βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x gn!reader.ββββββββββββββ ββββ βββββββββββ ββββ ββββcontent warning angst, coworkers to lovers to strangers. infidelity, allusions to sex, brief mentions of addiction and rehab. reader has an unspecified job at ptmc. ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββword count 2.0k.βββββββ ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββnote okay so i'm a dumb idiot and didn't write this in advance like i planned so it's a little late and maybe a little rushed, but oh well! this is the first fic in my language of flowers series that i'm doing to celebrate reaching 100 followers a couple of months ago!
your affair with langdon started, as they historically do, by accident.
it was a cool rainy day in march and tensions had been running high since that morning. something about the weather had everyone acting up, patients and staff alike. it certainly didn't help that before nine AM, before anyone had had the chance to really wake up for the day, there was a pediatric case that went south, which put a damper on everyone's mood.
langdon, who was on said case, was appropriately sad about the outcome, but he'd seemingly bounced right back. you didn't suppose you can blame him, considering the fact that this line of work requires a person to compartmentalize to get through each shift. he seemed particularly jumpy though, restless even; you chalked it up to the ADHD he mentions offhandedly every once in a while. you understood, after all. it wasn't so big a deal.
you went through the motions, went about your business, seeing to patients, trying desperately to adhere to gloria's stupid acronyms. ADF, always discharge first. you did your best that day, really, but she might as well have been asking the pitt's staff to move mountains with their bare hands. maybe you were so preoccupied by the oppressive statistics and the fact that the last thing you (or anyone, for that matter) wanted was for her to make a trip down there that you didn't realize how agitated the patient you were assessing was getting.
one moment, you were standing at the computer, clicking through their file and listening to them as they spoke, and the next, you were on the floor. things were going fine, there was no reason for this person to be so combative, but here you were, sprawled on the floor, blinking up at the sterile white light above you. for a split second, you didn't feel anything, but then pain bloomed in the back of your skull and over the bridge of your nose. it prickled with heat and you felt almost nauseous with the change.
it wasn't long before you'd found yourself in a quiet room with langdon, who insisted on being the one to check for a concussion and other injuries. he ran all the tests you were familiar with and had done a million times by then, and while you'd been friends for a long time, it still caught you off guard when he leaned in close. his breath was hot on your face and his long lashes were so visible that you could count each curl individually.
you stared at one another for a long, lingering moment, everything suspended in time. you felt like a bit you were the only two people in the universe. there was a dark urge to do something you knew you shouldn't do, but you couldn't help feeling it anyway, the proximity of his mouth to yours absolutely dizzying. it seemed like he was weighing the same options, reasoning it out, telling himself that he shouldn't. that was the right answer, as much as you would have liked to know what he tasted like, because you couldn't do that to him, to his wife.
in spite of all the reasons to not do it, the tension snapped anyway and you fell into one another like puzzle pieces slotting into place together. he tasted like wintergreen, crisp and clean and cool. you would have expected something tangier, something citrusy and sweet like the red bulls you'd seen him drink every morning in the few years that you'd known each other, but you liked this too. you liked it a lot.
apparently, he did too because it kept happening. you felt guilty about it, doing this to abby when you'd met her so many times and considered her more than a friend than an acquaintance, but you couldn't make yourself stop. this was the first real attention you'd gotten from a partner in an embarrassing amount of time after your last one had broken up with you out of the blue before christmas. every time it happened, you told yourself that it would be the last time. frank had echoed the sentiment.
but it never was. chance meetings in recently discharged rooms, the empty ghost town of the unstaffed eighth floor, the dark top level of the staff parking garage after the end of a shift. where he went, you followed and vice versa. you wished things were different.
then one day, it was.
hot day in september, shift from hell. new medical students had just started their first day and you'd been through a fentanyl overdose, a pediatric drowning, a mass shooting. your days weren't typically this terrible, but you felt heavy, like you were waterlogged. all you wanted was to go home, drink a glass of wine, try to compartmentalize the pain from today.
you'd found frank in the ambulance bay during an attempt to get a breath of fresh air before you packed your things up and headed out for the night. he had disappeared earlier in the shift and when you'd asked around about it, nobody had an answer; robby, suspiciously, changed the subject. of course, he'd shown up again after the start of the MCI, which robby hadn't seemed to pleased about. you'd not been able to catch him by himself to ask what was going on and if there was anything you hated, it was being left out of the loop.
"what happened to you earlier?" you asked, taking up your post to his right, looking up at him in the yellow light of the ambulance bay. you watched his jaw tick, something in his expression shuttering closed that filled you with apprehension.
he turned toward you then, something cold and distant in his gaze. even deeper, there was something desperate, something regretful, like whatever he was about to do or say was tearing him up inside. "we have to stop doing this."
you swallowed hard, stared back at him. of course, you'd known this was going to come someday because of course it would. he would choose his wife and his children over you, and you couldn't be angry with him for it, but that didn't mean it didn't feel like a knife in your back. you sniffed and nodded, keeping yourself even tempered.
"okay," you replied, the word breathless and trailing off. that didn't answer your question though, so you told him as much. "why'd you leave? i couldn't find you anywhere and robby was being super cagey about it when i asked him."
unsurprisingly, frank got cagey too. he clearly didn't want to tell you the truth, but you were unrelenting and the conversation soon devolved into bickering thereafter. you'd never argued with him like this before. there was playful banter, of course, but never a serious fight, never an argument. he gesticulated wildly, brows furrowed and cheeks red and blue eyes bright. it wasn't until you outright demanded an answer that he broke.
"jesus, fine," he snapped, which made you take a step away from him involuntarily. he noticed and a hurt expression flashed across his face. "i'd rather you hear this from me than from whatever rumor ends up getting around this place."
he told you then: a benzo addiction, stealing from the hospital, santos figuring it out and telling robby. in-patient rehab, random drug tests, and narcotics anonymous meetings were the only things in his future. suddenly, the langdon you'd been seeing for a long time made sense, all the sweating and the irritability and the restlessness. your heart sank because you'd seen the signs, you'd witnessed all of them professionally and personally, and you hadn't noticed the pattern.
that was the thing about addicts though. some knew how to hide it and when you worked so closely with someone, all of their little eccentricities became normal. this wasn't your fault, you knew that logically, but emotionally, it was hard to remind yourself. you didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. he was the first to leave. you didn't turn around to watch him walk through the ambulance bay doors.
you didn't think you could handle it. you were probably right.
the last time you saw frank langdon was in the ambulance bay ten months ago, looking at you, torn between anger and desperation. you hadn't spoken to him in the time he'd been gone, wanting him to focus on his recovery, scared that if you reached out it might fuck something up for him. the guilt you feltβthat you still feelβdidn't help.
he stands before you now on one of the hottest days of the year, the nurse's station separating you. it's only a handful of feet, but it feels like the grand canyon, the two of you standing on opposite sides. he looks different now, steadier but less confident, which you suppose ten months would do to a person.
you're not sure what to say, so you don't say anything. you just give him a nod and a professional smile and then you carry on with your day.
he catches you in the break room some time later, looking unsure of himself, like maybe he thinks he shouldn't be doing this. you don't blame him for that either. coming back to work, knowing that there's a rumor mill about you that's been turning for nearly a year, knowing you'll be in an environment that could put you in a bad spotβit must be difficult.
this must be difficult too, working with the person you had a months-long affair with.
"how have things been?" he asks and it's tentative. you've never heard him sound like this. you hate it.
"alright, i guess," you answer as you dig through the fridge for the can of soda you keep hidden so that nobody steals it. you shrug a little, not really glancing at him, unsure of what it'll do to you. "what about you?"
he tells you that it's been a battle, but he's glad to be back. he says he's been clean almost a hundred and ninety days, a new year's resolution, a fresh start. some days are really difficult, but others are great. admittedly, today hasn't been the best, but he's getting there. he's proud of it.
"and abby? your kids?"
you're not an idiot. you saw the wedding band on his left ring finger when he came in, right where it always was. he never took it off, even when he had his hand down your pants pushing you over that ledge. you don't know whether you hoped he would still be wearing it or not when he came back, but the turn in your stomach makes you realize that you wish it would have been gone.
"they're great," he murmurs. he seems to recognize how loaded your question is, how heavy the burden between you. "i'm lucky. any other woman probably would have taken the kids and left. i wouldn't have blamed her if she did, but⦠she stayed."
you've had ten months to process this. he'd put a definitive end to your relationship when he left that night in september and you'd done your best to move on. you're even kind of seeing someone now, which is going great. you miss frank though and maybe a terrible, despicable part of you had hoped that this wouldn't be the case for him, that maybe there was a chance.
so you ignore the way your heart cracks cleanly in two and you offer him a reassuring smile when you turn toward him, closing the fridge door behind you. "i'm glad you have a good support system, frank."
the half smile he gives in return is lopsided, a little toothy, and he nods. something in the air eases. you're grateful for it, having been damn near suffocated in the tension.
