#c: frank langdon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abbotjack · 3 months ago

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(18+ only) nsfw alphabet– frank langdon .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

a/n : this is for the langdon girlies

word count : 4163

content/warning : infidelity, explicit sexual content, rough sex, unsafe sex (implied), emotional repression, guilt, morally gray dynamics, aftercare, masturbation, possessive language, complex power imbalance, emotionally charged relationship, references to marriage and children.

♡ A = Aftercare Frank Langdon doesn’t do tender aftercare—at least not in the traditional, soft-limbed, cuddling sense. He’s not the type to pull you into his chest and whisper sweet nothings while brushing the hair from your face. He gets too in his head for that. Too aware of where he is, what he's done, and who he has to go home to.

Instead, his version of aftercare is practical and oddly precise. He’ll sit up slowly, still flushed and half-wrecked, and quietly reach for your water bottle, or grab a towel from the nearby chair. He doesn’t say much—just steadies himself with a palm on your thigh, as if silently checking that you’re okay. If you’re still catching your breath, he’ll stay. Not touch, not fidget—just stay. He lingers in the way someone does when they’re afraid that walking away will make the whole thing disappear.

“I didn’t… hurt you?” he asks once, voice gravelled and rough.

You shake your head.

He nods, looks at your body like it deserves more than he gave. Then, quietly, he says, “Good,” but he doesn’t sound convinced.

♡ B = Body Part Frank has never thought of his body as something to admire. It’s a tool, a vehicle, something that gets him through 12-hour shifts, sometimes 24 if the ER’s understaffed. But if you ask what part he’s proud of—not what he thinks you like, but what he secretly holds onto? It’s his neck.

Not in a showy, flex-in-the-mirror kind of way. Just… his neck. Thick and solid, always a little flushed when he’s aroused, corded with tension like he’s constantly swallowing down what he really wants to say. It's the place you kiss when you want to get to him fast. Where you bite when he’s already balls-deep inside you and trying not to come. You’ve told him before—“You make the best noises when I kiss you here”—and ever since, he’s been weirdly conscious of it. Not shy. Just aware.

He feels your breath against his throat before he feels your hands. And if you press your lips just under his jaw, he’ll grip your hips tighter, pulse stuttering beneath your mouth.

As for you? He’s obsessed with your lower stomach. Not your waist. Not your chest. Not your ass, though he likes that too. No—your soft belly, the space between your hips and pelvis, where your skin is tender and warm and just slightly sensitive. The place he rests his palm over after he’s finished inside you, the place he drags his knuckles across when you’re lying on the couch.

It’s the quietest, most vulnerable part of your body—and it undoes him.

He once fucked you on your side, your back to his chest, his hand pressed firm against your stomach like he wanted to keep all of himself inside you.

And when you asked what that was about, why he held you there like that, he just said,

“I like feeling you. Right there. Where I know I left something.”

Then he kissed the spot again—slow, almost reverent—and didn’t say another word.

♡ C = Cum Frank tries to be responsible. Really. He’s too old to be careless, and the last thing he needs is another complication in a situation that’s already cheating on every level. But the moment you whisper something reckless—something like “Don’t pull out”—he’s gone. Gone in that way that makes his eyes roll back, his grip turn bruising, and his body collapse against yours like he’s coming apart.

His cum is thick, warm, and there’s something primal in the way he watches it drip out of you. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes speaks volumes: guilt, lust, possessiveness, a thousand unspoken regrets.

He’ll clean you up in silence, gently, with a trembling hand. Then he’ll sit back, ring still on, and mutter:

“We shouldn’t’ve done that… again.”

And yet—he never leaves right after.

♡ D = Dirty Secret Frank has this one recurring fantasy—one he’d never admit out loud, even if you pressed him with your tongue and teeth and teasing fingers. It’s not elaborate. It’s not even that graphic. It’s domestic. Dangerous in its simplicity.

He imagines waking up in your bed. Not rushed. Not hiding. No pager. No wedding ring. Just you, your bare legs tangled with his, and the soft sound of the coffee maker burbling in the background. He imagines brushing his teeth in your sink. Pulling your shirt over your head instead of unbuttoning it under stress. Maybe taking you right there against the kitchen counter while you laugh, not cry.

But that’s the dirtiest part of it: the wanting. Not just the sex, not just the high—you. The idea of you as his instead of hers. And he hates himself for it.

Which is probably why he fucks you the way he does. Like he’s trying to bury the fantasy before it makes him do something irreversible.

♡ E = Experience Frank’s the kind of man who doesn't advertise how much he knows—but you feel it. From the first time he touched you, it was obvious. He doesn’t second-guess himself. Doesn’t fumble with your bra clasp or ask nervous questions. He reads you.

But here's the thing: Frank doesn’t move like a man who’s had hundreds of partners. He moves like a man who’s had maybe a handful, and still memorized every one. He carries experience like he carries guilt—quietly, heavy, with no need to boast. He’s all practiced hands and measured control, but there's something about the way he watches your reactions that tells you this isn’t casual for him. It never has been.

His mouth on your chest, the way he mouths over your nipple and then waits—waits for you to squirm before he sinks his teeth in gently. His fingers inside you, knuckle-deep with that perfect curl like he’s been learning your body over weeks instead of minutes. His hips grinding in slow, devastating circles, his rhythm tuned not to get off but to undo you. Every motion says:

I’ve done this before. But not like this. Not with you.

You ask him once, “Where the hell did you learn to do that with your tongue?”—half-laughing, fully breathless. He just shrugs, lips shiny with you, voice low.

“Long nights. Now shut up and come again.”

He knows how to make a woman feel good. But more than that—he knows what not to do. He’s not reckless. He’s not performative. He doesn’t chase porn-inspired theatrics or put on a show. He listens. He adapts. And he never loses patience.

He’s the kind of experienced that comes from making mistakes and learning from them. From fucking someone the wrong way once and swearing he’ll never do it again. From years of hearing what women don’t say out loud.

And now? He’s the man who lays you back with calm hands, mouths at your throat, and says things like,

“Let me take care of it. I know what you need.”

And for once in your goddamn life—you believe it.

♡ F = Favorite Position Frank likes positions where he doesn’t have to think too hard—where muscle memory takes over and guilt has to get in line behind pleasure. That usually means either cowgirl, where he can watch your body bounce on his cock, mouth parted in disbelief as you ride him into delirium—or spooning, slow and angled just right so he can stay deep without ever seeing your face.

But when he’s feeling particularly frayed? It’s you bent over a surface. Something with leverage. Something that doesn’t require foreplay or forethought. Just a hand over your mouth, his other on your hip, and a growl in your ear:

“Stay still for me. Just like that. Fuck—just like that.”

♡ G = Goofy Frank isn’t goofy. He doesn’t have it in him—not during sex, and not outside of it either. Even when he wants to be light, the weight of everything he’s holding—his marriage, his kid, his job, you—pulls him back down like an anchor around the throat. But every now and then, right before everything tips over into sex, there’s a flash of something dry and sharp that slips past his guard.

“You gonna make me beg?” he mutters once as you straddle his lap, his belt still unbuckled, his cock hard and twitching against his stomach.

You raise an eyebrow. “Would you?”

He exhales a laugh—one you feel more than hear. “God, no. But I thought I’d ask.”

That’s the closest you get to playful. And it doesn’t last. Because once his hands are on you, Frank goes quiet again—like fun was never an option, only urgency.

♡ H = Hair Frank’s grooming is utilitarian—done out of habit, not vanity. He keeps everything trimmed low, clean, managed. His chest is broad and dusted with a thick layer of dark hair, the kind that trails down his stomach in a narrowing line that you’ve traced with your tongue more times than you can count.

He doesn’t talk about his body much. Doesn’t ask if you like it. But the way your hands explore him—the reverence in the way you touch the back of his neck or drag your fingers through the hair on his stomach—makes his ears flush pink.

The first time you knelt in front of him, mouth open and voice low, and said, “God, I love how you taste,” he went still. Not proud. Not smug. Just wrecked by it.

♡ I = Intimacy Frank is at his most intimate before the sex starts. It’s in the way he presses his forehead to yours when your lips are still inches apart.

The way he exhales through his nose like he’s grounding himself with you. There’s a heavy, trembling kind of closeness to it—a sense that he’s trying to earn this moment even as he knows it’s already broken.

He doesn’t call it love. Not out loud. But it seeps through everything he does when he lets himself feel instead of just fuck. His hands cradle your hips like you're fragile. His mouth brushes over your sternum, your shoulder, your lower back like he’s memorizing you in fragments. Sometimes he says your name, but it’s barely audible. Like speaking it too loud might shatter whatever spell you’re both under.

There’s one night where he’s buried deep inside you, rhythm slow, his eyes open the entire time. And he says—barely more than a whisper

“This should be you. This should’ve always been you.”

Then he kisses you like a man confessing, not apologizing.

♡ J = Jack off Frank jerks off with his jaw tight and his hand wrapped in guilt. It’s not frequent—he’s too tired, too wound up—but when he does, it’s never aimless. It’s always about you. Sometimes it's the memory of you spread out in the on call room. Sometimes it’s the way you moaned when he slid two fingers inside you while the ER intercom called his name. But the one that undoes him the fastest is the memory of your mouth—wet, open, eager, eyes locked with his while you sink down onto him like you need it to breathe.

He doesn’t stroke himself lazily. He’s fast, impatient. Like he’s trying to get it over with before the shame sets in.

