#when i EXPECT pus blood spit whatever it's nothing bad. but when that shit comes at you with 100 miles per hour i'll gawk too

[ofallthingsnasty]

Well you know what overhaul would do. HAHA. He'd treat you even more like his little patient. Dress you in a surgical gown and sit you in his exam room so he can do all the tests to get to the bottom of whatever illness you have (even if it pronbaly is just a simple cold.)

Imagine him snapping on his gloves real menacingly as he approaches you, your legs dangling over the edge of the table. He'd constantly be looking down at you with a glare, but he's really worried you know? Secretly. Deep down.

He'd make you open your mouth and point a flashlight around, then he'd check your nose- maybe shoving a q tip up inside to send off for tests. He'd lift up your gown and palpatate your tummy, it's super embarrassing and weird. He pokes and prodes and asks "Does this hurt?"

Oh and he makes you pee for him. You claim you can't go? Fine. He starts pulling out a long tube and lubing it up. If you won't pee for him then he'll have to use a catheter. Bad utis can travel to your kidney and kill you, don't you know? It'd be so horrible, you'd beg for him to just let you go by yourself but it's too late.

Next? Rectal thermometer maybe? Sniffling as you're forced to bend over the table and hold yourself apart for him. Or maybe some breathing tests. Maybe he'll get you on a treadmill with some monitors attached to your body and make you run until you almost collapse. The tests are endless. 😌😌😌

😂😭 noooooo- this man, I swear. EXACTLY. That's exactly what he'd do! He's such a little shit with a god complex 😤💕 aaa this is so in-character, I have so little to add!! and also yeshhh overhaul and catheters are always so- unf- tw.yandere, medical malpractice mention, everything sickness

Oh poor, poor you. You're miserable. No matter what bug you caught, it's no fun freezing your ass off on the plastic covers of one of his examination tables. You can barely keep yourself up - and he doesn’t care that the lights are too bright, that you’re shivering and trying to curl into yourself. He’ll make sure to bark something at you the moment you try to lie down - this is his domain and he’ll tell you what to do and when. Don’t you even dare to sneeze without his permission. And you’re so right- you tell him exactly what’s hurting, what feels wrong - but he’ll still make you do a dozen tests that are painfully unrelated to your issues. He just likes to see you suffer a little, likes to see your little tired eyes cling to him like he’s the only thing in the world for you... I feel like he would barely let you get enough rest, even if he doesn’t require your presence - it’s all about making you a little more uncomfortable, to slow down the healing process. He likes you hazy and dependent and pliant. Why not keep it that way for a little while longer? And torturing you a little is just the proverbial cherry on top. He’s going to hold any sickness you ever had over your head for an eternity, too. Even months later, if you dare to push back a little, if you dare to show signs of disobedience - get reading for him to play it up as though he saved your life with all his nonsense. One would think he brought you back from the brink of death with how he twists his words around, it’s infuriating. But imagine if you catch something that makes you... expel any sort of bodily fluid. A fever is almost cute to him, you’re just woozy and disoriented, hell, you’ll even try to cling to him with how out of it you are. Yeah, you’re sweating a lot but that’s nothing - nothing compared to phlegm, pee, vomit or other waste. I feel like doing all these fun little tests would be easy when you’re not an active germ factory. Because once he gets even a speck of snot on him, he’ll break out in the meanest hives you’ve ever seen. I feel like if you keel over after every sip of water to puke it out again, he’d simply lock you into your room. Lets someone else bring you food, water and medicine. As long as you’re breathing, you’ll be fine. If he comes to see you, he’s gonna be red in the face with strained effort and act as though you’re a walking biohazard. Makes snide little comments about the air (as though you have window! You should be glad to have a functioning ventilation system) and keeps his distance. But as soon as your state clears up a little, he’ll make up for all those tests missed... He has to make sure you’re really getting well again, right?

[kittae]

The Last  [ 1 ]

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Angst, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombie!AU, Adventure, Survival, smut in future chapters

Words: 4k

!Warnings! : extremely anxiety inducing situations, body horror, horror, mentions of death, graphic descriptions of death, mass panic, vomiting, mentions of blood, cauterisation, asphyxiation, strong language, etc. Do not read if very sensitive.

summary: When the world’s gone to shit and you’ve taught yourself to stay alive while danger lurks around every corner, the last thing you need is another mouth to feed and extra “dead” weight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to leave another human being behind, and it might as well have been your worst decision ever… or was it the best?

A/N: The first official chapter! I’m not used to writing this genre so i’m still trying to get familiar with it. I hope i managed to get across what i wanted to get across and I’m sorry in advance jfdhdghks.

