john price who lies with you on your flare days, no matter where he’s needed.
it started with feeling too hot and overtired at training, the sun beating down on you making your heart race. then the headache came around briefing, john noticed your glazed over eyes, your sluggish responses. he could tell you were feeling cruddy.
by the time dinner rolled around, you didn’t show up to eat. your muscles in pure agony, your joints feeling like they’re falling apart. you lie with your legs elevated from your tachycardia, a cool wet rag over your forehead.
you’ve already taken all the meds you can take for now, including your rescue and topical ones. nothing is working. it’s the days like this that make you want to cry. not just from the pain, but because of the frustration that this isn’t preventable.
john skipped dinner, wanting to make sure you were okay. he decided to bring you some soup that’s easy on the stomach, a heating pad, and an ice pack, just in case…
the knock on your door was replied with an angry grunt, you stayed still because you know who it is. the door opens and shuts quietly, light staying dimmed as you listen to john set something on your desk before walking over, pulling off his boots and shirt, and sliding into your bed with you.
his warm body curled around you, not even making you move as he gives you the care you need. wordless, comfortable, gentle care. you cry, partially from frustration and pain and partially from how caring john is.
you feel a soft kiss to your temple, a tiny whisper, just soft enough to not hurt your head, “gimme one to ten…”
you know what he meant, your pain scale. slowly, you searched for his hand and grabbed it, squeezing weakly 8 times. john knew you weren’t playing around.
he got up for a moment to plug in the heating pad, set it onto your back and just lied with you. stroked your hair when you whined, kissed your cheek when you mumbled a thank you, doted on you and fed you soup when you felt okay enough to sit up.
he’d do it all over again if it helps you feel even an ounce better.
Ok but listen what about dance team captain! Hoseok and oc who is friends with yoongi who is friends with hoseok and they meet
word count: 0.8k
everyone is out to get yoongi
“Stop,” Yoongi says, rubs his temples for the third time since you’ve started walking around campus, trying to kickstart his memory and recall what exactly he had to do today. You’re here for the free coffee, the walk with him just an added bonus.
You sip at your cup. “Did you remember?” You inquire, glance at the fine arts building you’ve passed at least twice now. Yoongi nods, doesn’t dive into what exactly his revelation entailed, as he drags you up the steps of the modern building, which you’ve never entered before. “Wow, fancy,” you gasp, head tilted at the high ceilings and blinding white lights of the entrance.
Yoongi’s got a hand on your elbow, tugging you through some equally echoey hallway with glass doors evenly spaced out. There’s dancers, you notice, different styles in different rooms. One room has a group of young men in tights and nothing else, while another consists of a troupe of ballerinas stretching along a wall.
Your friend obviously knows his way around the place, bypasses door after door until you’re reaching one towards the end of the hall, where two opposing staircases curl around the corner.
With no warning, no polite knock in advance, he’s slamming the door open, a repetitive eight count filtering out into the hall. “I told you to remind me,” he interrupts, leaving you awkwardly out in the hall, wide eyed at the sudden turn of events.
“What?!” Some scandalized voice yells, and you tentatively step inside. “You were supposed to remind me that you were gonna drop by!”
Yoongi groans, swings his bag around to his front to rummage through it. You politely nod at the few people in the room who look your way, eventually make it to where Yoongi and the scandalized voice are obnoxiously making a scene. A thin USB makes its appearance. “Here,” Yoongi huffs. “The mix you requested.”
“Yay!” The man whoops, looks like he’ll swallow Yoongi in a hug had he not been thrown off by your sudden appearance behind him. “Oh—hello, who do we have here?” he greets, stretches a hand out gracefully in the way most dancers do.
“Oh, hi,” you chirp, take his hand in yours a little too enthusiastically. “I’m __, here with Yoongi.”
He flashes one narrow-eyed glance at Yoongi, pillowy lips curling into a toothy grin. “Hello, __ here with Yoongi, I’m Hoseok.”
“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s met now,” Yoongi drawls, nudges your side and gestures for you to let go of the man’s—Hoseok’s—hand. “You will never meet again.”
You frown, let Hoseok’s hand drop from between the two of you. “What, why?” You ask, offer Hoseok another smile when you catch him looking your way, and he beams back. “Why can’t we be friends?”
Yoongi doesn’t pay you any mind, just guides you back to the door, not that you complain. Hoseok yells something about a break to the group of dancers behind him, but trails after the two of you as well. “Yeah, Yoong, why can’t me and the lovely __ be friends, hm?”
You clamp down a smile at his endearing way of speaking, wonder who exactly is this friend Yoongi has kept so hidden away from you.
“Because,” Yoongi relents, shoves you rudely out the door in the way only a childhood friend like him can. “She’s evil and you’re a people pleaser, Hobi. You will literally ruin my life.” A cute nickname, you think, before your brain registers the rest of his statement.
“I’m not evil!” You gasp.
Yoongi groans. “You are evil and a witch, and he is not evil but easily swayed,” he emphasizes. “I don’t need the two most chaotic people in my life being friends.”
“Well that sucks,” Hoseok-Hobi says, and you jump when you realize he’s sidled up beside you, one arm on his hip the other thrown playful around your shoulders. “Because I just decided we’re gonna ruin your life.”
“Jesus,” Yoongi breathes, drags a hand down his face.
“Oh I love that plan,” you agree, turn in his hold to get a proper look at this Hoseok-Hobi, and are a little stunned by the obvious beauty you glazed over a moment ago. He’s got those honest eyes, the kind that look like they can do no wrong and know that, using it to his advantage. His cheeks are nice and high, but still soft enough for some good ole fashion pinching, but you quell the grandmotherly instinct.
“Really?” He says, bright eyes tracing over your features in the same way yours had. “How about we hammer out the details over dinner?”
Yoongi springs at the suggestion. “No, absolutely not,” he cried, tugs you away from Hoseok-Hobi. “You cannot go anywhere unless I am there to chaperone and keep your evil schemes at a minimum.”
“Boo,” you frown, wave sweetly at Hoseok-Hobi as Yoongi tugs you further down the hall. “Bye, Hoseok!” You call out, and he waves you away with two hands. You turn back around, bestie Yoongi with the most powerful forehead flick in the country. “You’re a cockblock, Min Yoongi,” you huff, yank your bag higher up your shoulder as you sashay down the hall.
I have no idea what a swaffle is, but it made me giggle 🤭 So here I am ready to learn things! Show me Swaffle!!!
this one is for @kithtaehyung & @missgeniality for … well, i’ll let u see 🏃🏽♀️
・❥・. . . . ╰──╮KINK: swaffle
・❥・. . . . ╰──╮RATE: 20+ (under 20 dni)
╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘 ; DILFS IN MALTA ♡
・❥・. . . . ╰──╮WARNINGS: degradation
“Tell me you like it.”
Your eyes fluttered as you screwed them shut, taking every slap of his dick against your face. Hoseok had taken to rubbing his cock all over your features, starting with your mouth, and was now currently dragging it across your eyes.
After pushing you down under his vanity, you’d begged for some attention from the busy man above you. A pretty cock of your head and your doe eyes, and he was dropping the watch he was trying on just to make sure you weren’t neglected. And if that meant rubbing his essence all over your face, making you up for the day, then so be it.
“I love it,” you choked out, feeling the heat rise to your skin as his bulbous head moved across. He paused on your cheek, pushing his cock in with his hips, creating an indent in your plush cheek. You felt it on the inside of your mouth, but you missed the smirk on his as you kept your eyes shut.
“Good girl.” He praised, landing a slap to your other cheek with his dick.