He finishes with a grunt, low and strained, and then stares at the wall for several minutes—ring glinting on his left hand, heart still racing, and every part of him aching for a life he doesn’t have the right to want.

♡ K = Kink Frank’s kink isn’t loud or flashy. It’s not about toys or pain or showmanship. It’s ownership. Not possessive, but emotional. He wants to feel like he’s the only one who’s ever touched you this way, even if he knows it’s a lie.

He wants you to wear him. He wants to leave marks—thumbprints on your thighs, the shadow of his beard on your neck, his cum dripping out of you hours after he’s gone. He wants to fuck you slow and deep, whispering, “Mine,” like the word can undo the rest of his life.

He also has a fixation with your underwear. Specifically, the ones you leave behind. He keeps a pair in the glovebox of his car. Never told you. Just… couldn’t throw them away. One night, when everything felt like it was crumbling, he took them out, buried his face in the soft cotton, and fucked his fist until he came so hard he had to bite down on the seatbelt.

He told himself that was the last time. He was wrong.

♡ L = Location Frank doesn’t have the luxury of variety. He’s too cautious, too paranoid. But when it is possible? He likes confined, inhabited spaces. Places with walls. A door. Something that can be locked—not just for discretion, but because it’s the only way he can let go.

Your apartment is a rare treat. He doesn’t visit often, but when he does, he fucks you like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to be wanted—not just used or needed or tolerated. Your bed. Your shower. That one time he bent you over your kitchen sink while your pasta boiled behind you.

♡ M = Motivation Frank is most turned on when he’s emotionally overwhelmed. Anger, fear, grief, guilt—he doesn’t process them the way others do. He bottles them. Carries them. And eventually, they come spilling out in your direction, usually with his hands wrapped around your waist and his cock buried inside you like he’s trying to forget the world.

There’s a hunger in him he doesn’t understand. It’s not just about needing to fuck—it’s about needing you. Needing your laugh, your defiance, your softness. The way you touch his face like it doesn’t scare you. The way you moan like you’re not afraid of what this could become.

Sometimes you’ll say something simple—“You look tired,” or “You could stay the night”—and he’ll snap. Not with anger, but with desperation. He’ll kiss you too hard, yank your shirt over your head, push you onto the couch like he needs to be inside you before the thought has time to settle.

He’s turned on by danger. But more than that? He’s turned on by hope. And that scares him more than anything.

♡ N = No Frank has a lot of rules—some spoken, most not. No overnights. No coming to his house. No calling after 10PM. No talking about his kid.

No unprompted “I miss you” texts.

But in bed, his no’s are subtler. He doesn’t degrade. He won’t humiliate you, even if you ask him to. He won’t call you a slut or slap you across the face or spit in your mouth, because no matter how far he’s fallen, some lines still feel sacred.

“I’m not that guy,” he mutters, the first time you ask. He says it like it’s a promise he’s barely keeping.

And above all else—he won’t let you say “I love you.”

Not during. Not after. Not ever.

If the words so much as hover, he’ll pull away—physically, emotionally, all of it.

He’s a lot of things, but he refuses to lie to himself that much.

♡ O = Oral Frank eats pussy like he’s starving and like it’s the last thing he’s allowed to enjoy. He starts slow—one hand anchoring your thigh open, the other curled around your knee—just tasting, just learning. But once he figures out what makes your hips twitch? He doubles down like a man obsessed.

He flattens his tongue and grinds it against your clit in wide, deliberate strokes, low groans vibrating in his throat while your fingers lock in his hair.

He’ll wrap his lips around you, suck softly, then lap like it’s a compulsion.

He doesn’t always look up at you. Sometimes, he keeps his eyes closed—like the taste of you is something holy. Like looking would break whatever spell you’re both under.

Receiving? He likes it. Quietly. Doesn’t demand it, but won’t say no either. Especially when you do it with that same reverence—like you’re trying to take care of a man who doesn’t know how to let anyone take care of him.

His favorite is when you kneel without asking. Not for power. But for intention.

♡ P = Pace Frank’s pace is a paradox—unrelenting but measured. He isn’t reckless. He doesn’t slam into you blindly or chase climax like a teenager. When he fucks, he fucks like he’s thinking about it. Calculating every thrust. Dragging the head of his cock against that sweet spot inside you until your legs shake and your voice breaks on his name.

There’s a rhythm to it. Intentional. Sometimes fast and unforgiving—especially when he’s punishing himself for wanting you again. But just as often, he’s slow—achingly, deliberately slow, grinding in deep with every pass like he wants to brand you from the inside out.

“You feel that?” he mutters into your hair, hips pressed flush to yours.

“That’s me. All of me. Right there.”

♡ Q = Quickie Quickies aren’t casual for Frank—they’re necessary. He doesn’t always have the time or privacy for long, drawn-out sessions. So when the urge hits—and it always does—he’ll take you up against a wall, over a sink, half-out-of-breath with one hand on your mouth and the other under your skirt.

He’s fast but focused. Two fingers inside you, thumb circling just right while he groans against your shoulder. Or he’ll unzip just enough, slide in without even getting you fully undressed, fucking you so hard and so quiet it leaves your knees shaking after.

But afterward? He doesn’t look at you. Not right away. He adjusts his belt. Runs a hand through his hair.

And then says, in a voice you’ve learned to decipher, “That can’t happen again.”

(It always happens again.)

♡ R = Risk Every part of this is a risk. He knows that. The affair, the secrecy, the emotion. But Frank takes calculated risks—never reckless ones. He’s not about spectacle. He doesn’t want to get caught. But something about the possibility of it? Of fucking you behind a closed office door while his wife texts him about dinner plans? It twists something in him.

He won't admit how much he likes it. But he’s more dangerous than he looks.

One time, he fingered you in the backseat of his car while parked behind the hospital dumpster, a security camera blinking red in the corner of the lot.

“You’re gonna get me fired,” you whispered.

His reply? A low, growled, “Then be quiet.”

♡ S = Stamina Frank can’t go all night. But what he can do is make one round feel like five. He draws it out. Foreplay like a slow burn. Hands and tongue and murmured filth until you’re practically begging for him. And once he’s inside? He lasts. He holds off until he’s sure you’ve come—at least once, usually twice—before letting himself fall apart.

When he does come, it’s with a deep grunt, whole body shuddering against yours, head bowed like he’s ashamed of how hard he needed it.

If the moment’s right? He can go again. Not fast. But again. Especially if you’re on top, your mouth at his neck, whispering, “Don’t think. Just fuck me.”

♡ T = Toys Frank doesn’t own toys himself, but he’s open. Cautiously curious. He doesn’t need them—but he’s not threatened by them either.

You bring out a vibe once. He watches you use it, pants unzipped, fingers loosely stroking himself while your thighs shake from the stimulation. Then, he replaces the toy with his tongue. And then his cock. And later, he asks, “You use that when I’m not here?”

You nod.

He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Next time? He tells you to bring it before he shows up.

♡ U = Unfair Frank is brutal when it comes to teasing—but not in a playful way. In a psychological warfare kind of way. He doesn’t just edge you, he holds you hostage with it. Hands between your thighs, fingers stroking just shy of where you need him, lips dragging down your chest but never far enough.

“You want me to stop?” he asks.

You shake your head, eyes pleading.

“Then take it. Come on. Take what I give you.”

Sometimes he pulls out just to watch you squirm. Sometimes he fucks you with two fingers, murmuring, “Look at how desperate you get for me,” while refusing to let you come. It’s not about dominance—it’s about control. His own, and the way yours crumbles for him.

♡ V = Volume Frank is quiet. Too quiet. His sounds are guttural, close to his chest—like he’s afraid someone might hear. But when he’s really lost in it? He groans. Deep, low, filthy groans that vibrate through your bones.

He pants your name, curses under his breath, grits out lines like, “So fucking tight,” or “You feel like heaven.” And if he’s fucking you from behind? You might catch a rare, shaky moan when you clench around him just right.

The loudest he’s ever been was the time you rode him slow, keeping eye contact the whole time. He came with a strangled, “Fuck—baby, I can’t—shit,” and bit your shoulder to muffle himself.

You still have the mark.

♡ W = Wild Card Frank had a voicemail saved on his phone. He’s listened to it over a dozen times, never all at once, always in pieces. It’s your voice. It wasn’t even meant to be sexy—it was accidental, late at night, after a call he ignored because he was at home eating microwave spaghetti with his kid on the couch.

You hadn’t said his name. You hadn’t said much at all. Just a breathy laugh, some rustling sheets, and the quietest whisper:

“Wish you were here.”

The silence that followed was louder than anything else. No background noise. No music. Just you. Lying in a bed you’d made room for him in. And then, click. Gone.

He couldn’t delete it. Still hasn’t. Keeps it tucked under fake contact info labeled "ADMIN EXT. 7" in case his wife ever scrolls.

One night, when things at home were at their most tense—after a fight about money, about time, about why he never seems present—he snuck out under the guise of a late call shift. He sat in his car, parked four blocks from your apartment, and played that voicemail on a loop. He never came to your door. Never called. Just listened.

Over and over.

When he finally showed up the next morning, eyes bloodshot, collar loose, you thought he’d been drinking. But he hadn’t.

He just missed you. Missed the idea of you.

The life he doesn’t have. The calm he doesn’t know how to deserve.

You opened the door, and he kissed you like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Didn’t say a word—just backed you up against the wall, one hand under your shirt, the other gripping your face like he needed to feel if you were real.

