eleven seconds

8

You act like you’re all alone out there in the world, but you’re not.
You’re not alone.

If El ever went to school

Okay but, Mike teaching Eleven ALL the things. Helping her out with her homework. Tutoring her. ALREADY BY HER SIDE BEFORE THE TEACHER HAS EVEN FINISHED TELLING THEM TO FIND A PARTNER FOR THE PROJECT. AND AT LUNCH TIME THEY SIT AT THE TABLE WHERE THEY FIRST KISSED!! LOST IN THEIR OWN LITTLE WORLD. !!!! WATCHING BASKETBALL GAMES IN THE GYMNASIUM. EL DOESN’T FIND THEM VERY INTERESTING SO SHE ALWAYS DRIFTS OFF TO SLEEP ON MIKE’S SHOULDER. THE TWO OF THEM RIDING MIKE’S BIKE TO AND FROM HOME!!! EVERY!!!! DAY!!!!!!!!!

the super bowl is today but more importantly we’re getting the stranger things season two teaser heck yeah

ok but I think not enough people realize that mike didn’t fall in love with eleven the first second he saw her and the reason he took her home and hid her in his basement wasn’t because he loved her but because he wanted to help a person in need who had no other place to stay (and probably ever since one of his best friends went missing mike realized how important it was to help people who were lost and in danger and needed help) and offering her a place to stay was an extremely selfless act

A Touch Of Love, 5.

Genre | Romance / Valentine’s Day drabbles.

Pairing | Kim Seokjin / Reader.

Prompt“You don’t need to leave so soon.”

Words | 915 words.


The alarm only tickles at Seokjin’s subconscious, a persistent, soft chiming that is silenced within eleven seconds and followed up by just as gentle of a groan at his ear, still dense with sleep. It is nearly not enough to rouse him completely, though the careful movements beside his mostly comatose body stir him to the point of unhanding the fidgeter from her binds, his arms mindlessly leaving the delicious heat of her bare skin to instead tuck under his pillow with a disturbed exhalation. The weight of her limbs leave the bed, not without a hand sweeping delicately over his forehead, dusting his hair back, and Seokjin almost immediately is lulled back into the interrupted dream.

A thunder clap jolts him into a half asleep state a handful of minutes later, the sharp sound echoing through the bathroom amongst a cacophony of muffled swearing. The shampoo bottle clattering against the shower tiles, most likely. Behind the plaster of the wall, pipes shudder and moan as the consistent stream of water hitting glass is ceased, the rubber seal that lines the border of the shower door squeaking as it is opened. Here, now, he lays with his eyes barely peeking open, vision feathered with the tangle of his drowsy lashes and yet he can refine her figure so clearly in the yellow lighting of the bathroom, straggles of water slipping down her spine, curving over the plump flesh of her ass. It is a sight that nearly urges him to sit up, wake the hell up and tease his fingertips between those lovely, lovely thighs while she continues to dry her hair with the damp towel. But lethargy wins the round, laying heavy on his bones and he caves once more to slumber, his mind no longer returning to the already misplaced dream.

Seokjin is only completely roused to a place just beneath fully awake when her knees dip into the mattress, palms propping herself up on either side of his head. Languidly, he blinks sleep out of his eyes and rolls onto his back, blearily looking up at the embodiment of his love as she smiles down tenderly, make-up done up real pretty, hair fastened in a stylish bun at the crown of her head. After rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Seokjin takes in the pencil skirt that hugs her hips in a wretched tease, paired with transparent black stockings that make her thighs look like sin and the four undone buttons of her pearl silk blouse, exposing an arrowhead of collarbones and smooth flesh, descending to a hint of her lace bra. Really, he cannot help the twitch that occurs within his loose pyjama pants.

“You don’t need to leave so soon, y’know,” are the first words that Seokjin speaks, rough with hours of sleep, a guttural hum that has a shiver tingling up her spine in time with his fingertips ghosting the inner of her thigh.

“Hey, stop that,” she swats his hand away, lacing her fingers in a lock around his wrist and leaning in a little closer, grin widening. “My last meeting is at four, so I should be home by five-thirty, okay?”

“That’s terribly far away,” Seokjin grumbles, slithering his arm out of her grip and instead hooking a finger into the open collar of her blouse, pulling the smooth material down to reveal more of the sapid sight. Jesus, it is not just a bra, but a full bustier of a nude shade, the edges and straps embellished with black lace. His lips part slightly, a frown etching into his brow. “You’re not trying for a promotion at work, are you?”

“Rude,” she chides, slapping at his hand once again and leaning back onto her heels, not without a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth, a delicate press so as not to smear her lipstick. With precarious fingers, she opens the blouse an increment wider, allowing the sunlight filtering through the window to grace the gorgeous swell of her breasts in a golden hue and Seokjin has to fight the urge to leap on her and fit himself between her legs when she smirks down at him, buttoning the shirt up to the final notch that lays against the hollow of her throat. “This was supposed to be for you once I get back, but that comment might’ve just changed my mind. I’ll see you in a few hours, ‘kay!”

And like that, she swiftly manoeuvres herself off the bed and departs the bedroom without so much as a backward glance, gathering up the briefcase waiting beside their shared dresser on the way. All the while, Seokjin stares on agape, sheer disappointment juxtaposing the rock hard arousal that strains against his underwear.

“Sweetheart.” Seokjin calls out, a note of desperation underlying his tone, though he would never admit it. He can hear the front door unlocking. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry!”

“Better earn that forgiveness!” She cheerfully shouts back, the conversation silenced by the door swinging back into the wooden frame in a firm, punctuating slam that has his nerves jumping. 