Chapters: Prologue   |  one

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

As the words leave your mouth, the blade moves before he could object. His flesh simmering against the red hot steel like a seared steak. The piece of wood cracks underneath the force of his teeth, the porcelain touching through the splinters while his eyes roll back in his head. The scorching pain leaves him breathless, his screams stuck in his throat in a strangled noise as he chokes on them. He balls his hands into fists and would hiss at the sting of his nails digging bloody crescents into his palms if he wouldn’t be on the brink of fainting. Every muscle in his body contracts violently before relaxing again when the torture device removes itself after five excruciating seconds, his breath able to leave his lungs in frantic pants and sweat dripping down his neck and forehead.

“You really shouldn’t try to stay conscious right now. Don’t fight it.”

Your unexpected but gently whispered words are convincing enough to let the pain cloak the world in darkness, to stop fighting his body’s urgent need to shut down. He doesn’t have time to assess the level of danger that comes with letting himself be vulnerable at this time and place, entrusting himself in the care of a stranger. His eyes fall shut at the same time he collapses. You catch him in time, your cool fingers like a breeze on his forehead as you lay his head to rest in your lap.

.

.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” His voice cracks as it raises in pitch after spitting out the pulverized wood, saliva dripping down his bottom lip he doesn’t bother to wipe off.

You blink at him blankly. “I prefer the term genius.” Turning the knife around by its long haft, you disinfect the other side of the blade on the stone in the fire. “You were only out for like five minutes or something.”

As you’re talking, he scrambles away from your lap just far enough to get on all fours and start vomiting heavily. You pull a face, making a mental note of how you should clean that up before night falls. You can only imagine how the smell would lure unwelcome visitors.

Yoongi’s weak but visibly seething, the pain never ceasing to attack his every nerve. His vision is still blurry, his eyes repeatedly trying to fall shut again while black spots dance behind them.

“You said you’d count to three, asshole.” He slurs, making a feeble attempt to wipe the spit and vomit still dripping from his chin with the back of his hand.

“I lied.” You shrug.

“Who fucking lies about that?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry? Did you expect a nice massage and some fairy dust to magically heal that gaping hole in your leg?” You tilt your head, eyes squeezed to menacing slits and sarcasm dripping from every word. “Get a fucking grip, Yoongi. You would’ve bled to death or lost your leg with your shitty makeshift tourniquet. Consider yourself lucky i found you and know how to cauterize and maybe be a little more grateful.”

“Counting my fucking blessings.” He bites through gritted teeth, eyeing the ugly singed edges on his thigh, now a mess of painfully throbbing and burnt tissue instead of a bleeding open wound.

You roll your eyes but reach for your first-aid kit anyway. Cauterizing wounds is not an easy task. It’s one thing to stop the bleeding by searing the torn skin, but the danger for infections is almost double as high as before.

“Hey. I never said this was going to be fun or pretty.” You snap as you wetted a sterile cotton pad with disinfecting alcohol. ”You better put that stick back in your mouth, we need to clean this new wound regularly every time it starts staining your bandages— hold on this is gonna sting.”

“No no no no, wai- AHHH!”

His blood-curdling scream makes you grit your teeth in annoyance and leaves you no other choice than to stop trying to clean his wound.

“Stop making so much noise!”

“It’s daytime!” Yoongi spits venomously. “Easy for you to say when you’re not on the receiving end of that fucking cotton pad!”

“No. I’m on the receiving end of a whiny little bitch.”

“Who’s calling who a bi–”

“I am! Me, the idiot who’s wasting her medical facilities on a complete and ungrateful stranger!” You bark, the sarcasm making place for pure and undiluted frustration when you toss the precious with alcohol saturated pad on the ground. A part of the resources you’ve been stashing up carefully since all hell broke loose. You know just dousing the wound in alcohol would go so much faster and would probably be much less torturous, but you really couldn’t afford it.

Yoongi finally shuts his mouth, a guilt-stricken blush creeping up from his ears to his cheeks. He keeps his lips sealed, even for an apology, but the way his eyes avoid yours as they scan the ground for gravel to focus their gaze on says it all.

You said nothing either. You just take his silence as confirmation that you’re right. When you grab another cotton pad, keeping your eyes on him the entire time, he doesn’t object. This time, you remind yourself to wrap the stick in a piece of cloth and shove it in his mouth, to ensure he wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention.

