would you be interested in doing a series dedicated to hurt/comfort fics with protective!langdon x stubborn/clumsy!reader?? ❤️🔥❤️🔥
Next To Me
A/N: LOVED this request and I loved writing it so thank you for requesting!!! I decided not to do a series and just do a full fic, hope that's ok xxx I love how this turned out and hope you all enjoy!
Protective!Langdon x Stubborn!Clumsy!Reader!
Title is from Next To Me by Kingfishr! (go listen to that song I love them sm)
CW: mentions of injuries (all fairly minor), medical procedures (minor), definitely medical inaccuracies, light angst. very sweet and caring and protective frank langdon i love him sm. also no abby or kids in this
Word Count: 3.3k
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
You were clumsy, and it is not something you admitted easily, if ever. It was one of the things Frank found most adorable about you.
That’s how you two met, actually. You had just transferred to the Pitt from West Penn, and on your first day you spilled apple juice you were bringing to a patient, subsequently slipped in it, and gave yourself a concussion.
“Pretty bad luck on your first day.” He says to lighten the mood, shining a penlight in your eye.
“I promise I know what I’m doing.” You mumble out, folding into yourself on the bed, likely out of embarrassment. Frank furrows his brows and shakes his head.
“I didn’t think anything like that, promise.” He says, asking you to lean forward. You mumble out a small ‘ow’ as he touches the back of your head. For some reason, hearing your small gripe of pain, makes his heart squeeze.
“I’m gonna order a head CT. Likely a mild concussion, but I would suggest going home for the rest of the day.” He says, taking his gloves off. You exhale and rub your eyes. He grabs your wrist to stop you.
“Shouldn’t do that with a concussion, might make you more dizzy.” He says, your cheeks burn red.
“Yeah, I-I know. I know how to handle a concussion, and I didn’t mean to slip. I don't want you to think I'm like super clumsy or anything.” You say, your tone slightly embarrassed and defensive.
“I don’t think anything, trust me. Shit happens.” He says, putting in the orders for a CT.
“It sucks though, and I’m sorry it happened on your first day here.” He adds, rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands.
“You’re a good doctor, Dr. Langdon.” You say, your head leaned up against the pillows and your eyes closed. Trying to combat the light sensitivity and dizziness.
“Thanks, I’m sure you're a very good nurse.” He says, dimming the lights in the room.
“If you need anything before you go up to CT, let me know.” He says before he heads out, shutting the door, making sure it was dim and quiet so as not to exacerbate the pain in your head.
Your CT confirmed, mild concussion. You insisted you wanted to keep working, but Frank just couldn’t stomach the thought of you treating patients and being in pain yourself, for some reason.
“I’m not letting you go back to work, doctor’s orders.” He says, you go to protest, but your words do nothing to sway him.
“I really don’t even want you driving. Do you have someone who could come pick you up?” He asks, you exhale a little, and embarrassedly shake your head.
“I just moved here.” You say, red sprouting over your cheeks, again.
“I’ll ask Robby if I can step out for 20 minutes.” He says, standing up to ask, you protest immediately.
“Really, Dr. Langdon, I’m fine.” You say, your tone is serious, he doesn’t buy it.
“You’re stubborn, but so am I.” He says before stepping out. When he asked Robby, the attending gave him somewhat of a puzzled look, but let him go. As long as he was back within the hour.
“Let’s go, c’mon.” He says, his voice quiet so as not to aggravate your hurting head even more.
“Dr. Langdon, I really appreciate this, but it’s really not necessary. I-I don’t need to be pitied, or anything.” You say, getting up off the bed. He shakes his head at your protests.
“I am not pitying you, I’m fulfilling a need, that’s all.” He says, in no way trying to embarrass you or make you feel less than. You know that too, but an incident like this on your first day? Embarrassing nonetheless. He walks with you to the lockers, watching you carefully. You were tough, he could tell, but you clearly ignored your own needs, he’d gathered. He made a note to keep an eye on you even after you were better.
When he pulls up to your place, he pulls his phone out, open to a new contact.
“You said you just moved here? So, if you need anything, at all, let me know.” He says with raised brows. You give him a small smile and put your information in his phone.
“Thank you, Dr. Langdon.” You say sincerely.
“Frank.” He says with a warm smile.
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
After that incident, he checked up on you often, started texting, you started replying, and the rest is history. You two have been together for awhile now, and Frank found something you said during your very first interaction to be somewhat false.
“I don't want you to think I'm like super clumsy or anything.” Was what you said, and you were pretty clumsy, not like he would ever say that out loud. He did notice a pattern though. How you fell or bumped into tables, scraped or bruised yourself. It frustrated you, understandably so, but Frank loved being able to take care of you.
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
You had a wedding this weekend. One of your friends from school, your first big event like this with Frank. You were very excited. You had a beautiful blue dress to wear, and Frank had a suit with a blue tie. You were quite the dapper couple. A week out from the wedding, your shoes came in.
“Frank, do you like these?” You ask, opening the box and showing him the heels you had ordered. You were never much of a shoe connoisseur, so this was maybe your second or third pair of heels, ever.
“Yeah, those are really nice. You should practice walking in them though, get used to how they feel.” He suggests, crossing his arms and looking at you. The heel wasn’t that tall, really, but he wanted to make sure you had it covered before the day of the wedding.
“Good idea.” You say with a smile, hopping up on the table to put them on, Frank kneels down to help you.
“Think you can walk around in these things?” He asks with raised brows, looking up at you. You furrow your brows at him.
“Of course I can, why wouldn’t I?” You ask, he finds your stubbornness endearing.
“Just checking, honey.” He says with a small smile, helping you down off the table. He reluctantly lets go of your hand, letting you take a lap around your apartment. He doesn’t want to assume that you won't be able to walk well in these, but, you didn’t necessarily have the best track record.
“Look, Frank, I’m doing great!” You exclaim on your second lap. And he was pleasantly surprised at how you were doing. Then you walked into your bedroom and he heard a rather loud thump.
“You ok, honey?” He shouts from the living room, walking toward your bedroom.
“Yeah, I’m good, just tripped.” You say, he finds you in a pile on the floor, taking the heels off. He takes them from you and sets them to the side, starting to help you up.
“I’m good.” You say with raised brows, your eyes trying to be tough and convincing, but he can see right through you. He stands up, putting his hands up, fake surrender, but not too far, just in case you need him.
“Ok, I’m sorry.” He says, letting you be as independent and stubborn as you wanted, for the time being.
“Don’t apologize, baby.” You say, taking his hand to support you as you stand up. You stifle a wince, practically imperceptible to anyone that wasn't him.
“Hey, you sure you’re ok?” He asks, getting more on your level, looking right in your eyes.
“Yes, I must’ve rolled my ankle when I tripped, that’s all.” You say, your tone tighter and more defensive now, you were definitely in pain.
“Did you hear a pop or a snap?” He asks, slightly more concerned now, but trying not to overwhelm you.
“Um, no. I don’t think so.” You say quickly, shaking your head. You weren’t putting weight on your foot, just trying to make it look like you were.
“Honey, why’re you lying to me?” He asks, your shoulders stiffen slightly, you know you’re caught now.
“I-I’m not lying, I’m just, I’m telling you it’s not a big deal.” You say, looking at the ground.
“Hey,” He says softly, lifting your head up so you're looking at him, his thumb brushing along your chin, “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, it seems like you’re in pain, and I want to help you, ok?” He says patiently, you lean more into him, he bears your weight happily
“I know, I know.” You say with a nod, “Maybe I heard a snap, I’m not sure.” You say with a nod, your tone a little more quiet now. He helps you onto your bed.
