#dr. frank langdon

[hagarsays]

First look at Robby and Dr. Shen

Season two has officially started filming

[mercvry-glow]

Best of wives

parings. frank langdon x robinavitch!reader

summary. frank langdon loves his wife dearly, but family is hard when hard when her older brother is your boss.

warnings. typical pitt stuff, hospital setting, frank and reader are roughly mid to early 30s, reader is robby's younger sister (not specified on blood or adoptive, with an age -gap of 15 or so years), reader is pregnant, eating, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. little bit of family light drama for the masses, and I'm love love loving all of the stuff we're talking about on here! I absolutely love this concept, and would 100% take more ideas like it for sister/daughter!reader. I hope you enjoy and as always feedback is appreciated in any form!

wc. 1400+

Frank Langdon was the golden boy of modern medicine.

At least that’s what he had tried to convince you when you first started dating.

You were a kindergarten teacher at the time, so nothing as flashy as a trauma resident at PTMC, but just as important. You just didn’t want that life—not after seeing what it had done to your brother, and certainly not after meeting Frank.

He was magnetic in that way doctors sometimes were—confident, razor-sharp, and just the right amount of reckless. The kind of man who could charm a crowded room and then disappear into an on-call room for eighteen hours if needed without blinking. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t date a doctor. You told yourself you weren’t interested in that. 

You told yourself a lot of things.

But Frank had a way of making you feel like the center of the world, his world. 

And that was dangerous.

You tried to set boundaries. “Work stays at work,” you told him once. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me. It’s what I’m here for,”

He had just laughed, flashing a smile, “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on keeping secrets.”

You wish you hadn’t smiled back.

Because five years later, here you were. Five months pregnant and walking into the emergency room with food in hand for all your favorite people—and your older brother too, who still acted like you were ten years old.

You navigated the Pitt like you owned the place, a regular of this particular establishment, bag of takeout swaying in one hand and the other resting on the gentle curve of your stomach. You weren’t showing too much yet, but just enough to get a few raised brows from the nursing staff. 

You offered a knowing smile in return.

At the desk, Dana smirked when she spotted you. “Look what the cafeteria couldn’t cook up,” the blonde teased.

“I brought fries,” you said with a smile. “So you better be nice or I’ll tell the baby.”

Dana laughed and plucked a soda from the bag like it had her name on it. “See? And they said teachers don’t want their own kids pfft.”

Frank was near the trauma board, mid-conversation with someone, but his attention shifted the second he saw you. His whole expression changed—softer, brighter, like he forgot he was running on three hours of sleep.

Jack had noticed too, of course. He gave you that signature Dr. Abbot once-over, arms crossed, brows raised in disapproval even though he was already moving to take the bag from you.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around here,” he said gruffly.

You smiled, entirely unbothered. “I’m not wandering, I’m delivering. I brought you all lunch.”

And just as you handed him his sandwich, a familiar voice joined the mix.

“Let me guess… she promised she’d just drop it off and go home, right?”

You turned to find Mikey, approaching with a shake of his head and a warm, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“I did,” you said, holding your hand up in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”

Robby looked you over with practiced eyes, always the doctor even when he was in big-brother mode. “You look good,” he said, stepping in to kiss the side of your head. “But next time, let one of these guys bring the food. You don’t have to run around for everyone on a Saturday.”

“I wanted to,” you said softly. “I like seeing you all. And the baby wanted fries.”

Robby a light chuckle. “Can’t argue with the baby, I guess.” He gave your arm a light pat, then turned to Frank. “You’re making sure she’s taking breaks, right?”

“Absolutely,” Frank replied, slinging an arm around you. He always wanted Robby to know he was taking care of you. Not only did you mean the world to him, but you were his mentor’s little sister. (Not that he knew when he met you.)

Jack, having stayed close, muttered, “She’s got you all wrapped around her finger.”

“Jealous?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Terrified,” he deadpanned.

The three of them exchanged looks—your husband, your brother, and the grump who’d somehow also become family.

Before anyone could argue about who was more wrapped around whose finger, the overhead speaker crackled to life.

“Team to trauma-one. ETA two minutes. MVC, multiple victims.”

The shift in the room was immediate. The laid-back laughter evaporated into focus, movements sharpening with purpose. Dana tossed the soda into the trash like she’d never opened it. Jack was already pivoting, snatching a pair of gloves from the supply drawer, and Robby stood up straighter beside you, brotherly instinct kicking in.

Frank was the only one who paused, even for just a second. His hand lingered at your lower back, thumb tracing a circle through the fabric of your top.

You looked up at him and gave him a soft nudge. “Go.”

He hesitated. “You sure?”

“I’ll hang with Robby. Maybe even get him to eat something green.”

That earned you a quick grin—tired, but genuine as always. He leaned down and kissed your temple, then, because he never could help himself, his hand rested gently on your stomach. “Be good for mom, alright?” he murmured, before looking up at you again. “Text me if anything feels off.”

“I’m pregnant, not fragile,” you reminded him, smiling as you gently swatted his arm.

“Yeah, well. Humor me,” he said, backing away even as Jack called his name. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Then he was gone, disappearing into the chaos with the rest of the team. Jack, tough as ever, barked something to an incoming resident and tossed Frank a gown mid-stride. It landed squarely in his chest, and he caught it without looking. 

Routine. Precision. Showtime.

You turned back to the nurses station, watching it all unfold with that strange mix of pride and nerves that always bubbled in your chest when Frank was in the thick of it. You’d learned long ago that this was part of the deal—his heart belonged to you, but his hands, his mind (on occasion), and his adrenaline? 

They belonged to this place.

Robby stayed back a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Protective older brother mode was a hard one for him to turn off.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, eyes flicking down to your bump, then back to your face.

You nodded. “I’m fine. Just hungry. And I’m not leaving until someone eats this food I risked my ankles to bring in.”

He chuckled. “You’re still stubborn.”

“Runs in the family,” you said sweetly, sliding the bag toward him.

With a sigh, Robby sat beside you and pulled out one of the sandwiches. “You know,” he said, unwrapping it slowly, “when you first told me you were seeing someone, I never imagined it would be Frank.”

