keira recommends fics

not my main blog, just for my favorite fics

[keirasficrecs]

about me

hi, i'm keira! welcome to my side blog! this is the place where I will recommend fics I like. If you'd like to read my own fics or talk to me, head over to my main blog @keirareidss

masterlist of fic recs

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: fav writers ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

✨ @mariasont

⭐ @nereidprinc3ss

💫 @darkmatilda

🌟 @alinathinkstoomuch

✨ @pathologicalreid

⭐ @mggslover

💫 @luveline

🌟 @ssahotchnerr

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: keira's top five fics ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

1. Spencer and his baby miss you - @luveline + all of their Spencer and jude works

2. 30 Seconds - @ssa-dado + their entire fleabag reader series

3. A puddle in running shoes - @mariasont

4. like father, like son - @pathologicalreid

5. a matter of perspective - @ssahotchnerr

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: honorable mentions ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

-> complimenting spencer - @moonstruckme

-> the chop - @tinkcantwrite

[clarktologist]

OUR SECRET MOMENTS!

summary: you brought frank langdon back to life. it's only right that he consoles you on a bad day - no matter what anyone says. pairing: frank langdon x resident!reader. tags: afab reader, mentions of addiction / rehab / drugs / overdose, mentions of death & medical issues, fluff <3 word count: 1.7k notes: this is just dipping my toes in the frank langdon waters & majority of this fic is just explaining these two idk. i am not too proud of this but heyyyy frank langdon.

Frank Langdon is a problem child. He is dishelved hair, wrinkles in his scrubs, dried smears of blood on his well-defined arms. He is impulsive and hardy. He twirls in chairs at the nurse’s station when there are dozens of patients waiting, he has no care for personal space and every patient he assists with is an achievement, not a miracle. He doesn’t allow his care to show, not to many people. He’s a puzzle, engineered that way by forces unknown.

You are a golden child. You are neat braids, clean sneakers and the smell of hand sanitizer mixed with flowery perfume. You are gentle and quaint. Your feet hurt at the end of the day by how many steps you’ve taken moving from one room to the next, you hand out granola bars to tired interns like its candy and you treat each patient as what they are - human. Empathy consumes you at points, sometimes shining outwardly, and the sight of tears dotting your eyelashes isn’t rare. You’re an open book, willing to be read and dissected by any passersby. But together, you can be anything you want to be. You’re the smooth stone beneath his ever-flowing river, the gentle wind on his warm day, the sunrise that reminds him that there will always be a better tomorrow. His sturdy nature keeps you upright on those inevitable bad days and his calloused hands wipe away the water stains on your cheekbones when the tears finally escape.

Since the day you had walked into the Pittsburgh Trauma Medicine Center, lovingly nicknamed the Pitt, no one had understood the undeniable pull between the two of you. Frank didn’t often suffer fools, sticking closer to attendings who knew what they were doing in an attempt to kiss their ass, avoiding anyone who would need guiding or teaching unless it proved his knowledge. You actively avoided the other doctors that tended to think of themselves equivalent to some kind of God. 

But you had always been each other’s exceptions. Opposite magnets that tended to get stuck together.

Naturally, you blame it on his looks and his proximity. No matter where you went, how crowded a room was, Frank was there, looking unbelievably handsome and charming. In a trauma room with his chest almost pressed against your back, in the break room sidled up beside you, elbow almost brushing yours at the beginning of shift as the both of you listened to Robby’s pre-shift brief. 

He was a stubborn son of a bitch. Pestering, annoying, irritating. Your space was no longer your own — it had become something you shared. Every meal at the hospital was a meal with Frank. Every patient you saved was a win on both of your parts. Every tear you cried was solved with a wipe of his calloused thumb and an incredibly stupid joke. 

There’s an undeniable connection, yet nothing concrete. Your relationship was only what the rumors floating around the emergency department made it to be. There hadn’t been a discussion, no romantic devotions of love. It was just you and Frank. That was all the definition it needed to be.

It had been his natural choice to keep your closeness as under wraps as possible. His reputation around the hospital hadn’t fully repaired itself from the fracture of going to rehab and, as a result, the separation from his wife. The last thing he needed was Robby breathing down his neck, talking about things he didn’t know, saying things about how romantic relationships weren’t recommended during the first year of addiction recovery. 

Frank knew he’d be recovering from his addiction all of his life - did that mean he was meant to be alone forever? There were late nights where he came home to his new, measly apartment in the city and was greeted by nothing but harrowing silence, left to wallow in the screams and sobs that had echoed around him during his shift. For what he believed was the first time in his life, he was consistently lonely.

In reality, you had brought him back to life after rehab. Your innate ability to care for even the most stubborn patients had come into play the day he had stepped back into the Pitt. Constant check-ins, a protein bar slid across the nurse’s desk, a hand on his bicep with a soft squeeze when he looked particularly anguished after a drug overdose. Then, after seeing the haunted look on his face after a particularly hard shift, you had invited him over for dinner.

