Bill Skarsgård • Roman Godfrey Imagines

Favorite patient

Doctor Bill!AU

Some content might be suggestive !

His office is nice, more comfortable and homey than you had expected. You pretend not to notice the photos of two children set up on one of the cherry oak shelves beside the door, sitting beside a reflective metal plate with the words Dr. Skarsgård DPT engrained into its hard, golden surface.

"You've has some pelvic pain, you listed it here?" His lilted voice snaps you out of your half zoned out gaze at the personal items in his headquarters, eyes darting to the man in front of you, and you can't help but to jump a little as you realize he's staring directly at you. Of course he'd be staring at you, he's speaking to you, dimwit.

Still, his gaze almost feels palpable, and you feel as if you're looking at some sort of marble carving of a man rather than a real human one. From his deep eye sockets, sculpted cheekbones, infuriatingly perfect nose and a plump pair of lips all rounded off by a smooth olive toned face; it's easy to become intimidated.

"Uh, yea. I thought maybe pilates would help, maybe even yoga but, I seemed to have really injured my hip-area, so I figured I should come to a physical therapist." You can't help but to squirm in your seat, not necessarily because of the way his pale blue dress shirt clings onto his slim and built figure, or the way he pushes the sleeves up to his elbows to reveal his thick and toned forearms; you squirm mostly because of embarrassment.

He continues to look down at your chart, fair eyebrows furrowed in a moment of concentration as he goes over your blood work, teeth chewing on the inside of his lip for a moment. You sit with your hands in your lap, legs crossed as you try and figure out the possibilities of everything that might happen in today's visit.

Maybe subconsciously the reason you're so quick to press your thighs together is because you want him to bend you over his desk, grip your hair with those large and skilled hands of his and tell you that the required treatment would be more hands on than you had anticipated and- you shake the sudden intrusive thoughts out of your head, cheeks flushed as you wonder where any of that even came from.

He's your doctor, as if he'd ever risk his job for you-as if he'd want you in the first place.

"Well, can you start by telling me how you wounded yourself? That's a good way to start finding you the proper treatment." He sets the papers aside, a soft smile curling at the corners of his lips as he looks across at you, awaiting your explanation. If your nervousness didn't show before, it sure as hell does now.

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain- and embarrassing-" you cut yourself off, eyes looking everywhere to avoid his gaze that is locked on you. "For the record, injuries due to sexual activity are very common and nothing to be bashful about-" your eyes widen, hand flying in the air as if to halt his sentence.

"No no! It's nothing like that!" He can't help but to chuckle at your flushed cheeks, your hand retracting and palm lying flat against your forehead as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to come back from that utterly humiliating outburst.

"Sorry, I just- I was trying to get these jeans on. They were really tight and when I went to jump to pull them up, my foot got caught on the ends of them and I slipped, and my hip got caught of the bed railing as I fell. Kind of a humiliating thing to come to the doctor for." You close your eyes and rest your cheek in your palm, elbows on the arm chair as you avoid his eyes again; not wanting to see the look of ridicule on his features.

A soft laugh passing his lips make you look up at him, though. "Trust me, I've had some bad cases. Yours is...unconventional but, kind of adorable." He seems to have caught on to his friendly adjective, and he clears his throat as he stands. Did he really just call you adorable? Him? Your doctor who you swear doubles as a model on the weekends?