“Try to be quiet this time, alright? I know it hurts, but i’m trying to keep you alive.” You murmur, anger seeping away when you watch his face. He looks scared, hurt, confused. You’ve been taking care of yourself for quite some time now, you forgot there were still people who probably had a hard time adapting to this lifestyle. Even though your new companion had managed to get on every single one of your nerves in the few hours you’d gotten to know him, you obviously take no pleasure in torturing him like this.

Yoongi nods quietly, bracing himself and closing his eyes, knowing you wouldn’t count to give him a heads up anyway. He just lets the pain overwhelm him for the third–and probably not the last–time that day. It’s easier now his teeth don’t collide with bare wood, but instead sink into the fabric of the cloth. Nevertheless, tears keep pouring from the corners of his eyes like a tap that’s been left open, wetting his cheeks as his pained groans and sobs get smothered by the gag in his mouth. He tries listening to your quietly muttered apologies as you scrape the dirt and pus out of the burnt hole in his thigh to distract himself.

He takes it like a champ until you’re done, right up to the ointment you apply at the end after his wound has been made spick and span.

“Bet this feels a lot better already.” You smile as you carefully wrap the bandages around his thigh, proud of your craftsmanship.

“Yeah,” Yoongi admits, the tension on his face ebbing away and softening out for something more timid and thankful while he watches you concentrate on taking care of him. “It does.”

Your lips involuntarily curl up a little upon getting to hear how soft his voice can be. The heat on your cheeks definitely have nothing to do with that, they’re just hot from the fire.

“There’s a creek not far from here, so we can head there tomorrow to wash the bandages and rinse the dirt from your wound again.” You continue as you eye his teared up jeans and dirty clothes. “Maybe you want to wash your clothes, too?”

“You mean what’s left of them?” He hufs, choosing to avert his gaze when you look up to see the expression paired with the soft chuckle that rings as a pleasant bell in your ears. You have a hard time remembering the last time you’d heard anything like it.

“Was that a joke, Min Yoongi? Are we making jokes now?” Your grin widens and you didn’t miss the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth either.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, still having trouble to keep his irritated façade despite the ever very present pain.

A few minutes of comfortable silence ensues between the two of you as you finish cleaning up and Yoongi puts out the fire when the sun starts to set again. You only just realise you won’t be spending this sunset alone for once, and you can’t deny how relieved it makes you feel.

“It’s like a dream.” You hear from behind you, pulling you out of the momentary trance you’d found yourself in watching the big ball of light disappear again. Did the days start getting shorter or was it just your imagination? It only seemed like an hour or two ago when you’d last sat on your watchpost on the rock.

“What?”

“The sunset. Sunrise.” Yoongi elaborates as he limps over to where you were sitting down. “Sometimes, I feel like all there’s left is darkness, you know? After the sun sets, it’s like I’d imagined it all, day after day. When it rises again, I feel so relieved.”

His words take you a little by surprise. It’s like he knows what you were thinking and plucked those thoughts from your mind to recite them to you.

“Never took you for the sappy type.” Murmuring, you cross your arms as you’re feeling weirdly exposed all of a sudden.

He doesn’t say anything but you catch him smirk from the corner of your eye, even when you try to make it look like your gaze is trained on the colorful sky alone.

“How’s your leg?” You try to change the subject.

Yoongi subconsciously goes to touch the wound, but stops himself halfway.

“Much better, actually. That’s some strong stuff you got.” He says, referring to the heavy-duty painkillers you keep in your first-aid kit and have shared with him. You’d snatched them from a pharmacy some time ago.

“Yeah, they’re super addictive but you’ll be fine. The chance we’ll find them again after I run out is practically non-existent, so...”

There’s another silence following your words where you can feel a strange, tense vibe coming from your black-haired companion. He parts his lips a few times, closes them equally as many, then proceeds to heave a deep sigh.

“Hey, listen,” He starts, somewhat hesitant. “Thank you... I wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for you, I guess.”

It’s a pretty shitty thank you but you’ll take it.

“You’re welcome.” Your voice strains a little, not being used to these kinds of awkward interactions anymore. It’s not that you’re not pleased with the fact he finally thanks you, but it just feels so… weird.

“Yeah.”

You watch the sunset together for a little while longer, until the warm glow barely reaches the edges of the forest as it sinks back underneath the horizon like it does every single day. Every day it disappears, and every day you wonder whether you’ll live to see the next one.

“How did it happen, though?” You suddenly ask him.

“Hm?”

“Your leg. What happened?”

He visibly tenses, mulling over his words for a moment. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time, no?” You scoff, gesturing at your quiet and abandoned surroundings.

Yoongi hesitates, reluctance written all over his face. It looks like it’s not something he wants to talk about.