And his life had only gone uphill from there.

The only problem is that, as much as he had set the boundary to keep as professional as possible, he loved to toe the line. A hand on your hip when sliding behind you during a trauma, hidden by the adrenaline of the moment. Times where he’d tug you into supply closets just to pull you close and bury his nose in your hair to find some peace in the craziness, pressing a kiss to your temple before opening the door and darting away to the next STEMI that rolled through.

Like now.

It’s been a hectic shift. It’s only been about four hours, but you’ve lost a handful of patients in a multitude of ways. A kid with asthma that caught pneumonia, restricting his breathing until his lungs gave out. A girl who broke her leg and had a stroke from a resulting brain clot. An entire family, gone from a drunk driver at eight in the morning, before bars even opened.

Dr. Robby had forced you to take a break after you had accidentally let a sad hiccup slip. After composing yourself in the bathroom, you’d hunkered down on the floor in the break room, knees pulled to your chest for some semblance of comfort. For a while, you stared at the white walls, attempting to remember all of the good things about this job. 

The toddler who’d grinned up at you, all gums, whenever you’d pressed your stethoscope to her chest. All the adult patients who begged you for a sticker after seeing you hand them out to children. The grandma who thanked you for listening to her speak, because the upside of her trip to the emergency room was a pause in her loneliness.

You’re interrupted by the sound of sneakers on the linoleum, eyes flickering up.

“Heard you had a bad day.” Frank murmurs, pressing a knee into the floor as he crouches in front of you. A hand curls around the back of your neck, nudging your head forward. Like instinct, you uncurl your knees from your torso, tucking your face into the dip between his neck and collarbone.

His cologne evades your senses from where he had sprayed it on his skin that morning. You mentally curse yourself for the way you inhale deeply, eyes fluttering shut as you fully lean into him. It was weird, how you had gone through years of disgust at even the softest whiff of boy, and yet now it’s more reassuring than any lavender-scented candle on the store shelves. 

Your nose brushes against his carotid as you attempt to burrow deeper, sighing. For a moment, you swear you can feel his pulse in your cheek. “And our shift has barely started.” You grumble, making an attempt at a joke despite the heat already building up in the bridge of your nose.

Frank’s chest rumbles with a grunt of a laugh. “Yeah, but you can handle it.” There’s another soft grunt as he pulls away from you, lowering himself to sit on the floor next to you. His warmth isn’t gone for long, a hand snaking behind your back to press his fingers into your hip and pull you closer. “You’re the strongest girl I know.”

“You know Dana.” You tilt your head to place your cheek on his shoulder, legs parting to ensure that your thigh presses against his. The warmth of his skin radiates through both of your scrubs, making you itch to be bare-skinned and pressed against him. “Or Santos. Both of them are feisty.”

Doctor’s orders: direct skin to skin contact. Preferably beneath a soft blanket, in a really cold apartment so that no one wants to move or leave.

“Well, how about we put you three in a boxing ring and let you fight it out, then?” He says the joke with such earnestness that you’re almost afraid that he’s being serious, however you know him better than that. Instead, you jab a finger into his ribcage and he laughs, playfully pinching at your side in return.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there. A quiet bubble, with your cheek pressed into his collarbone and his jaw perched on your cranium. For a moment, you don’t worry about anything. Your brain is blank from the thoughts of quitting, from the constant mantra of “I could quit today,” from the fact that anybody could walk into the breakroom and see you two.

And then the door clicks.

You jump, but Frank’s fingers just tighten on your hip. He looks up at Perlah like absolutely nothing is happening, like you aren’t tucked into his side like you belong there, one eyebrow raising in question.

Perlah stops for a moment before her lips twitch in an attempt at hiding her smile, head dipping in understanding. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye that you know all too well - that she was about to tell the entire emergency department what she’s seeing. “The family of the girl who had the stroke is here.” She tells you, clearing her throat.

Your cheeks burn as you stare at her, nodding. Frank chuckles beside you at your lack of words, flashing Perlah a smile. “Thanks, Perlah.”

She leaves briskly, already intent on finding Princess, and you bury your face into his chest with a groan. “They’re going to tell everyone, Langdon.” There’s a petulant tone lining each word, like you’re willing to hold onto his rules tighter than he is. Perhaps it’s the part that cares for people that wants to follow his lead, or just the part that cares for him.

“Let her,” is all he answers. His arm moves to curl around your shoulders, pulling you in. You can hear the grin in his voice, something victorious. “Just means I can hold you like this more often.”

Something blooms in your chest at the words, cheeks burning hotter, if possible. With a sigh, you simply just burrow your face further into him.

There would be a lot to fess up to once you walked through the door of the breakroom. For now, you’d enjoy the silence and the warmth.

[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

[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

[whatif-ialreadydid]

diet coke - frank langdon x chargenurse!reader

wc: <1k

summary: you have a headache, and his name is frank langdon

a/n: find the request for this drabble here as part of my 1k celebration

-

"What are the chances the cough in south 20 turns out to be a pulmonary embolism?" 