“Why?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because I thought you had more sense,” he deadpanned, then smirked when you kicked his foot lightly under the desk.

You both sat quietly for a beat, watching the monitors light up as the trauma alert clock ticked down. Through the windows, you caught glimpses of Frank and Jack suited up, already fielding a barrage of vitals and questions as the paramedics wheeled someone in.

Robby followed your gaze. “He’s good. One of the best I’ve seen at this stage.”

“I know,” you said softly. “That’s why I fell for him.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You think it’s ever gonna get easier? Having another person on the inside of all this?”

You rested a hand over your belly. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But I think loving someone like Frank… like you… it’s worth the hard parts. He always comes back to me anyway.”

Robby nodded slowly. “He better keep doing that.”

Just then, the intercom squawked again—someone calling for extra hands in trauma-one. You and Robby exchanged a look before he stood with a resigned sigh, abandoning his half-eaten sandwich.

“Go,” you told him. “I’ll guard the fries with my life.”

“You better,” he said, ruffling your hair as he passed.

You stayed there, perched at the edge of the chaos, watching the people you loved disappear into the fray one by one. And in the middle of it all, you could hear Frank’s voice—calm, confident, commanding. He didn’t raise it often, but when he did, people listened. 

Just like Mikey.

You listened too, always had. Because no matter how far into the fire they ran, they always looked for you when on the back.

And you'd always be waiting, with food in hand and that steady calm only you seemed able to carry into a place like this.

mercvry-glow 2025

[doeeyedyelena]

Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch & Dr. Frank Langdon in THE PITT / 09:00 P.M.

[hatussy]

Pretty please give me Frank with freshly signed divorce papers celebrating his freedom with the girl he’s been crushing on for months, resulting in slutty wine tipsy sex? I need it.

slutty | f.l

pairing: frank langdon x f!reader warnings: alcohol, frank's an ass, reader stands up for herself, smut, nsfw [18+ only], fingering, biting/marking, hate fuck, bickering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, frank is divorced, word count: 5236

summary: in which you reach your tipping point

author's note: happy belated birthday mom!!

oneshot | masterlist

“I’ll admit, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him and that weekend we had,” your friend confessed. “You know what I was like back then. I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin, but it was like he saw past that. Like he saw my soul and made me feel alive for the first time in, god, so fucking long. I appreciate you letting me vent, but tell me more about how Frank’s being a total douche canoe to you.”

You laughed and Alice cracked a smile. You hadn’t felt in a laughing mood all week. You’d been counting down the days to seeing your friends and getting drunk, and in true fashion, Alice was the one to break you out of the mood you’d been in and actually laugh.

“Aside from him, the job is great, you know? I feel appreciated for the work I do, and it’s a great place to be. But Frank…he’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He’s fine one minute then chewing me out over little shit the next. And it’s not over shit in my control, anyway, so I usually tune him out. I think he’s waiting for some other kind of reaction, like tears or something, but I’ll never cry. And he doesn’t bother me enough to make me cry. So I tune him out and it just makes his rage worse, but I still have a job? I don’t know what his angle is. Like, does he expect me to quit? Sue over abuse in the workplace? I don’t know. But it pisses me off more than upsets me or anything. I don’t know, dude.”

“He’s hot, right?”

“So hot.” You groaned, wishing you had another drink. “Another round? On me this time.”

Alice nodded, so you walked off to the bar to get a couple more drinks. And two more shots each. If you were going to divulge your crush on one of your superiors, it called for more alcohol. 

When you returned to the table, your other friends were gearing up to go home. Wishing you both a good night and to get home safely before leaving you to your own devices.

“How long have you had a crush on Frank?”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” You asked, while she simply grinned and reached for a shot. You picked up another, cheersing before throwing it back. “I don’t know, maybe a month ago? I caught him on a good day, well, good for me because he wasn’t nitpicking, but bad for him, because he had some shit going on. I overheard a call—lawyers, I think—and something about divorce papers. He apologised about the call, whatever I overheard, and I told him I didn’t care what shit he had going on in his personal life, but not to take it out on me. And he’d been pretty good since then. Asking me how my day was, and actually seems like he’s interested in the answer, and if I say it’s been a good day, he’ll say something along the lines of ‘you didn’t piss me off today, so it was a good day for me too.’ Cunt.” 

“You know when we were little and you’d be told that the boys are only picking on you because they think you’re cute?” Alice asked.

You threw a balled up napkin at them. “Don’t say he’s picking on me because he thinks I’m cute. He thinks I’m incompetent.”

“You’re a resident, incompetent is par for the course until you complete your residency and pass your boards,” she pointed out, brushing the napkin aside. “You go back tomorrow, yes?”

“With a raging hangover, most likely. Why?”

“Wear that blouse you think is too skimpy because it shows too much boob. I want to see if he says something about the way you’re dressed, even though you change into scrubs.”

You sighed, reaching for the last shot and throwing it back without waiting for her. “If he says anything about my clothes, I’m calling him the fuck out. I’ve had enough of his shit, and at this point, I don’t give a single fuck if I have a job the next day or not.”

“Atta girl!” She cheered, downing her shot. “I’ll bring dinner over tomorrow night so you can tell me how it went.”

You felt rough. And it was your own fault. But you forced yourself to get out of bed and changed into the outfit Alice suggested the night before. Picking up a coffee and bagel on your way to work before heading into the locker room.

“Woah, mama.” Trinity whistled lowly. “You look hot. Late night last night?”

“Something like that.” You laughed, leaving her imagination to run wild. 

You didn’t have the desire to tell her why you were really dressed up, but your interest had been piqued by Alice’s observation. You wanted to see if there was any weight behind it, and you were probably still dealing with alcohol lingering in your system which gave you the courage to actually go through with it. 

Before you could doubt the stupid decision, the door to the locker room swung open and you were staring at Frank.

“Langdon,” you said, turning your back to him as you unbutton your blouse and grabbed your scrub top from your locker. 

