his hands together, turning to Beomgyu. “I forgot to mention, a hoobae of mine is a student at this hospital. They shift departments, and he’s in the psychiatry ward this week. Let’s go say hi!”

Beomgyu’s stomach plummets. He grabs Yeonjun’s arm in panic. “Hyung. Um. We have work to do. The demo, we still need to work on it, remember?”

Yeonjun considers him for a moment. “We won’t be long, we’re just saying hi.”

“I, uh,” Beomgyu says, mind searching desperately for an excuse. He mentally curses when he cannot think of one. But then a lightbulb goes off. “I have to go to the pharmacy. For iron supplements.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow. Then he hums. “Okay. We’ll meet up with you in the lobby then.”

He turns and waves over his shoulder. Kai steels his expression and shakes a fist reassuringly before jogging after him.

Beomgyu waits until he can no longer see them, then his shoulders fall and he breathes. He pulls out the referral letter from his pocket where he had stuffed it and unfurls it.

He hadn’t seen his brother in two whole years, and this is how it had to go?

He sighs, stuffs it back in his pocket and looks up at the signage for the way to the lobby. When he reaches the escalator, a body zooming through the floor below makes him stop in his tracks. They maneuver their way through obstacles in their path and race up the escalator. Just before the landing, they trip and face plant into the floor next to him.

Beomgyu gasps and rushes to help. “Hey, are you okay?”

The girl groans as she takes his outstretched hand. He helps her up and she uses her free hand to hold onto her head. “Yeah, sorry.”

Beomgyu helps her to a seat and gets a good look at her to make sure she’s not badly hurt.

At first glance, she seems plain and simple, nothing about her really special at all. She is dressed in wide-legged washed out jeans and a green knitted sweater, one sleeve more stretched than the other and hanging over her hand. Her dark hair is brushed out of her face, yet it is wild from the running and the subsequent fall. And the cause of said fall was quite clearly the old-looking, scuffed up black sneakers hugging her feet.

But when she finally looks at Beomgyu, it is as if time stops. The big eyes of this unassuming girl regard him with nothing but sincere kindness. Her smile reaches from ear to ear, teeth-showing, as if she means it with her whole heart, and Beomgyu’s chest trembles.

“Thank you!” She grins, bowing her head before giving him two thumbs up. “I’m all good. Sorry for getting in your way!”

Beomgyu shakes his head, the edges of his lips picking up. “Ah, no! No that’s okay.”

“No, I shouldn’t have ran!” She sighs as if frustrated with herself, but before Beomgyu can speak, she rambles on. “It’s a hospital, I was being silly. It’s just my friend’s on his break soon and he hasn’t eaten since this morning and I kind of need his help tomorrow because I’m moving – not that I’m only doing this because I need his help! I’m not that kind of person! But he likes my kimchi stew and —”

Beomgyu watches her in amusement, but then his eyes widens and he gasps. “Y-Your!”

She tilts her head in confusion, blood dripping down her nose. Beomgyu points in panic and when she finally realizes, she laughs and wipes it with the back of her hand. “No, no! This is okay, I’m – ” she freezes, checks her watch and jumps to her feet. “I’m late!”

She readjusts her backpack and hurries off again into the hospital, leaving Beomgyu in a state between shock, concern and absolute dumbfoundedness as he stares after her.

“Hyung?” Kai says, just barely snapping Beomgyu out of it. He came from the elevator with Yeonjun and someone else in a white coat who he has never seen before. “What’s wrong?” He arches a brow, following Beomgyu’s line of eyesight.

Beomgyu opens his mouth to speak, but cannot even begin to make sense of what just happened himself. Instead, he bursts out laughing. His friends look at one another, then at him.

“Bro,” Yeonjun raises a brow. “Are you okay? Genuinely?”

The girl, her silliness and the bright aura she had left behind makes Beomgyu’s chest zing, and a score pops into his mind.

“I… think I may have an idea for a demo track.”

prev. | mlist | next

life is rough for (y/n). after dropping out of college and moving away from her family to live life on her own terms, she struggles to keep up with the fast-paced city life in Seoul. she becomes a fan of the kpop idol, choi beomgyu. while his content keeps her motivated to strive for her dreams, she can’t help but wish she had the same luck he has had. but not everything is as it seems.

taglist: @yoonzinoswife @ameliesaysshoo @bgomtori @woncheecks @seodami @thing89 @stormy1408 @boba-beom @binluvsu @lillynval @nothingwithoutgyu @gyuville @tinhq @soobnuuy @031323o (send an ask to be added!)

#smau: from me to you 🎆#txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt smau #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu smau #beomgyu fluff #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader

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angelicyouth · 11 months

Text

Lavender ; Chapter 3

⇢ pairing: stan marsh x broflovski!reader

⇢ genre: summer romance ; soulmates AU

⇢ synopsis: ❝You looked forward to attending the sleepy, beachside town's famous carnival every summer. But not because you got to see your cousins or your friends after a year of not seeing them—it was to see the boy behind the ring toss booth.❞

⇢ warning: sexual content

⇢ [series masterlist] ; [previous] ; [next]

// SEVENTEEN:

Slipping through the familiar neon-colored yellow of the ribbon barricading the boardwalk, your hands begin to fiddle with the jewelry adorning your fingers in anxiety. When you see the ring toss booth a few feet away, you can’t help but to get frozen in place from the fear that Stan won't remember you—again.

Lifting his head up at the sounds of your approaching footsteps, the taller teen sees your foreignly meek form as he squints his eyes to clearly make out your face from the distance. “... Y/N?”

As if you got hit by a freight train, all of the air in your chest and the suffocating anxiety suddenly gets rushed out of your body as your eyes begin to embarrassingly well at the corners. You can’t stop the wobbly grin that threatens to overtake your whole entire face because after all those years, he finally remembers you.

“Stan!” You yell in excitement as you rapidly close the remaining space left between the two of you with a delighted skip to your step, your arm swinging wildly in an exaggerated wave.

“God, shut the hell up. It’s too early for you to be so damn loud—like those fucking girls who have to gossip before homeroom starts even though they just saw eachother yesterday.” The bleached blonde moans before he notices the strange look in your eyes, an eyebrow quirking up in wordless question.

You belatedly notice that he’s waiting for you to explain before you fumble out a reply. “Oh, uh. I’m just confused because you’re two years older than me.”

His face contorts into thinly veiled disgust at your words. “What…? Fuck, are you 15?”

“Huh? What the fuck are you talking about? You told me that you were 17 two years ago so you shouldn’t be in high school anymore. You mentioned homeroom so I was confused. We’re not supposed to be the same age, dumbass.” Quickly defending your words, you cross your arms over your chest in accusation.

He scoffs, “Are you fucking with me? Because I don’t remember ever telling you that.”

“Not like that means much because you never remember shit anyways, but you did. Unless I was right and you actually are a dumbfuck who constantly fails high school and gets held back a grade.” Rolling your eyes, you place a hand on your cocked hip as you await his next response.