Langdon bounces buzzily on the balls of his feet, drumming the edge of the counter at Central as he inspects the board for a new patient. 

"Probably the same as you going a whole hour without saying something stupid," you deadpan without looking up from the tablet you're tapping away on, correcting an error in a patient's chart. 

Anybody else, he'd take the hint and stop bothering them. But Langdon takes a special delight in annoying you. Especially when you're covering as charge nurse for Dana. 

"Are you mean to everybody, or just me?" He reaches over the counter to poke at you, but you smack his hand away before he can make contact. 

"Manchild," you roll your eyes at his pouting. You're especially feisty today, he's noticed, which can likely be attributed to Dana's absence.

You hate running charge, but you're good at it, which is why you always get stuck with it. The evident stress steaming from your ears only further fuels his desire to get a rise out of you.

"What's the matter with you today, huh?" He asks, much to your chagrin. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or what?" 

"I have a headache," you state plainly, docking the tablet with a pointed thunk, then floating to the nearest computer. Langdon slides along the opposite edge of the counter, mirroring your movements.

A lost golden retriever, you think, fingers clacking away at the keyboard. 

"I bet the fluorescents and constant beeping are a great comfort right now, then," the sarcasm rolls off his tongue like it's his first language. 

"You make it worse. You make my brain hurt," you sneer, one of your perfectly sculpted brows shooting up from behind the monitor.

"Terrible news. That's your second-best feature," Langdon tuts, still rapping his fingers against the counter. You pinch the space between your brows, a crack in the hard exterior you work so hard to maintain. 

Oh, Langdon realizes stupidly. Not even snapping at him for flirting. Your head must really hurt. 

"D'you take anything yet?" He asks, eyeing you up and down, as if to search for any external symptoms. Doctor mode activated. 

"Haven't had time," you fly from the monitor to the supply cart with a forthright purpose, sliding open a drawer and yanking out a central line kit. The movement happens so quickly, so methodically that Langdon's sure it's all muscle memory. Like zoning out on a long drive. "Mr. Scott in 8 needs a central line." 

You tuck the kit under your arm, then yank a tablet from the dock and extend it across the counter to Langdon. "And Rhea Duram in south 20 needs you to listen to her cough." 

The purse of your lips, tightness of your jaw…

If Langdon's material is especially potent, he can draw a small smile from you. But he's throwing his best stuff at you and you're still all business. 

"Langdon, I don't have time to play right now, OK?" You snap after Langdon still doesn't take the tablet. He accepts it with the sheepishness of a dog with its tail between its legs. 

Before he can stammer out some bullshit, egocentric doctor apology, you march towards your next patient. 

A half hour later, you've placed a central line, checked on Louie in the hall, charged for a code, and rendezvoused with Robby about which beds have been freshly discharged.

The pain in your head has reached underground-rave-levels of pounding, so the long, selfish sigh that leaks out of you when you round back to central is no surprise.  What is a surprise, however, is the cold, glistening bottle of Diet Coke by your computer, a blue sticky note tacked to the label. Familliar, illegible handwriting scrawled on the Post-It that shoots a lightning strike through your stomach. 

Langdon wrote your name, followed by the words Caffeine fix might do the trick. 

As you take a long sip of the crisp soda, the tension in your shoulders loosening by a fraction, Langdon passes by Central on his way to another room. He raps his knuckles twice on the counter, the sound echoing all the way through to your heart. 

[nostarfights]

Might Drop Dead

Pairing: Frank Langdon X fem!funeraldirector!Reader

Summary: You decide to go to the ER after an exposure at your workplace, fearing your life may be in danger, when your knight in shining armor waltzes into the room.

Warnings: S2 Frank, divorced!Frank, mention of reader being sick, having trouble breathing, being afraid of death and throwing up, a few uses of y/L/n and y/n, mutual love at first sight, some medical inaccuracies, a little cursing and mutual pining.

Word Count: 2.1K

a/n: this is EXTREMELY self-indulgent but i hope y’all like it anyway! (for anyone that doesn’t know, i’m a mortuary science major lol).

read on ao3

the gif below does not belong to me

You took a long deep breath in as the door to the room you were in opened, a noticeable wheezing sound leaving your mouth. Your eyes flickered up to meet the doctor standing before you and your heart began to pound, God he was gorgeous. 

“Hey, Ms. (y/L/n). I’m Dr. Langdon. I heard you were having some trouble breathing, what’s going on?” he asked, sliding on a pair of gloves and sitting on the swivel chair in the room.

