regan

[harringtonshoe]

regan 🌿 she/her, 21, bffs to lovers enthusiast and pining & angst enjoyer. i play too much minecraft. writer ᥫ᭡ 18+ posts mdni!

NAVIGATION! 🧭

masterlist | ao3 | wp

[snoopysupe]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY | Frank Langdon

pairing: frank langdon / pitt!f!reader

word count: 1.4k

content: established relationship. frank is lowkey jealous. s2 spoilers! ogilvie hate train. mentions of recovery from addiction. frank is looking for permission to be a buff bf. one singular use of a pet name. 100% an overused idea but what’s one more?

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Frank re-entered the bowels of The Pitt as instructed by Dr. Al-Hashimi. With Westbridge patients being rolled in at a steady pace, he hesitated at the precipice, his self-assurance wavered that Dr. Robinavitch had ensured to instil after his ten months of recovery by exiling him to triage with a comment that almost gave Frank Langdon whiplash.

His palms rubbed together with foamy sanitiser, the voice that piqued his interest came from the work station. Ogilvie, he had learned, a fresh resident and an outward know-it-all with little bedside manner practiced. He was all hair and limbs, and an insistence to avoid all social cues when it really mattered.

Frank’s brows knotted when he watched Ogilvie encroach your personal space, as if the point he was making wouldn’t be well-received if his mouth wasn’t inches away from your ear. It was clear you were enforcing politeness to an enthusiastic resident, however, your face gave nothing short of the definition of overtly uncomfortable.

Obvious that you were attempting to catch up on charting — much as Santos was adjacent to you — you gave minimal nods and faux intrigue with a concealed grimace and occasional side glance to Joy, who happened to have even less patience for a person like James Ogilvie.

When the resident brought his slender finger to tap on your shoulder to ensure you were digesting his facts, that’s when Frank calmly — but promptly — entered the stratosphere of the hub, the beginnings of a humourless expression glazed on his features.

Frank gave a short nod to Joy, his hands clasped behind his back to prevent any physical altercation from the pit of jealousy blooming in his stomach. You weren’t Frank’s property per se, but you were his centre of gravity and had been for the past ten months; he’d do anything to keep you in his orbit.

Not that James Ogilvie had the opportunity to tip that sideways.

You noticed Frank’s presence first. “Hello, stranger.”

The two residents turned their heads to stare at Langdon, who was staring at Ogilvie with his chin tilted and lip curled. The silence was enough for you to halt your work and spin yourself to see Frank and James in some type of testosterone match.

Joy dropped her gaze to you, unimpressed and you repressed the need to burst into a fit of giggles.

“Back from triage.” Frank responded, his blue eyes trained on Ogilvie, “I think Whitaker could use some assistance in South 12.”

“OK.” Ogilvie didn’t hesitate, albeit he was stepping on toes, Dr. Langdon was still a senior resident and would boost the gleaming recommendation he presumed he would receive toward the end of his residency.

Less enthused, Joy followed James toward South 12 and you took the opportunity to return to your charting, welcoming the ambient beeping noise of machines, rather than the constant natter of medical facts against your eardrum.

“What did Ogilvie want?” Frank’s voice was low, soft around the edges when he watched you from the side, a glaring insecurity that had gone amiss to you.

He dragged a chair over, ever so slightly behind you and sat, elbows resting upon his thighs.

“Oh, you know.” You drawled, “Joy and I needed the inner workings of how to intubate a patient with the upmost accuracy through factual evidence.” Your fingers clacked away at the keyboard, uninterested by the resident. “I’m starting to think he craves affection. Or, he just likes the sound of his own voice bouncing off the walls.”

Frank picked at the skin on his thumb, “Is he bothering you? He’s been tailgating you all day.”

“Not…yet.” Your lips downturned in concentration to tie up the loose end of your charting, “He’s harmless. For now.”

Happy with your work, chart saved, your shoes squeaked against the sheet vinyl floor to turn your chair in the direction of Frank. He sat hunched in his chair, a kicked dog expression that had your brow lowered in concern. It was no secret the adjustment after months away from The Pitt had backhanded Langdon a couple of steps back in his confidence, unsure of his footing around the place, who was willing to converse with him, the gossiping whispers behind his back.

These things weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Not to mention the weight of his motivation to make clear amends with those that were on the receiving end of his breach of trust. The same people that left his phone empty for the better half of a year.

You had been there when Frank Langdon kept his phone off of silent in some last ditch attempt at hope.

Wheels rolled, you scooted yourself closer but not enough to make heads turn. Knees bumped, Frank took the brief kiss of the knees further, his palm rested against your thigh that was concealed behind the desk.

“Hey…You OK?” You gently cooed, whilst attempting to catch Langdon’s attention that was pinned in the direction that the resident in question took off. His jaw was set, molars grinding. A laugh escaped your lips, “He’s been getting enough attention as it is.”

Langdon reluctantly dropped his glare and mumbled, “Yeah. Don’t like him.”

“Dr. Frank Langdon.” Your grin widened, “Am I sensing some misplaced jealousy over a mop-headed resident?”

“No.” Frank bit back a smile, his eyes fond over you, “I’m just saying, I can have words if needed.”

Part of you wanted to reached out and smooth the crease between his brows, the part of him that was telling if his words expressed otherwise. Things between you two weren’t a secret hidden in plain sight, the relationship common knowledge to the team if they cared enough to watch Frank Langdon go the extra mile for his co-worker whilst his body language failed to maintain the professionalism needed to get away with keeping a workplace romance under wraps.

Still. It was good to keep the momentum going. Trauma One presumably would prefer a higher dose of ketamine than witness you lick your boyfriend’s wounds clean at the work station.

You leant back in your chair, basking in the glory of Langdon’s protectiveness. Hands rested against the textured plastic of the arms, a playful note in your expression that had Langdon release a chuckle from his chest.

“Gorgeous, I say this with all the love in my heart.” You gave him the once over, “I think you may be the last person to cause a scene and be the one to make it out unscathed.”

There was an allowance of quips allowed at the expense of Frank Langdon. For one, it kept him grounded in a lighthearted way. And, two — more importantly — you saw the good, the bad and the ugly in the past ten months and stuck by his side like glue. If you had a subtle joke to land about Langdon being Robinavitch’s prodigal son that had been kicked to the curb, then so be it.

You’d soothe any qualms properly at home.

”You’re probably right.” Frank leaned into the sarcasm, not missing the opportunity with speedy reflexes to pinch at your hip in response for the reminder. Quick to add, “Love the undershirt beneath the scrubs, by the way.”

You swatted at his hand with a laugh, “Go. Before the brooding steed does his rounds.”

Frank relinquished his position in the desk chair at the mention of Dr. Robby, the familiar boyish smirk that you fell madly in love with on your first day, spread across his face as he rolled the chair back to its rightful place. He held eye contact for as long as possible, baiting a flush of heat beneath your skin as he sauntered past you, his forefinger and thumb coming to tug lovingly at your earlobe before he dove back into his work on patients.

Unable to withhold impulse, the chair beneath you creaked as you swivelled round to watch Langdon walk away, narrowly avoiding Dana’s pointed gaze as her stoic exterior slowly ebbed away. She always liked you two together; the sweetener to Langdon’s salt.

As if you were a shot of espresso, Langdon felt refreshed as he deserted the work station, his slender fingertips re-lacing the knot for his scrubs to remain at his hips. The smile still present on his face, he approached the gaggle of baby-faced residents that had returned from assisting Whitaker with an easy case.

Two hands clapped against the line of Ogilvie’s shoulders, Langdon quick to direct him toward a room that had a lovely elderly lady with a bowel packed to the brim.

Langdon squeezed Ogilvie’s shoulders, from his peripheral, he watched you shake your head. He spoke loud enough for you to hear. “Have you ever performed a disimpaction before, Ogilvie?”

“Um—No.”

Langdon was radiant, “Today is your lucky day, buddy.”

[ho4fictionalmen]

eye fucking

pairing: frank langdon x f! reader

a/n: you wanted this. idk nothing really happened but ykw i tried. im serious about suggestions btw im stumped for plot.

spelling issues/ timestamps LALALA I CANT HEAR YOU!!

also reblogs are an authors best friend ok now im done

previous | next

[ho4fictionalmen]

energy hookup

pairing: frank langdon x f! reader

a/n: continuing my smau addiction by soft launching a new potential series. this is just a snap shot because i cant conceptualize plot rn but i wanna write it. genuinely let me know if your interested or have suggestions xoxo

i also dont think i have a good grasp of the characters but ig that just means i need a rewatch.

also reblogs are an authors best friend ok now im done

more??

yes

no

Remaining time: 3 days 23 hours

[harringtonshoe]

your break room fic was genuinely amazing omg..could i ask for more mel x langdon fics?

thank u!!! and perfect timing because i just finished another one shot hehe find it here! https://www.tumblr.com/harringtonshoe/818182286155677696/kiss-me-and-i-might-drop-dead

Post by @harringtonshoe

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · Kiss Me and I Might Drop Dead · frank langdon x mel king. 18+ mdni! the smut is cut off tho cause im #lazzzzyyyy anyway. ca

[harringtonshoe]

Kiss Me and I Might Drop Dead

frank langdon x mel king. 18+ mdni! the smut is cut off tho cause im #lazzzzyyyy anyway. car sex, jealous!!!!!mel. brat!mel. langdon eats it UP. medial inaccuracies. post s2 (roughly a year) langdon uses petnames on mel. mel’s pov [3.9k words]

Mel is not jealous. Mel is not territorial. Mel is not possessive. But Mel is not going to share Doctor Langdon.

Mel is trying her very best not to seethe at her workstation, focusing solely on her fingers and forcing them to resume typing across the keyboard. She is staring at the screen before her, intently, to the point that her eyes are starting to hurt, and her jaw is clenched so tightly that she's almost sure she can feel the beginning of a headache starting to form. She is making a point to not lift her gaze over the screen, to notinvade the lack of space between the two of them by squeezing herself in place, right by his side. She feels her gaze flicker up, involuntarily.

There is nothing on the surface, she can see that. They are not touching, they don't even look acquainted from how little they're speaking. Realism has no place for Mel right now, all that matters to her is that Frank Langdon is being stolen from her by an R2—her replacement after her recent promotion. Mel is not jealous. Mel is not territorial. Mel is not possessive. Mel is trying very hard to not be any of those things right then.

Mel is trying and failing, miserably.

-

On Mel and Becca's seventh birthday, they were gifted silly string early in the morning before school. It was something their parents had given them to hold them over for the day, they never got their real gifts until dinner. It taught them patience. Mel had a lot of patience already, or so she liked to think, even then. She had been thrilled at the idea of spraying the silly string all over the house, but Becca had dropped her can, broke the part that dispensed the components inside, and cried for approximately thirty seconds before their parents came rushing in.

Mel had stood there, her tin still in her hands, she'd just torn the plastic off of the lid. Becca cried a lot. She didn't really stop until they were teenagers, after that, she learned a new way of processing and expressing her emotions. Texting. Anyway, Mel had been instructed to give Becca her can of silly string.

Mel didn't want to. She hadn't broken hers, why should she give it to Becca?

"Share with your sister," her mother had said, wearing that look that left no room for debate.

Mel heard that phrase a lot, growing up. So much that it still echoed in her brain whenever Becca asked for something of hers. Mel always obliged. Becca liked the shirt Mel was wearing? Share with your sister. Becca wanted the nail polish Mel was using? Share with your sister. Mel found the last popsicle in the freezer, but Becca wanted it, too? Share with your sister. That bracelet Mel loved? Share with your sister.

It was fine. It was ok. That was the perk of being a twin. Mel wouldn't have traded Becca for anything. She loved her, dearly. Even if she was subjected to sharing everything, and becoming her caretaker once their parents died. Share with your sister, Mel heard her mother say when she cracked open the last Diet Coke. She had learned how to do things halfway, to pour some into a cup for Becca and keep the rest for herself. Compromise. Sharing. Mel was good at these things now.

She offered her jacket to Trinity when she shivered on one of their nights out. She gave Victoria her granola bar because she’d forgotten to eat. That was fine. That sharing, she didn’t mind. Mel can share anything.

Except for one thing in particular, and less of a thing and more of a person, actually—Mel is not going to share Doctor Langdon.

She isn't sure when this thing between them started. If you could call it a thing. Mel is still convinced it was happening in her head. She'd known of her crush on Langdon since day one, when he had been the only person to listen to her, who remembered what she'd said. That wasn't the sole reasoning for her feelings, that would have been sad.

Well, it was sad anyway, but that isn't the point.

He made her laugh (when she could pick out his jokes, but she had gotten much better in the last year! She was very proud of herself.) he made her confident in the things she was weary of. Most of all, he took care of her. He drove her home in the bad weather, he picked her up tea when she was having a bad day.

She would settle for being his friend. They are friends, she knows this. And she's come to terms with it, until the rumors of his divorced started flooding the Pitt and Mel had lost all sense of sanity. Because if Doctor Langdon is divorced, what is the boundary? Where are the lines? What were they?

That had been three months ago, Mel still didn't know the answer. She saw him a lot more, noticed the lack of a ring on his finger. He even took her and Becca to dinner the weekend before their birthday. It had been nice, and Becca had asked her a dozen questions once they returned to the apartment without him.

Questions like: does Dr. Langdon like you? Have you kissed him? Do you think he'll kiss you? Mel couldn't answer then, and she still can’t now.

Mel knows what they are on paper: friends. They do things that friends do. He watches movies at her apartment, he brings her dinner from her favorite Korean place, in return she sends him articles she knows he'll like, she cooks him food without diary because the lactose always upsets his stomach. Friend things. Yes, sometimes they fell asleep on the couch together and yes sometimes she woke up with his arm wrapped around her torso. So what?

Friends.

Mel doesn't like that word right now, feeling her teeth grind together. She has nothing against the new R2—Katherine Roberts, if she excluded the fact that she was gorgeous and witty. She'd only been in the Pitt for three hours and Mel had already been rendered speechless by some of her jokes, jokes that landed with Langdon and even with Robby, mid-procedure and making Mel tighten her fingers around her 10-blade.

Mel knows it's ridiculous, Langdon is the one who had been pushed towards a teaching fellowship before everything happened, she shouldn't be upset or surprised that he's back to perusing it. Taking a new doctor under his wing (like he had with her. Mel will not bristle. She will not—oh, too late. She's bristling.)

"Gosh," she grounds out, and the word comes from her mouth like it's a curse. Next to her, Santos lifts her head, brows furrowing. Mel ignores her, standing and quickly walking by Langdon and Roberts to exit to the ambulance bay.

She gets a closer look at them in her departure, proving her eyes right. They aren't touching, but Dr. Roberts is standing awfully close to him. The same way Mel does with him. She makes a silent pact to distance herself. If Langdon is moving on to another R2, so be it. Mel won't brush his arm or join him for STEMIS. It won't happen. She won't be made a fool.

She paces in the ambulance bay, fiddling with her braid, which now reaches the lower half of her waist, making it easier to twirl between her fingers. She doesn't call Becca, she just shakes the thoughts from her head.

"Get it together," Mel says, tugging her braid. "Pull it together. He isn't-”

"Hey, Mel."

She freezes immediately, turning to see Langdon stepping out of the sliding doors. She swallows, unsure of how to respond to him. She knows she'll look ridiculous if she ignores him, he hasn't done anything wrong, not outwardly to her. That doesn't make it any easier for Mel to pretend she isn't upset.

"Hi," is what she decides to answer with. Langdon, because of course he does, notices. She can tell from the way his brows furrow, creasing above his nose. Goodness, she finds it so attractive.

"You okay?"

"Yup," Mel nods, turning her back to him quickly. She does not need him to know that she's still lying, she's very aware that the fib is planted on her face like she's just tattooed the word on her forehead. LIAR. LIAR! I'M NOT OKAY. I WANT YOU. STOP TALKING TO HER.

Instead of leaving, he moves to stand in front of her. Mel wants to strangle him. Not in a way that actually harms him, that is just mean. "Mel," he says, more gentle this time. "Did something happen? Bad case?"

"No. I'm just getting some air."

"Right," Langdon says, unconvinced. "Well, are we still on for the movie tonight?"

It's Friday, Becca comes home from her facility for the weekend, which means the three of them have made a habit of grabbing take-out and watching Elf. Mel isn't sure when Langdon started joining them, but it'd be weird without him now.

Mel can't help it, her eyes narrow and her head tilts back, doing that defiant chin-raising thing she always does when she doesn't get her way.

Doesn't get her way with him. Mel is used to being on the back burner, used to being ignored, accustomed to giving Becca everything and leaving nothing for herself. But Langdon has spoiled her, it's been a year of him telling her yes to practically everything. (Yes, Mel, we can go to that art museum you like this weekend. Yes, Mel, we can try that new boba shop that just opened. Yes, Mel, I'm coming over. Yes, Mel, you can have a piece of my gum, no I don't care that it's the last piece. Yes, Mel, you can read the text from my phone. Yes, Mel, I filled up my gas tank so you could drive to pick Becca up.)

She likes being told yes by him. Hates being told no. That word is rare. (No, sorry honey, I'm too tired to watch the sunrise. No, I don't like that candle scent. No, you can't buy me dinner- what do you think this is? No, Mel, I'm not letting you walk in the snow.)

It happens before she can process that she's doing it, frowning and giving him a look that immediately lets him know she isn't happy. "Are you sure you won't be busy with helping Dr. Roberts?"

The world seems to still. Langdon stares at her, Mel watches a mixture of expressions circle his face, surprise, amusement, something else that makes his eyes darken. Mel stares back, expectedly.

"I am quite sure I will not be busy with Dr. Roberts, Mel," he tells her, slowly like she won't understand it any other way.

"Then yes," she says, bratty and clipped.

Langdon makes a noise, she can't tell if he's choking on a laugh or not. "Great, then. Let's get back to work."

"I'm getting air."

"There's air inside the emergency room, sweetheart. C'mon."

Mel glares at him, begrudgingly allowing him to lead her back inside. The conversation doesn't ease any of Mel's spiraling thoughts, not when Dr. Roberts laughs loudly at something Langdon says, it echoes out from central 9 and into south 11. Mel scowls. From across the ER, Langdon searches for her.

"Couldn't have been that funny," Mel grumbles over the unconscious patient, aiding Santos with a needle.

"Yeah, I've been saying that," Santos muses, rolling her eyes. "Glad you took off your rose-colored glasses."

"Hmph."

"Why are you mad, anyway?" She asks, curiously. Mel watches her inject the needle into the patient's neck. "It's so weird not seeing you fawn over him."

"I do not fawn over him," Mel protests.

"Yeah, sure. What did he do?"

Mel gnaws at her lip. What can she even say to that? He gave another woman attention? What is this, high-school? Mel knew it was ridiculous to begin with, but admitting it aloud makes it actually mortifying.

"He didn't get my tea with whole-milk," Mel blurts.

"Oh, the horror."

"Mel! We need an R3!"

"Coming," Mel shouts, discarding her gloves and ditching Santos to join Javadi and Kwon in the next room over, she's quick to assess the situation, watching Perlah grab the EKG and maneuvering around the swarm of doctors.

"We treated him for transverse myelitis, he was fine! I'm not sure why he just starting coding."

"BP back to normal," Perlah tells them.

"Potential solutions?" Mel asks, turning to Kwon.

Joy makes a face of thought. "He tested positive for echovirus, he might need a spinal tap."

The words make Mel's brain swirl. She had come to that same conclusion, but hearing it was another thing. Sometime during the exchange, Langdon had stepped into the room. Mel didn't have to turn to know it was him, she could practically feel him looming at her back.

Dread floods her veins. It's unprofessional to pass off an operation because of a personal issue, but the last time she performed a spinal tap had led to multiple depositions and nights that had her panicking in her bed.

"I got it," Langdon says, and Mel spins on him. He nods at her, Kwon and Javadi share a look. "Unless one of you two want-”

"Nah," Joy shrugs. Unsurprisingly.

Javadi glances to Mel. "Yeah, I'll pass. I don’t need my own deposition.”

Langdon snorts, shooting Mel another look, who has visibly started to relax. Still, she feels a little smug. She's known that she was Langdon's favorite for a while, through the raging envy she's been feeling all day, she almost forgot.

He performs the spinal tap flawlessly. Mel can't help but watch him, the vial fills with a clear liquid and she takes it from his grasp.

"Thank you," she says, quietly.

She might have imagined it, but she thinks she feels him squeeze her finger. "Anytime, Mel."

The moment is cut short by a door opening, specifically by Dr. Roberts. Mel stiffens, forcing her gaze elsewhere as she asks Langdon a question.

Mel sneaks out, heart pounding and glancing to the clock on the wall. One more hour. Just one more.

And it passes torturously slow, Mel actually thinks someone must be messing with the hands of the clock, moving them back when she isn't looking.

She's already changed into a comfortable sweatshirt by the time Langdon finds her. She wishes it isn't Friday, wishes she can go to her apartment and hide from him.

"I think I'll be able to do it tonight," he says at her back, Mel busies herself in her locker, ignoring him. "Y'know, my hypothesis. I'll be able to quote every word."

Ah, yes. Mel knows exactly what he's talking about, but she doesn't react. Since he's joined them on movie night Friday, he's made a list of predictions about Elf. How many times Buddy is said, how many times the camera cuts during the snowball scene, and how many months he thought it would take until he memorized every single line.

Mel has had him beat on that one for years. She doesn't tell him that, though.

She turns to him, closing her locker and meeting his eye. Behind them, Katherine Roberts bids a series of doctors goodnight. When she spots the pair at the locker, she specifically says: "Goodnight, Dr. Langdon!"

Mel feels her cheeks redden, not because she's angry, but because Langdon doesn't even bother to look away from her as he waves a hand in farewell.

"Melissa," he says.

Mel glares at him. "Yes, Dr. Langdon?" She prompts in the same high-pitched tone Katherine Roberts just used. His mouth quirks. Mel is infuriated that he finds this funny.

"You jealous, baby?"

She likes to think that her glare grew more serious, like she was really scary and glowering, but in reality she knows her eyes fluttered and that her ears turned pink. "No," Mel denies, immediately. Then, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder and turns to go. "Cmon, Becca doesn't like when we're late."

"Becca," Langdon drawls, lowly and catching her by the elbow. Mel freezes at the contact, heart pounding as he moves in front of her. "Will be just fine, actually."

"And you know that how?"

"We're best friends," he says, like it's obvious.

"Oh, please. She'd trade you for her favorite silk pillowcase in a heartbeat."

"You're mean today, Mel. Sure you're not jealous?"

"Of what?" Mel huffs. "Of you showing another R2 around like you did me, cracking jokes and making Dr. Roberts laugh? Don't be ridiculous, Langdon."

His mouth parts, Mel raises her brows. "Wow," is what he says. "Well, well, well, Melissa King. Tell me how you really feel."

Mel snatches her arm from his grasp, and moves toward the door to the parking lot. "I don't like you very much right now."

He has the audacity to laugh at her back, easily catching up to her. Mel lets the door close on him. He only snickers louder.

"Honey, Mel- wait a second. Jesus."

He must have a muscle weakening cream in his hands from the way she folds against him, allowing him to pull her to a stop right outside of his car. Mel does that thing she always does when she's upset with him (or when he tells her no, obviously. God, who even is she anymore?) and tips her chin up.

"What?"

"Don't do that," Langdon commands, and Mel feels him drag the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. "Drives me crazy."

"You drive me crazy," Mel retorts. "With your hair and your stupid jokes and- and your attention on- oh. It doesn't matter. Let's just get Becca."

She goes to open the car door, but he gently grabs her hand. Mel gapes at him. "Quite the contrary, it does matter, Mel," Langdon says. "Although I think it's ridiculously hot and cute that you were jealous, I think we also need to have a serious conversation here."

"I don't want to."

"Christ, Melissa."

Mel folds her arms over her chest, still holding his gaze. "What?"

"You have nothing to worry about."

She shifts on her feet. "In what sense?"

His lip quirks. "In the Dr. Roberts sense, Mel. Or in any other woman sense, really. You think I would do a spinal tap for anyone? Or pick any other co-worker up every day with tea?"

"You did bring Mckay coffee one morning," she says, just to be annoying.

"You're ridiculous," he tells her, voice laced with total adoration and Mel swallows as his hand taps at her jaw, sliding to cup her cheek. She thinks this must be a hallucination. She's definitely asleep at her workstation right now. "I want you, Mel. Only you."

Rendered speechless, Mel gawks at him. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh.'"

"That is very good to know."

"Way to humble a guy, Mel. Keeping me on my toes. What’s next, endless silence-”

She giggles, stupidly, and maybe she's drunk off of the way he's looking at her, because she leans up to kiss him. She has to stand on her tippy-toes to reach his mouth, slotting them together and hearing the surprised gasp that comes from him immediately after. Mel is sure he can feel her heart pounding against his chest as he pushes her against the car door, trapping her against the cool metal, which is definitely the only reason why she shivers.

"Fuck, Mel," he pants, teeth clashing and lips still warm against hers. "Do you know how badly I wanted to do this today? Figuring out why you were upset in the ambulance bay?"

"Yeah?" she whispers.

He groans again. Mel feels her stomach do a silly little flip. "Shit, honey. You can't do that."

"Do what?" she asks, innocently, and she's not even sure if she's faking it, she doesn't know what the hell he's talking about.

Instead of replying, his mouth finds her jaw, nipping below her ear. Mel scrambles to grab him, nails digging into the panes of his shoulders to keep herself upright.

"Mel, if you don't stop me I'm going to have this happen in the car. Which is really not how I envisioned-”

"Don't stop."

Langdon's groan is guttural. Mel clenches her thighs, watching him pull away to rip open the door to the backseat, and she exhales all of her remaining nerves away, climbing in and immediately chasing his lips once he's sat beside her.