"me too."
you never quite fall back into his orbit the way you had been a year ago. you force yourself to be okay with it, but that wedding band always makes you sick.
just a heads up, you put coworkers to strangers to lovers instead of c to l to s in the warnings for anemone and now my heart is broken, i thought thereβd be a happy ending haha π looking forward to the 30th though, i just reread the teaser for donβt be a stranger and iβm dying to read the rest of it!! π«Ά
LMFAOOOOO MY STUPID ASS π thank you for letting me know i was in such a rush to get it out π
but YAYYYY i need to lock in and finish the first draft so i can edit it!! i love writing little one-shots and everything but there's genuinely nothing better than writing a really long fic! i haven't done it in a long time, so i'm really really looking forward to this and i'm glad others are too despite how long it's been since i posted that teaser!
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x gn!reader.ββββββββββββββ ββββ βββββββββββ ββββ ββββcontent warning angst, coworkers to lovers to strangers. infidelity, allusions to sex, brief mentions of addiction and rehab. reader has an unspecified job at ptmc. ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββword count 2.0k.βββββββ ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββnote okay so i'm a dumb idiot and didn't write this in advance like i planned so it's a little late and maybe a little rushed, but oh well! this is the first fic in my language of flowers series that i'm doing to celebrate reaching 100 followers a couple of months ago!
your affair with langdon started, as they historically do, by accident.
it was a cool rainy day in march and tensions had been running high since that morning. something about the weather had everyone acting up, patients and staff alike. it certainly didn't help that before nine AM, before anyone had had the chance to really wake up for the day, there was a pediatric case that went south, which put a damper on everyone's mood.
langdon, who was on said case, was appropriately sad about the outcome, but he'd seemingly bounced right back. you didn't suppose you can blame him, considering the fact that this line of work requires a person to compartmentalize to get through each shift. he seemed particularly jumpy though, restless even; you chalked it up to the ADHD he mentions offhandedly every once in a while. you understood, after all. it wasn't so big a deal.
you went through the motions, went about your business, seeing to patients, trying desperately to adhere to gloria's stupid acronyms. ADF, always discharge first. you did your best that day, really, but she might as well have been asking the pitt's staff to move mountains with their bare hands. maybe you were so preoccupied by the oppressive statistics and the fact that the last thing you (or anyone, for that matter) wanted was for her to make a trip down there that you didn't realize how agitated the patient you were assessing was getting.
one moment, you were standing at the computer, clicking through their file and listening to them as they spoke, and the next, you were on the floor. things were going fine, there was no reason for this person to be so combative, but here you were, sprawled on the floor, blinking up at the sterile white light above you. for a split second, you didn't feel anything, but then pain bloomed in the back of your skull and over the bridge of your nose. it prickled with heat and you felt almost nauseous with the change.
it wasn't long before you'd found yourself in a quiet room with langdon, who insisted on being the one to check for a concussion and other injuries. he ran all the tests you were familiar with and had done a million times by then, and while you'd been friends for a long time, it still caught you off guard when he leaned in close. his breath was hot on your face and his long lashes were so visible that you could count each curl individually.
you stared at one another for a long, lingering moment, everything suspended in time. you felt like a bit you were the only two people in the universe. there was a dark urge to do something you knew you shouldn't do, but you couldn't help feeling it anyway, the proximity of his mouth to yours absolutely dizzying. it seemed like he was weighing the same options, reasoning it out, telling himself that he shouldn't. that was the right answer, as much as you would have liked to know what he tasted like, because you couldn't do that to him, to his wife.
in spite of all the reasons to not do it, the tension snapped anyway and you fell into one another like puzzle pieces slotting into place together. he tasted like wintergreen, crisp and clean and cool. you would have expected something tangier, something citrusy and sweet like the red bulls you'd seen him drink every morning in the few years that you'd known each other, but you liked this too. you liked it a lot.
apparently, he did too because it kept happening. you felt guilty about it, doing this to abby when you'd met her so many times and considered her more than a friend than an acquaintance, but you couldn't make yourself stop. this was the first real attention you'd gotten from a partner in an embarrassing amount of time after your last one had broken up with you out of the blue before christmas. every time it happened, you told yourself that it would be the last time. frank had echoed the sentiment.
but it never was. chance meetings in recently discharged rooms, the empty ghost town of the unstaffed eighth floor, the dark top level of the staff parking garage after the end of a shift. where he went, you followed and vice versa. you wished things were different.
then one day, it was.
hot day in september, shift from hell. new medical students had just started their first day and you'd been through a fentanyl overdose, a pediatric drowning, a mass shooting. your days weren't typically this terrible, but you felt heavy, like you were waterlogged. all you wanted was to go home, drink a glass of wine, try to compartmentalize the pain from today.
you'd found frank in the ambulance bay during an attempt to get a breath of fresh air before you packed your things up and headed out for the night. he had disappeared earlier in the shift and when you'd asked around about it, nobody had an answer; robby, suspiciously, changed the subject. of course, he'd shown up again after the start of the MCI, which robby hadn't seemed to pleased about. you'd not been able to catch him by himself to ask what was going on and if there was anything you hated, it was being left out of the loop.
"what happened to you earlier?" you asked, taking up your post to his right, looking up at him in the yellow light of the ambulance bay. you watched his jaw tick, something in his expression shuttering closed that filled you with apprehension.
he turned toward you then, something cold and distant in his gaze. even deeper, there was something desperate, something regretful, like whatever he was about to do or say was tearing him up inside. "we have to stop doing this."
you swallowed hard, stared back at him. of course, you'd known this was going to come someday because of course it would. he would choose his wife and his children over you, and you couldn't be angry with him for it, but that didn't mean it didn't feel like a knife in your back. you sniffed and nodded, keeping yourself even tempered.
"okay," you replied, the word breathless and trailing off. that didn't answer your question though, so you told him as much. "why'd you leave? i couldn't find you anywhere and robby was being super cagey about it when i asked him."
unsurprisingly, frank got cagey too. he clearly didn't want to tell you the truth, but you were unrelenting and the conversation soon devolved into bickering thereafter. you'd never argued with him like this before. there was playful banter, of course, but never a serious fight, never an argument. he gesticulated wildly, brows furrowed and cheeks red and blue eyes bright. it wasn't until you outright demanded an answer that he broke.
"jesus, fine," he snapped, which made you take a step away from him involuntarily. he noticed and a hurt expression flashed across his face. "i'd rather you hear this from me than from whatever rumor ends up getting around this place."
he told you then: a benzo addiction, stealing from the hospital, santos figuring it out and telling robby. in-patient rehab, random drug tests, and narcotics anonymous meetings were the only things in his future. suddenly, the langdon you'd been seeing for a long time made sense, all the sweating and the irritability and the restlessness. your heart sank because you'd seen the signs, you'd witnessed all of them professionally and personally, and you hadn't noticed the pattern.
that was the thing about addicts though. some knew how to hide it and when you worked so closely with someone, all of their little eccentricities became normal. this wasn't your fault, you knew that logically, but emotionally, it was hard to remind yourself. you didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. he was the first to leave. you didn't turn around to watch him walk through the ambulance bay doors.
you didn't think you could handle it. you were probably right.
the last time you saw frank langdon was in the ambulance bay ten months ago, looking at you, torn between anger and desperation. you hadn't spoken to him in the time he'd been gone, wanting him to focus on his recovery, scared that if you reached out it might fuck something up for him. the guilt you feltβthat you still feelβdidn't help.
he stands before you now on one of the hottest days of the year, the nurse's station separating you. it's only a handful of feet, but it feels like the grand canyon, the two of you standing on opposite sides. he looks different now, steadier but less confident, which you suppose ten months would do to a person.
you're not sure what to say, so you don't say anything. you just give him a nod and a professional smile and then you carry on with your day.
he catches you in the break room some time later, looking unsure of himself, like maybe he thinks he shouldn't be doing this. you don't blame him for that either. coming back to work, knowing that there's a rumor mill about you that's been turning for nearly a year, knowing you'll be in an environment that could put you in a bad spotβit must be difficult.
this must be difficult too, working with the person you had a months-long affair with.
"how have things been?" he asks and it's tentative. you've never heard him sound like this. you hate it.
"alright, i guess," you answer as you dig through the fridge for the can of soda you keep hidden so that nobody steals it. you shrug a little, not really glancing at him, unsure of what it'll do to you. "what about you?"
he tells you that it's been a battle, but he's glad to be back. he says he's been clean almost a hundred and ninety days, a new year's resolution, a fresh start. some days are really difficult, but others are great. admittedly, today hasn't been the best, but he's getting there. he's proud of it.
"and abby? your kids?"
you're not an idiot. you saw the wedding band on his left ring finger when he came in, right where it always was. he never took it off, even when he had his hand down your pants pushing you over that ledge. you don't know whether you hoped he would still be wearing it or not when he came back, but the turn in your stomach makes you realize that you wish it would have been gone.