An awkward look took over your face at the sound of this formality and you took another deep breath in, the pain in your chest refusing to subside, “(y/n)’s fine. I think I’ve been exposed to a high level of formaldehyde. Since the last hour of my shift, I’ve been having really bad eye and throat irritation–worse than usual–it’s been hard to breathe and my,” you explained, stopping for a moment to take another breath in. “chest hurts.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, already grabbing his stethoscope, “How’d that happen?” he asked, looking directly into your eyes and making you feel as if your heart had stopped, like you might drop dead right here, right now. But you had to admit, you didn’t think love at first sight was a real thing until he waltzed into the room just a few minutes ago, you never wanted to take your eyes off of him again.

You tried your best to take another full breath in, “I’m a funeral director.” you informed him and his eyebrows quickly raised.

He chuckled at your answer, “Oh yeah? That’s a new one, I don’t think we’ve ever gotten a funeral director in here before.” he joked, making you laugh a little with him even though it hurt.

You softly smiled at him, “Yeah, we’re normally too busy to get checked out. We recently tested the formaldehyde levels where I work but the results haven’t come back yet. I guess we have our answer.” you replied, trying to ignore the fact that a reaction like this means you could possibly die.

He smiled at your response, “I get it but I promise you’re gonna be feeling better in no time,” He pressed the chest piece of his stethoscope to your back, “Alright, (y/n), I need you to take a few slow deep breaths in and out for me,” he instructed, the feeling of him being so close to you almost overwhelming. He lightly rested his free hand on your shoulder, making your heart beat faster than it already was if that was even possible, the warmth of his skin radiating through the glove. He paused, “You feeling alright?” he said, referring to your pounding heart.

You looked down at your clammy hands in your lap for a second then back up at him, “I’m fine, you just…make me nervous. In a good way.” you awkwardly said, already regretting being so honest seeing as you could’ve just lied and said the exposure was causing this and probably gotten away with it.

He stared into your eyes again, looking like he was either in shock or thinking about how he could let you down gently, you weren’t sure. He let out a quiet laugh through his nose, “Yeah, I get that a lot.” he joked, also seemingly regretting his response right away.

Silence fell over the room for a few minutes until he suddenly spoke again, “Alright, I do hear some wheezing and from what you’ve told me, I think you’re right. So, I’m gonna get you set up with some humidified oxygen, get you hooked up to an IV and in a couple hours I’ll have you drink some activated charcoal to reduce any absorption.” he explained and you nodded, still feeling nervous about being around him and if you would actually get better, simultaneously dreading the idea of throwing up in front of this gorgeous man.

He frowned at you as if he sensed your worry and gently placed his hand on your shoulder, grabbing your attention. “You’re gonna be okay, there’s no need to be afraid. You’ll get through this, I promise,” he assured you and you nodded once more, your hands still clasped together in your lap. “I’ll be right back, okay?” he said, prompting him to pat your shoulder a couple times as he stood up. 

To you, he looked like he wanted to do more to comfort you, he just didn’t want to overstep.

“Alright.” you said.

The second Frank was back in the hallway, a breath he didn’t know he was holding left his lips and he immediately went searching for the myAirvo 2 they kept in one the closets for cases like this and a bag of saline fluid. Normally, he’d let Perlah or Princess or one of the other nurses handle something like this but a selfish part of him wanted to be the sole reason for why you got better, not anyone else. 

He just couldn’t stop thinking about you. From how beautiful you were to the scent of your perfume to your eyes and how you looked at him to the way your work clothes fit you just right to how your heart had started to pound when he touched you.

He tightly squeezed his eyes shut for just a second on his way back to your room, God he was fucked. He barely knew you and yet he already felt like he’d been in some sort of love at first sight situation. He hadn’t felt this way since he first met Abby all those years ago. But for the sake of being professional, he promised himself that he wouldn’t ask you out until you were discharged and no longer his patient, if you somehow already felt the same way that is.

He quickly collected himself and entered your room again, your eyes meeting him instantly, a scared look replacing the worried one in them. Frank dimmed the lights a little and started to prep the oxygen, “Hey.” he quietly said with a soft smile, only looking at you.

“Hi.” you quietly said back, your heart beat speeding up again as he placed the mask over your mouth and nose, it was almost addicting being this close to him.

His smile grew brighter, “Still feeling nervous around me?” he teased and heat flooded your cheeks.

Your eyes darted away from him, “Maybe.” you quietly answered, your voice slightly muffled by the mask, your eyes now watching him while he placed the needle hooked up to the IV in your arm.

He stood up again, “Alright, well I’ll be back every once in a while to check on you but don’t be afraid to ask for me if you need anything.” he said, his selfishness creeping through again.

You nodded, “Okay,” you said, squinting your eyes in the direction of the small text on his badge. “Frank.” causing his cheeks to blush and him to swiftly leave the room to check on another patient without another word. Many people had called him that his entire life of course but something about hearing you say his name made an odd, hopeful feeling settle in his chest.

—--------------------------------------------

Frank returned for the final time tonight after those two hours since he put the mask on your face had passed. His face lit up at the sight of you while he entered the room, warming your heart, activated charcoal and a bottle of water in hand, “Hey, pretty girl, how’re you feeling?” he asked, the pet name accidentally slipping out as he put another pair of gloves on.