Later, when he came inside you with his mouth at your shoulder and your nails raking down his back, he murmured against your skin:

“I heard you. That night. I listened to all of it.”

And then—just barely—

“Don’t stop saying shit like that. Even if I can’t answer.”

He eventually deletes the voicemail. Not because he wants to. But because he knows if he doesn’t, he’ll never go home again.

♡ X = X-ray His cock matches the rest of him: thick, veined, a little curved, uncut. Not massive, but enough—the kind that stretches you just right, the kind that leaves you sore in the best way.

He doesn’t strut. He doesn’t talk about it. But when he sees your breath hitch as he lines himself up? He smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “That’s it. You remember.”

♡ Y = Yearning His sex drive is tied to his emotions—always has been. He doesn’t want you casually. He wants you like a pressure valve. Like medicine. Like something he can’t name without unraveling.

He craves you when he’s mad. When he’s scared. When he sees you laughing with someone else. He’ll spend a whole day avoiding your texts, pretending he doesn’t want you—and then show up at midnight, half-drunk and out of excuses, kissing you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

You’re not his mistress. You’re his escape. And that yearning? It’s never going away.

♡ Z = Zzz Frank never intends to fall asleep with you. He always tells himself he’ll leave. That he’ll zip up, slip out, and get back to the life he built before you broke it open.

But sometimes… he stays. Just a little longer. Just until your breathing slows. Just until your hand settles on his chest.

And then he’s out. Deep, quiet sleep—body heavy against yours, arm slung across your stomach, leg hooked over your thigh like he forgot where he was.

When he wakes up? He panics.

But in those few hours, he looks peaceful. Younger. Like the man he might’ve been in a different life.

#frank langdon #frank langdon x reader #dr langdon #dr langdon x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt #the pitt x reader #the pitt 2025 #the pitt hbo #smut

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taiey · 4 months ago

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Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.

a webweave for @muriers, based on Game Over. Try Again? by @irrealisms, with the @mcytrecursive exchange.

image sources: Kreislauf des Geldes fountain, Dietmar Rabich; Navaro Rapids, Ando Hiroshige; Hubble Space Telescope image of Whirlpool Galaxy, Pablo Carlos Budassi; Page 68r, Voynich manuscript; Whirlpool at Balonna creek, Alboychenko08; Hiroshige ibid.; "Solar Eclipse" rotunda ceiling, U.S. Custom House, Carol Highsmith; Annular solar eclipse Manzanillo, Mario Roberto Duran Ortiz; French or English manuscript ca. 1250s; photograph of Irish manhole cover, Leimanbhradain; manuscript of the Kitab al-Tafhim, Al-Biruni; Solar Eclipse, Howard Russell Butler; Solar Eclipse May 20, Brocken Inaglory; Beltane Triskelion, Giulia Coli

text sources: Phillippe Gaultier de Lille ("D. Chatillon"). Alexandriad, Book V. 298; Søren Kierkegaard, in Repetition : A Venture in Experimental Psychology (1843) Part One: Report by Constantin Constantius; Cicero, Orationes In Verrem, II. 1. 15.; Langdon Smith, in "Evolution" (1895); François-René de Chateaubriand, as quoted in Dictionary of Quotations from Ancient and Modern, English and Foreign Sources (1893); Walter Kaufmann, Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist p. 327; The Tower, W. B. Yeats; E. C. Bentley and H. Warner Allen, Trent's Own Case (1936), Chapter XV; Frank Herbert interview, 3 February 1969, California State College; Sonnet 107, William Shakespeare.

#lifesteal #lifesteal smp #eclipse federation #wish i knew what a belay was #web weave #fanart #mine

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passionwillow · 3 months ago

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Could we get a nsfw alphabet for Frankie?👉👈

YES YES WE CAN

Frank Langdon - NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He'll always clean you up and cuddle, but he usually needs a minute. He likes to bask in the afterglow, steady his breathing and hold you before getting up. A lot of time its a little rushed, only because he wants to just lay down and hold you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands. They save lives, they're skilled, and the way you react under his touch.. It drives him insane.

He loves your hips!!! He loves holding them!!! And using them to tug you closer on his cock UGH. Just grabbing at the flesh, holding for dear life.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves seeing it in your mouth or on your face. He usually likes finishing inside, but something about seeing your pretty face painted with it, or seeing you swallow it..

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves being submissive for you! Letting you run the show, seeing the light in your eyes and your excited grin gives him a thrill. Order him around, call him a good boy.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows what he's doing. Whether that's experience or human anatomy knowledge, he's confident in his abilities. He knows where to touch you, how to curl his fingers or thrust just right to get you crying out.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

RIDE HIM. He loves seeing you on top, getting to just kiss and bite at your tits. If you aren't confident, he's happy to guide you and help or go for missionary.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Usually serious. He's focused and locked in on you, pleasuring you, but if something humorous happens he'll laugh. You guys trip, clothes won't come off, etc..

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It's dark and thick, just like his hair. He keeps it maintained and under control, even shaving a little bit to help.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Usually pretty romantic! He isn't opposed to dirty talk or getting a little rough though, so it all depends on the mood.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Maybe a concerning amount. He can't help himself, he thinks about you nonstop. He's a little obsessed. So he's always sneaking off to receive himself, sending you pictures to taking videos.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He wouldn't mind being pegged. Part of him is nervous and part of him SERIOUSLY wants to try it. Otherwise, it's kind of the usual. Spanking, tying you up, a little choking.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom, on call room, back of the car, literally he doesn't care. Just let him slip inside you (he begs for it you can't convince me otherwise).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You breathed. You looked at him, you smiled, you laughed. Literally everything gets him going. Just give him an excise, honestly.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything with piss, feces, vomit, or anything that could seriously hurt you. He has his limits, even if it's something you'd try. He can't imagine harming you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

A MUNCH. Desperate at anytime to taste you. Sit on his face and just let him feast. He could go at it for hours if you'd let him. When it comes to him, he'd never turn down. blowjob. If you don't really want to, cool with him. But seeing you on your knees gagging and choking on him? Ugh.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can go whatever you like. He can pound into you and fuck you senseless or the his sweet time and draw it out. He's happy with whatever, he just follows the mood.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Lovessss them. He looks forward to pulling you into an empty room and pinning you to the wall, or finding an empty bed and taking you in an on call room. He's always mumbling and whining into your neck about how he'll be quick, just needs you for a second.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He'll experiment to a degree, and he loves the thrill of getting caught. Someone seeing you moan around his cock, or clinging to his shoulders as he pounds you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Easily 2-3 before he needs a break. He just gets so revved up and high off of you, he doesn't even notice that his won body is telling him to stop.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

YES YES YES. Vibrators are his favorite. Pressing one to your clit and watching you squirm and cry out, or losing his damn mind when you use it on his cock. Handcuffs, gags, blindfolds. He enjoys all of it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can't tease you for long because he cracks in no time. And he gets so whiny and pouty when you tease him! Tugging at your clothes, begging for just a minute with you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

SO loud. So whiny and needy and he doesn't know how to be quiet. You usually have to cover his mouth when he goes at it with you at work because he's so blissed out.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Claw the hell out of him. He loves seeing the marks your nails leave, the red streaks on his back.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A good 5 inches, average thickness. Not super huge or anything but more than enough to get the job done.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HELLO??? Always horny. Always needy. Always desperate nad tugging you into an empty room or hall.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He passes out. Arm around you, weight half on you, face in your chest. He's out like a light.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo max #frank langdon x plussized reader #frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon #frank langdon

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bullet-prooflove · 3 months ago

Note

Oh I love a nsfw alphabet! And I've just finished the pitt and I'm having Langdon withdrawals already lol so perfect timing!

For Frank and Ivy, could I please request c, g, h, p and z ❤️

c = camera; who likes to send nudes to the others? have they ever made a sex tape - would they ever?

Ivy sends nudes to Frank but they’re not full on, it’s more like suggestive pictures. Frank has a massive kink for her in stockings. He loves the sight of them, running his hands up and down them, taking them off with his teeth so she tends to send images like:

A photo of her from the back so he can see the seam line running up the her calves and thighs.

Slipping her nyloned feet into a pair of fuck me heels.

The lace tops against her bare thighs.

A video of her crossing her legs, because the sound of the stockings rubbing is like ASMR for his dick.

He gets anyone of these and he’s dropping whatever the fuck he’s doing and turning up.

They have never made a video together because Frank hates the idea of watching it back.

g = good; is praise something that’s used often? who does it have the biggest effect on?

Frank is still a little insecure esp in the aftermath of his addiction. He knows he fucked up majorly and praising him helps to build his confidence and sense of self-worth back up when it comes to their relationship. He craves that sense of validation and reassurance.

h = horny; who gets turned on the easiest/most often? how do they show it?

Frank is constantly turned on by Ivy and it can be the simplest things. Verbal sparring, catching a glimpse of her tattoos, the way she bites the end of the pen when she’s thinking. All of those things get his blood going.

If their alone, it’s by putting his hands on her waist and whispering something filthy in her ear. The press of his chest against her back, his lips chasing up the curve of her throat, nipping that little spot beneath her ear takes her zero to sixty.

p = place; where do they like to have sex? what’s a building/area that’s off limits for one reason or another?

Due to Frank’s ‘restrictions’ - in other words, the possibility of him losing his medical licence if he fucks up again, they keep bedroom antics in the house, usually at Ivy’s place. Ivy does not like staying over at Frank’s place because it gives her flashbacks to his OD. She found him in the bedroom and has not been in there since.