"they're great," he murmurs. he seems to recognize how loaded your question is, how heavy the burden between you. "i'm lucky. any other woman probably would have taken the kids and left. i wouldn't have blamed her if she did, but⦠she stayed."
you've had ten months to process this. he'd put a definitive end to your relationship when he left that night in september and you'd done your best to move on. you're even kind of seeing someone now, which is going great. you miss frank though and maybe a terrible, despicable part of you had hoped that this wouldn't be the case for him, that maybe there was a chance.
so you ignore the way your heart cracks cleanly in two and you offer him a reassuring smile when you turn toward him, closing the fridge door behind you. "i'm glad you have a good support system, frank."
the half smile he gives in return is lopsided, a little toothy, and he nods. something in the air eases. you're grateful for it, having been damn near suffocated in the tension.
"me too."
you never quite fall back into his orbit the way you had been a year ago. you force yourself to be okay with it, but that wedding band always makes you sick.
may I suggest (if you havenβt done it) Lars being all shy and flustered after you called him strong and then him wanting to show you just how βstrongβ he is in the jeiwksoskskskeoso way π sorry I got nervous
Happening to see your cute neighbor Lars chopping wood out of your window, and much like Karin, noticing how sexy he is. You've been flirting for weeks anyway, so you wander over, admiring him quite obviously as he works up a sweat.
When he sees you approach he puts on a bit of a show, not that he needs to. You've already seen how he looks swinging the axe when he thinks no one is looking - precise and elegant and strong.
'You're so strong, Lars,' you coo when he sets his axe down. 'I bet you could just throw me over your shoulder and carry me away.'
It's blatant, but you're so into him at this point you're beyond caring.
'Oh yeah?' he says full of confidence, puffing his chest out a little. 'Wanna try it?'
Lars knows it doesn't hurt when he touches you - he tried it once and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.
You nod, biting your lip at the thought, and Karin who was watching as soon as she noticed you approaching the property, gets the show of her life out of her window.
Lars wraps his big, strong arms around your waist, lifts you until you're bent over his broad shoulder, and carries you inside. He smells like fresh air tinted with the musk of sweat and it makes you dizzy.
The last thing Karin sees is Lars placing you down and your fingers sliding up into his mussed hair before the door to his garage apartment closes.
Karin doesn't know where to place herself, picking up the phone, slamming it back down, picking it up again and finally calling Gus.
Meanwhile, Lars has you pressed against the back of his door, lips hot on yours as his hands spread up your back and tangle in your hair.
'I've wanted to do that for weeks,' he pants as he pulls away blushing crimson and squeezing his eyes shut. 'I-I hope it's okay?'
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x fem!reader.ββββββββββββββ ββββ βββββββββββ ββββ ββββcontent warning established relationship, smut (not explicit), handjob. reader is female, does not work at ptmc. ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββword count 0.95k.βββββββ ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββnote inspired by this post sent to me by @saintbusan a couple of months ago. a little short, but it's a treat for yall while i work on other things! enjoy <3
you don't think much of it the first time when you receive a payment notification on venmo. you assume that it's from a friend paying you back for something or other, but it's from your boyfriend, frank. the memo attached reads treat yourself, baby. there's even a little heart emoji tacked onto the end.
it's enough to make you smile. you'd mentioned the night before while doing your nightly routine that you needed to get your nails done soon, a new thing you've started doing. the polish you have on now is starting to grow out and chip, and besides, you want a change of pace, something to match the season because the soft pastel green you have on right now just doesn't feel right anymore. it was something you said offhandedly though; you didn't expect him to do something about it, let alone remember.
you text him a few moments after his venmo gift comes through, seeking clarification. what's that money for?
it takes a while for him to reply, which you accounted for, given the fact that he's at work right now. it's not often he gets a chance to check his phone, even when you know he knows when you text him.
you said you needed to get your nails done. go get them done.
he's straightforward about it the way he is about a lot of things. he's never liked sugarcoating or padding things out. if he wants you to know something, he tells you the way it is. he's just a little softer about it with you than the way he is with the other people in his life, mostly at work with difficult patients.
you grin at your phone. thank you, frankie!! you add a bunch of heart emojis to the end and when he reacts to your message with a heart emoji of his own, you feel yourself go terribly soft.
by the time frank gets home, you've been admiring your new manicure for a long while. the nail technician you've been going to since you started getting your nails done a few months ago did a great job as always. your nails are perfectly shaped and the polish is crisp and clean, a pretty pink shimmer. whenever you get a glimpse, you stop and look for a second just to admire them.
frank seems equally as appreciative of them as you are. when he gets home, he asks you if you got your nails done yet and when you tell him yes, he asks to see them. you reach your hands out, palms down, and he takes them in his, his fingers gently braced on the underside of your hand.
"they're so pretty, baby," he says, peering down at them for a moment longer before looking back up at you. he smiles and the corners of his eyes wrinkle cutely in that way you love so much. he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, which you accept happily, before he pulls away and starts asking after dinner.
you think his appreciation ends there, but it doesn't. in fact, it's not until later when you're getting a little frisky that the true extent of it (and by extension, the reason why he paid for your nails) comes out.
he's sprawled out on the couch, head tipped back as you slide down onto the floor and tuck yourself between his parted legs. you work at the button and zipper of his jeans, careful not to scuff or chip your polish. he lifts his hips for you to slide both his pants and his boxers down, just enough for you to comfortably free his hard cock, already leaking precum over his tip.
you take his length into your hand, mouth watering with the thought of getting him on your tongue. your thumb smooths over his tip, smearing the liquid along his skin, which makes him hiss beautifully. you have a one-track mind, deadset on getting him in your mouth as fast as possible, but he stays you with a hand on your head before you can make good on your desire.
"so fucking pretty, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and affected. you glance up at him then, finding his gaze glassy and hot, and you realize that he's not looking at you directlyβhe's looking at your hand. his tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, and you feel yourself shiver a little.
"s'this why you paid for my manicure?" you ask quietly, tipping your head to the side and leaning your cheek against the inside of his thigh. you're not mad, just curious; in fact, it's honestly kind of hot in a way, the idea that he paid for your nails just because he likes the way they look when your fingers are wrapped around him.
his own head tilts forward so he can peer back at you more easily and he nods, letting his hand drift to the back of your neck and squeeze gently. "can't help it, sweet girl. it does something to me."
you smile then, all bashful and soft. the way he looks at you, like you're the only girl in the world, like you're the only one who's ever made him feel this way, makes warmth tingle beneath your skin like liquid fire. he's so good to you, so loving, and while paying for your manicure might have been a little self-serving, you're benefitting tooβon multiple fronts.
who are you to deny him what he wants? you hum softly and get to work. and afterwards, he makes you promise to let him know whenever you need to get your nails done again. he'll foot the bill.
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x fem!reader.ββββββββββββββ ββββ βββββββββββ ββββ ββββcontent warning established relationship, smut (not explicit), handjob. reader is female, does not work at ptmc. ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββword count 0.95k.βββββββ ββββ βββββββ ββββ ββββnote inspired by this post sent to me by @saintbusan a couple of months ago. a little short, but it's a treat for yall while i work on other things! enjoy <3
you don't think much of it the first time when you receive a payment notification on venmo. you assume that it's from a friend paying you back for something or other, but it's from your boyfriend, frank. the memo attached reads treat yourself, baby. there's even a little heart emoji tacked onto the end.
it's enough to make you smile. you'd mentioned the night before while doing your nightly routine that you needed to get your nails done soon, a new thing you've started doing. the polish you have on now is starting to grow out and chip, and besides, you want a change of pace, something to match the season because the soft pastel green you have on right now just doesn't feel right anymore. it was something you said offhandedly though; you didn't expect him to do something about it, let alone remember.
you text him a few moments after his venmo gift comes through, seeking clarification. what's that money for?
it takes a while for him to reply, which you accounted for, given the fact that he's at work right now. it's not often he gets a chance to check his phone, even when you know he knows when you text him.
you said you needed to get your nails done. go get them done.
he's straightforward about it the way he is about a lot of things. he's never liked sugarcoating or padding things out. if he wants you to know something, he tells you the way it is. he's just a little softer about it with you than the way he is with the other people in his life, mostly at work with difficult patients.
you grin at your phone. thank you, frankie!! you add a bunch of heart emojis to the end and when he reacts to your message with a heart emoji of his own, you feel yourself go terribly soft.
by the time frank gets home, you've been admiring your new manicure for a long while. the nail technician you've been going to since you started getting your nails done a few months ago did a great job as always. your nails are perfectly shaped and the polish is crisp and clean, a pretty pink shimmer. whenever you get a glimpse, you stop and look for a second just to admire them.
frank seems equally as appreciative of them as you are. when he gets home, he asks you if you got your nails done yet and when you tell him yes, he asks to see them. you reach your hands out, palms down, and he takes them in his, his fingers gently braced on the underside of your hand.
