#Frank Langdon x reader

[lemonpeppermintstickshift]

white lie - f. langdon x fem!reader

summary: you and frank have always been on opposing sides, but one day when a patient becomes too handsy with you, frank lets out a little white lie to save you.

warnings: SMUT (minors dni, 18+ only), not very explicit smut but smut nonetheless, plot with a sprinkle of porn towards the end (still, minors fuck off), patient grabs your arm, cursing, stereotypical pitt gore, no use of y/n, asshole idiots in love, frank has no kids, angst if you squint?, bad medical terminology/logic but let's be real you're not here for that.

author's note: i lied she's here early! this took seven years off of my life but i hope you enjoy :,) my attempt at something with a bit more plot

wc: 6k

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was known to be many things. A teaching facility, a life saving establishment, and an incredibly fucking noisy place. 

It wasn’t unusual to have patients screaming bloody murder, to have the constant beep of machines and dilators ring in your ears, to overhear a pure teaching moment between an attending and a resident. 

However, a unique factor that all doctors in the Pitt could count on contributing to the decibel level were the arguments between you and one Frank Langdon. It was normal, expected even, for the two of you to be at each other's throats. It seemed like you were always disagreeing on something—a diagnosis, bedside table manners, even down to what kind of coffee should be kept in the staff lounge.

(“We’re not getting dunkin donuts coffee,” you scoff.

“Why the hell not?” Langdon shoots back.

“You two have to be fucking joking.”)

On this particular shift, Frank and you stand on opposite sides of a patient bed, throwing harsh glances like they’re daggers. The middle aged woman below you is bleeding profusely in her throat due to a neglected respiratory tract infection, causing multiple issues with her oxygen levels. She’s practically drowning in her own blood. Your first instinct was to do an intubation, but before you could even begin to ask for the tube, Frank immediately shut you down.

“There’s too much blood, we wouldn’t be able to see anything through the camera. Have you ever done an intubation blind?” He interrogates, his gaze cold and sterile. “I’m vetoing it. We’ll have to do a cricothyrotomy instead.”

“I can do it,” you argue back. “A cricothyrotomy is a last resort, you haven’t even tried intubation yet—”

“We don’t have time to play it safe, last resort or not we should be doing the cricothyrotomy.”

You feel the familiar, fire hot frustration bubble in your chest. It isn’t unusual for Frank to fight against you, and it isn’t unusual for you to want to kill him for it.

The two of you go back and forth like this until Robby approaches the room, finally free from his GSW in Trauma 1. His aging face drops as soon as he realizes the scene before him. Annoyance slowly creeps into his expression, sinking into the lines by his eyes as his mouth presses into a thin line, gritting his teeth before speaking. 

“That’s enough.” His voice booms out, causing the both of you to pause mid argument. “You two are wasting time. Make a concise decision. Dr. Langdon?”

“Intubation is too risky.” Frank begins, trying to appeal to his mentor and somewhat friend. “A cricothyrotomy may be a little bold but at least it’ll work.” 

“And you?” Robby turns to face you. “You believe you can perform the intubation?”

“I know I can, Dr. Robby.”

You see Robby consider both ideas for a brief second, tossing them around and considering the weight of his decision. It’s not just choosing a life saving operation, but choosing a favorite. He—and all the student doctors and nurses for that matter—know whoever loses this war will be enraged, silently fuming for the rest of their shift.

“Get the tube. We’re performing this intubation.”

As soon as the words hit your ears, your stomach somersaults. You try to control the muscles in your face as your lips twitch into a smile. There’s a voice in the back of your head that wants to jump up and down and point to Langdon, screaming I won, I won, I won! You know it's unprofessional, but it's rare when you get to win against him, especially when it comes to Robby. 

You can feel Langdon’s anger radiating off of him as he moves out of the way, watching you and Robby prepare for the procedure. You try your best to hide your joy, but you’re sure you fail.

//

After a successful intubation with the help of Robby, you find yourself aimlessly wandering back towards the ED’s TV screen, bumping into Whitaker. The two of you make small talk as your eyes scan for something interesting to busy your hands with. Whitaker reads out a few promising symptoms, but his words fall away into nothing as you scan the room, your eyes landing on Langdon as he walks out of the staff lounge. 

He stares back at you, something dark swirling in the ocean blue of his irises. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. You know he’s fuming, probably imagining all the ways he wishes you would die a slow and painful death so that you’d never interfere with him again. You’ve been on the losing end of this battle before, and you remember just how much you wanted to strangle him when Robby chose his side.

Your stomach flutters slightly as you narrow your eyes, rolling them and trying to focus back on Whitaker. You don’t care if Frank sees. You mutter something along the lines of approval when Whitaker finally chooses your next case, not quite mentally there as you still feel the heat of Frank’s gaze.

It wasn’t always like this between you and Langdon. In the very beginning, you remember bits of indifference, some semblance of mutual respect. You don’t remember what changed exactly, but one day you two went from innocent coworkers to enemies. 

After the change, you remember him being snippy with you, always avoiding taking you on a case, begrudgingly teaching things to you and fighting you on every diagnosis you made. You just weren’t sure why. 

You didn’t bother to search for an answer. You decided you would simply return the energy that was given to you. If Frank wanted to be a dick, you had no problem meeting him halfway. 

You give him no more thought as you trail behind Whitaker. 

//

Hours later, somewhere around 3 PM, you feel a wave of drowsiness begin to hit you. Despite all your best efforts to go to bed on time, to drink caffeine in the morning and maintain unwavering energy levels, you always seem to struggle in the early afternoon. You know if you slow down, you’ll never pick back up again, so you down the rest of your energy drink and flip through the list of patients waiting to be seen. 

Your eyes land on the chart of an older gentleman: Isaiah Vander, 52, complained of lower abdomen pain. 

Based on past experience, you know abdomen pain has the ability to go south very quickly. You decide to charge forth, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst as you lead him back to an open bed. 

“Please, have a seat Mr. Vander,” you smile. Gloria’s been on everyone's ass about bedside hospitality, so you try to attempt to be a bit brighter than usual.

Mr. Vander, a balding and slightly overweight man plops down in front of you. He’s dressed in jeans, wearing some sort of athletic t-shirt with a pair of cheap sunglasses resting on his head. He returns your smile with a large toothy grin, showing off his coffee stained teeth. 

After a short but concise introduction, you begin your assessment. “So, when did the pain in your abdomen start?”

“Last night, a little after dinner.”

“And what did you eat?” You ask casually. 

“So curious!” He laughs in response. “I had two big macs, a large mountain dew and some french fries, I think. I work late a lot, so I had to grab something quick last night. Do you cook?”

You smile politely. “When I can. Now, do you take any medication?” Your mind prepares to cross off a few different diagnoses depending on his answer.

“Would love to have you cook for me sometime.” He responds, ignoring your question. His boisterous laugh rings out into the hall. His warm breath that smells of cigarettes fans your face. Gross. 

You frown, trying not to assume the worst. You know sometimes patients get a little chatty when they’re comfortable, so you try and steer the conversation back to his condition.

“My cooking may give you worse abdomen pain if you can believe it. And, sorry, just to confirm, no medicine?”

“Only viagra.” He smirks. 

Your breakfast bubbles in your gut. You’re taken aback. You forgot what the shock of a situation like this feels like. You recover quickly though, ignoring his comments by giving him a tight lipped smile.

“Is the pain more throbbing, or like a pricking sensation? And any nausea, vomiting?”

“Throbbing, definitely throbbing. Ever since the wife left me I’ve been eating alone a lot, hence the junk food. So maybe that's where the throbbing pain comes from. Maybe it wouldn’t happen if I ate with someone else. If you get what I mean.” He licks his lips lustfully.

You clear your throat, trying your best not to lose your shit. You’ve dealt with flirty patients before, but he seems… grimey. Clearly this guy isn’t dying of a ruptured intestine, he’s just some asshole with a tummy ache. 

“So, again. Nausea? Vomiting?” There's an edge to your voice as you grit out the question through your teeth. Despite your annoyance, you continue to interrogate him—there’s a part of you that’s fearful that if you left now, he would end up dying of a cause you could have prevented—growing more frustrated as the minutes pass. 

Trying to converse with him feels like torture. The conversation is painstaking slow, and for every question you ask, Mr. Vander responds in a suggestive manner, talking about his lonely late nights while simultaneously giving you no information that could help you treat him. 

It comes to a boiling point when you ask him when his last bowel movement was. He laughs and ignores you, stating that it's ‘no business for a lovely lady such as yourself.’ It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. You mentally decide you’ll probably have to hand this case over to someone else. 

“Well,” you start, beginning to stand up. “Thank you for answering some of my questions, another doctor’ll be in shortly to—”

“You’re not staying sweetie?” 

You choke a sarcastic laugh. “It's Doctor. And no, I have another patient I need to check up on.” Not that its any of your fucking business. “Like I said, someone will be in soon to—”

Before you can finish your statement, you feel his calloused hand wrap around your forearm. It’s warm and sticky, and your eyes widen at the contact before you jerk yourself back. You’re about to yell at the man before you when out of nowhere the half shut curtain opens, revealing Langdon.

His heavy footsteps echo on the linoleum floors. His chest is puffed out, his muscular arms crossed over one another as he clenches his jaw. He looks angry. You can only assume it's because of you.  

“Dr. Langdon—” You choke out. You weren’t sure where he was supposed to be, but you’re pretty sure it's not here with you. You want to explain that this isn’t what it looks like. You have everything under control. You would hate for Langdon to hold this against you, to see you weak. 

“And who do we have here?” He says, taking a look at the chart beside you. “Hello Mr. Vander, sorry to hear about your stomach pain. I’m here to help, I’ll be taking over this case.”

You feel your face become hot. Suddenly, you’re worried Langdon thinks you're incapable of handling this. 

“Excuse me, but why can’t she stay?” Mr. Vander responds, motioning towards you. 

Frank replies without missing a beat. “She’s a very coveted doctor. Her presence was requested by an attending, so she’ll need to assist them instead.”

You hear Mr. Vander suck his teeth, sitting up slightly. “C’mon man, I was just starting to get somewhere. Can you leave? Can’t she just finish me up?”

You wince. You can't explain it, but a feeling of dread runs through your veins at the thought of this guy flirting with you in front of Langdon. 

“No, I won’t leave.”

You watch as Mr. Vander rolls his eyes and averts his attention to you. “Well, since you’re leaving, I’ll get to the point. You should get dinner with me.”

“Wow—um.” You choke. “That’s entirely unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional,” Frank starts with a smile, “And I’m pretty sure her boyfriend wouldn’t like that very much.”

“Boyfriend?” You and Mr. Vander question at the same time. Your eyes are wide with confusion. The last time you checked, you were single. 

“Boyfriend, you have a boyfriend?” He sputters.

You’re positive you don't, but the way Langdon is looking at you makes you feel otherwise. Before you can gather your thoughts to respond, Frank is sliding his hands onto your waist, giving them a squeeze. 

“Yep, she does. And as I said, I wouldn’t be very pleased if you took my girl out on a date.”

It’s so quiet in the room you can hear the conversation in the hall outside. Your mind feels a million miles behind. Mr. Vander is so focused on Langdon that he misses the way your jaw drops. 

“I’m sorry man, didn’t realize she was taken.” He apologizes, looking like a child who was just scolded for staying up too late. Shame blooms in his chest, while something much more sinister grows in yours.

Frank takes a seat beside him, motioning for him to lift his shirt. “No worries. Do you mind if I take a look at your abdomen to assess the area?”

As Langdon begins to work on Mr. Vander, the voice in your head is screaming at you to leave, to take the out that Frank has so clearly given you, but you can't bring yourself to stop staring at him.  You watch as he begins to pat his hand on Mr. Vander’s belly, pressing particularly forcefully, watching as the patient groans in pain.

“Whoops.”

He turns back to look at you. “Dr. Robby wants you.”

You try and decipher the look on his face, but gone is the charming Frank Langdon, and only his colder alter ego remains. 

You nod wordlessly, leaving the room. You don't allow yourself to catch your breath until you round the corner. It feels as though the world around you is blurred, blood rushing to your ears and face as embarrassment and something else creeps up your neck. 

Langdon has never touched you before, let alone put his hands on your waist, squeezing them. 

Many inappropriate things cross your mind. You force yourself to shake it off, looking for Robby. When you find him minutes later, he’s deep in conversation with Collins. You hate to interrupt, but you thought he needed you.

“Did you ask for me?” You say as you approach the pair.

“Me? No, why? Did something happen?” He asks with concern.