“Let me see, I got you.” He mutters out, looking at your face carefully. He sits next to you and carefully lifts your ankle into his lap. Your face red and avoiding his gaze.
“Honey, it’s ok to need help, ok?” He says softly, you take a breath and nod. You wince as he touches your ankle.
“I know, I’m sorry. I think you probably sprained it. We should go to urgent care.” He says with raised brows. You rub your temple and exhale.
“Are you sure?” You ask, biting your lip, wincing again as he moves your leg.
“Yes, they’ll give you a brace and you can walk on it right after. We can buy you new flats for the wedding.” He adds with a small smile, tilting your chin up so you look at him.
“You don’t think I’m clutz, right?” You ask with raised brows. He furrows his brows and shakes his head.
“No, stuff like this happens.” He says, kissing your temple, squeezing your shoulder, “Will you let me take you to urgent care?” He asks, bringing you in closer to him in a tight, half embrace.
“Guess so.” You say, smiling against him. He lifts you up, bridal style, you start to protest, but he doesn't let you.
“Frank, you are being ridiculous.” You say, though you were smiling pretty widely.
“I’m not being ridiculous, I just don’t want you to walk on your foot. I’ve got you, you know that, right?” He asks, opening the door with his elbow.
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Frank was a perceptive guy, especially after being in therapy and rehab. He noticed things about you that he wasn't even sure you had noticed yourself. It worried him to death.
Whenever you got hurt or tripped, were struggling with something, whatever it happened to be, you had trouble with it. You lied, hid, underscored, anything to make him not worry, which just made him more worried. He knew it wasn’t personal, but it did hurt him to see you care so little about yourself.
He tried to be gentle, patient, understanding, letting you be you whenever you got hurt.
He drew the line when you were bleeding at work and hiding it.
He was on his way to a patient room, you passed him. He smiled, you smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You walked away quickly to the bathroom, slightly cradling your left arm.
Frank followed you into the women’s restroom, he did not care who saw.
When he entered he saw you wincing and putting a paper towel to your arm, blood seeping through it.
“Hey, what’s going on?” He says with deep concern, rushing towards you. The pain in your eyes gets replaced with a slightly confused and bewildered look.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” You ask with furrowed brows, looking around to see if anyone else was in the restroom.
“I knew something was up with you. What happened?” He asks, getting a new paper towel and applying pressure. You yelp slightly and shake your head. His eyes refuse to leave yours, even when you try to avoid his gaze.
“I just need to staunch the blood and bandage it, really it’s fine.” You say, deflecting, per usual. He takes the paper towel away to reveal a rather large gash in your forearm. You hiss a little through your teeth as the air hits it.
“Honey, this needs stitches.” Frank says, forcing himself to stay calm. He loves you so much, it takes over his entire body and mind, something he never thought he was capable of until he met you; but right now, because of how much he loves you he wanted to yell and scream and beg you to care about yourself for once in your damn life. He saves that for later though, right now, you were bleeding in front of him and insisting you were fine.
“A-are you sure? I really didn’t mean for this to happen and I don’t-” You start to ramble, your tone nervous and embarrassed, just like every other time. Frank interrupts you.
“Do not, I am begging you, do not hide from me. For once in your life, let me in and let me help, got it?” He says with a wildly serious tone, because you did not have a choice, frankly. You looked at him, a little taken aback by his tone, but you nodded slowly, knowing you had to listen.
“Thank you, now, how did this happen?” He asks, the concern back in his voice. You blink a few times, trying to come up with the words to explain it.
“Well, um, I was stupid, and I fucked up and-” You start, and he interrupts you again.
“Try to be less self deprecating, hm?” He says, with raised brows, grabbing your chin, meeting his eyes to yours, “I’m sure it was neither of those things.” He says, his voice a little bit softer. Someone walked into the bathroom, you both looked at her with wide eyes, and she walked right back out.
“McKay needed a scalpel from the suture cart,” You start, he grabs a new paper towel, readjusting pressure, you wince again, “It all happened very fast, but pretty much I slipped and it ripped through the plastic and through my arm.” You say, he looks at you with wide eyes. Not saying anything, yet, but you both knew it was coming.
“Ok, we’re telling Dana. And we’re getting you set up in a room so I can stitch it up.” He says, simple and finite as that. You start to protest and he gives you a look, telling you not to push it, you don’t.
“Dana, what’s open? Poor scalpel packaging has taken its toll.” Frank says, Dana’s brows instantly furrow, inspecting your injury.
“My goodness, sweetheart. That had to hurt, central nine is open if you just need to suture it up.” Dana says, giving you a sympathetic look, patting your arm above the cut, you give her a tight smile. Frank guides you over to the room. He gently helps you onto the bed, getting everything set up for the sutures. He was quiet, focused, too quiet.
“You’re mad.” You say bluntly, watching him get a syringe with lido and epi. He takes in a heavy breath in and exhales it.
“I'm not mad.” He starts, pausing slightly between words, “I am frustrated that you constantly undermine and hide your own injuries. You were going to bandage this and tell everyone not to worry. You could’ve bled out, y’know.” He says, you know you deserved this lecture, but it was hard, hearing him so frustrated.
“I-I do know that, I just-” You say, he interrupts you again.
“I’m starting to feel like you don’t know the gravity of your situations sometimes.” He says, dropping everything, sitting on the stool and rolling towards you, his hand resting on your leg. His touch is so gentle you know he’s not really mad. “You, you hiding this stuff from me, I know deep down you don’t want me to worry or whatever, it just makes it worse.” He says seriously, rubbing at his brow.
“I love you, and I need you to let me.” He says, taking the hand of your uninjured arm. You take a shaky breath, blinking, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears there.
“I’m sorry, you’re right.” You start, closing your eyes and nodding. Frank notices the blood continuing to seep through the bandage, and continues setting up as you talk, not before giving your hand one last squeeze.
“I don’t like this kind of attention on me, and I hate people worrying about me. I, I never really learned how to ask for help, so, I don’t.” You say, tears stinging your eyes. Frank’s heart breaks slightly at your admission.
“Well, let me teach you, please?” He says softly, you take in another shaky breath and nod. His shoulders relax slightly as you do.
“Ok, but I gotta start on these stitches first. You’re gonna feel a pinprick and some burning, ok?” He says with raised brows, his tone extremely patient. You nod, sniffling slightly. He injects the lidocaine into either side of the cut, focusing silently as he gets the stitches started. A couple of bites in, he starts talking again.
“You ask me for help when you can’t reach your favorite water bottle off the top shelf,” He says quietly, you can tell he’s going somewhere, so you don’t say anything yet, “and you ask me for help with difficult patients, you ask me for help all the time, except when you’re hurt.” He says, taking a pause to look at you now, “this is no less different than asking for help those times.” He says assuredly, you nod, taking in his words.
“I know, and I know it’s silly, just, admitting that I’m clumsy is, embarrassing.” You say, he shakes his head at your words.
“I was always taught you never asked for help with big things like that, that you just dealt with it and didn’t bother anyone else.” You continue, he hates whoever put that thought into your head.
“Well there is nothing to be embarrassed about. I like that you’re clumsy, it’s endearing.” He says, looking at you with a small smirk, you can’t help but return the smile.
“You are the first person to ever say anything like that to me.” You say quietly, he takes a breath in and meets your eyes for a moment before focusing back on your arm.
“I’m sorry that I’m the first. And I’m sorry everyone before me failed you like that.” He says, you had never really thought about it like that, but when he puts it into perspective, he was absolutely right.
“I’m not sorry you’re the first.” You say with the slightest smile, “you're perfect for the job.” You finish, you see the slightest flush on his cheeks.
“So the next time something happens, you’ll ask for help?” He asks with raised brows, tying the last suture. You nod slightly.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” He says, leaning over and kissing you.