She can't help herself, propping her hands onto the front of his chest for balance as she moves to straddle him. Beneath her, Mel feels him twitch, and a thrill courses her veins. He bites at her pulse point, Mel nearly knocks her head against the roof of the car, her hips bulking against his and evoking a quiet moan from the both of them.

"I'm pretty sure this is a dozen HR violations," Mel blurts, voice cracking as one of his hands slips under into the waistband of her pants. She inches toward him, desperate to feel the fingers she often finds herself staring at. "Like, for one, having sex on company grounds."

"Uh-huh," Langdon hums, Mel forgets her train of thought as he dips a finger inside, pushing her underwear to the side like they weren’t even there to begin with. Mel's entire body stutters against his.

"Not to mention," she tries to keep her voice even, her movements chasing his hand. "This is technically illegal- public indecency-”

"Yeah, Mel, keep talking about all of the illegal activities we are participating in, it really gets me going."

Mel kisses him, mostly because she wants to but also so he'll shut up and stop looking so smug at how easily he's making her fall apart.

"Will discussing the spinal tap you did for me get you going?"

He laughs into her mouth. "Mm, not really-"

"Because you doing that for me got me so.." Mel isn't an expert at dirty talk. She feels like a fraud as the words spill from her mouth. She's desperately hoping he won't laugh. "I wanted to drag you into the lounge and make you forget all about Dr. Roberts."

"Oh my fucking God," he thrusts up almost against his will, judging by the color that floods his cheeks. "I don't even know a Dr. Roberts."

Mel does a needy roll of her hips again, feeling him hard and brushing her inner thigh as his fingers resume their pace. Then, he suddenly removes his hand, placing them on her waist to move her below him. Mel cocks her head to the side, watching as he clambers over her. She tries not to pout at him, embarrassingly so.

"I was so mad at you," she tells him, working the strings of his scrub pants.

"Yeah, baby, I could tell."

"So mad." His mouth finds the juncture of her neck again, Mel shudders. "So.. so.."

"Mad?" Langdon finishes for her, Mel attempts to catch his mouth in hers again, but his hand catches around her neck, gentle enough not to hurt her, but enough to keep her from moving. Heat pools in her stomach, she's sure she almost just came from that alone. "You were so mean to me today, Mel."

Her lower lip tuts out, Langdon pauses only a moment as he works himself from his pants. "You deserved it," she murmurs, weakly.

Langdon keeps his hands busy, tugging her scrubs down past her waist, her underwear along with them. Mel's head hits the back of the seat once he slides inside, a gasp coming from them both and jostling the entire car. He kisses her as he starts to move, her fingers curling in his hair. "Still jealous, honey?" he asks, deep inside of her.

"No," Mel answers, kissing him once again.

[redd-blushing-roses]

Just Meant To Be

word count: 5.3k

pairing: Frank Langdon x (wife) reader

summary: It was terrible timing. A positive pregnancy test during your first year interning at PTMC turns your carefully planned future upside down. But while you're panicking at the prospect of pregnancy derailing your careers, Frank is utterly smitten with the fact he is going to be a dad... and you're going to be a mom.

warnings: set during Frank's first year as an intern, newly married, reader is also a first year intern, pregnancy symptoms and general discussion, talks about babies and financial stuff, reader is a little overwhelmed. mostly fluff. being a father is coded into this man's DNA, I swear-

notes: was thinking about how in canon, Frank had his son during his first year as an intern. and how surely, that could not have been planned exactly. and then this little thing was born (this troublesome thing which I'm not entirely happy with, but here she is nonetheless.)

enjoy reading :)

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It started slow.

So slow, you didn't even realize you'd begun to piece together a puzzle until you were looking at the finished picture. A quiet dawning that took shape over little things, expressed in tiny coincidences and symptoms you had ignored because surely... surely it couldn't be that.

It began with Frank's morning coffee.

The man loved to wake up early, a habit he hadn't quite shaken since his college football days. You were happy to mumble a quiet goodbye as he went out for a run, your cheek still smushed against your pillow because the sun hadn't even risen yet. And after returning home - glowing with sweat and a surge of adrenaline that did not help his ADHD whatsoever- he'd make his coffee.

Medium roast. That cheap protein creamer he insisted tasted good. A splash of your vanilla syrup he said he didn't use but you were positive you could taste sometimes.

Frank would make it, letting you take a sip and proudly smiling when you told him it tasted fine. Because it did. Add a little more vanilla, maybe some cinnamon or a bit of caramel, and the man could be a barista.

Until one morning.

When the smell of the roasted coffee alone was enough to churn your stomach as you make your way down the hall.

Odd.

But you had chalked it up to missing a few too many meals that week and your tragic sleep schedule.

The quiet suspicion grew when you found yourself crying.

All. The. Time.

It was like anything could, and would, set you off.

That cheesy Molly Ringwald movie you liked? Boom, you were tearing up.

The sad Lana Del Ray song that randomly queued in your playlist one morning? Crying as you stood sopping wet in the shower.

Frank surprises you with flowers one morning, a bouquet of your favorite tulips and an iced tea to go with it? Bam. You were hugging him with tears streaming down your face.

You dropped your favorite mug and it shattered? Sobbing. Inconsolably.

"Honey, you're alright," Frank rubs your shoulders as tears roll off your cheeks and plop onto the broken shards of the mug. "It's not too bad, we can fix it with some glue."

"I don't know why I'm crying so much," you stutter, lip quivering as you sniffle. "But it was my favorite mug. And now... now it's broken-"

Frank just sighs as you start all over again.

But then there was the problem with your scrubs. You were convinced your washer had shrunk them, the stretchy waistline beginning to dig into your belly. Not tightly or in any way that hurt. Just a noticeable snugness around your lower belly that definitely hadn't been there before. Weird. None of your other clothes were being shrunk.

Although your favorite summery dress had become a little tighter around the bust. And it didn't quite hug your frame in the same way it had before.

Then you were worried about gaining weight. You had brought it up one night after a long shift, downing a second helping of pizza because the three slices and salad you already had just wasn't cutting it. Frank had just brushed that thought away with a kiss to your temple, shoving another slice into his mouth.

"S' probably just your period."

Huh.

You lay in bed that night, Frank's arm thrown over your torso, his face buried into his pillow as he snores softly beside you.

Something about it all was bothering you. Like a forgotten thing sitting on the tip of your tongue.

Maybe it was your period.

Maybe you were just being overly critical because working in a hospital had taught you to over analyze everything. But you were beginning to wonder if something more was wrong with you. If these were all symptoms to something much worse.

The upset stomach. The mood swings. The crying. The exhaustion and weight gain.

Your period.

Huh. Actually, you can't remember the last time you had it...

Oh.

It hits you. Quietly. Totally and completely.

You don't sleep all that night. Don't mention it. You're theory. Not until a few days later after you clock in at PTMC, dragging Heather into the break room the first chance you get.

"What?" She hisses as you swallow thickly, wringing your hands nervously. "You think you're what?" Heather repeats. Like you hadn't just spelled it out plainly for her.

You couldn't keep it in for any longer, having to tell someone.

"I think I'm pregnant," you whisper, glancing at the open door, making sure no one was there to pick up on it. You already had a bad enough time with the rumor mill considering you were newly married and an intern. You didn't need to give Perlah or Princess any more ammunition for the betting board than they already had.

"Wow. That's... heavy."

"You're telling me," you let out a breath, your hand coming up to massage a sore spot on your abdomen, just below your ribs. Now, you weren't saying it was a baby cradled there beneath your rib cage, but if the shoe fit.

Pregnant.

You'd spent the past three days after your late night revelation reeling and overthinking every little thing. You hadn't told Frank, you couldn't yet. Not without knowing for sure.

"Did you take a test?" Heather asks, swirling the lukewarm dregs of coffee in her mug.

You shake your head.

"No. I can't even smuggle girl scout cookies in the house without Frank finding them within a day. I can't even imagine what he'd do if he found a test."

Heather gives you a look. "You haven't told him? Does he not want a baby?" You shake your head.

"Of course he does. I mean, we both do. It's just when we talked about starting a family it sounded like such a far away thing. In two or three years, you know? Not three months after we got married," you slide a hand down your face, continuing.

"Not to mention our internships. And we just put the down payment on a house. On top of our student loans and the car..." You go silent, spiraling about just how expensive a baby is. And how your plans to save and get somewhat out of debt was slowly crumbling-

"Hey," Heather says, gently gripping your shoulders, shaking you out of it. "It's going to be okay. Just take a breath." She inhales deeply, gesturing for you to do the same. You join her, taking slow, deep breaths until the shakiness of your hands and your hammering heart slowed.

"There. It's okay. Even if you had taken one of those store bought tests, they more often than not fluke. It could all just be a coincidence."

You give Heather an incredulous look.

"The crying? The nausea?"

"Maybe you're seeing something there you want to see. Cathedrals wherever you look kind of thing."

"But what if I'm not," You cross your arms. Heather shrugs.

"Only one way to find out."

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"You look like you're about to puke, kid."

You blink, tearing your eyes away from the informational sign plastered on the patient room wall you had been staring at for the past few minutes. Jack Abbot meets your eye, still stationed at the foot of the bed you were sitting on, elbows resting on his knees. The rolling chair he sits on creaks as he shifts slightly, the printed test results still held between his fingers.

"I'm fine." Abbot gives you a knowing look.

"Oh sure. And I'm bright and dandy." You take a shaky breath, hands tightly squeezed together. They had been shaking since he'd read out the results to you.

Heather had dragged you across the ED, cornering the poor night attending before he had a chance to sneak out after handoffs. If there was one doctor in the Pitt who'd be willing to bend the rules a little and hold onto a secret, it was him.

Abbot had been more than willing to help you out, seeing the sheer worry and anticipation vibrating through every fiber of your being.

You'd been in the hidden patient room for the past half hour, Heather covering for you the best she could. Frank was probably wondering where you'd snuck off to. You were almost afraid to leave the room now. Unsure if he'd be able to tell just by the look on your face.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant. About fifteen weeks by the sheer level of Hcg hormones coursing through your body. You were honestly surprised you hadn't noticed any of it sooner.

"It's okay to be scared you know," Jack says, head tilted to meet your eye. "Most women are a bit overwhelmed when they find out. Even the most prepared family planners can be caught off guard when it finally happens."

"I just... it happened so fast. And we were so careful." Abbot chuckles.

"Nothing I haven't heard before, kid." You shake your head.

"I shouldn't be scared. I mean, this... this is what I've always wanted. To be a mom. Have a baby."

"Sure. You can want it and still be scared too. The feelings aren't exclusively mutual."

"How can I be scared of something I want?" You look over at the older attending, like he somehow had all the answers. Jack sighs, running a hand through his gray curls.

"It's a lot to take in. You've had a lot of big life changes recently. Becoming an intern, getting married. Buying a house I heard too, right?" You nod. "And to top it off, you've got a baby to think about now. That on it's own is a big thing for any person to take in. I'm not surprised you're feeling nervous at all. No matter how much you want it."

You sigh, running your hands over your face. You could feel a headache coming on, your brain running a mile a minute. It was all too much. The questions. The planning. Where you would put a nursery, how you'd be able to keep up with bills and what your residency would look like.

Oh God. Your residency. Frank's residency.

You'd heard of the nightmare finding a specialty can be. Now add a baby into the mix? Someone you had to take care of and love and be with all the time.

What would Frank even think?

He was very clear from the start he wanted kids. But now? When you're both just at the beginning of your medical careers, both still figuring out how to handle marriage and balance individuality.

It was all so much to think about.

Hot tears prickle at your lash line and you sniff, shoulders shaking. Abbot grunts as he stands, moving to grab a box of tissues from the supply cart across the room.

You thank him quietly as he hands you the box, plucking one of the thin sheets and blowing your nose into it. Jack sits next to you, unfolding the results and looking down at them.

"If it's any consolation, I know for a fact Langdon will be over the moon about this." He looks over at you. "If that's something you're worried about."

You blink, warm tears still dribblign down your cheek. You nod. Abbot smiles.

"You've got nothing to worry about with him, kid. He's a good guy. A little high strung and arrogant. But he's got a good heart. He loves you. Think anyone could tell that just by the way he looks at you." You let out a small laugh, smiling. Abbot nods.

"And not that this means anything coming from an old attending like me, but if there's any two doctors who can handle this job and a kid, it's you guys."

You look over at Abbot, his usual serious exterior cracked slightly. He almost looked... proud. You smile.

"No. No that means a lot. Thanks Abbot."

"Anytime kid. I've got to get out of here before I end up working a double," he sighs, checking his watch. Jack passes you the test results, the paper shaking in your hands slightly. He gives your shoulder a gentle pat, standing with a slight wobble. "Just sit there for a bit more and try not to worry about it during your shift. There's plenty of time to tell Frank."

"Okay," you nod. "Thanks for the help Jack."

The attending gives you a closed lip smile, grabbing his camo backpack.

"Anytime."

You sit in silence for a bit after he leaves, feeling like the patient room could swallow you whole. You'd never been on this side of the ED before. Sitting on the paper covered bed, feeling like your world was tipped on it's head.

It was a strange change of perspective.

You stare down at the results numbers again, still trying to keep your breathing steady. Eventually, after hesitating for far too long, you slide a trembling hand over your abdomen.

There was a small swell there, one you hadn't really paid all that much attention too. An almost imperceptible curve of your lower belly, jutting out just slightly. You had passed it off as bloating. Too many of those Spanish lattes and not enough real food Frank always packed and you ignored.

It felt strange. Unreal to think that all this time, it had been a little person growing inside of you. That all this time, all the trouble and changes had been caused by something you couldn't even see.

"You are going to be trouble, aren't you?" You whisper. You feel a little weird, like you are talking to yourself. But you aren't.

It makes you want to find Frank and tell him about it. He'd understand. He always did. It's what made the two of you such a good pair. The reason why you fell in love between med classes and coffee dates.

There wasn't anyone else you'd want to have this with.

But it was overwhelming.

The door to the room finally opens quietly, the privacy curtain rustling as Heather's face peeks through the divided fabric.

"Hey," she gives you a soft and knowing smile. You look up at her, and she just knows.

"How far along?"

"Just past the second trimester." Her eyes widen, and she adjusts her red cardigan around her torso.

"Wow. That's..."

"I know," you nod. "I missed a whole third of it."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh you know," you shrug and stand. Your fingers fiddle with the results paper as you look at Heather. "Bright and dandy. Or something like that." She makes a face.

"I would say you need a break, but, we kind of need you back here."

"I'm sure."

Heather pulls you into her side, giving you a quick hug as she guides you out into the ED's secluded hall.

"Besides. I actually came here to tell you Frank is going a little stir crazy without you. I think he's ready to stalk Ahmed's security cameras if he doesn't catch a glimpse of you soon."

You take a breath, trying to keep yourself from spiraling too much. Abbot was right. There would always be time later. You just had to get through this shift and then you could deal with it all.

The Pitt is loud when you reenter with Heather. You have to remember to remove your hand from where it was resting protectively over your belly. It takes all your mental energy to compose your face and try and not look like you were about to combust.

Especially when you almost run face first into Frank, his hands shooting out to keep you upright after you almost trip over your feet.

"Woah, hey! You alright? I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Fine!" You manage to squeak out, your face flushing bright red. Frank's brow raises high, concern written on his face. "I'm alright. I was just... I need to-"

Heather interjects, her hand coming to steer you away from your husband.

"You worry too much Frank. I told you she was talking with Abbot before he left. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got patients to see" she says over her shoulder as she starts guiding you towards the nurses station.

But Frank is quicker than her, reaching out to tug your arm back gently. You still, heart pounding in your throat.

"Are you sure you're fine? You're looking kinda pale." You look up at Frank, his big blue eyes round with worry.

Goodness, you hope your baby would have his eyes-

If Heather wasn't still squeezing your shoulder, you swear you'd probably break down right there. You clutch the test results tighter in your hand, shaking your head.

"Frank... I'm fine. Abbot was just helping me with something. It's all good now."

"Okay. Just, don't disappear on me like that again."

"You worry wart," you manage a smile, slipping your arm out of Frank's grip.

You're going to be a dad in a few months time. And you don't even know it.

"Hey kid... You okay?" Robby's voice rips you from your thoughts as Heather pushes you towards the nurses station. You look up, feeling out of it; the only thing grounding you was the feeling of the paper still clutched tightly in your hand. The chief attending shares a look with Heather, his eyes boring into you over the rim of his spectacles.

"Fine," you manage, trying not to choke on the fact that you were fully realizing the weight of the test results still clutched in your hand.

It was not longer a suspicion. It was fact. A fact stitched into your very being, hidden away inside of you.

You were pregnant.

Your life was changing totally and completely.

And you were scared out of your mind.

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Frank knows something is up. It's obvious by the way you're avoiding him.

The way you seem to always be on the opposite side of the Pitt when he looks for you. The strange look you that keeps crossing your face. Like you were halfway between crying and laughing.

You had been acting strange the past couple of days.

Actually, if Frank really thought about it, you'd been a little out of it for a while now. Quieter. More lost in thought than usual. Constantly fighting exhaustion or feeling under the weather.

Frank couldn't help but worry. Especially because you seemed so sad. He could see it on your face now, his eyes glued to your frame as you sat with a patient, your hands gently moving as you explained something to them. He's trying to look busy with the supply cart he was standing by, and not like he was spying on you.

He could worry about you, couldn't he?

It had always been a little hard to separate his relationship with you and his professionalism. Frank supposes that's what happens when you marry your med school sweetheart-

if that was what one even called it.

The lines tend to get a little blurry. Things get harder to leave behind when walking into work.

It hadn't been a problem so far. At least, Frank didn't think so. Some of the nurses might disagree. With their nosy betting boards and rumor mills that were going to be the death of him.

Frank looks up as Robby passes by, giving him a smile and a strong pat on the shoulder.

"Everything good Langdon?"

"Uh, peachy Robby."

"Good. Keep up the good work." Frank nods, grinning.

He liked the chief attending. Liked how Robby didn't make it a big deal that Frank was married to a fellow resident. When you both had approached the man about your engagement last year, just finishing up your last year as a med student, Robby had just shrugged and carried on.

"Yeah. We can work something out about that. You two seem level headed enough to handle work and a wedding."

Now Frank doesn't mean to overhear Robby's conversation. It's almost surprising he can hear it at all from where he's stationed.

But Frank supposes that's how most of the nurses manage to dig up information on each other. Nothing was safe or secret in the Pitt for long.

"What was all that about earlier with Jack?" Dana asks as the attending approaches the nurses station. Robby sighs.

"Oh, you know him. He's always got a secret consult or two."

"A consult?"

Frank's ears prickles at that. You were supposedly talking with Abbot earlier. You didn't mention anything about a consult.

"Yeah. Apparently he needed to run a pregnancy test for an 'off the books' patient."

"Off the books?" Dana laughs. "Uh oh."

Robby chuckles dryly. "I know. Think we should get a betting board going about which one of us it is?"

Frank leans in closer, his heart beginning to pound as he tries to register what that meant.

What on earth were they talking about?

"God knows it's not me. Has to be a nurse." Robby shrugs.

"Or maybe one of the residents -"

Frank's hand slips on the supply cart he was leaning on, the wheels unlocking beneath his weight and sending the cart crashing into the wall beside him.

Frank looks up alarmed, meeting Dana and Robby's wide eyes. He swallows thickly, letting out a mumbled 'sorry' before fixing the cart and disappearing down the hall.

His heart pounds in his chest as he clutches the front of his scrubs, his eyes darting around the Pitt trying to find you. There was no way. It couldn't be-

Frank thinks he must have heard Robby wrong. A pregnancy consult? A resident?

He must have got it all wrong.

Because you weren't pregnant. The two of you had just gotten married. You'd only been living under the same roof for a max of four months-

Pregnant!

Frank is sure he would have noticed. Aren't there syptoms? Signs?

He's a doctor. He should know this.

But as he stalks down the hall, eyes darting across every face he passes in an attempt to find you, he finds all his medical knowledge has been thrown out the window.

Everything he'd learned from a textbook about obstetrics is gone. Replaced with the sole idea that he might be a father.

Frank can't help the way his mouth quirks upward. The slight grin he was unconsciously wearing in spite of the fact his heart was beating so fast, he was sure he'd rupture an artery if he didn't calm down.

Frank slows his pace, neck craning as he searches down the crowded hall for you.

He doesn't have to look much further, because there you are. Your hair pulled up in messy ringlets, your water bottle lid clutched in one hand as the other presses the jug against the fountain. You stand there, watching as water trickles into the metal canister, a far away look in your eye.

He stills, watching you from his place down the hall. And Frank knows.

He knows just by looking at you.

Really looking at you.

How had he not noticed? How had anyone not noticed?

You were glowing.

Radiant in an unnaturally ethereal way that most doctors only got from a week long vacation in the Bahamas. Frank was connecting all the dots now, remembering various comments you'd made in the past few weeks about food or being tired. He remembers something you'd mentioned about your clothes shrinking in the dryer-

God, that was the most apparent part. The part that really gets him.

Because staring at you now, Frank is almost positive you are already showing. It's barely there. Just a slight swell pressing against the waistband of your scrubs. Most people wouldn't even notice.

But he can see it. He knows you well enough to know the swell he's looking at now had not been there last week, or even a few weeks ago.

Frank is still staring at you when you finally finish filling your bottle and turn. You freeze, eyes wide as you look up to meet him. Frank can see the way you pause, the stiffness that courses through you.

The panic that flashes across your face. The realization-

He knows. Somehow he knows.

Frank just gives you a small smile, reassuring and kind. Loving. He approaches you slowly, feeling a little like he did when he first wanted to ask you out. Unsure and scared but certain of one thing.

He loves you. Totally and completely.

You stare up at him wide eyed, pupils blown with anxiety. Frank stops just in front of you, half aware of the other doctors and hospital staff who skirt around the two of you. He reaches out carefully, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out a trembling breath, eyes not leaving his face, trying to read the emotion on it. Frank reaches for your hand and nods toward the other side of the hall.

"Can we talk outside."

You swallow thickly, nodding.

------------------------------------------------------

You can't say anything. Don't even know what you would say.

You follow Frank as he guides you through the throng of hospital staff, his hand grounding and warm as he holds yours firmly. He leads the way to the ambulance bay, pulling you out into the warm afternoon breeze.

You blink, eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. Frank just turns, looking you up and down.

"Is it true?" You freeze.

"What?"

"Is it- are you..." Frank pauses, thinking for a moment. Then he begins again. "Was the thing Abbot helped you with about a pregnancy test?"

You stare at him for a moment, caught off guard.

But then you nod. And Frank beams.

You swear his smile is brighter than the sunlight filtering into the ambulance bay, and you let out a surprised gasp as he gathers you in his arms.

"Frank!" You let out a wet laugh, unable to help it with the way he's holding you so tightly. You wrap your arms around his neck, letting yourself close your eyes and melt into him.

"I can't believe it. I can't- we're having a baby."

"Frank," you start when he finally puts you down, cupping his face in an attempt to ground his wandering thoughts. "Frank, how did you know-"

"I overheard something Robby said. I didn't mean to, but I put two and two together and-"

You sigh, scratching the back of your head. "Nothing stays secret in the Pitt for long. I didn't even know until this morning. Not for sure anyway."

"No," Frank shakes his head, his hands reaching out to rest on your hips. "And I don't think it would have for much longer. You've got a mini bump already, baby."

You flush, looking away. "I do not."

"You do," Frank grins. Your smile falters slightly, shoulders dropping.

"I was trying to figure out how to tell you all morning. I almost had to redo an entire patient chart, I was so nervous thinking about it-"

"Nervous?" Frank frowns, his eyes softening. "Hey, what are you nervous about?" You laugh in disbelief.

"What's there not to be nervous about, Frank? We just got married! We're new interns! This isn't exactly the most opportune time to have a baby."

"Is there ever?" Frank shrugs. You give him a look. Always the idealist. "Sure, it's a little early-"

"Frank! A little? My mom just sent us another wedding gift from my great aunt across the country."

"Well, yeah okay. We just got married. So what if we're having a honeymoon baby? We both agreed we wanted kids, right? This was always the place we'd end up eventually."

"It's not just that," you sigh. "I mean, what happens if I have this baby and I can't go back to work? All that financial pressure on you? Having to juggle a wife and a baby and the ED? That's too much-"

"Hey," Frank shakes his head, reaching out to cup your face. "You don't have to worry about what I can handle or can't. It's a lot, I won't deny that. I'm scared at the idea of having someone so little to take care of so soon. But baby, I'd be lying if I said I'm not excited."

You let out a shaky breath, pouting as you stare into his baby blue eyes.

Goodness, you hope your baby would have his eyes-

The thought seems less scary now. Frank grins, thumb brushing across your cheek.

"A baby? With you? My wife and love. I can't think of a better thing to be surprised with."

"But-" Frank presses a kiss against your lips, your next protest lost as you grip the fabric of his scrubs and kiss him back. He smiles against your mouth, a little breathless and flushed.

"Honey, it's going to be okay. I promise."

"Are you sure Frank? Are you sure it's not too much?"

"No. It's just the right amount of 'much.' We always did like to make things a little fun, right?"

You laugh. "I guess so."

He sighs, pulling away slightly to look down at you.

"Another Langdon. "I can't believe it."

You smile into his chest.

"I can't either."

You were still scared. Still overwhelmed at all the changes that would be taking place over the next few months.

But beneath all that, was something brighter now.

A baby. Another Langdon.

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Bonus:

It began with Frank's coffee.

As it turns out, waking up at the crack of dawn has become the norm for both of you now. You lounge on the couch, legs propped up on the cushions with a few extra pillows, the smell from the kitchen heavenly as it wafts through the living room.