The hospital is completely off limits for the two of them. They’ve both seen some horrible shit in there, esp Ivy in her role as a SANE nurse, she can’t detach that from the hospital.

z = zealous; who’s most eager to please?

Frank will do absolutely anything for Ivy, especially if she’s in a pair of stockings. She doesn’t even have to ask, he’s already down on his knees, worshipping at her alter.

#frank langdon #frank langdon x reader #doctor frank langdon #doctor frank langdon x reader #dr langdon x reader #dr langdon #the pitt hbo #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #just updated #the pitt 2025

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mychemstat · 4 months ago

Text

give me tough love.

Frank Langdon x Michael "Robby" Robinavitch

word count : ~4k

author's note and warnings: guys there's smut. because these are my barbies whom i make scissor. it's unethical. robby is upset. langdon wants love and attention (and dick). enjoy.

"I don't have a best friend."

“What am I?”

“You’re my best resident. Big difference.”

“Yeah, but we’re still friends?”

“Not if this conversation goes on much longer.”

Dr. Frank Langdon, emergency medicine senior resident, wondered whether Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, senior attending, liked him.

He felt like a little kid on the playground, wanting his existence acknowledged by the most popular guy in school. He wanted so badly to be as close to Robby as Dr. Abbot was. At first, he figured it wasn’t anything serious, he has always been like that.

Langdon has always wanted love.

Needy, clingy Langdon who never showed his cards or pulled his punches and kept a safe distance with anyone (even his wife and kids), felt a new itch inside him the day he met Robby.

He couldn't list exactly what set that itch off on his ten fingers. Maybe he could if he held Robby’s calloused fingers in his own and counted the circles of his fingertips. Maybe then.

Frank, as no one calls him in the ER, held that thought for days. He puked over it, passing it off to his family as mild food poisoning even though they all ate at the same table every day. Who were they to question the doctor?

Confused was one word to explain how he felt. Horrified was a much more accurate term.

The last time he felt this way about someone, he got married. There was no way in hell he was having those same feelings. At least that is what said to himself as he jerked off every day in the shower, hot water almost piercing his skin, pretending it was Robby’s nails and teeth digging into his skin.

It’s the painkillers. A voice in his head reminded him, and he immediately shoved it away, remnants of shame creeping into his conscience.

Painkillers alter moods. Maybe they changed my hormones. Langdon bit his lip deep in thought before chewing on the last morsel of protein bar stuck to the aluminum wrap.

“Dr. Langdon, the labs you ordered? Mr. Raina’s bloodwork shows low hemoglobin and iron, B-12 at an all time low of a hundred.”

Langdon snapped out of the ridiculous conversation he humored with his own conscience and turned his attention to Mel, immediately relaxing in her presence.

“Uh… thanks, Mel. Administer a B-12 shot and prescribe vitamin c, iron, and vitamin d supplements.” Langdon informed, almost on autopilot. Anemia was so common he swore he had the same exact conversation ten minutes ago with Mateo.

Mel nodded in her usual, focused manner, about to turn around to leave before stopping to question, “Are you okay, Dr. Langdon?”

Mel was observant as fuck.

Langdon hesitated, “Uh. Yeah, I’m fine. Just late night with the kids.” The best part about a job that put the patient’s best interest in the most dire situations was how good he got at lying. With patients, it had a line: Say what you need to save their life. If the patient insists they don't drink, agree with them and take a blood test and CT scan anyway. At the end of the day it's for the patient.

Lying was fun. And as with anything else, moderation was not a regular part of Langdon's routine.

He had to be the best in his class all throughout highschool, undergrad, masters degree, and part of the dean's list whenever possible. He couldn't get his head out of his textbooks because he wanted to be the best. He needed to be the best.

When he needed, he needed so much he could die. Every lay of his life left his bed with an earnest performance review. Needless to say his bedside manners only improved every time. And when he said “just one more” to himself with a vial of ativan clasped between his sweaty palms, he had nothing but green lights flashing in his head.

Langdon was anything but moderate, always going out of the way to impress every set of eyes in the room. For him, there was nothing worse than being on the receiving side of disappointment. He aimed to please. Even the goldendoodle he brought home for his kids was to make them happy. He got paid enough to support his wife and kids. What was one more mouth to feed if it made his children happy for the next few months till they eventually got bored of the dog?

All throughout the morning, Langdon kept his eyes on Robby, looking for a twitch of disapproval in his eyebrows as he monitored procedures. If Langdon sensed anything but satisfaction, his fingers would squeeze around whatever medical instrument had the misfortune of being within his grasp. There was no way he was going to disappoint Robby.

The compliments were the best part. A mere “good work” or “nice job, Langdon,” from his senior attending would have him on a high all day, barely reaching for those pills in his locker. His own little painkiller without side effects.

Just like those pills, however, he was dependent on Robby too.

Every time he would see the man striding around the department, the most important person in any room, waiting or operating, his pulse would skyrocket, craving one look of reassurance from him. Just one more glance from coffee browns to icy blues that melted Langdon’s brain in the matter of seconds.

Today, Robby was not having a good day.

Adamson’s death anniversary was clearly affecting Robby and his patience. He would snap at regular troublesome patients whom he usually waved off, and he almost yelled at Mohan because she was taking too long with patients.

And the worst part of the day was when he found Langdon’s stash.

He had never seen Robby so angry. The veins on his forehead popped as he yelled at Langdon in the hallway, Princess and a patient caught in the crossfire. Shame flooded Langdon’s senses watching his mentor throw his shit on the ground and shout in the hospital in front of everyone within earshot. Langdon had fucked up bad.

“Get out! And don’t come back here till you’ve gotten your shit together, fuck!”

Langdon couldn’t bear to hear Robby talk to him like that. He knew he fucked up. He knew he should get help. But hearing it from the man he wanted to be adored by was probably the worst thing for his psyche right now. All it did was make him sad, and Langdon had rarely ever sat with sadness. He would push it down and move on because it wasn’t worth honing over.

There was a first time for everything.

“No.” The word escaped Langdon’s throat quietly.

Robby’s face fell like he had been factory reset, voice laced with venom, “What did you say?”

“I’m not going home, Robby.” Langdon repeated himself, gathering bits of courage to look up from his shoes soaked in patients’ blood. He knew very well that Robby could call security and end this matter in less than a minute. He knew that. But he still felt like trying Robby’s patience.

What else could he do other than yell?

Langdon wanted to find out.

“I’ve proven myself here, time and time again. I know I fucked up, but I also know I’m a good doctor. You can’t do this to me. Call security, I don't care.”

Robby was a hurricane personified, storm dawning over his normally kind eyes.

“Mother-” Robby charged loudly towards Langdon before composing himself, “-fucker, you wanna act tough now?”

“When else have I done this, Robby?” Langdon pleaded softly, eyes welling up. The bright lights shone over them in the medically white hallway. Death and hard truths floated in the air.

He hated being weak.

The older man scratched his scalp furiously, trailing his fingers down his beard in frustration. If Langdon didn’t know any better, he would think Robby would just spontaneously combust.

He watched his senior place his hands on his waist, staring down at the sickeningly clean floors of the hallway, fingers visibly clawing into his scrubs. Langdon was so afraid of what would happen. Would he hit him? Would he risk his entire career to let out his anger?

“Meet me in call room three in five minutes.”

Langdon’s thought train halted, “What?”

Robby started toward his direction, walking with intent and past Langdon’s shivering body. He could smell the coffee and disinfectant from Robby as he walked by in a hurry, making him a bit dizzy.

He knew not to defy him then. Maybe Robby wanted to talk. Maybe he was handling the situation privately. Maybe he was still keeping his job. Langdon had some hope. He wasn’t totally cynical.

The moment Langdon set his things down on the desk in call room three, the door creaked open softly, revealing an alert Robby, licking his lips as he looked outside for any incoming traffic before shutting the door carefully and pulling the blind.

“Robby, I just wanted to thank you for hearing me out-”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Langdon swallowed around nothing, completely taken aback by the question.

“What… Listen Robby, please, you need to listen to me.”

Robby flashed him one of those sarcastic, semi-frustrated smiles of his that made his underlings cower in fear.

“You risked patients’ lives and jeopardized your career and mine. Do you know what could have happened? Do you have any fucking idea the consequences of your fuck-”

“I know I fucked up, please-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, I don’t wanna hear anymore-”

“I just wanted you to be proud of me!” Langdon shrieked, louder than he thought he could, breaking any and all boundaries of their professional relationship. Not that anything about the situation they were in was professional.

The ventilator in the room pushed the cold in, a chill traveling up Langdon’s spine. Robby’s face softened, then his eyes narrowed, like a scope on a rifle. Langdon had never been more terrified. The older man took a seat on the neat and empty bed, looking like he was rethinking his life. Langdon felt something break in his chest.

Then his legs carried him as he knelt to the ground, fingers grasping at the legs of Robby’s scrubs, knees hitting the linoleum floor unabashedly.

“Please, just hear me out, Robby,” Langdon begged, eyebrows twisting up, eyes glistening with tears at his superior. Robby was his only hope. His only way out, not just medically, but according to his own conscience.

Fingers digging into Robby’s muscular calves, Langdon held on tight as if that would convince Robby to let him stay.

“You want me to be proud of you?” Robby finally spoke, opening his eyes that were tightly screwed shut. Langdon could feel the hatred in each syllable of Robby’s.