“No… Langdon said—Nevermind. Must’ve been a mistake.”

You smile weakly before walking away awkwardly, beelining for the nearest bathroom. You shut yourself inside the single stall, locking the door behind you before you begin to pace around the room, the soft sound of your sneakers scuffing the tile echoing off the walls. 

You’re mainly confused. Why was Langdon lying to save your ass? Did he think you couldn’t handle the patient? How did he manage to step in at the perfect time?

Why did his touch make your brain short circuit?

You brace yourself on the sink. You feel pathetic, and you’re sure you look it. Your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror—you look disheveled. Your face feels warm as you bite your lower lip. Get a fucking grip. 

When you feel like you've recovered as much as possible, you silently slip out of the bathroom. You're not quite sure what to do with yourself now. You really don't want to go back and check on Mr. Vander, and at this point, Frank has probably diagnosed him with constipation and recommended him some miralax. 

But, because you can't help yourself, you walk in the direction you came from, trying to see if Frank is still there. You’re not sure what you’re going to say, but you feel like you should say something. Right?

You realize you’re right as you round the corner, Mr. Vander is nowhere to be seen.

Langdon spots you immediately, and you feel every emotion at once brewing in your chest as he begins to stride towards you. Before you can even begin to pick your fight, he catches you off guard with sincerity. 

“Are you okay?”

Your breath hitches. You force yourself to recover. “What the fuck was that?”

“I was saving your ass. You’re welcome, by the way. You clearly needed some backup in there.”

“I was fine,” you retaliate. 

“He grabbed you, that’s not okay.” 

“I could’ve handled it. I was about to rip him a new one before you interrupted.” You toss your hands in the air. For a moment, Langdon looks at you like there's nothing more to discuss, like he finds no other issues with your previous interaction. 

“And the boyfriend thing?” You whisper, afraid of who might hear.

“Figured he wouldn’t back off until he knew you were taken. Guys are gross like that.”

“And my boyfriend had to obviously be… you.” You raise your eyebrows.

He doesn't reply to this. Instead, he rolls his eyes like you’re the crazy one, beginning to walk away. His face reads like he no longer cares, like it was a miniscule thing to say, like his big hands sliding over your hips is a casual morning activity.

“We’re not done here,” you hiss, trailing after him.

His long legs carry him faster than you can keep up. “Having a boyfriend would do you good, I think. Maybe it would mean you’d finally get laid. It’d also probably help the giant stick up your ass.” He hums.

“Oh, fuck off,” You say, gracing him with your middle finger. You want to slap him. You want to grab him by the collar and shake him. How can such a brilliant doctor be such an asshole? He looks at you with his eyebrows raised as if to say, anything else?

You scoff. 

He gives you a smile in return, looking deep into your eyes before continuing on his journey to the other side of the ED. 

//

In an attempt to clear your mind, you kill time outside with Dana on her smoke break. The two of you chat aimlessly about life, laughing amongst yourself about a few wild cases that have crossed her path today. You’re still talking and gossiping about Gloria when Samira runs up to you, asking to speak to you in private. 

At first, you’re worried that maybe Robby ripped her a new one, or that she had a particularly difficult case while you were running around, but the smile that tugs at the ends of her lips gives her away. You’re relieved it's nothing bad. 

“What?” You chuckle. She’s gripping your arm so tight you think you’ll lose circulation. 

“You’re dating Dr. Langdon?” She grins.

Your heart stops. 

“What?” You stutter, “Where did you hear that?”

“Holy shit, I always knew something was there!” Her eyes are wide with joy as she practically screams. She hops up and down with enthusiasm. 

You feel yourself growing flustered. How are you supposed to explain this? No—funny story actually—the man who I’ve wanted to climb like a tree just saved me from a creepy patient and lied about being my boyfriend, sorry for the confusion. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to find the right way to let Samira down slowly. You want to kill this rumor before it reaches anyone else, god forbid an attending. The words are on the tip of your tongue when Dana’s voice rings out into the ED.

“We’ve got a stroke case coming in, 5 minutes tops!” 

“Oh fuck,” you mumble, turning to look at her. When you turn back around, Samira’s already taken off like a shot, killing any attempt to set the record straight.

You bite your cheek in frustration. You just hope Samira won’t tell anyone.

//

Hours later, after unfortunately getting projectile vomited on by a pregnant teen, you find yourself standing in front of a familiar machine, muttering to yourself as you try to get a new pair of scrubs. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to return them when you haven’t given me a new pair to change into?” You mumble. 

You’re so immersed in your own troubles that you don’t hear Whitaker and Santos approach you from behind.

“How long have you been dating Dr. Langdon?” Santos starts, shoving you in the shoulder with her palm.

“Holy fuck!” You wince. You turn around sharply and come face to face with the pair. They look at you with stars in their eyes. “We actually aren—”

“But I thought you hated each other!” Whitaker gasps. 

“Well,” you huff, “It—”

“Holy shit��� you guys have been in love and fooling us this whole time? That's insane.” Santos mumbles.

“Woah, woah, woa—”

“Congratulations, good on you guys for trying to keep it private.” They both nod simultaneously, giving you their stamp of approval. 

You’re just about to slap the two of them senseless when something else catches their attention, and they run off. 

“Jesus Christ,” you say, rubbing your palms in your eyes. You feel the pressure of a headache nestle its way between your eyes. “What the hell is going on with people today?”

//

Your final straw occurs towards the end of your shift. 

You aimlessly crack your bones and stretch your legs after finally leaving Trauma 1. You had spent the last hour resuscitating a 12 year old after they had a seizure, practically jumping up and down with Mel when the child’s heart rate came back up on the monitor. 

You breathe heavily. You still feel the weight of the little girl’s mother as she collapsed in your arms, sobbing as she mumbled thank yous and god bless yous into your fresh scrubs. It feels good, but it's still difficult.

You glance at the clock, grateful your shift is nearing the end. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. You’ve somehow managed to avoid Langdon all day, miraculously being on opposite sides of the ED at any given time. But despite the distance, you can still feel something in the Pitt has shifted—something between the two of you has changed.

You don't have much time to ponder the odd feeling in your chest before Heather jogs towards you, her hand landing on your shoulder.

“You were great in there,” she says with a soft smile.

“Thank you,” you reply sheepishly. You’ll never get used to the praise, but you’re appreciative of it nonetheless. “I couldn’t have done it without Mel.”

“The two of you are killers, I’m super proud.” She beams. 

You feel appreciative of Heather’s leadership and kindness, she’s always been someone you know you can count on to be on your side, so it makes it all the more difficult to believe the words that begin to come out of her mouth.

“Also… I always knew he liked you.”

“What?” 

“Langdon! That's why he’s so harsh on you.” She laughs. “It makes sense that the two of you are dating, you're so alike. Robby guessed that something was gonna happen with you two. We even started a betting pool. How long have you been keeping this a secret?” 

Her words ring out into the air like bells, each one sending a wave of pain in your head. Your mouth feels dry, your throat feels tight. Your tongue seemingly swells in your mouth, rendering you speechless. 

Before Heather can notice you choking on your own emotions, Kiara walks up to the both of you, a clipboard in her hand and a determined look on her face. 

“Hey,” she approaches the two of you, distracting Heather from your conversation. 

You give her a small smile, hoping you don't look as nearly out of it as you seem. 

“Good to see you both, and congrats on the save. I just heard.” She says to you, giving you an encouraging smile. You thank her before she turns back to Heather, your mind drifting off as the two discuss a patient down the hall. Eventually, they say their goodbyes to you, walking away to discuss information more confidentially. 

You’ve never been so relieved and frustrated at the same time. 

You feel dizzy. All your mind knows how to do at this moment is flop back and forth between being mad and confused. 

You haven’t been able to tell anyone about what really happened today, and you haven’t been able to be honest with yourself about what it all means. Because, truly, why has this thrown you for a loop the way it has?

You head for the staff lounge, praying it's empty. When you enter the room and see it vacant, you shut the door behind you with the full force of your frustration, watching as the drying coffee mugs rattle on the counter. 

You take out your anger and confusion on a plastic water bottle in the fridge, twisting off the cap with such force it almost breaks the plastic. So many thoughts swim in your head as you down half the bottle in one sip. 

You can't seem to straighten it all out. Suddenly, the stunt Langdon pulled this morning seems so tame compared to everyone else’s reactions. 

I always knew he liked you. That's why he’s so harsh on you.

You guys have been in love and fooling us this whole time?

I always knew something was there!

You drop your head on the table, hearing a dull thud.

“What the actual fuck is happening?” you mutter to no one. You’re furious that a tiny rumour has managed to wiggle its way under your skin. You hate how easily it angers you, how easily it frustrates you, how easily the idea of it being truthful sends shivers down your spine. 

“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.” You remind yourself. You try and think of all the times he’s embarrassed you in front of your superiors, of all the times he's publicly called you out and humiliated you. You remind yourself of his cruelty, of his harsh words and even harsher hands. 

Your mind wanders to his piercing blue eyes and his dark brown hair that falls in front of them. The way they looked at you when he practically ran into the room this morning, taking your breath away.

You try not to focus on it any longer. I’m almost done, you remind yourself. I just need to get through this shift. 

//

You’re not sure how you make it, but somehow your shift ends. 

You’re on autopilot as you pack up, making sure you have your badge, your phone, your bag and everything else that comes with it, including your headphones for the walk home, along with your thoughts on the back burner that you plan to continuously overthink and never get over. 

You try to feel relieved that you’re leaving, to be thankful for escaping the rumours that float around like smoke. But when you find yourself finally walking out of the Pitt, saying your goodbyes to the remaining staff and giving your hellos to the first night shift workers, you don't get very far.

When you reach the brisk outside air, your feet feel cemented to the ground. You’re not sure what holds you back, but you can't bring yourself to start your music, to take the familiar route back to your place. It’s chilly out, and you watch your breath come out in puffs. It dissipates into the air, fading to nothing. You’re just about to chide yourself for being so foolish when a familiar voice rings out into the night.

“I thought you’d be home by now.”

You don’t have to turn around to know it’s Langdon.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Me too.”

Your eyes try to focus on the Pittsburgh streets in front of you. You attempt to control the way your body tenses as Frank approaches to stand at your side, but you find it increasingly more difficult to command your body in his presence. 

“Had a hell of a day,” you continue. You’re not quite sure why you’re trying to talk to him right now. It’s odd speaking so calmly with Frank, normally you two would be yelling. 

“So I’ve heard. Apparently, our wedding is in September.”

“Ah. Good to know. I’ll try to make it.”

You’re caught off guard when, unexpectedly, Langdon laughs. You dont think you’ve ever heard such a warm, rich sound before. 

“I heard the betting pool was really big. Bigger than the ambulance one.” He says casually.

You snort. You were brand new when you joined that bet. You remember Frank had chewed you out so loudly in front of Gloria you thought you were gonna cry, so instead of breaking down in the bathroom you bet 50 bucks on ‘drug addict, crash, not in our vicinity.’ 

When you glance up at Frank, you realize how much time has passed since then. You’re both older, more advanced in the medical field, different. The two of you have battled demons no one knows about. 

“Heather said we made a good couple.” 

“I’m not surprised,” He replies. “Robby came up to me to tell me not to fuck it up, so clearly we have a lot hinging on this fake relationship.” 

You laugh at the thought. A beat of silence passes between you two, and for a moment, you're worried this peace may never happen again.

“You were the one who started this mess.” You say, trying to keep the conversation going. Where you want it to lead, you’re unsure.

“I know. And I’m… I’m sorry. Really.”

Frank turns to look at you. You see an unfamiliar emotion swirl in his irises: regret. He’s never apologized to you before, not even when Robby demanded it. You know he must be serious.

“No, I’m sorry.” You confess. “You were doing me a favor and all I did was yell at you.”

“I guess we’re both assholes.”

You toss him a soft smile. It’s weird, talking with him like this, but not unwelcome. You think this is the longest you two have ever spoken without raising your voices.

“I just… It’s so hard to be near you sometimes. You act like working with me is the worst thing in the world.” You say, looking up at him. Your brows crease in such a way that your face floods with sadness, like you’re just finally admitting to yourself that maybe this dynamic isn’t truthful to how you really feel.

“It’s not. I swear it isn’t. You’re a brilliant doctor.” He breathes out. He runs his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut before continuing. “I just can’t fucking concentrate around you.”

You feel your heartbeat pick up.

“And I’m sorry about the boyfriend thing. I just sort of… I don’t know. That patient was just so fucking handsy and—”

“You saw him grab me?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I, I couldn’t see straight. And I know you can handle yourself, I just really wanted to hand his ass back to him. And, fuck—I’ve really been a dick today—I’m sorry about the whole getting laid thing.”