You can just make out the backside of Frank's tall frame, shoulders hunched slightly as he pours two cups of the freshly brewed coffee- decaf. Something you'd had to adjust to the past six months.

You smile as a gentle gurgling draws your attention back to the tiny baby boy in your arms.

"Hey Benny," you carefully cradle the newborn, his onesie covered legs scrunched up as you shift him into a better position. "I'm still here. Just making sure your dad doesn't put too much of his creamer in my cup. I don't think you'd like it."

"I heard that," Frank's voice carries from the kitchen.

"Well, it's true," you call back. Ben, just blinks at you, tongue sticking out of his mouth like he wasn't sure of what to do with it. You chuckle, staring at his pretty blue eyes, a shade darker than Franks.

Frank swore they were a darker color when the boy was first born. But you knew. It was the first thing you'd noticed through the tears and exhaustion.

They were the same cerulean shade as your husband's. Glimmering beneath the light. A deep and pretty blue that was piercing and beautiful at the same time.

You can hear the clinking sounds of glass, Frank coming into the living room balancing two coffee mugs in one hand and a plate of scones and hard boiled eggs in the other. You give him a tired smile, beginning to move your legs off the couch when he stops you.

"Oh no mama. I'll sit on the floor."

"With your back-"

"You are still recovering," He insists, setting down the plate and mugs on the coffee table. "Besides, I can change this little guy down here while you start eating."

Frank bends lower to run a hand over the soft fuzz on your son's head, your husband wearing a dreamy smile. You nod, giving a quiet okay as you hand over the boy. Frank cradles the baby's neck carefully, his muscled arms practically engulfing the little boy.

You watch fondly as Frank sits down on the floor in front of you, practically a professional at juggling a baby and diaper bag already.

Truth be told, you couldn't imagine your mornings any other way now.

And you loved it.

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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)

[skzyeri]

frank langdon fic recs - two

F - fluff S - smut A - angst ♡ - series ☆ - one shot ◇ - headcanons

last updated - 30/05/2026 ⤷ fic count - 37

@abbothecary ——————————

☆ isn't she lovely | F. ⤷ a cute moment with frankie and your bump

@angelloveprincess ——————————

☆ frank langdon x barbie!reader | F. ⤷ on your first day, you’d tried your best to look as put together as you could even if that would all go to shit later on in your shift.

@annsfics ——————————

◇ frank langdon drabble | S. A. ⤷ [ part 2 ]

@bean1ebabie ——————————

♡ damn good doctor | F. A. ⤷ frank langdon is a damn good doctor. he is a good husband and father, but he is an even better doctor. even good doctors make mistakes.

@clarktologist ——————————

☆ tachycardia | F. S. ⤷ your boyfriend accidentally brings home his stethoscope, so you use it to check his heartrate. ☆ two hands [and a bit of teeth] | F. ⤷ you're very clingy with your boyfriend, and he's happy to return the favor. until teeth get involved. OR the three times you bite frank langdon and the one time he bites you back.

@dearkeery ——————————

♡ rein me in | F. S. A. ⤷ frank langdon’s back in pittsburgh ten months post-rehab, post-divorce, and post-moving into a one bedroom apartment with no wife, no kids, and more baggage. the pressure and anxiety coupled with his chronic back pain all happening on the eve of the fourth of july nearly causes him to relapse. a thing he knows could ultimately cost him his medical license and whatever semblance of a life he still had. considering the magnitude of what he’s got to lose, he wills every strength he has left to resist the urge brought by his crippling addiction, one mocktail at a time.

@deerfawnn ——————————

☆ more than we thought | F. ⤷ frank langdon x fem!reader (friends with benefits) ☆ sweet | F. ⤷ frank langdon x fem!reader (established relationship) ◇ this drabble | F. ⤷ when you fall asleep on the couch waiting for frank to get home ◇ this drabble | F. ⤷ headcanons about holding his chin while kissing him or planting a smooch on the divot and him loving it ◇ this drabble | F. ⤷ frank accidentally telling your coworkers that you're dating

@fangirl-dot-com ——————————

☆ a vet and a resident walk into a bar(n)... | F. ⤷ frank langdon x whitaker!reader

@felix24601 ——————————

☆ safe here | S. A. ⤷ you and frank are fuck buddies, when he accidentally triggers you and suddenly, things get a lot more real.

@flowersforbucky ——————————

☆ you're a bad idea (but a real good time) | F. S. A. ⤷ it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than sex. you barely even liked each other as friends. frank uses you, and you use him. but somewhere along the way, the lines got blurred.

@flowersforjude ——————————

☆ controlled substance | F. A. ⤷ fighting feelings for your coworker wouldn’t be so hard if loving them wasn’t so easy.

@harringtonshoe ——————————

☆ what a feeling | F. ⤷ you wake up to one of the worst feelings in the world: cramps. lucky for you, your boyfriend is a doctor and somehow knows the key to making you feel better.

@honeyroots ——————————

◇ sloppy makeouts with langdon | S. ⤷ frank langdon has a perfect mouth

@jadeittic ——————————

☆ shared walls | F. A. ⤷ after a nearly fatal accident while you practice, an exhausted frank langdon next door becomes tangled in your recovery.

@langdonsbracelets ——————————

☆ amputation | F. ⤷ single mom reader and a daughter with a broken wrist from a silly accident.

@ltsjuly ——————————

☆ back home | F. A. ⤷ stressful day at the ER, go home together, reflecting the day and gentleman behavior

@matchamangolover7 ——————————

☆ best friend's brother | F. ⤷ you’ve been roommates with your best friend aria since you both turned 18 and graduated high school. and she just so happens to also be the sister of your childhood crush. it’s been years since you’ve seen him and you swear your feelings have faded. until you see him again today, right before your first shift at the ptmc, and then again at karaoke night in the local bar.

@maxinebxrnes ——————————

☆ you look beautiful | F. A. ⤷ after months of pining, and the two of you being oblivious. the hospitals charity gala finally gets frank to confess his underlying love to you.

@nostarfights ——————————

☆ i'm on your side | F. S. A. ⤷ with barely anyone else left to turn to as his time in rehab slowly comes to a close, frank decides to lean on you.

@novatheory ——————————

☆ late night talkin' | F. ⤷ the three times you sleep talk in front of frank langdon, and the one time he talks back.

@oatkissedlatte ——————————

☆ sundress season | S. ⤷ a sweet picnic date with frank langdon turns spicy when frank notices what you're wearing, and what you're not wearing.

@redd-blushing-roses ——————————

☆ ring ring... hello?? | F. ⤷ it's never easy being a parent in the emergency department. never. you don't know how frank does it half the time. what he doesn't tell you is it's always the little things that keep him going. the reminder that at the end of the day, he has his family to come home to. ☆ suck it up buttercup | F. A. ⤷ every month, you suck up the pain of being a woman and ignore your pain to help patients with theirs. every month, frank tries to tell you to take it easy, to stop and listen to your body and stop pushing yourself. but it's hard when your whole life you've lived with a "take it like a man" mindset. until one day you can't take it anymore and your body forces you to listen to it. and to frank. ☆ just meant to be | F. ⤷ it was terrible timing. a positive pregnancy test during your first year interning at PTMC turns your carefully planned future upside down. but while you're panicking at the prospect of pregnancy derailing your careers, frank is utterly smitten with the fact he is going to be a dad... and you're going to be a mom.

@reysdriver ——————————

◇ domestic headcanons | F. S. A. ⤷ some headcanons about the soft, domestic, parent life with frank langdon — dad!frank langdon x mom!reader

@shadeofpeach ——————————

☆ panicked girlfriend | F. A. ⤷ frank comes home to find you unraveled on the bathroom floor. your relationship is still too new for him to know your phobia. but as he pieces your terrifying thoughts together, he steps in with the perfect blend of medical calm and boyfriend tenderness to ground you through it. ☆ anticipation | F. ⤷ pregnant reader who can't sleep because she's nervous

@sugartalk-ing ——————————

☆ frank langdon x reader | F. A. ⤷ “you came?” / “you called.”

@tearsof-scarlet ——————————

☆ under fluorescent lights | F. A. ⤷ you’re the newest ER resident, fighting to prove yourself under the relentless scrutiny of doctor langdon, brilliant, distant, and impossible to read. when a fellow resident’s unwanted attention starts crossing lines, dr. langdon begins to take notice. 

@uwulyn ——————————

☆ his back making it hard to carry chunky baby | F. abby and their kids do not exist here...just wanted a little sad scenario with frank's back making it hard for him to carry their chunky baby :< but not too sad!

@withheavenontop ——————————

♡ lover, you should've come over | F. A. ⤷ adelaide solace starts her first shift in her emergency medicine rotation at PTMC and gets stuck with the cocky R2 in triage.

@xxepherr ——————————

☆ compartmentalise | F. ⤷ working with your fiance has never proven to be an issue before. it becomes one when you learn from your coworkers that apparently there's a surprise waiting for you at home.

[marvel-hiddles-stark]

Saving Water

summary: frank langdon comes home after a long shift and finds you in the shower. needing one himself, he thinks, why not save water?

tags & cw: 18+ minors GOODBYE, fem afab reader, frank langdon ABSOLUTELY calls you baby, established relationship, reader is depicted washing semi-long hair but texture is not specified, slight praise kink, shower sex, fingering, frank being astronomically down bad, domesticity(?), unprotected p in v (in the wise words of dr. langdon himself, wrap it before you tap it!!!)

wc: 4.1k (uhhh I didn't realize how much this one got away from me LMAO)

a/n: so…i’m about the furthest thing from a medical professional so i took it upon myself to steer as far away from medical terminology as possible. That being said, any fics i write for langdon will almost certainly involve a reader who is not in the medical field, so…do with that what you will!

be sure to check out my dr langdon masterlist!

srry baby, i’ll be a little late tonight. Just finishing up charting. Want me to pick up anything on the way home? Love you

Since being hired on as an attending, Frank was usually one of the last to leave the day shifts, so late nights were not at all uncommon. It sucked, especially on the weekends, but it wasn’t as if the rent—or his med school debt—would pay itself. Quite honestly, sometimes you worried that he was stretching himself thin; although Frank thrived in the chaos of the ER, it could still be a lot for one person—especially one with so much more responsibility, now—to handle alone. Plus, physician burnout was a very real thing. 

And, selfishly, you missed him. 

No worries. I made gumbo tonight, should still be warm when you get home. Drive save xx

Suffice it to say that one hour became two, then three, and eventually you kept busy with finishing some household chores before deciding to treat yourself to a nice, long shower. Your hair was overdue for a wash and your best friend had recently gifted you a self-care basket with some shower steamers you’d been wanting to try. 

Twenty minutes later, and you were stepping into a hot shower with lavender-eucalyptus steam emanating from the floor of the tub. You damn-near moaned at the relief—this was just what the doctor ordered (pun intended). 

It wasn’t long after you washed your hair that you thought you heard the front door. But to be fair, every time you showered you managed to convince yourself you’d heard your entire extended family being slaughtered in the living room. It wasn’t until a familiar, rhythmic knock on the bathroom door that you smiled to yourself. 

For as long as you’d known him, Frank always mimicked the pattern of Anna’s opening knock in “Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?” from Frozen (Penny may or may not be obsessed with the movie. Hell, the last time Abby dropped the kids off she’d been in an Elsa dress and demanded they watch it after dinner. This of course meant Frank was also obsessed by proxy). 

“Come in!” 

The door creaked open, and you could hear Frank’s sigh of exhaustion over the stream of the shower. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m home so- Jesus, it smells like a spa in here. What is that?” 

“New shower steamers. Too much?” 

“No, just strong.” You heard the soft click of the door. “Fuck, you would not believe the shift I’ve had—” 

“Good bad or bad bad?” you asked, absently wringing the rest of the shampoo from your hair. 

Another sigh. You could barely make out the ruffling of clothes being shed and tossed haphazardly on the tile. Your stomach instantly fluttered in anticipation, but the rational part of your brain hesitated—you might as well kiss your relaxing shower goodbye if your lovely boyfriend was going to barge in. 

“Good bad, thankfully,” came his reply. “A few interesting cases. Some punk kids almost blinded themselves; apparently they thought it’d be fun to try and cook up some mustard gas with one of their mom’s cleaning supplies. Jackasses were lucky they didn’t get more severe chemical burns.” 

You chuckled. “Sounds about right for teenage boys.” 

“Yep, the usual BS.” 

The shower curtain whipped open, revealing one tired-looking Dr. Frank Langdon, beautifully unkempt and deliciously nude. Despite his visible exhaustion, a broad grin plastered itself on his face at the sight of you. “Hi. I missed you.” 

“Missed you too.” When he kept staring, you quirked a brow, unabashedly assessing his body with false scrutiny. “Can I help you?” 

His—very obviously ogling—eyes shot back up to yours, and he made a shooing gesture. “Uh, yeah. Scooch.” 

When you gave no indication of moving, he took matters into his own hands, pulling the curtain all the way open to step over the lip of the tub. Of course, he flinched immediately upon feeling the water—typical man reaction. 

 “Jesus Christ, woman! How do you not have third degree burns?!” 

“Oh, don’t barge in and then complain,” you tossed back. “Maybe just wait your turn like a normal person. I’m almost done.” Despite what your words might suggest, the protest in your voice was nonexistent, even to your own ears. In actuality, you missed him. A lot. 

Frank shook his head, stepping fully into the shower. “That’s such a lie.” He tucked himself behind you and leaned in close, nosing along your wet hair and making you giggle. “Mm. Mhm. Just what I thought—only shampooed.” 

His cool hands found your waist, skirting the length of your body with gentle intimacy; a tender re-acquaintance with all the parts of you that he’d missed during the day. Despite the scalding hot water, you shivered. 

“O-kay, well. You’re disrupting my zen.” 

Soft lips against the hinge of your jaw nearly eviscerate all rational thoughts in your brain. “Mmmm I know, but I could really use a shower right now. And I missed you. And it’s a chance to lower our water bill. I like to think of it as killing two birds with one stone.” 

You turned to face him, and he immediately swooped in for a kiss that you diverted with a palm planted on his chest. “Fine. You can stay, but no funny business.” 

He stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout. “One kiss?” 

You gave in, because of course you did. Who wouldn’t?

His thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, gently tugging your lower lip to deepen the kiss. It was a slow, welcome hello after so many hours spent apart. The kind of kiss you could tell Frank had been craving, the familiar warmth of a body that didn’t actively need fixing or saving. He parted only to catch his breath, pressing a soft kiss to your damp forehead. You were still leveling your own breathing when he reached behind you for your lavender body scrub. 

A smile found your features, heart swelling with tenderness at the fact that he was familiar enough with your shower routine to know your exact steps. 

While he fumbled with the lid, you occupied yourself by scattering a few soft kisses across his neck and chest, palms landing over his ribs to ground yourself against his body. It wasn’t entirely meant to be sensual, only affectionate, but it became rapidly apparent that your actions were having the opposite effect. 

You huffed a laugh, glancing down between you. “Seriously? That’s all it takes?” 

Frank almost sounded offended. “Don’t sound so shocked. My beautiful, wet, naked girlfriend touching and kissing all over me? That’s more than enough.” 

“You’re so easy.”

He groaned as you sucked at the soft skin beneath his ear. “You’ve no idea. I got hard from watching you dig around in our garbage disposal once.”   

“Oh my god, Frank. Ew.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “What? I like a woman who’s not afraid to get her hands dirty.”

When he finally worked the stubborn lid open, he rubbed the scrub into your skin with the sort of accuracy and attentiveness you could only accredit to his doctoral degree. 

“Leg up,” he commanded, pressing hard enough into your calf that you moaned. “Other leg. Arms out; good girl.”

He was doing this shit on purpose, and both of you knew it. It became glaringly obvious when he spent ample time massaging your tits. 

Okay, maybe you were a bit hypocritical, eyes fluttering shut and lip between your teeth as you let him grope you. You were content to let it slide until his thumbs openly grazed your (already very erect) nipples and you remembered you were supposed to be showering. 

“Francis.” 

“Yes dear?” 

“That’s…mm…not exactly a cleansing motion.” 

“Hm, you’re right. Not very effective, is it?” He let the water rinse off some of the scrub, before promptly leaning down to take a nipple into his sweltering mouth, which somehow felt hotter than the shower itself. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his sodden hair. 

“Yeah…much more effective,” he muttered against your skin. 

“A-ah, Frank, God—” 

His tongue swirled around the bud, lips suckling with just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm, arousal boiling low and insistent in your belly. 

“I could’ve s-sworn I said no funny business.” Again, the protest in your voice was feeble at best; you were equally as helpless in denying your boyfriend as he was in denying you. 

Frank only hummed, switching to give your other nipple the same attention. Your fingers smoothed through his hair, now heavy with water. You stumbled back a step to reach for his shampoo, though he was quick to distract you with a kiss that damn near stole the breath from your lungs. 

“Lemme. Wash. Your hair,” you argue between kisses. 

The whine that poured out of him made more than just your stomach flutter. 

“Lemme kiss you,” he fired back, hands cupping the sides of your face like it would physically pain him to let you go. 

You couldn’t help your lovesick smile. “You can, baby. You can. Just…let’s actually get clean while we’re in here, yeah?” 

With a dramatic grumble, Frank finally turned around so you could get a better angle to wash his hair. 

You poked his side, “so sassy.” 

Even if he often disrupted your entire routine, you enjoyed showering with Frank. He craved physical intimacy more than he’d ever admit to you. It didn’t always have to be sexual, either; you knew he loved being touched simply as a means of closeness and having himself be the one getting taken care of for once. 

You kissed the birth mark on his shoulder blade as you lathered your hands, the earthy scent of his sandalwood shampoo enriching the hot steam of the shower. You gently and firmly carded your fingers through his hair, making sure to spend extra time massaging his scalp. You also gifted him a few scattered kisses across his shoulders and the top of his spine, cherishing the way he quivered under your touch. His pleased little hums made you smile, a mix of fondness and desire continuing to bloom between your legs. 

When you were finished rinsing it all out, Frank decided it was time for your hair mask and eagerly returned the favor, his touch tender and thoughtful as he worked the product into your hair; he also speckled kisses across the slope of your neck and shoulder bones.  

When he was done, however, you could sense the mischief in the smirk he pressed against your neck like a sixth sense; his hands were full of intent as they moved your hair out of his way before trailing down your sides, coming to rest just at the crease of your thighs. His lips once again found the side of your neck, his body crowding into yours from behind. Open-mouthed kisses marked a trail along your shower-softened skin. 

Your hand gripped the nape of his neck as he sucked a bruise into a spot beneath your jaw. 

“What’s your excuse this time?” you rasped. 

“Don’t need one,” he muttered innocently. “We’ve gotta let your hair mask sit for at least five minutes. I think the bottle recommends ten, actually.” 

Another laugh bubbled from your chest. You shot him a dubious look. “What happened to saving water?” 

He hid his smirk behind a kiss on your shoulder. “We are. It’s a two-for-the-price-of-one shower.” Another kiss. His hands drifted back to your inner thighs, voice pitching low. “Should save us about seventy-five cents or so.” 

You shuddered when his fingers skirted the edge of your labia, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Something tells me this isn’t about the money.”

His breath was pure heat against your ear. “Caught me,” he whispered. 

Fingers slipped lower, seeking and finding your already swollen clit, circling it with gentle precision. His other hand trekked back up your body, slow and sensual, tenderly groping your breast. 

“Missed you. Was thinkin’ about this all day.” 

“Yeah?” Your hand reached up to comb through his wet hair as his touch moved further south, teasing your sensitive opening with firm caresses. Your ass arched back into his hips, dragging a groan from his chest as you ground against him. 

“Mhm.” His middle finger finally slid home, drawing a low whimper from the back of your throat. “Fuckin’ elbow deep in blood and guts and I still couldn’t stop imagining you like this.” 

“Wow,” you scoffed. “So romantic.” 

“You know me.” 

One hand gripped his forearm, feeling the tendons flex with the movement of his fingers. “Fuck, Frankie.” 

The nickname always did a number on him; you felt it in the way his free hand tightened on your hip bone, his breath hot as it hitched against your cheek. 

“That feel nice, sweetheart?” You barely managed to nod your head. “Mm. I’m sure it does. She’s already nice n’ wet for me.” 

Frank crowded you against the wall of the shower, your tits flush against the tile as he slipped another finger in, your body trembling around the intrusion. His free hand came to rest beside your head, lips refusing to leave the wet skin of your neck. His cock was stiff and hot against the cleft of your ass. 

Feeling as though things were a bit uneven, you reached behind you and grasped his cock in your hand, your cunt throbbing at his moan of surprise. 

His tongue licks up the side of your neck, mouth sloppy and shameless in his need for you. 

“Yeah, baby. Love when you touch me like that,” he groans, low and long. 

You whined sharply when his curling digits struck gold, pressing just right against spongy tissue. Damn this man—he played you like a fucking fiddle, plucking all the right strings to get your body to sing; made you crave him like oxygen, miss him like a limb. 

The crescendo of your orgasm was fast approaching, your thighs trembling from the promise of it, skin somehow feeling sweaty in spite of the shower. Your free hand flew to his wrist as he buried his head in your neck, lips hot against your skin. 

“Gonna come?” he breathed. “C’mon, baby. Let her feel good. Chase it.” 

You rose, almost on your tiptoes, body arching away from the onslaught of sensitivity whilst seeking more more more, as you straddled the edge of release. When it finally happened, it was with a sharp cry of your boyfriend’s name, nails biting into his wrist as your body shuddered in his hold. 

“There we go,” his voice pitched a little higher with anticipation, feeling your cunt spasm around him, no doubt imagining it were his cock instead. “There we go, good fucking girl. Mhm. Use my fingers, baby. Get yourself off. Fuck, that’s so good.” 

Your hand stalled on his cock, too distracted by the intensity of your orgasm to focus on anything else. Frank didn’t seem to care, wholly consumed in the reactions he was yanking from your body as he kept his fingers pumping in an attempt to prolong your high. His breath was hot against your ear, praises pouring from his lips that you could barely process in the midst of your release. 

Eventually your twitching hips started to slow as your body attempted to come down, but Frank was having none of it. 

“Nuh-uh. Keep going. You’re not done,” he breathed against your ear. “Can still feel her twitchin’ on me.” He ground his palm against your throbbing clit, drawing a sharp cry from your lips as you jolted from the sharp tenderness of it. 

“Frank,” you pleaded, lungs heaving from his continued attention. Your body was quickly getting overwhelmed, almost overstimulated, but the plea of his name wasn’t a warning; it wasn’t a ‘no’ or a ‘stop’ or even a ‘slow down’, though you knew at any point a simple utterance of red would have him backing off immediately. It was none of those things, and both of you knew it. Your hand gripped his wrist as you moaned, slack-jawed and shameless, skin dewy from sweat and humidity. 

“Good girl,” he praised, right in your ear. “C’mon. She wants another one, I can feel it.” 

With a sharp cry, your body spasmed right into its second orgasm, nearly curling in on itself from the pleasure that bordered on pain. Frank was there to hold you up, though, the arm that wasn’t currently buried between your legs crossing around your front to keep you upright and pressed into him. 

“Fuck. Fuck. That’s it, there we go, shh…” 

He found your panting mouth at some point, messily kissing along your lower lip and chin as he finally retracted his fingers from your cunt. 

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his soft voice a total 180 from the way he’d been talking moments ago. 

You nodded weakly, breathing hard, a lazy smile appearing on your face as your nervous system slowly returned to normal. Frank was still flush against your back and hard as a rock, so you indulged him in a slow, messy kiss that drew a longing moan from the back of his throat. 

“We can be done,” he said, sounding genuine. Some might be surprised to learn that Frank Langdon was a giver in bed—to the point that his own pleasure was inconsequential at times. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you insist, shifting your hips back against his to make a point. “I want it like this,” you whispered against his lips. 

Frank’s groan made your belly do flips. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

He was quick to give in after that. 

“Fuck, okay. C’mere. Arch your back a little, sweetheart.” 

His cock was hot and heavy, parting the lips of your cunt and sliding up to tease your swollen clit. His voice was molten heat in your ear. The world once again narrowed to his presence, his voice and his touch. Your clit was hypersensitive, a harsh sort of hot pleasure that made you slightly dizzy. 

Frank placed a few salacious kisses up the back of your neck. “Gonna let me put it in? Just a little bit, hm?” 

You were prepared to beg for it, actually. 

“Yes, yes. Please, baby, wan’ all of it—”

“Oh?” His grin was like a Cheshire cat’s. “You want all of it, do you? After I already gave you two orgasms? Such a greedy girl.” 

“Mhm, mhm. Please."

He let out a disbelieving chuckle, like he couldn’t fathom how lucky he’d gotten. “Okay, baby. Okay. You can have all of me.” 

The push into you is near effortless with how wet you are, but you still moan in bliss at the delightful stretch of him, eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Frank isn’t abnormally long, but he’s thick, a burn that blazes through every one of your cells. 

“Oh fuck, baby. God. Squeezin’ me so good, mmmfuck—”

That only makes you clamp down harder, head dizzy with the familiar stretch, your arms and palms braced against the wet wall of the shower. 

The kiss behind your ear was soft, then. 

“You okay?” 

You nodded frantically, trying to encourage him to move with a backwards thrust of your hips. The water sluices your joint bodies, everything hot and wet, clean and filthy, push and pull. Your head tips back against his shoulder, jaw slack with a sharp gasp. 

Frank groans, the sound a guttural noise in his chest, as he works his hips into you with building gusto. You open your eyes and peek over a shoulder to find a pinch in his brow, a blend of focus and strain. One of your hands moves to grip the back of his thigh, nails biting into skin, urging him along with the movement of your own hips. 