He mumbled your surname, for what it was worth, making his way to his locker to drop his bag. Still, you watched him—the tightness in his posture, the way he clenched his jaw like something pained him. 

Maybe there was some truth to Alice’s theory. 

Changing into your scrub pants was next, struggling your way out of the tight denim you couldn’t believe you actually got on this morning, before slipping into the more comfortable blue scrubs. Shoes swapped for your comfy trainers, pen in your scrub pocket, stethoscope around your neck, and your notebook between your teeth as you stuffed your clothes into your locker. 

You blew out a breath, tucking some hair behind your ear before hastily leaving the locker room, ready to start your day. 

“Morning,” Dana greeted. “Surprised to see you standing.”

You laughed. “Me too, honestly,” you replied. “Caffeine and spite are very powerful motivators.”

Dana simply grinned. “There’s a kid in bed four who swallowed a marble.”

“Glass?”

“X-rays should be back soon,” she replied. 

“Thanks Dana,” you told her, heading to bed four to check in on your first patient. 

The kid was in good spirits, for the most part, it was the helicopter-mom that was doing your head in. The way she hovered, the way she didn’t move out of your way so you could do a proper exam. 

“Well, the good news is that the x-rays don’t show any sign of blockage, meaning the marble will likely pass by itself,” you informed the mother and child. The mother, who exhaled like swallowing a marble was a death sentence, finally seemed to relax. “The bad news is we’re going to have to monitor your son for another few hours, at least until the marble passes naturally.”

“I’m going to poop the marble out?” The child asked. 

“You sure are! Well clean it before we give it back to you,” you assured him, and he pounded the air with his small fist. “Just promise me you won’t do this again, okay?”

“I promise.”

You didn’t believe him. Neither did the mother, who launched into a lecture the child was probably too young to understand about how much this trip was going to cost them. 

As you moved on to the next patient, a woman complaining of abdominal pain, you tried your best to ignore the looming figure hovering behind you. Langdon had called for an assist, the patient requesting a female doctor, and you were it. 

“Are you comfortable with Doctor Langdon observing?” You asked the patient. “As I’m still a resident, I require a senior doctor shadowing some of my cases.”

“That’s fine,” she said, flinching in pain before you even had a chance to ask if you could examine her. “I just feel more comfortable with a woman examining me.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you assured her. “Is the pain more centralised to one area, or is it everywhere?”

“Lower right,” she explained. “I have a history of ovarian cysts.”

You nodded as you donned a pair of gloves. “Does this pain feel like the last time you encountered it? Or is it new?”

“Same but worse,” she replied. 

“Do you mind if I touch your stomach to examine you?” You asked. 

“That’s fine.”

As you palpated her abdomen, you were aware of some bloating. She was in agony as you apologetically pressed down again. 

“Any spotting or bleeding?” You asked. 

“Heavy bleeding, nausea, vomiting,” she listed off her symptoms. 

“We’re going to need to do an ultrasound to be sure, but it’s very likely that you’ve had a cyst rupture, in which case, we will need to send you upstairs to have the surgeons make sure there’s no abdominal bleeding or ovarian torsion that’s causing further complications.”

Langdon handed you the bottle of jelly before powering the machine up. 

“This jelly will be cold at first, which I apologise for,” you said, applying some jelly to her abdomen before grabbing the small wand and pressing it to her stomach. “Langdon.”

“Calling an OR,” he replied. 

Her right ovary was riddled with cysts, a large one which looked like it had burst and now there was fluid causing the symptoms. 

“One of the cysts has ruptured,” you told the patient. “That’s likely the source of your pain and nausea, so we’re going to send you up to surgery.”

You grabbed a cloth to wipe the jelly from her stomach. 

“This is just what I needed today,” she groaned. “Can you get my phone? I need to call my boss and tell her I won’t be in for the rest of the week.”

You passed over her purse, quickly leaving the room with Langdon while the nurses finished up. 

“You did good,” Langdon admitted. 

“Compliments feel weird coming from you,” you replied, taking a seat at the nurses station so you could type up some quick notes in the patient’s chart. 

Frank huffed. “Whatever.” 

You stifled a laugh. “How the hell have you dealt with this behaviour for over four years?” 

Dana looked at you over the rims of her glasses. “Believe me, I ask myself the same question every day,” she replied. “It’s like herding cattle sometimes.”

“Can’t say I know what you mean.”

“Don’t shut down when he’s throwing his weight around,” she said, and you knew you weren’t talking about cattle anymore, but about Frank. “He’ll respect you more if you give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“It’d be easier if he wasn’t a cunt.”

Dana laughed as he crossed in front of you, giving you both a quizzical look. “Who’s a cunt?”

“You.” As if it wasn’t obvious. “Don’t you have patients to offend with your presence?”

“I’d rather be a cunt than arrive for my shift dressed like a hooker,” he replied.

“I’d rather look like a hooker than be a bitter divorcee,” you quipped, barely giving him time to process his own jab before you dealt your own blow. 

Fire raged in his eyes as they found yours again, holding your gaze while Dana laughed beside you, doing nothing to help the situation or hide her own amusement. She did, however, make herself scarce. Leaving you to deal with Frank by yourself, however you saw fit.

You’d already admitted to calling him a cunt, and then followed up by calling him a bitter divorcee. You knew the situation was only going to escalate. Suddenly, you wished for an audience. Someone to witness the demise of Frank Langdon. Luckily, you knew it was only a matter of time before the nurses station filled up with witnesses. You were just hoping you’d be balls deep in your argument for him to even notice the crowd. 

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. The rage burning inside you had your blood boiling—vision red. And you laughed because it was funny that he thought you’d just take it. That you’d get a blank look on your face as you stared through him, never listening when he goes off on these rants.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” he exploded, and you’re quick to your feet. Like hell you were going to take this sitting down. 

You’ve never snapped back before. Not when he’s talking about your piece of shit car. Not when he’s trying so hard to get under your skin to get some kind of reaction from you, any kind, that you never seem to give. But today you’d had enough. Today was the day. 

You know the type. He’s waiting for a reaction, the one you know he’s desperately looking for; your tears, a trophy of his success in being the worst person you’ve ever met. The person who makes your life so much harder than it needs to be. 