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
You were washing dishes that hadn’t made it into the dishwasher. Stupidly putting your hand into the tub of soapy water, a knife sliced your palm open. You yelped out slightly, inspecting the wound.
“Something happen?” Frank asked, he was on his way to help out when he heard you. You thought about it for a second, and seceded, nodding and showing him your hand.
“I’m an idiot.” You say, explaining your situation. He got a clean towel and put pressure on it. Sitting you down at the table to inspect the wound further.
“You are not an idiot, I told you, it’s endearing.” He says with a small smirk.
“Keep pressure on that, nothing dermabond can’t fix.” He says, going up to get it.
“And hey,” He says, turning around before getting too far, “I’m proud of you, for asking for help.” He says, you smile, and can’t help but blush slightly at the praise.
You found that asking for help wasn’t all that bad.
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
A/N: hope you guys enjoyed! my requests are still open xx
A/N: Another little fluff fic while i work on some other requests and such! my requests are open still!
Summary: Frank starts to notice that you may have difficulty seeing things, but you were not going to admit that easily.
CW: probably medical inaccuracies ???
Word Count: 2.3k
Enjoy!
You did not need glasses.
Perfect 20/20 vision.
At least that’s what you told yourself.
And then Frank Langdon came along and ruined all of that denial you were in.
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
He first noticed at work. Only a month or so into your relationship. He caught you across the Pitt looking at a patients chart on your tablet, squinting.
He didn’t say anything right then, he was getting dragged onto a case, but he made a mental note to bring it up the next time you two were alone.
The perfect opportunity came up for him to see more close up if something was wrong with your vision. He wasn’t going to mention anything outright yet, not unless you said something, but he would definitely keep tabs on it.
He was driving you both back to his place after shift, it was dark out, and seeing anything wrong with you instantly makes his worry spike.
“Hey babe,” he says, getting your attention, quickly glancing over at you as he reverses the car out of the lot, “can you look up directions to the Chinese place that we like, I already ordered ahead.” He says, watching as you unlock his phone. Glancing over at you every few seconds. He doesn’t really need directions, but he did want to see what you looked like trying to read on his phone. The next time he glanced over at you, his phone was pretty close to your face, and you were definitely squinting.
“You find it ok?” He asks, going back to the road. A few seconds later the directions pop up on his car's screen. It took you longer than it should’ve, but he had already decided he wasn't going to mention it unless you brought it up, or if it worsened. So, he’d monitor it, and worry silently.
“Yeah, sorry, your phone is just bright. Makes it hard to see.” You say with a smile, putting the phone in the cup holder. He snakes his hand over to rest on your thigh, squeezing gently. Taking a breath in and exhaling, letting his worry about your vision go, for now.
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
Frank tried to let his worries go, but when you continued to squint or pull things closer to your face, it was hard to. Now that he had noticed it once, he couldn't stop noticing it; but, you still hadn't said anything, so he kept his mouth shut.
He didn’t even know yet if you were hiding the vision thing from everyone, or if you yourself had barely registered it yet. He needed to find out though, before his worry overtook him.
“Hey, any good ones up here?” He asks you, looking up at the board. He didn’t really cherry pick cases anymore, most of the time. Couldn’t afford to these days, but he did want to see if you could actually read the board, or if you were just taking what patients you were told to.
“Uhhh, yea.” You say with a nod, looking up at the board yourself, “Central seven has a uhhh…” You pause, squinting at the board, Frank’s brows furrow instantly.
“Abdominal pain.” Frank finishes for you, looking at you with raised brows, “You alright?” He asks quietly, just between the two of you, wondering if now he could get you to admit you can’t see very well.
“I’m good, brain’s just a little, fuzzy today.” You say with a nod, giving him a small, reassuring smile. Which did make him melt slightly, even if they were at work. He didn’t love the descriptor you had used though, fuzzy. He’d wear you down eventually, but for now, he grabbed a tablet, kissed your temple, and walked into central seven.
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
Frank’s apprehension was growing and growing every day. It was evident you were struggling, yet still refused to admit it or ask for help. He couldn't say he blamed you, though. It was the classic, ‘doctor heal thyself’ thing. And sure, you seemed to be getting by, but that didn’t mean Frank wasn’t worried to death every time he saw you squint.
Frank thought maybe it was time to show you you weren't alone.
It was a Saturday, and miraculously, you were both off. You had been helping Frank clean out a storage unit he had put a lot of his old things in when he helped his parents move. He was sick of paying for it, but was too scared to look through it too much, in fear of hurting his back again. You excitedly volunteered, eager to look through his past.
“Hey, look at these.” Frank says, getting your attention, when you turn to him, he’s wearing a pair of wire frame glasses. Your jaw dropped a little, he looked good.
“You, wore glasses?” You ask in somewhat disbelief. Going up to him and taking the glasses off his face, inspecting them slightly.
“Up until like, my fourth year of med school, on and off, yeah.” He says with a nod and raised brows. All the pictures he’d shown you before, he must've been wearing contacts.
“And why on Earth did you stop?” You ask with a smile, he laughs a little and shakes his head.
“I got Lasik.” He answers with shrugged shoulders. This answer almost disappoints you.
“You, Frank Langdon, willingly got eye surgery?” You ask with furrowed, pretty surprised he would do something like that. You grab his face and bring him closer to your level, closer to your eyes so you could see him more clearly, though you wouldn’t admit that yet. Inspecting his face as he laughs.
“There’s no visible difference, babe.” He says amusedly, “But yeah, I thought it was a smart move at the time.” He says, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him.
“At the time?” You ask, your head cocking to the side a bit.
“Eh, I don't know. These glasses are pretty cool.” He says with raised brows, holding the glasses up again.
“You do look pretty sexy in them.” You tease, holding them up to his face again as you look at him with them on. He laughs and blushes faintly at that remark.
“Want me to bring them home?” He asks and laughs when you nod enthusiastically.
“Here, you try ‘em” He says, putting them on your face, you scrunch your nose slightly, but let him slide them onto your face, resting them on the bridge of your nose. He smiles, biting his lip.
“You look adorable.” He comments with a smile, leaning back to get a better look at you. You smile and shake your head.
“I doubt that.” You say, your nose still slightly scrunched in a way Frank loves. He furrows his brows a bit, trying to delve deeper into this glasses thing. Maybe you were afraid that glasses would change how he felt about you? Or that you thought you would look weird with them? Whatever it was, he would do anything to boost your confidence.
“Here,” He says, taking his phone out and taking a photo of you in his glasses, “See? Adorable.” He turns the phone to you, your brows furrow.
‘Well I’m glad you think so, but maybe we don’t need photo evidence?” You say, taking them off and handing them back to him, where he deposits them back in their case. Putting them in the box to take back home.
“I think you’re adorable no matter what,” He says, pulling you closer, your faces practically touching, “especially with glasses.” He adds, kissing you, letting his worry melt away for just a moment.
And he hoped that he was finally breaking you down.
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
This went on for a few weeks, and you knew he was starting to notice. You were just having a tough time admitting it, to anyone, especially yourself.
And Frank could not just stand to the side anymore.
First he cooked you dinner, something he knew you really liked and that he could execute well. Lit a few candles, put on some of your favorite music. Trying to let you know that this was a safe space for you to feel comfortable. He did feel like a bit of a try hard, but you seemed to think it was cute.
“What’s all this for, Frank?” You ask with a smile on your face, sipping your wine. He chaotically moves throughout the kitchen. Trying not to burn anything, while also chopping vegetables, and the microwave timer was going off, but he didn’t remember what it was for. You had tried to help, but he insisted you just sit and keep him company. And honestly he was scared you wouldn't be able to clearly see where you were cutting and accidentally slice a finger off.