Sending you a heated glare, his hands reach into the pockets of his denim jeans before he grabs his wallet and pulls out his school ID. Holding onto the proffered piece of plastic, you internally wonder at how someone can look so good in a yearbook photo as your fingers brush over the obnoxious green decorating the borders of the scratched up card.

Stanley Marsh (Junior) is neatly printed in black ink at the left hand bottom, right underneath his picture.

You wonder if you remembered wrong as you hand the object back, taking note of the teen’s last name. Heaving your body on top of the hard counter, your feet leisurely begin to dangle back and forth as you then begin to think about how his driver license photo must look.

“That’s it?” He asks in exasperation but all he gets is an irritated glance before he quickly dismisses the previous interaction and continues, “Whatever. Come put some work in since it’s the reason you always come early—the carnival is about to open soon.”

“Yeah fucking right, I’m not hauling ass for you again.” Obnoxiously snorting your distaste, your hands pull out a lollipop from the depths of your skirt’s pocket before you stick the crystal sweetness into your mouth.

“Then why the hell are you here? To make my life even more miserable?” A larger hand appears in front of your face, your eyes rolling as you harshly slap a new lollipop onto the palm of his hand as hard as you can.

“I already told you last year. Or did you forget your hearing aids when I did, old man? I’m not into ring toss or whatever—I’m into you.” You smirk around your sucker, your palm getting placed onto the space between the two of you in order to lean your body closer to his.

“I know that, idiot.” He averts his eyes as he brings a hand up to softly push at your face, walking away to grab his employee lanyard that held his keys.

Quickly sitting up straight in surprise, your eyes widen just a bit. “Wh—You do?”

Sending you a smug look, the taller teen spares you a quick glance at your surprised reaction before rolling his eyes. “It’s pretty fucking obvious with the way you look at me, dumbass.”

You pause for a moment because you didn’t think you were that obvious (but then your mind brings up your bold actions throughout the years and yeah, nevermind). “... And how do I look?”

His eyes leisurely trail up your body and back down before his lips settle into a smirk around his lollipop, the teen leaning forward to bring his face closer to yours, “Like you want to help me set up this booth—free from charge.”

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

After having your usual yet still-fun day at the carnival with the guys, you stop by Stan’s booth to help him clean up when people begin to leave and the once blinding lights begin to dim. Watching as he closes the stand, a sudden idea pops up into your head.

“Hey.”

Granting you a quick glance, the other teen hums to let you know that he was listening as he busies himself with closing the booth. Taking that as your cue to continue, you speak up again. “Do you want to sneak off to the beach?”

Leaning his back against the metal structure of the now properly closed stand, he crosses his arms over his chest as he sends you an amused look. “You mean the same beach that’s closed at this time of the night?"

Never stopped you before, you think to yourself.

“Sure, whatever.” He finally decides as you hide your excitement at the notion of finally hanging out with Stan at a different location than the carnival, a skip to your step as you begin to lead the way.

Sitting side by side on the warm sand, you both are silent as you appreciate the brightly twinkling stars shining overhead your bodies and the perfect breeze to the night. The smile that appeared when Stan accepted your invitation has stayed permanently etched onto your face, accompanying you to your journey to the beach and currently present as you take in your surroundings.

“Let’s swim.” The deep baritone of Stan’s voice interrupts your happy humming, causing your fingers to still to a stop as they comb through the soft sand.

“Swim?”

“Yeah, it’s where you get into the water and move your legs like—”

“Oh, fuck off! I know what it is, asshole!” Mustering up all of your strength to have him topple over, you shove at the bleached blonde’s arm but he barely budges from his seated position.

“Then why’d you ask?” He snickers in a teasingly condescending tone, getting up to dust the remnants of sand stuck on his hands before he steps closer to the water.

“Ah, I see. Here we are, on a spontaneous trip to the beach with no swimsuits prepared so what do we do? We strip down. Jeez, Marsh. If you wanted to see my banging body so badly then you only had to ask nicely.” You tease back, watching as the ocean gently laps at the teen’s feet as if coaxing him into their cool embrace.

“I’m offended you think so lowly of me to assume that I’d need to make up an excuse to see any girl’s body.” Stan cockily says, your words lost on your throat at his attractive confidence.

You’re quiet as you watch him slowly lift his shirt over his head, the taller teen granting you a handsome smile as he makes a show of the action before throwing the article of clothing at your face.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

“You look like a fucking idiot.” Stan says as he watches you float on your back like a starfish, the waves of the ocean softly rocking you back and forth in just your bra and panties.

“Says you—I’m only here to make you feel less self conscious of the fact that you’re down to your boxers in the middle of the ocean, loser. And you can say that I look like an idiot all you want but at least I’m not an actual dumbass like you!”

Lukewarm water splashes against your face in retribution for your words, the action prompting you to open your eyes in anger as the bleached blonde loudly laughs. “Fuck you! You’re the one who fucking invited me here! How do I know that you don’t have any ulterior motives to taint my precious chastity?”

“Chastity my fucking ass! You’re the one who made an innocent girl like me strip down for your own pleasure! And you’re the one who looks shady as hell making me swim with your soaked rat looking ass!” You yell, bringing a hand up to attack back before you both eventually call a truce to avoid one of you drowning.

(You definitely won that though because Stan begins to cough up salt water like a little bitch).

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

“I love how the stars look, they never look like this out in the city. I wish there was some at home but it’s okay—it makes nights like these more special.” Your voice is soft as you reminisce out loud, your head angled upward to watch the moon come out and say hello.

You don’t hear a response so you shift your eyes back to your companion, only to find him already staring back at you. He doesn’t look away when you make eye contact, his unfaltering eyes almost black in the darkness of the night and making it hard to decipher his current expression.

“Hey.” Your voice is quiet between the space between the two of you, your eyes leisurely watching as droplets of salt water race down the smooth expanse of skin on Stan’s face before they gently curve around the edges of his slicked lips.

“Hm?” His voice is deep, a lazy drawl as your gaze slowly follows the stray strands of hair that escapes the rest of his slicked-back locks of bleached blonde.

“You know how I said that I’m into you..?” Your words are almost at a whisper now—as if scared to break this intimate bubble surrounding the two of you and the charged air quickly filling up that space.

As if scared to have the stars and moon as witnesses to your words.

He doesn’t say anything as his eyes follow the soft pink of your tongue as it quickly darts out to wet your lower lip. “Well I was wondering if you…”

You don’t finish your sentence, leaving it to trail off into the night before the taller teen decides to take it upon himself to finish what you were saying. “Felt the same way?”

It’s silent as you don’t confirm whether or not he was correct in his guess, your eyes finally taking reprieve of the attractive sight in front of you to shyly look off to the side. Your teeth worries themselves into your lips, wondering if you made a mistake in bringing this up when rejection would’ve made you awkwardly leave the ocean in just your bra and panties.

The deep baritone of his voice leans towards suggestive, the corner of his lips lifting upwards into a provocative smirk. “Want to figure it out?”

The familiar lilt of Stan’s words fills the space, causing you to look back up as the moonlight perfectly hits the sharp angles that make up the visage of the handsome boy in front of you. You’re not sure if it’s because you only see him a few days every year but you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the hypnotizing sight that makes up Stan Marsh—the way he finally looks at you and only you with that special attention.