Because this is what he does. He finds a weakness and picks it apart. Except he hasn’t found yours yet, and you don’t know if he ever will.

The only way to deal with bullies is to beat them at their own game, much like Dana said. You’d always been a firm believer in treating people the way you’d like to be treated, but kindness can only get you so far.

It was time to be a ruthless cunt. and Frank didn’t know what was about to hit him. 

“What’s not fucking funny is how you think you’re such a nice guy, but the second something doesn’t go your way, you’re quick to criticise and pick apart every little fault of a person, when really you’re just a vindictive, little old man yourself. You want to know why I’m laughing? Because it’s pathetic, you’re pathetic. You’re a fucking snake, spitting venom and using your words to choke your victims. Constricting them. Tightening the fucking noose around their necks until they break under the pressure. You’ve tried with me for two fucking years and I’ve taken it because I’m a fucking snake too. I see through the façade, and you’re not going to fucking break me. No wonder your wife is divorcing you.”

You could see the anger in his eyes. The twitch of his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“While I’ve got your full, undivided attention, there’s a patient that needs your immediate attention. I’d suggest you use some of that rage that you’re feeling towards me right now and use it to do some good. Go on. I’m sure there’s some lesser man worthy of your insults.”

Then there’s the silence. You could hear a pin drop, and you know everyone heard you. You know they’re waiting for Frank to snap back, really drive home the final nail in your coffin.

Except it never comes, but Robby’s laughter does. It rings out loud and true, and you know why. Of course you do. Because if anyone knew Frank the best, it was Robby, and if he heard any of what you just said, he’d know the context. He’d know that it was called for, and that while many people had tried to go toe to toe with Frank in a verbal sparring match, not a single person had left him without an argument. 

You turned with a smile and looked at Robby, who’s laughter has caused a few nervous chuckles to fall past other bystander’s lips.

“Hey, Robby,” you greeted. “How’s your day going?”

“Oh, it’s much better now,” he assured you. 

As you walked back to your desk to finish some notes, a building full of your coworkers, and patients, staring at you in horror, the only sound that rang out beside Robby’s laughter was the loud slam of the locker room door. 

Success. 

“Um…what the fuck just happened?” Dana asked you. A few other people were waiting for your answer that never came. Eventually, Robby clapped his hands, ordering everyone back to work. 

You were counting down the minutes until you were asked to pack up your things and leave, except it didn’t come. 

“I got Frank an apple turnover as a peace offering,” Ciara told you, placing the tray of drinks at your desk alongside the bag that held the turnover. The drinks started disappearing as nurses and doctors alike grabbed their order. 

“Fuck him,” you dismissed, opening the bag and taking a bite out of it. “Thanks, Ciara. Want to get a drink after work? I think I need it today.”

“Only if you tell me what the hell that was about earlier?” She countered.

“Done,” you answered. 

Dana’s voice rang out, directing you to the incoming trauma. You thanked Ciara as she headed off to make the rounds, while you moved towards the doors as your next patient was wheeled in. 

“Ciara got my order wrong.” Langdon, always complaining about something. God, he drove you insane. 

You sighed, grabbing the other cup from the tray and showing him the name on the side. Frank was scrawled along the side, plain as day. “That’s because it’s my drink, this is your one.”

You took a sip of his coffee that you held, immediately spitting back into the cup. Dana tried to hide her smirk behind the rim of her own cup, while Princess and Perlah watched the interaction with a carefully blank expression.

You offered him the cup, turning to look at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t. He was so close you could smell his cologne. His jaw ticked as he grit his teeth and debated with himself whether he should keep the tea that he’d spat back into the cup, or swap for the latte which you’d treated the same way.

“You’ll be able to taste the apple turnover mixed with the latte. I think there might even be floaties. My gift to you,” you said as if this was a normal conversation to have. “Maybe even a hint of teriyaki chicken and avocado.”

“I’ll keep the tea,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Excellent choice. Lemon balm is a great tea. Helps with stress,” you told him. “Drink up.”

Dana’s stifled laughter broke the death glare Frank bore through your skull as he turned his attention to her. Rolling his shoulders as he took a tentative sip of the tea.

The rest of the shift passed by in a similar manner, though Langdon did his best to keep his distance. The rumour mill was churning, wondering who was at fault this time. Yet another argument that caused tension between the two doctors who were always butting heads. 

By the time your shift finally came to an end after a grueling day, a few of the nurses and other residents had heard about your invite to the bar. They all made their own way,  which gave you time to gossip with Alice before anyone from work showed up and learnt all about your crush on Frank Langdon.

Though you assumed they already knew. 

“Hey, can I see you for a minute before you head home?” Frank asked politely and you wondered who gave him a tune up. His attitude had changed dramatically, and you were half inclined to hear him out.

“Do I need an audience for this chat?” You asked hesitantly, watching him shake his head.

“It’s not like that.”

You followed behind him but kept your distance. The sooner this was over with, the better. He led you to the break room and you closed the door behind you.

“If this is about earlier…I’m not apologising,” you started.

“I don’t deserve an apology, I’m trying to give you one,” he replied.

You hummed, not trusting yourself not to stay something that pissed him off and wanted to take the apology back. 

“I was cruel earlier, saying you looked like a hooker. I’m sorry,” he said. “And you’re right, I am a cunt and everything else you called me. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Did someone from HR feed that to you?”

He chuckled. “If they did, they’d be in here,” he replied matter of factly. “I wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry. And I understand if you want to take this further.”

“Why did you single me out?”

He shrugged. “Guess I’m just a vindictive bitter divorcee stuck in my ways.”

Your lips twitched into a smile but you quickly wiped it off your face. Still, he saw it. You know he did.

“Thank you for apologising. I’m late for drinks with my friends,” you said, wanting to leave before you completely put your foot in your mouth.

“First round is on me,” he told you. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thanks.”

At the bar, you fell into the chair beside Alice, a drink in front of her, with another one waiting for you.

“See, I knew you’d look hot in that outfit.” She grinned. “What the hell happened today?”