“Can I not just want to cook dinner for you?” He asks, deflecting. He was a little nervous to bring it up to you, just because he knew you were apprehensive about the topic yourself.
“You’re frantically going around this kitchen, and you’re trying very hard to impress me, honey. Something is up.” You say with raised brows and a smile, knowing that you had caught him.
“Ok, well,” He starts with an exhale, starting to plate both of your dinners, you wait patiently for his next words. He sets your plate down in front of you and refills your wine glass, sitting down opposite of you before starting up again, “I’m kind of worried about you.” He says, taking your hand across the table. You furrow your brows and rest your chin in your hand, watching him carefully.
“What do you mean?” You ask, he rubs at his temple, watching as you take a bite before saying anything else.
“Has your vision been getting worse lately?” He asks, and you know you’ve been caught. There was no avoiding it any longer. You exhale and set your fork down. Nodding slowly before replying.
“Yeah, it has been.” You admit, you see him visibly relax as you answer.
“Honey, why haven't you said anything?” He asks, you think about your answer before speaking for a moment.
“I don’t know,” You start, shrugging your shoulders, “I don’t like change, I think I’d look weird in glasses, list goes on.” You admit, your face turning hot as you ignore his gaze.
“Baby, you’d look stunning with glasses, per usual.” He says, looking at you over his glass as he takes a sip of water, “And if you don’t like them after a while you can get contacts. But it makes me worry, seeing you squint at everything.” He says, and you know he’s right.
“Let me help you, just this once.” He says, and that’s when you fold.
“Yeah, yeah ok.” You say with a nod, seeing his small smile appear on his face, you smile too, just knowing you've made him feel worlds better.
“You did all of this,” You say, gesturing to the dining room and kitchen, “just to ask me if I needed glasses?” You ask with a smile, he grins sheepishly and nods.
“I like doing nice things for you.” He says, you lean across the table and kiss him.
“Thank you, you’re the sweetest.”
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
Frank had been very sweet about all of this. He helped you find an eye doctor you trusted, helped you schedule the appointment, and requested off so he could go with you.
“Talk me through it again.” You say, looking over at him in the car on the way to the appointment. You had never been to an eye doctor before, so you were nervous about how it all went down.
“It’s easy I promise,” He starts, going into every little detail about what the appointment would entail, “the only thing I will warn you about is they might dilate your eyes, it helps them detect disease or whatever. You’ll be a little sensitive to light and it'll make your vision blurry, but you already have that so no big change there.” He says with a small smile, squeezing your hand.
“And if they do that I’ll take you home and you can take a nap, sleep it off. God knows you deserve the rest.” He says, pulling into the parking lot.
You check in and the receptionist tells you and Frank to start looking at frames you might like. To your surprise, you didn’t hate most of them. And Frank thought you were utterly adorable trying on all different types of glasses. You settled on a pair of wire frames like the ones Frank had when he was younger, and you felt a lot better about the whole thing, especially since Frank was by your side.
The eye doctor told you you were nearsighted with a slight astigmatism, no surprise there. The exam went just as Frank had described, and you couldn’t believe you had put off something so incredibly easy for so long.
“I’m proud of you, my brave girl.” Frank says, adjusting your sunglasses over your face as you walk out into the bright daylight, making your dilated eyes wince. Frank instantly walks in front of you, blocking the sun from your view.
“I’m not that brave.” You mumble out, he opens your car door for you and pulls down the sun visor to protect your eyes.
“You’re pretty brave to me, and I’m usually right when it comes to that stuff.” He teases, pulling out of the parking lot.
“And, you’re gonna be even hotter with your new glasses.” He remarks, you lean your head back against the headrest and smile a little.
“You really think so?” You ask, he doesn’t hesitate to respond.
summary — how obvious does frank langdon have to be for you to realize his feelings for you?
wc — 1.9k
content — fluff, no use of y/n, no descriptions of reader's physical appearence, no warnings other than light cursing, oblivious!reader, langdon's kinda dorky, reader works at the pitt
a/n: this is shorttt and i wasn't sure how to really end this so i might do a part 2 later! hope u guys still enjoy it!!!
you've been having a rough shift, rougher than usual. the atmosphere at PTMC felt strange and the patients you've dealt with today were crazier than usual. you could've sworn it was just sleep deprivation that made you feel like that, until javadi leaned against the desk you were currently sitting at.
"am i the only one who feels like everyone has gone crazy?"
you looked up from your screen, where you were actively charting about a patient that had shot a nail through their left hand with a nail gun. that alone felt like the appropriate response to javadi's question.
"you're not alone," you sighed, typing out a few more words into the chart. your hands felt like they were only seconds away from cramping.
"oh, thank god." she sighed out of relief. "i genuinely thought i might be having some sort of weird stroke."
"nope. but the er might be," you stated. that was your weak attempt at being humorous.
javadi's mouth twitched into a position that could almost mirror a smile if she wasn't absolutely exhausted. "you can say that again."
"just a few hours left. we can do this," you tried cheering her up, knowing that you didn't even believe in that statement yourself. five more minutes and you might just collapse on the floor.
right then, the overly enthusiastic version of frank langdon, that you rarely saw ever, appeared next to the both of you. "if you keep chit-chatting like this, robby might just kill you."
"hello to you too," you said, your entire body fighting a battle against sleep.
"jesus. you look like the epitome of death," he declared when he saw just how terrible you looked at the moment. you could've sworn you saw concern appear on his face. but again, that could've just been sleep deprivation tricking your mind into believing something that wasn't true at all.
"how are you so… energetic right now?" javadi asked the question both of you were wondering.
"what? this shift has been great!"
"of course you'd think that," you commented, forcing a sarcastic smile on your face.
he stared at you like what you just said was utterly ridiculous and ultimately crazy. "what?"
"nothing," you rolled your eyes. or at least you think you did. your body was starting to become so numb to the point that you weren't even sure if your body was operating properly.
"hey, if you have that much energy, you can always just take my patients," javadi said to him.
just as langdon was about to utter a sarcastic response, dana rushed over to the three of you, all gathered around the same desk.
"langdon, mel's looking for you. she's in central nine."
"oh, okay. i'll be there," he said again with way too much enthusiastic energy for both you and javadi.
dana's eyes wandered from your face to javadi's. "you two don't get paid for sitting around and talking shit, now do you?" she said. you'd almost think she was being judgemental if you didn't know better.
"yes, ma'am," you responded, sarcasm slipping into your tone. your gaze fell on langdon who was still leaning against the desk, rocking on his heels.
"you can go, you know."
"and leave you here? c'mon, aren't you fascinated to know what case mel needs help with?" he was now the one trying to cheer you up. javadi's whole presence shifted at his words, from exhaustion to curiosity.
"not really."
"you're so boring."
"mhm," you hummed. "now scram, boy."
he just huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. he did end up departing, but not without giving you a playful pat on the shoulder. you fought the smile that tried to appear on your face at that, but you could feel just how your heart slightly fluttered.
"now what was that?" javadi said, her eyebrows raised. her whole exhausted demeanour was now completely gone. the tea was apparently more important.
"what?" you feigned.
"i mean, he clearly wanted you to come with him."
"nope," you physically forced yourself to look back at the chart, only to notice that the screen had already returned back to the original desktop.
"yes!" she insisted.
you just ignored her words, signing back into the computer. you could hear her sigh, but she took that as a sign that you weren't willing to talk about it.
the shift was coming to an end, you only had one patient to treat before you could hand out all of your responsibilities to the night shift.
you were currently picking out a specific syringe from the supply room, having to lean on your tippy toes as you tried to reach for it from the top shelf.
that was when langdon opened the door with too much force which startled you to the point that you could've sworn you were having a heart attack. "jesus fucking christ!" you almost lost your balance, having to grab the shelf in front of you.