“Yes, yes please. Robby, I would do anything, you know me, you know this.”

Robby jutted his lips in denial, but didn’t move or take Langdon’s hands off his legs. He sat in silence, eyes flitting to Langdon’s face, gaze trailing down the strands of hair that were so annoyingly perfect he was pissed off seeing them every morning. Robby looked into Langdon’s eyes, finding nothing but a confusing mixture of denial and regret.

He denied his addiction. He regretted letting Robby down.

Langdon saw something click in Robby. The older man suddenly looked calmer. Still stern, but less explosive. He wanted to get inside his head and figure out what was going on in there.

Robby raised his hand and Langdon almost flinched thinking Robby would slap him, or hit him, or do something that was not simply sitting in silence. Now that he was closer to his mentor, Langdon could smell hints of Robby’s fabric softener, cologne, and some sweat from the already insane day he had had. He hated that he was now another worry added to Robby’s endless list, but his scent twisted Lngdon’s gut so deliciously, he swore he felt his cock twitch.

Not the time, he thought, eyes still glued on Robby.

Robby’s thumb curled as he lowered it to Langdon’s spit slicked lips. The pad of his thumb dipped into the plush of Langdon’s bottom lip, revealing his bottom teeth, calloused skin harsh against the younger’s.

“Robby-”

“Just shut the fuck up. For two fucking minutes.”

Langdon followed. He gave up his defense and focused on Robby, how his fingers latched to the bottom of his chin, red hot touch wiring jolts of electricity to his stomach.

Langdon dropped his jaw, allowing Robby to explore further. The older man slid his thumb past his bottom teeth and onto Langdon’s silver tongue that began gathering spit. The younger man could practically feel himself about to ruin his underwear as he tasted the salt on Robby’s skin. Rough skin brushed Langdon’s tongue out so it hung out of his mouth. The mentor finally spoke.

“Suck.”

Langdon let out a noise so embarrassing he felt his ego shrink and his cock grow, tongue hanging out and saliva dripping down his jutted berry lips. Robby gave him a second to gather his brain before advancing deeper into Langdon’s mouth as the younger man wrapped his lips around his thumb in an instant, swallowing around it.

Robby let out a satisfied exhale, shifting in his seat, other hand lifting from the bed and reaching for the drawstring of his sweats. Langdon’s eyes shifted down to Robby’s hips, watching intently as he slowly pulled the string and untied it in one go.

Was this actually happening?

Langdon felt like he was in one of his many dreams about Robby. He certainly didn't imagine it like this. He thought Robby would invite him over to watch a game and have a drink with him and things could lead into something more risque.

But he wasn't complaining.

Langdon was on his knees in a call room in the hospital with his mentor’s finger in his mouth, about to be used thoroughly by the looks of everything.

He almost came at that thought.

Langdon’s eyes scanned the veins in Robby’s hands leading up to his forearms, and drabbled spit down Robby’s thumb once again, salivating at the mere thought of having Robby’s cock in his mouth.

He had dreamt of how he would feel. He almost caught a glance of it once as he talked to him about some patient’s stats while using the urinals in the hospital bathroom. And from what he saw, he knew he needed almost a bucket more of lubrication to even take him halfway down his throat.

Langdon moaned around his finger as Robby started to draw back slowly, collecting all of his spit before standing up to lower his sweats. The hem of his shirt rose and Langdon wondered what it would be like to lick and bite his midriff.

“Robby-” Langdon barely let out, still sucking and devouring the savory skin of Robby’s thumb.

The older man shushed him, pulling him into his hip and sliding his thumb out, a string of Langdon’s saliva bridging the tip of his thumb to the younger's already swollen bottom lip.

Langdon could hear Robby’s shivering breaths, something he usually heard when he was angry or vexed, but this was something else. This was impatience.

His eyes traced the outline of Robby’s cock through his black briefs, swallowing around nothing as he admired the view.

Robby looked down at him, clouded eyes growing darker like a tempest steadily brewing. Loathe coated his expression but Langdon wasn’t afraid anymore. He was ready.

Hands working separately, the man in trouble parted his lips before leaning close and licking a stripe up Robby’s length, drawing a shaky breath from the man towering over him. His nimble fingers sizzled at contact with Robby’s bare skin just an inch or two above the hem of his briefs before curling them underneath the elastic band and tugging them down slowly, tufts of curls revealing with every little pull.

Whatever was happening outside in the ER was now not their business.

Robby was big; which wouldn't have been a surprise if Robby wasn’t already hard, the head of his cock an angry scarlet, already leaking in anticipation.

Langdon wanted to cry. Not because he didn’t like any of this. Because he felt like all his questions had been answered. Robby liked him. Robby wanted him.

The younger man’s eyes welled up as he examined Robby, long and heavy, veins bulging down to the base. He noticed a tattoo scattered on the side of his hip, and he almost lunged to lick it.

Before Langdon could do anything, however, Robby grasped the kneeling man’s gel-slicked hair, pulling it back to expose his throat.

So empty. Robby marveled.

Langdon could only watch as Robby brought his spit-slicked thumb to the tip of his length and ran it over the slit, letting out a moan so deep and guttural that it made Langdon’s cock leak against his underwear.

The older man pushed Langdon’s head near the tip of his dick, lips brushing against the hot, throbbing skin as Langdon groaned in need.

“Please, Robby-”

Robby swiped the head through Langdon’s wet lips, already feeling the warmth of his underling’s mouth, brushing his length against his gums. Langdon dripped saliva all over him as he waited for instructions. He wanted to make him so happy. He would do anything for him.

“Open.” Robby stated, and Langdon dropped his jaw in relief, fingers latching onto the older man’s length.

“Don't fuckin’ touch me.” Robby hissed, and Langdon backed his hands away immediately. He watched as Robby lowered Langdon’s mouth onto his cock, coating his tip in warmth and slick.

Langdon moaned at the feeling of his mouth being occupied, finally feeling full. His own dick was now begging to be let out but the friction of his scrubs against Robby’s shoe had him satisfied for now. As Robby slid further down Langdon’s throat, he reminded the younger man to breathe through his nose and relax his jaw, losing his mind at the tightness of his employee’s mouth.

Langdon was now struggling. Robby was thick and a little too long for his usual routine of sucking dick. He wanted to take his time with him: kiss the tip and work his hands around his balls. He couldn't do any of that. He couldn't show just how good he could be.

“Fuuuuuck, F-frank.” Robby exhaled quietly, hitting the roof of Langdon’s mouth before feeling his throat clamp around him. Langdon choked and spat and gagged at the obstruction as he felt Robby somehow grow harder.

He called him Frank. He had never called him Frank before.

Langdon whimpered around Robby, mouth full and lips contracting just halfway across his length, sending vibrations up his cock. Robby fisted Langdon’s hair tighter. Langdon couldn't be quiet anymore.

He exhaled loudly, crying around Robby in the magic of it all as he watched Robby slide out before going back in further. Robby was about to bottom out.

“Fnmnhg,” was all that Langdon could add to the conversation as Robby slipped lowerr and further down Langdon’s throat, curving down to his oesophagus, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks, jaw already sore.

Robby was in a time crunch, but Langdon had forgotten all about the world outside. And to be fair, Robby was also close to losing himself inside Langdon. With one thrust, Robby now fit completely and perfectly inside Langdon, the younger’s nose pressed against the dark curls at the base of his cock. Langdon couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think.

It was perfect.

Robby shut his eyes, the tightness of Langdon’s throat squeezing him in all the right places. The vein on the underside of Robby’s cock nestled perfectly on Langdon’s slippery tongue, pulling out the most breathtaking sounds from his superior.

Langdon groaned again, trying his best to breathe through his nose, inhaling the smell of soap and musk that sent lightning up his cock. God, he had a new addiction to add to the list, it seemed.

Robby could notice Langdon's struggle; the way his eyebrows twisted up beautifully in acceptance yet slight discomfort at Robby’s outstanding length, cheeks hot with tears, and throat completely used. Robby had wanted this for so long: just to use that pretty mouth of his for some good instead of having it run rampant in the ER. Sometimes Robby’s eyes would flicker to Langdon’s arms or exposed skin on his midriff, and he would have the sudden urge to bend him over and milk him for all he’s worth.

Now he had a reason to. Not that the ethics board would agree. He knew what they were doing was so wrong.

Anybody could walk in. Anyone. Princess, Perlah, or worse, one of the interns.

He could lose everything. He could lose his medical license if he was found fucking his employee’s throat into oblivion as other doctors scrambled to save whoever was dying that minute.

Something switched on in Robby at the sheer thrill and insanity of the situation. He was exhausted from being responsible and caring and considerate the entire damn time. He just wanted to let go and do whatever the fuck he wanted. Do whoever the fuck he wanted.

With one last groan from Langdon inciting such a perfect twist of his gut traveling down to the tip of his leaking cock, Robby thrusted upward in Langdon’s throat, fucking the gummy walls of his mouth without a care. Langdon shrieked before grabbing the back of Robby’s thighs for balance. He was worried that Robby would tell him to get his hands off. But Robby had stopped thinking altogether.

“F-fuck, Frank…”

There it was. Calling him by his first name again. Langdon was losing it.

As Langdon’s mouth was put to use, the motion and warmth mixed with the highly unprofessional sounds of spit squelching against his cock jet Robby through his orgasm mortifyingly quickly. He bucked hard and rough against Langdon, pushing his head against his hip, spilling down the younger man’s throat. Langdon held his breath till Robby finished jutting into his mouth, cum spurting so heavily that Langdon found himself humping Robby’s shoe and cumming into his boxers.