You slowly nod as if in a trance, the teen lifting his larger hand out of the water to extend his arms towards your body with his palm facing up. “Then why don’t you come over here and find out?”

Holy fucking shit, you think to yourself as your hand mirrors his to gently interlock your fingers together.

Once joined, Stan pulls to bring your body closer to his, his unoccupied hand finding purchase at the back of your submerged thigh once you’re chest to chest. Guiding your limb, he brings your leg up to wrap around his waist to which you bring your other one up to completely lock around his form.

He lifts your interlocked fingers up so that it’s in the space beside his pierced ear, letting go of your hand so that you can wrap both your arms around his broad shoulders. Lightly skimming his fingers against the bare expanse of your underwater waist, he takes his time in bringing his own hands around your hips as you both keep your eyes heatedly locked on one another.

“Do you have your answer yet?” He murmurs, your faces so close to one another that you can feel his plump lips skim against your own after his mouth sounds out every word.

“Not yet.” You mumble back, your eyes half-lidded as your breaths begin to mingle with one another and his hands tighten ever so slightly over your soft skin.

Stan hums before your eyes slowly flutter shut when he finally closes the space between the two of you, the taste of your kiss sweet despite the lingering saltiness of the ocean water. All you can feel is the same connection that forces your body to follow the same path to the ring toss booth every year, as if your mouths were two magnets leading its owners to their rightful places in the universe.

It was like suddenly, oxygen wasn’t so high on the list of basic needs anymore because Stan Marsh suddenly pushed his way to the top. Breathing was only a technicality that forced your slicked lips to part every so often in gasped airs before they hurriedly pressed back against each other again.

“Let me make it up to you—for all the times that I forgot.” The deep baritone of his voice beautifully mixes in with his lust-induced huskiness, the vibration inflicted in his chest causing a cacophony of goosebumps to arise as the teen doesn’t give you any time to breath before his lips begin to lightly skim against the wet expanse of your neck.

His warm tongue follows the slight suction of his mouth before a high-pitched moan gets forced out of your throat, his teeth creating a path of greedy imprints against the vivid reds and deep purples possessively marking you as his. You sob when in contrast, his tongue begins to delicately lap at the areas of abuse as his arms slightly tighten their hold around your waist.

“Those are something to remember me by.” Stan presses his heated words against the dips of your collarbone, a mantra of praises being pressed against your skin as if they were prayers to his devoted worship towards your body that is his temple.

And of course, you think as you always do: I would never forget you.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

“You always watch me play. You do it this time.” Stan orders you, the both of you taking desperate reprieve from the harsh sun rays caressing the boardwalk as you both sit side by side on the counter and underneath the shade provided by the hanging prizes.

“Whatever.” You lazily mutter, rolling your eyes at the command as you reach out for the worn out rings without ever leaving your seated position.

This goes on for a while—you leisurely throwing the colorful objects as they hit the glass necks of the bottles with a satisfying sound. But it isn’t until you get to the color yellow when Stan shifts impossibly closer to your body, an expressionless look on his face when you spare him a glance before the ring meets all of the other perfectly stacked ones.

Green is next but before you can bring your arm back to gain momentum for a throw, Stan’s large hand finds purchase on the exposed skin of your inner thigh from underneath the soft material of your skirt. Your throat shifts to swallow when his thumb begins to massage soothing circles into your warm skin, your attention waning but nonetheless making the next throw.

Grabbing blue, the bleached blonde leans his face against the heated solace of your neck as his plump lips begin to lightly skim against the expanse of your skin. The arm closest to your body wraps around your waist to bring your body even closer to his, light kisses getting pressed against his previous marks from last night as his other hand tightens their possessive hold over your thigh.

Your voice is breathless, dangerously waning as you weakly admonish the teen. “Stan.”

“Play the game.” His voice is ruthlessly firm in authority, demanding you of your obedience and leaving no room for protests.

You flick your wrist and somehow the ring makes its mark—you’re not sure how as it dangerously wobbles before deciding to barely settle. Blindly reaching out for dark purple, you bite your lower lip to deter any noise from leaking out of your slightly parted lips after a harsh suck from Stan.

The taller teen gently grabs your unoccupied hand and places it on his own denim-clad thigh. “What’s wrong? You only need one hand to throw, right?”

Your chest quickly heaves up and down from arousal as your head slowly nods off in a daze to his redundant question, your eyes dangerously fluttering shut at the heavenly sensations inflicted by the bleached blonde. “Come on, baby—play. I’m not going to tell you again. If you win, you’ll get a prize and I know you’ll like it.”

Hands shaking, your grip is feeble before you miss, causing Stan to immediately let go of his tight hold over your body to stand up and collect all of the rings. “Wha—!”

“Hm? Doesn’t feel so great to have your concentration ruined, right?” The taller teen’s voice is nonchalant as he gathers the colorful objects into a neat pile, taking his time in arranging the objects and not sparing you a glance.

Ah, the incident from last year…

How fucking petty.

“Wait! Don’t I still get a prize though?” There’s an indignant pout on your face as you watch him settle down onto his stool away from your seated position, the chair tucked all the way at the back of the booth.

He takes his time as he hums, his face thoughtful at your words as he appraises your form before he extends a hand out towards you. “Well you only need seven to win. Come here.”

You don’t need to be told twice before you clumsily rush over to his spot, your body automatically bringing itself to straddle the taller teen and looping your arms around his shoulders. “Here? It’s a little messy.”

Warily eyeing the cobwebs and clutter of boxes hidden from the wandering eyes of patrons, a hand shoots out to grasp at your chin to guide your face towards his. “Who gives a shit? We’re going to get messy anyways.”

Stan builds the pace slow—tantalizingly slow with featherlight touches that are almost nonexistent against the exposed skin of your waist and the hardened nub of your nipples. It’s incredibly slow, agonizingly in its motions that he has you violently aching and whimpering in no time as he caresses every dip and curve of your body with a pressure that just isn’t enough.

“Stop playing with me!” You impatiently wail out loud, two long fingers getting roughly shoved into the wet cavern of your mouth at your words before Stan’s dark eyes peer out from behind your shoulder to look at the people of the boardwalk.

Finding that the coast was clear, he resumes his slicked ministrations of having his heated tongue languidly brush against the sensitive column of your neck as he growls in an all-knowing voice. “But you’re just so endearing when you’re desperate.”

“Please.” You beg around his fingers, his eyes hooded as he takes in what a wrecked sight you already are before he brings his other hand below your body to lightly ghost over your clothed core.

Feeling the steadily leaking arousal against the thin barrier, he roughly shoves the soft material aside as his ring-adorned fingers begin to gather your slick. Stan’s eyes darkly hold yours, an embarrassed blush prettily painting your heated cheeks at the attention before he uses the fingers inside of your mouth to force your face back towards his.

“Don’t.” He snarls in a commanding tone, your thighs tightly clenching together at the authority he holds over your obedient body as you force yourself to make eye contact with him. It’s husky and low when he laughs, “Good girl. Where do you think you’re going, beautiful?”