"sorry! sorry- i didn't know anyone was here," he immediately apologized, lowering his voice.
"you're fine, just… christ." you placed your hand on your chest, feeling your fastened heartbeat. the door closed behind him and the air started to feel warmer from both of your bodies being cramped in the same room.
you tried to reach for the syringe, cursing to yourself. i mean, god, why would they put such an important item so high up? what was the logic behind that exactly? to have every nurse and doctor in the world struggling, apparently.
"you need help with that?" he asked. he tried to bit back the teasing smile that was fighting to emerge on his lips.
you would've loved to refuse the offer, but you seriously needed the syringe, it was your one way ticket home. so, you let out a sigh loud enough to make sure he heard your frustration and muttered, "fine."
then he leaned closer than you expected him to, reaching out for the syringe. his scrub top was itching way too high that you could see the waistband of his boxers. you had to physically force yourself to look away.
after he also struggled to reach the item, he finally caught it with his fingertips. "yes, baby!" he cheered to himself.
with your already red cheeks, the smile that had been forced on your face from his cheer was making you look way too smitten. you bit your cheek to try to suppress it before he could notice.
he handed you the syringe, grinning like a man who've just won the olympics. "see? i've still got it."
you tried to hide your flustered expression with sarcasm, something that came easy to you. "what a gentleman."
"uh huh, you're welcome."
"now, what did you need?"
"well," he cleared his throat. "you remember when i said that i didn't know you were here?"
"yeah?"
"well, that was a lie. i knew you were here. i specifically came here looking for you." he scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"oh," you uttered, your eyebrows now raised. "what for?"
"i know you're exhausted," he started.
"you can say that again," you joked. though, your body had already forgotten sleep ever since his shirt just happened to ride up right in front of you.
"-but i have a very good case for you!" he said with too much enthusiasm.
"no," you immediately shut him down. "i'm so close to finishing my shift."
"please." he held his hands against each other, practically pleading. "it'd be a great teaching case. this is still a teaching hospital, right?"
god, why was he being so persistent? and why was it making your cheeks warmer than they already were?
"i promise it won't take long."
"if i say yes, you owe me," you pointed at his chest with your index finger.
"yes, anything!" he released his hands from each other, now holding them in the air.
"fine," you surrendered. "but- i need to go see my patient first."
"yes, of course. it's not critical or anything."
"okay…"
the both of you continued to stand there for a second too long. "i'll just-" he moved to the door.
"yup."
"come find me in north 2," he said, opening the door.
"okay." and that was when he slipped out of the room, letting the door close behind him.
you let out a deep breath out, one you didn't even know you were holding in the first place. what the fuck was going on today?
you did go see langdon's patient, which happened to not be an actual teaching case, but an adult dressed as a disney princess for a kid's birthday party. langdon found it hilarious enough for him to show it to you and you would've called it a waste of time if you also didn't find it sort of funny. and it's not like you'd complain about getting to spend more time with him.
but now you were once again charting, the endless cycle of being a resident. but it was your last patient's chart and then you were officially free from the ED, so you pushed through it.
"oh my god, when is he going to stop staring at you?" you heard trinity say under her breath.
when you raised your eyes from the computer screen to trinity, she was already staring at you.
"what?"
"langdon," she pointed with her chin to the right.
when your eyes drifted to the direction she was pointing to, your eyes locked with the exact suspect.
you quickly averted your gaze back to your computer screen, feeling your cheeks once again getting warmer for what was probably the tenth time today.
"i don't know why he's doing that."
you could hear trinity groan. you were sure if you looked at her right now, she'd also be rolling her eyes. "yes you do."
you shut the chart you were actively working on and swiftly moved closer to trinity, leaning against her desk. "i swear to god, he's been acting so weird today."
"today?" she mocked.
you ignored her comment and kept explaining yourself, "yeah, like… he keeps asking for me to come work with him on cases and-"
trinity cut you off with your name. "you seriously haven't noticed?"
"what?"
"oh my god," she said, clearly irritated by how oblivious you could be sometimes. well, more often than just sometimes.
"you haven't noticed how everytime you walk into a room he crosses his arms, just to show off? or- or how he always gives you space when working on a patient, like he's memorizing where you like to stand.
she started to list the idiotic things langdon does for you, something she found very aggravating. "he's also always wherever you are. i mean, god, he's practically like a dog when it comes to you."
with each thing she let roll from the tip of her tongue, you started to realize exactly what trinity meant. like finding a key to a locked door. you finally started to uncover just what was behind it.
"ask him for your coffee order and he probably has it memorized!"
you let your gaze wander back to him while listening to trinity's words. he was at the exact spot your eyes had found him in before and, of course, his eyes were still on you.
"told you," she just retorted, giving you a disbelieving side eye and turned back to her screen.
but you couldn't help the smile that was now so clear on your face. because she was right. and hearing those words from trinity might've just been the best thing ever.
❀ likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated ❀ you can find my masterlist here ❀
SUMMARY: Dealing with the fallout of a mass casualty is intense enough as it is. But, when a disgruntled patient fires at you, the department has to fight desperately to keep you alive even in the midst of chaos.
NOTES: Pittfest-based, accidental shooting, GSW and blood, medical settings (ICU), angst, established relationship.
REQUESTED BY: @maxinebxrnes
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The sirens outside the Pitt had long since ceased to sound like individual vehicles, blending instead into a continuous, howling wall of noise that vibrated through the very soles of your sneakers. It was just past seven in the evening, but the concept of time had completely fractured three hours earlier when the first alerts of a mass shooting at Pittfest started flashing across the emergency department monitors.
The hospital wasn't just overrun. It was drowning in a deluge of torn flesh, muddy festival gear, and the raw, piercing panic of the young and the terrified.
You had been moving on pure adrenaline, your nursing scrubs already stained with a patchwork of fluids from half a dozen different patients, your hands working in a flawless, unspoken synchronicity with Frank. That was the thing about the two of you, even in the middle of a literal war zone, with the entire department tearing itself apart at the seams, Frank Langdon was your anchor. An established rhythm existed between you.
Right now, that rhythm was being tested to its absolute limit on a patient crammed into the makeshift overflow area near the ambulance bay. The man on the gurney was large, aggressive, and reeked of cheap bourbon and woodsmoke, his upper thigh torn open by a jagged piece of shrapnel or a ricochet from the festival grounds. He was thrashing, his eyes rolling back in his head as he roared obscenities, fighting the very hands trying to save his life.
Frank was leaning over him, his broad shoulders tensed as he applied heavy, two-handed pressure to the femoral artery, his face a mask of fierce, locked-in concentration. You were positioned just opposite him, your fingers deftly trying to establish a secondary IV in the man’s uninjured arm while the chaos of the ER swirled madly around you.
Just a few feet away, Dr. Abbot was shouting orders, his voice cracked with exhaustion as he directed a trauma team toward a crashing teenager. Dana was somewhere down the corridor, her authoritative tone echoing as she managed the triage nightmare at the front doors. Everyone was stretched to their absolute breaking point, operating on instinct and sheer willpower.
"I need that line running now!" Frank barked, not out of anger toward you, but to be heard over the deafening noise of a nearby heart monitor screaming and the desperate sobbing of a girl two bays down. "He's losing his pressure. We don't have time for him to be fighting us."
You nodded quickly, your voice calm and steady as you spoke to the thrashing man. You told him he was safe, told him that he was at the hospital and that Frank was going to fix his leg, but the words didn't seem to penetrate the thick fog of his intoxication and terror. The man gave a sudden, violent heave, his free arm flailing out wildly. His fingers clawed frantically at the heavy tactical waistband of his cargo trousers, diving beneath the blood-stained fabric of his shirt.