“Oh, baby, fuck, oh fuck.” Robby muttered silently, and Langdon felt himself already growing hard again at the nickname as he hummed obscenely on his cock.

Robby pulsed slowly inside his mouth, still reeling from the shattering orgasm he just had inside his employee’s mouth and down his throat. Robby swore he almost saw God as he peaked, letting out every frustration from this morning (and four years ago) into his coworker.

“Rob- Robby…”

Langdon was fucked out. His mouth and jaw hurt, his throat was sore, and he was sure that his knees had been bruised. He looked up at the man, trying his best not to stare at his superior’s impressive cock dripping with cum and his spit. He glanced once for a mental picture before storing it at the back of his mind for later.

Robby grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser before wiping himself and adjusting his sweats neatly. He threw a towel to the man now resting on his buttocks before extending a hand.

Langdon reached out hesitantly before getting back up on his feet. Robby’s eyes flitted down to the soft, swollen pillows of pink on Langdon’s face glistening with his cum. Langdon saw fire in his eyes again.

Robby grabbed him by the collar of his scrubs, pulling him in roughly for a kiss. Robby licked into Langdon’s mouth as the younger man kissed back in shock before giving in and sinking his teeth down on Robby’s bottom lip. Robby could taste himself on Langdon’s lips. Langdon drove him crazy.

Robby harshly pushed Langdon away, hurt and something sweeter crossing his eyes.

Langdon stared back knowing exactly what Robby felt. He just wanted to be back. Back beside Robby, exchanging those glances that only meant something to him.

“You’re with Mel for the rest of the day.” Robby stated bitterly before leaving the room quietly. Nothing else.

Something in Langdon’s ribs jumped.

He wasn’t fired. He made Robby happy.

He finally made him happy.

+++

HAIII i can't believe two doctors from a serious medical drama broke my writer's block. anyway. enjoy this pure filth <33

gif cred : @gallners

#the pitt #frank langdon #michael robby robinavitch #dr robby #doctor robby #doctor langdon #michael robinavitch #frank langdon x michael robby robinavitch #frank langdon x michael robinavitch #frank langdon x dr robby #frank langdon/ michael robby robinavitch #frank langdon/dr robby #hate fuck #hate sex #frank langdon is a size queen #unethical as fuck #don't fuck your boss

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lunarfuneral · 2 months ago

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Yes!!!!!

Mel def uses like medically correct words and Langdon’s like “c*ck d*ck b*lls p*ssy c*nt” so the contrast would be so funny.

And like he’s such a yapper and she tries not to say too much so he encourages her to say what she wants and tell him what feels good (cough praise kink cough)

He also loves eye contact while she tries to avoid it and he finds it so endearing but needs to her beautiful brown eyes so he’s constantly telling her to keep her eyes open

LMFAO YEAH!!!! YEAH!!!! he talks her through it and he doesn't shy away at all. forces eye contact holds her face holds her down with an arm across her chest grips her hip to hold her in place even if she tries to squirm away!!! i think that mel would really love how vulgar frank was and she gets comfortable telling him how good it feels (yes praise kink >>>) but for a while she's like. choking it out red all over so embarrassed that at first he'd let her whisper it right into his ear as he tucks his face to her neck while they fuck <3 but then after like two more times of being nice he's like ok. pressing down on this now. and tells her the only way he'll do anything if she begs for it and tells him how she wants it and uses her words :)

#ask #anon #also saying pressing down on it made me think that like.#i want mel to have a thing for bruises and wanting him to leave them and press down on them hard #kingdon

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thedarkesthistories · 4 months ago

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THE PITT. Analysis of the first seasons characters GPAs during Medical School.

Whilst many many many medical schools now grade classes as Pass/Fail only, I’ve used the four point system to guide this character analysis. I included some of the major characters from the first (and not for long but so far the only) season, part II may or may not follow.

Dr. Michael Robinavich - 3.8 Naturally talented and motivated. His professors saw something in him and their encouragement made him a better doctor. He was extremely responsible and instead of dwelling, he would always get up and learn from his mistakes.

Dr. Jack Abbott - 4.0 I still think he went to a school like Michigan on an army scholarship after already having served for a number of years, which had both taught him extreme discipline and also truly confirmed just how much of a relentless drive he had to work hard - not to just be a competent physician and get the grades, but to become the person who can save those he previously couldn't.

Dr. Heather Collins - 3.9 Book smart, great bedside manner, curiosity to learn. Dr. Collins focused all her efforts on doing well medical school but still enjoyed it and knew when to slow down to take a breather.

Dr. Frank Langdon - 3.4 Go to med school, pass med school, get a job. That was Langdon's motto. He likely fell in love with EM and critical care and honoured those rotations but said "C's get degrees" during shelf exams.

Dr. Samira Mohan - 3.83 Just a drop higher than her mentors, Mohan rocked her pre-clinical exams and OSCEs but was always "just" out of reach for the perfect grade in the early years. She made it up when clinical years started to roll up and impressed her teachers with her "special sauce" of quick thinking backed by research papers.

Dr. Cassie McKay - 3.6 Bro had a LOT going on during college and medical school.

Dr. Melissa "Mel" King - 4.0 Mel gave medical school her all - she was interested, keen, motivated. She loved the science and learning about different medications, conditions, procedures... She had been used to working hard and balancing her personal life with studies but it all came together for her when she finally had the opportunity to dive into her interests.

Dr. Trinity Santos - 3.2 She has proven again and again that she wants surgery, and is chasing a glowing LOR for such residency which makes me think she did not do so well in medical school and missed out on a spot the first round, landing herself in EM. She probably struggled with everyone around her suddenly being on their A+ game and while she excelled in the topics that interested her, she lacked in those that didn't.

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repressionmd · 3 months ago

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my pittfics :)

there's no guidebook to healing [robby pov, 1.6k words] in which a post-rehab langdon isn't doing well and robby notices. (inspired by this post about robby finding post-rehab langdon on the roof.)

how to love you like it's holy. [trinity pov, 4k words, 2/3 chapters, rated E] in which santos ends up in a fwb situation with ellis and garcia separately and doesn't realise that the two of them are 1. married and 2. absolutely enjoying seeing her flustered about it

i think we'll be alright, i do [langdon pov, 3.8k words] newly established kingdon go to their first gala together! mostly just fluff with a little bit of character study. what more to say. they're wearing matching outfits (this is very important to me.)

you can change the future (but the past you can't control) [trinity pov, 1.9k words] santos gets a bad case, a wounded hand and a panic attack, and langdon proves that he's not all that bad after all :) <- my siblings agenda is furthered by the hour.

ready to be loved by you [mel and langdon pov, 7.8k words] vampire!mel x human!frank. set post-s1 when langdon gets back. poor guy thinks mel is avoiding him because she hates him when really she just wants to drink his blood whenever he comes in her sight. rest assured this does end up happening. multiple times. among other things >:)

teach me how to love (you) [mel pov, 10.7k words - for kingdon week 2025 "love confession"!] med school au :) in which mel is completely enamoured (as is the rest of her cohort, but a certain blue eyed doctor only has eyes for her) by her new TA - slow burn, lots of sweet moments, mel & trinity friendship... etc. what more could you want?

+ tumblr ficlets

mel clocks that santos is seeing garcia and activates a cold war by santos guessing that she's seeing langdon [mel pov, 730 words]

santos emotional h/c with bonus garcia!! :3 [santos pov, 700 words]

#chaos.txt #the pitt posting #my writing #drabbles #guy who self soothes by making pretty posts :)

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bridgetlynn · 2 months ago

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For the drabble game, Frank and Dana and, because I like pain, number 69 :)

Okay, so thanks for the kick to get something written. #69 was Annoyance. And I'm not sure if this is what you were thinking about - but I think there's a general overall feel of that emotion throughout. I just kind of wrote and wound up in an interesting place. And Robby showed up to play as well. Hope that's okay. Five sentences went out the window around 1pm. It actually clocks in at 4290 words. It's still untitled. Hope you enjoy it - even if it went in a different direction then I necessarily expected it to. So here are Dana dealing with Frank and Robby and Annoyance.

The start of a shift cycle, following the two day break, always came around too soon in Dana Evans’ opinion. This one, following the roughest shift she’d had in her entire career when not counting a global pandemic, had seemed to come a little sooner than usual. It also happened to be, on top of everything, a Monday.

And now, something had been blown up that couldn’t be put back into its box; and according to her computer, it might not have needed to have such a large blast radius.

Needless to say she’s had better mornings.

“Hi!”

Dana looked up from where she was reviewing the status of the patients currently inhabiting her emergency room, as she had been off for four days, and met the bluest eyes she had ever seen in person. It would be a lovely sight if those eyes weren’t currently in the skull of a puppy turned human. A puppy wearing black scrubs which meant it was going to probably be her problem eventually.

“Who are you and why are you bouncing in front of my desk an hour before you should be?”

“Frank Langdon. Intern,” he introduced himself and then to her horror brought a hand up and proceeded to drain a can of Red Bull at six o’clock in the morning. “Nice to meet you,” he added once he was done.

Dana just groaned, loudly, and held a hand out as she saw him start looking around for, hopefully, a garbage, “Give me.” He frowned slightly but passed the can over. “Sit,” she added, pointing at the chair directly next to her. “If I let you wander you’ll get lost or stolen and I don’t have the time to make flyers today.”

