#him being like i’m painfully aware that im ugly! i know i don’t have the kind of money you want!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anatolysergievsky · 2 years

Note

Hi are u still into chess because i am Starved for content 🤲 and ive loved looking at ur hcs and aus fr!!! especially the kings im <333

Hello! I don’t think I’ll ever be free of Chess so even when I’m not posting about it, you can rest assured that it is indeed on my mind. I’m a little rusty, but here are some things off the top of my head!

Talking about headcanons is always interesting, as well, because there’s a hundred versions of Chess. I’ll specify AU for the ones where it’s pertinent!

One of my favorite AUs is Anatoly choosing to lose and not return to Russia as opposed to winning but returning. For that, following Bangkok, Freddie and Anatoly’s relationship is founded on a mutual sense of exhaustion. True or false or something in-between, they have both been told enough times that they are selfish and cruel. Being told that caused them respective anguish a dozen times, a hundred times, but finally they numbed to it because they feel that, despite being selfish, they still have nothing of substance. So if being good doesn’t get them anything and being bad doesn’t get them anything, why strive for either? They want someone who will accept them for what and who they are without judgment. The only person who can do that is someone who is intrinsically the same. That isn’t necessarily a healthy place to begin a relationship– settling for the ‘worst’ of someone just so that they can express the ‘worst’ of themselves– but they begin to treat both self and other with more respect as time passes and they deal more effectively with the events that occurred and their own roles in those events.

Regardless of AU, Freddie has a much harder time expressing his feelings in a positive way. That isn’t to say that he doesn’t feel very deeply for Anatoly, and frankly I tend to think that Freddie is the one with a much greater depth of feeling between them. Anatoly might be the one to make drastic moves– Embassy Lament, Anthem, etc– but Freddie loves painfully. It makes him resentful of his own bad behavior.

Speaking of that, one of my headcanons is that Freddie was studying Anatoly for months leading up to Merano. He taped every televised match that Anatoly participated in as he worked his way up the circuit to eventually be the opposing challenger. Freddie watched these matches obsessively until he could anticipate not only every move, but every expression and extraneous move. Florence was not only aware that he was doing this but was concerned for him, and especially concerned that Freddie made no effort to hide it like he didn’t realize it was strange behavior. (“It’s research, Florence. I don’t think it’s very clever to face the guy with no clue how he plays, do you? He’s watching my matches, I’ll tell you that much.”) All in all, he’s impressed by Anatoly (read: scared of him) but he nonetheless spends the time leading up to Merano dogging him in the press and acting like he hardly knows who he is beyond just being another “Red.” That’s the kind of behavior he resents in himself. Fear makes him ugly.

And speaking of that, I always work from a baseline that says: Freddie wanted to believe that his behavior in Merano was of his own choosing (insulting Anatoly to generate media interest, flipping the board for more money, refusing to come back also for more money) but he was losing control of himself during that time. Even if he’d wanted to calm down, the spiral of it was beyond him by then. He was as much a victim to it as others were, in that way.

In AUs where Anatoly does indeed return to Russia at the end of A2, I like to think that him and Freddie engage in correspondence over the phone and through letters. They play games of chess over the phone several times a week, starting almost immediately after the championship ends, and exchange almost no words not to do with the chess for a long time. When they do begin to speak about more personal things, it’s Anatoly who starts it. (“Do you plan to stay at Global, Trumper?” “Still Trumper?” “Freddie, then.”)

And that leads to the possibility of Freddie working his way back up the circuit again to challenge him for the title. Freddie playing competitively again is a great showing of… Of wellness, to be honest, because he thought he’d never do it again. Anatoly is surprised by how glad he is that Freddie will be coming back to torment him on international television again. Call it love.

Freddie never reconnects with his mother. Anatoly, however, mends his burned bridge by reconnecting with Viigand some time after Bangkok. The two of them were friends when they were children.

The two of them are a great fit for non-Chess AUs, as well. I know it’s no longer fashionable, but they are great for a Detroit: Become Human AU with chess-playing Android Anatoly who Freddie refuses to accept he can be beaten by.