You laugh out loud, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. “No… No, you were right. I’ve had a stick up my ass all day. All year, actually.”

Langdon laughs with you, and you can see some of his hesitation leave his body as he turns towards you. The two of you chuckle over the absurdity of all. 

“So I distract you? That’s why you’re an absolute dick to me?” You say, feeling brave. You see the way his face flushes and his jaw tightens before he answers. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to convince yourself this is still friendly territory.

“Listen, I never said it was logical. Nor did I say it was a good excuse. But it’s true.”

You let the words sit between you two as you turn over your response. You’re not sure how blunt you want to be, but the actions of today have pushed you to a place you’ve never ventured before. “I feel like I’ve been going crazy, Frank. All day, all anyone’s told me is how much you like me, how good we look together, how we’ve secretly been in love all these years—”

“Are they wrong?”

“That’s what I’m asking you!” You groan. “I don’t know. Because, really, you’re a pain in my ass. You make me so mad sometimes I want to kill you. And yet, I practically fucking short circuited today when you said you were my boyfriend. So why’s that?”

“And you’re asking me?”

“Don’t you always have the answer to everything?”

You watch as his icy blue eyes scan your face, trailing down the bridge of your nose, the slope of your cheeks, the peak of your soft lips. 

“I got jealous today.” He states plainly.

“Because of Mr. Vander?”

“No. Well, yes, but also today I realized I’m actually not sure if you have a boyfriend. And then I got jealous in case he did exist... Does he?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Okay then.”

The air stills between you.

“Are you still jealous?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you suppose we do to make you feel better?”

//

For a brief moment as you and Frank stop kissing each other to gasp for air, fingers fumbling at the strings of your respective pants before flying back to each other's bodies, you wonder if you’ll regret this decision to end your war.

The two of you stumble into your apartment a few blocks away from the Pitt, lips entangled with one another as you struggle to lock the door behind you.

Frank, being the newfound gentleman he is after your confession session, decided to walk you home for ‘safety reasons.’ Of course, this resulted in you inviting him up, which has landed you exactly where you are now, in your bedroom peeling off your scrubs. 

When you two are fully undressed, your hands fly to his brown locs as he hoists you up on his hips. His strong arms hold you tightly against him before he lays you down on your bed, laughing into your mouth.

“Something funny?” You ask, eyes trailing down his abdomen. 

“Just thinking…I’m basically a genius.”

“How so?” You say, dragging him back to kiss you. His tongue swirls around yours playfully, momentarily losing himself in you before he pulls away, panting slightly. 

“I said earlier today that having a boyfriend would get you laid. And I was right.”

“Hmm… Is that what you are?” You whisper, your voice low and sultry. Frank’s pupils are blown out as they look at you, eyes ravishing your body as you lay bare below him. 

“I want to be, if you’ll let me.”

“I’ll consider it,” you promise. You laugh slightly, but the warm feeling in your chest at the sight of Frank in your bed tells you you’ll never let him go.

For the rest of the night, You and Frank are a tangle of limbs and lips, hands clinging on to each other as he brings you to the edge of atmosphere and back again. He watches the stars in your eyes when his mouth licks at your core, when his dick brushes against the sensitive spot in your walls, when he whispers his dirty praise in your ear from behind. 

You two fall into a comfortable rhythm, working together in sync like you were meant to hold each other. You watch each other with care as your bodies work in tandem, as you aim to please one another. Your name on his lips as he paws at your chest, the softest kisses on your neck as his hips rock into yours. Somewhere in between the clapping of flesh lies the quiet conversations and heartfelt confessions. 

When you two eventually run out of steam, blissfully fucked out and sprawled on the bed in comfortable silence, all you can do to convey your affection is to softly graze his lips with yours, running your fingers through his hair as you fall asleep in his arms. 

//

likes, comments, reblogs, and follows are always appreciated :)

[carmenlikeme]

Would you do the pitt text aus where reader calls them 'bro' and some of them get sad or worry they did something wrong (i bet john shen wouldnt even notice 😭)

—hey bro!

summary: per requested above! I just added some context to it to make it better hehehe

characters: Frank Langdon, Jack Abbot, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, John Shen, Mateo Diaz

a/n: as always, I'm giggling at this!! I have about 10 requests rn and work has been a little too intense (plus I'm exercising again) so things are a little slow but I PROMISE!! I'M WORKING ON THEM!!

as always: my requests are open!

© CARMENLIKEME 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[pittsick]

FRANK LANGDON WHEN YOU… SUCK HIM OFF.

Frank watches you sink to your knees like it’s the most obscene thing he’s ever seen. His jaw’s tight, his chest rising with shallow breaths, hands already flexing at his sides like he’s trying not to grab you and ruin the moment by being greedy.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You really gonna do this? Right here?”

You hum as you unbuckle his belt, mouth brushing the bulge in his slacks, and he swears again—richer this time, like he’s in awe.

You free his cock and he’s already hard, heavy in your hand. You stroke him once, slow, just to watch his head tip back. Then you lick up the underside and take him in, warm and wet and willing.

His hand’s in your hair within seconds, not pushing—just anchoring. You look up at him as you suck him deep, lips wrapped tight, tongue dragging along the vein under his shaft. His eyes darken.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he groans. “That mouth… fuck.”

You bob your head slowly, using your spit, your hands, your throat when he twitches against your tongue. He’s panting now, hips jerking despite himself, voice gone ragged.

“God, you feel perfect. Always so fuckin’ sweet for me, aren’t you?” His hand tightens in your hair, just enough to make you whimper, and it nearly undoes him. “You like makin’ me fall apart like this? That what you want?”

You moan around him in answer and he nearly buckles. His cock hits the back of your throat and you take it, gagging just enough to make him grunt and curse under his breath.

“Shit, look at you—fuck, you’re takin’ me so good. So deep—my good girl.”

When he comes, it’s sudden and hot and filthy, spilling down your throat as he groans your name, fucking into your mouth in tiny, desperate thrusts.

He doesn’t move right away. Just breathes heavy, staring down at you like you’ve completely wrecked him.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, thumb swiping your wet chin, “I’m comin’ in your mouth while you look me in the eye the whole damn time.”

[perseephoneee]

┈ ⟡ crash out [a frank langdon fic]

˖ 𐦍 CHAPTER 1: SOMEONE SAYS 'I DO'

↳ fic masterlist  ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

After returning from rehab and looking to earn forgiveness for his mistakes, Frank makes his way back to the Pitt Trauma Medical Center, where he discovers he's been given a supervisor to oversee his progress.

a/n: finally returning to this after crashing out for the past three weeks. can you even crash out for three weeks? it doesn't matter...i did it anyway

beta'd by the beautiful @eurydiceauxenfers <3

“I’ll bet you $10 this isn’t going to work,” you said, watching as Langdon operated. The patient had been injured on a construction site, and you both were arguing over the best way to treat them. While part of you was well aware that he usually had smart ideas for how to handle these situations, you also knew he responded best to competition.

“Then you are going to be $10 short and feeling very stupid,” Langdon laughed, eyes focused on his work. He seemed a lot more joyful than he was a few weeks ago when you first met him. 

“Don’t be a douche.”

“Can’t,” he shrugged. “Because I just succeeded.”

You bit back a smile as he finished off his work, standing back and gesturing to the nurses to bandage the patient up. You left the room, knowing he’d meet you later, as he finished cleaning up. 

You’d had no idea what to expect when Robby asked you to be Frank’s supervisor. You had heard from the rumor mill that he tended to be arrogant, had a hard time not being in control, and was close with Robby. Oh, and the whole stealing drugs thing. But the man you saw on the first day seemed more desperate and sad than anything. Challenging him in his work was the closest you got to seeing that version you were told of before. 

You had also heard him referred to as ER Ken, which gave you a certain idea of what he was supposed to look like. You were not disappointed. 

He’s married, you thought to yourself, looking at the board in central. You heard his footsteps a second later. You could always tell it was him because the steps always seemed hurried, much like a puppy. He wore a grin.

“You owe me $10.”

You raised a brow at him. “How about I just get you a drink from the vending machine and we call it even.”

Langdon pretended to think about it, even though you knew he had already decided. “Deal.”

“Good. We have a sick child in six.”

Langdon pouted. “There’s an amputation in three.”

“I don’t care,” you snorted, watching as his expression fell. You enjoyed that aspect of being his supervisor, getting to make him do whatever case you wanted. He didn’t complain…much. 

He made sure to stay a few paces behind you as you approached the curtain, announcing yourself as you opened it. A little girl, seven years of age, sat on the bed with her knees to her chest and a rabbit in her arms. She was frowning as her parents sat in the chairs next to her. 

“Hi Chloe, I’m Dr. L/N and this is my colleague Dr. Langdon,” you smiled, closing the curtain behind you. “What seems to be the problem?”

“She says her ears won’t stop hurting, and we gave her Tylenol, but it isn’t doing anything.” Her mom twisted her hands, looking anxiously between you and her daughter. You grabbed your otoscope and got closer to Chloe. You hummed as you looked inside both ears. 

“Any other symptoms?” Langdon asked as you examined her ears. 

“She said her head hurt a little bit, but we thought it was just from the strep,” her dad replied. 

“Strep?”

“She just got over strep throat,” the mom replied. You put away the otoscope.

“Her ears are very swollen, but it doesn’t look like the eardrums are affected. Her strep likely didn’t go away and moved to the sinuses, which gave her an infection,” you explained. You felt bad for the little girl. Her ears were so inflamed that you were shocked she wasn’t crying. “Dr. Langdon, what would you prescribe as treatment?”

“Another round of antibiotics, as well as oxycodone as needed for the pain,” Frank smiled, hands in his pockets. You nodded in agreement. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he replied. 

“Her ears right now are full of pockets of excess liquid. Her hearing might be slightly affected, but it’d only be temporary. At some point, the pockets will burst and drain out naturally. If they don’t go away and she’s still in pain after finishing the antibiotics, you should come back in.”

“Thank you so much,” the mom smiled gleefully, giving her daughter a kiss on the head. You noticed Frank tense up out of the corner of your eye. 

“We’ll write you a prescription now for everything,” you nodded, opening the curtain and stepping out with Frank behind you. He seemed quieter than before. 

“What’s wrong, Langdon?” you asked, bumping his shoulder. He looked down at you, plastering on a smile. 

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You never do, cupcake,” he grinned, walking backwards towards the ER entrance. You frowned at the nickname. You don’t remember when he started calling you cupcake, but you didn’t always appreciate it. 

“Where are you going?” you called out, arms crossed.

“STEMI incoming, and I’m going to beat the record.”

“Like hell you are,” you grumbled, following after him. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to do something. The STEMI rolled in a moment later. You both ran alongside the gurney as you wheeled it into the emergency OR… 

Langdon did not beat the record (neither did you). But the guy survived, so all in a day’s work. Things managed to calm down a little bit, and you found yourself taking a breather in the break room. You slumped against the wall with a Rice Krispies treat, staring a hole into the opposite wall. The door creaked open, and Frank slumped down next to you.

You sat in companionable silence.

“Wanna see me shotgun this Red Bull?” He asked, holding up the can.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” you responded. “But yes.”

It went about as poorly as expected. Frank’s scrubs were now covered in the energy drink. But it made you laugh, actually snorting laughing. He was an idiot, one whom you were in charge of.

“Glad my failures entertain you.”

“Always,” 

Frank smiled. You were waiting to see the smile reach his eyes, but you knew progress was slow. You cleared your throat. 

“What happened earlier?”

“Earlier?”

“With the kid. You got kinda…distant.”

Frank looked down at his hands. He played with the wedding band on his finger, twisting it around. You observed the action.

“I just haven’t seen Tanner in a while,” Frank admits. “And it’s hard.”

“You haven’t?” He wore his friendship bracelet everywhere. Frank wore Tanner’s friendship bracelet everywhere, you’d noticed. You knew he had to be the light of his life. “How—?”

“Abby left me,” Frank shrugged. You felt your heart drop. “After the…she was mad at me. For lying. For everything.” Langdon ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen him since. Courts are still figuring out custody.” He takes his ring off, holding it up in front of you both. “And I didn’t want people to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m fine,” Frank forced a smile, in a way a totally not fine person would. 

What do you do in this situation? Sit and empathize, you guess. You’ve prided yourself on being good at comforting, but you didn’t always know what to say. 

“Do you mind not telling anyone?” Frank murmured. God, he looked like a wounded puppy with those eyes. 