"they're so pretty, baby," he says, peering down at them for a moment longer before looking back up at you. he smiles and the corners of his eyes wrinkle cutely in that way you love so much. he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, which you accept happily, before he pulls away and starts asking after dinner.
you think his appreciation ends there, but it doesn't. in fact, it's not until later when you're getting a little frisky that the true extent of it (and by extension, the reason why he paid for your nails) comes out.
he's sprawled out on the couch, head tipped back as you slide down onto the floor and tuck yourself between his parted legs. you work at the button and zipper of his jeans, careful not to scuff or chip your polish. he lifts his hips for you to slide both his pants and his boxers down, just enough for you to comfortably free his hard cock, already leaking precum over his tip.
you take his length into your hand, mouth watering with the thought of getting him on your tongue. your thumb smooths over his tip, smearing the liquid along his skin, which makes him hiss beautifully. you have a one-track mind, deadset on getting him in your mouth as fast as possible, but he stays you with a hand on your head before you can make good on your desire.
"so fucking pretty, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and affected. you glance up at him then, finding his gaze glassy and hot, and you realize that he's not looking at you directlyβhe's looking at your hand. his tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, and you feel yourself shiver a little.
"s'this why you paid for my manicure?" you ask quietly, tipping your head to the side and leaning your cheek against the inside of his thigh. you're not mad, just curious; in fact, it's honestly kind of hot in a way, the idea that he paid for your nails just because he likes the way they look when your fingers are wrapped around him.
his own head tilts forward so he can peer back at you more easily and he nods, letting his hand drift to the back of your neck and squeeze gently. "can't help it, sweet girl. it does something to me."
you smile then, all bashful and soft. the way he looks at you, like you're the only girl in the world, like you're the only one who's ever made him feel this way, makes warmth tingle beneath your skin like liquid fire. he's so good to you, so loving, and while paying for your manicure might have been a little self-serving, you're benefitting tooβon multiple fronts.
who are you to deny him what he wants? you hum softly and get to work. and afterwards, he makes you promise to let him know whenever you need to get your nails done again. he'll foot the bill.
a couple of months ago, i hit one hundred followers! it might not seem like a huge milestone, but as someone who has been writing on tumblr on and off over the years since i was 14, i still like to celebrate it. i'm so proud of the work i've been putting out since i started writing on this blog, so as a thank you for your guys' support, i decided to put out a series, the language of flowers. each fic is a standalone piece that is based off of a flower from this prompt list!
this series will begin posting on monday, june 8th, and should conclude on june 29th, barring any complications. as an extra special treat, i'm hoping to finally post my frank langdon fic don't be a stranger a day later on june 30th! i am so excited to be posting regularly on here again and cannot wait to share all of this work with you guys. thanks again for enjoying my work over these last few months!
anemone withered hopes. frank langdon, the pitt. angst, infidelity, coworkers to lovers to strangers.
apple blossom better things to come. samira mohan, the pitt. angst, hurt/comfort, post-season 2.
black mulberry i will not survive you. driver, drive (2011). angst, canon compliant violence, lovers to strangers.
diphylleia i will show my true self to you. lars lindstrom, lars and the real girl. fluff, romance, mutual pining, friends to lovers.
laurestine i die if neglected. colt seavers, the fall guy. angst, hurt/comfort, canon compliant, lovers to strangers to lovers, second chance.
love-in-a-mist you puzzle me. jack abbot, the pitt. romance, age gap, cowokers to lovers.
plum blossom keep your promises. michael robinavitch, the pitt. angst, hurt/no comfort, established relationship, long distance, post-season 2.
queen of the night enjoy small moments becasue they do not last. ryland grace, project hail mary. angst, hurt/no comfort, pre-hail mary, coworkers to friends to something else.
thorn-apple i dreamed of thee. holland march, the nice guys. romance, age gap, widowed holland, post canon, age gap.
yellow tulip there's sunshine in your smile. mel king, the pitt. fluff, romance, neighbors to mutual pining.
a couple of months ago, i hit one hundred followers! it might not seem like a huge milestone, but as someone who has been writing on tumblr on and off over the years since i was 14, i still like to celebrate it. i'm so proud of the work i've been putting out since i started writing on this blog, so as a thank you for your guys' support, i decided to put out a series, the language of flowers. each fic is a standalone piece that is based off of a flower from this prompt list!
this series will begin posting on monday, june 8th, and should conclude on june 29th, barring any complications. as an extra special treat, i'm hoping to finally post my frank langdon fic don't be a stranger a day later on june 30th! i am so excited to be posting regularly on here again and cannot wait to share all of this work with you guys. thanks again for enjoying my work over these last few months!
anemone withered hopes. frank langdon, the pitt. angst, infidelity, coworkers to lovers to strangers.
apple blossom better things to come. samira mohan, the pitt. angst, hurt/comfort, post-season 2.
black mulberry i will not survive you. driver, drive (2011). angst, canon compliant violence, lovers to strangers.
diphylleia i will show my true self to you. lars lindstrom, lars and the real girl. fluff, romance, mutual pining, friends to lovers.
laurestine i die if neglected. colt seavers, the fall guy. angst, hurt/comfort, canon compliant, lovers to strangers to lovers, second chance.
love-in-a-mist you puzzle me. jack abbot, the pitt. romance, age gap, cowokers to lovers.
plum blossom keep your promises. michael robinavitch, the pitt. angst, hurt/no comfort, established relationship, long distance, post-season 2.
queen of the night enjoy small moments becasue they do not last. ryland grace, project hail mary. angst, hurt/no comfort, pre-hail mary, coworkers to friends to something else.
thorn-apple i dreamed of thee. holland march, the nice guys. romance, age gap, widowed holland, post canon, age gap.
yellow tulip there's sunshine in your smile. mel king, the pitt. fluff, romance, neighbors to mutual pining.
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x gn!reader.βββββββ ββββ content warning canon divergent, reader is a new social worker at ptmc, mentions of drug addiction and rehab, emotional infidelity, minor sexual content.βββββββ ββββ word count 1.2k.βββββββ ββββ note dropped in my messages a while back and finally getting around to writing it YAYYYYY thank you @sof1wl for the suggestion
the house has long since been vacated, but the echo of abby's near violent departure echoes through all the halls and the empty rooms. the digital clock on frank's bedside table taunts him with blood red digits: 1:14 AM. he has to turn the other way, physically force his gaze from the clock. the roiling of his stomach is terrible, but there's also a serene sense of calm he hasn't felt in a while.
in his defense, he tried. they both did. coming clean to his wife about his addiction had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. after the all the lies he'd spun, he wouldn't have blamed abby for leaving him, would have blamed her even less had she decided to leave him while he was gone at rehab.
sure, he already worked a demanding job that kept him away from home, but this had been different. she could have left, but she hadn't. she'd stayed and she'd kept things in order at home while he tried his hand at recovery. he wouldn't ever be able to repay her for the pain he'd put her through and the sacrifices she'd had to make.
counseling had been his idea after he'd gotten out of rehab. he wanted to show abby that he was willing to put in the work, not just for himself, but for the both of them, for their children. they'd been together for too long to not try. it had even been going great. it had been working. while abby wasn't entirely trusting the way she had been (and likely never would be again), she'd been more open, more affectionate towards him, a glimpse of the way they'd used to be.
when he started back at the pitt a few months ago, he'd been excited about it, even though he was largely apprehensive. to be back in an environment that not only exacerbated but enabled his addiction was scary, but that first day back, abby had been so supportive, more than he'd expected her to be. he had, she reminded him, put in the work and shown her that he was capable of doing better, being better.
she was right, as she'd always been.
the one thing he had never accounted for was you, the new social worker fresh out of post grad. you were sweet and fresh faced and kind, and working with you on cases he picked up that necessitated a social work consult was one of his favorite things. he enjoyed your perspective and your company, one of the few people in the entire hospital who had not yet been tainted by the knowledge that he was a recovering drug addict.
he's not sure when things started changing or how or why. he just knows that one day you were friends and the next he was noticing the soft plush of your lips, imagining how the lavender vanilla lip balm you've always worn tasted. there's even been a wet dream or two, the kind he's had to wake up from and go jerk off in the shower to relieve the pressure, like a bloodletting. on those days, he can't ever look abby in the eye.
but he's had it under control, he swears. he thought it would be a fleeting thing, something insignificant and passing. maybe he's a fool for not limiting his time around you, walking you to your car at night or having short snack breaks in the staff lounge, seeking out the comfort of your presence where he can, but he's had it all under control, stifling whatever it is he's started feeling for you. he's been trying his level best to snuff it out like depriving a candle flame of oxygen.
so he's not sure what came over him tonight. he and abby had taken tanner and penny to abby's parents and gone out for a date, their tradition for the infrequent times he gets weekend nights off. dinner had been great, the movie after even better. it was like the old days, back when he was still an idiot pre-med student and she was the sorority girl who lived across the hall from him who had given him a chance to make up the fact that he'd accidentally dented her car door in the parking garage.