“Yes ma’am?” he questioned more then replied and slowly sat in the chair while Dana got back to reviewing the computer charts.

Two minutes later the puppy’s feet started tapping and shortly thereafter the chair she had put him on started swinging back and forth. She glanced to the side and watched as the swinging slowly became spinning and let him have four rotations before her own hand snapped out and grabbed the arm of the chair, “Bad puppy. Q-word time. Shhh.”

“Q-word? You mean quiet?”

“Fuck,” Dana groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Bad puppy. No more talking.”

“I thought you were quitting?”

Dana rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth, before looking up and replying, in a very serious tone, to Robby’s overly sarcastic question, “I’ve quit at least once a year since long before you strolled through those doors as a cocky fellow, barely out of his twenties, ready to blow through all the young and pretty nurses,” she said very pointedly.

“Well, that’s not true at all,” Robby replied, laughing slightly and missing the way Dana’s eyes hardened somewhat.

“No. It is,” she assured him. “Back then you were absolutely what my daughter would refer to as a Grade C Fuckboy with your floppy hair and ‘fix me’ energy.” She smirked, kind of meanly, at his widened eyes and added, “Oh! But don’t worry; by now you’ve reached at least an A. And you still need to be fixed. I’ve been told it’s your most attractive trait. Until those women actually date you.”

Robby opened his mouth and paused; then he examined Dana’s face and seemed to finally register that she wasn’t remotely amused at the moment, “Okay? What’s wrong? You’re pissed at me.”

She quietly gathered up the stack of papers she had just finished printing shortly before Robby arrived, the reason she had been here two hours before shift, and slid the folder across the counter to him.

“Is this the thing?” he asked, dropping his voice to a nearly incomprehensible volume and Dana rolled her eyes again.

“Yes; that’s the pharmacy audit you had me run against Langdon’s hospital ID. I’d have done it quietly - like you originally asked - but I figured that was blown to hell after you started screaming about it for all and sundry to hear in the ambulance bay,” she responded at a normal level since as she pointed out - everyone knew even if they didn’t officially yet. “Stop fidgeting Francis James Langdon. God didn’t bless me with sons for reasons. Please stop doing things to remind of some of those reasons,” Dana stated without looking away from where she was double checking the inventory in Trauma Two’s cabinets and med-carts for various medications and supplies.

As it was, normally, she wouldn’t even be doing the inventory in the trauma rooms; however, they had six fairly major trauma’s roll through one after the other in the course of an hour and a half, three for each room, and hadn’t had time before now to fully flip the rooms for much more than cleanliness. Which meant that her LPNs who had acted as Scribes for the traumas also hadn’t had time to get their notes into the computer; and therefore, Dana had no final inventory numbers of what was used and two very bare trauma rooms. It was definitely a case of doing for oneself when you need it done quickly and correctly - and she needed to get an order to Central Supply within the next hour.

On any other day Dana wouldn’t mind him letting off a little energy while it was on the calmer side in the department; but she was on a time crunch and Frank had already dropped one box each of tubing, gauze and gloves in the last ten minutes and they were getting to the more breakable items shortly. Easily distracted and over-caffeinated residents still in their puppy stages bouncing on her last shred of patience was not a great combination at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon eight days into a July heatwave. She was half convinced they weren’t packed, beyond the traumas, because no one had the energy to leave their houses and get here unless they were ready to bleed out. Unfortunately, that could flip in a moment with no notice so, fidgeting wasn’t going to fly right now.

It was also her own fault for asking the hyperactive R2 to help her. The gangly boy was useful for high places and bulky crates.

“I think I’m meant to be insulted by that,” Frank muttered while pushing the cart she pointed at over to the other side of the room. “But I’m awesome. So I won’t be.”

“Don’t think sweetie,” Dana replied. “Know. Know that you are to be insulted by that.”

“Oh come on Dana,” Frank grumbled, shuffling back over to her looking for all the world like Tanner and not for the first time Dana wondered if Abby hadn’t just cloned and shrunk her husband. “What’d I do now?”

“Knocked up your wife while she’s trying to finish her Master’s degree when you already have a two year old ,” Dana said decisively. “This is why I don’t have sons. My girl’s know not to let any nasty penis’ near them until after they finish their degrees. Boys would need to be tied up in their bedrooms through puberty. Too much work.”

She saw Frank smirk and shake his head before responding with a laugh, “No boy of yours would dare. Also, Kate’s married with a kid, Julia’s a lesbian and Rose is fourteen. I think you’re…okay?” She watched as he suddenly stopped moving the next cart and slowly turned to face the Charge Nurse before sputtering out a denial, “What did you say first? Because…no I didn’t!”

Dana blinked, because that was genuine confusion, “Oops?”

“What oops?!”

“I mean, Congratulations?”

Frank scowled and pulled his phone out of his pocket, glaring at the older woman, he snapped, “Excuse me. I have to go make a phone call right now.”

“I said oops!” Dana called after the resident. “Sorry puppy,” she mumbled and grabbed her tablet to keep marking down what needed to be restocked within the next hour.

When Robby walked in a few minutes later she just raised an eyebrow at him, not in the mood to deal with the older version of the resident had just stalked away. He merely raised his hands up and, despite a clear warning on her face, asked, “Why did Langdon just ask me how to ask his wife why she told you something before him?”

Dana froze for a second and then burst out laughing, “He asked you for advice on talking to a wife?”

“I think I’m supposed to be insulted by that,” Robby mumbled and left the room while Dana continued to laugh. Robby scowled and Dana held up a hand before he could say anything else, loudly or otherwise, and continued speaking, “I do not appreciate it when orderlies whose names I do not even know start asking me if a senior resident is in jail for shooting up fentanyl or something. And when I ask what the hell they are talking about the response is, apparently, Dr. Robby was screaming about him being arrested for stealing medication and being high at work.”

Robby visibly winced at that and scrubbed a hand over his face, “I wasn’t thinking. He just got me so mad. I sent him home and he wouldn’t leave. And yes, I should have handled it a little better; I can admit that. He did approach me calmly and I am the one who blew it up into…loud.”

“Yes,” she snapped and then immediately lowered her voice. “Into “loud” is one way to put it. I mean, seriously, Robby? It was a bad day there is no doubt about it; but you’ve been spiraling for over a year and you crossed a line Friday. There is no excuse for Frank’s shit to be aired all over the fucking hospital,” she hissed at him.

“And what about what he said to me?”

Dana raised an eyebrow at that and then pointedly looked around the ER, where no one was even looking in their direction, before replying, “You’re Chief. Remember what I said to you when you asked what people were saying? No one sees anything or says anything where you are concerned. A fourth year resident in a competitive program who is more talented than most of the other residents put together? Hmm, I wonder how fast they want that star to fall?”

Robby nodded and fiddled with the stack of papers and rather than respond to what she had said he simply asked, “How bad is it?” She shrugged, “Well in thirty-three years I’ve seen worse. Hell, there was an anesthesiologist here in the early aughts, before your time here, who probably could have given Escobar a run for his money.”

“Dana,” Robby admonished. “Seriously.”

“I am,” she responded with a shrug. “What Langdon did isn’t good. But, when I tell you I’ve seen worse I mean it. And don’t tell me you dare tell me you can’t say the same.” Robby frowned deeper and tapped the folder with a pointed look to which she, again, rolled her eyes at the stubborn man. “Okay. Fine. I went back three days like you asked and the only somewhat questionable thing other than Louie’s meds was a, technical, pedes case on Wednesday.” “Pedes!?” Robby practically shrieked and Dana held up a hand, glaring at him. “Before you immediately jump to the worst case scenario, I remember that patient and the mother was so high strung that I jumped on as Frank’s nurse for it. You know he doesn’t deal well with mother’s that are clones of his own.” “Dana. Point please?” Robby implored, though he at least visibly paled at the comparison the nurse made. None of them liked thinking back on the one time they had met Louse Langdon in person.

“I’m getting there,” she muttered, resisting the urge to throttle him as she had been since early that morning. “Kid was almost seventeen, a wrestler and couldn’t stand up straight after practice. Back was totally frozen from the shoulder to hips. He admitted his partner screwed up some hold they were not supposed to be doing and he felt like he just got stuck. Scans showed no skeletal damage or tears, exam indicated that he probably just, essentially, pulled everything. Langdon called in a neuro consult and Janson came down.”

Robby winced again, “He should retire. Or be retired.”

“Yep,” Dana agreed, exhaling through her nose tiredly. “Janson prescribed valium and percocet. And Frank argued with him over here by the desk; pointing out, ironically, how bad of an idea it is to give a kid access to that kind of medication. Janson disagreed; but like you said - he’s old. So, Janson sent the script. Frank delivered the meds…and the mother winged them back at his face. The bottles landed halfway to the trauma rooms,” Dana explained, pointing behind her. “I don’t know what happened to them after that,” she admitted with a tight smile. “But Langdon changed the prescription to what he originally wanted.”

“Which was?” “Prescription strength ibuprofen and a week-long course of metaxalone. The mother was a bit more receptive to that after Frank explained that it was non-narcotic but that she should still disperse the meds to him herself at the correct times.”

“Skeletal muscle relaxer? Yea, I guess that’s a little better for that injury at that age,” Robby admitted quietly.

“Right,” she replied, nodding slightly. “So, then I went back to April, around when he got injured, and he only prescribed lorazepam ten times in that six month period and he never actually accessed the Pyxis himself for any of them before Friday. So take that how you will. Sometimes it is just a shitty vial or maybe he did something to that one. No way to really prove it.”