“Of course I won’t.” You paused for a second. “Would working on the amputee make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

~ * ~

You’re not sure why you did it. Following your co-worker home was never a good idea. Following the mystery that was Frank Langdon was a worse idea. But you couldn’t get that look of his out of your mind, nor the way he held his ring like he wasn’t sure if he should toss it or cherish it. And frankly, you were nosy. 

You follow a little bit behind him as he walks. Luck had it that he didn’t drive to work (your snooping would’ve ended then), but that didn’t leave many options in the closest area. He didn’t ride the bus either. He walked for several blocks, and there were a few close calls where you would roll into the bushes very sleek and cool like a movie spy. You were kidding yourself; you fell into the bushes like a flying squirrel. 

Thoughts of squirrel-like tendencies left your mind as you watched him enter the three-star hotel near the hospital. 

Well, shit.

[maidragoste]

Gender Revelation

Frank Langdon x Wife!Reader

Hi, I'm back with more of Langdon's Wife! Reader. I hope you like it, even if it's short.

I remind you that my commissions are open, or if you enjoy my reading, you can support me on Ko-Fi to help pay for my cat's veterinary bills. Despite the commissions, my inbox is also open in case you want to share headcanons or ideas for me to write about 🤗💖

As I always say, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated because they motivate me to keep writing 🤭💖💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you have a good reading!

Frank and you wanted to do something special to find out the gender of Langdon baby number three, but you didn't want to do anything big. Not after the disaster of your previous pregnancy's gender reveal party.

So this time, Frank and you asked the doctor to write the gender on a piece of paper, and when you left the clinic, you went to your favorite bakery and ordered a gender reveal cake.

Now, a day later, the cake sits on the dining room table. Frank is preventing Tanner and Luke from getting their hands on the frosting and revealing the inside while you take one last picture of the cake before it's cut.

“It looks so pretty I feel bad cutting it,” you sighed.

“Mom, I want cake.” You could tell from Luke’s tone of voice that he’d soon throw a tantrum if he didn’t get a piece of cake quickly.

"Just wait a little longer, Luke,” you said as you handed your husband the other plastic cup and placed Tanner’s hand in yours so he could cut the cake with you. You watched Frank do the same with Luke. “Are we all ready?”

“Yes!” the kids shout excitedly, Frank and you smile at each other. You can see in his eyes that he's just as excited as you are. He'd really made an effort not to find out the gender early. He accompanied you to your doctor's appointments but avoided seeing the ultrasounds at all costs so as not to ruin the surprise of finding out together.

“Good. Then on the count of three,” announces Frank “One.”

“Two. Three,” all finish counting together, the kids practically screaming in their ears, but Frank and you are too happy to be bothered.

You help Tanner maneuver the cup and laugh when he rushes to remove the cup before Luke so he can see the inside of the cake first.

Maybe it's the hormones that make you sensitive, but the moment you see the pink cake and the pink sprinkles inside, your eyes start to water.

“I knew it! I told you it was a girl!” your oldest son shouts. Of the boys, he's the most excited about the baby; not a day goes by without him asking you questions about his new sibling.

Seeing how moved you are, Frank rushes to give Luke a spoon so he can do whatever he wants with the cake and focus on you. He hugs you and kisses your head several times until you seem calmer.

“We’re having a girl!” he says, still smiling, gently caressing your face. “You have no idea how happy I am. I can’t wait for us to meet her.” He kisses you wanting to show you even a tiny bit of all the love he feels for you, how grateful he is that you’re a part of his life and for everything you give him. “Now we can choose her name and start putting her room together. Tomorrow we can go to the paint store to pick out the colors, and then…”

You cut off Frank's chatter by placing your palm over his mouth.

You know you chose the right man to marry when you see that he looks just as happy as he was when you found out you were having boys. You know your husband and he'd be happy no matter the gender of the baby, but seeing him puts you at ease.

"Why don't we enjoy some cake first and relax a little? There's no rush to get the room ready, honey, we have time," you say, taking your hand off of him.

"Good. Cake, and then I'll start bragging to everyone that I'm going to be a dad to a baby girl," he declares, making you smile.

[leviathanspain]

love is blindness

dr frank langdon x doctor!reader

synopsis: a snippet into the tangled web of his and hers lies.

[a/n: i just finished watching the pitt and it was amazing!! i especially liked langdon, hence this]

your head was pounding watching as he tore apart the new intern. words caught in your throat and you could only stare at the pounding veins in his neck as he continued to yell. robby walked in at just the perfect moment and cut frank off.

you gulped watching as langdon followed robby, likely to get his ass handed back to him. shaking your head, you finished overlooking your patient once more before exiting the room.

you paused, turning the corner and seeing as robby walked away, leaving frank alone. you walked up to frank and nudged his arm slightly, “are you okay?” he had every right to go off on that intern, but not like that.

you knew him and his wife were having marital issues, and you knew you were part of the reason why. frank looked at you and his expression didn’t change much, shrugging, “it’s that fucking intern-“ he mumbled off, and you nodded, “just- be careful.”

you weren’t an idiot. you knew what was going on. your mother was an addict your whole life, and as much as frank denied it, he was a drug addict.

you hadn’t told him that you had found the pills in his locker. you hadn’t told anything to anyone. though everything in you screamed at you to tell robby or abbot about the pills and the missing medication doses, you couldn’t.

you let that intern suspect and tell robby what you couldn’t, and you felt like a coward.

langdon looked at you and nodded, raising an eyebrow as he walked off. you looked around, making sure everyone was staying busy and not connecting some obvious dots.

hours passed and it wasn’t until you needed him that you realized he was gone.

“what the hell, where is langdon?” you asked dana, “i haven’t seen him since the shit with the intern-“ dana cut you off promptly, “he went home, robby sent him home.” she gave you an expression and you scoffed, walking off in disbelief.

frank would never leave the er like this, complete chaos. and he certainly wouldn’t have left without some sort of goodbye.

you quickly found robby and you pulled him aside, “why is dana telling me that langdon went home? did something happen, is he okay?” robby looked at you, something in his eyes, “yes he’s fine. and i-“ you looked at him, “robby, i know about the pills.”

it was the only explanation. from the intern talking to robby after being reprimanded, and langdon suddenly disappearing. you felt your lips quiver with emotion, “god i’m such an idiot, just tell me that’s it.”

robby nodded and he shook his head, “why didn’t you say anything? were you helping him because if you were-“

you shook your head, “no. absolutely not. he doesn’t even know i know. i found them in his locker and i- i was speechless.” you fidgeted, “im a homewrecker, robby, im a monster and i can’t even help him because what do you even say to someone? i found your pills and im not anyone to be telling you shit but get help?” you sighed, clearing your throat as your eyes teared up.

robby looked at the ground, and was clearly disappointed. “just compose yourself, and get back to work. get yourself out of his mess, that is the only thing i can say right now.”

robby walked off and you stayed for a moment, choking down your tears and taking your phone out, you sent a quick text to langdon.

‘r u ok’

the message didn’t deliver.

you sent it again.

‘r u okkk’

same thing.

did he fucking block you? you tried a bunch of random words in the messages and they weren’t delivering. you tried to call him but they went straight to voicemail. you wanted to scream, out of confusion and frustration. but you couldn’t do that, not now.

not when you had to get back to work.

[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

[earthtomia]

fic recs!

(all fics are x reader; specific characters below the cut)

╰┈➤ all time favourites! <3

╰┈➤ smut recs! 18+ ONLY

please respect the writers and do not interact with any content marked 18+ if you are a minor, thank you!

challengers (2024):

➸ art donaldson

➸ patrick zweig

criminal minds:

➸ aaron hotchner

➸ spencer reid

house md:

➸ gregory house

➸ james wilson

➸ robert chase

marauders:

➸ james potter

➸ remus lupin

➸ sirius black

marvel:

➸ bucky barnes

➸ matt murdock

➸ mcu!peter parker

➸ robert “bob” reynolds

➸ tasm!peter parker

star wars:

➸ din djarin

➸ han solo

➸ obi-wan kenobi

stranger things:

➸ eddie munson

➸ jonathan byers

➸ robin buckley

➸ steve harrington

supernatural:

➸ dean winchester

➸ sam winchester

the bear:

➸ carmen berzatto

➸ richie jerimovich

the pitt:

➸ frank langdon

➸ jack abbot

➸ michael “robby” robinavitch

➸ samira mohan

➸ trinity santos

miscellaneous characters:

➸ fox mulder (the x files)

➸ joel miller (the last of us)

retired characters:

(no new fic recs will be added for these characters!)

➸ indiana jones

➸ lip gallagher (shameless)

➸ rafe cameron (outer banks)

➸ thomas shelby (peaky blinders)

[passionwillow]

Your camera roll while dating Frank Langdon 🩷

[writtendaydreamm]

Allergies and Accidents

Summary: Y/n and Langdon's son has an allergic reaction at school and is rushed to the ER

Author's note: There are not enough Langdon fics on here so I tried my hand at it with this little scenario that came to mind. I have no medical knowledge so please don't expect accuracy with the medical details lol but I tried my best.

Check out my masterlist for more Langdon fics!

1:03 PM

McKay noticed Y/n immediately. Familiar faces are always the easiest to spot here - they’re the ones you never want to see. She came through the entrance frantic and pale faced, trying to squeeze through the mess of people packed into that waiting room tighter than sardines in a can.

“Alright guys, do a round and make sure no one’s dying before they get into a bed,” McKay instructed the row of interns following behind her like little ducklings.

Making a beeline to y/n, she eyed her up and down assessing for any possible injuries. No visible cuts or wounds. No signs of trauma or pain. Other than the obvious fact the poor girl was about to have a full blown panic attack, she looked fine. 

“Cass! Oh thank god,” Y/n exclaimed, grabbing onto McKay earnestly. She had a vice grip and was not letting go until she got some answers. 

“What’s going on, are you alright? What are you doing here?” 

“It’s not me,” Y/n said, holding back a sob. “It’s Theo.”

12:31 PM

Typing up his report on the college kid with pancreatitis in South 12, Robby settled into a chair. He thought to himself it must’ve been his lucky day. He barely got a chance to use the restroom let alone a chance to sit down. It was almost unheard of. 

The thought alone must’ve jinxed him as Dana called out for him the second he got comfortable. He gave her a tired look over his glasses thinking, what now. 

“EMS rolling in with a 6 year old male. Anaphylaxis. Low BP, dropping O2.”

“ETA?”

As if on cue the automatic doors slid open for two first responders wheeling in a young boy. He was wheezing, gasping for air. Jumping into action, Robby, Perlah, along with 2 interns opened up a room as the EMS gave their report. 

“Six year old male, Theo Langdon. Severe anaphylaxis, failed EpiPen at school.”

The name caught Robby off guard. No, it couldn’t be. Eyes dropping down to get a better look at the boy as they transferred him from the stretcher onto the bed, Robby’s jaw went slack. Perlah who had come to the same realization looked at him wide-eyed in shock. 

“Alright, we’ll take it from here, thanks guys,” Robby dismissed the responders before addressing their new patient. 

“Hey bud, it’s Dr. Robby. I know you're struggling right now, but we’ve got you, okay.” Pressing his fingers along the boy’s throat assessing the swelling and looking for signs of a possible tracheal deviation. No deviation yet which was good, no need for immediate intubation. Using his stethoscope against Theo’s chest and throat, he listened closely for stridor and absent breath sounds. “Get him on continuous pulse ox, full cardiac monitoring. O2 status?”

“88% on 15L non-rebreather,” Perlah replied, adjusting the mask on the boy’s face. 

“I do not want to intubate if possible, but if it drops below 85%, we have no choice. Get RSI meds ready in case we lose the airway.” 

Pointing at one of the interns, Whitaker, Robby ordered him to step out, find Dr. Langdon and keep him away from this room by any means necessary. The intern hesitated, clearly confused by the request, and honestly a bit offended that he was the one to be sent off over the other intern. Gathering what guts he had, Whitaker spoke up.

“Dr. Robby, I’d really prefer to stay-”

“And I’d prefer that Dr. Langdon not walk in and see his son like this,” Robby countered without a beat. 

A flash of understanding spread across Whitaker’s face as he rushed out of the room to do as instructed. Robby spared a quick glance out the doors watching the young intern weave his way through the bustle of the ER floor in search of said doctor. No matter how long you’ve been on the job or how much trauma and gore you’ve dealt with, nothing will ever compare to the sickening feeling of seeing a loved one here. And the last thing they needed in this room was another Langdon in distress. 