things were going great. they'd gotten home and when he'd leaned in for a kiss, the tension had taken a turn for the best. she'd touched him in ways she hadn't in a long while and by the time he'd gotten her in bed, he was nearly stripped down to nothing at all. he'd sunk into her heat, the fit as perfect as he remembered it being.
almost there, he'd breathed into the hollow of her throat. you feel so fucking good.
and then he'd pulled up and away, and when he looked down at her, it wasn't abby beneath him, but you. your hair splayed across the forest green of the pillowcases, a dazed, glassy look in those eyes of yours he liked so much. he was sober, didn't even drink alcohol these days, and the sight of you confused him. his focus slipped and you clenched around him, drawing him back, and he'd groaned then, eyes slipping shut.
he'd moaned your name.
he didn't even know he had until youβuntil abby went stiff as a board beneath him, her hold on him falling away. when he blinked open his eyes, he'd been met with the hard, frigid glare of a woman scorned.
who the fuck is that? are you cheating on me?
frank had tried, he had tried so hard to explain as fast as he could, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. abby was hearing none of it and why should she? this was not the first time he'd betrayed her trust. he was already on thin ice and this had simply sealed the deal.
she had left before he could hardly process it, as many of her things shoved into as many bags as she could carry. she'd punctuated her statement of fuck you, francis with a slam of the bedroom door and then again with the slamming front door.
he'd imagined her leaving him plenty of times when he was away at rehab, imagined her deciding that he was no longer worth the effort. he'd been comforted then by the reminder that she always reassured him that she didn't want to leave, even though she was angry with him. she loved her husband and she didn't want their kids to live a life without their father.
but now she's gone for good. there's no way to fix it this time. he knows he deserves it.
the digital clock on frank's bedside table reads 1:20 AM. he should sleep. he's going in tomorrow, he's decided, anything to not focus on the ending he knows his marriage is now careening towards.
he should sleep. instead, he feels guilty as he lets his hand wrap around his half-hard cock. when he comes to the thought of you, the release that he'd been denied in the face of his fuck up, he's never felt worse.
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x gn!reader.βββββββ ββββ content warning canon divergent, reader is a new social worker at ptmc, mentions of drug addiction and rehab, emotional infidelity, minor sexual content.βββββββ ββββ word count 1.2k.βββββββ ββββ note dropped in my messages a while back and finally getting around to writing it YAYYYYY thank you @sof1wl for the suggestion
the house has long since been vacated, but the echo of abby's near violent departure echoes through all the halls and the empty rooms. the digital clock on frank's bedside table taunts him with blood red digits: 1:14 AM. he has to turn the other way, physically force his gaze from the clock. the roiling of his stomach is terrible, but there's also a serene sense of calm he hasn't felt in a while.
in his defense, he tried. they both did. coming clean to his wife about his addiction had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. after the all the lies he'd spun, he wouldn't have blamed abby for leaving him, would have blamed her even less had she decided to leave him while he was gone at rehab.
sure, he already worked a demanding job that kept him away from home, but this had been different. she could have left, but she hadn't. she'd stayed and she'd kept things in order at home while he tried his hand at recovery. he wouldn't ever be able to repay her for the pain he'd put her through and the sacrifices she'd had to make.
counseling had been his idea after he'd gotten out of rehab. he wanted to show abby that he was willing to put in the work, not just for himself, but for the both of them, for their children. they'd been together for too long to not try. it had even been going great. it had been working. while abby wasn't entirely trusting the way she had been (and likely never would be again), she'd been more open, more affectionate towards him, a glimpse of the way they'd used to be.
when he started back at the pitt a few months ago, he'd been excited about it, even though he was largely apprehensive. to be back in an environment that not only exacerbated but enabled his addiction was scary, but that first day back, abby had been so supportive, more than he'd expected her to be. he had, she reminded him, put in the work and shown her that he was capable of doing better, being better.
she was right, as she'd always been.
the one thing he had never accounted for was you, the new social worker fresh out of post grad. you were sweet and fresh faced and kind, and working with you on cases he picked up that necessitated a social work consult was one of his favorite things. he enjoyed your perspective and your company, one of the few people in the entire hospital who had not yet been tainted by the knowledge that he was a recovering drug addict.
he's not sure when things started changing or how or why. he just knows that one day you were friends and the next he was noticing the soft plush of your lips, imagining how the lavender vanilla lip balm you've always worn tasted. there's even been a wet dream or two, the kind he's had to wake up from and go jerk off in the shower to relieve the pressure, like a bloodletting. on those days, he can't ever look abby in the eye.
but he's had it under control, he swears. he thought it would be a fleeting thing, something insignificant and passing. maybe he's a fool for not limiting his time around you, walking you to your car at night or having short snack breaks in the staff lounge, seeking out the comfort of your presence where he can, but he's had it all under control, stifling whatever it is he's started feeling for you. he's been trying his level best to snuff it out like depriving a candle flame of oxygen.
so he's not sure what came over him tonight. he and abby had taken tanner and penny to abby's parents and gone out for a date, their tradition for the infrequent times he gets weekend nights off. dinner had been great, the movie after even better. it was like the old days, back when he was still an idiot pre-med student and she was the sorority girl who lived across the hall from him who had given him a chance to make up the fact that he'd accidentally dented her car door in the parking garage.
things were going great. they'd gotten home and when he'd leaned in for a kiss, the tension had taken a turn for the best. she'd touched him in ways she hadn't in a long while and by the time he'd gotten her in bed, he was nearly stripped down to nothing at all. he'd sunk into her heat, the fit as perfect as he remembered it being.
almost there, he'd breathed into the hollow of her throat. you feel so fucking good.
and then he'd pulled up and away, and when he looked down at her, it wasn't abby beneath him, but you. your hair splayed across the forest green of the pillowcases, a dazed, glassy look in those eyes of yours he liked so much. he was sober, didn't even drink alcohol these days, and the sight of you confused him. his focus slipped and you clenched around him, drawing him back, and he'd groaned then, eyes slipping shut.
he'd moaned your name.
he didn't even know he had until youβuntil abby went stiff as a board beneath him, her hold on him falling away. when he blinked open his eyes, he'd been met with the hard, frigid glare of a woman scorned.
who the fuck is that? are you cheating on me?
frank had tried, he had tried so hard to explain as fast as he could, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. abby was hearing none of it and why should she? this was not the first time he'd betrayed her trust. he was already on thin ice and this had simply sealed the deal.
she had left before he could hardly process it, as many of her things shoved into as many bags as she could carry. she'd punctuated her statement of fuck you, francis with a slam of the bedroom door and then again with the slamming front door.
he'd imagined her leaving him plenty of times when he was away at rehab, imagined her deciding that he was no longer worth the effort. he'd been comforted then by the reminder that she always reassured him that she didn't want to leave, even though she was angry with him. she loved her husband and she didn't want their kids to live a life without their father.
but now she's gone for good. there's no way to fix it this time. he knows he deserves it.
the digital clock on frank's bedside table reads 1:20 AM. he should sleep. he's going in tomorrow, he's decided, anything to not focus on the ending he knows his marriage is now careening towards.
he should sleep. instead, he feels guilty as he lets his hand wrap around his half-hard cock. when he comes to the thought of you, the release that he'd been denied in the face of his fuck up, he's never felt worse.
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x gn!reader.βββββββ ββββ content warning canon divergent, reader is a new social worker at ptmc, mentions of drug addiction and rehab, emotional infidelity, minor sexual content.βββββββ ββββ word count 1.2k.βββββββ ββββ note dropped in my messages a while back and finally getting around to writing it YAYYYYY thank you @sof1wl for the suggestion
the house has long since been vacated, but the echo of abby's near violent departure echoes through all the halls and the empty rooms. the digital clock on frank's bedside table taunts him with blood red digits: 1:14 AM. he has to turn the other way, physically force his gaze from the clock. the roiling of his stomach is terrible, but there's also a serene sense of calm he hasn't felt in a while.
in his defense, he tried. they both did. coming clean to his wife about his addiction had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. after the all the lies he'd spun, he wouldn't have blamed abby for leaving him, would have blamed her even less had she decided to leave him while he was gone at rehab.
sure, he already worked a demanding job that kept him away from home, but this had been different. she could have left, but she hadn't. she'd stayed and she'd kept things in order at home while he tried his hand at recovery. he wouldn't ever be able to repay her for the pain he'd put her through and the sacrifices she'd had to make.
counseling had been his idea after he'd gotten out of rehab. he wanted to show abby that he was willing to put in the work, not just for himself, but for the both of them, for their children. they'd been together for too long to not try. it had even been going great. it had been working. while abby wasn't entirely trusting the way she had been (and likely never would be again), she'd been more open, more affectionate towards him, a glimpse of the way they'd used to be.
when he started back at the pitt a few months ago, he'd been excited about it, even though he was largely apprehensive. to be back in an environment that not only exacerbated but enabled his addiction was scary, but that first day back, abby had been so supportive, more than he'd expected her to be. he had, she reminded him, put in the work and shown her that he was capable of doing better, being better.