“S-so good to me,” you pant, knowing in secret that he has a thing for praise, too. “You’re so good, Frankie. M-making me feel so good and so special, fucking me like this. I love you so much.” 

Another whimper careens from his parted lips, hands bracing on the shower wall beside your head as he picks up speed. 

“I bet this is just what you needed, hm?” You squeeze his thigh harder. “A nice, good fuck. Does it feel good, honey? Can you feel how much I missed you?” 

He nods breathlessly, and when his eyes finally reopen you’re nearly overwhelmed at the look in them, flooding with lust and love and worship. He’s looking at you like you’re something divine, something worth more than a million words could ever convey. 

A hand moves to cradle your jaw, panting into the centimeters of space between you. “Kiss me, baby. Please.” 

You oblige instantly, twisting slightly to get a better angle. 

A positively mouth-watering whimper stumbles from his mouth into yours when your pussy tightens around him, your orgasm precious moments away as he presses you further against the shower wall.   

“Feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. I missed you so much.” 

You respond in kind, offering a whine of your own as he pounds into you. “M-missed you too.” Desperation and emotion cloud your voice. “I hate when you have to stay overtime.” 

“I know baby, I’m sorry. I hate it too,” he breathes, peppering kisses across your cheek. “But I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” His voice pitches lower, words making your pussy flutter around his cock in warning of your impending release. “Just wanna feel you come on me, honey. Make my whole night, c’mon. One more.” 

You center all of your focus on that singular goal, feeling him rock inside your tender pussy. The brink is borderline painful the third time around, a building burn that festers in all of your lower muscles and springs tears to your eyes. But you are nothing if not determined, willing at all costs to give Frank everything that he wants because he fucking deserves it, and you want to come so badly that you power through it, chasing that final, blissful fall. 

Frank is grunting in your ear, and you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to see him, watch him as he falls apart and the vision of it has you frantically tapping on his thigh. 

“Turn me, turn me,” you demand. 

It takes a second for your words to land. “Wha- are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah, yes, I just…I just want to face you. Please, Frank.” 

He does as you ask, hiking a leg up onto his hip and immediately getting back to work. You yelp from the deeper angle this position allows, arms looping loosely around his neck as you watch him with hooded eyes. 

“God, baby,” he curses. “You’re so perfect. So, so, beautiful.” 

“Mm…Frankie. G-gonna—” 

“Yeah? C’mon. C’mon hon, you got it.” 

His fingers dash between your bodies, and the startling stab of his thumb working over your worn clit is what finally does it. Not even a few thumb strokes later and you’re shattering around his cock, nearly sliding down the shower wall and losing your balance if Langdon weren’t there to catch you. He fucks you through it, only barely, a string of profanities and your name pouring from his lips. 

“S-shit, baby. M’gonna come, fuck—” his grip on your hip tightens. “Where do you want it?” 

“Inside,” comes your immediate—albeit somewhat loopy—response. “Always, baby. Please, insideinsideinside—” 

This seemed to undo him; he pitches forward to sink his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. A full-body shudder rolls through his body, quickly followed by a long, drawn-out groan. His thrusts turn into sloppy, erratic movements of his hips, like he’s trying to burrow himself as deep as possible as the familiar warmth of his release floods your nervous system. 

His breathing starts to slow as he runs his hands up and down your sides, grounding himself in the nearness of your body. Then his head lifts, and you barely catch the dopey smile on his face before he smothers it against your lips, his kiss deep and unhurried. You take it for what it is—an intimate thank you, a conveyance of his gratitude for having him, for letting him have you. 

“I think,” you run your fingers through his hair, “I think my hair mask is probably ready to be washed out.” 

Frank chuckles, hiding his face in your neck. His five o’clock shadow makes you itchy. 

“Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. I swear I didn’t have ulterior motives.” You scoff, and he laughs again. “Okay, fine, maybe I did. Just…not to this extent.” He pulls his head out of your neck, and that happy grin of his is back, making your heart stutter in your chest. “But no regrets, though?” 

You roll your eyes fondly. “No, my love. I really did miss you today.” You peck the dimple on his chin, “only…now can we really shower? Because somehow I’m feeling more gross than when I initially got in.” 

His grin widens, affection and love written in the lines of his pearly white smile. When he leans close, his forehead brushes yours. “Yeah, baby. We can.” 

masterlist

[harringtonshoe]

Desperate Times

frank langdon x f!reader. 18+ MDNI! phone sex, langdon talking u thru it (first time writing phone sex hashtag nervous) pet names, a praise kink if u squint. no use of yn. [1.1k words]

You’re spending the weekend at Frank’s parents’ house, only they have the two of you in separate bedrooms. That doesn’t seem to deter your boyfriend, however.

You stare at the ceiling of an unfamiliar bedroom. You can’t deny that it’s nice—modern dressers and an updated bathroom that smells like fresh bleach, but you aren’t exactly thrilled as you lay in the bed, alone.

It wasn’t your first time meeting Frank’s parents, but it was the first time staying in their house. Your parents had gone abroad for the holidays, and you had no choice but to spend Thanksgiving with your in-laws. You didn’t mind, not really. Frank’s family was great, his sisters welcomed you with open arms and assisted you in your play arguments.

The only thing, however, was his mom had assigned you to the guest bedroom. You had almost thought that she was joking, leading you up the stairs and turning you down the hall. You had caught your boyfriend’s gaze on the way up, recognizing his stare as an apologetic one.

You didn’t know why—not until she had Frank’s father lug your suitcase into the guest room and gave you a tour of the space. You could have slipped into his room, but there was a part of you that was still itching for their approval. No matter how stupid this arrangement was, you’d been with Frank for the better half of a year, they seriously couldn’t believe that you’d never had sex, let alone shared a bed.

Still, there you were. Alone in an unfamiliar space, without your boyfriend. He had snuck in an hour ago, apologizing profusely and kissing you until you were breathless, but then someone had called his name and he was sneaking out. Like you were in high school.

Your phone vibrated from the nightstand, you craned your head to see who was calling you, brows raising once you saw his name.

“Are you really calling me when you’re in the room across the hall?” you asked, voice groggy despite the lack of sleep you’d got.

“Yes,” Frank answered, casually. “I’m so used to sleeping with you, I can’t fall asleep.”

“Me either. You could just come here.”

“And risk poking the bear?”

“We’re adults,” you reminded him. “You do see how ridiculous this is, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I do. But we’re in their house, baby. As much as it irritates me.”

You pursed your lips. You weren’t satisfied with that answer. “Yeah, whatever.”

“It’s just for one night,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll be back in our apartment in our bed.”

“I know,” you shifted in the sheets, stretching your legs and making a quiet little sigh.

“Shit,” he said, suddenly.

“What?”

“You can’t- what are you doing?”

You blinked up at the ceiling. “Um. Talking to you?”

He made a strangled sound, said your name in the low way he always did when he knew you were about to come. It made your stomach flutter. “Fuck. Sorry, I thought I heard you..”

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Behave yourself.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been half-hard since you touched my thigh under the dinner table earlier. I’m a little past that.”

“Frank!” You hissed, feeling your cheeks heat, but despite your slight mortification, something else pooled in your stomach.

“It’s not my fault,” Frank defended quickly. You almost laughed. “You’re just so damn irresistible.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere,” you told him, but you shifted this time, less like a stretch and more like a way to relieve the pressure that was building.

“Do you know how hard it is being away from you?” he murmured, his voice getting low. You could almost picture the way his eyes lidded as he said it. “Knowing you’re right there in my childhood home and I can’t do anything about it?”

You felt your lips part, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Are you insane?” you demanded.

“Yeah,” he admitted almost immediately. “Don’t lie to me, honey. I know you feel it, too.”

He didn’t have to specify what, and you knew there was no point in trying to deny it. “Frank,” you whispered, voice almost a whine.

“It’s okay, baby,” he assured you, and you felt your thighs clench involuntarily. “Everyone has needs.”

“I didn’t have any until you called me,” you replied, dryly.

“So this is all because of me, hm? My voice?”

“Frank,” you warned, but your fingers were already inching towards the waistband of your shorts. “This is inappropriate.”

“Yeah it is,” Frank agreed. “So inappropriate, and yet you’re doing exactly as I ask.”

“I hate you,” you murmured, your fingers rubbing small circles on the outside, the thin layer of your underwear easily casted aside.

“I love you,” he said instead, and your fingers immediately jolted, going deeper. You knew he was doing it too, slow strokes on his end of the phone, you could tell from his shallow breathing. “I wish I was doing this to you. Wish I was the one touching you.”

“I wish you were touching me too,” you gasped, quietly. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done this yourself, you’d happily given the task to Frank. To his mouth, his hands, his cock. He pleased you endlessly, and now you felt a little foreign with your own body.

He said your name. Your fingers curled inside, evoking a quiet moan from you that instantly made him swear. “Shit, baby. Already? Take your time.”

“I’m trying.”

“Don’t want it to happen too fast,” he said. “I want to come with you.”

“Frank, you can’t-“ you stammered. “You can’t say stuff like that. It’s not fair.”

You heard a noise come from the other end, you couldn’t tell if it was a groan or a muffled laugh, you didn’t care either way. You continued the slow motion of your fingers, swirling them until the building pressure started to become overbearing.

You panted, and Frank knew, somehow, immediately. “Go ahead, honey. I’m right with you.”

“I want you,” you practically whined. “I want it to be you.”

“I’m here,” he told you. “Listen to my voice. I’ve got you. Cmon, baby. You’re doing so well.”

That got you. You muffled your moan into your pillow, phone laid next to it as you came crashing down around your fingers. You heard the echo of his own orgasm, his quiet choked sob that you’d heard so many times you could actually picture his face. How his brows furrowed, how his mouth parted and how you always kissed his chin dimple after.

Mortification struck immediately after. You’d just got off to the sound of his voice, in his parent’s house—their guest bedroom to be exact, and you weren’t sure how you would ever look them in the face again.

“You okay over there?” He asked when you fell silent.

“Mhm,” you hummed, blinking through the aftershocks. “I’m getting you back for this,” you promised him.

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

Unfortunately for you, however, you fell asleep embarrassingly fast after being talked through phone sex by Frank Langdon, so you weren’t really sure how to get him back when really, he’d done you a favor.

[deerfawnn]

reader being upset because she hears rumours that Langdon has a date coming up but she and Frank have been flirting for so long she thought he might ask her out. but it's just some miscomunication and a happy ending

date

pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think! besides maybe reader having awful communication issues a/n: hai lovely! i hope you like this and thank you for requesting <3

"He's what?"

Your head snapped up so fast you felt a twinge in your neck. Perlah leaned against the counter, casual as could be, dropping what felt like a bomb directly into your lap.

"Apparently he has a date," Perlah whispered, though the wicked glint in her eyes suggested she had absolutely no intention of keeping this information quiet.

Princess, perched on a rolling stool beside you, nearly fell off. "No way." Her eyes went wide with delight. "With who?" She leaned forward, grateful for anything to break up the monotony of a 10 AM shift.

Perlah merely shrugged. "No one knows." But the look she shot Princess promised they would find out.

You sat frozen between them, watching their mouths move as they switched into rapid Tagalog, words flying back and forth over your head. Their voices faded into background noise as five words kept repeating on a loop.

Frank Langdon has a date.

The man you'd been crushing on since your very first month at The Pitt. The man who had spent the past several months doing things that made you wonder if maybe he felt the same way.

The way he'd find excuses to brush against you in the supply room. The coffees that appeared at your workstation whenever you pulled a double, always made exactly the way you liked them. The way his eyes would find yours during the worst cases.

You stared at the computer screen. The mouse sat motionless under your hand, cursor blinking uselessly on the discharge summary you'd abandoned mid sentence.

Frank Langdon has a date.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, the pain pushing back against the hot pressure building behind your eyes. Absolutely not. You were not going to cry in the middle of the ER over a man who, let's be honest, had never actually said anything. Had never made a move. Had never done more than hint and flirt and make you feel special in a hundred tiny ways that apparently meant nothing at all.

Get a grip.

You logged out of the computer, pushed your chair back, and walked directly into a wall of warm muscle.

"Woah there."

You knew that voice.

Frank's hands caught your upper arms, steadying you before you could stumble backward. His grip was warm even through the fabric of your scrubs. When you looked up, because of course you had to look up, the man was infuriatingly tall, he was already smiling.

Frank must have seen something in your face, because his own expression shifted almost immediately. The smile faded. "Hey. You okay?"

For one terrible moment, you couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stare at his face, at the genuine worry, and wonder how someone could look at you like that and then go on a date with someone else.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. Sorry." You pulled away from his hands, ignoring the way your skin seemed to protest the loss of contact, and stepped around him. "Gotta check on a patient."

You didn't look back. If you looked back, you might see something in his eyes that would undo you completely, or worse, you might see nothing at all.

So you disappeared into the nearest patient room.

Behind you, Frank stood exactly where you'd left him. He stared after you, confusion etched into every line of his face, before his gaze slowly drifted to the nurses' station. Perlah and Princess suddenly found the computer screen fascinating. Neither would meet his eyes.

Busying yourself with patients barely helped. It did something, kept your hands moving, your mouth talking, your brain focused on vitals and medications and everything except the image of Frank Langdon on a date with someone who wasn't you. But the moment a room emptied, the moment you had two seconds to yourself, the thought came back.

Frank Langdon has a date.

You'd just finished discharging a teenager with a sprained ankle when you found yourself back at the central board, staring up at the rainbow of markers and patient names.

What patient should you take next? Didn't matter. Pick one. Anyone. Just keep moving.

"Hey."

The voice came from your left, close enough to make your heart seize. You didn't need to look to know who it belonged to. You'd know that voice anywhere.

You glanced up briefly. Just long enough to confirm it was him, standing there in his black scrubs, hair slightly disheveled, looking down at you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

Then your eyes were back on the board, fixed on a random patient name. "Hi," you managed, and even that single syllable came out too quiet, nothing like your usual voice.

Frank actually did a double take. He'd gotten used to your smile. The smile that would carry him through the next hour. But there was nothing now. Just a blank expression and eyes that refused to meet his.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of himself. His hands itched to reach for you, but something in your posture made him hold back.

"Want to take the fever one together?" The question came out softer than he intended. Not his usual style at all.

You bit your lip, still not looking at him. "Uh, no sorry." You took a step back. "I have to—I have to check on Ogilvie and Joy. And their patient." You were stammering, you realized. Actually stammering. "Resident duties."

The last part came out with a small grimace, as if you'd just remembered that Frank was also a resident, as if you were reminding yourself that he existed in the same professional category as you, that there was nothing special about him, nothing that should make your chest ache this way.

You turned to leave without waiting for his response.

His hand caught your forearm before you could escape. "Hey." His grip was firm enough to stop you but not enough to hurt. "Did I do something?"

He turned you toward him slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and when you didn't, he stepped closer. Your shoes nearly touched. You could smell him, that stupidly nice combination of hospital antiseptic and whatever soap he used, the one you'd noticed weeks ago and never mentioned because that would require admitting you paid attention.

"No!" The word came out too fast. You shook your head, and when you tried to gently shake off his grip, he let go immediately. "No, no, you haven't done anything. I promise."

For a horrible and awkward moment, you didn't know what to do with your hands. They hovered, before one of them landed on his chest. You patted him. Twice.

"I'm fine," you heard yourself say. "Just a rough day with patients."

You both stared at your hand on his chest. For one endless second, you felt the warmth of his body through the thin scrub top, the way his heart was racing. You dropped your hand like it had caught fire and then you were gone.

At some point, you lost track of time hours ago, you were called to assist. Car accident, multiple patients. Robby's voice called your name as you fell into place beside Frank. Side by side, like always.

You worked well together. You always had. Frank would reach for something and you'd already have it ready. You'd start a sentence and he'd finish it. It was the kind of relationship people spent years building.

But today, there were no lingering looks from you. No soft smiles when he did something right.

Robby called out a compliment when you got a difficult line on the first try, and you smiled at him, the way you used to smile at Frank. Frank tried to add his own praise, laying it on thick, hoping for even a crumb of that smile. Garcia, working beside you, rolled her eyes the moment he opened his mouth.

Frank ignored her completely, too focused on you. You gave him something that barely qualified as a smile. Then you turned back to the patient. Frank felt something crack in his chest.

It got worse.

When he handed you an instrument during the procedure, your fingers hesitated before taking it, careful to avoid touching his. When he reached for the ties on the back of your surgical gown, something he'd done a hundred times before, you nearly bolted away. Only the fact that he already had hold of the ties kept you there, frozen, while his fingers worked the knot with shaking hands.

What was happening? The question rattled around Frank's skull for the rest of the shift. He couldn't focus.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He got you coffee.

You were in the break room, hunched over a clipboard, when he found you. The coffee sat in his hand, made exactly the way you liked it.

"Hey."

You looked up. And then you just… stared at him, at the coffee, back at him. For too long. Long enough that Frank started to feel uncomfortable under the weight of it.

He held the cup out, waiting. His big blue eyes were wide and uncertain, searching your face for something, anything. Then he smiled at you. The smile that showed his dimples, the one that usually made you smile as well.

Your eyes dropped immediately. You took the coffee with careful fingers, making absolutely sure not to brush against his.

Frank felt like someone had poured ice water down his spine. He missed you. He missed your smile. He missed the way you'd throw flirty comments at him across the ER. He missed the way your eyes would light up when he walked into a room. He missed you. And you were right here, three feet away, and he'd never felt further from you in his life.

"Hope I added enough sugar." He tried for casual and failed. His voice came out almost pleading.

You took a sip and shook your head slowly. "It's perfect. Thank you." You set the coffee aside on the counter and picked up your clipboard again, flipping through papers you'd already read twice. A clear dismissal.

Frank wanted to grab you by the shoulders. He wanted to shake you until you talked to him, wanted to demand answers, explanations, anything that would make this stop hurting.

Instead, he tried one more time. "You sure you're okay, pretty?"

He'd called you that once, during your second month at the Pitt. You'd been exhausted, running on no sleep and bad coffee, and he'd brought you a sandwich from the cafeteria. Eat something, pretty. You're gonna fall over. You'd called him handsome right back. And somehow, it had stuck.

You flinched. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Frank." You gave him a weak smile and you didn't call him handsome. He nodded wordlessly and left. He didn't see the way you stared after him.

The end of shift crawled toward you like it knew they were both suffering and wanted to drag it out.

You felt Frank's eyes on you before you looked up. There was something about the weight of his gaze that you'd grown attuned to over the months like a warmth at the back of your neck. You'd always loved it before. You loved knowing he was looking, that you existed in his line of sight.

He was finishing up with his last patient, an elderly woman with a stomach ache who'd been admitted hours ago and was finally being moved upstairs. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you pretended to focus on your charting. Saw him glance your way, hold the look. Long enough that even from across the ER, you could see the confusion in his expression.

You dropped your eyes back to the computer screen.

You'd barely spoken all day. That was on you. You knew it was on you. Frank had approached at least ten times. Ten separate opportunities to just talk to him, to ask about the date, to clear this whole mess up. But you couldn't. Every time he got close, every time you heard his voice, your throat closed up and your eyes started burning and all you could think about was tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when you'd come back to work. Tomorrow, when you'd have to hear about his date. Tomorrow, when you'd have to pretend to be happy for him while some other woman's name sat on his lips and some other woman's smile lived in his memory.

Better to start the distance now. Better to build the wall brick by brick before tomorrow, when you'd really need it. Before you had to hear how fantastic she was, how beautiful, how funny, how everything you weren't.

Then Frank was suddenly behind you. He didn't do his usual thing, the thing where he'd lean against your desk and make stupid jokes until you gave in, the thing where he'd wait for you to finish so you could walk out together, the thing where he'd annoy you just enough to make you push your charting to tomorrow, letting him pull you out of your chair while you giggled and pretended to be mad, warm all over from the simple pleasure of his hand in yours.

He just stood next to your desk. "I'm going home." His voice was careful. "You need a ride?"

You looked up and God, his eyes. Those stupidly blue eyes that usually softened with warmth when they landed on you. Now they just looked desperate. His hands stayed at his sides. He was resisting the urge to touch you. You could tell. You'd grown to read his body language as well as you read your own.

You shook your head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Frank hesitated. For one awful moment, you thought he might push. Then he nodded and he didn't even manage a smile this time. "Yeah. Fine."

You heard the hurt. Frank Langdon, who hid everything behind sarcasm and that infuriating confidence, was upset.

You don't know how long you sat there. But it was long enough for the night shift to start filtering in, for Dana to give you a concerned look from the nurses' station that you pretended not to see. You just kept charting.

By the time you finally finished, your eyes were red rimmed and hurting. You couldn't tell if it was from the sheer heartbreak or from staring at a computer screen for way too many hours. Probably both. Definitely both.

The locker room was quiet this late. Everyone else had gone home or moved to night shift, leaving you alone with your own miserable thoughts.

You pulled your jacket from its hook and draped it over your arm. Your fingers found your phone, and you stared at the screen without really seeing it.

What was Frank doing right now?

Was he home, getting dressed up? Changing out of his scrubs into something nice? A button down, maybe, the dark blue one that made his eyes look even prettier? Was he standing in front of a mirror, running his hands through his hair, checking his reflection before heading out?

Was he already at the restaurant? Was it even a restaurant, or something fancier?

Who was she? Did you know her? Was she a nurse from another floor, a doctor from a different department, someone completely outside the hospital? Was she pretty? Smart? Funny?

Was he going to kiss her tonight?

Would you have to hear about it tomorrow? Would he come in with that stupid smile, that glow of someone who'd had a good night, and would someone ask and would he tell them and would you have to hear it?

You grabbed your phone harder and pulled up the bus schedule. The next bus would be here in twelve minutes. You'd wait in the cold, go home, crawl into bed, and try not to think about where Frank was or who he was with or what he was doing.

Simple. Easy. Fine.

You walked out into the Pittsburgh night, and the cold hit you immediately. But you barely noticed it. Your eyes were on your phone, squinting at the bus times, trying to calculate how long you'd be standing here, while simultaneously trying not to think about how every passing minute was another minute Frank spent with someone who wasn't you.

Nine minutes until the bus. Nine minutes of him being on a date. Eight minutes. Eight minutes of him maybe holding her hand. Seven minutes. Seven minutes of him maybe leaning closer, maybe—

You walked directly into someone.

Your phone flew out of your hand, clattering to the pavement, and you stumbled backward with a yelp, only to look up and feel your entire world stop.

Frank, standing right outside the hospital entrance. Frank, who had left an hour ago. Frank, who should be on a date right now, not standing here in the cold.

"Frank?"

"Hi." You could see him physically stop himself from adding pretty, saw the way his mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again on just the simple greeting. Remembering your flinch this morning, trying not to hurt you again.

Your heart cracked a little more at that small act of restraint.

"What are you doing here?" You bent down to grab your phone, grateful for the excuse to look away from him for a second.

Frank was quiet for a moment. "Waiting for you." You blinked at him.He gestured past you, toward the bus stop where you'd been heading. "I knew you were lying."

Heat flooded your face immediately, guilt, embarrassment, the horrible feeling of being caught. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Charting was going to take too long. I didn't want to bother you." You scuffed your shoe against the pavement, unable to meet his eyes. "You had… things. To do."

Things. Such a weak word for a date with another woman.

"Never bothered me before."

Your eyes finally met his. He was right. He'd never once acted like you were a bother. You thought about all those nights when he'd sit in the chair next to you while you finished charting, spinning back and forth, making stupid comments, poking at your arm until you swatted him away and told him to stop bothering you. He never listened. He just grinned that stupid grin and kept bothering you.

He never went home without you. Not once.

So why were you surprised to find him here now? Why had you ever thought he would?

"Did I do something?"

Your eyes shot up to meet his. The streetlight behind him cast his face in shadow, but you could still see the concern in his eyes.

"No, why?" The words came out too defensive, and you regretted them immediately. Regretted the 'why' most of all, because now you'd put yourself on the spot.

Frank tilted his head, studying you with those impossibly blue eyes. "You know why." You bit your lip and glanced away toward the bus station. "I'm serious." His voice dropped and he tilted his head again, trying to catch your eyes. "Did I upset you? Did I say something wrong?"

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, still staring at the bus station.

"I'd like to fix whatever I did."

The silence stretched. The bus sign clicked to four minutes.

"Frank, I'm fine." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears. "Just go, before you're late for your date, yeah?"

You finally met his eyes. God, his eyes. You'd never get over his eyes, so blue they almost didn't look real, so blue you'd spent months finding excuses to look at them, so blue you'd written terrible poetry in your head that you'd never admit to anyone.

But now those eyes just looked confused. "Date?"

"Yeah." Your voice cracked slightly. "Your date. Tonight."

Frank stared at you for a long moment. "I don't have a date," he repeated, and his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Who on earth said I had a date?"

Your brain, exhausted and overwhelmed at this point, could only manage one word. "Perlah."

Frank's eyebrows shot up. "Perlah?" He tilted his head, processing this information. "And where did she get it from?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask." You mumbled the words, suddenly feeling very foolish. Why hadn't you asked? Why had you just accepted it as fact? Normally you were smarter than this. Normally you didn't take gossip at face value.

But normally your heart wasn't on the line.

Frank glanced down at you. "Okay. Well, I don't have a date."

You raised your head, searching his face for any sign of deception. "Where'd the rumor come from, then?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled.

You narrowed your eyes. You'd spent months watching Frank, watching him with patients, with colleagues, with attendings. You knew his tells. You knew when he was hiding something. "Yeah, you do."

Frank's jaw worked. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he spoke. "Perlah just misunderstood my conversation with Donnie."

He was looking away now, studying the hospital entrance. The streetlight caught the slight flush creeping up his neck.

"What conversation with Donnie?" you prompted gently.