You whine at the two fingers he now has inside of you, his eyes greedily watching as they pump in and out of your core. “You’re already so fucking wet. Did I do this to you? Hm?”

Your head clumsily nods in ragged motions, your body bouncing on his palm in time to his finger’s thrusts as you can hear the cocky smirk to his words. Wailing out loud when he leaves you empty, Stan curses underneath his breath when strings of slick connect the two of you together.

“Look at how messy my pretty girl gets for me. Come on—ask for it, baby.” The taller teen commands when he brings his strained member free from the confines of his pants, his hands wrapping around his girth to pump himself to full attention.

“Please, Stan. Fill me up—I’ve been good.” You sob, your pitch high and whiny as he grants you an affectionate kiss against the perspiration beading at your hairline.

“Yeah, and you sound good too. Look good, taste good—fuck. How fucking lucky am I?” His voice is breathy as he rubs his leaking tip against your folds, your face buried against his sweat-sheened neck in an effort to hide your moans.

Before you can beg him once more, your head gets thrown back as he roughly fills you up. Your mouth is open in a wordless scream as you tightly clench around him, Stan watching the point where you’re both connected as you greedily take him in with every harsh thrust.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his hands firmly grip your waist, forcing your body down against his lap as he fills you up when you both simultaneously climax. You can feel him painting your slick walls, Stan orchestrating a pretty whimper out of your slightly parted lips before you tiredly collapse into his warm embrace.

The floodgates that Stan had opened so long ago—you were now drowning.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

“Kyle!” You throw your whole body into the awaiting arms of your older cousin, the taller redhead a well-welcomed surprise to get home to after a night out at the carnival.

Giggling in delight as the curly-haired boy wraps his arms around your waist, the older of the two begins to spin you around. “How’ve you been, beautiful?”

“Terrible without you! You’re never here when I visit anymore!” You childishly whine, a pout on your face as you bring your hands up into fists as you teasingly hit his shoulder after every word.

He stops before he gives you a sad smile, an almost guilty look in his eyes as he plants a gentle kiss against the skin of your forehead. “I’m sorry, N/N.”

Humming in satisfaction at the apparent regret of your cousin and his undivided attention, you happily grin up at him. “Well since you’ve finally decided to grace me with your presence—we have to hang out!”

Kyle endearingly laughs and it’s a sound you hadn’t noticed that you’ve grown to miss so much. “Sure, sure. Just let me put my stuff away and get changed—we can do whatever you want to do afterwards.”

You ignore when your cousin worriedly yells after you to be careful when you slide down the railings of the stairs, nothing able to deter your bright mood as you giggle.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

Your sweet tooth has made an appearance so you decide on baking cookies to eat with some ice cream, the both of you humming along to the faint music playing in the kitchen and dancing along together from time to time. You were currently telling him all about the adventures that you and your friends got up to during your visits when the topic naturally transitioned to the teen that wasn’t quite your friend but still resided in the sleepy beachside town nonetheless.

“Wait. Stan..? Stan who, N/N?”

You’re distracted as you mix the ingredients together in a bowl, your hands working hard to ensure that everything is seamlessly blended together. “Huh? Oh, uh. It’s Marsh, Ky. Stan Marsh.”

It’s quiet for a moment as your cousin stares at you in wordless shock before he roughly grabs the bowl away from your grip, the sudden action catching you by surprise. “Hey!”

There’s a pout on your face until your eyes land on the serious expression of the redhead standing next to you, his voice low yet very firm. “Y/N.”

You don’t say anything as the skin between your eyebrows begin to furrow together, your body turning to lean against the kitchen counter to grant him your undivided attention. Quickly scanning Kyle’s face, you notice the suddenly ghostly pallor to his skin as his emerald eyes dart off to the side in avoidance.

“Stan Marsh committed suicide four years ago—on the first night of the carnival. It was the day you went home when you were still 13.”

You can’t breathe.

Your chest furiously works hard to heave up and down as your hands begin to dangerously tremble in confusion because this just couldn’t be right.

A laugh sounds horribly wrong as it tumbles out of your mouth, devoid of any amusement and disbelieving. “... What? Shut up, Ky. I saw him like an hour ago at the stand. I’ve seen him every single summer since I was 13.”

He looks confused for a second before his empty eyes look just a tad brighter in a flicker of recognition. “The ring toss stand..? Nobody uses that booth anymore, N/N. And it doesn’t feel right to take it down either because it was the last place that Stan was at before he…”

No.

No, no, no.

You push your cousin out of the way as you stumble up towards the staircase, your hands desperately grabbing onto the railing to support your violently shaking body. Kyle quickly follows after you, panic causing his voice to raise up in pitch. “Where are you going?!”

The wooden door slams open against the wall, the exposed skin of your knees screaming at you as you harshly drop your weight onto the carpet underneath your feet. Your eyes are frantic in your search, rapidly skimming along the multicolored spines of the books in front of you.

Yanking one out, you curse at yourself as a few books follow and loudly fall to the floor. Your hands fumble to flip past the pages within the object as a thin film of tears begins to quickly develop over your eyes, blurring your vision before you bring a tight fist up to scrub away the salty wetness.

Your eyes follow the black printed words of Stan Marsh, underneath the same exact school picture that he had shown you yesterday on his ID. White dots begin to dance along the peripherals of your vision as your head becomes increasingly light, a sob getting caught in your throat before you throw the yearbook onto the floor.

Turning around, you spot your cousin worriedly watching you from underneath the doorframe of his bedroom.

“Show me.”

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

Stan, Kyle, Eric Cartman, & Kenny were here! :D

Written in graffiti against the wooden panels of the abandoned stand is the small message of remembrance made by your cousin and his friends. You feel completely hollow as you look upon the boarded-up booth, dusty and covered in spiderwebs.

“So this is why you go on a roadtrip at this time of the year…” Your voice comes out into a whisper, Kyle tightening his grip around your intertwined fingers as you stand at the eerily quiet boardwalk.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Rubbed raw from your vocal anguish, your throat burns as your voice cracks after your whispered words.

Wh—I didn’t know they still had that, Clyde had said the year after you came back.

The both of you have twin sets of tears streaming down your faces, soft sniffles being heard from your two shuddering bodies. “I didn’t even know you knew him, N/N.”

Bringing up your unoccupied hand to harshly rub at your already swollen eyes, you unabashedly wail out loud. “Knew him? I fucking love him, Ky. I never even got to tell him.”

At the sight of his broken younger cousin, Kyle tugs onto your joined hands to bring your vulnerable form against his erratically heaving chest. It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds being made were from the crashing waves from down below and the warm summer air traveling past the boardwalk.

“You said you still see him, right?” You nod against his chest, your face moving against the steadily growing damp spot you’re making into the soft material of his shirt.

“Tomorrow’s the last day of the carnival. I’m not sure why he’s never shown up for me or any of my friends but maybe he’ll be there for you again.” Escaping the safe solace of the elder’s embrace, your eyes catch sight of the soft yet melancholy smile curving along your cousin’s face.