You’ll have to tell me your favorite AUs, your headcanons, all of that (it’s only fair)!

#lets see how this formats since i copied it from google docs #i love talking about chess!!!!#youll have to hmu some more!!!#chess #hc #freddie #anatoly #mine

5 notes · View notes

shadeofazmeinya · 5 years

Note

"Easy, easy there" with Monster AU

(im not exactly what you meant by monster au, so i went with @sorcererinslytherin ‘s supernatural fahc au. which features witch!michael and werewolf!jeremy. this ended kinda long so i hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: torture, gore, body horror. I tried to go a bit dark but the worst is done to nameless rival crew members)

words 2k+

“Jeremy,” Michael whispers, trying to lean over to touch him. Nudge him, comfort him. Trying to get a better look. But the bindings on his arms and feet keep him stuck in the chair he’s been dumped into. The ropes have been digging into his skin at this point, rubbing it raw though he doesn’t stop straining. Bruises and cuts litter his body from an overzealous rival crew that seemed far too excited to have gotten their hands on some Fakes.

“Jeremy, wake up. I could really use that fucking wolf strength of yours now,” Michael says, a little louder. “We probably don’t have much fucking time before they come back. I know you’re breathing. I know you’re not asleep, you piece of shit,” he says this but his voice cracks a bit, getting louder as his heart twists. “Jeremy, come on.”

Jeremy stays slumped in his chair with his head hanging, only a faint growl being given in response. He’s been like this since they were brought in. Somewhere since being knocked out and brought here, something happened. Michael wants to break free, get him out, save him from whatever the fuck is happening to him. But he isn’t able to do anything, pathetically pinned in place and removed from his magic since they took his wand. He could try to create a fire or something, like he once did chaotically before he could focus his magic. But he couldn’t afford to hurt Jeremy further.

Michael’s interrupted as the door slams open, several figures stepping into the bare, concrete floor and plastic sheets under them. The two of them have been brought to some abandoned warehouse, most likely a distance out of the city, from Michael’s guess. A fucking stereotypical setting, no imagination, but it does leave them unfortunately isolated.

The rival crew files in, an ugly bunch of tough looking fuck-heads who glare and smirk down at them. One dumps a bag on a small, metal table and rolls it open to reveal an array of torture devices Michael recognizes from Trevor’s own collection. They had some idea of what they were doing. A promise of more pain to come for Michael. But Michael can hold out. He has to, for Jeremy.

“The fuck did you do to him?” Michael snarls to the guy who steps forward, putting on a pair of leather gloves. The man has a permanent smirk, a few scars crossing his cheeks and arms. Definitely a rough looking dude, but Michael doesn’t give a fuck. He knows he’s tougher. While he talks he continues pulling at his binds, trying to work a small break in the ropes he can build off of. He needs to get them out of here. If he can pounce this guy, hopefully he can get to his gun and take out the others too.

“You think we don’t know who you are?” the man says smoothly as he hovers over the tools, looking for which one to pluck. “What you are?”

Michael’s heart quickens, but he keeps a neutral, furious expression. They shouldn’t know about them. They can’t know about them.

“We need to dampen his strength. Silver would’ve helped but we didn’t have that nearby when we grabbed you. But, lucky for your puppy, we had a little wolfsbane on hand,” he says, mouth twisting into a disgusting smirk.

“You fucking poisoned him?” Michael twists in his chair, wishing to be able to wrap his hands around that smug neck and snap it.

“We just needed to keep him more… docile while we do our work. Which we’re going continue, since I still have a few more questions to ask.”

Another growl from Jeremy, a twitch in his chair. It’s hard to tell how aware he is, behind the pain clearly raging through his system. His hands curl, shaking as his eyes are screwed tight. The tips of his claws threatening to come out as his muscles spasm.

“Well its your lucky day, motherfucker,” Michael glares back at the scarred man. “Because I’m not telling you shit.”

“We’ll have you singing in no time,” the man chuckles darkly, stepping forward. He’s holding something from the table that Michael doesn’t recognize until it sparks on one end, electricity crackling in the air.