Frank's eyes flicked to yours, then away again. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you'd rarely seen from him. "Was talking about how I'd been planning on asking you out. On a date. And Donnie, being Donnie, probably said something loud enough for Perlah to hear and she… filled in the blanks wrong."

You stared at him. Your brain, which had been through absolute hell today, officially stopped working. "Huh?"

Frank grinned at that, even as a flush spread across his cheeks. He looked almost shy, which was so utterly ridiculous on a man like Frank that you couldn't quite process it.

"My turn to ask weird questions," he said, and his voice had gone softer now. "Why were you so upset with me? Are you sure I didn't say anything wrong?"

"Because—" You stopped. Your mind was still stuck on the words asking you out on a date,. "Because we've been flirting for months!" The words burst out of you, louder than you intended, more upset than you wanted to sound. "Flirting for months, Frank. And then I just—I find out you're going on a date with some other girl, and I'm just supposed to be fine? I'm supposed to just stand there and watch you smile at someone else and bring her coffee and wait for her after shifts?"

"You could have just asked me." His voice was impossibly fond. "You've been here long enough to know that listening to Perlah's gossip is never a good idea."

You crossed your arms, defensive now. "Don't act like you haven't believed half her gossip before."

Frank's grin widened. "That's different. Her gossip is usually right. But you should have learned by now that when it comes to me, you come straight to the source." He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. The silence stretched between you, both of you smiling at each other.

"So," you said slowly, "you were planning to ask me out?"

Frank's expression softened further and he nodded. "If you'll let me."

"Yeah." You felt the smile spread across your face. "Definitely."

"Good." Frank's own smile widened, those dimples making an appearance that made your heart stutter. "Let me drive you home first," he said softly, "and we can discuss the details there, yeah?"

You nodded, unable to stop smiling. But before you could take a step toward where his car was presumably parked, you rose up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

You buried your face in the curve of his neck. You'd missed his touch so badly. And now that you could have it again, you couldn't get close enough.

Frank didn't hesitate for even a second. His arms came around you immediately. "Please don't ever do that again," he mumbled against your hair.

You giggled against his neck. "I'll try my best, handsome." You felt him relax as soon as he heard the word.

Finally, reluctantly, you pulled back. Frank's hands lingered on your waist, clearly unwilling to let go entirely, and you didn't blame him. You didn't want to let go either. But then he smiled and reached for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours and he started walking toward his car, pulling you gently along with him.

"So," you said, swinging your joined hands slightly as you walked, "are you going to take me to a fancy restaurant?"

Frank glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "That's your first question?"

"It's an important question. I need to know what I'm getting into."

He laughed. "Yeah. I'm taking you to a fancy restaurant."

"What time are you picking me up?"

"Whenever you want."

"Should I dress up?"

"Whatever makes you comfortable."

[harringtonshoe]

Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home

frank langdon x mel king. kingdon oneshot. this is a LONGGG one so get comfy hehehe. rated mature but not for smut (sexual references only, and a kiss scene) slow burn, set right after season 2 ends. basically july-november in pitt universe. angst with a happy ending, frank gets divorced, becca is a kingdon SHOOTER! mel’s pov. langdon uses petnames. jealous!langdon, possessive!langdon. brief jealous!mel if u squint. [11.5k words]

There are three bets circulating the ER that month. One: how many weeks before Abbot realizes his leftover Stroganoff is actively growing mold. Two: the likelihood of Santos stabbing Garcia in the foot again after the recent announcement of her new relationship. And three: how long until Melissa King sees that Frank Langdon is no longer wearing his wedding ring.

That area of the board is tapered with dozens of sticky notes and wads of cash so big Ahmad had to buy another whiteboard.

Melissa King likes to think of herself as an optimist. She wakes up every morning at five thirty to watch the sunrise, she enjoys the peace that the early morning brings her, she especially loves when the sky is colored with orange and purple looking like an artist has taken a paint brush to the clouds. She likes to wake Becca up (when she’s not at her facility, of course) with some sort of fun fact that she knows will interest her sister to get a smile or a laugh out of her. She loves when the hot water in the bathroom doesn’t take long to warm up, and when her scrubs are still warm in the dryer from the load of laundry she put in the night before. She loves when she comes home from work to find out that yes, she did take the chicken out of the freezer, and yes, she does have a bag of broccoli to go alongside it. She loves it when Becca is home, and she loves it when she has the house to herself, even if it gets lonely occasionally.

She’s not really sure if any of that makes her an optimist or just someone who enjoys the simple things, but one thing is for certain: she remains realistic with things like these. She reminds herself that the tea she gets on the way to work will not always be perfect and to her preference, sometimes it isn’t as warm as she’d like it to be. She never requests another drink. She reminds herself that the annoying weather of early springtime will either have her freezing in the morning or able to walk outside of her apartment in shorts and a t-shirt. She knows that not every morning will have a perfect sunrise, sometimes the sky is murky and grey, but sometimes it is beautiful. There is balance. Mel likes balance. And she especially likes to remind herself that the man she is deeply in love with is, in fact, married.

How is that for optimism?

***

Mel wakes up every morning to the beeping sound of her alarm clock, it isn’t loud or jolting, just repetitive enough to fully shake her from her sleep. It’s the call of a barn swallow, a kind of bird that her mother always sketched. The type of bird that symbolized hope and happiness, and though Mel didn’t necessarily consider herself the superstitious type, she did always feel closer to her mom once stirred from her slumber, like she was still there, hand on Mel’s face and whispering for her to get up.

She always struggles not to feel disappointed when she wakes to a dark room, her alarm sounding from her nightstand, and her mother nowhere to be seen. Mel exhales, reaches to switch the alarm off and stares at the ceiling before grabbing her glasses from the nightstand. Her apartment is eerily quiet, it usually is this early, but extra that day since Becca is at her facility for an overnight weekend, something she had requested due to Adam staying.

Mel tries her best not to bristle, it’s only been a week since the worst day of her life. Maybe she’s being dramatic, she’s certainly had worse days. The car wreck that killed their parents, that definitely took the cake. But the day that Becca came into the hospital, revealed her secret relationship and ditched her to watch the fireworks with her boyfriend still managed to come close. And that was excluding the deposition.

Mel’s morning routine is simple. She always brushes her teeth first, she can’t stand the feeling of the taste in her mouth from sleep. She flosses, washes her face, braids her hair, and goes to her balcony to watch the sunrise. It’s hot that morning already, mid-July in Pennsylvania. She isn’t surprised, but she can already feel the humidity applying itself and sticking to her skin.

Her balcony is her favorite part of her apartment, it’s covered, which means she’s strung fairy lights from one side to the next, her furniture is wicker with soft orange cushions, she even has a table dedicated to her outdoor plants. Plants that she’s forgotten to water, she quickly heads inside, leaving the slider door open while she fills the jug up with water.

Once she’s satisfied they aren’t going to dry out and die on her, Mel sits herself on one of the chairs, pulling her legs and crossing them. The sun has already started to change the color of the sky, a light pink that morning. Mel takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and basks in it.

It isn’t long before she’s changing into her scrubs, a purple undershirt that she thinks is actually Becca’s, her usual black scrubs over it. She checks her braid once more and then heads out the door. Her apartment is within the same strip of a coffee shop she loves, and she’s immediately welcomed with a series of hellos.

Mel smiles. The attention is still a little off-putting for her, but she’s learned to deal with it. Her favorite barista is behind the counter, offering her a big smile. “Morning, Mel,” she greets. “Your usual?”

“Yes, please,” Mel answers. They usually get busy right after she gets there, so Mel always makes sure to slip a good tip into the jar once her tea is called out, waving goodbye to anyone who offers her a farewell, and ducks out of the shop.

The walk to the bus stop always takes the longest. It’s ten minutes from her apartment, which in hindsight, isn’t very long, but when it’s snowing or overwhelmingly hot like it is that day, it feels like forever. Lucky for Mel, she’s so insanely punctual and on schedule the bus usually arrives a minute after she gets to the waiting area.

She sips her tea as she pulls out her airpods, the familiar comfort of them in her ear is already enough to ease the chaos around her, tuning out the world and its ability to make her hands clammy, and eliminating the anxiety that usually consumes her. She hates public spaces like this, it’s some sort of wormhole that she thrives so well in the work she does.

Her by Megan Thee Stallion is the first song that plays, Mel doesn’t bump her head or make any physical indications that she enjoys it, but her shoulders relax ever-so-slightly.

As she walks into the Pitt, she’s relieved she isn’t immediately pulled into a case, giving her zero time for preparation. Instead, the ER actually looks quite calm. She can’t say it’s been like this consistently since Al-Hashimi took over for Robby, but there is a noticeable difference in their leadership.

“Good morning, Mel,” Al-Hashimi greets her with a warm smile, she has her curls pulled into a bun on her head that day, Mel thinks it looks very cute.

“Good morning,” Mel answers, politely.

“I’m going to have you start in triage just to relieve Doctor Ellis.”

“Okay,” she nods. Everyone hates triage—Mel actually enjoys it. She thinks it’s a good balance, from emergencies that involve fast thinking and constant vigilance, triage is a nice pace change for when things get too overwhelming. It could get tricky fast, she wasn’t dismissing that, but typically triage was more on the calm side. Which, she believes, is a good way to start her morning.

She spots Trinity entering, who offers her a wave and a tired smile that Mel is sure she returns. Her first round of patients is typical for early morning, returning patients from previous operations coming for a check-up, she has a case of chlamydia and another STD case right after, which she finds kind of strange.

It isn’t until seven-thirty that she firsts sees Doctor Langdon, who approaches her at the nurses station while she briefly updates a chart.

“Hey, Mel,” he says, casually.

Mel feels herself brighten almost immediately. “Hi, Dr. Langdon.”

“Al-Hashimi has you on triage?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I don’t mind it, really. It’s steady enough.”

“Can’t stand triage,” Langdon muses, stretching his back a little. Mel catches a glimpse of his skin, the brief lift of his shirt that reveals his lower stomach and immediately makes her turn her head away, like she’s just broken some kind of law.

“I know,” Mel says with a small nod. “You thrive in fast-paced environments.” She squints at him. “You probably do actually have ADHD.”

It’s a call-back from one of their recent conversations, another one that had taken place in the ambulance bay post-shift, how he couldn’t stand still, always needed to be busy. He’d cracked a joke about having it, but Mel had seriously considered it.

“Yeah,” Langdon agrees. “Actually, I got tested for it when I was seven. Didn’t really see it until I saw the same behaviors in Tanner.”

Mel purses her lips. “It is genetic,” she offers. “That would make sense.”

Langdon laughs like she’s said something funny, Mel doesn’t recall making a joke. Still, the sound makes her heart flutter and she feels like she’s just succeeded in performing brain-surgery, the way she soars after she makes him laugh.

“In any case,” he clicks the pen he’s holding, Mel’s gaze flickers to his hand. “I hope Al-Hashimi moves you back here, the ED isn’t as fun if you’re not in the chaos with me.”

She feels like she’s been knocked breathless. Thankfully, she manages to keep it together. “I could say the same for you.”

Langdon’s smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, Mel remains standing there like an idiot as he turns to go, called into trauma one and she has to physically shake herself before she heads back out to triage. Behind her, Ahmed stands at the door of his security office, that smirk on his face whenever he is clearly plotting something, and he moves to update the whiteboard.

Mel doesn’t see this, of course, and it probably wouldn’t matter even if she did—because if she can’t notice the lack of a gold ring on Langdon’s hand while it’s right in front of her, how could she see that the next betting board is about just that very thing?

***

Mel switches with Javadi halfway through the shift, something about her mother driving her insane with frequent visits and wanting to hide away in triage. Mel doesn’t argue, especially if it means she can finally get some action. And working alongside Doctor Langdon is a plus. Not that he had anything to do with her answer, definitely not.

She’s in south 11, talking to a young girl and just about ready to discharge her when someone from trauma yells.

“I need hands!”

“Excuse me,” Mel says quickly, rushing out and jogging across the department to stand alongside Santos. “What do we have?”

“He’s crashing. BP was fine, I ordered an EPI. He was fine.”

As Perlah holds the patient as he seizes, Mel feels his lower abdomen while Santos bolts around Jesse, moving to grab the AED. As Mel’s hands work, the tightness of the patient’s stomach makes her brows furrow. “Cancel AED,” Mel orders.

Santos freezes. “What? He’s-”

“He needs more fluids,” Mel says, not meaning to cut her off but needing her to hear. “There’s a patch in his intestines. Test him for cryptosporidiosis, there’s a bacteria wall in his abdomen. Flush it out, his heart rate is stable.”

“Got it,” Perlah says, attaching another IV while Santos stares at her, dumbfounded. Immediately, the seizing slows, he lies back normally and Mel watches the screen cautiously.

“Order an x-ray and an ultrasound,” Mel instructs. “If we can locate where it’s built up exactly we can stop him from crashing again.”

Santos swallows, thickly. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks. Nice catch.”

Mel is out of the door, changing her gloves when Al-Hashimi signals for her to join them in trauma 2, a thrashing boy who is yelling a confounding amount of swears.

“Alright, somebody sedate this kid,” Langdon announces as he steps into the room, brushing against Mel and she has to physically stop herself from jerking. “Christ.”

“Mr Jones, if you keep smacking away our workers we will not be able to help you,” Al-Hashimi says, calmly. It goes unnoticed. She exhales, glancing to Mel. “Dr. King, two milligrams of ketamine, please.”

Mel does as she’s asked, pushing it through the IV and it only takes a minute for Jones to stop kicking and swatting. Langdon is the first one to check him, lifting his shirt. “Stab wound,” he informs immediately.

“Any internal bleeding?” Al-Hashimi asks.

“Not from what I can tell,” Langdon answers. Mel steps beside him, squinting behind her glasses as she pulls on another set of gloves, reaching her fingers into the gash. “Negative. Thanks, Mel.”

“I’ll order antibiotics and a tetanus shot,” she says, and Al-Hashimi nods. “Absorbable stitches will be fine, what do you think, Doctor Langdon?”

“I agree,” he says. “Cut isn’t that big.”

Donnie moves the tray of materials over to them, Mel grabs the forcep from the cart, handing it to Langdon. “PDS?”

She watches the way his eyes narrow, focusing in as he moves the wire between the skin, delicately. “Precisely,” Langdon says. “Need a 4 millimeter.”

“Here,” Mel is quick to hand it to him. She takes his former needle and places it back on the tray. She keeps her hands turned out, but her gaze doesn’t waver from him or the patient, specifically the way Langdon’s jaw clenches in concentration, the slight poke of his tongue between his lips.

“What is the length for cutting a suture, Dr. King?”

“Five to six millimeters,” Mel answers, a creature of habit. Then, she frowns. “Did you just quiz me?”

Langdon’s lip quirks, he snips the wire and turns to face her. “Got to keep you on your toes.”

Mel accepts the forcep, placing it on the tray and Donnie snorts as he wheels it away. Mel switches her gloves out, shooting Langdon a look. “I’m an R3 in a month, Dr. Langdon.” She doesn’t know why she’s offended, it’s good to be reminded of random facts when it comes to the medical field. But having it come from him—someone she regards highly already, stings.

He blinks at her, as if just realizing for the first time what he’d asked, and that he’d upset her. “I know. Yeah, I know,” Langdon shook his head, standing and throwing out his gloves. “Sorry, Mel.”

“It’s fine,” she says, but she can still feel that she’s frowning. Mel raises her chin to him, almost defiantly as he comes to stand in front of her, just as Jones is rolled out of the trauma room. “What is the difference between a poliglecaprone and polydioxanone stitch?”

Langdon’s brows raise, hidden by his loose strands of hair that are falling onto his forehead. “Wow. Uh, poliglecaprone is to close a wound invisibly. Polydioxanone is for soft tissue repair.” He makes a face at her. Mel is satisfied by his reaction. “Is this you getting back at me?”

“No,” Mel replies simply. She feels her mouth turn up as she moves to leave. Over her shoulder, she says: “Just keeping you on your toes.”

He remains standing there, grinning at her retreating figure, until finally he shakes his head and rubs the hand sanitizer between his hands, walking to the nurses station to pick up his next patient. Mel is probably too giddy, feeling like she’s just won an award, but really all she did was give him a taste of his own medicine. She can’t understand why her heart is racing.

“Hey, south 11 is looking for you, kid,” Dana tells her.

Mel’s face pales. “Shoot,” she blurts. “Um, okay. Be right there!”

It slows after that, Mel gets the chance to call Becca in the ambulance bay, listening about her time with Adam and how she was going to his parents' house for dinner. Mel tries her very best to keep the smile looking genuine on her face.

“I want you to meet him soon,” Becca says, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“Okay,” Mel answers. “I’d like that.”

“You should get a boyfriend, too. That way we could have dinner at home. Like a double date.”

“Right,” Mel says. “I’ll get right on that.”

She lets Becca ramble on about her pottery class for another minute before Mel feels a tug on her braid, and she turns to see Langdon standing there, grinning at her handsomely and making her short circuit.

“Hi, Dr. Langdon!” Becca greets excitedly from the FaceTime call. Langdon waves at her, smile turning less boyish and more polite. “I was just telling Mel about my dinner plans with Adam.”

“Oh, nice, Becca,” he nods. “What are you guys having?”

“Not sure,” Becca makes a face. Mel is stuck glancing between her sister and him. She feels cornered, oddly. Like her personal space is being filled, not because he’s physically standing so close, but because the conversation is about boyfriends and she can tell Becca is moments away from blurting out that Mel is still, in fact, single. Her sister isn’t stupid, Mel is sure she’s picked up on the admiration she holds for Langdon.

Clearly.

I see why you like him, Becca had said. Oh, gosh. She could have died from humiliation that day, burning up in the hospital room and feeling Langdon’s gaze boring into her.

“Spaghetti, I think,” Becca says, forcing Mel back into reality. “Hope they have garlic bread.”

“I love garlic bread,” Langdon offers. “The Shoprite on Yellow Grove has the best-”

“That’s where Mel gets ours!”

“Yeah,” Mel says, half-heartedly. She tries shooting Becca a subtle warning look, but it’s incredibly difficult with Langdon right at her shoulder. “Hey, Becca. We have to get back to work. l’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she replies cheerfully. “Bye Mel. Bye Dr. Langdon.”

“Bye, Becca,” he shoots her another smile, and Mel hangs up quickly. She turns to face him, brows raised. He blinks at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mel tells him. “You pulled my hair.”

Langdon snorts. “Oh, please. Your braid is still intact. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Hm,” she scrunches her nose at him. She tries not to notice how his entire face softens at that. “I guess we should head back inside.”

“Yeah. Duty calls. After you, Mel.”

She smiles at him, then steps through the sliding doors, feeling him hot on her tail.

***

Mel has the next day off, she spends it doing laundry and stocking up on all of Becca’s favorite baked goods from the bakery down the block. She’s very picky, only likes sweet things that have a cake texture, and the icing can only be buttercream otherwise she will not eat it. She doesn’t like candy bars or cookies, which is good for Mel who loves all of those things and doesn’t have to share.

Not like she’d mind, but still.

She’s busy folding a blanket she threw in with her lights when her phone goes off. It pauses her music, which irritates her and she reminds herself to turn that function off. Still, Mel grabs her phone to see that it’s Trinity who texted her.

hey, you’ll never guess who just came up on my instagram

Who? Mel types back

that guy who asked for your number at karaoke

Oh, wow

should i follow him for u? get some details

If you want. I'm not really interested.

mel, u need to get out more. i’m doing this

Okay. Don’t tell him anything embarrassing.

psh like what

that you carry around a tide-stick and four different kinds of chapsticks and bite off your nails and can’t cook chicken for the life of you?

Yeah. Like all of that. Thanks.

Mel resumes folding her clothes after, neatly putting them away and settles onto the couch once she’s done. Her living room has the soft glow of a lamp from next to her, a vanilla scented candle lit on the coffee table as she turns on the television. She finds it hard to get into movies or shows, new ones at least, so she puts on a rerun of Gossip Girl and resigns to her phone for the rest of the evening.

She walks to Becca’s facility the next morning, she always likes picking her up early. There was a great bagel shop the both of them loved, and Mel’s favorite part of her weekend was getting breakfast with her sister. Becca is chatty as they make their way through the busy streets of Pittsburgh, even as they eat their bagel sandwiches.

Once they’re back in the apartment, Becca resides to her bedroom and Mel tries out a new recipe in the crockpot for dinner. She can’t deny that she’s bored, without work to keep her busy she often falls flat on things to do. She tries not to dwell on it, but having a boyfriend might cure her of the boredom. But she shouldn’t date someone just because she’s bored. Or was that how all relationships started? She doesn’t know, really. All she knows is that when the day comes, she wants that person to get her. To truly understand her, how she likes her tea, how the texture of bananas drove her insane even though she loved how they tasted, she wants them to accept that she and Becca are a packaged deal, she needs them to understand that she’s unavailable basically sixty hours out of the week due to her profession. There is a lot this future partner of hers will have to endure. They can’t just be anyone.

When Mel goes to sleep that night, her last want is that they’ll take care of her. It’s a feeling she pushes to the side quite frequently, because Mel has been needed her entire life, she’s never had the chance to shut her brain off and she’s never been put in a position where someone would want to do that. To care for her. Mel doesn’t regret any of it, she loves Becca, but sometimes she needs someone, too. Even if that admission was buried deep, deep down in her and only rose to the surface when she was falling asleep.

Mel’s next shift is chaotic, she’s pulled left and right and sometimes upside down. She gets yanked roughly on the wrist by an agitated patient, Dana is the one who saves her. She thinks it would have been Langdon, if he’d been working that day. She has two patients die on her that day, neither her fault but sticking with her regardless.

When she clocks in the following day, Santos approaches her with a set jaw. “Can you fucking believe it?” She demands. “Garcia is seeing someone else.”

“Oh,” Mel’s mouth parts. “Oh, no. Trinity, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

Santos fumes for the rest of the day. Mel tries not to listen to the different kinds of bets that pass through the nurses, like the chances of her stabbing Garcia in the foot again.

“What’s wrong with her?” Langdon asks her on hour seven.

Mel shrugs. “Woman problems. Not like.. like, I meant love-life women problems. Not..”

“I got it, Mel,” Langdon snorts, bracing his arms on the counter. “I’m quite familiar with the concept.”

She frowns at that. “You.. are?”

He looks at her like she’s grown three heads. Mel stares at him expectedly in return, but Dana shouts for them before he gets the chance to answer.

That evening at her locker, Santos is still ranting about Garcia (how could she do this to me, no wonder she’s been so distant, I should have known better) and Mel listens carefully, not interjecting and letting her ramble.

“Oh, by the way,” Santos adds, closing her locker shut. Mel hears footsteps approaching behind them, but she doesn’t turn. “Ryan followed me back. He said you never texted him.” She gives Mel a pointed look. “Get on that. Night.”

“Um, night,” Mel calls after her, one hand still in her locker and on her house keys.

“Who is Ryan?” Langdon’s voice asks from behind, and Mel jumps, whirling to face him.

“Oh! Hi. Um, Trinity and I went out a few weeks ago. I met him at the karaoke bar. He gave me his number.”

Langdon opens his locker, his knuckles white as he pulls open the door. “Yeah?” He asks, nonchalantly. “What, not interested?”

“No, no. It’s not that. He’s nice.”

Langdon regards her warily. “Santos said you haven’t texted him. Not that I was eavesdropping,” he adds. “I was waiting to get into my locker.”

“Yes, well, um.. I just can’t really read his handwriting, is all. The numbers kind of blurred together on the napkin.”

“Ah,” he hums. “Shame.”

He doesn’t sound upset for her at all though, really.

“I guess,” she shrugs. “Anyway, I have to get going before I miss the bus. I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor Langdon.”

“Woah, wait a sec,” he holds out a hand, brows furrowing. “You take the bus?”

“Yes.”

“No way, the bus stop is like a ten minute walk and it’s storming, Mel.”

“I know that. But the bus stop is covered, so it’s really-”

“I’ll drive you,” he interrupts her.

Mel falls quiet, her eyes wide. “You- that’s- You don’t have to. That is unnecessary. I’ve walked to the bus stop in worse conditions.”

“Mel, seriously.”

“Doctor Langdon, seriously.”

His eyes brighten a little at her tone. “I don’t mind. And you’d be doing me a favor, really. I want to delay going home as much as I possibly can.”

“What?” her brows scrunch. “Why?”

“That’s hardly relevant,” Langdon waves her off. “Cmon, Mel. You’ve been there for me recently. You’ve talked me down so many times I’m starting to lose count. Let me help you.”

Mel contemplates it, then pushes her bottom lip out. “Fine,” she accepts defeat. “But just this once. And I’ll give you gas money.”

“Fat chance,” he says, immediately, closing his locker and swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Cmon. Just don’t judge the dad van.”

Mel actually laughs at that. “I think that is the most surprising thing about you.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I had this sexy little BMW, but wasn’t really good to drive the kids around in. Especially since Penny cries so easily. Anyway,” Langdon points a single finger at her, holding the door open as she steps into the rainy night. “No judgement, Mel.”

Mel smiles. “Don’t worry,” she assures him. “I would never.”

At their backs, several heads are peeking down the hallway.

“Anyone bet on July twentieth?” Ahmed asks no one in particular—nurse Chloe raises her hand. He gives her a wink. “I think you’re about to win.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Abbot asks, squinting at the security guard.

“Oh, nothing,” Ahmed replies, casually. Abbot is, unsurprisingly, not convinced, but shrugs and moves along anyway.

“His stroganoff is still in the fridge,” Mateo muses, arms crossed over his chest. Ahmed only snorts.

***

Unsurprisingly, Langdon starts to drive Mel home after every shift they work together. She’s against it at first, denies it when he offers and tells him it’s really not necessary, but he always insists. And it was getting increasingly difficult to tell him no.