“He said I looked like a hooker, so I called him a vindictive divorcee. Ate his apple turnover, spat in his coffee, and he apologised to me.”

“From the beginning,” she begged.

“I was talking to Dana and called Frank a cunt. He asked who was a cunt, and I confessed that it was him. He said he’d ‘rather be a cunt than look like a hooker’ so I said ‘I’d rather look like a hooker than be a bitter divorcee.’”

Alice laughed as you sipped your drink.

“I was already seeing red at that point, so I laughed because I could see he was gearing up to say something else. So I just…didn’t give him the chance. I said exactly what I thought of him, minus the crush obviously, and the entirety of the pitt heard. Then, when I thought he was going to kill me, Robby started laughing, so I asked him how his day was going, walked back to my desk, and then heard the locker room door slam shut,” you recounted. 

“I can’t believe you actually did it,” they said. “Do you still have a job tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it seems like it.”

She nodded, watching you sip your drink before continuing.

“Anyways, I was about to leave when he asked me to talk. The kicker? He apologised. He actually took ownership of his behaviour.”

“Jesus, and I just thought he’d be too busy ogling you to formulate an argument,” they replied with a laugh. 

“Oh, he got a good eyeful of my cleavage when entered the locker room,” you assured them. “I wasn’t sure if he called me a hooker because he’s attracted to me, or because I actually look like a hooker.”

“He’s attracted to you,” she confirmed.

“He’s a tool.”

“So fuck the bratty attitude right out of him, what do you have to lose?”

By the time everyone showed up to the bar, you’d already had a couple of drinks. Your inhibitions were loosened, and most of the nurses had already pieced together the context of the argument—they just wanted confirmation. 

Santos and Garcia were apparently right on the money, Langdon said some misogynistic shit and you snapped. Alice got a proper run down of the events—a more detailed explanation—even though you thought you did pretty well. Everyone else had a more colourful picture to paint, from the flare of your nostrils, to the shade of pink his cheeks turned—not from embarrassment, but from anger. 

“I swear he had steam coming out of his ears,” Garcia said with a grin. High praise, coming from her, when she had her own battles to fight with him. Sure, it seemed more playful than the arguments you had with Langdon, but that just proved to you he didn’t play well with others. 

“There he is,” you said. “Thomas the Frank Engine.”

Laughter greeted you as everyone turned his way. Frank, who might have heard Garcia’s quip about him, didn’t let it show. Instead, he smiled, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. 

Exhaustion. Each shift took a lot out of everyone. To unwind, you often found yourself talking shit with Alice and some other friends, trying to decompress as best you could. Sometimes you hit the gym, trying to work out your anger in a more productive way. Today, you drank, and so did several of your colleagues—even Langdon, true to his word—bought a round for everyone.

There was something about the man that made you take pity on him tonight—all jokes aside, he looked terrible. Friends weren’t an easy thing to come by, and from your own experience with your parents’ divorce, you assumed they’d picked sides.

And Langdon looked like he needed a friend.

“Assholery aside,” you said, sliding onto a seat next to him at the bar. “Are you okay?” 

He blew out a breath. “Been better, honestly.”

You nodded sympathetically. “They all picked her side, huh.”

Langdon laughed flatly. “Yeah, it doesn’t make any sense. They were my friends first.”

“They only know one side of the story if they chose her to stand by,” you replied. “And even so, they’re clearly not good enough friends if they dropped your ass so easily. You can make new friends—friends she’ll never get to meet. Friends she’ll never get to poach.”

“Do you want to be my friend?”

“Friends can criticise, but only if it’s done out of love, not malice,” you told him. “I don’t know if I can be friends with someone who is cruel and judgemental to a woman based on her looks.”

He nodded. “Suppose I deserve that, huh?”

“A piece of advice?” You offered, earning a nod in response. “You need to get over her, and the best way to do that is to get under someone else.”

It wasn’t an offer, you told yourself, but somehow Frank wound up at your apartment, lips attached to your own as your fingers tugged the long, dark strands of his hair. The kiss was frantic—desperate. His hands groped at your hips and ass, tugging you closer to him as his mouth dominated your own.

Frenzied, like he hadn’t been touched in months. Every moan you pulled from him, every gasp you gave him, only spurred him on more. Barely registering that you were backed up against a strangers’ car, or that he was just as gone as you were.

“Langdon,” you moaned, his hips pinning you to the side of the car doing nothing to hide the raging hard on he was packing.

He groaned lowly as you bit his lip, grinding his hips against yours, desperate for some kind of friction. “Fucking hell.”

You laughed, tipping your head to nip at his jaw. The soft spot where his neck met his ear. Little kisses—harsh sucking—earning a hiss from the slightly older man who’d been making your life hell. 

Your mouth stilled as he popped the button of your jeans, denim like a second skin, barely enough room for his fingers to ghost over your panties. 

“Now you have nothing to say, hm?”

Arrogant. Cocky. Bastard. 

The thin fabric did nothing to hide your arousal. Wet soaking the material, his finger seeking your most sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You’re an ass,” you huffed out, crashing your lips back to his as he applied the slightest pressure, your hips rocking to meet his hand. 

His laughter was muffled, as was your moan. 

Frank grabbed the waistband of your jeans, fighting the material over the swell of your ass. He tugged your panties to the side, nimble fingers slipping between your folds and applying a delicious pressure around your clit.

“Fuck,” you panted, rolling your hips desperately trying to seek more friction. ”Please,” you begged, cupping his erection over his jeans.

Frank groaned, earning a gasp from you as he pressed a finger into your pussy. “You’re soaked,” he marvelled, hooking his finger inside you and stroking the spongy wall that had you seeing spots. “Fuck, there she is.”

You fought to undo his jeans, forehead resting against his shoulder as he brought you closer and closer to your high. Fingers tugging his boxers down, freeing his cock, and earning a hiss as the cool night air hit his leaking tip. 

“So fucking needy,” you tutted, earning a groan as you swiped your thumb over his tip. 

“Fuck you,” he huffed, gritting his teeth as you started stroking his cock. 