“Oh, Ky. I’m so sorry.” You never thought about how hurt your cousin would be at the fact that his best friend only appeared in front of a girl who never really knew his friend when he was still alive.

You didn’t understand why either.

He pulls you back against his body, your arms tightening around one another once more. “It’s okay, N/N. I’m happy that two of my favorite people got to meet.”

“Where the fuck have you been you fucking asshole!” You both jolt at the suddenly loud voice interrupting the period of comfortable silence, the both of you turning to see a blonde with an orange parka tied to his waist and a larger brunette.

“Woah! Who’s the hottie?” A vivid shade of red quickly adorns your cheeks at the sudden compliment, an obnoxious whistle accompanying the unknown stranger's words.

“Fuck off, Ken. This is my cousin—my baby cousin.” Kyle rolls his eyes, his arms turning your body around to shield you from the wandering eyes of his friend.

“That fucking crybaby?” The brunette just condescendingly snorts, his eyes scanning along your body—not in appreciation like his companion but in vivid disgust.

“She knows Stan. She’s been seeing him every year during the summer since she was 13 and she just saw him earlier today.” Your cousin suddenly blurts out, all of your eyes widening at the random bit of information.

“Ha-ha. Very fucking funny, Kyle. I’m not high yet so don’t play with me.” The blonde has a laid-back smile on his face, his arms stretching high towards the sky before he crosses them behind his head.

“It’s true! I didn’t even know he died until like half an hour ago.” This time it’s your turn to impulsively yell out a response, your body automatically coming into the defense of your beloved older cousin.

It’s quiet for a tense second as the two boys in front of you take the moment to study your face, their eyes thoughtful and calculating before the brunette opens his mouth. “What a fucking whack job! I guess it runs in the family, huh?”

Both you and Kyle furrow your brows in anger before the blonde harshly elbows the larger teen, his face serious for the first time since you’ve met him. “Prove it then—tell us something that some irrelevant rando wouldn’t know.”

You look towards your cousin before he gives you an encouraging nod, your hand shooting out to grab his own. You pause for a second because God, you could talk about Stan Marsh for hours.

“He…He got diagnosed with depression at a young age and has an ongoing problem with alcohol abuse, just like his dad. Stan starts his day with a shot and he hides his secret alcohol stash in the third drawer of his bedroom dresser, underneath all of his porn.” Your voice is quiet as you repeat the information because fuck.

Everything he has said or done were all giant red flags that your adolescent mind consistently overlooked. You can’t help but to think that you could’ve saved him if you looked harder, if you knew better.

If you were older like him.

“He bleaches his hair since he thinks it looks cool but mostly because he doesn’t want to look anything like his father. His strained relationship with his dad is also the reason why he got this job at the carnival—it was a big fuck you to him because he kept nagging at Stan to get a summer job. So, he figured that it’d spite him to get one that only required him to work three days a year.” The other three part their lips at your onslaught of words yet your mouth doesn’t stop as you shakily continue.

“He wears silver jewelry with three rings on his left hand and four on his right—he doesn’t realize he fiddles with them when he’s anxious. Sometimes, he suffers from insomnia so he’ll sneak past the locked fence at the beach to sit underneath the moon until the morning.” You don’t realize that your cheeks have become sticky with warm tears again, much similar to the faces of the other three as they carefully listen to your words.

“Stan talks to it sometimes and the lavender that surrounds the area of that one hidden spot at the beach is so fragrant that the smell of it helps lull him to sleep.” Bringing a hand up to clumsily scrub at your sore and already red eyes, your voice terribly cracks in the middle of your sentences but yet no one says a thing.

“… He was so tired.” You sob, “The universe never seemed to let him rest. But even then, his eyes were always so comfortingly soft around the edges whenever he found something funny. It was like all of the hues of every wonderful ocean and breathtaking sky found peace in his eyes, living in harmony for the sake of this beautiful boy.”

Escalating further, your cries turn into unabashed wails that fade off into the night sky if only for the moon and stars to witness. “You’d think that his hands would be rough from playing football or from playing the guitar but he was always so gentle—as if I was the most precious thing in the world and that he didn’t want anyone to take me away. I love him, Ky. Why did he leave us?”

And like the moon and stars shining up above, the boys could only watch as you broke in silence.

#south park #south park x reader #stan marsh x reader #stan marsh #south park fanfiction #lalawrites

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year

Text

Hello to the worst parallel in the world (affectionate)

@respectthepetty made an entire post about symbolism in Moonlight Chicken that was truly excellent and spurred a conversation in the comments that gave birth to another truly excellent post about potential for the central conflict in Moonlight Chicken.

And as I watch episode 3 I cannot help but think about this moment of foreshadowing at the end of episode 1 and the statement it is making.

Above is a photo of Wen's ID card with the Marina logo printed on the back of the ID and the words "Wen- Moonlight Chicken- Temp Staff" scrawled in marker on top of the plastic ID cover. The words here block out or overshadow Marina, showing Wen's attention and interest lies in the chicken shop above his interest in Marina.

At this point in the show, I had begun to suspect that Wen (and possibly Alan) would be involved in a Marina project that would potentially threaten the Moonlight Chicken Diner. When Episode 2 aired, this conversation between Kaipa and Jim made me think Marina would just be building new food market territory in the zones around where Moonlight Chicken Diner was located, driving up prices of both rent and food and making it impossible for Jim to continue to operate at the prices he is currently charging:

Enter Episode 3 where we get the Grand Reveal. Marina is planning on expanding their food court (which we already knew), they are not just going to purchase the buildings and put their own vendors in, they are planning on demolishing the existing structures and build something new over top. And what do we learn about the zones Marina is considering? The zones include the Moonlight Chicken Diner

And here is where the worst (emotionally) visual parallel comes in to play. The Marina logo with the tagline "creating a sustainable future" printed on top right corner of a photo of the Moonlight Chicken Diner. Looming over top of the building like it's waiting for its moment to strike. Even Jim's green truck is parked in front of the diner in this photo. He's in that diner, he's preparing food for the evening when this photo was taken, completely unaware of the fact that someone is outside, ready to tear his chicken shop to the ground. And respectthepetty, if you are seeing this post, I for one think it is very rude of the blue and red color coding to continue even in this photo with the blue wall and red lanterns.

Something something Moonlight Chicken being written over Marina on Wen's ID something something Marina building on top of the rubble of Moonlight Chicken Diner something something.

Anyway, the gay chicken show has consumed my life and we are only 3 episodes in.

I haven't finished episode 3 yet, only got through part one and felt compelled to make this post so unless they already handle it later on in the episode I am very interested in how Jim will react to finding out that he's the other man once Alan show up in full force, or what I will affectionately be calling 'The Cock Fight" but you know...that's a whole other post.

Also, please do NOT get me started on the irony of Marina's tagline being "creating a sustainable future" when they keep driving prices higher and are only interested in demolition of old historic buildings *cough, cough*

Edit: lmao, not me starting part 2 of episode 3 and having them give me the same parallel immediately.