Carpooling becomes their new regular, it’s never awkward, and he always lets her pick the music. Most of the time, they talk about work and the cases they dealt with, sometimes he brings up Becca, and even rarer, he brings up his family. Work was safe, talking about it. That crossed no lines, despite how every time she climbed into his passenger seat it felt like she was breaking several kinds of rules. Rules she made up in her head, but clearly he follows them, too, because the conversation always stays light.

Except for tonight. August ninth is the day Mel thinks the lines start to really blur. He is quiet as they walk out into the parking lot, he offers her no kinds of jokes and Mel doesn’t quite know what to say or do as she opens the passenger side door and buckles up.

He sits behind the wheel, bracing his arms on it and rubbing at his eyes. Finally, she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he exhales, slowly. His voice sounds rough, like he’s been chewing glass. “Not looking forward to going home.”

Mel thinks it’s the wrong thing to say. She says it, anyway. “Are you ever?”

Somehow, much to her disbelief, he laughs. “True.”

“Did..” Mel hesitates. “Did something happen?”

He pushes his palms deeper into his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Mel. I’ve burdened you enough already.”

“You aren’t a burden, Dr. Langdon,” she says, immediately. “Really. I mean, that’s what friends do, right? Talk about what’s bothering them?”

He peeks at her through his fingers. “Yeah,” he says, straightening. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And you drive me home almost every night, so really, I’m the one burdening you.”

“Hardly, Mel,” he shakes his head. “I like having you around. Your company is nice.”

“Thanks,” she says, because she doesn’t really know how to reply to that. “So is yours. And I told you, no judgment. Remember?”

“I remember,” Langdon confirms. “Just..”

He says nothing for a moment, Mel watches him. “Just?”

“Abby and I got into a big fight before I left for work this morning, is all,” he finally murmurs. Mel frowns. “Not like it’s anything out of the ordinary, but Christ. It gets old, you know? Ever since I got back from rehab it’s like nothing I do is good enough for her. Or it’s done wrong, or I say something wrong.” He exhales. “See? Burden.”

“No,” Mel reaches for his arm, reassuringly. His gaze lingers on her hand before she pulls it away. “I just.. I don’t always say the right things, either. I’m not good at advice.”

“You don’t have to solve this for me, Mel.”

“I know,” she says, timidly. She actually didn’t know, so accustomed to fixing things that she forgot sometimes people only wanted to vent, not a solution. “But I am here to listen.”

“You’re a good listener,” he says. “I feel like we should even out this deal. Tell me something that’s bothering you.”

Mel gnaws at her lip. She doesn’t notice how Langdon shifts in his seat, suddenly. “Um..”

“If you want, I mean,” he says quickly. “Just so it doesn’t feel like I’m unleashing all of this deep shit on you.”

“You could drop a boat-load of problems on me, Dr. Langdon. I still wouldn’t care. Or leave. Or judge.”

Langdon stares at her. “Shit, Mel.”

She only smiles. “Um.. I guess the Adam and Becca thing bugs me still. I met him last week. He’s very nice. It’s just, like.. I don’t know. I’ve had to create my life around Becca and her needs. Especially after our parents died. But.. it’s like, I do all of this for her, and she lied to me. For six months. I don’t have a life, I stay home because I know she doesn’t like to be by herself. And I’m not blaming her, I love her. She’s my best friend. But I could never keep something like that from her. For that long, at least.”

“I get it,” he says, slowly.

“You do?”

“Yeah. Of course. You’ve structured your life around her, you take care of her. And you’ve done it all on your own. It makes sense that you feel betrayed.”

“I never told anyone that,” she admits.

“I’ve never told anyone the Abby stuff, either,” he shrugs. “Well, except for my therapist.” Mel cracks a smile. He smiles back. “It’s been rough. Between us, I mean. For a while, even before.. all this addiction stuff. I think rehab only solidified the problems.”

“I can imagine,” Mel says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replies. He looks at her for a moment. “Hey, do you want to grab something to eat? I feel like all of this.. trauma dumping will be better on a full stomach.”

Mel shrugs. “Yeah. Okay.”

And that was that.

Something had changed between them that night, though. When she saw him at work the next day, he always seemed to be closer. Near when she needed him, near when she didn’t. Mel had grown used to having him circle her, ever since she started at PTMC, but this was different. There was more brief grazing, like when he stepped behind her, or when he was handing her gloves his hands always lingered a second too long. Always intentional, but never planned, really. Like it just sort of happened, as if Mel was a piece of metal and Frank Langdon was a magnet. Like he couldn’t help himself.

Mel didn’t mind it. She thinks he’s the only person that could touch her without immediately feeling like she needed to go into defensive mode.

Currently, Mel was standing at the nurses station, reading the board when Santos approaches her, wearing a lopsided grin that Mel recently learned meant trouble.

“Guess what?”

“What?” Mel asks.

“Ryan is in triage.”

“Ryan?” she echoes. “Like, Ryan-Ryan? Karaoke Ryan?”

“Yep,” Santos elbows her. “I told him you’d work on him. Here, I’ll switch you before Al-Hashimi comes.”

“Um.. I’m not sure if-”

“Girl, go!” Santos pushes her away.

Mel awkwardly stumbles her way to triage, flattening her hair and adjusting her scrubs. At his workstation, Langdon’s fingers are frozen over the keyboard, his jaw clenched and breathing shallow. Mel doesn’t see him, too preoccupied with fixing her appearance.

She pulls back the curtain and offers Ryan a smile. “Hi,” she greets, hoping her voice doesn’t actually sound as shaky as it did to her.

“Mel,” he flashes her a smile. “Hi. When Trinity- I mean, Dr. Santos told me you were here I almost couldn’t believe it. It’s like fate brought us together.”

“Right,” Mel laughs, nervously. “Or you just sprained your wrist while skateboarding.”

“Tomato- tomatoe?”

“Sure,” she says, sitting onto the stool and taking his wrist into her hand. He flinches immediately. “Um, okay. I’ll order some x-rays. Good thing is it doesn’t look broken, so definitely just a fracture or a sprain. Let me page radiology, I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Thanks, doc,” he calls after her.

Mel returns to a workstation of her own, puts in the orders and goes to turn, just before bumping into Langdon. He steadies her, smirking. “Careful, Mel.”

“You’re the one who was standing so close,” she counters.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. He reaches past her, and Mel stills as his arm braces behind her, pulling it back and revealing his phone. With his bicep right in her face, it’s impossible not to see how the muscles flex under his scrubs. “Forgot this.”

“Uh, yeah. Right.”

He gives her a look. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just, um.”

Mel knows she can tell him. They’ve had much deeper conversations in his car, but for some reason, sharing this feels.. strange. She doesn’t want him to think she’s interested in anyone else. Not that it matters.

Obviously.

“Yes?”

“That guy. From karaoke. He’s in triage.”

He does not seem surprised. He almost looks prepared. Mel awaits a reaction. “Okay,” he says. “Is he making you uncomfortable? I can take the case over if-”

“No, no. Not like that. It’s just awkward.”

“I doubt that, Mel,” but the way he says it makes her think he feels the opposite, his voice is low and she thinks it must have to do with the way his jaw is locked. “I’ll come and see.”

“Dr. Langdon, that’s not-”

“What room?”

She groans, exasperated, and leads him to the spot in triage Ryan is at. Mel steps into the room first, radiology is already there, scanning him. Behind her, Mel tries not to jump at the sudden contact of Langdon’s arm at her back. It isn’t like his normal quick and “accidental” brush, it stays there. He doesn’t move it when she looks at him, in fact, she feels his fingers tighten at the back of her shirt. If she didn’t know him so well, if she was blind to the fact that he was married, she would have said he was being possessive. Like he was marking her, claiming her so Ryan couldn’t. Mel tries not to shiver at the thought.

Ryan notices immediately, straightening in the chair just as the radiologists scoot out. “Mel,” he says, cheerfully. “Uh, is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Mel slips out of Langdon’s embrace. “This is Dr. Langdon. He’s the, um.. expert on reading x-rays. I like having a second set of eyes, just to be sure.”

“Thorough,” Ryan comments. “Hope you go through all this effort for your other patients and not just me. But I’m not opposed to special treatment.” He winks at her, Mel quickly averts her eyes.

“Dr. King doesn’t do special treatment,” Langdon says, sharply. He types at the portable computer by the doorway, where he still hasn’t stepped away from. “Don’t start feeling too significant.”

“Doctor Langdon,” she warns, lowly. She can’t place what is going on here, and even if she feels a flutter in her chest at his voice and the tone he’s using, she can’t believe he’d say something like that. “Can I have a word with you, actually?”

His voice returns to normal, flashing her a smile. “Sure, Mel.”

Mel shoots him a look on her way out, when Ryan can’t see her face. She’s pulling the curtain closed and putting her hands on her hips once they reach the hallway. He actually has the nerve to look amused. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“The way you just talked to him!”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, Mel,” Langdon shrugs, casually squeezing her shoulder and moving past her. “Let me know when his test results are back. Since I’m your second set of eyes, and all.”

Mel only glares at his back.

Frank Langdon, however, is completely oblivious to this as he slips away into the bathroom, turns the faucet on, and splashes the cold water onto his face. He takes a few minutes to steady himself, stares at his reflection in the mirror, and says: “Fuck.”

***

Mel is officially promoted to R3 on August 30th, it’s something she thinks the rest of her coworkers will forget. The only person, so far, and granted it is early, that congratulates her is Becca. Though that doesn’t really feel fair since they’re in the same apartment.

“Do you get more money?”

“Yep,” Mel answers. She keeps checking her phone like someone is going to text her. They don’t. “I think next paycheck.”

“We should go out to dinner,” Becca muses. “To celebrate.”

Mel gives her a knowing look. “You want to see Adam.”

“What?” Her sister blinks. “No, Mel. I meant just us. And your friends.”

Mel stares at her blank notification wall. She feels a flutter of disappointment that Langdon of all people hasn’t texted her. But it’s still early.

“Okay,” Mel says. “I’ll let you know by the end of my shift, how’s that?”

“Okay,” Becca shrugs. She glances around the kitchen. “Are we out of cereal?”

Mel sighs, quietly, then starts to rummage through the cabinets. Her morning routine is thrown off that day, she doesn’t get to watch the sunrise, she doesn’t even have time to braid her hair. Instead, she pulls it into a ponytail and hopes it won’t give her a headache.

She’s already mastered the act of hiding her disappointment, so when she walks into the Pitt and nobody says anything, she pushes through and enters the lounge to fill her water up.

“Good, you’re here,” Al-Hashimi follows after her. “Hi, sorry. Good morning, Mel. We have a situation in trauma two.”

“Be right there,” Mel tells her. She doesn’t know what she was expecting, though it’s technically a promotion it’s also really not. Yeah, she gets paid more, and yeah, she gets more responsibility, all of the parts of moving up, but it’s pretty typical in their line of work, so really, she shouldn’t be upset.

The work day drags by, especially without Langdon. She resists the urge to text him the entire day. Stupid, petty things like. Hey, did you forget? Did you forget about me? How dare you not remember what today is? You don’t really care, do you?

Mel is almost in a blind fit of rage, stupidly, by the time her shift ends, and it’s then she finally gets that fucking text. Only it’s not what she’s expecting at all.

Hey, I’m in the parking lot

She stares at the message for too long, probably. He’s never picked her up on his day off before. That is what he’s doing, isn’t it? Why else would he text her that?

Okay, she replies. I’m coming.

She spots his car immediately, and once he sees her approaching, in the rearview presumably, he climbs out. Mel barely manages to catch the sound of giggling from inside before Langdon presents her with a card.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“You’re an R3,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I got you a gift.”

Mel thinks she could cry, she has to try embarrassingly hard not to burst into tears and hug him. Carefully, she tears open the envelope to reveal a silly card that makes her lip quirk. When she opens it, a gift card falls out. It’s one to Hot Topic—not the clothing store—the coffee shop she goes to every morning. Mel doesn’t move, mouth parting.

“You- how-”

“Becca told me,” Langdon says, shrugging casually. Like he hasn’t just wrecked her entire world and made her feel like she was actually important, like she was worth remembering. “I wanted to get you something I knew you’d like. I always think gift cards are kind of a thoughtless gift, but at least you can get a good amount of free coffee.”

“This is so nice,” Mel blubbers, her eyes watering against her will. “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Nobody’s ever-” she stammers. “This is so nice. Oh, gosh.”

“It’s just a gift card, honey-”

Mel lunges for him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him flush against her. She’s hoping it isn’t too forward, but then again he was the one who drove all the way to her favorite coffee shop to get her a gift card, so she doesn’t really care anymore. Also, the hug was a very good way to hide the fact that she was crying. At her waist, his arms clasp behind her, holding her to him and Mel has to inhale sharply before she started to sob fully.

A sound comes from the car, and it makes her crack her eyes open. There, in the backseat, is Becca, grinning at her with her nose pressed to the window. Mel pulls away, frantically. “You-”

“Yeah,” Langdon tucks his hands into his pockets, suddenly looking bashful. “I remember you told me Becca doesn’t go to the facility on Thursdays, so I went to your apartment to ask for her help. I hope you don’t mind. She wanted me to tag along, said something about you two going to dinner. Sorry, is that weird?”

”No.”

”I really-”

“I don’t mind,” Mel blurts. “Um, seriously, thank you, Dr. Langdon.”

He holds up a hand. “Mel, please. We’re not at work. You do know my first name, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, probably too fast. “It’s Frank.”

He offers her a smile, gestures for her to get in the car, and Mel scrambles to the other side of the van. As she settles in, Becca pokes her head into the front seat.

“I like Dr. Langdon,” Becca tells Mel. “He would make a very good boyfriend for you.”

Mel is immediately horrified. Frank’s eyes go wide, and he pretends to examine something on the dashboard. “He’s married, Becca,” the words come tumbling out. “And we’re just friends.”

“Married?” Becca quips, like she doesn’t understand the concept. Mel is staring at her, pleadingly. But her sister’s brows are furrowed, and she’s looking at Frank. “Why don’t you wear a ring, Dr. Langdon?”

Mel feels the world tilt from under her, she thinks she might faint, watching him awkwardly rake his hand through his hair, side glancing Mel and looking away when he sees that she’s staring. With a start, Mel realizes her sister is right. He’s not wearing it now, Mel can’t remember the last time she saw that glimmer of gold, not since the first day she met him and felt a flicker of disappointment when she caught it glint in the light. That stupid ring had immediately smashed all her dreams, everything but her crush. Unfortunately.

But he wasn’t wearing it.

“Uh-”

“Becca, you can’t ask someone that,” Mel interjects.

“Why not?”

“No, Mel, it’s fine,” Frank assures. “I didn’t want to tell you this today, it’s your day. But.. uh.. Abby and I are getting a divorce. We talked about it a couple weeks ago, and we decided last night. It’s over.”

“Oh,” Mel says, and she can’t take a deep breath, she can’t do anything, really, other than stare at him. She waits to get another reaction from him, maybe guilt, maybe regret. None comes.

“Divorce,” Becca repeats. “Are you upset?”

He waits a moment before replying. “No, not really, Becca. I think this has been a long time coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Mel whispers to him, she’s not sure what exactly she is sorry for. If Becca made him feel forced to tell them, if he was secretly upset about it, if the reason he decided to call off his marriage was because of her.

Frank keeps her gaze this time. “Don’t be, Mel,” he says. “It’s for the best, really.”

“Okay,” she mumbles. They stare at each other, silently. Mel is analyzing his expression, his face, the way he makes a fist with his hand as if he’s physically restraining himself from reaching across the console to touch her. She studies the way his eyes soften when they meet hers, how his tongue runs across his lower lip. Mel thinks he’s trying to kill her.

Becca, oblivious to it all, exhales impatiently. “Where are we going for dinner? I’m starving.”

That breaks the spell immediately, Mel blinks a few times. “Um..”

“You pick,” Frank tells her, turning the key in the ignition and starting it. “You tell me where, I’ll drive us there.”

“Let me, um.. Google some places.”

“Okay,” he responds, backing out of the spot and doing that incredibly sexy thing that men did when they reversed—he put his hand on the back of her headrest, turning to look out of the window. “And don’t worry about the prices. I’m paying.”

“Frank,” Mel protested immediately.

“Mel,” he says in return, giving her a stern look. Becca giggles from the backseat. “No arguments. I decided this morning.”

“Well, you aren’t in charge of me,” she says, just to be a pain and sounding like a kid, which makes her flush. “So you don’t get to decide things.”

Frank looks at Becca in the rearview. “Talk some sense into your sister, please.”

“Let him pay,” Becca says immediately. “That way we can get dessert.”

Mel huffs, shooting Frank a look which only makes him grin in triumph. “Fine,” she folds her arms over her chest. “But just for that, I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“Yeah, Melissa, you could order the entire goddamn menu and I still wouldn’t change my mind.”

Mel is winded at that, so she purses her lips and stares out the window pointedly, which only makes him laugh.

***

Autumn has always been Mel’s favorite season. She loves everything pumpkin flavored, she loves all of the different vibrant oranges and yellows that come from the trees, the smell of the crisp air, and that she finally gets to bundle herself in her most comfortable jacket.

The end of summer sneaks up on her every year, the quick months of warmth always feels like a dream, like she blinks and it’s cold out. She does dislike winter, though. Trekking through the icy sidewalks to get to the bus has always been her least favorite activity. She hopes the weather will be calm when it comes to that.

Santos and Whitaker are at her left, staring up at the board and plucking cases like they’re eyebrow hairs and not actual patients. Mel always found that annoying.

“If we threw a Halloween party, would you come?”

Mel blinks, realizing she’s being addressed. “Hm? Yeah. It’s only September.”

“I know. Just.. planning ahead. You know?”

“Can I bring Becca?” she asks, hopefully.

“Yeah, why not?” Whitaker shrugs. “The more the merrier, right?”

“Right,” Santos agrees.

“Incoming car wreck,” Dana announces, putting the phone down. “Three minutes out. Two motorists and a cyclist.”

Mel is pulled back into the chaos after that, assisting alongside Langdon and Mckay who handle the situation like pros. Mel is happy to follow their leads. Mckay takes the dad, Al-Hashimi jumps in to tend the cyclist that was injured, Mel briefly thinks of Robby.

“Looking at a spinal injury and pinched nerves,” Langdon says. “Not reactive to pain. Order a CT and an MRI.”

“Call respiratory,” Mel says, holding her stethoscope to the woman’s chest. “Breathing is shallow.”

“Think she’s paralyzed?”

“Let’s hope not,” Mel answers, “responding to pain above the lumbar, nerve endings might be clipped. Let’s check for paraplegia.”

Frank works around her, allowing himself to be instructed and Mel tries not to feel dizzy at the realization.

It’s hours until she clocks out, she’s exhausted, taking a sip of her water at the lockers, waiting for him.

“Hey,” he approaches, stifling a yawn.

“Hi,” she answers.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

They duck out of the ED, Mel knows where he’ll be parked already and feels a twinge of pride when she turns out to be right. He parks near the middle, always the third row.

“Long day,” he muses into the silence, Mel exhales in her seat. “Thought we were gonna lose that kid.”

“Me, too,” she admits, softly. “I’m glad we didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “God, I can’t wait for this apartment hunting bullshit to be over. If I have to sleep in that uncomfortable guest bed again I’m going to lose it.”

“Still no luck?”

“God, no. Every place is so expensive. I don’t want my paycheck to be gone after a single month’s rent.”

“I have a pull out,” she says, and her face heats when he looks at her. “Couch. Oh, gosh. Sorry, this is coming out weird. It’s pretty comfortable, is what I’m trying to say. It might help your back if your guest bed is that bad.”

“Thanks, Mel,” he says.

Mel only smiles.

***

She doesn’t actually expect Frank to take her up on her offer, so when he texts her and asks if he can come over, Mel spends the next thirty minutes scrambling to clean her apartment. It’s not exactly dirty, but Becca left her shoes scattered and there’s a couple of pillows on the floor from the couch. She rushes to take the trash out, lights a candle, and loads the dishwasher before she sees the headlights from his car pull into the parking lot.

Mel exhales, shakily. She paces back and forth, and when he knocks at the door, she waits a moment before opening, as if to make herself look less enthusiastic. He smiles at her as she swings it open, a bag over his shoulder. He’s in jeans and a dark shirt, something she’s seen him in a lot due to their carpooling, but the jacket he’s wearing is new to her. Somehow, the only word she can come up to describe it is boyfriend. It’s a very boyfriend-y jacket.

Mel turns away quickly, letting him step in. “How was traffic?” Mel asks, because what the hell do you say when the man you’ve had a crush on is in your apartment, staying the night?

Frank snorts, dropping his bag by her couch, tucking it under her end table to keep it out of the way. “Really? You’re asking me about traffic? Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Mel.”

“No,” she chirps. Unconvincingly so. “Okay, fine.”

“It’s just me.”

“Yes. In my apartment,” she shakes her head. “This is the first time you’ve been here. I’m allowed to be nervous.”

“Untrue,” he waves a finger at her, casually flips open one of the magazines she has on her coffee table. “I picked Becca up.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she goes on.

“Okay, well,” Frank shrugs. “You’re making it weird. Not me.”

“You’re the first guy who I’ve ever had over,” Mel says, then purses her lips, bashfully. “I can’t speak right. Oh no. Okay, I’m just gonna go into the kitchen and get you some water and then you won’t even know I’m here, I’ll hide in my room.”

“Mel,” he stands to his feet, shaking his head. “This is your space. I will be the one who’s not even here, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees, uncertainly.

“And it’s still early. Aren’t you hungry? I haven’t had dinner yet. We can order something, if you want.”

“I was going to cook chicken. Well, attempt to. I’m not very good at it. It’s always very tough.”

“Well, I’ll be your extra set of eyes, then.”

It reminds her of Ryan, of Frank’s obvious jealousy and Mel flushes at him. “Okay. Come help me.”

So he does, Mel pulls the thawed chicken from the fridge, grabs a cutting board, just as Frank sets his phone down on the counter, an unfamiliar song playing. She turns at the sound.

“What?” he asks. “You don’t listen to music when you cook?”

“Not usually,” she admits. “Becca always says it’s too loud. But.. she’s not here. So it’s okay.”

It feels like some sort of confession, that they’re alone in her apartment for the night. Mel swallows. Frank watches her. Then his eyes dart to the chicken.

“Go on,” he commands, softly. “I’m here if you start a fire.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” she comments, dryly. Frank laughs. She does what she’s told, anyway, dipping the chicken in breadcrumbs and asking him to turn the stove on.

The smell hits her first, it actually smells good—not like how it usually does when she cooks it alone. Frank pulls the pieces out at the perfect time, it seems. He doesn’t burn it, doesn’t even give the oil the opportunity to pop out of the pan.

The song changes, Frank makes an appreciative hum. “God, I love this song.”

“What song is it?”

He looks at her like she’s said something offensive. “Oh, wow. I didn’t know you were limited to Megan Thee Stallion only. This… is a classic.”

She watches him turn, pressing the volume on his phone and flooding the kitchen with a soft tune. “And what is.. this exactly?”

“Styx. Obviously.”

“Right. I forgot you’re sixty.”

“Ha.”

She starts to giggle, watching him do a funny little sway of his hips, and then, he takes her by the hand, twirls her, and Mel yelps as she is pulled to him.

You know it’s you, babe

Whenever I get weary, and I’ve had enough

“Relax,” he tells her. Mel gives him a look, but he spins her again, and she laughs. When she’s drawn back to him, his grip finds her waist, and Mel tries her very best not to tense. She’s never been big on touching, and she is surprised at how much she likes his hands on her.

She forces the tension to leave her shoulders. Raises her gaze to his, and wraps her arms around his neck.

Feel like giving up

You know it’s you, babe

Giving me the courage and strength I need

They sway, Mel can’t quite believe what’s going on, that she’s dancing with Frank Langdon in her kitchen, to his favorite song, while he just helped her cook chicken. That part hardly feels romantic, but to Mel, it somehow still is.

Please, believe that it’s true

Babe, I love you

“Good song,” she says after a moment. Her heart is pounding, and briefly, she drops her hand to his chest to feel that his is beating faster than normal, too. That makes her feel better, like maybe she isn’t the only one falling this deep.

“Told you,” he smirks, dropping his hand from her. “So, uh, where do you eat? I noticed you don’t have a table.”

Mel shrugs. “It’s time to put you on to folding trays. I can’t eat without watching something. Buying a table was useless.”

Frank squints at her. “I love learning things about you.”

Mel ushers him out of the kitchen. “Cmon, I’ll even give you the privilege of picking out a movie.”

He laughs, Mel thinks it’s her favorite sound in the world.

She’s not sure what she’s expecting to happen, they eat dinner on her couch, finish a movie, stay up talking about anything they could possibly think of, and by her third yawn, Frank insists that they should get to sleep. She helps him with the pull-out, (the COUCH! goodness) and puts the plates in the sink before heading to bed. At her door, she hesitates.

He’s watching her when Mel turns around. “Where does Abby think you are, anyway?”

“She knows,” he says, like that explains anything.

“Knows you’re here?”

“Yeah. She knows a lot about you, actually. Night, Mel.”

That only confuses her more, and his obvious dismissal makes her eyes narrow. Still, she closes her bedroom door behind her, takes a moment to collect herself and steady her breathing before collapsing onto her bed and screaming mutely into her pillow.

She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to get any sort of sleep with Frank in her living room, the silence is almost unbearable, she’s sure he can hear her every movement. That thought doesn’t help with the ache between her legs, either, Mel has to squeeze her eyes shut and pray that it will all stop.