Your eyes widened and you rapidly blinked, “Uh, a little better. My chest pain’s gone but I’m still having some trouble breathing.” you informed him, watching him with a look of fear while he poured the powder into the water and shook it up.

He sat back down on the swivel chair and got as close to you as possible, his hand reclaiming its spot on your shoulder. “You’ll be okay, I’ll be here the whole time. Promise.” he said, his eyebrows furrowing with worry, and handed you the bottle.

You slowly nodded, your eyes never leaving his, “Okay, let’s get this over with.” you sighed and slowly began to drink the dark gray liquid. You winced at the disgusting taste, making Frank frown. 

He didn’t know what it was about you that was different compared to any other patient but he easily found himself wanting to abandon his other patients and just pay attention to you, even though he knew that would have Robby all over his ass. But he didn’t care, he just wanted to be by your side.

In almost thirty-five minutes after you drank the charcoal, a panicked look took over your face and Frank brought a emesis basin to your lips without you having to ask. He softly rubbed your back as you emptied all the contents of your stomach into it, “You’re okay, it’s almost over.” he quietly assured you, making you feel a little better.

By the time everything had come out, you let your body fall back onto the bed. You felt absolutely exhausted and shitty and just wanted to lay here staring up at the ceiling until you felt normal again. Frank’s hand briefly resting on your shoulder again caught your attention, “That should do the trick but we’re gonna have you stay overnight for observation in case you get worse or develop pulmonary edema. Still, you have nothing to worry about.” he told you, which truth be told terrified you but knowing that you were in good hands eased some of your worries.

He rose from the chair and your eyes followed him, “Sounds good, I need a break from work anyway. Will I get to see you again?” you asked, hoping you weren’t coming off too strong and you hadn’t just embarrassed yourself.

“Maybe.” he said with a shrug and a wink before he left the room, some of the charm he thought he lost in rehab coming back to him, leaving you blushing and your heart pounding for what felt like the millionth time since you first met him earlier this evening.

—--------------------------------------------

The following morning, after hours of nurses coming to check on you and your breathing, you finally got to fall asleep for a couple hours when you suddenly heard a knock on the door to the room you’d been moved to, abruptly waking you up. You rubbed your eyes, “Come in!” you called out and Frank walked in, the beeping on the heart monitor almost immediately growing faster.

He smirked and closed the door behind him, loving the effect he had on you, “Hey, pretty girl. How’re you feeling?” he asked, pulling a chair up to your bedside. Normally, he very rarely checked on patients when they were moved upstairs, that just wasn’t part of his job, but you were different and he didn’t want to start his shift without making sure you were okay first.

You smiled at the pet name, welcoming it instead of feeling shocked this time, “A lot better, thanks for checking on me. I’m sure you don’t usually do this.” you answered, causing him to refuse to meet your eyes for a few moments, now feeling as nervous as you were.

He waved this off, “Don’t worry about it. I took a look at the chest x-ray and everything looks great. You should be good to go,” he made known, looking sadder than he meant to like he didn’t want to see you go and possibly walk out of his life forever. He looked down at his lap then up at you, “This is probably overstepping but do you wanna get dinner with me sometime? I really like you.” he asked and your eyes basically bulged out of your head.

Your blinks became more rapid, along with your heart rate, “Sure, I’d love that. I really like you too, Frank.” you answered, trying your best to seem confident and not a flustered mess.

He grinned at you, feeling more relieved than ever, “Great,” he replied, pulling out his phone from his pocket so that you could create a new contact for yourself. He briefly placed his hand over yours for a second or two once you handed it back and gave your hand a quick squeeze before he let go, “See you soon, sweetheart.” he said, the new pet name only making you more in love with him even though you still barely knew each other.

You smiled back, something that was incredibly easy to do around him, “Bye, Frank.” you replied, waving goodbye.

Once he was back in the hall and out of sight, he fist pumped the air, “Yes! Langdon’s still got it!” he yelled out through gritted teeth before continuing on his way to the elevator, ignoring the knowing looks the nurses were giving him.

NAVIGATION send a request!

[metal-armed-muse]

hands-on approach !

pairing. frank langdon x intern!reader (can be read as gn!reader) prompt. you behave so much better when I have my hands on you — january jumble scribbles day 30 (swapped) word count. 399 (i’m trying) warnings. inappropriate workplace relationship, fluff, reader neglecting themselves and feeling dizzy. notes. first time writing someone other than bucky, but the pitt and langdon both have me in a fucking chokehold. i absolutely loved writing him, so maybe we can do more?

there is a rule you live by as an intern. you do not stop, because living by that is easier than trying and failing to put yourself first.

your day started at 6 am, the only thing that has reached your stomach was the coffee you had at 11 am.

it’s now way past 4, your body begs you for something edible, something sustainable.

but interns don’t eat. interns don’t get those privileges.

it is annoying that langdon always notices the exact time your body starts screaming.

he does not say your name right away, which is how you know he is clocking more than your charting.