Wrapping his stethoscope back around his neck, Robby stood up determination setting in. He was not going to let anything happen to Theo. Not in his ER. They needed to open his airways and stabilize him fast.

“Nebulized racemic epinephrine stat.”

12:40 PM

Walking back to the nurses station, Dr. Langdon was feeling quite pleased with himself. 

A woman had been rushed in with a ruptured spleen and internal bleeding after a bad car crash. Distended abdomen, severe blood loss, BP dangerously low and on the decline. She was losing too much blood too fast. She was going to crash. She wouldn’t have made it to the OR if he hadn’t acted as fast as he had to stop the bleeding and relieve the abdominal pressure.

“The peritoneal lavage. The IV vasopressor. That was really quick thinking. I mean you didn’t even hesitate,” Mel thought out loud, joining him at the counter. “I’d never seen that much internal bleeding managed outside the OR before.”

“Yeah?” chucked dryly, “Well, get used to it.”

Only half listening now as Mel rambled on, he pulled out his phone and in an instant whatever high he was on after working on that patient was brought crashing down seeing his notifications.

15 missed calls, all from Y/n.

“Well do you think she’s gonna make it? In the OR I mean?” Mel asked, oblivious to the fact the man beside her was on the verge of mentally spiraling. 

“Um, it's in their hands now,” he answered absently, gesturing over to the OR as he walked off leaving Mel to swallow whatever she was about to say next. 

He didn’t mean to be rude, but whatever Y/n was calling about had to be something urgent. 15 missed calls. She never called him during his shifts. She’d text if she needed to tell him something. But even then sparingly and about little things, like needing to grab eggs and milk on his way home, or to update him that she and the kids got home safe. She never called. Not unless something serious was happening. His mind raced with the worst case scenarios as he paced down the hallway, phone pressed tight against his ear. Maybe she got into an accident again - she was always getting into little accidents and incidents. Or maybe she was having car trouble? But they’d just gotten both their cars serviced and paid a pretty penny for it too. Was it the kids? God he hoped it wasn’t one of the kids. 

“Hello, Frank?”

“Hey baby, sorry I missed your calls. I had this patient crashing and-” 

She didn’t give him any time to finish, cutting straight to the chase. 

“Theo was rushed to the ER.”

12:49

“Vitals,” Langdon demanded, bursting into the room pushing right past Whitaker.

Really? Robby looked at Whitaker who could only shrug apologetically. He had tried his best to keep Langdon away, but the poor intern was no match for the senior resident who just moments ago had threatened to lay him out on the ER floor if he didn’t move out of his way. And Whitaker knew by the look in Langdon’s eyes, he was dead serious. 

“You can’t be in here Langdon,” Robby shook his head, adjusting the ventilator settings, tweaking Theo’s oxygen flow.

“The hell I can’t,” Langdon bit back, moving towards his son. But Whitaker held his arms out, trying to block him from getting any further into the room. 

“I swear if you don’t get your hands off me, you’ll be in a bed next,” Langdon said through gritted teeth.

“Do not threaten my interns,” Robby warned pointedly.

But the words fell on deaf ears as Langdon continued, asking how Theo’s airways are looking? If he’s getting enough steroid coverage. If they checked for biphasic anaphylaxis.

“You’re not his doctor right now,” Robby said, beginning to lose his patience, “You’re his dad. And you need to step out if you can’t control yourself.” 

Langdon threw his head back in frustration. He was both for crying out loud. He was Theo’s dad and a doctor. And he’d be damned if he didn’t use his skills and knowledge to ensure the best treatment for his son. He was about to protest again when suddenly the machine's steady beeping began to go off, the alarms spiking. A cold panic coursed through Langdon’s entire body as that dreaded high pitched beeping filled the room. 

“You need to push fluids faster. He's in distributive shock,” Langdon stressed from the foot of the bed watching the monitor show Theo’s BP dropping. 

Robby cursed under his breath, adjusting the IV line. Although there were no rules against having family members in the room while patients were being treated, at times like this Robby really wished there were. Dealing with overbearing parents in the room was one thing, but an overbearing parent that happened to be a doctor as well was another. 

“Fluids are running. Normal saline wide open. We can handle this.”

“He’s not responding fast enough,” Langdon pushed, “If this is progressing into refractory shock, you need to start the pressors now.”

Perlah turned to Robby, “Do you want to escalate to vasopressors?”

“Get the vasopressin push ready, but hold for my call,” he shot a sharp look at Langdon having had enough of him trying to control the room, “Don’t wanna jump the gun. We’re not panicking here.”

“Not panicking? My son could code, and you’re not panicking?”

“That’s it. Out. Now,” he snapped, raising his voice to meet Langdon’s.

“No,” he doubled down.

“Then I will have you forcibly removed and written up for insubordination.” 

“Robby, please. That’s my son,” Langdon pleaded, running his hands through his hair, trying not to get a grip.

“And we’ve got him,” Robby assured. “Now, go. Let us do our jobs. Go.”

With a sharp exhale, and one final look at his son, Langdon turned to leave pulling his phone out to call Y/n. 

1:07 PM

Following McKay through the double doors into the ER, Y/n gripped the strap of her shoulder bag tightly. She was putting on a brave face, but the worry in her chest grew heavier and heavier with each step. McKay tried her best to soothe the poor mother, but being a mother herself, she knew there was nothing she could possibly say to make Y/n feel any better about this situation. 

Langdon, who had been pacing outside of Theo’s room, closed the distance between them the moment he saw her. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her into a tight hug. Y/n let out a deep sigh, melting into him. Her heart that had been beating like a jackhammer was calmed by the the comfort of his presence and the warmth of his embrace. Pulling back to take a look at Theo, she couldn’t see a thing. The room’s curtains had been drawn.

“How is he,” she asked looking up at him, brows furrowed tightly together, worry etched across her face

Langdon had never seen her look so helpless before. She’s the strongest woman he knows - juggling a fulltime job of her own all while taking care of the kids and picking up the slack at home whenever he was late or working overtime. Even with her plate piled high, she was always composed, always cool under pressure. But all of that composure and coolness had flown out the car window as she sped from work to the hospital after getting that terrible phone call from their son's school. Before him now she was just a mother, scared and worried sick. 

It was a good thing Y/n hadn’t gotten here any earlier than she had, that she didn’t have to see Theo struggling like Langdon had. Admittedly, he lost himself a bit back in the room seeing Theo like that. He knew looking down at her now he needed to keep it together. He could not give her any reason to stress or worry any more than she already was. Every other day of the week, she was his rock, their family’s rock. For once, he needed to be hers. He took a breath choosing his next words carefully. 

“He’s gonna be alright,” Langdon said, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. 

She listened as he went on trying his best to assure her of just that, telling her that Robby was taking good care of Theo. That he’s in good hands. That they see kids come through with anaphylaxis all the time. That he'll be okay. And though he sounded confident, Y/n knew him better than that. She had the sense that he was trying to convince her of all that just as much as he was trying to convince himself.

Taking a seat on one of the nearby chairs, Y/n shook her head in confusion. They’d taken every measure they could think of to ensure something like this would never happen. They’d informed his teacher of the allergy, and sent out letters to the parents in his class informing them as well. And even in the case he did consume anything with nuts, they always sent him off with an EpiPen and always ensured that it was still effective. 

“I don’t understand. The school said they’d given him his EpiPen.”

“It’s not foolproof babe,” Langdon sighed, running a hand over his face.

It was unfortunate but true. While potentially life saving, EpiPens are not 100% effective if not properly administered. They could’ve taken it out too early or maybe misfire, he explained. 

“So you’re telling me this was what? Some sort of user error?” Y/n scoffed at the irony. It just goes to show no matter what you do or how prepared you are, you can’t control what happens out there. As hard as you try, you can’t protect your kids from everything. 

“The better question is what idiot parent brought treats for the kids and didn’t bother checking for allergies,” Langdon said, growing upset at the thought. It was clearly stated in their parent handbook, all treats must accommodate any allergies and tolerances. Otherwise, don’t bring any. How stupid, careless, and dangerous. “You know, I bet it was those fucking Fultons. They don’t know how to follow basic instructions.”

About to go off on a tirade about the Fultons - whom he could not stand, for multiple reasons, but most recently because the father had cut Langdon off during morning drop off the other week - when the curtains pulled open.

Y/n stood up moving closer, getting her first look at Theo since she’s been here. He was lying still, eyes closed with an oxygen mask on his face, an IV still in his arm. Langdon placed a hand on her back, in part to comfort her and to ground himself, as a wave of relief washed over him seeing Theo stable and out of critical danger. 

Robby stepped out to speak to them. He and Langdon locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Any of the tension they had in that room was eased and forgotten. As a father of sorts himself, Robby knew where Langdon was coming from. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake? Can he talk?” Y/n asked, the words just flowing out of her mouth as Langdon rubbed her back. 

“He’s okay. He’s breathing on his own now, still on oxygen, but his vitals are holding steady” Robby assured her, before turning to Landon who looked at him expectantly, “His airway swelling has gone down significantly. No sign of biphasic reaction-”

“Residual bronchospasm? Signs of delayed reaction?” Langond interjected before he could even finish. Robby shook his head, more amused than annoyed. 

“This thoroughness,” Robby said sarcastically, patting Langdon’s chest with the clipboard teasingly, “is why he’s one of my best residents.”

The pair chuckled, both knowing full well how Langdon can be sometimes. Robby went on, letting them know that they’re keeping a close eye on Theo, watching out for any secondary complications. His lungs sound clear and O2 are improving but they’re keeping him in the PICU overnight to make sure he’s in the clear. 

“Can we see him now?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah. Of course. He’s still under some sedation, but should be up soon,” he told her, gently guiding her into the room.

1:30 PM

Theo had come-to for a little, just enough for Y/n and Langdon to let him know he's okay now, that they’re here with him, before his heavy lids closed again, falling back asleep. His little body surely exhausted after all it had just gone through. 

Sat on either side of their son, Y/n and Langdon watched over him quietly. His gaze wandering over to his wife, he could see the toll this had taken on her. It was the middle of the day but her eyes looked worn, and hollowed like she'd pulled an all-nighter. And her lips, that were always smiling and laughing, were pressed into a tight frown. Her brows knit together so tight, the 11 lines on her forehead looked more like 1,111. The stress of your loved one being in the ER will do that to you. Weigh you down, wear you out, and age you a year in an hour. He sees it all the time. But he hated seeing it on his wife.

“He takes after you y’know,” Langdon started. 

She perked up a bit at the sweet sentiment thinking maybe he was referring to their physical resemblance, or maybe the similarities in their personalities, or the little quirks Theo picked up from her. But when he said that she and Theo were both accident-prone, her mouth fell open at the jab.

“That’s not funny Frank,” Y/n rolled her eyes, chastising him.

“Oh come on, it's a little funny,” Langdon continued to joke, seeing her straight face start to crack. “I mean, god forbid, but if I'm not wrong Theo only needs one more ER visit to tie with you.”

She hated that he was making light of such a thing, but what she hated more was the smile she was fighting to hold in. She shook her head trying to fight back her own laugh but just couldn’t do it, not once she heard his. It felt good to laugh, even if it was hushed and contained as they tried not to wake Theo. She needed this. He needed it too. They both needed something to lighten the mood, to let out the long breath they’d both been holding in. 

“No but seriously, take that back. Theo and I are not accident-prone,” she pointed out as their laughter died down. 

Langdon nodded, agreeing that it wasn’t right to say Theo was accident-prone. His visits to the ER were never his fault. The first time was when he was just a baby for a fever that wouldn't go down. The next was a couple years later when he was a toddler for an allergic reaction as they hadn’t yet figured out he was allergic to certain types of nuts. And today, well, he wound up here thanks to some other kid’s parents' negligent disregard for the health and safety of all the kids in Theo’s 1st grade class.

Y/n, on the other hand, she definitely was. 

“I am not,” she fought back, arms crossed, unwilling to admit to this.

“Babe, really?” Langdon asked, brows raised.

“Maybe I’m a little clumsy,” Y/n admitted reluctantly, “But I wouldn’t say accident-prone.”

Langdon scoffed. “Y/n, we literally met in the ER because you were in an accident.” 

It was his third year of med school doing his rotation in Emergency Medicine. At this point he had already intended on pursuing Emergency Medicine and all of the hands-on experience he was getting only solidified that. It was the end of his shift but two buses had just come through - one from a car crash with two non critical patients and the other a factory worker coming in after a gruesome work related accident. Of course, he’d decided to stay hoping to get in on the much more exciting case with the factory worker. But by fate or dumb luck, whatever you wanted to call it, he wound up with Y/n’s case instead - cue their meet-cute. 