When she wakes, she is disappointed to discover Frank did not climb into her bed in the middle of the night. And when she leaves her room, she sees that he’s already awake, he’s put the couch back together and erased any proof of his existence. She honestly thinks he’s already left, but then she hears the bathroom door open, and he exits, hair a mess and toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

His sweats are low around his waist. Mel is momentarily speechless, suddenly aware of her own tank top that she is acutely growing self conscious in, exposed before him.

“Morning, Mel,” he greets, despite the toothpaste in his mouth. She’s disgusted with herself for finding it so attractive.

“Hi, Frank,” Mel says instead.

***

Mel isn’t sure what she’s dressed as, she has her hair in two braids that Becca helped wove flowers through, she doesn’t usually have time for Halloween parties, or had ever been invited to one before, really.

She’d sent Frank a picture before she left, feeling insecure.

Is this okay???

Attachment: 1 Image

Holy shit was his reply

Yeah Mel

You look fucking great

Suddenly wishing I was invited

Lol

Enjoy trick or treating

Gonna be hard to now

Tease

Mel can’t figure that one out, so she tries her best not to dwell on it. The party, is also, the first time in months that she’d drank. Becca had bailed, went with Adam someplace instead, so Mel was free to do as she pleased.

She had too many buzzballs, probably. And two shots of Smirnoff was enough. There were several faces she recognized, and some she did not. Garcia was there, the farm girl (Amy?) that Whitaker was seeing, dressed as a tellatubby.

Mel was drunk by eleven pm, hiding out in the bathroom and giggling to herself. She calls Frank, and he answers on the first ring.

“Hey. Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “How’s you?”

“How’s me?” he echoes, snorting. “You drunk, Mel?”

“Lightly buzzed. Are you still picking me up?”

“Yep. Tell me what time.”

“Time is eleven thirty-seven.” He laughs again, Mel joins him. She’s not sure what is so funny. “How were the kids?”

“They gave up after six houses.”

“Did you get any good candy?”

“I snagged you some Reese's, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You know me so well.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“Are you on your way?”

“You want to be picked up? Now?”

“Yes. I miss you.”

“Oh.” She hears him inhale, sharply. “Baby, I miss you too.”

Mel feels giddy at the pet name. She leans against the wall of the bathroom, twirling the end of her braid between her fingers.

“Why do you call me these names?”

He shuffles on the other end, she imagines him grabbing his keys. “Do you not like them?”

“I do. Uh-oh. Someone is trying to break into the bathroom. Gotta go.”

“Mel-”

She hangs up, opens the bathroom door to reveal Trinity, who cocks a brow. “Why hello.”

“Hi.”

“What cha doing?”

“Fixing my makeup.”

“You have no makeup on.”

“I was talking to Frank,” she comes clean immediately.

Trinity crosses her arms. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. He’s picking me up.”

“I have been wondering..” she trails off. “What’s going on with you guys?”

“Nothing. He hasn’t even kissed me.”

Trinity doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Mel brushes past her, attempting to find her shoes in the mix of people. Frank texts her that he’s there a few minutes later, Mel can’t remember if she says goodbye to anyone.

She’s embarrassingly lightweight, she barely registers the car ride, the frequent glances he shoots her, the way she leans on him as he opens the door to her apartment.

Mel finds her bed with ease, she feels him drape a blanket over her. That stirs her awake, she reaches to grab his wrist, and he stills. “No,” Mel protests. “Stay.”

“Mel-”

“Please?”

He eyes her, softly. Then he kicks his shoes off, and climbs into the bed beside her. He stays above the blanket she’s sleeping on, but Mel still presses closer to him anyway.

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

She thinks he kisses her forehead, but she can’t be sure. Mel sleeps better that night than she has in her entire life, or maybe she’s still a little drunk.

***

Dr. Robby comes back that month. The entire department is on edge, but Frank especially. He’s more jittery, glances over his shoulder like he’s expecting the attending to barge in at any moment.

She doesn’t realize just how bad it’s affecting him until she hears him outside on the balcony. Mel stirs from her sleep, her door is still cracked—something she started doing in hopes of him coming in instead of sleeping on the couch. He never does. She tries not to be upset about that.

Her alarm clock reads 1am. Groggily, she pushes herself up, listening to his voice carry in. She can tell he’s on the phone from the pauses between his words, and she slowly starts to make her way out to him.

He’s left the slider door open, which annoys her because it’s November and it’s cold, but he’s pacing as he talks, back toward her.

“I know,” he’s saying. “I know. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t let it. It’s driving me fucking insane. I don’t.. yeah. No, definitely. She’ll have to find out eventually. She’s not stupid.”

Mel stills.

“Not yet, I don’t think,” Frank goes on, oblivious to her standing there. “I don’t really care about that. Okay, well if he tells her good on him. Yeah. Right. Okay, yeah. Goodnight, sorry for bugging you. I know what you said, but still. Yeah, bye.”

Mel’s jaw is tight. “Was that Abby?” she asks.

Frank jumps, spins to face her. “Oh, shit. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Were you talking to Abby?” Mel demands. “Oh my gosh. You’re getting back together.”

Frank’s brows furrow. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You’re making mysterious phone calls in the middle of the night, talking about you don’t care who finds out? If she finds out? I’m the she. You’re getting back with-”

“Melissa,” he holds a hand up. Mel’s throat goes dry. “Please.”

“Please what?” She folds her arms. “Please let you stay on my couch while I sort this out with my wife? Let me string you along and make you think I have feelings for you?”

“I do have feelings for you!” He shouts, then he lowers his voice, immediately looking guilty. “Oh, God. Mel, seriously? I was talking to Mckay. This Robby shit is making me freak the fuck out for no reason. I’m so paranoid he’s going to come back tomorrow and tell me I’m still not worthy of working in his department. His voice just keeps.. ringing in my head.”

“Oh.” Mel feels like an idiot now. She shifts on her feet awkwardly. “Okay, then what about all that stuff about.. someone finding out?”

“Well.. Mckay thinks that Robby will find out about us and tell Abby. Like, some bullshit high school level petty stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised. And Abby knows. Sort of, anyway. That I’ve been staying with someone.”

Mel deflates. “Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.”

He cocks a brow. Her stomach flutters. “Don’t be. That was cute.”

She hides her face. “Please stop.”

“No, seriously. Get jealous over my ex-wife again.”

“Frank,” she groans.

He’s standing in front of her when she opens her eyes again, prying her hands away from her face. “There is no chance of that happening. Ever. I’m pretty in love with you, as it turns out.”

Mel gapes at him. “You-”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t even kissed me,” she accuses. “How can you know you love me if you haven’t ever kissed me?”

He laughs, like he can’t believe her. “What? I thought- I just thought you didn’t like that kind of thing. You don’t like being touched.”

”That doesn’t answer my question, Dr. Langdon.”

”Oh, Dr. Langdon?” He echoes. Mel squirms under his gaze. “Melissa, I do not need to kiss you for my feelings to be true. Do I want to kiss you? Yes, obviously. God. But I can live with not doing it if it means you’re comfortable and I still get to be with you.”

”And are you?”

”Am I what?”

”With me?”

He gestures around them. “Christ, woman.”

She scowls at him. “You don’t come into my room. You don’t kiss me.”

”I’m trying to- to respect your boundaries. I know you, Mel. You don’t like to be touched.”

Not by anyone else, she doesn’t say. Just by you. Touch me, please. Touch me or I think I’ll die.

“Well, how would you know? You haven’t tried.”

Frank raises a brow, the way his hair is falling into his eyes makes Mel want to reach and brush it out of the way. It’s Frank who moves instead, actually, leaning down, taking her jaw in his. He kisses her slowly, like he’s giving her time to pull away, and when she doesn’t, he backs her up against the wall—well technically it’s the glass door, but Mel thinks it’s sturdy enough so she doesn’t argue.

He pulls back, Mel is frowning at him. “That’s it?” she asks.

“No. I was just seeing if kissing you confirmed my suspicions.” Frank shrugs, pulling her lower lip down with the pad of his thumb. “I was right, by the way. Still in love with you.”

Mel is hungry—starving, actually. She lurches forward, hooking her arms around his neck and pulling him back to her. She can feel him grinning against her mouth, tongue parting her lips and evoking a gasp from her that is far too loud for what time it is. His grip on her jaw is what guides her to her bedroom, she can feel the pounding of his heart as they stand chest to chest, his body guiding her through the door. He doesn’t stop kissing her once.

“What do you think, Mel?” Frank murmurs, his words coming out strangled. “Gonna let me love you, baby?”

“Yes,” Mel answers instantly, tipping his head as she tugged on his hair. The sound he makes is guttural. “I love you, too,” she says. “And I like ‘honey’ more.”

She doesn’t think he can help himself from pouncing on her after that, pushing her back on the bed, kissing her in places she didn’t even know mouths could wander to, making her arch into him while he murmured her name over and over again until it didn’t feel like a word anymore—Mel learned what it was to be loved that night, learned the art of being kissed and touched in ways that pleased her instead of ways that made her pull away. Frank Langdon showed her lots of things, proved himself right, that was for certain.

[marvel-hiddles-stark]

Help Me, Doctor

summary: Frank realizes you’re into the whole “doctor kink” and decides to indulge you. 

tw & cw: MINORS GET TF OUT, 18+, fem afab reader, established relationship, overly clinical sex talk, doctor kink, oral (fem receiving) unprotected p in v (in the wise words of frank langdon himself, wrap it before you tap it!!)

wc: 1.4k

a/n: soooo this was supposed to be a SHORT BLURB like my normal ovulating inquiries but turns out i was hornier than i thought, so uh…yeah, this little thing was born. If scenes/dialogue that are essentially straight out of a porno aren’t your thing, I’d skip out on this one. Also I'm not gonna lie I kinda rushed this, especially the ending, and it's kinda ass but oh well. Much love! xx

be sure to check out my dr langdon masterlist!

“Wait wait wait—you’re being serious?” You almost laughed at his wide-eyed expression, a comical blend of incredulity and fascination, like he couldn’t believe that you, his girlfriend of nearly two years, found his profession attractive. 

“It’s a common kink,” you argued. “I mean, c’mon, Frank. Male strippers literally dress up as doctors all the time.” 

Frank wagged his brows at you. “You want me to give you a strip tease, baby?” 

“More like I want you to lay me out on the table and offer me some ‘specialized treatment’ for my pelvic floor issues.” 

So, that’s exactly what he did one evening, catching you totally off-guard when you returned to the kitchen after your shower to find Frank, at 4pm on a Sunday evening on his day off, dressed in his scrubs, his old stethoscope from med school slung around his neck, and his actual PTMC badge pinned to his chest. 

Your wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression didn’t deter him at all. Frank slipped seamlessly into character, pretending to read your full given name off a clipboard he’d snagged from your office. “In for a pelvic exam? It says here you’re experiencing some abnormal cramping in your vaginal canal?”  

“Frank—” you blurted stupidly, surprise quickly bleeding into arousal as you realized what this was. You couldn’t believe he was actually playing into this whole thing—you thought he’d found it funny.  

Frank tutted at you, wagging his finger in reprimand. “Frank? Being on a first name basis with your physician is hardly professional. It’s Dr. Langdon, sweetheart.” Heat flooded your body. It didn’t take long for Fra- er, Dr. Langdon to guide you over to your meticulously clean dining room table, which was definitely not intended for the kind of tomfoolery you two would be getting up to, but it would have to do. 

All pretenses of propriety evaporated almost instantly, of course. After snapping on some latex gloves, your boyfriend propped you on the table, stripped you bare from the waist down, and gently pushed your body down and your legs apart to quote “get a proper look”. 

It was something straight out of a porno, which normally would turn you off, but there was something about the way Frank said, “hm, nope. I’m not getting a good enough angle. I’m going to recommend we try a more tactile examination, if that’s alright with you.” 

Fuck yes, it was. 

That was how he ended up fingering you in your dining room, your arms and legs spread eagle, feet planted on the table as you fought and failed to keep your breathing even. The latex felt a bit odd, but thankfully it didn’t last long as you could tell Frank’s impatience was growing. Still, he kept in character, snapping them off and tossing them aside under the guise of “feeling you properly”. 

“I-is this how you normally treat your patients, Dr. Langdon?” you asked when he’d bent to lick up your sopping pussy, messily tonguing his way around your clit and outer lips. 

Frank grinned from between your thighs, eyes full of mischief. “Only the ones who really need it.” 

“And I really need it?” 

“Yes, baby, you do. You’re so tense and tight—no wonder you’ve been cramping, honey. You’re in desperate need of release.” 

Release you needed, and release you got. You came embarrassingly fast—you’d told him this had been one of your dearest fantasies, after all—soaking his face and fingers as you rode out the high with twitching hips. 

“Excellent,” Frank panted, and the tone of his voice told you he was fighting to keep the scene going. One glance at his lust-blown pupils made it obvious that this was affecting him just as much as it was affecting you. “Experiencing clitoral orgasm is a good sign,” he said, and the clinicalness of it all made your stomach swoop in renewed arousal. “But, just to be sure, I’m going to ensure that you’re still able to experience a vaginal orgasm as well.” 

You couldn’t help the desperate look you gave him, sitting up on your elbows, watching him hastily undo the tie on his scrub pants as you let your voice slip into a sultry tone. 

“And how will you do that, Doctor?” 

Frank fucking winked at you, and if you weren’t so turned on you might’ve laughed. But coupled with the sight of his perfect fucking hands slipping into his pants, obviously stroking his dick, your jaw instantly snapped shut. 

“A little penetration should do the trick. Lay back for me, Miss.” 

Of course, you were never able to come from penetration alone, Frank knew this, but it was part of the fantasy, and so you played along as he inserted himself painstakingly slowly into your cunt. 

“There we go,” he bit his lip, an obvious indicator that he was fighting a groan. “Just take some nice, deep breaths for me. Perfect, just like that. You’re doing so good.” 

“Frank…” you let the name slip, incapable of thinking clearly with how crazy he was making you. 

A palm swatted at the back of your thigh, swift and sharp, and you yelped. “That’s not my name. I didn’t go 200k in debt for nothin’, baby. Use my fucking title.” 

“Doctor,” you moaned, hips lifting slightly in a poor attempt to make him slide all the way in. “Please.” 

“Not to worry, sweetheart,” he cooed, hands settled on your waist. “Everything appears to be in working order so far.” Then he pushed all the way in, and you both groaned, unable to fight it. His rhythm picked up fairly quickly, likely a result of his withering composure as he fucked into you, eyes darting all around your body, which was still mostly hidden from view (you knew this probably frustrated him, because Frank went absolutely nuts for your tits, but he seemed decently committed to the bit, which you appreciated). 

As things picked up, though, your own sanity was also decreasing and your desperation to simply be close to Frank nearly engulfed your need to see the fantasy through. 

He hadn’t kissed you throughout the entire encounter, as it wouldn’t have really made sense in the context. But you desperately missed his lips, and you could tell he missed yours too when he went along easily upon the insistent pull of your hands around his neck, dragging him down over you to slot your mouths together. 

“Am I doing okay?” you panted into his mouth. 

“Mhm,” Frank moaned into the kiss, hot and wet, before breaking it to pepper them along your jaw instead, ending just beside your ear. “Yes, you’re doing wonderful. You see, when the body gets aroused, the vaginal canal produces a natural lubricant to accommodate penetrative intercourse.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered. Who knew clinical sex talk could be so sexy? To be fair, you were pretty sure Frank Langdon could make just about anything sound sexy, but still. 

“Those with male genitalia can often feel when the female body is approaching orgasm, as her inner walls will start to tense,” as if on cue, your body did just that as Frank continued, “her legs will begin to quiver. She may try to close them in anticipation. And, if your partner is especially astute,” his fingers slipped between your thighs, circling your fluttering clit with precision. “They might notice your swollen little clit just throbbing in desperation, begging to be touched in order to reach that final, blissful edge.” 

You snapped like a rubberband, coming around him with a curse of his name, which thankfully he didn’t correct this time. Frank followed soon after, filling you with a long, drawn-out moan, his breath fanning down your neck as his hips stuttered and slowed. 

With you both sated, the illusion blipped away seamlessly. Frank’s hands were familiar in their gentleness, drawing soothing circles on the meat of your hips and stomach as he caught his breath. “Holy fuck, baby. You okay?” 

You nodded, still a little blissed out, as you wiped the sweat off your forehead. “Yeah, yes, that was…Jesus Christ, Frank. I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” 

He chuckled into your neck, pressing soft little kisses along your skin. “I am to please.” 

“Seems like you enjoyed it too, though,” you mused, carding your fingers through his hair as he withdrew to look down at you. 

“Well, it was hot because it was you, baby.” 

You shot him a deadpan look. “So you’re telling me if I pretended to be an innocent, extremely professional nurse examining your poor, perpetually hard dick that wouldn’t turn you on?” 

You watched him swallow thickly, feeling his spent cock twitch where it was still nestled inside you. You laughed, pecking him sweetly on the lips. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

masterlist

[harringtonshoe]

your frank x nurse reader was sooo cute!! and funny hahha i loved it sm!! such a good and fun read! hope you have an incredible day lovely x

oh my gosh thank u!!! i’m so glad u enjoyed it ❤️❤️❤️

[sugartalk-ing]

Hiii can I request frank Langdon for dialogue prompt 8 “you came?” / “you called.” :)

It kills me that no one reached out to him when he was recovering😭 maybe langdon and reader had a fight right before he left and they kind of lost contact. But then it gets difficult for him and he reaches out not really expecting even a reply.

Idk do your own thing that's just what was on my mind

Love ur fics<3

genuinely it drives my crazy that no one checked on him too and i find it very unrealistic omfg esp not dana or mckay like it didn't make sense!!

anyway glad you like my writing and i hope you enjoy this!! :') <3

You're just unbagging your groceries in your apartment when you hear the sound of a calendar reminder on your phone. You swear under your breath as you hastily look for it through your bag, dreadful that you maybe forgot someone's birthday. Instead you see it's the reminder you set for the end of Frank's rehab treatment.

Which means he should be out of the facility and in his home now, where he'll have to attend meetings for the next three months before he can come back to the hospital. The screen goes black and you immediately tap to wake it up again, just to re-read the notification. You hesitate when you unlock your phone, everything in you itching to send him a text, as how he is, if he's okay; you're just not sure he wants to hear from you.

Instead of reaching out to him, you pull up your thread with Dennis. He's one of the only other persons who knows why Frank went to rehab in the first place, being Trinity's roommate and confidant. You understandably can't go to Trinity or Robby with your dilemma of whether you should reach out to Frank, so you go to someone who's closer to neutral than isn't.

You: Frank goes home today.

Dennis: Shit, really? Dennis: He reached out?

You: No. He wrote me once at the beginning of the program to let me know. I set a reminder.

Dennis: He wrote you????

You: Don't make it a thing.

Dennis: Not a thing. Got it. Sure. Dennis: You going to see him?

You: I don't know if he wants to hear from me, let alone see me.

Dennis: He wouldn't have told you when he was gonna be home if he didn't want you to do something with that information.

You groan, cursing him for making sense. You turn your phone face down and let your mind drift back to seven months ago, September.

You had just caught up to him after Robby had gone in on him for yelling at Trinity. You asked him what the hell his problem was.

"She's too cocky," he said, shaking his head in frustration. "She's got it out for me, too. She's been getting on my nerves all fucking day."

"Then you take a breather," you countered, frowning at the way he was pacing. "You don't yell at interns. It's her first day."

"Which is why she needs to fucking listen to me and not parade around here like she knows better. She doesn't!" His voice gradually raised with each word that spilled out of him, his chest rising and his eyes blown wide. The sight of him made your stomach turn, like there was acid swimming inside of you.

"Are you okay?" You asked, almost timidly. Like you were scared any wrong word may set him off on you next.

Frank and you have been close since you started here three years ago and he let you follow him around during his second year-residency. He's kept an eye on you, taught you, kept you close to him. Not just colleagues, and most of the time it feels like not just friends either. Not with the way he presses against you during traumas as a way to reassure you he's got you. Not with the way his hand finds yours under the table at the diner you two frequent. Not with the way he looks at you sometimes, like looking away means he's missing something important even if it's just you and him charting together at your desks. Not with the way he kissed you just the week prior after driving you home one night after shift.

"I'm fine," he grunted, his hand resting at his lower back as his face twisted in discomfort.

And then you heard he went home early that day. It made sense, obviously he was having a bad day, you had clocked him struggling with the ache in his back all day and obviously Trinity had struck a chord with him. He needed to take a breath. Then you overheard him and Robby in the ambulance bay. You confronted him and he got defensive and mean, just like he had with Robby. You were frustrated with him for keeping this from you, for not coming to you if he needed help. He bit back that he didn't need you hovering over him. That it wasn't his fault you got so attached to him and that you needed to worry about getting your own life instead of judging him for his.

You knew he didn't mean it. He was defensive and felt like a caged dog, lashing out just to protect himself. But it still hurt. He apologized in the letter he sent you, letting you know that he wasn't avoiding the conversation, just couldn't get to his phone during the program unless there was an emergency. You wrote back once with your own apology, letting him know that you were there for him still. You didn't hear from him again.

But it's been seven months now and every day since he left you've felt this particular Frank shaped ache in your chest. Which is why you stop overthinking it and go to his contact in your messages, about to text him just to welcome him back - and then you're phone's ringing with his contact picture covering your screen.

"Frank," you breathe out, answering on the first ring. "I was just... hi."

"Hey," he says, his tone soft and a little incredulous, like he's surprised you picked up. The thought makes the ache in your chest burn. "It's nice to hear your voice."

"Yeah?" And you can't help the relief that bleeds through.

"Yeah," he confirms, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "I, uh... God, I missed it. You. I missed you. Miss you."

"Oh," you practically whisper, not able to stop the smile that breaks across your features. "I miss you, too," and it isn't until you say it that you feel your throat tighten a little and you have to fight the tears that want to spill out.

"Well," he clears his throat, "I just wanted to call to let you know I'm home... and I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. Honestly, I was expecting your voicemail. So, I don't know... thanks. For answering."

"Always," you say, with no hesitation. It's silent on the line, and you know he probably has a lot he wants to ask you. About the Pitt, about Robby, if you both are still okay. You hear him start a sentence, and then sigh.

"I guess I'll see you in three months," he finally says, causing you to frown. Maybe this is all he can handle, you think. You had hoped he wanted to meet up - for coffee, at your regular diner. But he probably just wants to get settled again.

"Sure," you agree, nodding even though he can't see it. "See you." It's silent again between you two for a few seconds before he finally hangs up. But, you can't get past the way he started to speak and then stopped himself. Like he was nervous to ask you something, a favor or just for a semblance of normalcy. Like he felt like he shouldn't be awarded that for some reason.

You pick up your phone again to text him.

You: It kind of felt like you wanted to ask me something.

You press send before you can psyche yourself out. It takes a minute before your phone pings.

Frank: Sorry. I was going to ask you something.

You see him typing something. Then it stops. Then it starts again. Then it stops.

You: Frank, spit it out.

Frank: I guess I just wanted to see you. Frank: But you're probably busy. I'll just see you when I go back to work.

The text is enough for you to leave the rest of your groceries spread over your counter as you grab your keys and head out of your apartment to race over toward his place. It's a short eleven minute drive before you're standing at his door, knocking gently against the hardwood. You hear a faint Coming! a second before the door swings open. His eyes widen a fraction when he sees you.

"Sorry, hi," you rush out, not realizing your chest his heaving until his eyes dip down to watch for a second before trailing back up toward you.

"Hi," he says back dumbly, laughing a little in surprise. "You're here. You... you came."

"Yeah well, you called," you shrug, the back of your neck heating up as his eyes wander over you again. "You said you missed me."

"I do," he admits easily, using the present tense despite you being right in front of him. He recovers from his initial shock, his hand reaching out to brush his his fingers against your cheek, down your jaw. "God, I do," he swallows thickly. Your breath hitches when his hand cradles the back of your neck, gently coaxing you closer toward him. You go willingly, taking a step closer toward him, your head leaning back slightly to look up at him.

"I'm happy you're back," you mumble, not missing the faint flush of pink in his cheeks at your admission. He doesn't say anything at first, just leans down to brush his nose against yours.

"I'm happy you picked up the phone." And then his mouth on yours, bruising in a way that feels like he's thought about doing this for the last seven months he's been gone. You feel warmth spread through you at the groan he lets out when you press back against him just as eagerly, like you've been thinking about the exact same thing.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

Lawyer barbie helping langdon with his back pain. Idk massages? Maybe researching what he can apply to his back for pain (even though he's a doctor lol)

lavender & turmeric (lawyer!reader x frank langdon)

series masterlist

Frank winced as he took the small flight of stairs up into the lobby of your apartment building.

His hand slid down to his lower back, rubbing small, feeble circles into the ache lodged there as he waited for the elevator.

His back had been getting progressively worse over the past few weeks. What had started out as a small niggle had slowly spread into a constant, pulsing ache, occasionally sharpened by sudden jolts whenever he bent the wrong way or spent too long on his feet.

Which, unfortunately, was everyday.

He'd been trying to stay on top of his physio exercises, he really had, but work had been so flat out that by the time he dragged himself home after a 15 hour day, the last thing he felt like doing was getting out his roller and spending 15 minutes in agony.

The elevator dinged open.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed into one of the tight points near his spine, trying to loosen it as best as he could before he got to your door.

You had been flat out at work too, the last thing he wanted to do was to bring you down by talking about his pain. Or worse, make you worry that he might relapse.

So by the time he reached your apartment, he'd shoved the pain into the same small mental box he shoved everything else into.

He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth as he knocked on your door.

"It's open!"

Even hearing your voice faintly through the door made him feel better.

The smell hit him immediately when he stepped inside.

Lavender. Eucalyptus. Something warm and herbal drifting through the apartment.

He dumped his overnight bag by the door, brow furrowing when you were no where to be seen.

"Baby?"