Michael doesn’t get any warning before the cattle prod is being plunged to his chest. Michael grits his teeth, stifling a scream that chokes him as the energy painfully contracts every muscle at once. The world flashes white, nothing exists in the moment but agony and torment. He wants to howl, but he can’t let them know they’re hurting him. He won’t give them the fucking satisfaction.

The rivals don’t make it easy, shocking him for longer and longer periods of time. Michael groans and twitches with the shocks, as the pain seizes every muscle, every thought until it passes. Michael’s left panting after every prod though unable to catch his breath before he’s being filled with convulsions. But he doesn’t give them a fucking word. Not while there’s still hope for the others to find them, for Jeremy to be ok.

So long as the attention and torture is on him instead of Jeremy, he can bare it.

The man pauses at one point, throwing the rod across the room in frustration. Michael gets his own smug satisfaction hearing it clatter to the ground after he’s refused yet another question about his crew’s whereabouts or where their base is. Though he can’t gloat fully as he hunches over, gasping for breath. He glances to Jeremy, who’s sweating from his own battle. Looking even more sickly with pale skin and sagging weight.

“You can’t do this forever,” the Scar Face says, stepping towards Michael. He grabs his hair, painfully yanking his head back. “You’re going to give up at some point. You or your fucking-“

A rumble sounds through Jeremy, bursting as he twists more violently, wildly. The wood chair groans under his weight and force. Michael can see hair starting to grow, muscles straining and getting larger. The first signs of what’s to come, bursting out even if he seemed to be trying to hold back. Finally, Jeremy raises his head. His eyes, deep, boring, look up to face their captures. His irises glow a dark, blood red.

Michael’s blood runs cold. He knows what that means. And knows it’s too late.

Michael hasn’t been witness to many of Jeremy’s shifts. Jeremy is often alone during full moon shifts, running off towards the more isolated places in their territory so he doesn’t put the rest of them at risk. From what he knows, it’s always painful and agonizing when it’s forced from him. And Jeremy has little to no control over the Wolf.

The transformation now happens all at once, terrifying as it’s ripped through him. A low, deep growl racks through Jeremy as his arms elongate and grow larger, claws ripping apart the bindings and chair. His teeth sharpen, jaw bursting and lengthening as he roars. He falls over to the ground around the splintered wood, still growing, shifting with breaking and snapping bones.

Michael would smile, laugh and goad to tell this other crew how fucked they are. But there is only fear in him. Even with his magic, he’s pretty sure he’d be helpless against a full transformed Wolf. Tied up and wounded, he’s the one who’s fucked.

A gunshot echoes in the room, a wild miss, but it’s all it takes to set the Wolf off. It pounces in a blink, teeth digging into a man’s neck and ripping the throat out in one fluid motion. Michael ducks from the splatter of blood that coats the floor as the beast jumps to another man, claws and teeth out

Then there is only the Wolf’s snarl and ripping, yelling and cut-off screams from the crew that doesn’t stand a chance against the power of a feral werewolf. In minutes, the room is silent. Michael hadn’t realized he closed his eyes until he’s carefully blinking them open to a world of carnage and ruin. The floor is coated in blood, bodies ripped to pieces and tossed about. And standing there, the Wolf, panting. It’s fur matted, teeth dripping as he muzzles over the last body, still working to make sure it’s dead.

There’s another growl as it lets the body plop from its mouth. And then the Wolf turns to him.

“Jeremy,” Michael says, trying to make his voice calm though it still shakes. He swallows, hands starting to work at the rope faster, harder. “It’s me. You know me, Jeremy.”

The Wolf sniffs, paws as big as Michael’s head trudging through the gore. The claws click on the floor, tail flicking with its ears pressed to the back of his head. It starts moving towards him, teeth barred. Michael’s heart sinks.

“Easy,” Michael says, trying to move back, feet yanking on the binds. “Easy there. Don’t do this. Jeremy, I know you’re in there. Listen to me.”

The Wolf doesn’t stop though, coming right up to him. His nose comes right up to Michael and he can hear every sniff. Michael can feel his breath; the rancid smell hot against his neck. He flinches, straining to keep him throat away from him though he knows he has little luck. The chair starts to tip as Michael leans back, hands straining as they are losing feeling, close to breaking.