It happened in a terrifying, fragmented blur that defied the frantic speed of the room. You saw the dark glint of steel before your brain fully processed what it was, a compact handgun snagging on his belt as he yanked it free in a blind, paranoid reflex.
"Gun! He’s got a gun!" someone screamed from the corridor. It sounded like Robby, his voice cracking with a raw, primal panic that instantly silenced the immediate vicinity.
Time seemed to violently liquefy. Frank’s eyes widened, a sudden, horrifying comprehension dawning on his features as he instantly let go of the wound, lunging across the gurney in a desperate, instinctive attempt to smother the weapon or shield you. The patient fired blindly into the air, the deafening roar of the gunshot exploding inside the enclosed space, shattering a nearby fluorescent light fixture in a shower of sparks and white dust.
From down the hall, the immediate, instinctual response was instantaneous; voices shouted to get down, and a chorus of bodies hit the linoleum floor as medical staff and ambulatory patients dropped to seek whatever cover the flimsy privacy curtains and stainless-steel carts could provide.
But the man’s wrist snapped sideways as he recoiled, the weapon discharging a second time before Frank could pin his arm to the mattress.
There was no grand explosion of pain, just a sudden, violent impact against your ribs that felt like being struck full-force by a swinging baseball bat, knocking the breath entirely out of your lungs. The momentum threw you backward, your feet tangling in the stool behind you, and you went down hard against the cold, hard floor, the bag of saline you had been holding bursting against the metal leg of the gurney.
For a second, the world went completely silent, the ringing in your ears drowning out the screams, the shouting, and the heavy thud of security guards finally tackling the gunman to the ground just inches away from where you lay. You stared up at the cracked ceiling tiles, wondering vaguely why the air felt so thick, why it was suddenly so incredibly difficult to draw a single breath.
Then the silence shattered, and the world rushed back in with a terrifying, agonizing roar. Frank was on his knees beside you before you could even register that you were on the floor, his hands trembling in a way you had never seen before as they hovered over your chest. His face was entirely drained of colour, his lips parted in a silent gasp of horror that quickly transformed into a frantic, breathless plea. "No, no, no, please, God, no," he muttered, his voice stripped of all its usual authority, sounding entirely small and broken.
His palms came down hard against the left side of your upper abdomen, just beneath your ribs, and the sudden, searing agony that ripped through your torso made your back arch off the floor, a choked, ragged scream tearing from your throat. The fabric of your scrubs was already turning a deep, heavy crimson, the warmth of your own blood soaking through his fingers as he pressed down with everything he had.
The immediate area exploded into a frenzied, chaotic scrum of activity, but this time, the emergency was you. Robby was there in an instant, his face pale and eyes wide with shock as he dropped to his knees on your other side, "I’ve got the back, Frank, I’ve got the exit wound, keep pressing!" Robby yelled, his voice shaking as he tried to stabilize your writhing frame.
Jack appeared above you, his authoritative calm momentarily cracking as he took in the sight of one of his own nurses bleeding out on the floor. "Get a gurney over here now! Someone get me a chest tube tray and two units of O-negative!" Jack roared, his commands snapping the stunned onlookers into motion.
Samira was right behind him, her hands steady despite the visible tremor in her jaw as she ripped open a pack of trauma dressings, quickly tucking them under Frank’s straining hands. Dana was on the radio, her voice cutting through the hospital page with a sharp, trembling urgency, calling for an immediate surgical consult and clearing a path straight to the operating theatres.
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet, shallow gasp and the sound of it seemed to fracture something deep within him. "Stay with me, do you hear me? Look at me, sweetheart," he begged, leaning down so close that his sweat-dampened hair brushed against your forehead. His eyes were wild, swimming with tears that he refused to let fall. "Don't you dare close your eyes. You breathe for me, come on, just keep breathing."
The vulnerability in his voice was terrifying; this was a man who stared down death every single day without flinching, but looking at you, he looked utterly defeated, stripped entirely of his medical armor.
With a coordinated heave, Frank, Robby, and Jack lifted you off the blood-slicked floor and onto a clearing gurney, the sudden movement causing the agony in your chest to flare into a blinding, white-hot sheet of pain that threatened to turn the world completely black.
You gasped, your fingers clawing blindly at the air, and Frank instantly caught your hand in his own, his grip incredibly tight, almost crushing, yet it was the most comforting thing you had ever felt. He didn't let go, not even as Jack began cutting away the remnants of your ruined scrubs, exposing the neat, horrific puncture wound where the bullet had torn through your muscle and bone.
“Shit, this doesn’t sound good," Jack muttered, his stethoscope pressed firmly against your skin, his expression grim. "Dr. Mohan, give me that scalpel, we need to drop a tube now before they arrest."
"Frank," you whimpered, the word barely a whisper, your vision beginning to tunnel, the bright fluorescent lights of the ER fading into a hazy, shimmering blur.
"I'm right here, I’m not leaving you, I swear to God I’m right here," Frank cried, his voice breaking completely as he used his free hand to wipe the blood from your lip, his thumb caressing your cheek. He looked up at Jack, his eyes blazing with a mixture of terror and fury. "Do it fast, Jack, please, just do it fast."
You felt the sharp, sudden sting of the local anesthetic, followed almost immediately by the heavy, suffocating pressure of the chest tube being inserted between your ribs. It was an invasive, brutal sensation, a choked sob tearing from your throat as you tried to pull away from the pain.
Frank held you steady, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders to keep you pinned to the mattress, his face pressed against the side of your neck as he whispered frantic, broken promises into your skin. "You're okay, you're doing so well, just hold onto me, sweetheart. I've got you."
As the tube found its mark, a dark, heavy rush of blood and trapped air hissed into the collection chamber, and suddenly, a massive, cooling relief washed through your lungs. You could breathe again, the suffocating weight lifted from your chest, even as the profound exhaustion of blood loss began to pull you down into the dark.
The gurney was suddenly in motion, rattling violently as it was pushed out of the trauma bay and down the long corridor toward the elevators. Dana was there at the doors, holding them open, her face pale as she reached out to briefly touch your leg, her voice fierce as she looked at the surgical team waiting for you. "Take care of them," she ordered, her tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
Frank walked alongside the moving bed, his hand still locked in yours, his eyes on you, his thumb tracing endless, soothing circles against the back of your hand.
When they finally reached the double doors of the surgical suite, the anesthesia resident stepped in front of him, gently but firmly placing a hand on Frank's chest. "Frank, you need to stay here. We've got them, we're going to take care of them, I promise."
Frank stopped, his sneakers skidding slightly on the polished floor, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to push past the man. He looked down at you, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a profound, terrifying helplessness, his grip loosening only when the momentum of the gurney forced your fingers to slide apart.
"I'll be right here," he called out, his voice echoing down the sterile hallway as the heavy doors began to swing shut, separating you from his sight. "Right here when you wake up. I love you, do you hear me? I love you!"
As the darkness finally took you, the smell of antiseptic and the bright, shadowless lights of the operating room fading into nothingness, the last thing you felt was the lingering warmth of his hand against your skin, and the steady, unbreakable promise of his voice.
Everything felt incredibly heavy, as though your limbs had been poured full of wet sand, and your throat was dry and parched, tasting of stale plastic from the oxygen cannula resting beneath your nose. For a long moment, you simply drifted in that twilight space, aware of a dull, throbbing ache radiating across the entire left side of your chest, a deep-seated soreness that flared into a sharp pinch every time you tried to take a deep breath.
But beneath that pain, and the overwhelming exhaustion pulling at your eyelids, there was a profound, grounding warmth enveloping your right hand.