she was right, as she'd always been.
the one thing he had never accounted for was you, the new social worker fresh out of post grad. you were sweet and fresh faced and kind, and working with you on cases he picked up that necessitated a social work consult was one of his favorite things. he enjoyed your perspective and your company, one of the few people in the entire hospital who had not yet been tainted by the knowledge that he was a recovering drug addict.
he's not sure when things started changing or how or why. he just knows that one day you were friends and the next he was noticing the soft plush of your lips, imagining how the lavender vanilla lip balm you've always worn tasted. there's even been a wet dream or two, the kind he's had to wake up from and go jerk off in the shower to relieve the pressure, like a bloodletting. on those days, he can't ever look abby in the eye.
but he's had it under control, he swears. he thought it would be a fleeting thing, something insignificant and passing. maybe he's a fool for not limiting his time around you, walking you to your car at night or having short snack breaks in the staff lounge, seeking out the comfort of your presence where he can, but he's had it all under control, stifling whatever it is he's started feeling for you. he's been trying his level best to snuff it out like depriving a candle flame of oxygen.
so he's not sure what came over him tonight. he and abby had taken tanner and penny to abby's parents and gone out for a date, their tradition for the infrequent times he gets weekend nights off. dinner had been great, the movie after even better. it was like the old days, back when he was still an idiot pre-med student and she was the sorority girl who lived across the hall from him who had given him a chance to make up the fact that he'd accidentally dented her car door in the parking garage.
things were going great. they'd gotten home and when he'd leaned in for a kiss, the tension had taken a turn for the best. she'd touched him in ways she hadn't in a long while and by the time he'd gotten her in bed, he was nearly stripped down to nothing at all. he'd sunk into her heat, the fit as perfect as he remembered it being.
almost there, he'd breathed into the hollow of her throat. you feel so fucking good.
and then he'd pulled up and away, and when he looked down at her, it wasn't abby beneath him, but you. your hair splayed across the forest green of the pillowcases, a dazed, glassy look in those eyes of yours he liked so much. he was sober, didn't even drink alcohol these days, and the sight of you confused him. his focus slipped and you clenched around him, drawing him back, and he'd groaned then, eyes slipping shut.
he'd moaned your name.
he didn't even know he had until youβuntil abby went stiff as a board beneath him, her hold on him falling away. when he blinked open his eyes, he'd been met with the hard, frigid glare of a woman scorned.
who the fuck is that? are you cheating on me?
frank had tried, he had tried so hard to explain as fast as he could, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. abby was hearing none of it and why should she? this was not the first time he'd betrayed her trust. he was already on thin ice and this had simply sealed the deal.
she had left before he could hardly process it, as many of her things shoved into as many bags as she could carry. she'd punctuated her statement of fuck you, francis with a slam of the bedroom door and then again with the slamming front door.
he'd imagined her leaving him plenty of times when he was away at rehab, imagined her deciding that he was no longer worth the effort. he'd been comforted then by the reminder that she always reassured him that she didn't want to leave, even though she was angry with him. she loved her husband and she didn't want their kids to live a life without their father.
but now she's gone for good. there's no way to fix it this time. he knows he deserves it.
the digital clock on frank's bedside table reads 1:20 AM. he should sleep. he's going in tomorrow, he's decided, anything to not focus on the ending he knows his marriage is now careening towards.
he should sleep. instead, he feels guilty as he lets his hand wrap around his half-hard cock. when he comes to the thought of you, the release that he'd been denied in the face of his fuck up, he's never felt worse.
Ryland Grace who gets BONERS from KISSING. Walk with meβ¦
pre/post PHM, doesnt matter.
Ryland turns when he feels the weight of your gaze prickling at the skin between his shoulderblades and scalp. Your head is tilted a little bit, a smile on your face as you watch Ryland move toward you.
He barely murmurs a small βhiβ before heβs got his lips on yours, feeling the rushing blood under his fingertips as he brings his hands to your waist. Slipping his hands under your shirt, Ryland feels the warmth radiating through your lower back and feels a pulsing in his own body. Feeling you, here and now, hot and loving him was justβ¦ an answer to a prayer heβd forgotten heβd asked for.
You do that thing where you press your front to his after your pointer finger sloooowwwly pulls him closer to you by his belt loop, and damn is Ryland a goner. You groan a little into Rylandβs mouth when he pulls you up and towards him: the sheer tangibility of his want only adding to the lust in your mind. You feel the little spikes of his hair as you slowly bring your hands up to the nape of his neck to feel him and then the smoothness of his skin as you bring your hands to his face in any attempt to mold you two impossibly closer.
Only when you start to feel your head physically weigh heavier and when you hear the loud whooshing of your blood behind your ears do you force yourself away. Panting, you see Rylandβs eyebrows screwed up. He whines and rests his forhead on your chest: how could you be so cruel as to pull away from him? Ugh. βIβm hard,β he whispers.
You chuckle breathlessly. βWhatβd you say?β
Ryland looks up: the epitome of want and desire and undercover eroticism. βIβm fucking hard.β His hand reaches for yours and he palms the back of your hand. Eyes locked on yours as he brings your hand to the crotch of his pants to make you feel just what you do to him. The way his throat vibrates with a barely withheld whimper when you palm him makes you want to drop his pants right then and there. βY/n.β
An evil glint is in your eyes. βI love when this happens.β
Ryland groans, this time from embarrassment. βI love that you love it but I- it happens so often.β
You exhale a laugh throught your nose as you lean in to kiss him again. βWeβll take care of that, honey.β
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x gn!reader.βββββββ ββββ content warning canon divergent, reader is a new social worker at ptmc, mentions of drug addiction and rehab, emotional infidelity, minor sexual content.βββββββ ββββ word count 1.2k.βββββββ ββββ note dropped in my messages a while back and finally getting around to writing it YAYYYYY thank you @sof1wl for the suggestion
the house has long since been vacated, but the echo of abby's near violent departure echoes through all the halls and the empty rooms. the digital clock on frank's bedside table taunts him with blood red digits: 1:14 AM. he has to turn the other way, physically force his gaze from the clock. the roiling of his stomach is terrible, but there's also a serene sense of calm he hasn't felt in a while.
in his defense, he tried. they both did. coming clean to his wife about his addiction had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. after the all the lies he'd spun, he wouldn't have blamed abby for leaving him, would have blamed her even less had she decided to leave him while he was gone at rehab.
sure, he already worked a demanding job that kept him away from home, but this had been different. she could have left, but she hadn't. she'd stayed and she'd kept things in order at home while he tried his hand at recovery. he wouldn't ever be able to repay her for the pain he'd put her through and the sacrifices she'd had to make.
counseling had been his idea after he'd gotten out of rehab. he wanted to show abby that he was willing to put in the work, not just for himself, but for the both of them, for their children. they'd been together for too long to not try. it had even been going great. it had been working. while abby wasn't entirely trusting the way she had been (and likely never would be again), she'd been more open, more affectionate towards him, a glimpse of the way they'd used to be.
when he started back at the pitt a few months ago, he'd been excited about it, even though he was largely apprehensive. to be back in an environment that not only exacerbated but enabled his addiction was scary, but that first day back, abby had been so supportive, more than he'd expected her to be. he had, she reminded him, put in the work and shown her that he was capable of doing better, being better.
she was right, as she'd always been.
the one thing he had never accounted for was you, the new social worker fresh out of post grad. you were sweet and fresh faced and kind, and working with you on cases he picked up that necessitated a social work consult was one of his favorite things. he enjoyed your perspective and your company, one of the few people in the entire hospital who had not yet been tainted by the knowledge that he was a recovering drug addict.
he's not sure when things started changing or how or why. he just knows that one day you were friends and the next he was noticing the soft plush of your lips, imagining how the lavender vanilla lip balm you've always worn tasted. there's even been a wet dream or two, the kind he's had to wake up from and go jerk off in the shower to relieve the pressure, like a bloodletting. on those days, he can't ever look abby in the eye.
but he's had it under control, he swears. he thought it would be a fleeting thing, something insignificant and passing. maybe he's a fool for not limiting his time around you, walking you to your car at night or having short snack breaks in the staff lounge, seeking out the comfort of your presence where he can, but he's had it all under control, stifling whatever it is he's started feeling for you. he's been trying his level best to snuff it out like depriving a candle flame of oxygen.
so he's not sure what came over him tonight. he and abby had taken tanner and penny to abby's parents and gone out for a date, their tradition for the infrequent times he gets weekend nights off. dinner had been great, the movie after even better. it was like the old days, back when he was still an idiot pre-med student and she was the sorority girl who lived across the hall from him who had given him a chance to make up the fact that he'd accidentally dented her car door in the parking garage.
things were going great. they'd gotten home and when he'd leaned in for a kiss, the tension had taken a turn for the best. she'd touched him in ways she hadn't in a long while and by the time he'd gotten her in bed, he was nearly stripped down to nothing at all. he'd sunk into her heat, the fit as perfect as he remembered it being.