“Jeremy,” Michael breathes, voice hitching. “Jeremy, fucking don’t-“

Michael’s eyes screw tight, expecting pain, dreading it. A horrible death. But then, something warm and wet swipes across this face instead. Michael blinks, turning to see the Wolf’s golden, brown eyes staring back at him. There’s gives a low whine as he bumps his head into his chest.

Michael doesn’t cry. But it gets pretty damn close.

“Jer,” he says softly, dropping his forehead to rest against his. “Thank fucking god, Lil J. Can you get me out? We need to get the fuck out of here.”

He gives Michael’s face another lick before pulling off. Michael feels the ropes giving way next, flopping onto the floor with one flick of claws. Michael shakes his arms, stretching and rubbing the raw skin. He makes quick work of the bindings on his legs before pushing himself to stand. The second he does so, the world sways violently. He stumbles, about to fall, before he feels fur pressing to his side, catching him.

Michael hisses through his teeth as he adjusts back to his feet. The pain was stronger now that he was standing, the ghost of the cuts and electricity still fraying every nerve. He glances down to see Jeremy watching him and Michael can read the concern even in this form. The Wolf gives another whine, bumping his head to his shoulder. “I’m alright,” Michael says, brushing through his fur. “Just needed a second. C’mon, let’s find my fucking wand and call the others. Let’s get the fuck home.”

Jeremy huffs, but keeps besides him to let him lean on him as he limps out. Michael can feel shivers run through him, the poison hasn’t finished its course yet. It pulls a frown to Michael’s face, but they can’t do anything about it now. They just have to get out and get home. The others will know what to do then. Or at least Michael can get to his healing potions to help.

They walk out through the horrific scene, stepping around devastated bodies from those who dared to hurt them. Michael finds and plucks his wand from one of the bodies. He adds one insulting kick to the torso, spitting on the man who cut and electrocuted him, who poisoned Jeremy. The lump of meat barely moves but Michael doesn’t fucking care as he grips his wand tightly and staggers away.

Michael sets the place on fire after they step out, the flames quickly encompassing the building. But pressed to his werewolf’s side, shoes covered in blood and body sore and aching, Michael has never felt safer.

#fake ah crew #fahc #jeremichael #ragehappy #supernatural fahc #torture //#gore //#body horror //#anyway hope yall like this #got another prompt fill mostly written and another just started #so i'll be finishing these more often #while going back to Solar #i may write a second part to this?#only if peeps are interested #Anonymous

124 notes · View notes

i-rove-rock-n-roll · 5 years

Text

Eden (cause rn there is no better title) Just some writing I felt like sharin.

He dreamt that he was back in prison, the blue walls suffocating, even as he lay in his cell, staring at the ceiling, they closed in on him. A murmur came from the hallway.

“Which prisoner is this?”

“How the hell should I know? All the same to me the damn punks.”

“I think this one's that Southern one. That one with the accent.” The other made a noise of assent and through half closed eyes, Gram saw the guard peer at him through the bars.

“Who cares?” the other guard said, disinterested.

The dream changed to nighttime, and he heard the panting nearby stop abruptly. A shovel was thrown up beside him, as Gram continued to lay, now pressed against the ground rather than the bunk.

“C’mon, Charlie, we gotta get him in the ground.”

“Why do we gotta do it?” The other man, presumably Charlie, whined. Gram felt them pick up his body, lugging it over to the grave, as his mind swirled in a fog not unlike the one surrounding them.

“Bastards got no family. No one to claim ‘im. No one to give a shit, so we get stuck with him.” They dropped Gram into the hole, none too gently, but he felt nothing, staring vacantly at the two men above him.

“Grab a shovel, bud. Get this over with.”

And the dirt covered him.

He awoke in the darkness, unable to breathe, his arms crossed over his chest. Choking on the dirt, he clawed upwards, blindly trying to get out. Finally, Gram’s hand broke out into the air, and he drug his body out.

“Who…” he gasped, “..am I? Fuckin’...Uma Thurman?”