With an exasperated sigh, he begins sifting through the archives of his memory, trying to remember the damn name of that damn florist who stocks her damn favourite flowers. Because damn, damn, damn if that bustier is not on the floor by the evening and she is not perched all exquisite and bare on his lap, then he might just die.

NurseyDex: Different Colors

Inspired by this Tumblr post: http://knowaczerny.tumblr.com/post/154078165214/this-is-something-that-has-been-bothering-me-for-a

“Nursey, what the hell man, it’s like three am,” Dex whined as Nursey flipped on the light in the Haus livingroom (Dex had been crashing there to help Chowder study). It was a Saturday night, and Dex really did not want to deal with Nursey’s slam poetry angst, or whatever he was going to rant about today.

“First off, it’s eleven. Second, we’ve been putting off a talk we really need to have.”

Dex sat up at this, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His blue sweatshirt was wrinkled. “What’s up?”

“Look, this has been bothering me for months. Please do not get defensive, but I need to talk to you about your white privilege. Before you say anything, I understand that being poor is a sucky thing to go through. I know I have a monetary privilege over you, and I respect that. Trust me, I am not saying I have not had an easier life monetarily. But you always seem to forget that, unlike you, I am biracial. I am not white, and that’s a scary thing, Dex. It really is–”

“Nursey, look–”

“Please let me finish. I need to explain this so you can understand where I am coming from when I get frustrated okay?  

“My mama checks the news every night to make sure my name is not listed as a hate crime victim. My father is a black man. He gets stares anytime he goes into a gas station for a candy bar. He can’t get a damn candy bar without people thinking he’s dangerous.

“As for me I was bullied a lot, Dex. For my skin, for my hair, for my accent and way of talking. Things I couldn’t control. That’s when I started writing poetry, when all the anger just couldn’t be sealed anymore. It helped, a little. But one day I was cornered after school. These big white boys beat me so bad I couldn’t move. My mama came to the school to pick me up and found me there. She found me covered in my own blood, Dex. I was helpless. I was, I was eight at the time. So she put me in hockey to help me get stronger.

“So I played, bulked up a bit, and could protect myself. Mostly, anyway. My mama was finally starting to feel like I could start to do things on my own again. Luckily nothing quite that bad has happened since then, but I am afraid it will. I am so, so afraid.

“I am scared whenever I see a cop. I have to put my head down and hope he doesn’t notice me. I am constantly afraid that one day I will be killed by a cop for doing nothing. Dex, you don’t have to deal with this. You don’t have to worry about the cops upholding your rights, or have to feel fear whenever anyone looks at you funny. You don’t have to live in the constant fear of death, and I do,” Nursey turned away and bit his lip harshly. He was not going to cry in front of Dex.

“That’s not even to mention that my mama’s muslim, and is constantly being turned away service. People think she’s a terrorist, and that’s scary, because I keep thinking that my mama’s going to get killed by some damn Trump supporter with one too many guns.

“But this in no way undermines the fact that you don’t come from a family of money. You’ve had your struggles, but I really hope you can see where I was coming from in the past now,” Nursey finishes and turns toward Dex, whose eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Nursey,” Dex began, “I really had no idea. I really hope you didn’t think that I was in anyway trying to be racist, it’s just,” Dex trailed off not knowing how to put how he was feeling into words.

“Growing up in a small suburban town filled with nothing but white people you don’t really think about race? Where I come from all that mattered was money, and I guess that I didn’t really think too much about race coming here either. Like now I see that your struggles were hard, but back then I just thought money equaled happiness and privilege. Nurse, I just, I’m sorry. I really am, for what I said. For, for being ignorant. For making you feel like you weren’t safe. We’re D-men, we have to have each other’s backs, and I hope you know if anyone ever makes a racist remark to you I will not hesitate to jump in and stop them.”

Nursey’s eyes let the unshed tears fall down his cheeks in slow rivers. No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever told him anything like that before. No one promised to protect him from other people, and it made Nursey’s heart flutter just a bit. Nursey let out a strangled sigh, and Dex pulled him into a hug.

“I know I can never understand what you’re going through, but by god Nursey I am going to try and help you. Let me into your head every now and then, okay? I like this better than fighting.”

“Me too, Dex. I really like this better than fighting.” They fell asleep like that, on the disgusting vomit-green couch, in each other’s arms.

  • someone: I hate drama ugh
  • me, correcting them: Yesterday, I watched three men die because one man sneezed in a room full of blood and shit and light. Today, three more men go in, cheap mops and each other's lives in their hands. Yesterday, I watched a man I admired gunned down for leaving a rose for a girl whose life was tattered by trauma she never deserved. Today, she doesn't remember, and three halls down I can hear her screaming. Yesterday, I watched a group of soldiers go down fighting against the corpses of comrades who'd died before them. Today, we test another sample, this time on children. Yesterday, I watched five men and women gunned down in an abandoned factory no one cares about. Today, it happens again and again. Every eleven seconds. Forever. Yesterday, I watched a man sit comfortably in a nice armchair, sipping scotch and laughing as he ordered a woman to simply stop breathing. Today, he gets the day off of work detail for good behavior. Yesterday, I watched hundreds of men and women in orange jumpsuits herded like animals into empty rooms that filled with gas and fire. Today, hundreds more are told they have a chance for a lighter sentence, and a chance to serve their country. Yesterday, I watched the world nearly die in a thousand thousand terrible ways. Sometimes we would have had time to scream. Today, I'm alive to write about it. You want happy endings? Fuck you. You're alive to read it. God help us all. Secure. Contain. Protect.