almost there, he'd breathed into the hollow of her throat. you feel so fucking good.
and then he'd pulled up and away, and when he looked down at her, it wasn't abby beneath him, but you. your hair splayed across the forest green of the pillowcases, a dazed, glassy look in those eyes of yours he liked so much. he was sober, didn't even drink alcohol these days, and the sight of you confused him. his focus slipped and you clenched around him, drawing him back, and he'd groaned then, eyes slipping shut.
he'd moaned your name.
he didn't even know he had until youβuntil abby went stiff as a board beneath him, her hold on him falling away. when he blinked open his eyes, he'd been met with the hard, frigid glare of a woman scorned.
who the fuck is that? are you cheating on me?
frank had tried, he had tried so hard to explain as fast as he could, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. abby was hearing none of it and why should she? this was not the first time he'd betrayed her trust. he was already on thin ice and this had simply sealed the deal.
she had left before he could hardly process it, as many of her things shoved into as many bags as she could carry. she'd punctuated her statement of fuck you, francis with a slam of the bedroom door and then again with the slamming front door.
he'd imagined her leaving him plenty of times when he was away at rehab, imagined her deciding that he was no longer worth the effort. he'd been comforted then by the reminder that she always reassured him that she didn't want to leave, even though she was angry with him. she loved her husband and she didn't want their kids to live a life without their father.
but now she's gone for good. there's no way to fix it this time. he knows he deserves it.
the digital clock on frank's bedside table reads 1:20 AM. he should sleep. he's going in tomorrow, he's decided, anything to not focus on the ending he knows his marriage is now careening towards.
he should sleep. instead, he feels guilty as he lets his hand wrap around his half-hard cock. when he comes to the thought of you, the release that he'd been denied in the face of his fuck up, he's never felt worse.
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x gn!reader.βββββββ ββββ content warning canon divergent, reader is a new social worker at ptmc, mentions of drug addiction and rehab, emotional infidelity, minor sexual content.βββββββ ββββ word count 1.2k.βββββββ ββββ note dropped in my messages a while back and finally getting around to writing it YAYYYYY thank you @sof1wl for the suggestion
the house has long since been vacated, but the echo of abby's near violent departure echoes through all the halls and the empty rooms. the digital clock on frank's bedside table taunts him with blood red digits: 1:14 AM. he has to turn the other way, physically force his gaze from the clock. the roiling of his stomach is terrible, but there's also a serene sense of calm he hasn't felt in a while.
in his defense, he tried. they both did. coming clean to his wife about his addiction had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. after the all the lies he'd spun, he wouldn't have blamed abby for leaving him, would have blamed her even less had she decided to leave him while he was gone at rehab.
sure, he already worked a demanding job that kept him away from home, but this had been different. she could have left, but she hadn't. she'd stayed and she'd kept things in order at home while he tried his hand at recovery. he wouldn't ever be able to repay her for the pain he'd put her through and the sacrifices she'd had to make.
counseling had been his idea after he'd gotten out of rehab. he wanted to show abby that he was willing to put in the work, not just for himself, but for the both of them, for their children. they'd been together for too long to not try. it had even been going great. it had been working. while abby wasn't entirely trusting the way she had been (and likely never would be again), she'd been more open, more affectionate towards him, a glimpse of the way they'd used to be.
when he started back at the pitt a few months ago, he'd been excited about it, even though he was largely apprehensive. to be back in an environment that not only exacerbated but enabled his addiction was scary, but that first day back, abby had been so supportive, more than he'd expected her to be. he had, she reminded him, put in the work and shown her that he was capable of doing better, being better.
she was right, as she'd always been.
the one thing he had never accounted for was you, the new social worker fresh out of post grad. you were sweet and fresh faced and kind, and working with you on cases he picked up that necessitated a social work consult was one of his favorite things. he enjoyed your perspective and your company, one of the few people in the entire hospital who had not yet been tainted by the knowledge that he was a recovering drug addict.
he's not sure when things started changing or how or why. he just knows that one day you were friends and the next he was noticing the soft plush of your lips, imagining how the lavender vanilla lip balm you've always worn tasted. there's even been a wet dream or two, the kind he's had to wake up from and go jerk off in the shower to relieve the pressure, like a bloodletting. on those days, he can't ever look abby in the eye.
but he's had it under control, he swears. he thought it would be a fleeting thing, something insignificant and passing. maybe he's a fool for not limiting his time around you, walking you to your car at night or having short snack breaks in the staff lounge, seeking out the comfort of your presence where he can, but he's had it all under control, stifling whatever it is he's started feeling for you. he's been trying his level best to snuff it out like depriving a candle flame of oxygen.
so he's not sure what came over him tonight. he and abby had taken tanner and penny to abby's parents and gone out for a date, their tradition for the infrequent times he gets weekend nights off. dinner had been great, the movie after even better. it was like the old days, back when he was still an idiot pre-med student and she was the sorority girl who lived across the hall from him who had given him a chance to make up the fact that he'd accidentally dented her car door in the parking garage.
things were going great. they'd gotten home and when he'd leaned in for a kiss, the tension had taken a turn for the best. she'd touched him in ways she hadn't in a long while and by the time he'd gotten her in bed, he was nearly stripped down to nothing at all. he'd sunk into her heat, the fit as perfect as he remembered it being.
almost there, he'd breathed into the hollow of her throat. you feel so fucking good.
and then he'd pulled up and away, and when he looked down at her, it wasn't abby beneath him, but you. your hair splayed across the forest green of the pillowcases, a dazed, glassy look in those eyes of yours he liked so much. he was sober, didn't even drink alcohol these days, and the sight of you confused him. his focus slipped and you clenched around him, drawing him back, and he'd groaned then, eyes slipping shut.
he'd moaned your name.
he didn't even know he had until youβuntil abby went stiff as a board beneath him, her hold on him falling away. when he blinked open his eyes, he'd been met with the hard, frigid glare of a woman scorned.
who the fuck is that? are you cheating on me?
frank had tried, he had tried so hard to explain as fast as he could, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. abby was hearing none of it and why should she? this was not the first time he'd betrayed her trust. he was already on thin ice and this had simply sealed the deal.
she had left before he could hardly process it, as many of her things shoved into as many bags as she could carry. she'd punctuated her statement of fuck you, francis with a slam of the bedroom door and then again with the slamming front door.
he'd imagined her leaving him plenty of times when he was away at rehab, imagined her deciding that he was no longer worth the effort. he'd been comforted then by the reminder that she always reassured him that she didn't want to leave, even though she was angry with him. she loved her husband and she didn't want their kids to live a life without their father.
but now she's gone for good. there's no way to fix it this time. he knows he deserves it.
the digital clock on frank's bedside table reads 1:20 AM. he should sleep. he's going in tomorrow, he's decided, anything to not focus on the ending he knows his marriage is now careening towards.
he should sleep. instead, he feels guilty as he lets his hand wrap around his half-hard cock. when he comes to the thought of you, the release that he'd been denied in the face of his fuck up, he's never felt worse.
βββββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββ ββββpairing frank langdon x fem!mohan!reader.βββββββ ββββ content warning angst, workplace rivalry, enemies to a secret third thing, family drama. overachiever reader, insecurities, brief mention of drug addiction, set pre-season one with references to season one and post-season one, thoughts of infidelity, frank is a fucking asshole and i'm not sorry about it. ββββ word count 2.4k.βββββββ ββββ note so admittedly, i took a lot of creative liberties with this, so i hope that's okay? i just really wanted to do him justice because i can't see this taking place during any other time except when he's going through his benzo addiction stuff. he's such a shitter in season one and i stand with my canceled wife!
the breath you take is sharp, intentional. every inch of you bristles under the unyielding, stubborn gaze of samira mohan.
it's not often you argue with your older sister. in truth, you have always gotten along, even managing to avoid the stereotypical "siblings hating each other" era in your youths. you love her so much that you followed her into healthcare and then to the pittsburgh trauma medical center. for all intents and purposes, she is your role model. she's everything you strive to be, her mini me as she so affectionately called you through your joint childhood.
that has been your biggest achievementβnot being valedictorian in high school, not making it through med school, but being samira's little sister. it has always shed light on your path, guided you through her footsteps.
these days though, it feels like a branding. in med school, you were sure of yourself, confident, and quick. since starting at the pitt, you feel like samira's shadow more than anything else, something you never thought possible. when you're in the same room as her, you feel invisible, insignificant, and silent.
and the only person who exacerbates that is her fellow resident, frank langdon. you're not sure what it is about you that irritates him so, but you seem to get under his skin in ways that aren't apparent, not even to those who have known him the longest. he pushes and he prods and he pricks.
he's not like this with samira, you've noticed, or anyone for that matter. rather, they work like two well oiled parts of a machine. they're seamless in the same way that dr. robby and dr. abbot are, or the way langdon is with dr. garcia. they work like they were meant to be a duo.