He shivered, taking in his surroundings. The prison yard was gone, the ugly brick building no longer in sight. In fact, the only thing he could see were trees, strangely tall, in a way that made all others look like saplings. The leaves rustled, and the dark fog gleamed as an animal leapt out, followed by another, and another. Men followed, clutching leashes, but they weren’t quite right, each with grotesque faces, their eyes flashing with malice. The dogs smiled with them in unison, all with teeth sharp and hungry growls. It wasn’t hard to guess the goal of the game they wanted to play. Stumbling, Gram began to run. The trees blurred as he ran, even as his chest burned, reminding him of his lack of exercise, he moved. His legs pumped, barely slowing as he hit the river, drenching his knees with an icy rush. Gram stopped, waiting for them to follow. The not-men did not call to their beasts, but an eerie noise followed from the other side of the river. A horn sounded, followed by something dimly resembling a search light, and Gram took off again, lungs empty.

He collapsed once he reached a small clearing, the same one that contained his gravestone. He was back where he started.

Attempting to get his raspy wheezing under control, he leaned against the stone, staring at the clearly cut letters.

Jonathan Denvers. He blinked, the letters shifting. Ingram Niesler. He blinked again and watched the stone crumble.

The clearing was surrounded.

A figure stepped forward, tall and with blank eyes. The dogs at Gram’s back made no move, but growled softly before the figure’s swiveling head quieted it. Its eyes were like glass, seeing something he couldn’t.

“We have a job for him,” hissed a voice from behind, and Gram jumped. The leader of the not-man stopped a foot away, as if unwilling or unable to come closer. The others holding the beasts shifted in agreement, though none stepped up, even as the not-dogs thrashed against the leashes with incredible strength.

“As do we,” said the being with the glass eyes. “I don’t suppose you could wait your turn?” they asked mildly, ignoring the snarl they received in return.

“I don’t even know who you guys are, so I ain’t doin’ shit.” Gram was painfully aware of how high his voice had jumped up. Both pairs of eyes, clear and gleaming, glanced at him, like he were some sort of minor inconvenience.

“You don’t have a choice, Jonathan Denvers.”

“My name is Gram.” He wanted to scream, but his words came out in a squeak. “Not Jonathan,” his voice was stronger now. “Ingram.”

“You are Jonathan, Jehovah’s gift. And you will do as you are told.” The being twitched irritably and the not-man cackled at the look on Gram’s face.

“Feisty, this one. I like him.” The being slung an arm over his shoulder, cold fingers crawling against his skin. The other tensed even more than Gram. He couldn’t pull away. “Listen, kid, can I call you kid? Anyway--”

“Whatever it is, it ain’t happening.”

“Just hear me out, kid, I got a deal--” Gram snorted and the glass eyed figure seemed to smirk for a moment before becoming impassive again.

“Let me guess, I’ll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, cause I think I’m better than you? Well, I ain’t Johnny, bitch, so scram.” His courage didn’t leave, even when the face twisted and the nails made pierce his throat. The glass eyed being moved in an instant, somehow, and had the figure down on its knees, a sword pressed against their Adam’s apple. The apple quivered as they laughed silently, eyes glued to the hard face above them.

“Still got it, don’t you, Mike? I think you’re a few feathers short though--urk!” Came the choke as the blade dug deeper into the not-man’s neck, as the being now known as Mike narrowed its eyes. Somehow, and he had absolutely no idea how, Gram had been so distracted by the appearance of the sword that he missed the enormous wings spreading outward, looking very much like a large, threatening bird, but with some gaps in his feathers. Gram swallowed and.began to inch away.

“This has been fun, but I think I’m gonna go home, now…”

“Oh, kid,” came the amused sigh from the being still on its knees. “You can’t go until we let you.” The glass eyed Mike blinked before Gram’s eyes, reappearing only a few inches away. Gram flinched, unable to see anything but the swirling emptiness in the eyes before him.

“Three days, Jonathan. Nicole had her chance, now it’s yours.”

The gleaming eyed being stood up, rubbing its throat loosely.

“Think on it, Johnny. You only got eternity left if you fail.”

“What are you talking about?” Gram blinked, confused.