Slowly, with an effort that felt almost monumental, you forced your eyes open. The harsh, chaotic glare of the emergency department was gone, replaced by the soft, dimmed shadows of a private recovery room in the intensive care unit. The blinds were drawn against the morning light, casting long, quiet bars of grey across the linoleum floor. And sitting right beside your mattress, his frame uncomfortably curled into a stiff hospital armchair, was Frank.
He looked entirely shattered. He was still wearing his scrub trousers, though he had swapped his blood-stained top for a faded, oversized grey university sweatshirt that looked as though it had been pulled from the bottom of his locker. His elbows were resting on the edge of your mattress, his face buried in the crook of his arm, his fingers tightly, desperately interlaced with yours.
As you shifted your weight slightly, trying to ease the pressure on your chest tube site, a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips. The sound was barely audible, but it acted like an electric shock to Frank. His head snapped up instantly, his eyes bloodshot, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath them. For a fraction of a second, his expression was blank with a raw, lingering terror, but as his gaze focused on your open eyes, his face cracked, a look of profound, overwhelming relief washing over his features.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice incredibly thick and hoarse, rough from hours of silence and unshed tears. He shifted instantly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your chest ache for reasons completely unrelated to the bullet wound. "Hey, beautiful. Don't try to move too much, alright? You're okay. You're safe."
"Frank," you croaked, the word catching in your throat, sounding small and entirely broken.
"I'm here. I'm right here," he murmured, his touch lingering against your skin as if he needed the physical contact to completely convince himself that you were truly alive. He reached for a small plastic cup on the bedside table, dipping a pink foam swab into some ice water before gently pressing it against your cracked lips. "Just a little bit, sweetheart. Your throat's going to be sore from the ventilator, just let it sit there."
The cool moisture was an absolute blessing, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the relief wash over you. When you opened them again, you looked down at the heavy, white dressings taping the chest tube firmly to your ribs. The memory of the gunshot, the sudden, violent impact, and the terrifying sight of Frank kneeling over you in a pool of your own blood came rushing back with a vividness that caused your heart rate to spike on the monitor.
Frank noticed the rhythmic acceleration of the beeping instantly. "Hey, look at me, honey," he commanded softly, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "The guy's gone. Security took him down, police have him. The hospital is secure. You are out of danger, I promise you."
"You... you look terrible," you managed to whisper, a faint, weak attempt at a smile touching the corners of your lips.
A ragged, wet laugh spilled from his chest, his shoulders dropping as he leaned his forehead gently against your shoulder, his breathing heavy and uneven. "I have never been so terrified in my entire life," he confessed into the fabric of your hospital gown, his voice trembling in a way that made your throat tighten. "I’ve seen a lot of things in that department. A lot of blood, a lot of close calls. But when you went down... when I saw what that bastard did... I froze. My brain just stopped working because the only thing that mattered was that it was you."
You squeezed his hand back with what little strength you had, your heart swelling at the raw vulnerability in his tone. "You didn't freeze," you murmured softly. "You caught me. You held me."
"Because I couldn't let you go," he said, pulling back to look down at you, a single tear finally escaping and tracking down the rugged line of his jaw. "Robby, Jack, Samira... they all practically had to drag me out of the operating theatre doors. Dana sat with me in the hallway for four hours while you were under. She kept telling me to go home, to wash the blood off my clothes, but I couldn't leave this building knowing you were in there. Collins kept checking the surgical log every fifteen minutes just to give me updates. Everyone's been by, sweetheart. They’re all terrified for you, but they're all waiting to see you."
"Tell them thank you," you whispered, the exhaustion beginning to pull at your consciousness again, your eyelids growing heavier by the second as the hospital pain medication kept you drifting.
"I will. I'll tell them all," Frank murmured. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "You just rest now. I'm not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up again, and I’ll be here when we finally get to go home. I love you so much."
As the darkness drifted back in to claim you, softer this time, devoid of the terror and the pain of the ER, you let yourself sink into the mattress, completely enveloped by the steady, protective warmth of his presence and the quiet, reassuring beat of his heart right beside you.
A/N: My first fic post smau! Super excited about this one, I think its pretty cute if I do say so myself. I was also going to wait way longer to post this but I got way too excited lol.
Summary: To deal with his divorce, Frank gets a cat from the local shelter. Unbeknownst to him, his new girlfriend is allergic. Pure fluff, probably medical inaccuracies
Word Count: 2k
When Frank Langdon got divorced from his wife, he moved into a new apartment, ready to start fresh.
He found that it was incredibly lonely.
So, he bought a cat. Not a dog, like he had almost mistakenly gotten for Abby before he went to rehab. He worked too much to take care of a dog. So he settled for a cat. A cute, tortoiseshell cat from the local shelter named Corey.
She became the perfect companion to his new life, and he grew quite fond of her.
Then, some months later, he met you. An ICU nurse, when you were floated down to the ER for a shift, whom he had instantly found almost tantalizingly perfect. His therapist had told him it was good to not hole himself up after his divorce, to force himself to get out in the world. No matter how uncomfortable that might be. So, he asked for your number, and you obviously gave it to him. You had hit it off immediately, and he had a really good feeling about you.
Unbeknownst to him, however, you were allergic to cats.
⦮ ⦯ ⟆
Frank had mentioned his cat to you a few times before inviting you over to his apartment. You have had allergies to them for as long as you can remember. But, you hadn’t been around cats in awhile, so you were thinking, praying, that it hopefully went away with age. So you didn’t mention any allergy to Frank.
It did not, you found out, go away with age.
The first time you were at his apartment, you gushed over Corey. And she loved you too, cats had a way of sniffing out an allergy and putting extra love and dander on those people. You barely paid attention to Frank as you both watched the movie he’d put on. His arm around your shoulders, and you barely even noticed. You were much too busy petting the adorable cat who had settled in your lap. Frank didn’t seem to mind the lack of attention either, he found this new bond between you and Corey very adorable.
Halfway through the movie was when your allergies caught up to you.
You sneezed and Frank blessed you quietly, watching as you carefully deposited the cat into his lap and excused yourself to the bathroom. You blew your nose violently, hoping he couldn’t hear through the door, but of course he could. You also quickly took the zyrtec you had brought in your pocket for this exact situation, praying it kicked in soon as you sneezed again, and again. You washed your hands for a long time, hoping to wash all the dander off them and thinking back to if you had touched your face or not. Your eyes looked ok, so you were at least marked safe from that. You headed back out to the living room, taking up your seat again. Frank looks over at you with furrowed brows.
“What?” You ask, matching his expression. You already knew your cover was blown, you sounded congested as hell.
“Are you alright?” He asks, scooting closer to you, his eyes moving all over your face, studying you for anything off. You exhale and nod in assurance before speaking again.
“I’m fine, really,” You start, hoping you aren’t scaring him off, you had only been together a few weeks at this point, “I just have a slight allergy to cats.” You admit, leaning over him to pet Corey. Her tail end sticking up slightly as you do, her paws kneading into Frank’s thigh. He furrows his brows more and cocks his head to the side.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He asks, you shake your head slightly, pushing his concern aside.
“I-” You start, but are cut off by another sneeze, you exhale in frustration, “I thought I had aged out of it, apparently not. But it’s not a big deal, I’ll probably get used to her the more I’m around.” You say, still petting her, hoping you’ll get more opportunity soon to be around her.
“Are you sure it’s not a big deal?” He asks with raised brows, you sniffle and nod, smiling at his concern.
“Yes, I just took an allergy pill, so it’ll hopefully kick in soon.” You say, smiling softly and leaning in closer to him. You see his shoulders relax a little bit, clearly it was important to him that you and Corey got along.