“you good?” his voice is pitched only for you.

the rehearsed answer rises automatically, “yeah. just catching up on notes.”

his gaze flicks to the tremor you cannot fully hide in your hand. “uh-huh. come with me.”

you start to argue, because you don’t need help or food, and the chart on your hand definitely needs some updating.

but the world faintly starts to tilt, your eyes blacking on the corners. you follow him into the break room because it is easier than explaining why your chest feels too tight.

sitting still makes you feel better. langdon presses a cup into your hand and waits, which is worse than if he ordered you. water tastes like relief you do not want to admit needing.

“you eat?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“yes.”

langdon sighs, “coffee is not eating.”

a protein bar is thrust upon you, while his hand settles at your waist, the slow movement and the soft pressure grounding you more than you care to admit. your shoulders drop before you give permission.

this is not just an attending and an intern anymore. this is langdon and you.

“you behave so much better when i have my hands on you,” it’s not a joke, even if there’s a smile lacing his lips.

heat curls low in your stomach, threaded with embarrassment and something softer. you lean into his touch because pretending you do not need it feels stupid in this small room with the door closed.

“i’m fine,” you murmur.

“i know.”

by the time you stand, the tilt is gone. his hand lingers a second longer than necessary, or maybe exactly as long as necessary.

“next time, you tell me before you go quiet like that.”

my masterlist! ᛝ my scribbles m.list! ᛝ my taglist!

[doctor-ryland-grace]

I know i post / write about you admiring Ryland while he's still sleeping but?? Have we considered him doing the same? Maybe he wakes up in the middle of the 'night' on board the Hail Mary, in complete disarray anxiety off the charts, maybe he had yet another nightmare about the fate of the Earth and Erid if this mission doesn't succeed.

Rocky can sense Ryland's awakeness but does nothing. The Eridian was talked to about Human sleep cycles and how sometimes it included the very inconvenient lull of waking up only to fall back asleep, so he's learned over time when to say 'good morning' versus when to just let it be, especially after the first nightmare Rocky witnessed and the very confusing explanation that sometimes humans just woke up wrong because of the brain's subconscious. 

And honestly, Rocky just waiting seems to hit Ryland with a new wave of emotion as he drags a hand down his face with a shaky exhale before turning his head towards the warmth of the body beside him. 

You’re still asleep. Right where you were earlier. Beside him. Still with him. And nothing about your sleep is deep, Ryland knows that. It’s not dead to the world anymore, sleep on board the Hail Mary never was. But, it was still enough that your face was soft with it, worry smoothed from your usually creased eyebrows, lips gentle and unpursed as he sweeps his dilated blue eyes across your expression. One hand is curled loosely near his arm like you were reaching for him sometime in the middle of sleep and never let yourself drift to far away after. You needed him. 

Ryland finds himself just. Staring, unabashedly. Because the nightmares always left him feeling untethered for a moment, like he was floating loose from his own sense of morality. But you, warm and breathing evenly beside him, pulled him back every single time without fail. His gaze trails over the details he’s memorized from moments like this. There’s a faint crease against your cheek from the uncomfortable pillow, the messy sleepy tangled hair partially covering your face and the slow rise and fall of your shoulders under the dim, ambient light of the dorm.

Safe. Is the first word that comes to his mind. You’re safe. And you’re still here with him. Ryland swallows hard, throat tightening with something akin to grief? Or love? Maybe both, if he were being honest with himself which was rare after a nightmare and he was trying to get his mind to calm down. So instead, carefully, so, so carefully, he shifts closer. Not enough to wake you, Gosh, he would never forgive himself if he did that, but just enough that he can feel your body heat properly against the cold sweat of anxiety that was still clawing up and down his spine. 

And sheesh… You look so pretty to Ryland at this moment, he wishes he could take a picture. Nothing is dramatic like in the movies. Nothing posed or polished, it’s simply human. Very real, and right here with him in the Tau Ceti system despite every impossible thing that brought you here in the first place. Ryland’s eyes soften a bit as he feels sleep tugging at the back of his mind again.

You’re okay. He reminds himself as his eyelids grow heavy. He’s not entirely sure if he’s referring to you or himself, but something about the mantra helps him feel better, his forehead coming to rest against yours as sleep finally overcomes Ryland again.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

2 & 12 w Langdon?

2. "If you wanted a kiss, you could have just asked."

12. "You like me. You just don't like that you like me."

Pairing: Frank Langdon x reader

Warnings: rivalry, some fluff

Word count: 2.1k

The clock on the wall of the ER station ticks toward 4:00 PM, and for Y/N, the world is beginning to blur at the edges. Her blood glucose is bottoming out, her hair escaping its tight braid in messy wisps, and, most annoyingly, Frank Langdon looks like he just stepped out of a hair product commercial.