“OH Jesus what happened?!” Dana almost screamed and hurried across the room to her bouncing baby R3 who was currently walking through the ambulance bay doors alone, despite having the weekend off, and bleeding profusely; looking like someone had taken a bat to the side of his head.

“Baseball bat,” he mumbled, more than slightly dazed, as she steered him towards an exam room reminding herself that head wounds bleed a lot, and his white t-shirt being half red was probably not a big deal.

“Robby!” Dana called, waving him down and pointing. She saw his eyes widen and he then proceeded to shove the tablet he was holding into the hands of Dr. Scott, one of the other A shift Attendings, who he had been speaking with before tearing across the department, tugging Heather Collin’s sleeve as he passed her to get her to follow him.

“What happened?!” he asked as both doctors came into the room while Jesse and Dana helped Frank up onto a gurney, ignoring his protests that he was fine. “You are not fine,” Robby calmly replied before Dana could do it herself.

Which was probably a good thing as she was currently more likely to scream at him out of sheer terror then do anything calmly. “Frank baby,” Dana said, trying to keep herself calm and stepping aside to allow Jesse to begin hooking the resident up to monitor’s at Robby’s quiet directions. “What happened? Did someone hit you with a baseball bat?” she asked carefully. “Do we need to get the police?”

Frank stared back at her, with thankfully even pupils even if he did look like he wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, and then burst out laughing. The fact that Jesse and Heather were both snickering a little and staring back at her and Robby while they did so was swiftly making her terror be replaced by aggravation.

“It is not funny,” Robby snapped. “Look at him,” he added, and started listing off a barrage of lab tests, a full body CT, a chest x-ray and, after peering into Frank’s ear on the side of his head that was hit, an ENT consult, since his ear was bleeding.

“It’s a little funny,” Collins disagreed. “No one hit him on purpose with a baseball bat. Don’t you remember he said his family was in town this weekend? Look how he’s dressed,” she added, pointing to Frank’s dirty clothes that Dana just realized consisted of baseball pants, a t-shirt and cleats.

“Oh,” Dana mumbled and then froze again when Frank interjected something that she was sure she misunderstood in a spacey tone. “I’m sorry sweetheart what was that?” she asked.“Heather’s wrong. Henry absolutely hit me on purpose.”

“Henry?” Dana croaked out the question and felt somewhat justified in the pointed eyebrow she shot at Heather who looked horrified herself now.

“My older brother,” Frank explained, shrugging and then wincing. “Ow.”

“What ow?” Robby asked, looking exhausted.

“Shoulder.”

“Did he hit you there too?” Jesse asked, since all four of them were a little flummoxed by the situation they were in; as were the various people who had been popping their heads into the exam room for the last ten minutes. “No, I wrenched it” Frank disagreed and then turned a pout in Dana’s direction. “I left my fidget.”

“Frank,” Robby redirected the younger doctor’s attention. “How’d you also wrench your shoulder?”

“Ginny,” he replied, still sounding distracted. “Heather? Can I have your clicky pen please?” he asked, pointing at the pen hanging on her shirt collar. “I won’t click it. Much.”

An hour later Dana was praying for her strength and her blood pressure.

“Mrs. Langdon, your son has a grade two concussion because your other son hit him in the head with a baseball bat,” she explained slowly, glaring at the woman and not bothering to hide it.

“Oh dear, honestly though boys will be boys. Henry didn’t do it on purpose. Frank caught out Henry’s home run. He wasn’t actually going to hit him; but Frank stepped the wrong way. He stepped into the swing instead of away from it. Henry would never want to hurt his baby brother. Henry’s my good boy. Always has been,” Louise Langdon explained, as though that made everything better. “Besides, Frank’s had that type of concussion before and he was fine. The last time it was his fault too. He was always getting hurt as a child. He just never pays attention to things; even now as an adult and it’s still happening. Are you sure I really can’t see him yet? Frankie can not make decisions about things like this. He’s very distractible,” the older woman was almost rambling at Dana by the end of her explanation, sounding like she was trying to justify it all in her own mind as much as to Dana.

“Right,” Dana muttered. “And his shoulder? He said that Ginny wrenched it?” she asked, as that was the one thing that they couldn’t figure out; none of it made sense but at least most of it had a clear cause and effect.

“Oh, well, yes, Ginny. Henry’s wife. She might have had a few too many cocktails last night; it was a family bar-be-que,” she began explaining with a laugh and a shrug. “Well, she almost dropped Ellie.” Dana blanched and leaned back on the desk behind her as this woman casually explained that her son’s wife had almost dropped her five month old granddaughter because she was drunk. “Frank lunged, but since we were standing at the top of the back porch stairs he had to grab the railing to keep from falling when he overreacted.”

“Right,” Dana mumbled. “Well thanks for letting us know so we can treat him properly,” she added and hurried away before she got fired for murder. Suddenly everything Abby had ever said to Dana about never seeing her in-laws despite them living a half hour away and Frank avoiding all mention of his parents except in the most serious circumstances made a lot more sense. “Oh,” Robby mumbled and began quietly flipping through the papers in the folder, skimming through the information for himself. “These are Hagan’s records too?” he asked in surprise.

Dana nodded as she slipped on the cardigan she had worn that morning, “Sure are. He was prescribing the same dose of medication to Frank from when he got hurt up until last week. Right about the time he went on vacation. Or, more accurately, according to Lisa Jacobs, the charge nurse for the day shift on Five, otherwise known as the ortho floor, he has been encouraged to retire quietly due to inconsistencies in his prescribing. So yes, those are Hagan’s records. I thought they might help when you pull your head out of your ass and make sure he can keep his job.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Robby admitted. “I told him what needs to be done and he’s not answering his phone now.” “Yea, well I took care of that for you too,” she responded. “His cell phone is currently off and in the bottom of Abby’s purse. As of an hour ago Frank himself has been checked in across town at Presby to detox for the next week to ten days. They might pull some strings to keep him there; but Abby didn’t like that because that would mean keeping him in the psych ward since they don’t have an inpatient facility for just rehab.”

“So what you’re saying is I have a week to figure out where to send him that is covered by insurance?”

“I’m saying you have a week to pull a few favors out of your ass because insurance will stick that boy in a hell hole that’ll be overcrowded and understaffed and he’ll twiddle his thumbs for a month and bullshit his way past whatever first year psych resident he gets assigned to. This isn’t the 80s anymore Robby. Insurance doesn’t actually want people to get clean. They make less money that way.”

“I hear you,” he agreed and then noticed something. “Why are you wearing jeans?”

“Cause for the next two weeks I am on medical leave,” she explained, gesturing at her own face. “I mean, I’m fine. But, hey, free extra vacation days? I’ll take ‘em. Better than pizza. And I’m serious Robby. Figure out something. Because even if you’re pissed at him as your friend, you’re a damned doctor and Hagan fucked a lot of people up it looks like. I know he’s an adult; but there is a reason I mentioned the Grade C Fuckboy.” “Oh?”

“Yea; you made Frank Langdon look like the most responsible boring straight laced by the book rule following residents to ever walk through those doors. And you were two years older then than he is now. See you in two weeks.”

“Abby shouldn’t have called you. Not after last night,” Frank whispered as Dana took a seat next to him on the couch in the basement den of the Langdon’s small house three in the morning mere hours after they got off the worst shift of his career. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Dana disagreed and squeezed his clammy hand. “Here’s what is going to happen,” she began, taking on her best no bullshit tone. “You are going to take this pill,” Dana explained, slipping a librium into Frank’s hand and gestured at the bottle of water sitting on the table in front of him. “Abby has six more upstairs that she will give you, in halves if necessary, you will use these pills to keep from going into DTs.”

Frank shifted on the couch looking uncomfortable and avoiding her eyes so she just squeezed his hand tighter and continued explaining the plan she had started coming up with the moment he had left the break room that night, “No later than Tuesday you will get a call to go to Presby. My sister-in-law is a Nurse Manager in behavioral health over there and she said she can get you in as soon as a bed opens up in their detox program. She said the absolute latest should be Tuesday morning.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he replied softly, finally looking at her with tear filled eyes. Dana simply shook her head and wiped away the one tear that fell. “Sure I did,” she disagreed. “I’ve told you for years; I just don’t have time to put up flyers. Also, you’re finally housebroken,” she joked and then frowned when he had no reaction other then to still look like he was minutes away from a total breakdown. “Listen to me Frank, for as much as I’m very angry with you right now? I still love you and I will not lose you to this.” Dana leaned back into the couch and stretched a kink out of her neck before continuing, “Also you owe your wife a vacation, Robby an apology and that overly cocky brat who caught you at least one month’s rent coverage.”

“Dana,” Frank groaned in protest and she smirked even as she reached over and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll let you send it anonymously because lord if she doesn’t make Intern-you look cool, calm and collected. It’s got to be karma of some sort. She’s the universe’s gift to you for the headache inducer you were to every senior resident you had.”

“And what is she to you?” Frank joked back, even as he started looking like he was falling asleep, where he was sitting, from her repeatedly running her hand through his hair.

“A reminder that boys aren’t so bad afterall,” Dana replied a few minutes later after he had finally fallen asleep. “See you in two weeks kid.”

#ask response #writing prompt response #The Pitt #The Pitt fanfiction #Dana Evans #Frank Langdon #michael rabinavitch

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