“So, you’re good to spend the night? Only if you want, of course.” He says, you smile and laugh a little, nodding and leaning in to kiss him.
“Of course I want to stay the night.” You mumble against him. His newly grown stubble scratching you slightly as your face rubs against his.
“You should keep this y’know.” You mumble out, rubbing a hand over his face, grabbing his chin. You see his face go a faint pink, making you smile even more.
“You think so?” He asks with raised brows, you smile and nod immediately.
“Absolutely.” You say, right before pushing him away so you could sneeze once again. Ruining the moment.
⦮ ⦯ ⟆
You really, really thought your allergies would get better with time.
You thought wrong.
It had been a few weeks and you were being very careful around Corey. Taking allergy pills, washing your hands frequently, doing everything right. Yet your allergies seemed to get worse every time you went over to Frank’s.
You were helping him cook dinner, Corey at both of your feet, hoping one of you dropped a scrap of food. You went to scratch your neck after you finished chopping vegetables, when Frank looked at you, the worry in his eyes was obvious. He moved your hair to look at your neck without saying anything. You raise a brow at him and go to scratch at it again, but he stops you.
“You’re breaking out in hives.” He mumbles, looking over your arms for any more, satisfied when he doesn't find any.
“Hives?” You say, watching as he goes to his medicine cabinet, rummaging around.
“Your cat allergy is getting worse, honey. Not better.” He says, walking back up to you with a brand new package of Claritin, seemingly bought in preparation for this moment, and a tube of hydrocortisone cream.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” You say, sniffling, taking a Claritin from him with a small ‘thank you’. Frank put a small amount of hydrocortisone cream on his hand, silently asking permission from you, when you nod, he slowly starts applying it to the hives on your neck.
“There’s some special food for Corey I can try out, might help.” He says, your faces are very close to each other now.
“It’s way expensive though.” You say with furrowed brows, leaning into him as he caps the cream and sets it onto the counter.
“You’re worth it.” He says, putting his hands on your hips. You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him. He smiles down at you, moving hair out of your face.
“I’ve been meaning to get allergy shots, just haven’t gotten around to it.” You say with raised brows, Corey getting between your feet, demanding attention. You both laugh, shaking your head.
“We’ll figure something out, I hate that you feel so shitty whenever you come over.” Frank says, going back to making dinner, you follow suit.
“She’s worth it.” You say with a smile, he nods in agreement.
“Yeah, my two favorite girls.” He says, turning away, putting the vegetables in a sauce pan. You blush, looking between him and Corey. This all definitely made the sneezing, hives, congestion, and every other symptom worth it.
⦮ ⦯ ⟆
The special food Frank had been buying was working, just not enough.
You had accidentally pet Corey and rubbed your eyes right after, making them red and itchy. Frank ran his fingers through your hair and helped you put drops in your eyes. Muttering sweet nothings as he did.
“Maybe we should start doing more stuff at your apartment, honey.” He suggests, lifting your eyebrow a bit so he can get a better look at your eye. You furrow your brows and shake your head immediately at the suggestion.
“No, I love Corey. I love cats, they just don’t love me.” You say, shrugging your shoulders, leaving the bathroom, him in tow.
“Well I ordered an air purifier, should be here soon.” He says, putting his arm around you as you sit down on the couch.
“You’re taking this very seriously.” You remark with raised brows.
“Well your body takes cat dander very seriously.” He says, and with that you laugh, laying on his chest.
“Thank you, by the way.” You mumble out against him, he smiles, putting his chin on top of your head.
“Don’t even mention it, honey. Not your fault your body hates cats.” He says, kissing your head before resting his chin back on top of it.
“I need to get around to those shots.” You mumble out tiredly, falling asleep against him. He nods against you, his hand rubbing up and down on your arm.
“You should get around to going to sleep.” He mumbles out, and you give in almost immediately. Frank is more than content to lay with you on his chest and Corey on the armrest of the couch.
⦮ ⦯ ⟆
You loved working in the ICU, but these days, you really didn’t mind when you got floated down to the ER. It meant you got to see Frank, be his coworker for the day. Even if the Pitt was chaotic, it was worth it seeing Frank in his element.
You were in between patients when Frank came up to you. His hand on your back as he gestured over to triage. You furrowed your brows, but followed him anyway. He leads you to an empty triage room, still not saying anything yet.
“What’re you doing?” You ask, he just smiles a little and has you sit down in the chair. He preps a tray next to you with a syringe and band aid, now you’re even more confused.
“Frank, use your words.” You say with raised brows and a smile. He laughs a little and shakes his head.
“You said you wanted to start getting allergy shots, but you never got around to it.” He says, lifting up your sleeve and rubbing an alcohol wipe on your arm, “So I thought, pretty easy for us to do it here.” He says, prepping the syringe. You smile and shake your head a bit.
“Off the record? You’re bad, Dr. Langdon.” You tease and he smiles a bit, letting out a small laugh.
“Small pinch.” He mutters out with a smile before administering the shot in your arm, carefully placing the band aid over it. Pink, picked out specifically for you.
“We’ll do this once or twice a week until you feel better.” He says, kissing right above the band aid, starting to clean everything up. You stand and look up at him with a warm smile, carding your fingers through his hair.
“You’re very thoughtful, y’know.” You say, watching as he discards everything, guiding you out of the room.
“I’m just watching out for you is all.” He says, you shake your head, he can never take a compliment, too humble.
“Can I come over tonight?” You ask with raised brows, stopping at the nurse’s station. He immediately smiles and nods.
“You just wanna see Corey, huh?” He asks and you laugh a little.
“That’s not the only reason.” You say with shrugged shoulders. Frank starts to reply, but is interrupted by Dana.
“You two! Are you gonna get back to work or are you just gonna flirt all day?” She asks, her hands on her hips and her expression pointed. You and Frank explode in laughter before going off to your respective duties.
Frank Langdon had proved repeatedly that he was the perfect man for you, and it wasn’t just because he had the world’s cutest cat.
⦮ ⦯ ⟆
A/N: Thanks for reading!! My requests are open for future fic and smau ideas! And I’m working on a few new things so if you have requested something be on the lookout💕
I saw you asking for drabble requests!! Could I request Jack or langdon x reader, caring for a sick reader- sickfics are my kryptonite especially with the pitt
I'm not sure what to add for the specifics, just nothing too serious, something they can solve at home with lots of fluff and caring yk
Thank you in advance!!
You're going to kill whoever brought the flu into your office.
Lying in your shared bedroom, the lights turned off, and the apartment silent, you still feel sick. Your head is pounding, you're dizzy each time you move, and your will to live is plummeting steadily.
On week two of your ailment, you're pretty sure you would've gone crazy without Frank looking after you. With the constitution of an ox, he seems to never catch anything - making him all the better qualified to be at your beck and call.
"Need anything, honey?"
You shake your head miserably, blinking slowly as light peeks through the crack in the door where Frank's currently standing.
"You sure?"
"I don't know," You whimper.
You can hear the soft padding of Frank crossing the room, before he slips under the duvet with you. An arm drapes over your waist, manoeuvring gently until you're resting against his chest. "My poor girl."
A/N: i had some ppl request another part with the reveal of frank’s full name (my hc ofc) (thank you @thesunxwentblack and @starzfromab0ve for the suggestion😼) so yay surprise epilogue! enjoy!
A/N: guys. tomorrow i will post part 22, and its gonna be the last part of this smau☹️ im actually a little sad about it lol but it felt like it was coming to a natural end and i didn’t want to drag it out. BUT my requests are open and i have some regular fics coming soon that im really excited about. thank you all SO MUCH for reading and interacting i have had sm fun with this series and talking to you all i love frank langdon so much. anyway enjoy!!!! 💕