“You will,” you quipped, breath catching on a moan that took you by surprise. “Fuuuuck.”

Frank growled, your hand moving against him, his own inside you—both desperate not to be the first to let go. Your body was betraying you with each passing second—the coil in your lower abdomen tightening, your legs feeling weak, the gasps and moans that fell past your lips—yeah, Frank was sure he was going to make you cum first. 

His hips bucked as you slowed your motions, tugging his mouth back to yours to stop him saying whatever smartass comment he was thinking. His kiss was frantic, teeth clashing, his tongue mingling with your own. Your grip tightened in his hair, stilled around his cock, as your orgasm hit you with a vengeance. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You threw your head back, your cunt clamping down around his fingers, hips grinding against his palm. He dipped his head, chuckling as he nipped at your exposed neck, rutting against your palm. 

“Are you on birth control?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I didn’t come here tonight expecting to get laid,” he pointed out. “So no condom.”

“Are you clean?”

“What the fuck?”

“Your ex wife was cheating on you,” you stated. “It’s a legitimate question. Are you clean?”

“Yes, I’m clean.” He huffed. 

“Good, me too. And yes, I’m on birth control, but you better pull out.”

Frank pushed your jeans down further, hooking one of your legs over his arm as he positioned himself between your legs. Thick head sliding through your slick folds, notching at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, both of you watching the way your body welcomed him with ease. Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, and then you were kissing him again. Rolling your hips for a slightly better angle as he slowly withdrew himself and slipped right back in. 

“So fucking hot,” he mumbled. “Gripping me so tight, feels like fuckin’ heaven.”

You gasped as he picked up the pace, the time for savouring the moment now over. Hands wound tightly in his hair, kisses being disrupted by moans and groans. 

“Frank,” you panted, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit, attempting to bring you closer to your high again. “Fuck you, I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he groaned. “Be a good girl and cum on my cock, hm? Milk my fucking cock.”

You let your head fall forward, biting down on his neck to muffle your moans. He grunted, pace sloppy and relentless. You whined, screwing your eyes shut as your orgasm crashed over you once again. Body convulsing, pussy clenching around him oh-so-good. Fuck, he was a goner. Grunting as he stilled, cock twitching as he emptied himself inside you.

“I thought I told you to pull out,” you snapped.

“Fuck, sorry. ‘M sorry,” he apologised. 

“Felt too good, hm?” You teased. 

“Fuck you.”

[acatnamedvirtue]

listen, all i'm saying is that maybe if a man has to plead with his wife to let him talk to his son on the phone at 3:00 in the afternoon, that might be a relationship that already has a few (a lot of) cracks in it.

so maybe it's not so inconceivable that when someone who is open about her feelings, and competent, and respects him and his work, shows up on the hardest day of his life, he might be inclined to fall a little bit in love with her.

and maybe she might fall a little bit in love with him too.

[alchemypanda]

Noah Wyle and Patrick Ball as Dr. Robbie and Dr.Frank Langdon in The Pitt 1x01 7:00 AM

[popcornpoppypop]

Just to make a few things clear, I am a adult woman who doesn’t really do fandom nonsense anymore. I’ve had a few people pop into my inbox trying to incite some kind of argument about celebrities and shipping.

I’m literally here for fun. End of story. I block stuff that I don’t like or want to see and that is okay. It’s my right to shape my space how I like it.

I’m not sure when young people stopped letting people like stuff but y’all need to chill sometimes. If you don’t like something and it’s pretty much harmless, don’t engage.

I’m an admirer of good art and especially great acting. That is what drew me to The Pitt in the first place. So I come on here to engage in what I love about the show, the characters and actors. If you don’t like a ship, okay. Don’t make it my problem. I don’t really ship anyway.

If an actor has, as far as we know, done nothing wrong stop trying to vilify them. Having an opinion about their character and their choices is pretty much their job. Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean they are a bad guy.

Blocking is a normal, healthy thing to do. If they are uncomfortable or just don’t want to see certain things pop up on their feeds, the actors have that right.

Be kind or they will stop engaging all together.

I love this show. I love the characters. I think the team involved is inspiring. Enjoy it, don’t enjoy it, but stop being so self righteous about your own opinions. We are allowed to disagree on this stuff.

Leave Patrick Ball alone, Leave Supriya Ganesh alone, Leave Isa Briones alone, Leave Shawn Hatosy alone.

Some of y’all are getting too weird and maybe need to take a break. There is real shit going on that could use this energy.

[faiszt]

⠀⠀˙ॱᐧ.˳˳. ♥︎⠀⠀sweet bots! ︎ ꒰ ︎ alert ︎ ꒱⠀⠀⏝ ͝͝⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ִ⠀⠀ ꒪⠀⠀⣴⣄⣀⣠⣦⠀⠀frank langdon version⠀ .˳˳.ᐧॱ˙

𝅭⠀under recover⠀.⠀patient !user⠀૮⠀little apple, the cute nickname you got after falling from a tree and ending up in the pitt with several bruises and a broken leg. two months later, you returned to the hospital... to have your cast removed? no, you fell down the stairs and opened a wound on your other leg.⠀⠀ ⠀neutral!user⠀⠀ ⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

𝅭⠀puppies⠀.⠀dilf !frank⠀૮⠀everything seemed peaceful, a normal day, until your husband came home from work with a little four-legged surprise. a puppy, all ’cause you casually said you’d like to have a dog someday, so he decided to surprise you. what’s the harm in that? think positive, the kids will love it.⠀ ⠀female!user⠀⠀⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

𝅭⠀first time⠀.⠀intern !user⠀૮⠀it’s not that you’d never heard about it, but no matter how many mental health and self-help talks you’d seen, nothing really prepared you for the moment you lost your first patient. it was agonizing, to say the least, but frank didn’t want you to wallow in your thoughts.⠀⠀ neutral!user⠀⠀·⠀୧⠀⠀tw!