“Cleaning up the town. That’s what your little cuz thinks she’s doing. Doing a better job than half my..well, I can’t really call them people, but still.” the being waved a hand dismissively.

“Think of it as a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah.” Mike suggested.

The figure rolled its eyes, waggling a finger in Gram’s direction. “If you don’t behave Uncle Sammy won’t give you your present.”

“I’ve never been one much for surprises.”

“I know.” The figure rolled its eyes. “Made you such a boring child.”

“I thought your name was Lucifer, anyway.”

“Newsflash, once upon a time I had a different name.” The Devil gave Gram a pointed look. “Sam was my name just as much a Lucifer is now, Jonathan.” Gram opened his mouth, but he held up a hand. “Don’t get so riled. I’m proving a point.”

“A pretty shitty one.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t do any research before picking your name?” Mike said dryly. “Of all the names you could have chosen for yourself, you chose an old Norse name.”

Gram blinked. “Is it? I just liked the sound of it.”

“It means ‘Ing’s raven’. Or ‘raven of peace’. Whichever sounds catchier.”

“You’re like a walking dictionary.”

“No, I just know how to use google.” Gram huffed, muttering something about prison and piece of crap computers. “Why go by Gram? I mean, spelling wise, didn’t that get you into trouble with paperwork?”

“Graham is a type of cracker, and Gram is shorter.”

“I can tell literally no difference when you speak.”

“That’s cause you’re a da--” Lucifer’s eyes flashed.

“Watch your mouth, kid.”

“Geez, jus’ like the swear jar at home.” Now the Devil’s eyes rolled in response, temper forgotten.

“To get back on topic, I did not choose my name by coincidence.” It drummed its fingers briefly. “The name Lucifer means light bringer. Even as Samael I brought this light to you people, yet I also doled out what everyone feared. The Wrath of God.” Their lips quirked in a humorless smile. “I was not a fluffy little cherub with a harp. None of us--them--” They jerked a thumb towards the army of angels not five feet away. “I mean, are.”

“Depending on who you talk to,” Mike said slowly. “Ravens are symbols of good, or of evil. No one gives a shit about where it actually came from anymore, just like they forget my origins and Sammy’s.” Their lips quirked in a humorless smile. “Definitions are tricky bastards, each language you people make creates new ideas and problems.”

“Are you guys going anywhere with this?” Gram’s head was spinning, but he refused to sit down. “I’d like to be up in time to get some breakfast before Uncle Lou eats it all.”

“The point, Ingram, is this: You may bear the name, raven of peace, but what side is the raven on? Peace is subjective. What one considers Heaven another considers Hell, as the twerps in your little town have already decided.”

Gram remembered the car ride with his parole officer, and the low whistle that accompanied the impressed statement.

“Looks like Eden.” He remembered his own words, half serious, half inside joke,

“Well, we call it Hell.”

“You humans have limited concepts.” The Devil said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“That’s the way language works. Try goin’ to Spain and see if they treat you any different.” Gram paused. “What do I call you two? Ma’am? Sir? Captain?” Now it was Mike--Michael-- Gram knew, that rolled their eyes.

“You don’t need to call me anything. Just do your fuckin’ job.”

“Was that a Friday After Next quote?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Never thought I’d meet an angel with a sense of humor.”

“Archangel.”

“Or an inferiority complex.”

“Comes with the territory, Jonathan Ingram.” The archangel answered briskly, rolling their eyes with the Devil laughed. “Now, wake up”

#writing #my writing #angels #demons #religion #one hell of a drwam

10 notes · View notes

forever-yoongis · 5 years

Text

The Chemistry Of Love

Ships: Yoongi x reader, Namjoon x reader, Jungkook x reader.

Warnings: None.

Genre: Fluff

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" To say I was bewildered and astonished beyond comprehension would be an understatement.

Yoongi seemed unfazed by my outburst, and still stroked his chin, and staring into the walls. I shouldn't ever give him sedatives. I made a mental note to self. This month's gonna be hard for me. Ugh the kind of troubles I get into while treating a patient,guess I'll never get used to it. I sighed.

