As Lovers Do;; MYG
Word Count;; 9.4k
Genre;; Smut + F L U F F
Pairing;; Yoongi x Fem!Reader
Summary;;
Physical therapy is anything but easy - it's grueling, painful, and time-consuming. As a regular in your hospital's PT department, you're used to it. It's still a challenge of course, but you've resigned yourself to it. The monotony of a daily exercise program and frequent check-ins is, simply, your life.
Things take an interesting turn, however, when you come in contact with Yoongi, the first patient you've bothered to learn the name of. He's soft with a sharp tongue that matches your own. Adding zest to your otherwise bland routine, Yoongi is the perfect match to your own spicy disposition.
There's a tenderness behind him that you yearn to explore but you only have so much time before his sessions come to an end and he joins the other success stories, leaving the world of recovery far behind.
Warnings;;
Explicit & Detailed Smut! Physical Therapy & Joint Injuries, Swearing
Very S O F T. Some angst if you squint BUT mainly intimate fluff.
Oral (m! & f!receiving), slightly sub!Yoongi, lovemaking i.e soft, protected, sweet
Notes;;
Hello @iridescentjin! Thank you so much for donating to the AAPI Fundraising Event through @armyadvocates. This is your completed commission. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you once again for your donation ♡ also tagging @flowerblu00 as requested.
please show up in the tags ahjsdkdkf
~~~~~
The lights burned your eyes.
They were overkill in an already well-lit room. Plenty of sunlight poured in through the giant windows and skylights that made up most of the building's structure. All these additional lights did was provide an uncomfortable brightness that highlighted the frayed ends of your sweats and the anxious sweat building on your brow. Completely unnecessary, completely pointless.
The electronic tablets burned your eyes.
Each visit resulted in a bigger file and more documents to sign off on. Yes, you understood that the hospital and staff weren't responsible for jackshit. Yes, you understood that the treatment plan might not work. Yes, you filled out the health survey and wanted your therapist to use it in their assessment. No, you wouldn't sue, and no, you wouldn't bail on your payments.
The white walls burned your eyes.
It made sense, being a sort of extension of the nearby hospital, but you couldn't stand it. Everything looked clean and sterile. Even the magazines sprawled across the (smudge-free) glass coffee tables were pristine, as if never used. The only sprinkle of colour came from a potted plant near the receptionist centre.
The blinding smiles burned your eyes.
No matter how long you stared at the workers behind the desk, their smiles never faltered. You wondered if they were robots using an automated system like the check-in kiosk. Their movement and speech appeared limited to telling people to use the electronic booths to log their arrival and calling out patient's names before waving them off toward the physical therapist who had already called the name seconds prior.
The reflective tiles burned your eyes.
When you dropped your gaze, you didn't want to come face to face with yourself. Like everything else, the floor sparkled with an unnatural cleanliness. 'As above, so below' was taken to a whole new literal; you could observe the whole room off the gleaming surface. You didn't want to see people come and go and you didn't want to see the idiots at the front desk but no matter where you looked, you were reminded of your location and therefore your injury.
You hated it here.
Plain and simple, you despised it.
"Are you ready to get started?"