“Then 4 weeks after that you ended up in the ER again,” he added now counting on his fingers for dramatic effect. “Then there was the time you fell trying that new-”

She interjected with "ah," holding up a hand to stop him from going any further. She did not need to be reminded of that particularly embarrassing incident he was about to bring up. She got the point.

“But hey, if you didn’t get into those accidents we never would’ve met. Never would’ve dated, got married, had our kids,” he said genuinely, his voice softening as he brushed a gentle hand over Theo’s head. 

With fond memories of their time together, of how they ended up where they are now playing through both their heads, the air in the room felt lighter and so did the weight on their shoulders. A comfortable silence filled the room and for a moment, everything seemed to settle down when Y/n gasped suddenly.

“Shit, what time is it,” she asked, rummaging through her purse.

Jolted by her sudden outburst, Langdon hurriedly pulled out his phone for the time. 1:42.

Y/n let out a groan. She'd been in such a panic when she arrived, she couldn’t be bothered to waste another minute in the hospital’s parking structure going aisle to aisle hunting for a parking spot. So instead she haphazardly parked in the 30-minute parking stall for pick-ups and drop-offs. Y/n moved to get up but Langdon said he’ll take care of it. 

“Are you sure,” Y/n asked, as he took the keys from her hands. Truthfully, she was glad he offered, not wanting to leave Theo's side just yet in case he woke up again.

“Yeah, you stay. Need some fresh air anyway," he said massaging her shoulders for a second, before leaning down to joke into her ear, "Besides, all this talk of you getting into accidents, I don’t really feel like letting you get behind the wheel right now."

"Asshole," Y/n muttered, shoving him away playfully but not before he could press a sweet kiss against the side of her head. 

Watching as he left, she chuckled to herself. Maybe being accident-prone had its perks.  

[discokicks]

i am so sorry to bombard your inbox like this but i literally have never read a better frank fic than yours. it literally changed the trajectory of my life and i will never be the same. holy shit you are SOOOO talented and the dynamic between risky and frank was just chefs kiss 🥹 welcome to the frank langdon brain rotted group !!

what the fuck??? i’m literally going to start crying holy shit???? thank you???? omg??

this is so so sweet, thank you so much! im so glad u enjoyed and i’m so happy to be a part of the group let’s start recruiting because i need more fics

READ FLIGHT RISK HERE!

[superhoeva]

Frank seeing you wearing HIS scrub top in the morning of your day off. Yea you have your own but he sees you wearing his by the kitchen counter as you prepare breakfast

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 – 𝐟. 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐧 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝟏𝟖+) | hopping on the francis train with @ovaryacted! all aboard! he's sooo ugh. thank anon, for sending this in cause i'm thinking about him very hard. warnings for this one include: smut, language, unprotected sex, creampies, bodily fluids (mentioned), sex in the kitchen, undefined relationships, langdon being a fucking menace but also down bad for you, cooking (mentioned), me trying to use religious imagery (?) (@stellamarielu your turn 🫵🏾) w/c: 1.2k

“Frankie, the eggs–”

“Fuck the eggs,” he mumbles, the baritone of his voice a little thicker than usual thanks to the hours of well-earned rest. The man had slept like a rock next to you for most of the night, snoring off the exhaustion from his latest shift and how deep he’d fucked you in his bed afterward. One might think that Frank had satisfied his taste of you yesterday with the way he was babbling away in your ear while plowing into you from behind. This morning proves that fact is anything but the case.

Frank’s got his face buried into the skin of your neck, mouth attached and licking like you’re made of sugar. A groping tug at your sides drags you closer to him, and the cooling pan on yolk to your right is becoming but a distant recollection. He drags the kisses, wetting the skin from the dip of your shoulder to your jaw with thick laps of his tongue, and mewls with a little shudder at the way you tug his hair when his mouth slides back against yours.

When Langdon pulls away, it’s with a gentle grab of your bottom lip between his teeth. He has to smirk a little at how your eyes try to roll, and playfully nips the plush one last time before releasing the flesh.

“Fuck those eggs, turn around,” he breathes out, not waiting for you to respond before spinning you himself and pressing you into the nearest counter. Bunching up the fabric of his shirt–his fucking scrubs–he yanks it over your hips and pauses to throw his head back with a painful-sounding groan at the thong you’re wearing. It’s tiny and a shade pretty of aegean and finishes pumping his cock to a full length that bulges through the tight white of his underwear. “Christ, you’re fucking perfect.”

Frank’s compliment seeps out of him like a prayer, and he’s going to fuck you like you’re divinty itself.

He’s thick and aching as he sinks into you, and you can only whimper and grip the countertop as he clutches you with a crave-drive desperation. Frank’s thrusts start right away, his good friend impatience taking over to have its way with the man. Eyes clenching, he bends into a close hunch with a smushing of his front into you, your name tumbling from his lips in a way comparable to asking for forgiveness.

“Shit, Frankie…”

The falling of his name out of you forces Frank to grunt. Strings of his hair bounce in his face as he pumps himself into you, and both of your foreheads are starting to shine with a layer of sweat.

“Gonna let me come inside you this time?” Langdon questions, words uneven and mostly breath as his cock rams inside your pussy. Pulling back, he lowers his chin to his chest to watch the way you’re starting to cream around him, and the noise he makes has the audacity to fucking echo thanks to the steel appliances of the room.“Can even think of it as a–mmm–a souvenir, ‘f you want… n-nice little keepsake to remember me by ‘til you come back over tonight, and I get to–fuck–fuck‘til you’re seein’ five of me.”

Soon enough, you’re halfway folded onto the counter, and Frank’s already close.

His shirt. You were wearing his shirt, his goddamn scrubs, plus a thong in a shade of blue most people don’t know the name of while making him breakfast even though it’s your day off. And now, you’re letting him fuck you raw on his counter in the garment and drenching his cock in a mess that’s already running down to his balls.

“Oh, my God,” you’re forced to croak out when Frank quickens his pace, and you don’t have to see him to know what expression is gracing his face. You’ve seen it more than you thought you would when you’d started your residency at the PTMC; the hazy-eyes and glistening forehead. Browline pinched and jaw dropped like he’s closer to tears than he’ll ever admit. “How am I so fucking wet already? Jesus…”

Frank exhales with a laugh, not bothering to move the hair that’s starting to stick above his eyes. Steady in his pounding, he smirks.

“Oh, that’s just the Frankie Effect, sugar,” the man boasts, using the shirt he’s gripping to rut you back onto his cock, and you’d roll your eyes in annoyance if his tip wasn’t thwacking against your spot every two seconds. You can tell he wants to keep joking but a throaty moan interrupts him. Good.

“Gonna need an answer to that question soon,” Frank heaves, flushed cheeks puffing with the blow of a quick breath. “Very, very soon, darlin’.”

It takes you more than one attempt to answer him, as a wail beats your words every time you open your mouth. Core flooding with a pooling heat, you can just barely squeak out your repeated response of yes.

That’s all you manage to get out, mouth falling open in a silent scream when Frank’s waist surges with a new sense of drive. His thrusts grow sloppy as he starts to chase it, broken moans streaming from the man while you join him in a wash of unruly cries.

“Mmhm?” He checks one last time, his legs starting a shake he knows is only going to get worse. One last nod from you is all it takes for him to grit his teeth, keeping his angle perfect long enough for you to start squelching out your orgasm around his cock.

“That’s it,” Frank purrs out, squishing you in between himself and the counter, arms wrapping you in a strong embrace as you tremble powerless against him. “Mmm, right there… fuuuck, just like that.”

When Frank comes, it ruins him. At least, that’s what it sounds like.

He stiffens and holds you tighter, sobs falling loud upon your ears as he explodes inside you. You’re flooded with rope after rope of his thick spend, his hands disoriented and unsure which part of you they want to grab. Frank bawls your name, slurring out unintelligible stammers of unashamed curses while his sack pulses with mind-numbing twitches.

“Holy fu…,” Langdon whispers loudly with a few hitches inhales, remaining pressed into you as your hole milks him stupid. “You cannot be real.”

When you shake with a short but spent giggle, Frank nearly growls at you to not do that until he pulls out or he might faint.

Once his breath finally returns, Frank slides from you slow. His lips almost quirk up at the whimper he hears from you. Peeking down, he sniffs at the way some of his cum spills back out of you, painting his cock with a pretty pearl hue. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, twisting to pull Langdon into a tender peck. He stops you when you pull away, grabbing your chin and kissing you once more, letting it linger until he’s satisfied. “Except for the fact that now I wanna shower but I don’t think my legs will let me make it there without giving out first.”

Face brightening with a grin, Frank loops an arm around you.

“Another ramification of the Frank Effect–”

You shut Frank up with a finger to his lips and shake your head.

“Mm-mm,” you hum out, and he ignores the urge to bite your finger, smiling wider.

“What? It’s a real thing! You just experienced it firsthand–”

“Stop while you’re ahead, Francis…”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[crushribbons]

the hot, flirty resident curse

summary: Dr. Frank Langdon just sustained the luckiest on-the-job injury ever.

cw: 2.8k words, nurse!reader/OC, friends to lovers, i started writing this before 1.10 so we're gonna say it's a "1.10 never happened"AU 😭, single dad frank, i made him probably more respectful than he actually is but nurses deserve the entire world so they're getting that too!!!, go hug a nurse rn, brief injury/knife ment, definite inappropriate behavior for a hospital, fem reader/OC.

a/n: drug theft???? what drug theft????

(gif cred)

The “break room” was busy today. Dozens of nurses hustling in and out of the dimly-lit, stale-smelling, and nowhere near big enough lounge. The microwave never could heat her leftovers to a degree that was actually pleasurable for human consumption, so she picked around her butter chicken with a sigh. 

Only three hours left. She could have waited to eat dinner, but the promise of thirty uninterrupted minutes where she would not be yelled at by patients’ families or ordered around by some of the more pompous assholes she worked wi–

Speak of the devil, and he’ll stick his head into the nurse’s lounge, catch sight of you trying to enjoy a moment of peace, and yell, “HEY! Hey, you, Lululemon!” Her eye twitched. The black Define that she was wearing was her favorite. She did not turn to look at what she knew to be one of the new interns that started last week. He scoffed in frustration. “Yoohoo!”

“I have a name,” she said calmly, evenly. The butter chicken now held a lot of interest for her.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know it! How do I get to Imaging from here?” Her knuckles turned white around the plastic fork she was using, and she started to turn and read this greenie the riot act, but someone beat her to the punch.

A hand appeared from behind the intern (she realized with a little chuckle that she didn’t know his name either) and smacked him soundly upside the head. “What the FUCK?!” he cried. Dr. Langdon pushed him out of the lounge and down the hall.

“You will show respect to the nurses of this hospital if you want to continue working here, got it?” Langdon called after him. The kid muttered something snotty, she assumed, and she saw him amble away like a dog with its tail between its legs. “Sorry about him,” Langdon apologized. He hung on the door frame for a minute and chewed his lip. Her hand that wasn’t holding the fork searched for something to do, landing on smoothing down the hair that was already pulled into a perfect bun. “Kid’s an asshat.”

“I’ve known a few of those in my time here,” she joked, and Langdon grinned. She dropped the fork. “There was this one guy…Langdumb, or something like that. He was insufferable.” Langdon gave her an exasperated look that made her laugh and say, “But he’s much better now.” The exasperation was replaced with an angelic beam. 

“Well, thanks for saying that. Some days, I wonder,” he said, then rubbed the back of his neck. She pouted in sympathy without realizing she was doing it. Langdon laughed. It was a little gravelly and when he smiled, he showed off each of his straight, white teeth. Her heart hammered at the ribcage prison bars that held it hostage.

Residents had a reputation. Of course they did; they’d toiled away in thankless obscurity for four years as medical students, so it only made sense that at the first opportunity they had to stretch their newly-educated legs, it would go straight to their head. She remembered Langdon being somewhat of a douche himself as a first-year, always correcting nurses and, on one occasion he later apologized profusely for, disregarding an order Dr. Robby had given for a patient to be intubated. Langdon had been correct in his estimation, thank God, but Robby had berated him in that terrifying, humiliating, cool as a cucumber way that he always did. She had been assigned to that patient at the time, and the memory of Robby quietly seething at Langdon in the corner of the hospital room still made her cheeks hot. That had been what finally whipped Langdon into shape.

Some residents also had a reputation for certain, seedier behaviors. There weren’t enough fingers or toes on the planet on which to count how many times some new hotshot had hit on her, usually opting to do so through negging and second-guessing her work, like she would be tripping over herself to go out on a date with the grown man tugging her pigtails on the playground. The kid Langdon had shoved down the hall was no doubt on his way to do something similar to the first nurse distracted enough to walk across his eyeline.