“Hey, forget it,” you ensure with a smile, “I was just curious but you don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t really say much after that while you both enjoyed the last minute of warmth and light.

“We should turn in for the night. I think both of us could use some sleep after the last twenty-four hours.” You propose, already standing back on your feet and reaching your hand out to your injured patient to help him up as well.

“Sounds good.” He says as he lets you lift him to his feet. You suddenly realize you still have the habit of brushing the dirt off your pants after you’d sat down, when you see Yoongi doing it as well. A strange habit to keep at this point, you think. You’ve been thinking a lot since your path crossed Yoongi’s.

You hadn’t been thinking about the fact you’d be sharing a tent with him, though. That thought doesn’t hit you until you’re already inside and he makes himself right at home by nestling himself into your sleeping bag.

“Feeling comfortable?” You ask, brows raised and eyes boring vehemently into his skull as you watch the satisfied expression on his face.

He nods, eyes already shutting as he gets ready for a long and hopefully peaceful slumber. Not on your watch.

“Scoot over, parasite.” You grumble, stuffing yourself inside the sleeping back with a total disregard for Yoongi’s condition and bumping him to the side with your hip.

“Ouch! Be careful, I’m injured!” He whines as if you hadn’t been devoting your entire day to nursing him and despite his bad leg being on the opposite side of your merciless hip-bumping.

“You’re a big baby, that’s what you are.”

“Why are you so mean?” His pouted lips form a strong contrast with how he’s menacingly side-eyeing you.

You think about that for a second. He probably wasn’t really serious about it right now but he wasn’t wrong. You silently acknowledge the fact you haven’t been all that friendly to him from the first second of your encounter.

“Because friendliness won’t get you anywhere in this world.” You whisper, painfully aware of the thoughts that come running through your head. “Not anymore, at least.”

Yoongi frowns, rolling himself on his side to look at you staring at the top of the tent. “Who says?”

You snort. “I mean, look around you. Look at what happened. We can all pretend we care about each other until there’s a crisis and we have to survive, then it’s every man for himself.”

“You’re helping me, though.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“But you did anyway.”

You don’t answer that. You feel sadness starting to creep its way into your heart, making you feel things you thought you’d successfully suppressed. This whole conversation is summoning memories, having them play through your mind on loop like a broken movie.

Yoongi waits for you to say something, but gives up when you don’t. Your eyes are closed and your breathing calm as you pretend to have fallen asleep already.

“That’s right, it’s been a rough day.” He mumbles, a faint smile finding his lips before he lies down more comfortably to finally catch some sleep as well.

.

.

“Excited?” You can’t contain your own joy, a big grin spreading across your face seeing the little girl bounce up and down in anticipation.

She smiles up at you and nods frantically before going back to peer at the stage in hopes of catching a glimpse of her idols, despite the fact it’s still half an hour before the concert actually starts. You chuckle and playfully ruffle your little sister’s hair. She’s already taken off her plastic birthday crown, the reason for that undoubtedly the ginormous number ‘10’ written on the front in a curly font. She probably doesn’t want the boys to see her as a child (if they’d even notice her at all so far up the tribunes but you won’t be the mean older sister and burst her bubble).

“How much longer?” She whines when she keeps looking, but still no good-looking twenty-something guys appear on stage.

You look at your watch. “Only twenty more minutes, baby. They’ll be up soon. Are you sure you’re not thirsty?”

Not waiting for her answer, you’re already rummaging through your backpack that’s stuffed with water, nutritious cookies and and juice packs. You’ve gone to many a concert before this one and know that staying hydrated is extremely important, even when you have assigned seats.

“Here, drink thi– Oh!” A push from the side makes you lose your balance and the uncapped bottle of water fallsl to the ground, splashing the fluid everywhere.

When you turn around to scold the person who pushed you, a million things happen at once. People are screaming, pushing, running, tripping over each other. Attendees from the top of the tribunes are scattering down the stairs, even over the chairs and over one another, not caring who they worked to the ground in the process as long as they could escape. Confusion paralyzes you only for a moment until your survival instinct, too, kicked in and you grab your sister by the hand to follow the crowd of screaming, panic-crazed people.

“___, what’s happening?!!” Your sister cries, bewildered as she looks around her and watches more panic unfold before her eyes. “Where are we going?!”

“I don’t know, Mia, keep running! We have to get to the exit!” You yell, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute as you keep your sister’s hand in a vice like grip while you let yourselves get swallowed by the stream of bodies. “Don’t let go of my hand!”