"Sorry, I'm here!"

You appeared from the hallway a second later and his exhaustion eased on instinct the second he saw you.

Your pyjama shorts sat low on your hips, swallowed almost entirely by an oversized graphic tee that matched one of his. The lettering across the front read 'we belung together' with a badly drawn set of cartoon lungs underneath.

"Hi." You smiled as you walked towards him.

"Hi." His voice softened automatically as he leaned down to kiss you.

You tasted faintly like peppermint tea.

Frank lingered for a second longer than intended before pulling away slightly.

"Why does it smell like a massage parlour in here?"

Your grin widened immediately.

"Because, tonight this is a massage parlour."

His brows knitted together.

Your smile somehow widened further as you laced your hand through his and tugged him towards your room. He came to a stop at the doorway, brows shooting up as he took in the sight before him.

Towels had been laid neatly across the bed. Candles flickered softly around the room, casting warm golden light across the walls. A line of massage oils sat organised on your dresser beside what looked suspiciously like hot compresses and ice packs. An incense stick curled lazily in the corner.

And on the bedside table sat a steaming mug.

Frank blinked slowly.

"...what is all this?"

"Well....I know your back has been bad lately."

His mouth opened automatically.

"And before you deny it-" You cut in immediately. "-don't. I know you."

Frank shut his mouth again.

"I know this probably isn't going to magically fix anything." You continued as you hurried over to the bedside table, "but I did some googling-"

Frank's mouth twitched.

"-don't be mean." You warned without any bite.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Your face is saying things."

He bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to fight the smile threatening to appear.

You carefully picked up the mug and chaperoned it back over to him.

"Anyway-" You continued determinedly. "-apparently hot and cold therapy can really help muscle inflammation and spasms, and lavender oil is supposed to help with relaxation-"

Frank glanced down at the mug as you handed it over to him.

"-turmeric has anti-inflammatory properties and the corner store near work where I get my peppermint tea also sells turmeric tea so-" You paused as you gestured to the warm cup. "Hopefully it tastes alright."

"....How did you have the time to do all this?" He asked after a moment.

You shrugged half-heartedly. "I made time."

Frank stared at you.

He didn't have the heart to tell you that none of this would probably fix his back.

But that wasn't the point.

Because no one had ever done something like this for him before. Like despite everything he was still something worth taking care of.

You shifted slightly under his gaze.

"I know this is probably all pseudoscience crap and sounds really stupid but-"

"It doesn't." He cut you off gently.

Frank swallowed hard, suddenly feeling something tight lodge in his throat.

"It doesn't sound stupid at all." He continued, quieter now.

Your expression softened instantly.

You watched intently as he lifted the mug up and took a tentative sip.

He nodded, taking another larger gulp. "It's good."

You smiled.

"Come here." You said softly, easing the mug out of his hands once he'd taken a few more sips. You set it down before gently tugging him towards the edge of the bed.

He obeyed without complaint, sitting down heavily with a low groan that made your face pinch with concern.

"Jesus, Frankie."

"I'm fine."

"Mhm." You deadpanned. "Take your shirt off."

His mouth twitched despite himself.

"Yes ma'am."

You rolled your eyes affectionately as he peeled his shirt over his head, but your expression faltered the second you saw the way the muscles along his back spasmed.

"Frank..." Your fingertips ghosted lightly over his shoulders. "You're so tense."

"Occupational hazard." He remarked as he laid down onto his stomach.

You shook your head before reaching for one of the cold compresses you'd prepared. Carefully, you pressed it against his lower back.

He hissed quietly through his teeth.

"Too cold?"

"No." He exhaled slowly as the cold seeped into his muscles. "Actually... shit. That feels good."

A tiny, triumphant smile spread across your face.

"Told you my googling was useful."

Frank let out a quiet laugh.

You worked slowly, methodically - alternating between the cold and warm compress. Then you switched to your hands, rubbing lavender oil into the tight muscles lining his spine. Your touch was gentle at first, exploratory, before growing firmer when you felt how knotted he really was.

Frank's head dropped forward.

He hadn't realised how bad it had gotten until now. How much tension he'd been carrying around without noticing.

Your thumbs pressed into a particularly tight spot near his lower back and he groaned quietly.

"Marry me."

You snorted. "I think that might be the least romantic proposal anyone's ever received."

"I'm serious." His voice came out muffled by the pillow he'd buried his head into. "You can have literally everything I own."

"So.... scrubs and take-out containers?"

"Hey don't forget the crippling emotional baggage."

"Already got that for free."

A laugh escaped him then - real and warm and helpless.

Your hands slowed slightly at the sound, your expression softening.

"I've missed that."

The quiet honesty in your voice hit him harder than expected.

Because lately he'd been exhausted. Distracted. Coming home with barely enough energy to hold a conversation before passing out beside you.

But you still did all of this for him. Still supported him no matter what.

Frank reached back blindly until his fingers found your wrist.

"I love you." He said simply.

Your chest tightened.

"I love you too."

You brushed your fingers through his hair. "Feel any better?"

Frank exhaled slowly as you slid off him so he could twist onto his back.

"Honestly?" He said as he laid back to look at you properly. "Yeah."

And he meant it.

The ache was still there, dull beneath the surface, but it wasn't consuming him anymore. For the first time in weeks, he felt relaxed.

"Really?"

Your smile made his heart stop.

Frank tugged you closer, your legs straddling his waist. "Really." He murmured.

Then he tilted his head up and kissed you, slow and lazy, grateful.

Your fingers slid into his hair instinctively as you kissed him back, smiling against his mouth when he made a soft content noise.

"See?" You said smugly against his lips. "Who needs a medical degree when you have google?"

He huffed out a laugh.

"Right, I might tell your clients the same thing."

You shoved his shoulder lightly and he laughed again - softer this time.

The kind of laugh reserved only for you.

"Ok." Frank leant over to grab the massage oil. "Now it's my turn to repay the favour."

Something in his expression that made your brow arch.

"Uh huh."

"What?"

"You just want an excuse to grope my ass."

Frank placed a hand dramatically over his heart as he let out a fake gasp. "How dare you. As a doctor, I care deeply about your muscle recovery. I know how tight your shoulders get. "

You hummed disbelieving, leaning down to kiss him again.

"Although." He mumbled against your lips. "Seeing you all oiled up is a perk."

You laughed softly before pulling back just enough to dramatically cross your arms over your chest and narrow your eyes at him.

"I'm not undoing all my hard work by having sex with you and immediately throwing your back out again."

Frank grinned lazily up at you as his thumbs drew circles on your hips.

"If you want me to be a pillow princess tonight, just say the word baby."

You let out a dramatic groan.

"I seriously regret teaching you that term."

His smile widened as you failed to stay serious and giggled.

He tugged you down onto the bed beside him. You landed half on top of him with another laugh before immediately trying to shift off him carefully.

"Don't move too fast-"

"I'm fine." He wrapped an arm around your waist before you could pull away completely. "Besides, lying here with you actually counts as medical treatment."

"Oh yeah?"

"Definitely." He pressed a kiss against your temple. "Benefits include reduced stress levels. Improved mood. Lower blood pressure."

You snorted.

"You're an idiot.”

"Maybe." He smiled against your skin. “You still love me though."

Your heart swelled at that.

"Always."

Frank looked at you for a second like he still couldn't quite believe that.

Then he kissed you again - softer this time, slower.

The candles flickered around the room while your fingers drifted through his hair, and for the first time in weeks, Frank let himself relax completely.

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[brutalizermp3]

Just My Luck - F.L

mdni • 18+ only

summary: Months into a dry spell and hours into a bad day, you get bailed on by yet another date. Lucky for you, your best buddy ‘ER Ken’ is always looking out for you, and eager to turn your day around.

tags/warnings: light angst, friends-to-lovers, smut, car sex, pet names (baby, beautiful), unprotected sex, accidental creampie, service top!Langdon (he talks u thru it i just know he does)

word count: 3.6k

A/N: seems to be kind of a theme in my fics lately…can we tell i want to go on a date. also can be read as either cheating or wholesome, family-friendly, god-fearing divorced!Langdon, depending on ur freaky inclinations. like marriage is not mentioned at all but i thought i would put it out there...bc EYE was thinking abt cheating #sorry #problematicfave

Just as you think things are looking up, the PTMC swoops back in to remind you; the other shoe always drops. Since the sun rose on this shitty, shitty day, you’ve already had to deal with mouthy elderly patients and two sets of parents bringing their children in, only to decide that your treatments aren’t whole grain or godly enough for their liking. You almost slipped in a small puddle of mystery liquid on your way to this very exam room. The clacking of your flailing lanyard is just the icing on the cake. 

On cue, Langdon strides in, surveying the room with his cold, vacant doctor-stare. When his eyes land on you, they crinkle at the edges. Not with joy, but in mockery. He approaches, tutting and saying your name. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this.” In one deft movement, he pulls back your lanyard and takes another look at the patient. Standing behind you, his breath fans against your neck. “Hold compressions,” Robby orders.

It takes a few more rounds but finally, the patient starts awake and you shudder with relief. You snatch your badge out of Langdon’s hands and he nods, giving you a mock-salute. 

“You're welcome.”

Shaking your head and biting back a laugh, you ignore him all the way to the lockers. “You’re lucky it’s the end of our shift.” 

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?” 

“Because,” you say, opening your locker’s door right in his face and shutting it with a snap. “If I had to be around you any longer, you’d be sitting in one of those beds.” 

“Ouch,” he teases, rubbing an imaginary wound over his heart. Your eyes linger on his fingers, on the dainty little beads of his daughter’s friendship bracelet. That final detail makes you shake your head, and walk a little faster away from the building.

“Somebody chasing you?” Langdon has to jog to keep up with you, hands in his pockets. 

“Sort of,” you answer, leaping over a suspicious puddle. Langdon glares back at it as if he means to give it a stern talking to. You chuckle. “You know, I think I can make it to the bus stop on my own.” 

“Sure, but then you'd have to go without my riveting conversation.” Even when he barely gets a laugh, Langdon remains undeterred. “So, what’s the rush?”

You grimace. “Have you always been so nosy?” 

“Have you always been so secretive?” 

“Touche, Clark Kent.” 

He grins at the nickname but continues shooting expectant glances. 

“If you must know.” You’re forced to pause at a traffic light, jabbing the button with your elbow. “I’ve got a bus to catch.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question, you get the same bus everyday.”

“Which you know, because…?” 

He pauses beside you, shrugging and looking around as if he expects a passerby to give him a good excuse. “I drive past this stop everyday. You’re hard to miss.”

“Again, I say: nosy.”  

He ignores you, scratching behind his ear. “So, you need a ride.” 

“I can wait for the bus.”

“Or,” he shrugs again, “I can give you a ride.” 

You swallow back the childish joke that’s just itching to jump out and readjust your bag, frowning at the twinge of pain in your shoulder. Langdon doesn’t miss a beat, holding his hand out.

“Let me take that.” 

“I’ve got it.” As you step forwards, he blocks your path, arms held up in surrender. 

“You’re not gonna let me help?”  

You’re not sure why he wants to. The understanding, you thought, was that this friendship runs on a delicate balance of familiarity and professionalism. Joking, jabbing, borderline flirting, is all safe if it’s happening behind the hectic walls of the Pitt. It's a stress tonic, it keeps morale high. What it doesn’t do, is cross any lines. 

Instinctively, your hand shoots up to shoo him away again, but you pause. You do need the ride. Already, tonight’s planned outfit is doomed to be void of accessories and your hair will have to forgo any of the styling options you dreamed up last night. There won’t even be time for a pre-date snack. You groan. 

“Sure,” you say, trying to tamp down the fluttering in your chest. 

Langdon even insists on helping you carry your bag upstairs. He takes your key, opens your front door for you, ushers you inside and offers to make you a tea, coffee, anything you want. 

“So, your date tonight,” Langdon starts, dropping your things on the sofa. “Is he…you know. A boyfriend, or what?” 

While he scoops coffee into a mug, you get to work. As you change, you rush between rooms, frantically, calling over your shoulder or yelling responses to each other. “Never met him. We’ve been set up. My friends think it ‘could be good for me’, or something.”

He waits for the coffee to brew in the living room, standing with his hands braced behind the sofa. “You disagree?” 

“I don’t need a boyfriend.” 

His gaze swivels as you hobble back and forth with curlers in your hair and one heel on. You wave a hand in his direction, decidedly ignoring that, if he wanted to, he could’ve left by now. 

Langdon nods, brow furrowing. “Do you want one?” 

You wave your hands again and keep staunchly quiet. Now, you’re strutting around in both heels, rifling through your sofa cushions to find a lipgloss you could swear was last seen in this room. Langdon watches in polite silence, presumably for as long as he can stand, before asking, “Do you need any help?” 

“I’m fine, Frank. Thank you. Ah ha.” Inexplicably, the lost lipgloss is strewn between an armchair’s fuzzy cushions. You pull it out and stride back to your room. Getting ready at  record speed, you messily unwind the curlers from your hair and flipping your head back and forth. When you leave your room, Langdon is still hanging around and you still have enough time for a budget-saving snack, in case the date is a cheapskate. 

“You want some ramen?” 

He blanches. “Ramen?” 

“I don’t know, something light. In case–” You’re interrupted by your phone buzzing from the sofa. Langdon looks down like it’s calling him names and you pick it up, scrolling frantically. There’s no real reason to be nervous, to be so sure that bad news is coming. Worrying can’t stop it, and it can’t protect you from the sinking disappointment when you open your messages and it’s staring you right in the face.

When you notice Langdon stirring, you cringe away from him. “What?” 

You grimace back at the phone, then roll your eyes. Neither seems to get rid of the weight of rejection, curdling acidic at the base of your throat. You roll your eyes again and force a laugh. “He’s not coming.” 

“What do you mean?”

You hold your phone up absently. “Uh, the guy, my date. He can’t make it or something.”

“Or something,” Langdon deadpans.

Shrugging out more forced nonchalance, you read straight from your phone. “Sorry, have to cancel, my buddy’s having car troubles and I said I’d help him out.”

“Sounds plausible.” 

A sarcastic response of your own sits on the tip of your tongue, but you’re interrupted by the kettle boiling. It’s just a distant, bubbling hiss, but the shock brings a spurt of tears to your eyes. 

“Hey,” Langdon begins. You shake your head and turn away, hands cupping your own face when he immediately starts to follow. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re crying.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Then turn around.”

You let out a growling sigh. Embarrassed, you face him and shrug, equal parts exasperated and expectant. 

It seems like he’s about to say something but, even when you turn your palms up and raise your eyebrows, he keeps his mouth shut. About twenty minutes ago, this was fun. Now, unreasonable as it may be, you’re starting to feel a little rejected. 

“Why are even you still here?” 

He slowly pushes up from the sofa, blinking rapidly. “I…Do you want me to go?” 

“No.” You groan, hands running down your face. 

“Should I get your coffee?” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

“Do you–”

You hold a hand up to silence him, trying to come up with a polite way to get rid of him. It would be easier if he wasn’t looking at you so wide-eyed and eager, if that strand of hair wasn’t hanging over his forehead, so primed to be romantically swept away. If he wasn’t being so nice. 

“What do you need?” he asks, finally. You groan again, shaking your head. 

“A day off,” you joke. Still aiming for nonchalance, you mutter the next one under your breath. “An orgasm. Or two.” 

Langdon’s face drops for a split second, expression buffering. Then, he blinks away his shock. “Let me take you out.”

“What?” 

“You wanna go out, right? If this guy won’t, let me do it.” 

Now it’s your turn to buffer, mouth snapping open and shut aimlessly. 

“I was already gonna be your ride there, right?” You don’t remember agreeing to that, but he’s not done. “I’ll take care of everything. I’m not sure where he was taking you but there’s this Italian place downtown–cliche, I know–you’ll love it.” 

As he talks, he runs a hand through his hair, grabs your handbag off the sofa and takes the first jacket hanging by your front door. He checks that you’re following and gives you a certain, reassuring nod. 

“Fuck that guy, alright? Let’s have the best goddamn night of our lives.”

As you’re pulling into traffic, thick, dark grey clouds threaten the humid kind of rainfall that ruins your hair and makes it hard to breathe. It may also be the tears threatening to fall. Langdon’s sweet, really, but it’s hard not to feel a little guilty. Beside you, he hums and taps the steering wheel, clearly pleased with himself for fixing yet another one of your problems. In truth, he’s only making them worse. Tonight sort of had an express purpose, which his presence makes impossible. You spend the entire car ride sending him awkward glances, hands fidgeting in your lap. At some point, you’re gonna have to tell him to go home. 

He pulls into a parking complex, practically abandoned by the time you get to a floor with availability. Booming thunder rolls in the distance as you stumble out, limbs suddenly gelatine. Langdon has to lend you an arm to keep you steady out of the car park. More thunder, and a swell of nauseating anxiety behind your sternum. Today’s stress–the week’s stress, if you’re honest, the last few month’s–is catching up with you, fast. Irrational apprehension seizes in your gut and you cling to Langdon’s arm. 

“We should go.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

He frowns softly, but doesn’t drop your arm. In fact, as you try pulling away, he only clings harder. “Hey, remember what I said? Don’t let that asshole ruin your night.” 

You shake your head. “It’s not about him.” 

Only, it is. Shaking your head some more, you let out a coarse laugh. You’re a doctor, for christ’s sake. You save lives and even when you can’t, you stare death right in the face. Bad days don’t paralyse you; they can’t. Normally, it’s because you get a little help: from friends, one-off dates or recurring flings, colleagues willing to vent over a few beers. All that, though, is precautionary. You’re not supposed to need help, or much of anything at all. The realisation of anything less is humbling at best. At worst, it’s humiliating and because you can't catch a break, this just has to be the worst case scenario. 

Langdon’s hands are cupped around your cheeks. Palms warm and broad, you only notice you’re crying when he lifts them from your face to rub your shoulders, where goosebumps are sprouting in the sudden chilly breeze. The barrage of questions you’re expecting never comes. Instead, he simply pulls you to his chest, wraps his arms around you and whispers against your temple. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay, I got you.” 

You bite back more tears but your shoulders still shake, though you can’t tell whether it’s your sobbing or a bout of shivers. Langdon runs his hands over your arms again, expression pinched. Rain trickles, then picks up, pattering against the cars at the parking complex's edge. 

“Chilly, huh?” 

“It’s fine, we, uh…” you pull away, gesturing vaguely. “We should…” 

“Go downstairs?”

You shake your head. 

“Go home?” 

“I don’t know, I think…I don’t know.” 

“How about we sit in the car?” he chuckles, “Let you figure it out somewhere warm.” 

Shut in the car, it actually does become a little easier to breathe. Langdon sits beside you, still cooing. 

“Alright, alright. I’m not your daughter.”

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Force of habit.”

It gets quiet and you let it, relishing the steady hum of rainfall and whooshing wind. The longer you sit, the weather only gets more and more intense. Even if you wanted to now, you’re not going anywhere. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“Nothing.” You groan, shoving your face into your hands. “Tonight was supposed to go so differently.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. I really did want to fix things, though.” 

Your posture straightens and you fix him with an almost accusatory stare. “Why?” 

“I don’t know,” he fidgets, “it seemed like you were having a rough day.” 

“And you thought I needed you to fix it?” 

“Is there anyone else?” He asks the question to his hands, left thumb pressing into right palm as he massages his nerves away. 

“I don’t need anyone else.” Your breath hitches. “I don’t need anyone, period.” 

“But you could use someone. We all could, right?” 

“Don’t you have enough of your own shit to worry about?”

“Don’t you?” 

By now your shoulders and thighs are pressed together, both of you somehow shifted to the middle seat. You look up at Langdon, his pale blue eyes darting around your face. 

“So, I could use you.” 

“Yeah.” His hand is on your thigh and you don’t remember leaning closer, but his heartbeat beats urgently against your shoulder. “You could.” 

Without allowing yourself a second of rational thought, you lean even closer. A single movement of reckless abandon and your lips are smashing into Langdon’s, his arm curling around your waist and pulling you into his lap. 

“Is this a good idea?” you whisper into his mouth.

“Does it feel good?” 

You nod, rolling your hips onto his.

“Then let's think about it later.” 

He cups your face and kisses you again, softer this time, his tongue gently pushing through your lips. His hands caress a grounding pressure into your body. First on your thighs, then your back, then the back of your head as you grind into each other. You’re already desperate for him to undress you, but can’t tell how hard he is until he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering. 

“God, you know–I never thought it would happen like this.” 

Appalled, you pull away. “You’ve thought about this?” 

Langdon only pulls you back with more pressure. His kisses trail from your jaw to your neck. “All the time. Can I take this off?” He gently tugs on your dress, then shakes his head and slides his hands up your skirt instead. “Actually, keep it on. No sense in you getting all dressed up for nothing.”

You run your hands over his chest and his breath catches when your fingers hit his nipples. His hips grind further upwards, as if it hasn’t occurred to him he can fuck you for real. You send his question back at him, tugging on his jeans’ zipper and he groans. 

“Uh–I can’t.”  

“Why?” 

“I don’t, uh…” He gestures around the car, then at his crotch. 

“No condoms?” Avoiding eye contact, he nods. You giggle, grabbing his wrists to move his hands further up your skirt, when his fingers graze your underwear, you lean in. “I guess you’ll just have to practise some self control then, huh?” 

You urge him to slide off your underwear and you unzip his jeans. Pulling him free from his boxers makes his jaw hang open and his hands clench around you absently. 

“What–fuck–what do you like?” he asks, as you pump him up and down slowly. 

“Well, for a start, this.” You tease his tip against you, dragging him through your increasing wetness as he watches, jaw still slack. When his hips start to jut forward, you open your legs wider and press against him, so that he’s as wrapped up as possible without being inside you. Langdon’s breath hitches and his hips roll automatically, chasing more of your warmth. 

“Yeah? Just this?” He bites his lip and watches as you grind on his tip, then sink down to his balls, always sliding on just enough of his shaft to drive him crazy. “You want anything else? Want me to play with your tits?” 

You moan and he takes the hint, rubbing one nipple with his thumb and kneading around the other, getting torturously close, then massaging in the opposite direction. 

“Does that feel good? Want anything else?”

All you can do is whimper as his tip catches on your clit. You bite down on your lip, hips still working frantically, chasing as much of him as you can get. Langdon’s arms wrap around you more tightly and he bucks into you, straining with the effort of staying on the outside. 

“Shit, that’s it, right there. Fuck, you’re so wet, I–fuck–I could do this all day.” 

Still biting back moans, you bury your face against his neck and he tuts. “No, no, don’t do that.” He cups your face and brings it level with his, looking you straight in the eyes with his thumb catching your lip. “Lemme hear you baby, come on. Tell me how it feels.” 

You whine. “It feels good.” 

“Yeah?” 

Your back arches as you try to press even closer against him and you nod through another whimpering moan. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “Good girl. Take whatever you want. Whatever you need.” 

The more he keeps talking, the more empty you feel between your legs. You need him to fill you, to rock his hips into you until there’s no room inside you for this bad day, your hectic job and the way it shreds your nerves. Nothing but him. 

You aren’t sure how to tell him any of this, so you roll into him slower. Grabbing his face to give him deep, messy kisses, you let his tip slide further and further into you until he pulls back. 

“Are you sure?” Though his voice is full of apprehension, his eyes are blown wide and eager. 

“I need you,” you say against his face, hips never stopping. 

“Shit,” he moans, “yeah, okay, I’ll–fuck, yeah. Whatever you want.”

As you sink down onto him, he holds your hips in a steady grip, letting off a constant stream of reassurances. 

“I’ve got you, beautiful, just like that.” When he’s all the way in, he gets a little less coherent, but far more insistent. “That’s it, you’re–Oh, fuck. Fuck baby, just like that. Use me, baby, take whatever you want from me, I’m all yours.” 

Thick and hard, he fills you perfectly. As you ride him, a dragging pleasure builds, spreading like a fever down your thighs, up your back. It heats your face and draws long, whining moans from between your lips, panting interrupted only by you crying out Langdon’s name while he offers more encouragement. 

“Feels good?”

“Uh huh,” you moan. In response, he moans too. 

“I know, baby, I know.” He moans again, voice breaking as you clench around him. “See how I can make it better? How I can make it–fuck, baby–make it all go away.” 

You moan in agreement. This time, when you lay your head against his shoulder, he lets you. 

“You close, beautiful?” 

You nod and he brings your face closer so he can mutter in your ear. From his ragged breathing it sounds like he’s close, too. 

“Alright, baby,” he says, thrusting up harder into you. “That’s it, right there. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

All you can do anymore is moan. He nods and brings a hand back to your tits to sloppily circle a thumb over your nipple.

“So you’re gonna come, alright? Come for me, baby, show me how good it feels. Show me–” he grunts, “how good it feels to drain my fucking cock, alright? Lemme feel it, baby, I wanna feel it. Show me how much you like using this thick fucking cock to get off.” 

His voice only gets more hoarse, talking you through your orgasm so fervently, he might as well be begging. 

Your orgasm crests and you don’t even have time to react; it simply ripples through you. Waves of pleasure curl your spine inwards and Langdon’s hands don’t cease on your nipples. He fucks you through it, thrusts haphazard as he reaches his own peak. His moans get breathy and strained as he cums, and when he finally floods you, he wraps his arms around you and stills, buried to the hilt. It takes a while for either of you to get out of the post-sex haze but when you do, problem-solving Langdon is back. 

“Shit, I shouldn’t–I can go to a convenience store right now, I’ll–” 

You giggle, gesturing to the rain still pounding outside. “It’s okay, you’re fine.” 

“Are you sure, I’m so sorry I wasn’t even thinking, I don’t–”

“Langdon,” you giggle and pat his shoulder, delirious. “Don’t worry. Let’s think about it later.”