 Dr. Langdon had no such reputation for flirtiness, and he had never made any sort of advance to her. Thank goodness. It was nice to have a friend in a slightly higher place than her.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, what’s going on for you, Dr. Frank?”

“Quit calling me Dr. Frank, especially in front of patients.” He rolled his eyes. “That puts a whole ‘Dr. Phil’ image in their heads and I hate it.”

“Oh I’m glad you mentioned that…” She turned in her chair to face him fully and seriously. “My teen has been drinking at parties and my husband is an absent father,” she said, face grave.

Frank adopted a Southern drawl and put his finger above his lip to simulate a moustache. “You have gawt to send that child to military school, it is the only waaay.” They giggled. Frank’s pager went off and he pulled it off his waistband to read it. “Shit, gotta run. Don’t have too much fun without me,” he ordered sternly, a frown creasing his pretty forehead.

Pretty forehead? Fuck is wrong with you? She admonished herself without mercy while she went through the motions of undressing and redressing the various beds in the Pitt for the rest of her shift. It was not a desirable duty to be stuck with. Luckily, it was a slow day in the ED by ED standards, with only two ambulance visits and a quiet trickle of less urgent cases admitted from the waiting room, so she had ample time to think about the piece of hair that was always falling in Frank’s bright blue eyes when he was working, and the way Frank cackled any time he cleaned up on one of his and Mateo’s college basketball bets, and Frank…

God, you’d think I had a thing for this guy, she mused to herself, slipping a pillow into its fresh case. Do not fall for the evil Hot Flirty Resident Curse. It might be a canon event for some nurses, but not for her. No, sir, she had her head on her shoulders more than that. 

Didn’t matter if Frank wore a kitschy, clunky little bracelet, beaded with love by one of his daughters, every day. Didn’t matter if Frank spoke with the utmost respect about his ex-wife whenever the topic came up. Didn’t matter if he had once placed his hand on her lower back to steer her towards the patient’s room that he had needed her assistance with, and that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Didn’t matter if Frank–

–was knocking gently on the door of the room she now stood, motionless, in and asking, “Hey, did you see Mrs. Horowitz getting discharged?”

“Mrs. H-Horo–?” Her tongue felt about ten inches thick as she tried to remember which patient he was talking about and how to move her feet like a normal person. 

“The low blood sugar.”

“Oh, right.”

Frank raised his eyebrows, making her realize she hadn’t answered the question. She wished a hole would open up in the speckled tile and swallow her. “Yes, I saw her checking out with Dana at central an hour or so ago,” she said. Ok, got it all out without stammering. This was just Frank; why was her brain foggy and making it impossible to speak to a man she’d always just thought of as a coworker? Her favorite coworker, sure. The highlight of her day? Also sure, but it wasn’t…She pulled a face that mirrored her thoughts before she could stop herself.

Frank thanked her, then paused on his way out of the room again. 

“Uh..are you done for the day?” he asked, and a glance at her watch told her that yes, she was three minutes past being done.

“I could stick around for a bit,” she shrugged with all the nonchalance in the world. “Need help with something?” Frank shook his head, a tiny smirk she would have missed if she hadn’t been staring too hard at his mouth flickering around his lips. 

“No, no worries, head home! I can totally just grab someone–” 

“No!” She tried to play it cool with a chuckle and threw the pillow she was still holding down on the bed. “Let me help. What is it?”

Frank sighed and yanked his right sleeve up to show her his shoulder, and all the mortification that had been comfortably fading away in his presence came back in full force. She stared dumbly for a few seconds before he turned a degree to his left and she caught sight of the ugly, crimson gash that ran from the back of his tricep to the top of his shoulder. “Jesus, Frank! Mention this shit first!” she cried, rushing to him. “What happened?” 

He grimaced. “Turned my back for one second and a patient grabbed the scalpel off my tray and slashed. I’m angrier about the scrubs, to be honest. FIGS ain’t cheap.” He plopped himself down on the bed and looked up at her. “It’s not bad, really, I just can’t reach it to dress it myself. Would you mind?”

No, Man Who is Colloquially Referred to Around the Hospital as Dr. Dreamboat, no, I would not mind patching you up even a bit. She cleared her throat, trying to muster all her calm and competence, and said, “I’m not sure this hospital accepts your insurance, Mr. Langdon.” Frank grinned while pulling his sleeve up once more and holding it in place so she could access the wound.

“My work,” he groaned. “They got me on the worst plan possible. Acts of God are about the only thing they cover, so if anyone asks, God stabbed me.”

Her laugh surprised her. It wasn’t nervous; it was loud and probably obnoxious and it made Frank beam even more widely. She dashed over to the nurse’s supply station and requisitioned a wound care kit. When she reentered the room, she was horrified to discover that Frank had given up on holding his scrub shirt out of the way and had opted to pull the whole thing off. He was, thank heaven, wearing a white tank undershirt, and sat waiting for her expectantly. She took the second before he realized she had reentered the room to ogle as much as her professionalism and casual friendship would allow.

The sound of the alcohol swab’s packaging tearing echoed through the awkwardly quiet room. “Is it gonna hurt?” Frank whispered, making his eyes huge. She wanted to tell him to shut up.

“Shut up, just stay still,” she said, more thankful than she’d ever been that there was a layer of blue latex between her and the person she was patching’s skin. Using quick, dabbing motions to hide her trembling hands worked better than she had hoped. Frank got bored and started fidgeting after about 20 seconds. She had once told him that he needed four more letters added to his MD title: ADHD. It had been the hardest she’d ever seen him laugh, until, of course, he got distracted by something brightly colored in the distance.

He blew a puff of air from his lips and looked around the room. “Soo. Any plans tonight?”

“I was supposed to give the keynote speech at the Annual Best Nurses in the Universe Banquet, but my friend needed help putting a band-aid on, so I missed it,” she deadpanned absently, while opening the bandage and aligning it over the wound. “Are you worried about infection?”

“Not anymore, ‘cause the best nurse in the universe fixed me up real good,” he simpered. He batted his eyelashes up at her and she snorted to hide the smile that she couldn’t stop from appearing. “Um, well, anyway…” Frank began, but then trailed off. His tone had changed. 

She was almost scared to ask, “What?” Her fingers smoothed over the bandage, adhering it flush to his arm, and tried to ignore the way she felt every ridge and groove of him. Or maybe she was memorizing.

Frank coughed and shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t working on. “Just…if you ever do have a free night, I mean, after work. Or not!”

She frowned. Whatever he was rambling about took a backseat while she made quick work of cleaning off the tray of supplies. “Again, what?” Her grocery order would be ready for pickup in ten minutes, and she didn’t want to miss the window by getting stuck in the parking garage with the rest of the mass day-shift exodus.

“Jesus, do you wanna go out with me?” Her eyebrows shot skyward as she whipped around to face him. “I’m sorry!” He immediately jumped up. “I wasn’t snapping at you, I mean, I was snapping, for sure, but at myself because I couldn’t just…cough it up. It’s taken me, what, like three years?”

He had a sheepish look on his face, and couldn’t seem to hold eye contact with her anymore. Three years. Three years? Three years was how long she had known him. Every last drop of nerve, embarrassment, confusion, attraction all threatened to bubble up in her stomach. She slammed the tray down on the counter next to the sink. 

The reality of her feelings finally hit her full force, and she decided to acknowledge them for the first time in front of that serial stabber God and Frank and everyone: “I think I really like you, Frank.” It was easier than she could have imagined to say it, at last. Especially now, that he’d gone and taken their flirting to its natural conclusion. 

“Well I know I really like you,” he replied, a grin spreading as rapidly as the elation that was filling her chest so tight she thought she might start floating away.

“You fucking doctors, you always have to come out on top, don’t you?”

Frank reached for her hand from the bed and tugged her to him. She stood between his legs, which were dangling off the bed, kicking back and forth like a kid who just got told that school would be ending three hours early on the sunniest afternoon of the year. “That remains to be seen,” he muttered up at her, his blue eyes a lot softer than his tone was suggesting, and she swatted him on the forehead for being so presumptuous before leaning down and kissing the stupid smile straight off his lips. Langdon groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down and onto the bed. 

“Shit, we–” It was hard to get words out when Frank chased after her lips every time she pulled them away. And she had never been good at saying no to him. “We really should not be doing this in here.”

He agreed by putting his hand on the back of her head so he could kiss her even more deeply. “Definitely shouldn’t,” he hummed into her mouth. “Could get caught. Could get fired.” Frank pulled away fully and she took the opportunity to gulp down some air into her neglected and giddy lungs. “Wait, will you still go out with me if I’m not a doctor?” “I’d rather you were ortho, but–”

“Don’t piss me off, baby.” But they were both giggling the same, stupid way they did when they exchanged jokes and insults. Only this time, she was kneeling on one leg in front of him on a freshly-made hospital bed, her other leg slung over his, his strong hand resting on the back of her thigh. Her heart was pounding at a wild rhythm she was not familiar with, and when Frank placed his hands on her waist and pulled her even more flush against his chest, she felt his beating similarly. “I’ve already taken off like half my clothes,” he murmured. “Should we just round up and get rid of the rest?” 

“Definitely not,” she admonished through a laugh. “At least take me to get some jello or something first.” Suddenly, she was pushed off his lap and back to a standing position, her legs wobbling like a fawn’s after being folded under her so awkwardly. Frank tugged his scrub shirt back over his head and rose from the bed as well.

“Jello sounds really fucking good right now, good call,” he said, eyes already focused out the door and mapping the quickest route to the cafeteria. She wanted to laugh and cry and put blinders on the hyperactive physician so he kept kissing her until one or both of them died, but she opted instead to push that one strand of hair (the 90’s Leo one, she would later refer to it as) out of his eyes and said,

“You are insufferable.”

Frank shrugged. He grabbed her hand in his, loosely locking their fingers together and leading her out of the room. Her grocery order seemed like the least pressing matter in the world. “You love it!”

She kinda did.

masterlist

[asxgard]

Open Secret | one shot

Dr. Frank Langdon x chief resident!fiance!f!reader

Requested

Summary: A patient just won’t take no for an answer — making your relationship with Frank all the more obvious.

[ Masterlist ]

Anon Request: request for Frank and the reader where they are engaged and enjoy the privacy until the patient the reader is consulting on, continuously asks her out and ignores how she says no. Just making the reader uncomfortable

Note: I apologize for how long this took! I hope you like it

Word Count: 1.5k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, patient making reader uncomfortable, reference to past violence against healthcare workers, sexual harassment

not beta read

It had taken Frank a lot of hard work, but he came out on the other side — now an attending in the Pitt. You had been promoted to chief resident, and then came his proposal. Sweet, to the point, after a fancy dinner and a vow of everlasting love. You had, of course, said yes.

The Pitt was known as a gossip mill for a reason, so while you never wanted to keep your relationship a secret, you wanted it private.

Especially to keep as much stress off Frank as possible.

You had seen him through his hardest times, and he had promised you the best after rehab, from there on out. Robby was hesitant and made his caution obvious, but the Pitt ran on as normal.

After busying yourself for most of the morning, you began evaluating the next patient, trying not to ground your teeth in annoyance. You were a pretty woman, but patients flirting with you almost always set you on edge. You had to laugh it off, smile, gesture to the engagement ring on a chain around your neck and try to let them down easy — rinse, repeat whenever necessary.

This patient — a thirty-five year old male with a scruffy beard and a helluva lot of persistence — was only souring your mood further. Frank had been freed from the confines of resident overtime, but you were still expected to pull your fair share, even as chief resident.

“Come on,” he drawled, “I can take you out, relax you real nice.”

His shit-eating grin sent shivers down your spine.

You forced a smile, “I’m sorry, it’s unethical to go out with any patients of mine. And I don’t think my fiancé would be all too thrilled.”

You tried to busy your hands on the computer, going over his history. He had cut himself pretty good on a construction site, and then proceeded to faint, hitting his head on his way down.

“He clearly ain’t doin’ his job! You’re wound tighter than—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Halverton, I’m going to go order your MRI. I’ll be right back.” You were quick to exit the room, throwing a warning glance at Perlah who was coming into the room.

At the charge desk, Frank immediately caught onto your foul mood, as you were typing forcefully like it might calm you.

“What did that keyboard ever do to you?” Frank asked, a smile lilting his voice.

“You know if MRI is backed up?” You asked instead of answering.

“Aren’t they always?”