Your head feels light and empty, like there’s nothing useful in there but a red and buzzing alarm. Sound seems to fade to the background, cries and pleads and screams of others just noise while your heartbeat pounds loudly in your ears. You feel bile rising in your throat, the nausea in your stomach threatening to make you throw it all up when you occasionally trip over obstacles lying in your way and you realise they’re the bodies of people who’ve been trampled to death. You can’t bring yourself to care about them, not now, not when you have to bring your sister and yourself to safety. The only thing that matters right now is to get to the exit, to survive. You see the green light of the emergency exit, yet the doors have not yet been opened. The mass of bodies is piling up, people are getting squished to the walls and between each other as more and more men and women try to force their way to the front to get to the exit first, oblivious to the fact the doors are still closed for whatever damn reason.

“Why isn’t it opening?!”

“Open the fucking doors!!!”

“Let us out!! Let us out!!”

“I can’t breathe! Please stop pushing! Please!”

You hear the cries and screams and it hits you, the fact you’re all trapped in here. The doors aren’t opening and there’s no turning back. You can’t see two metres in front of you, but all around you people are suffocating; faces turning red, then purple and blue until they collapse from asphyxiation, never to wake up again.

Mia. You have to save Mia! You could have her sit in your neck so she’s higher up and not squished.

When you want to lift her up, you find to your horror that your hand’s empty and your sister is nowhere to be seen. The world disappears from underneath your feet, time stopping all the same. You can’t believe you lost her. You can’t believe you’ve let that happen. This can’t be real, this can’t be reality. You refuse to accept this!

“Mia!” You scream at the top of your lungs, frantically spinning around as much as the extremely limited space allows you. You start running back, away from the exit and against the current, pushing people to the side and squeezing yourself through every gap you could find. You keep yelling your sister’s name, trying to look for a red sweater and two braids all the while.

You can’t let yourself lose hope. Staying calm and rational will give you the best chance to find her back. Banishing all worst case scenarios from your thoughts as best as you can, you force your brain to get to work. Now you’re standing in a less crowded spot, you allow yourself to breathe again, looking around to find a solution. Your eyes fall on the empty tribunes. You could climb up and have a better overview from higher up.

Purposely turning a blind eye to the corpses littering the stairs and pretending like they aren’t there, you climb up. You can’t afford to get emotional right now, you can’t break down and lose the adrenaline rush that’s the only thing that keeps you functioning..

A sound startles you out of your concentration. It’s something between a hiss and a bubbling gurgle, making you stop in your tracks. Your head turns to the direction of the disturbing sound and what you find paralyzes you with fear. Someone– no, something is crouched over one of the dead bodies on the tribune stairs and staring right at you with milky eyes. It growls, blood dripping out of its mouth and over its chin before leaving the dead body for what it is in favor of something more fresh. You can’t believe what you’re seeing, although you know it’s real and you know exactly what it is. Now you know what made this mass panic break out in the first place.

“Holy shit…” The breath you take shakes as you whisper, your feet still frozen in place even when the thing approaches.

But then Mia reappears in your mind, giving you the push you need to snap out of your fright and choose flight instead. You don’t think fight would be an option in this situation, so you start running again. There seems to be some movement in the crowd now, the force of the suction of people streaming through the exit doors pulling you in and along. The pressure of the mass must’ve made the doors break open by force. You can’t fight it, so you have no choice but to let yourself get sucked in if you don’t want to meet the same fate as the people lying motionlessly on the floor. There’s still no sign of Mia and you’d be lying if you’d say you’re not starting to get desperate. You didn’t even get a chance to check from above.

“Mia!!” You try again, unable to stop the tears that finally pour out of your eyes, your chest clenching painfully where your heart is still working overtime to process the panic. “Mia!!”

.

.

You startle awake with a gasp tearing from your lips, your body drenched in sweat, face wet with tears and a wide-eyed Yoongi sitting up next to you, a hand resting on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you need a minute to process your surroundings. You’re not in the concert venue, you’re not getting pushed and pulled by hot bodies. There’s no one screaming. Everything is eerily quiet, but the image of your little sister still swims in your mind. She’s still gone. You still lost her. Nothing changed.

“I– I had to wake you because you s-started screaming in your sleep and...” Yoongi starts, but his voice dies when you burst into tears. You do try to keep it down but the pain that rips through your chest is unbearable. Yoongi says nothing, just pulls you into an embrace, muffling your cries and sobs into his shoulder.

After a full hour of unstoppable heartache, you’ve exhausted yourself so much you’re knocked out asleep again. Yoongi’s still wide awake, though. For the rest of the night, he lies peering at the ceiling of the tent, occasionally at you as a tear escapes from the corner of his eye.

“I’m really sorry.”