#moonlight chicken #mlc #wenjim #moonlight chicken spoilers #the midnight series #moonlight chicken episode 3 #moonlight chicken ep 3 #moonlight chicken episode 2 #moonlight chicken ep 2 #moonlight chicken episode 1 #moonlight chicken ep 1 #wen x jim #first kanaphan #khaotung thanawat #earthmix #gmmtv #aof noppharnach #earth pirapat #mix sahaphap

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thelastsirenssong · 2 years

Text

Bakugou never tells you he loves you- you find out when he loses his wallet.

He is responsible, you could even argue borderline neurotic, he has a tendency to scorn you when you lose something, an annoying habit of finding whatever it was in a place you say you swear you double checked with a disapproving scowl. But he's lost his phone around you recently, twice, found both times underneath you in between your couch cushions, and you'd snorted at him as you placed it in his impatient hands, wondering aloud what he was so busy with that he lost it, not losing your opportunity to dig at him in retaliation for all the shit he'd say to you when you lost anything. And now this, his wallet going missing as he was just about to leave for his own apartment, city lights glowing outside in the early night. It would be 10 p.m. soon, pushing at the limits of his schedule. You find the wallet in the kitchen behind your electric kettle while he checks your bathroom, and you remember him having growled in frustration upon his arrival, shuffling in through your doorway after a long patrol to see you heating up water for another instant ramen dinner. You've got shit in the fridge, he'd said in a disapproving snarl, even as his hands were full with bags- and his wallet- and he'd leaned over you to turn off the kettle. That, you reason, must have been when he dropped it.

You turn the thing over in your hands, black cloth exterior feeling like kevlar. Instinct says to call out to him, to save him the time in your bathroom, but curiousity tugs at you and pushes through your fingers to pull at the little zipper. You hear him drop something heavy in your bathroom with a loud curse, and you scowl, and let your fingers gently betray a small unspoken trust, pulling the zipper open.

"What kind of secrets are you keeping in here, Bakugou?"

Thirty thousand yen in bills, a couple hundred more in coins, his sleek agency card, a piece of paper with some kind of business name and time scribbled hastily onto it, one of Jirou's branded guilar picks, the receipt from his purchase at the conbini down the street, his debit and credit cards. And his ID card, half obscured by ash stained plastic. You squint, unable to make out his name, or face, and you shrug with a little smirk, digging your fingers into the pocket to extract what feels like three cards, but one of them goes slipping from between the other two, and you try to catch it, but it flutters to the floor, and you are met with a familiar face.

You. It is a picture of you. You're not even sure where the image is from, you have half a mind and a skipping heartbeat to think that he took the picture himself and printed it out, because you're caught off guard in it, it's blurry and objectively looks terrible, but those are the long, tall windows of his apartment behind you in the picture, and the flimsy thing was in his wallet, folded into a tiny square that was tucked in between his state issued ID and his hero license. It's then that he comes loud around the corner of your kitchen, his IDs in your hand, and he freezes. You look up to him, and the air con unit in your living room starts up.

"I uh. I found it."

"Yeah, I see that. Where?"

"Behind the kettle."

"Tch."

"Your hero license is going to expire soon, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

He stares at you, and you know by now the twitching of his hands at his sides means he's nervous, wanting to be responsible and not get his sweat anywhere other than his jeans. You glance down at the images of him, grainy pictures that still get across the ever present crease in his brow.

"Why're you lookin' through my shit?"

"I was curious."

"Give it." He extends his hand out, and you hand it over, along with his cards, and you notice his fingers, as he pinches the cards and slides them against one another, and you notice the change in his expression, however minute. The fear that fills his widening eyes, the way his jaw clenches, the curl of his nose as he slides the cards together again, and then he checks a pocket, and then another, feigning innocence. He looks at you through his hair, and you swallow, the intensity of his gaze suddenly something that brings the prickle of sweat to your own palms.

"You steal from me?"

"All the money's there, Bakugou."

"Yeah. Guess it is."

He puts the cards back, slowly, eyeing you all the while, and you watch as he zips the wallet up, his face unreadable as he stares at the compact case. The silence tense, the air con unit sputtering as he searches your face and finds nothing, and he seems to come to some kind of peaceful conclusion before turning on you, about ready to stalk out of the kitchen. You bend, then, down to snatch the picture from the floor at the same time that he whirls on you, and now you're both caught in a moment you should have avoided, you should have been wiser to have evaded, to have been more fearful of him, to avoid touching what wasn't yours. But you are bent at an awkward angle, picture in your hand, looking up at him as he stares wide eyed down at you, and your face grows hot in an instant, your mind flitting to the cut of your shirt before you rise up with urgency, pocketing the piece of paper with a clearing of your throat.

"Fuck is that?"

"Nothing. Trash."

Wrong words to utter, you realize it with such speed it makes your head spin when he looks instantly furious, his hand clenching at his side before he seems to deflate like a balloon just as quickly, all ire going out of him and replaced by something somehow heavier, and softer, and you recognize the fear on his face again as he scans you, as if he'd hurt you with something and was assessing the damage. You replay your own words in your mind, and his hands are so lax by his sides, like a fighter relenting to a defeat, and you feel your body fill with panic, fear of becoming his enemy in his perceived ring overwhelming, and dreadful.

"It's actually, uh, it's. Here."

You fish into your pocket, embarrassment burning on your face as you scramble to hold the image between your index and middle finger. He glares at you then, and as sure as you are that he thinks you are his foe now, you are equally sure you must quell his anxiety, to assure him that there is no battle to be lost, and you extend your hand out, and hang your head.

"I want... I wanna be there. It's fine." The picture of you faces up, and he eyes it, and the gentle press of your fingers on either side of it.

"In my wallet." You feel your heartbeat thrum across every inch of your skin, the low gravel of his questioning tone almost taking your knees out from under you, and you don't dare move, gazing up at him as he watches your face with humor that befits a child, this gentle humiliation feeling like a retribution, and you sulk bitterly with the thought that maybe he was your enemy after all. "Yeah." He reaches out then, and you shake, as his fingers graze yours, your picture slowly making its way back into his grasp, but his thumb lingers on the pads of your fingers for too long, and you shiver with cold, and heat, as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slow, with deliberation, and you hold eye contact as he places the image in its rightful spot.

"Maybe next time don't go throught my shit," he goads, wallet still in his hand, and you breathe again after what seems like an eternity with a scoff. "Fuck you, maybe next time don't lose it in my apartment."

"'S not my fault your place is a shithole."

"It's not my fault you keep showing up here."

"I'll take this picture out," he threatens, looking down at you with ire, his hand smacking his wallet against the opposite palm, and you smile, wide and brazen and victorious, your chest puffing with something unfettered, with the aid of adrenaline. "You wouldn't dare."

He makes a face, one so unfamiliar that you almost miss it before it disappears, the curious tilt of his brow, the pull at the corners of his lips, the softness of his jaw before he turns, hand reaching behind so that you watch the wallet return to the safety of his back pocket, his other hand clenched tightly at his side.

"Whatever."

