no holds barred

the afternoon flits by swift and night time settles in turbulent; the rain is loud against his window, and thunder even louder. jiho doesn’t mind it, finds it pleasant almost. he sits right by his heater, warm against his cool skin after a quick shower, scrolling languidly on his phone. he’s half there, intermittent static buzzing in his ears now and again, hardly notices the flash of lightning that illuminates his room. and then, in eerie timing with the resounding thunder that follows, it goes pitch black. 

a pause, and he waits with bated breath as the sounds of machines whir into complete silence. really?

100+ friends starter sentences / (x)

"can you–stop–i can't do this when you're this tense, babe, you gotta trust me—"

which, alright, to be fair to jaeyeon, he's not exactly brimming with trustworthy qualities, but the fact of the matter is, they're in a bit of a compromising position, and he'd really rather get this shit over with now instead of squabbling around in undertones that'd only sound borderline unusual to the outsider—

"relax, will you?" shifts on his knees just above her frame, prone on a yoga mat, and he's kneading once with the heel of his palm just between her shoulder blades to unwind the subtle hunch in her shoulders, "got a buddy who's been going for physio, taught me how to do this the other day," there's a glint in his eye, something mischievous in quirked lips, "practiced on him, uh - once? i'm practically a pro." he's instilling fear now, just because her needless tension is actually fairly amusing to him right now.

"won't break your back, promise," jungkook says, tight-lipped because he's truly, honestly, trying not to laugh, "on the count of three then, yeah?" he's locking his elbows then, flattened palms situated on either side of her upper spine, "breathe in, and out all the way–"

100+ friends starter sentences / (x)

100+ friends starter sentences / (x)

it feels like a mild concussion the moment he lands against gravel, preceding sequence of events a dim blur in his mind. the scenario comes with peculiar familiarity, but it feels off, something outlandish and distasteful, an unaccustomed vantage point to a rundown he’s gone through one too many times; he’s usually the one knocking people down, not feeling like he’d keel over and collapse if he made the effort to get back on his feet after a solid blow to his body. 

every breath feels strangely weighted now, irregular spike in his pulse as his eyes blearily focus in on a minor fissure in the ground. 

he blinks once, slow and measured, before opening his eyes to the same fissure, marred with a deep, dark red this time. 

fuck, is the first habitual word that crosses his mind, furiously swiping a palm across his temple and coming away with a heavy accumulation of blood. it’s also the first word he grunts out when he shifts restlessly against foreign hands on his body. it’s an ingrained, knee-jerk reaction that has him pushing off of cement, elbow blindly thrusting behind him to create space, body alight with sudden, ill-judged rage–

“off - get the fuck off,” his voice is harsh and low, rumbles in his chest in muted warning. sees nothing but hellish red, all-consuming tunnel vision, and harsh, erratic breathing when he whips around, fingers coiling aggressively into the shirt of the first person he sees – all pink hair, tanned skin, and droopy eyes. the boy speaks then, voice muffled by the grating ringing in his ears, and he’s processing his words belatedly. 

the red pales, his fingers unraveling swift, feels the aggravating whiplash in his changing temperament. he rakes in his attire then, regret instantaneously coloring the hardened lines of his face when realization hits him slow; knows this uniform entails he’s a medical student – “shit, my bad,” he pulls back with a jerk, scrambling to his feet despite the nauseating tilt in his atmosphere. 

she spares him the string music this time, but that’s about all the mercy she’ll be showing him tonight. a promise is a promise.

“facemasks, yeah.” a bland remark for a rhetorical question. he doesn’t need her confirmation at this point, but emilia is always happy to chime in anyway. she’s just good like that. 

she’s just been watching, as she tends to, legs crossed into a tailor position by the other end of the couch, perched forward as the intrigue grows. jungkook both disappoints and doesn’t; she doesn’t know the preferred outcome quite yet, just that she’d rather not have his designated facemask drip all over the floor. 

“hey! no, no—nnno!” she springs into action with clumsy resolve, swiftly leaning across the couch with her hand just under his, droplets of cloudy, suspicious liquid from the mask pooling in the palm of her hand. he earns himself a look of grinning disapproval, and she repositions her hand, further from his leg now, rocking back slightly. some of the serum spill out of her hand and onto the floor, but she tried, at least. “are you going to keep on being such a.. child about it, and make me put it on you? i mean,” relief from the challenging tension comes in a pause, all laughter and grinning, and a willing disclosure of her intention. “not that i mind. you probably need my help, if we’re being honest here.” pointed emphasis on honest, she nods once. 

"shit, my bad," he winces when some of the serum slips past her fingers and onto the floor, hastily swiping a socked foot over the area, a lazy means to rectify the situation. the mask is curled sloppily in his palm now, and he's grinning sheepishly at her look of disapproval, slowly retracting his hands back into his lap. 

"no, i got this, looks―" squints as he separates the folds in the mask, cautiously opening it, "―easy enough." the obvious placement of the holes makes it simple enough to figure out how this damned, unnecessarily wet thing goes on his face. "hey you, don't laugh at me," points an accusing finger in her direction, willing himself not to smile at her amusement. 

crossed legs once again, jungkook leans back into his seat, roughly sliding the mask onto his cringing face, more or less satisfied with its placement. he can see at least, even if his fringe keeps getting caught right under the edge of it―fucking hell. "the things i do for you." jungkook says, words mumbled through the mouth hole as he straightens up to face her, fingers gingerly patting down on his mask.

"so. how do i look?"