𝅭⠀quick break⠀.⠀doctor !user⠀૮⠀working in the same hospital as your husband was definitely something, especially when the rules were loud and clear and even then, he loved to break them every now and then. what could he do? it wasn’t his fault you both took some break time at the same time.⠀⠀ neutral!user⠀⠀⠀✴⠀·⠀୧

꒰⠀ mai’s notes !!⠀ ꒱⠀thank you so much for the 9k followers on c.ai, this is really important to me and i love each one of u with all my heart. ♡ :p and guess i love frank langdon too.

꒰⠀ sweet taglist !!⠀ ꒱⠀’cause i need to tag some of the lovely people who influenced me to become obsessed with this man. @pittsick @ryvkkr @cursedfiles @viviluvsfood ♡ ~

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈��𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

[alloftheficsyoulovedbefore]

phlebotomy headcanons for the pitt crew (from a fellow phlebotomist and lab tech)

(yes i know not all doctors are phlebotomists. but some are. some are very good. some are very bad (bless their hearts). i have worked with a wide range. phlebotomy is not a physician's job however there are cases where they have to do the extraction themselves in cases such as cardiac arrest or post-seizures where time is of the essence)

robby - has not touched a syringe or ets needle in years. why should he. he's the senior attending. still tries to order blood tests that are obsolete because he forgets that they aren't the standard anymore. its okay grandpa

collins - the laboratory's favorite resident. orders tests but if the requests are piling up, she does the blood draws herself. all perfectly labelled and none are clotted. follows transport requirements, fasting hours, and etc.

langdon - the lab's least favorite resident. gets shouty over the phone so minus points. orders tests but doesn't wait for results because he already thinks he knows the patient's results.

mohan - a nice resident and decent phlebotomist. but orders redundant tests and the lab techs side eye her for it. calls up the lab too many times to ask for follow ups despite being already given an estimated time for release of results.

mckay - probably the best technical phlebotomist in the lab. one shot queen. can find the vein when no one else can. fantastic at building rapport with patients so they don't mind even when she doesn't hit the vein in the first shot.

mel - relatively great at phlebotomy. really feels bad for the patient when she doesn't find the vein in one shot and overly apologizes. knows the anticoagulants like the back of her hand. lowkey the blood bank section's favorite.

santos - gets frustrated when she doesn't hit the vein in the first shot. requests the most obscure tests because she tends to pick patients who have uncommon diagnosis. perfect labelling though.

whitaker - decent at phlebotomy but the lab still hates him. he submits the most uncommon body fluids and the lab hates it. other doctors request routine urinalysis and fecalysis and here comes whitaker submitting samples for analysis of synovial, peritoneal, pericardial, and cerebrospinal fluid in one sitting. what the fuck. (they don't know that he's also getting covered in it)

javadi - oh baby girl. can name probably all the veins in the human body because she's a genius but she can't find any of them during venipuncture. that's fine since it's not really her job but still. hit the artery once instead of the vein and she almost cried.

[bookinsomnia]

Quick reminder: The script that was released was quite explicitly the first rough draft. This means that while some scenes probably made it to the final draft, were filmed, and then ended up on the cutting room floor, we should not in any way treat everything in the released script as if it happened on the show and was then cut for time.

For instance, I believe that we know that the scene in which Abbot defends Mohan was actually shot, but ended up on the cutting room floor, so I can understand why people treat that as canon/semi-canon.

But I just saw someone on twitter, talk about how Langdon called Samira "slo-mo" behind her back as if that actually happened on the show, when we have no definitive proof that made it to the final draft.

All the characters underwent major transformations as they refined the script, rewrote the characterizations and interactions to be more subtle, cast the actors, and then shifted the characters to fit better with each actor.

[langdonsbenzosaddiction]

[navybrat817]

I have three holes, lovelies. Just saying.

[mercvry-glow]

Friendly competition

parings. frank langdon x wife!reader

summary. the langdons believe believe in basic professionalism. but either way a kiss or two behind a set of closed curtains wouldn't hurt anyone, right?

warnings. princess pea brain and dr. dickwad strike again, frank has only been married to reader, they are similar in age though not mentioned, no mentions of drug use (in terms of frank), dog parents, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther didn't hop on this certified boy dad just yet, but here's a silly/flirty one between frank and his wife who is another doctor! as always please enjoy and any feedback is appropriated!

wc. 1400+

Frank Langdon was a simple man. 

Wake up at 5 a.m., shower and brush his teeth, feed Nico your chocolate lab, text you since you were always out the door before sunrise, drink a cup of pre-made coldbrew for breakfast in his car, and roll into the Pitt by 7 a.m. 

Routine. Reliable. Not as glamorous as your four-a.m.-scrub-call lifestyle, but it worked for him. 

He tapped out a quick text before pulling out of the driveway:

FRANKY

How many brains have you terrorized already?

BABY

Two aneurysms, one awake craniotomy. Stay on your toes today, trauma boy.

He smirked at the screen. God, he loved you.

And God, you were the most competitive human alive.

Frank still remembered your first date, where you questioned his anatomy knowledge over sushi and then challenged him to a game of darts at a bar down the street—one you won, barely, after he’d been too distracted by your smile to aim properly.

Since then, everything had been a game: who could fold laundry faster, who got paged more often, who could make Nico sit the longest with a treat on his nose (Frank held that record at 20 seconds). 

You kissed like you argued—passionately and deep. 

 All teeth and laughter and stubborn pride. 

And yet, somehow, you made it work. 

He parked in his usual spot and thought about your smug little face telling him, “Don’t forget who finished med school top of her class.” 

Frank grinned to himself, he was gonna make today his bitch. 

FRANKY

Reminder that I once splinted a femur with duct tape and a clipboard during a blackout, sweetheart. 

BABY

Reminder that I once drilled through a man’s skull with no power, on the sidewalk. Try again.

God help him, he’d never loved anyone more.

After walking in and setting his stuff in his locker, he wandered around taking note of everyone who was on shift today. 

Frank didn’t expect to see you so early though. 

Neurosurgery lived in a whole different stratosphere most days—your floor, your ORs, your rules. You usually lived in scrubs that had been through hell and back and a ponytail that was more “get out of my way” than “good morning.” But today, as he stepped into the trauma lounge for another quick pre-round coffee, there you were. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed over your navy scrub top, sipping from a mug that very clearly had his name on it.