A nurse came rushing in, looking quite perplexed. "Um...Dr, t-there are fangirls here to see him...." she pointed nervously at the figure sitting on the bed who was probably still contemplating ways to teach me stuff bout BTS and all those shit. Not this again. I mentally slapped myself. Last time I treated a girl (you have to excuse me for forgetting the name) from the Kpop group Momoland and I still had nightmares thinking about the crazy fanboys and fangurls trying to break into the hospital. And Momoland isn't even supposed to be that popular. If the nurse's words are really true and this BTS was practically the most popular boyband in Korea, I could only imagine what horrors awaited me outside. I stared at the white wall in front of me as if the "I LOVE YOU NANCY" (wait I remembered the name lol) in red that some maniac fanboy wrote with God-knows-what might magically reappear somehow. I shuddered at the thought. Fans could get really aggressive if they wanted.

I practically marched upto the front door, suddenly very defensive of my lil kitty-wait no. I just did NOT call him that. Ugh. That's why I hate idols. So as I was saying, I suddenly felt the need to protect my patient from these crazy fangirls and immediately ordered the nurse to go get all the guards. Thankfully though, the fangirls this time were pretty docile ones who had only come to offer gifts and flowers to their idol. Some were even bawling their eyes out asking if he would be okay.

Dude, who dies from a music box attack? I was going to retort, but thought better of it and kept silent. I didn't want things to get ugly, coz I knew of their capabilities of turning from a completely sweet woman to a wild animal in mere seconds. Okay that went overboard lol. But whatever. I accepted the gifts with good grace, trying to write down all the notes they wanted to leave for their idol. It took a while to clear out the crowd and let's just say that my co-workers were never more surprised in their lives to see my hands full of boxes, letters with heart-stickers, flower bouquets, kumamon dolls? and whatnot. I flashed them a quick smile and gave them a look I hoped they interpreted as dealing-with-VIP-patients-duh...

I pushed open the door with my left foot, because my hands were so full and excitedly told, "Mr.Min your fans have left a lot of presents and letters for you!" He merely grunted in response. It was good to see that his eyes had cleared quite a bit and he now looked more like a normal person (or as normal as an idol could get) and less of a kitty. Keeping the gifts on the table, I skipped over to his bed, sat down on a chair beside his bed and checked his vitals. The wound would definitely need a lot of time to heal. I thought as I checked the injury. While changing his bandages, I couldn't help but gawk at his muscles...ahem...but CAN YOU REALLY BLAME ME? I'M YOUNG AND THIS IS LITERALLY THE FIRST FUCKIN TIME I HAVE SEEN SOMEONE SO GOOD-LOOKING UGH. Nope. I ain't accepting your criticisms. No way. No judging me pfft.

Okay focus. Woman you aren't here to stare at a stranger's body no matter how handsome he is....ugh I'm getting carried away again. Stop Ann, stop! I scolded myself. I shook my head trying to shake off all the weird thoughts and as I finished changing his bandages, I looked up to see Yoongi smirk at me. "Like what you see there?" He asked causally, deliberately slurring his voice a bit which certainly would have made most girls go crazy.

"W-what do you m-mean?" I asked blushing furiously. "I was changing bandages and just so you know, I've had to witness many many sights as this. This is nothing" I huffed, turning away my head,my cheeks burning. "Aw really now?" I tried to glance at him from the sides, and gasped to see him pouting in what seemed to be mock disappointment. Oh God, he was now playing the cute card. This boy's gonna be the death of me I swear. I shook my head as I got up, asking one of the nurses to give him his lunch and his vitamins. I almost ran out of the door, slamming the door shut and heard something like a slight chuckle coming from inside from a certain someone who seemed very amused at my state. Ugh that brat! I'll be sure to never ever treat idols again!!! I stomped off painfully aware of the red hue that adorned my cheeks right then passing a nurse who looked genuinely confused at my state.