“If you stare any harder at that chart, you might actually learn how to read a metabolic panel, Langdon,” she mutters, leaning against the desk.

Frank doesn’t look up, his blue eyes tracking a line of data.

“And if you lean any harder against that desk, you’re going to break it, Y/L/N. I might start the betting pool myself.”

She rolls her eyes, throwing a pen at him only to frown when he catches it with ease and pockets it.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“If you wanted to keep it, you shouldn’t have thrown it,” he glances at her, before sighing. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small chocolate bar, and slides it across the station surface without a word.

Y/N quirks an eyebrow. “Trying to poison me?”

“Trying to survive this shift without having to resuscitate you after you faint on top of a patient. It would be bad for the hospital’s Yelp reviews.”

“As if I’d let you -“

“You won’t have a choice if you faint,” he remarks. “We do this little dance every day. Can you just eat the chocolate?”

Shrugging, she unwraps it. “Well, if you insist.” The sugar hits her like lighting. Usually, she would snap back and remind him he’s not exactly the most fun to be around after noon either, but today’s different.

Two hours ago, she overheard the nurses mention he was officially back on the market. That meant he had called off his engagement. And while she’d love to annoy the hell out of him, for the first time since their MS4 started, he seems…human.

The ER prince is finally vulnerable, and that means she has a new weapon. There’s a chance to finally use that weakness for her own benefit and convince doctor Robby she’s the perfect candidate for the residency spot next year.

She tried playing fair. She did. But it’s been abundantly clear doctor Robby favors Frank. It isn’t enough to be the smartest in the room, to out-diagnose him, to be polite and thoughtful. No…she needs to dismantle Frank Langdon, and now she can do so without being entirely morally wrong.

The opportunity presented itself half an hour later.

She finds him pacing in front of the trauma bay where their patient was returned from a stat CT. He’s clutching papers and she realizes it’s the report. He didn’t even call her to let her know it’s come in or to update her on the case.

He’s prepping for Robby, the attending who holds their future in his hands. Any and all remorse she might have had about her plan is gone. If he wants to play dirty, she will outplay him.

“Male, sixty-eight, presenting with acute onset periumbilical pain,” Frank whispers to himself, his blue eyes darting over the CT notes. “Lactate is 4.2. Suggestive of mesenteric ischemia. Plan: immediate surgical consult for an SMA embolectomy.”

Y/N walks up behind him, her footsteps silent on the linoleum. Instead of standing at a professional distance, she steps into his personal space, her hand brushing his arm. She reaches out, her fingers lingering on the back of his neck to adjust his stethoscope into place.

“You’re sweating, Frank,” she purrs, her voice low as his name passes her lips for the first time in…forever? She leans in until the scent of her chocolate breath catches his senses. “Does the Prince have stage fright? You know, I can -“

Frank’s reciting stops mid-word. He freezes, his pupils dilating as he looks down at her in shock. “Y/L/N, what are you -”

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she runs a finger over the tubing of her powder pink stethoscope, which is draped over her shoulder. She catches her sharp, pointy canine on her lower lip, smirking as she leans in. “I’m trying to help. You’re always on edge,” the tip of her index finger runs along the skin of his forearm gently and his eyes widen.

Frank blinks, his mouth opening and closing as she pulls away. The witty retort he usually has prepared is gone, replaced by a tidal wave of heat rising to his cheeks.

“Langdon! Y/N!” Robby’s voice booms as he rounds the corner. “Status on the patient in three.”

Frank turns, his brain visibly rebooting. “Right. Uh. Bed three. He’s... he’s sixty-eight. Pain is... uh... in the stomach area.”

Robby stops, frowning. “In the stomach area? Be more specific, Langdon.”

Frank stumbles, his eyes flickering to Y/N, who is standing with an expression of pure innocence. “He has... his blood is... the lactate is... high?”

Y/N steps forward with a crisp, confident nod. “Patient is a sixty-eight-year-old male with acute onset periumbilical pain, out of proportion to physical findings. CT angio confirms a clot in the superior mesenteric artery. Lactate is 4.2 and rising. I’ve taken the liberty of calling a surgical consult for what I expect will turn into an emergency embolectomy.”

Robby beams, jotting a note on his clipboard. “Excellent work, Y/N. Very precise.”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Langdon? You okay?”

“I - I just, uh -” Frank stammers. “I’m fine,” he snaps, though his ears are turning a distinct shade of pink. “Just... dry throat.”

“Don’t worry, doctor Robby,” Y/N says, tilting her head and flashing those pointy canines in a way that looks helpful to the attending but predatory to Frank. “Langdon seems a bit... distracted today. Poor thing. I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong while he finds his footing again.”

Robby grunts a dismissal and walks off. Frank waits until the attending is out of earshot before pinning Y/N with a glare filled with a newfound fury and, if she didn’t know any better, something akin to longing.

For the next three days, Y/N went on a scorched-earth flirting campaign.