“Hey, babe,” you said, not even bothering to look up. “Nice of you to show up.”

Frank blinked. “Is that… my mug?”

“I earned it,” you replied. “Three surgeries before sunrise. I deserve all the caffeine this hospital has.”

He moved toward the cabinet, pulled out the backup mug—one that said ‘Trust me, I’m a real doctor’ in terrible Comic Sans—and narrowed his eyes at you over the rim.

“Is this your way of declaring war?”

You gave him a sweet, yet tired, unbothered smile. “No, Langdon. I declared war the day you said you could intubate faster than me.”

“That was four years ago.”

“And you were wrong.”

He chuckled, stepping closer, brushing your elbow with his on the way to the sugar. “You know, most people start their day with a kiss, not an insult.”

You leaned over, kissed his cheek quickly. “That was for being cute. Not for being right.”

He watched you walk away—confident, collected, the same sharp fire in your step you had on your first day in residency. You had charts under your arm and blood on your shoe and a smirk that said you’d already won whatever game he didn’t even know you were playing yet.

You were a smug, brilliant menace.

Especially because of that.

Frank took a long sip of coffee and looked at his pager. It was already buzzing with the first trauma of the day—multiple rollovers on the interstate.

He tapped out a message before heading out.

FRANKY

Bet I beat you on the case board today.

Your reply came five seconds later.

BABY

Already signed off on number 5. Better luck next time, husband. 🧠❤️

A bit later in the day a page came through just as you were wrapping up rounds: NEUROSTAT - TRAUMA BAY 1 - HEAD INJURY / MULTISYSTEM TRAUMA

You barely blinked. Tucked your tablet under your arm and turned on your heel. By the time you got down to the trauma floor, the hallway was already buzzing. Nurses shouted vitals, techs wheeled carts past with barely a glance, and a familiar voice cut through the noise like clockwork.

“Get me a line and open up the central tray—let’s move, people!”

You stepped into the trauma bay right as Frank looked up from the gurney, gloved hands bloody to the wrists, and—despite the chaos—his mouth twitched into a grin.

“Took you long enough.”

“I rushed down four flights of stairs and dodge two ortho residents arguing about tibial screws,” you fired back, snapping on your gloves. “Do you want me or not?”

Frank stepped aside just enough to give you a view of the patient—a mid-30s male, unconscious, intubated, with a deep laceration to the scalp and unequal pupils. His GCS was tanking.

“Blunt head trauma. Vitals are tanking. Pupils blew ten minutes ago. I need your magic fingers,” Frank said, handing over the head CT on a tablet.

You scanned it in seconds. “We’ve got a left-sided subdural, midline shift. He’s herniating. I need him rushed to an OR, now.”

He nodded once and spun toward the nurse’s station. “Page the rest of the neurosurg team, get an OR ready—she’s taking him up.”

“You coming with?” you asked without looking at him, already examining the patient’s vitals.

Frank glanced at the blood pooling around the patient's flank, the numbers on the monitor, then at you. “He needs decompression more than he needs a chest tube right now. I’ve got other patients after him too.”

You locked eyes for a second, both of you moving like pieces on a board already set in motion. No need to explain. No ego. Just you, him, and the patient.

“I’ll be with the team that brings him up after I stabilize the bleed,” he said, voice low as he stepped closer.

“Don’t be late,” you replied, almost a challenge.

Frank smirked, brushing his gloved knuckles briefly against your arm before turning back to the trauma team. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You didn’t even catch how much time had passed since you had entered the OR. The surgery had gone well. As well as emergency cranial decompressions ever went, anyway. You were peeling off your gloves in the scrub room, sweat still clinging to your neck, your shoulders aching like hell from hunching over the table for hours.

The door creaked behind you.

You didn’t even turn around. “Took you long enough, Dr. Dickwad.”

Frank chuckled, slow and low, the sound bouncing off the tile. “Nice to see you too, Princess Pea Brain.”

You glanced at him through the mirror, catching the way he leaned casually against the doorframe—a surgical cap on his head, scrubs spotted with various fluids, that usual post-trauma glint in his eye.

“You missed the best part,” you said, pulling your hair free from its bun. “His brain practically thanked me for relieving the pressure.”

Frank snorted. “Right. I’m sure it whispered ‘thank you, brilliant goddess of neurosurgery,’ as you were drilling into his skull with a jackhammer”

You turned to face him now, arms crossed. “Hey. At least I didn’t almost forget to clamp the bleeder.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t forget. I was strategically stalling.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling panic now?”

Frank was grinning. That easy, post-shift, we-just-saved-a-life kind of grin that only came after the adrenaline settled and the reality hit you: you won.

Not against each other. Against the clock. Against chaos.

“Come here,” he said finally, stepping closer.

You raised a brow. “Why?”

“So I can do this,” he replied, sliding an arm around your waist and tugging you into him with zero warning.

You yelped, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Frank Langdon, we’re in a sterile environment!”

“We’re outside the OR,” he murmured against your hair. “And I haven’t kissed my wife since before the subdural.”

You softened a little at that. Just a little.

“You’re sweaty,” you muttered.

“You smell like iron,” he said fondly.

Still, you leaned into him, forehead against his chest, letting yourself exhale. He held you there, steady and warm, the weight of the shift slowly slipped from your shoulders.

After a few long moments, you mumbled, “You’re still a dickwad.”

“Yeah,” he whispered into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “But I’m your dickwad, princess.”

mercrvy-glow 2025

[doeeyedyelena]

PATRICK BALL as DR. FRANK LANGDON in THE PITT 11:00 A.M.

[heavenssins]

another drawing idea: frank wearing this shirt i own that says “worlds sluttiest dad”

bc u see him?? yeah worlds sluttiest dad!! look at that sliver of tummy!!

[acatnamedvirtue]

casual mel + frank! obsessed with the thought of them showing up like this to a gathering and everyone being like :o because no one knew this was a thing.

i might digitize this tomorrow and post it here but also i might not idk yet!!