_______________________________________________

It took me roughly around a week to get seriously attached to this man called Min Yoongi. He exuded an aura that was practically impossible to avoid. Guess that's what makes him an idol, not normies like us. He shamelessly flirted with me whenever I changed his bandages, each time succeeding in his motive of making me all flustered and stammering. But his wounds were taking an unbelievably slow time to heal. I kept on assuring my patient that this was normal, as I didn't want him to get worried. But I kinda knew why his wounds took so long to heal. This boy practically seemed to get no nourishment from the foods he seemed to take before he got hurt and after taking a look at his diet chart, I was seriously contemplating if I should murder the dietician. No wonder he was so pale and thin. If I had a boyfriend like him, I would have stuffed his body with food upto the neck--wait. What am I even talking about lol. Well anyways, as long as he stayed here, I would definitely make sure he has a lot to eat everyday...

The fans visited him everyday and it was endearing to see them so well-behaved always. I mean, there were a few instances where a girl would try to sneak past the guards or someone would try to sweet-talk me into letting her in, one even came claiming she was his cousin.....but those could be easily overlooked. They brought in gifts and letters always...and I would always make sure that either the nurses or me (if I had time) would read those notes out to him to make him feel better.

"Mr Min you really need to get up now. You have to take your medicines. " I spoke for the thousandth time probably, but this man didn't seem to wake up. It was already 11 pm. But this was everyday's routine. He wouldn't ever wake up until- "MIN YOONGI I SWEAR I'LL INJECT EVERY SYRINGE I HAVE ON ME RIGHT NOW IF YOU DO NOT WAKE UP. I'LL DRAW EVERY BIT OF YOUR BLOOD I PROMISE YOU-" "NO NO IM GETTING UP" and he'd get out from his cosy blanket cocoon looking alarmed. I would smile sweetly at him and hand him his medicines and he would start kicking at his blankets throwing a tantrum like a child "Nooo you vampire in the guise of a doctor. You don't let a man rest properly. You mean mean woman--" and would utter a string of Korean curses under his breath, would kick at his blankets a little more, pull at his hair and finally stick out his hands to take the medicines without looking at me.

What a child. I would laugh to myself. At times I had surgeries scheduled in the morning and those would obviously be his favourite days because he would then sleep till 1 pm and the nurses dared not wake him up coz of his temper.

It had been almost three weeks since he was at the hospital and I was changing his bandages as usual. He started off with his familiar bantering and flirtatious comments that would still make me blush...like almost everyday he would say something that would make me run off again and he only seemed to get better at this. "Looking great!" he would comment whenever I would enter the room and I would always reply, "it's the same damn lab coat".

So that day was no exception and he started off with "I would get hit by music boxes whenever I could if it meant I would get treated by such a hot doc every time" . "Mr Min I told you not to spend so much time on your phone! It's bad for your eyes and nerves!!" " Where's THAT coming from?" "You don't really expect me to believe that your cheesy words didn't come from Google, do you? You might me clever, but I'm definitely cleverer Mr.Min haha" I rolled my eyes at him. Yoongi made small whimpering sounds expressing his strong disapproval at my choice of words. Then he suddenly stopped.

"When are you going to stop calling me Mr.Min?" He looked straight at me. "so what do you want me to call you? Mr.LazyPotato? Haha" I replied anxiously and cringed inward at the lame nickname I gave him. But Yoongi didn't seem to buy it. "No.Call me Yoongi. I call you Ann, do I not?" "Most of my patients prefer calling me that, and it's my policy to never call a patient by his first name. You'll have to excuse me", I got up, suddenly not feeling good anymore. In my four years of being in the medical profession, I had only once made the mistake of calling someone (with whom I was supposed to maintain a professional relationship) by his real name and letting my guard down, and I was still not over the consequences. A sudden feeling of panic seized me as I thought that I was probably making another mistake and started out the door, when I felt a hand wrap around my wrist forcing me to stand in my place. "Am I really just another patient for you, Ann?" He spoke in an unbelievably soft voice, as if fearing that he probably would not get the answer he wanted to hear.

But I was already consumed by a flood of old painful memories to care about anything else. I shook off his hands and actually ran out of the room, slamming the door shut. For once, I did not hear the light-hearted chuckle of the man sitting on the other side of the door.

#yoongi x you #bts yoongi #min yoongi

1 note · View note