you work well with everyone else, as difficult as it is for you to feel appreciated among your coworkers. you're as bright as samira is, quick on your feet and whip-smart. not long into your residency at the pitt, robby had told you that he thought you'd fit in well. you work fast, he'd said. though the faster than your sister went unsaid, you'd heard it anyway because you'd heard the whispers of slow-mo already. it's the one thing that distinguishes you from her.
she, who now stands in front of you, her jaw set tightly, her gaze cool and distant. she's hardly even been annoyed at you before and now you're at each other's throats, a far cry from the lighthearted back and forth bickering you have every once in a while. this territory is unexplored and uncertain, and it feels like cave spelunking without the right gear, no flashlight to cut through pitch black.
part of you knows that maybe you did overstep a little. you'd steamrolled your way onto her case and instead of yielding to her care plan, you'd thrown out your own differentials and ideas on what to do because you were tired of the rivalry, of never being seen as incapable when the two of you were in the same room. in that moment, you weren't her little sister but an insubordinate, someone to know when to back off and listen and follow the lead of someone more experienced.
her last sentence echoes in the still, empty room of south nineteen. i never wanted you here in the first place. the rest of the emergency department carries on beyond the curtains pulled tight, blissfully unaware of the fracture splitting between two sisters. the silence is thick and fragile, like a rubber band pulled too tight, the both of you waiting for the other to break first.
in the end, you do. you're shooting back something equally as mean, something about how you hate that she's such a know-it-all and that she expects you to just fall in line, when a door slides open. the curtain goes next, metal dragging against metal, and the words die in your throat when you whip your head around and see frank langdon standing there, bright blue eyes hot and his own square jaw flexing.
just my fucking luck, you think, breathing out sharply. you lean back, straightening your spine pointedly and swallowing hard.
he studies you and you feel the urge to smack the shit out of him. all he ever does is look at you that way, like he's waiting to catch you up in something, to find a reason to get you in trouble. you watch him back with narrowed eyes, trying to pin down whatever it is about him that gets under your skin the way you do him.
he's always been strange, jumpy, off-kilter. there's no doubt that he's smart and has the makings of a good doctor, but there's something about him that just doesn't sit right with you and hasn't since you started. you just can't figure it out and the longer you've worked with him, the more accustomed you've become to his erratic behavior. to you, this is just who he is.
"everything okay in here?" he asks, finally breaking that taut silence. the annoyance in his voice is thinly veiled and it makes something prickle beneath your skin.
"it's fine. family business," you bite out involuntarily, hackles raised like a cat. this whole situation has you pissed off. sure, you could have had this conversation outside away from patients, but samira was the one who dragged you in here like an unwilling child being sent to time-out.
frank's own body goes rigid and his expression shifts from stern to downright irate. "you don't ever speak to a resident like that. if doctor mohan is offering you advice, you take it." he steps forward, counting off on his fingers. "you don't overstep, you don't talk back, you don't raise your voice, especially not where your patients can hear you."
"but sheβ"
"i didn't ask what she did." he cuts you off without missing a beat and you stiffen, lips pursing tightly. "there is a hierarchy. you answer to her, whether she's your sister or not. either leave that family shit at the door or take it outside. the faster you learn that, the better, otherwise you won't last hereβor anywhere for that matter."
you glance at samira, hoping for something, anything. she's your older sister, she's defended you against bullies and your own demons. she's always had your back, but when you look at her, she looks as taken as aback as you feel. her lips are parted and the anger that was burning in those deep brown eyes of hers a few minutes ago has simply vanished. part of you wants to get angry at her for not standing up for you against her friend, but another part can't blame her for freezing. it's clear she's never seen him like this before.
frustrated, angry tears sting the backs of your eyes and you go ice cold, muscles in your jaw twitching as you stare langdon down. he meets your gaze without an ounce of regret, sweat beading along his hairline. again, it feels like a standoff, like you're both waiting for the other to break first, and again, you're the one to do it.
you don't speak this time though. instead, you exhale sharply, your chest tightening. with one last glance at samira, you shove past the both of them and out into the chaos of the pitt. there are a batch of new cases on the board that you could throw yourself into and forget about this whole argument, but you need to cool off and so you head for the ambulance bay.
the pittsburgh afternoon air is a breath of relief, the relative silence even better. for the first time in a few long minutes, you feel like you're actually able to hear yourself think. you lift your hands and rub at your face before sliding your fingers to the back of your neck. your eyes close and you let go of a long suffering exhale, leaning back against the wall. you remind yourself that realistically, you and samira will make up over dinner later because that's just who she is, but for now, you let the hurt fester a little bit.
your peace is short lived when you hear the telltale sound of footsteps. you're expecting samira or dana or another coworker coming to check on you, or maybe preemptively waiting outside for an incoming ambulance. your breath catches violently in your throat when you open your eyes and are instead met with the perpetually icy gaze of langdon.
"real mature," he remarks, staring you down, his arms crossing over his chest. "storming out of the room like that? really great way to raise patient satisfaction scores."
you scoff and shake your head, pointedly turning away from him. "oh, great. you didn't get enough of berating me inside, so now you're following me around to keep doing it. really fucking professional of you, since you're clearly such a paragon of the word."
"more so than you."
you bristle, a white-hot heat prickling under your skin and slipping through your veins like liquid fire. how dare he speak to you like this? this, of course, is not the first time he's gotten on your caseβthere are plenty of those instancesβ, but this is the first time he's really laid into you. he's dressing you down in ways you know aren't productive or educational or anything else positive.
you whip around unable to school any piece of yourself into something managable and professional. he wants a reaction? he'll get one. asshole.
"than me?" you ask incredulously, a mirthless laugh leaving you. "you intruded in on a conversation that had nothing to do with youβ"
"you were yelling at doctor mohan and everyone could hear itβ"
"βand took her side without knowing the full story. i get that hierarchy bullshit, but god, i'm so fucking sick and tired of the way you treat me. it would be one thing if you treated everyone like this, but you don't because you get on great with everyone else. i'm the only one you're constantly getting onto and the only one you watch over the shoulder of like you don't trust me to do even the simplest procedures."
he looks at a loss for words and you feel a sickening twist of triumph. this is cathartic, even if it will come back to bite you in the ass.
"you wanna talk about being professional and mature? let's start with you because this?" you pause to gesture at the ravine's worth of a distance between you. "this isn't fucking professional. since day one, you've been on my ass about everything. i'm a damn good doctor, but you've been undermining me at every given opportunity, which affects the quality of care i can give. i don't know what your fucking deal with me is, but you need to figure it out because i'll be damned if i let someone fuck up my career because they've got a personal bone to pick, even though i haven't done anything to them."
the words pour out of you like water through a broken faucet and when it finally stops, you feel lighter. it's something you've wanted to say for a long time and while you know this will probably end in a discussion with HR, you really can't care less. you should have said this forever ago and that's your only regret: letting this go on as long as it has.
frank stares, jaw flexing, muscle and bone shifting beneath pale while skin. his right hand twitches at his side, something he's always done since you started working with him. it struck you as weird at first, but it's just a thing you've chalked up as a habit, benign, simple. other than that, he is strangely still, watching you, seemingly cataloging every move you make and the expression on your face.
"are you done?" he finally asks, his voice strained and barely concealing an icy anger.
you straighten yourself up, chin lifting, and you nod once. "i am."
he goes quiet again and then takes a few steps toward you, not close enough to box you in against the wall but enough that sidestepping him would be difficult. he looks like he's sizing you up, trying to pick things apart and figure you out. you wonder what he sees and a nearly silent part of you hopes that his opinion has shifted into something favorable, though you know it probably hasn't.
"you ever speak to me like that againβ¦" he murmurs, his gaze drifting down and down and down. you go stock still, pressing back against the wall a little, brick scraping at your palms. you have to school your expression into something neutral when his eyes find yours again. "see what happens."
for a moment, it feels like the tension might snap. he could lean in, close that distance. you wonder if he'd taste like the coffee he had this morning. but he doesn't and the illusion is broken. you're glad it is because sure, he's handsome (there's a reason garcia calls him ER ken), but he's married and you're not a homewrecker. in fact, his wife and kids are the only redeemable part of him.
he leans back, something guarded and unreadable in his eyes, and then he leaves. you're left in the ambulance bay alone, your head tipped back against the wall and your eyes closed, face turned to the sky.
you'll look back on this moment in a few months when a new batch of med students and residents start their rotation at the pitt, and you'll watch the cycle begin to repeat with one of them. this time though, she doesn't let it slide and then he'll be gone for ten months. it won't be for a while before you find out whyβor an unsubstantiated version, at least: he was stealing medicine from the hospital and his behavior on nearly every shift was from withdrawals. the signs were there, but you'd been wearing rose tinted glasses. you hadn't recognized any of them. you'll wish you had, for your sake, for the sake of others.
in this moment though, all you're wishing for is a glass of wine (or two) to rid yourself of the residual mental image of kissing frank langdon.
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