#bruh #wtf happened how did this happen what have I done #this just came pouring out of me I. aight #soul crushingly slow burn Bakugou for the win amirite #PAIN!!!! LMFAO #like as cute as this is mf if you don't destroy me and this kitchen right now #but sigh. he is annoying #did I proof read this? hell no LMFAO #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader

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starlightsearches · 1 year

Note

As soon as I saw your Cherry Pie/Eddie tags I RAN over here to beg you to PLEASE write something for it 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Pour Some Sugar On Me

hey bestie!! can't find the original post that inspired this because tumblr's search feature is literally evil. I think the original post was about pour some sugar on me, but I kept it ambiguous. this got very carried away from me, and i'm sorry for the wait. i hope you enjoy!!

✨ requests open for my 2k celebration ✨

Eddie Munson x Stripper! Reader

Warnings: NSFW-ish, language, smoking and drinking, no mentions of s4 plot, Eddie is inexperienced and awkward, stripping, lap dance kind of (it's mostly just grinding), i do not know how 80s strip clubs worked, and i think that's it! let me know if I missed anything 💖 comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🥰

Eddie snaps his fingers against his driver's license, letting the plastic thwack it makes fill the deserted parking lot. He's looking at the birth date printed right below his goofy-ass picture, the numbers 1967 dark on the front.

Unlike most of the IDs he's had in the past, this one is real. And his.

An honest-to-god twenty one year old, although he's never felt more like a kid. Eddie smiles humorlessly, slipping the card inside his wallet.

Happy birthday to me.

He leans his shoulders back against the rough brick with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, watching the neon sign at the edge of the parking lot flash blue, then yellow, then white against the cracked pavement and the weeds that grow there. The building itself isn't that special—just a brick box without windows—but the sign caught his eye, driving around the back roads of whatever fucking town he's in.

He was hoping to find a bar, maybe drink his first legal beer before crashing on the mattress in the back of his van. Then he saw the sign.

Heaven's Door. Gentleman's club.

No gentleman have gone inside, as far as Eddie can tell—just drunk truckers with deeply lined faces stumbling in and out every hour or so, and some locals who must visit often enough that the bouncer doesn't even ask for an ID.

Fucking stupid. He rolls his eyes at nothing, taking the keys from his back pocket with shaking hands.

His grips not good enough, fingers all clumsy with anticipation and fear. Eddie flushes red, embarrassed like he's got an audience as the keys hit the concrete with a metal jangle, cursing himself under his breath. Before he can reach for them, they're swallowed up in a triangle of yellow light.

There's a crack in the door beside him when he turns to look, the one he had assumed was an emergency exit. There's no sign of an emergency inside—no screaming or gunshots or thick, roiling flames. Just a pretty girl with wide eyes and a jacket about a million times too big hanging all the way down to her thighs.

It's been a while since Eddie's seen a girl, besides the nice old ladies at the diners he goes to for every meal. He could charm any of them without breaking a sweat, have them fawning over his easy manners and cheeky smiles. Sometimes he even got free dessert out of it.

He wishes he could find some of that fucking charm now.

"Oh."

Eddie's got nothing to say in response, making heavy and prolonged eye contact with your bare knees through the lines of your criss-crossy tights.

He snatches his keys from the pavement and stands, running a hand through his hair, but his fingers get caught in the tangles. Maybe Eddie should just cut his loses and run, but his feet won't carry him anywhere.

"Oh,"—his hands aim for his pockets and miss, leaving him arms hanging at his sides all lanky and awkward— "Uh, hi."

There's this journey you're going through—Eddie can see every mile of it on your face. You look at him with hesitant eyes, taking in the sneakers and the jeans and the frizzy hair and, he's sure, his deer-in-the-headlights stare.

The outcome to your mental math must work out in his favor, because you smile at him.

"Hi,"—your smile doesn't go anywhere, just bleeds into your voice until your words are all tinged honey-sweet—"are you waiting for someone?"

Eddie knows he's kind of dumb, but he gets what you mean. You gotta be able to tell that he's not that kind of guy—the kind that girls tease and flirt with and, you know, wanna fuck. Especially not girls like you. He wonders if you can see it written on his face, if the freak label followed him all these miles from Hawkins just to hover over his head, blinking like that fucking neon sign.

Eddie's also wondering if you came out here looking for a guy who was supposed to be waiting for you. And then he swallows down his jealousy like bile.

"What? Oh. No, I just—"

You let the door fall shut behind you, cutting off the light like you've cut off the end of his sentence. You just look up at him through your lashes, reading all his thoughts like they're printed across his skin.

It's been a long time since Eddie's seen a girl. It's got him feeling all kinds of strange.

He watches your steady fingers as they reach inside one of the jacket pockets and pull out a pack of Marlboro Reds, and you watch him. Eyes a little sharp and curious, traveling his features as you slip one of the cigarettes from inside, placing it between your lips. He takes another from the pack when you offer it, hoping you won't notice he's trembling.

“So," you mumble the word around the end of your cigarette, holding the end over your lighter's flame. You let your shoulder blades fall back against the brick, stripping him naked with that same stare, "if you’re not a perv, and you’re not waiting for somebody, what’re you doing back here?”

Your fingers brush against his palm when you pass him the lighter. It's just skin against skin, but that's not the way it feels traveling across his palm and up his wrist, giving him some kind of jittery contact high.

The first words that come to mind are the ones that tumble from his mouth.

"Who says I'm not a perv?"

He lets his head fall back against the brick, just hard enough to set in an ache. Jesus, Munson, get better jokes.

You roll your eyes at him, unphased. "Please. I can spot a perv—occupational hazard."

You wave a hand at the building behind you, and then give him this look. A look that says you can't hide from me, so why even try?

Maybe that's what has him reaching for his wallet, sliding his license from the little clear pocket. Feeling like you've already seen past any front he could put up, so he might as well show you the rest of him.

Or maybe he's just really, really lonely.

You take the ID when Eddie holds it out for you. He lets the little plastic square fall out of his line of sight, staring down the gravel by his shoes, digging the toe against the asphalt.

It's quiet in the parking lot, just chirping crickets occasionally interrupted by a muffled beat whenever the main door opens around the corner, and your soft breathing when you nudge his shoulder with your own.

"No shit. Is this real?"

Eddie nods, letting some smoke out of his nose. The cigarette's relaxed him, or maybe it's just that he's given you something else to look at, something to take the heat of your eyes off him.

Your thumb pets over his picture, gentle, like you're afraid it might smudge. "Edward, huh?"

He flushes. "Eddie."

"Eddie," you repeat. He hopes you'll say it again. He's starting to feel the night air through his jacket, but he thinks he could stay out here all night if you just kept saying his name.

He's still soaking in the glow of it when you gasp.

"Wait a second,"—you put your hand on his arm, denting the leather with your grip—"oh my god is it-?"

Fuck. He didn't think you'd notice. "Oh, yeah. I guess it is."

Eddie's gonna tell you that it's not a big deal. Tell you he's gotta get up early and so it's time he heads home—without mentioning that his home is the back of a van and the only thing he has to wake up for is another day of driving until his tank runs out.

But you're already tugging him around the corner.

"Oh my god, you have to have a drink with me!"

"Uh, I don't think-" but Eddie follows you anyways, even though he protests, taking little stuttering steps all the to the door.