Your frown deepened.

“Something wrong?”

You let out a long sigh and shrugged, “I can handle it.”

He raised an eyebrow at you but didn’t say anything. You excused yourself to check on a few other patients. You were just wasting time, but why was this patient getting to you? You had certainly dealt with worse. With a huff, you figured to just face your problem head on and move on with it. Once he was stitched, you would have no other reason to see him except to check on him — and surely, you could pass that off to Mel or Whitaker.

“Sugar!” He said as you entered, and you winced.

You reiterated your name to him, repeating your last name twice so perhaps he would catch the hint.

“Aw, your boyfriend not use pet names with you, dollface? You not used to a man’s affection? That’s a damn shame.”

Your jaw tensed, “Fiancé.” You corrected tersely, “Now I don’t talk about any personal matters at work, especially with my patients — so if you could stop, I would appreciate it.”

“Appreciate it enough for a date?”

Your eyes flickered to his chart again, double checking he wasn’t drunk or high. Both negative, so he was just an irritating dick who couldn’t take no for an answer. Had you been at a bar, you would have at least been able to walk away, or leave — but you were getting close to passing him off to Frank or Robby and just be done with it.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“Feisty! I like it.” He chuckled before wincing, looking back down at the gash along his arm. “Maybe you can kiss it and make it all better? Sure would love that mouth—”

“Mr. Halverton, we need to get you stitched up.” You said, cutting him off, “Let me go get that set up for you.”

While Mel was capable, Whitaker made more sense — plus he was less likely to be flirted with. You could supervise and hopefully that would force the man to shut up.

As always, Whitaker was happy to help — especially when you offered to get him a muffin afterwards. He had been confused by the offering until he stepped into the room.

“Oh, sugar, he ain’t gonna do — I want you.”

Your jaw locked into place and Whitaker looked back at you with wide eyes.

“Mr. Halverton—”

“Ted, please.”

“Mr. Halverton, this is a teaching hospital and Dr. Whitaker is a very capable resident.”

Mr. Halverton’s eyes flickered between you, then he raised a brow. “And I can refuse. I want to be seen by someone who’s not a resident.” He smirked like he had won, “Know you want to get your hands on me, come on.”

A dangerous smile curled on your lips, “Well, if that’s what you want, then I will be sure to do that for you. Whitaker, come with me. I’ll be right back, Mr. Halverton.”

You escorted Whitaker out of the room, eyes scanning for Robby.

“That guy’s a real piece of work.” Whitaker said, glancing back to the room.

“You get used to it.” You told him, leaning on the charge desk.

Whitaker frowned, “You shouldn’t have to.”

You let out a long sigh, “You’re right, but we still do. Can you go find a nurse for me? I’m going to get Robby.”

Whitaker raised a brow in question.

You smirked, “I’m still a resident.”

His eyes lit up at the revelation, smiling to himself. He darted off to find a nurse.

Frank slid beside you, “Looking for someone?”

“Have you seen Robby?”

“Trauma-1. Can I help with something?”

You pursed your lips, “You’re not going to like him.”

He raised an eyebrow and you drank in his handsome features. His smile and blue eyes always seemed to steady you, and the deep breath you took felt like you had finally gotten some air.

“Patient wants someone who isn’t a resident.” You explained with a shrug. “Just needs some stitches and an MRI.”

Frank hummed beside you, “I’m free for a few minutes, want me to take a look?”

You side-eyed him, “You’re really not going to like him.”

“Puh-lease, I could do stitches in my sleep.”

“Alrighty then, Central-5.”

Frank disappeared into the room with Princess trailing behind him with a suture kit. You glanced back up at the board, looking for something on the other end of the Pitt. You made small talk with Dana as you assessed who would be your next patient.

“Give a guy a little warning next time.”

You jumped, startled by Frank suddenly beside you.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like him.”

Frank narrowed his eyes at you. “He kept demanding to see you and I informed him you were a resident — our best resident, but still — and I was going to be handling his case. He was pissy and uncooperative after that. Said he needed your number because I quote, ‘her boyfriend clearly isn’t satisfying her’. Boyfriend.” Frank’s lips set into a deep frown at the last part.

“Why did you think I wanted Robby for a cut-and-dry suture?”

With a frown, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you pouting?”

“No! Just…”

“He was being a pig, Frank. Every time I steered him away from flirting with me, he rounded back with even more persistence and gross comments. Even after I reminded him about the morals of going out with a patient, having a fiancé and being generally uninterested. Several times.”

“You could’ve come to me sooner.” He said. “Could’ve gotten Ahmad to stand in there with you.”

“I was uncomfortable, Frank, not in danger.”

“You know things can escalate from 0 to 100 around here. You deserve to be safe and not be harassed.”

You sighed, remembering all the times it had, “Yeah, I know.”

He rubbed his hands along your arms with a sincere smile, “Gotta ask for help if you need it, sweetheart.”

“Not sure asking my fiancé to come in to fend off guys flirting with me will really deescalate the situation.”

He scoffed, “I’ll defend your honor every day of the week. As your attending…and maybe a bit as your fiancé.”

You chuckled, “Did you give him a piece of your mind, then?”

A sly smirk stretched across Frank’s lips and that was answer enough.

“He wasn’t so subtle.” Perlah said, dropping off a chart.

“So I suppose our engagement will be the shot heard ‘round the world.”

“Engaged? Thought you were only dating, congratulations!” Princess said, coming to stand next to Perlah, who undoubtably had gossiped about Frank’s interaction with Mr. Halverton.

For as much as an open secret you regarded your relationship, Perlah’s voice carrying across the Pitt made it much more open and not so secret.

And honestly? You were okay with that.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69 @moonlightmvrvel @andabuttonnose @boldlyherdream @cosmosnkaz @brnesblogposts @concentratedconcrete @satanxklaus @gardeniarose13 @qardasngan @kmc1989 @deeninadream @casualfansoul

All: @nixandtonic @alexxavicry

I’m really struggling to get through these requests huh lol most of my hyperfixation has switched to the mcu whoops

[favefandomimagines]

Baby On Board (f.l)

Summary: Y/N is seven months pregnant and Frank is a nightmare

AN: I’m on a role with these Frank fics lol a request similar to this came through anonymously where there were multiple kiddos but I was thinking of maybe making each pregnancy its own story??? What do we think?

The ER didn’t stop—not for holidays, not for sleep, and definitely not for pregnancies.

Dr. Y/N Y/L/N knew that better than anyone.

At seven months pregnant, she still had her badge clipped to her scrub top, and stethoscope around her neck like she was still on month one.

The only real sign of slowing down came in the form of a tiny foot kicking her ribs every few hours, and the way her husband, Dr. Frank Langdon, treated her like she was wrapped in glass.

“Okay, tell me you’ve eaten something,” Frank said, appearing beside her at the nurse’s station. He had a sixth sense when it came to her whereabouts. He’d sniff her out like a bloodhound when he thought she’d gone too long without food or a break.

She gave him a tired smile, holding up half a granola bar like it was a gourmet meal. “I’m pacing myself.”

Frank squinted at it like it offended him. “That’s bird food. You need protein.”

“Frank, I’m fine.”

“You’re growing an entire person. ‘Fine’ is not good enough.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and handed her a container of sliced apples and peanut butter. “From the cafeteria. It’s not garbage, I checked.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you married me anyway,” he grinned.

Y/N took a bite despite herself. “Only because you told me I had the best laparoscopic technique you’d ever seen.”

Frank leaned closer, voice dipping. “It was a sexy suture job. Changed my life.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. Frank Langdon was a walking contradiction—brilliant and serious when it came to medicine, but a complete puddle around her.

Ever since they’d found out about the baby, he’d been obsessed. With ultrasounds. With vitamins. With keeping her off anything remotely resembling a stressful case.

“You promised you’d only take consults today,” he reminded her, brushing a hand over the swell of her stomach. “No trauma. No GSWs. No knifed bar brawlers. Baby Langdon doesn’t need to hear screams yet.”

“Frank,” she said with a warning look.

“Y/N,” he said back, smiling but not backing down. “Let me be annoying. It’s my love language.”

By midafternoon, the ER was humming like it always did—a steady, chaotic rhythm of stretchers rolling, pages beeping, and voices shouting. Y/N had been reviewing a consult for a gallbladder patient when the overhead pager crackled to life.

“GSW incoming, ETA four minutes.”

The attending was in surgery. Frank was in another trauma bay. The only other senior resident was handling an incoming stroke in CT.

Which meant Y/N was the only one left.

She stood up instinctively, even as a nurse gave her a hesitant look. “Dr. Y/L/N, should I page someone else?”

“There’s no one else,” she said, already reaching for a gown and gloves. “Page the OR. Let them know we might need a room fast.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I’ve got it.”

The trauma bay exploded into motion the second the paramedics wheeled him in.

“Thirty-five-year-old male, GSW to the left abdomen, hypotensive in the field, unresponsive to fluids. GCS 9.”

Y/N was already in position. “Let’s go. Two large-bore IVs, type and cross, hang O-neg now. Get the FAST scan ready.”

The team scrambled. She barked orders while the tech applied the ultrasound probe to the man’s abdomen. Blood everywhere. Vitals crashing.

“He’s bleeding out,” someone said.

“Get me a thoracotomy tray,” Y/N called, pushing harder on the man’s belly. “We’re opening him up here if we have to.”

Her belly pressed into the stretcher as she leaned closer, hands slick with blood, the baby inside her shifting as if aware of the chaos around them.

“Pressure’s bottoming out—”

“He’s tamponading,” Y/N said. “OR now. We need to move.”

They barely stabilized him with a rapid transfusion before wheeling him up. Her gown was soaked in blood. She stripped it off as they rolled the patient away, rubbing at a red streak on her gown as she stepped out of Trauma 3.

And ran straight into Frank.

“Y/N!”

His voice was like a whip crack. She looked up just in time to see him sprinting down the hallway, his eyes wide with panic.

“What the hell happened? Why are you covered in blood? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, holding up her hands, even as he reached out and started patting her down like he was checking for wounds. “Frank, I’m fine. It’s not mine.”

“You weren’t supposed to take any trauma calls!”

“There was no one else, Frank.”

He stared at her, face pale, then looked down at the stain on her trauma gown, the crimson gloves in her hand, and the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“You’re seven months pregnant. You can’t be in there opening chests—”

“I didn’t open his chest. I stabilized him. Got him to the OR. The patient’s alive, Frank.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. For a second, he just looked at her—at the way she was standing tall, composed, despite the blood and exhaustion.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

She softened as she took the gown and gloves off. “I know.”

“I thought—” he stopped, swallowing hard. “I thought something happened. That someone didn’t notice you were pregnant and shoved you into a wall or—”

She stepped forward and touched his arm. “I’m still capable. Pregnancy didn’t erase my training.”

Frank pulled her into his arms anyway, holding her like he needed to convince himself she was real.

“You’re not a porcelain doll,” he mumbled into her hair. “I know that. But I—God, I just want you both safe.”

“I am safe,” she murmured. “Because I’m trained. Because I trust my judgment. And because I have a husband who follows me around with apples and prenatal vitamins.”

He let out a weak laugh, still holding her.

Later that night, after the trauma bay was clean and the adrenaline had drained from both of them, Frank found her in the break room. She was sitting on the couch, one hand on her stomach, eyes closed.

“You’re not gonna get away with that again, you know,” he said gently.

Y/N opened one eye. “With what?”

“Being the only senior resident and taking a GSW while seven months pregnant. I’m putting it in your permanent record.”

She smiled, too tired to argue. “How’s the patient?”

“Out of surgery. Stable. You saved his life.”

She nodded, a satisfied smile on her face, rubbing at her lower back.

“Come on,” Frank said, kneeling in front of her. “Turn.”

She did, and he began to rub slow, practiced circles into her back. “I’ve been reading up on prenatal massage,” he said casually. “This spot here? Supposed to relieve pressure.”

“You’re a nerd.”

“A nerd who loves you,” he murmured. “And this baby.”

The room was quiet except for the hum of the vending machine. Then she said softly, “I know I scared you. But I need you to believe that I know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” he said. “I really do. But believing in you and worrying about you don’t cancel each other out.”

She leaned back into his hands. “Deal.”

Frank reached up and kissed her cheek, lips lingering slightly.

Two weeks later, she officially went on leave. But every now and then, Frank would find her standing in the ER doorway, arms crossed over her stomach, watching.

And he’d walk over, press a kiss to her temple, and whisper, “Still capable.”

And she’d whisper back, “Still protective.”

And both were absolutely true.

[abbotjack]

(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.