"Hey Sal," —you're talking to the bouncer, passing his license over with your free hand—"my friend Eddie's looking for a drink."

Sal's bigger and burlier than he ever looked from Eddie's vantage point around the corner, but he smiles at you sweetly from behind his big, bushy beard.

"Having a good night, honey?"

Eddie swears you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "I think I'm about to."

Sal glances at Eddie's ID and passes it back without any comment, just an amused look on his face. Eddie feels like telling him I don't know what's happening to me. I don't know what I could have done to end up here.

The more he looks at the bouncer, the more he feels familiar, just a little. He kind of looks like Uncle Wayne, with the little lines at the corners of his eyes.

He can almost hear his uncle's voice, saying who cares how you got here, son? Enjoy what you can while it lasts.

And he never really thought he'd live to see his twenty first birthday.

You've still got his hand in yours when you brush past the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway, rattling pleasantly behind him when you drag him through.

It's not as bad as it could be. You'd think a small-town strip club would be sleazy, or run down, but Eddie doesn't feel any of that. It's intimate with the lights low and the thump of the music from the speakers. Men sit around at circular tables, watching the girls dance and drinking beers, the glass bottles shining with condensation.

Eddie barely notices the girls though. Your hand is soft against his own, warm, and he's afraid you might notice how sweaty his palm is.

You deposit him at one of the stools in front of the high bar, letting the bartender know to treat him right until you're back. He's already sipping from his second beer when you're back at his side.

"Hey there, birthday boy."

He's feeling the drink already, and the atmosphere, and the anticipation of you and your smiles, so he'd like to say something funny—finally feeling like he could get you back for all the teasing you'd done back in the parking lot. Then he gets a good look at you.

"Je-sus Christ."

He almost chokes, hand pressed to his chest like you're gonna give him a heart attack, because that's how he feels. Looking the way you do—tits barely covered by thin, barely-there fabric, and those little criss-crossy stockings stop mid-thigh, topped with little bows.

And everything else—besides the little triangle between your hips that he doesn't even dare look at—is bare skin.

"You okay?"

You're laughing at him again, but he doesn't mind as much this time because your tits are jiggling, and he's staring and you don't say a word about it.

"I'm fine," he manages, "you just surprised me, sweetheart."

That's gotta be the alcohol talking. He wishes it would shut up.

Until you slide in closer, arm brushing against his now that he's slipped out of his jacket, trailing goose bumps over his skin when you fiddle with the chains at his wrist.

"So, birthday boy,"—you glance at him through your lashes—"you wanna dance?"

Fuck yeah, he does. But Eddie's trying to play it cool, trying not to ruin something he shouldn't even had a chance at. The words to unlock that door aren't coming to him, though.

You're more worried about rejection than you've let on. You drop his gaze, sliding your fingers from his skin.

"Or I could get one of my friends to do it, if that's what you're looking for."

You're talking about the girls on stage, gyrating to the music while they're showered with dollar bills. He's hardly looked at them. Too busy waiting for you to come back.

"No," he's shouting a little bit, before he manages to get a hold of himself, "no, definitely not. I—uh—yeah. Let's- let's go."

You take his hand, guiding him over to a more private area and pushing him into a seat.

Eddie lands with a little huff. It's too bad he let all his air out just then, because there's no way for him to breathe when you pet your hands over his shoulders, hovering just out of range of his lap.

"Any requests for a song?"

You slip in the tape he asks for. He's met with gritty vocals and a flood of guitar, the blood rushing through him laced with adrenaline. He'd heard the song on the radio a few months ago, at a second-hand store somewhere in Kansas. It had taken him a few days and a handful if miles before he found a copy of the album for himself.

And there were a lot of songs he liked, but this was the one he'd worn the tape down for. This was the one he played when he was feeling a different kind of lonely, the kind he'd never get used to. He'd lay on the mattress in the back just right to avoid the squeaky springs, the rough scrape of denim over his thighs.

All those nights, he realizes, he was picturing somebody who looked a lot like you.

He feels your weight in his lap, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. So solid against him because you're not a dream this time around.

You cut right to the chase, grinding down against his crotch and his whole body jolts at the contact. It's not like Eddie's masturbation habits were that healthy before, but all the alone time he has now definitely didn't fix that. Plus, he doesn't have to worry anybody hearing him parked on the side of some highway.

So he lets out a noise at the feeling, and it's louder than it should be—a guttural grunt he can't catch behind his teeth.

"Sensitive?" you whisper, right up against his ear. You've collected his stringy curls in one hand, lifting them up off his neck and tugging just a little. His breaths are coming out sharp, but he manages an answer.

"Yeah," he mumbles, cheeks flushed, his chest hot and tingling where he can feel the press of your tits, "guess I am."

You lean back, just enough he can see you smiling at him. "Don't worry, honey. I like that."

Your hips move sinuously against him in time with the music, just watching him with wide eyes and wet, parted lips.

"F-fuck, that feels good."

Eddie's eyes roll back, his neck barely able to support his head with the way the rest of him has tensed, thighs and core tight because he really doesn't wanna cum in his fucking jeans right now.

"Yeah?" you ask, leaning in close to his taut neck, hot breath caught in the little drips of sweat on his skin.

You scratch your hand down his shoulder, take hold of his middle finger before dropping it against your bare thigh.

"You can touch me, Eddie."

He's pretty sure that's not allowed, at least from what he's heard. But nobody's rushing to stop him when he grips your thighs hard enough to dent them. Eddie's starting to think that this isn't an average lap dance.

You flip around quick enough he can't miss the feel of you too much, your ass pillowy against his cock, stiff in his jeans. But the real excitement is in your hands, guiding his up over your torso, collecting body shimmer as he goes, rings snagging on the fabric. You stop him right over your perfect tits.

"Holy shit."

He tries to whisper to himself, but you're right there, laying your head back on his shoulder, biting at your lip while he massages at your breasts.

He wonders if he's doing this right, until he can hear your soft, little moans in his ear. And that's better than any fucking song in his collection.

The music is gone. He's not sure how long ago you noticed, but you haven't pulled away from him yet—still bumping your hips against his just to feel him twitch.

Eddie clears his throat before he speaks. He feels like his voice is gonna break.

"I don't- I've got cash in my car," he says. It's not enough for what he got, but he'd give it to you anyway.

"Don't worry about it. It's on me."

His hands slip down from your tits, resting at your waist instead. Eddie doesn't want to stop touching you, but he's gotta take care of the situation in his jeans ASAP.

You've gotta feel his urgency, because you're still moving against him, long, slow strokes of your hips that would barely be noticeable if he weren't ten seconds away from bursting.

"You know, my shift ends in like, twenty minutes."

Eddie's not sure what to do with that information. He can't imagine you mean what he thinks you mean.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you whisper, leaning back so you can look him in the eyes. "I was just thinking, maybe when I'm done, we could go back to mine? Your birthday's not over yet."

You pet a finger over his zipper, tongue peeking out from between your lips. Even the way you blink is sexy.

Eddie's practically tripping over his words he's so eager.

"I'll wait for you out back."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #my writing #requests #late night posting is the only way i get things done apparently

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