Whenever he tried to tease her about her powder pink stethoscope, which he claimed looked like it belonged in a "My Little Pony" playset, she didn’t bite back. Instead, she’d loop it around his neck, pulling him a few inches closer.

“Pink is Barbie’s color. Don’t pretend you don’t like it, ER Ken,” she whispers, her breath brushing his ear.

Frank found himself struggling to spar with her, his sarcasm replaced by a look of sheer, wide-eyed panic whenever she’d speak. He is meant to be a master of the witty retort, a king of the "well, actually" correction, but when she touches his arm or compliments the way his shirt fits his shoulders, his mind turns into a complete mess.

“You’re a menace,” he grumbles as he opens the door to the supply closet, finally hunting her down for a private talk.

Raising a brow, she corrects him with a smirk, “I’m in the lead for a residency spot, actually.”

“That’s because you’re doing it on purpose,” he hisses.

“Doing what, Frank?” She turns around, leaning back against the shelves, the braid over her shoulder as teasing as her smile.

Frank steps closer, his hands braced on the shelves on either side of her head. He’s trying to reclaim his dominance, his blue eyes searching hers for a sign of a crack.

“The... the this!” He gestures vaguely at her face. “The smiling. The touching. The lack of calling me a ‘pompous ass’ every five minutes. I know you heard about the wedding being off. You think I’m weak, so you’re trying to throw me off my game. That stunt with Robby was low.”

She tilts her head, her sharp canines peeking out. “Is it working?”

Frank looks down at her, his jaw tight. He wants to say no. He wants to make a joke about how she looks like a chocolate-addicted pink loving vampire, but his eyes drop to her soft lips for a moment.

“Why are you weaponizing flirting?”

She reaches up, her fingertips playing with his hair. “Am I? Maybe you’re losing your edge, Frank. Maybe you want me flirting with you.”

His heart hammers against his ribs wildly and he can’t help but wonder if she’s right. Maybe he does want her to confirm she’s been flirting and he’s not going insane after the last four years of trying to ignore his innate desires. It’s partially the reason for the death of his engagement; feelings he has long lost the ability to contain.

“I’m suspicious,” he narrows his eyes. “You’re a shark, Y/N. You’re cold and calculating and you have a pink stethoscope to make yourself seem cutesy and innocent, but you’re not.”

“Oh, are we doing compliments? Well, you have great hair… and striking blue eyes,” she counters, reaching up to run a thumb over his temple. “And you’ve been single for exactly seventy-two hours. Maybe I realized I’ve been wasting my time fighting with you when I could have been... appreciating the view.”

Frank’s resolve snaps. He grabs her wrist, his grip firm but not tight. The sarcasm is gone, long replaced by dangerously sincere emotions he never wants to admit to in front of her. “You’re terrifying.”

“You’re distracted,” she whispers.

“I’m going to lose a chance at a residency here because of you,” he mutters, but he doesn't let go of her wrist. In fact, he pulls her closer until their chests are almost touching.

The silence between them is louder than ever before. Her heart is treacherous, her lips parting. This started as a game, a tactical maneuver, but the way he’s looking at her with frustration and genuine desire, makes the game feel too real.

It’s Frank who smirks this time around, realizing he’s managed to convince her to lower her shield for the first time in years. And despite what she’d claim, he knows she’s a victim to whatever possessed him too.

And when she licks her bottom lip, her gaze flickering to his lips for a moment too long, his smirk turns into a satisfied grin.

“If you wanted a kiss, you could have just asked,” Frank murmurs, his voice regaining its usual edge, though his hand is trembling slightly.

Y/N lets out a small, shaky laugh. The bravado she’d spent years building is evaporating. She’s been too accustomed to the ER Prince caricature, but she finally sees the man who has been secretly sliding her chocolate at 4:00 PM for six months because he knows exactly when she’ll start to crash.

“I didn't want to ask,” she says, her voice losing its playful lilt. Her hand rests on his chest, right above his heart. Her eyes widen at her findings. “I always wondered if ER Ken actually had a pulse.”

“He does,” Frank says, leaning down. “It’s currently around 120 beats per minute, in case you were wondering. Sinus tach. Cause: you.”

Before he has the chance to react, she grabs the front of his scrubs and pulls him down.

The kiss isn't soft or romantic; it's a continuation of their rivalry by other means. It’s a battle for oxygen and territory. Frank’s hands move from the shelves to her waist, pulling her flush against him with an urgency that betrays how much her flirting has actually rattled him.

Y/N bites his lower lip, her sharp canines grazing the skin just enough to make him hold his breath, and Frank responds by deepening the kiss, his tongue tracing the roof of her mouth in a way that feels like he’s trying to memorize the rare moment of her surrender. It’s competitive, each of them trying to lead, trying to elicit the loudest gasp, trying to win the best kisser award.

When they finally break apart, their foreheads rest against each other, both fighting for breath like they’ve just run a code. Frank’s hair is finally, gloriously messy, and Y/N’s braid is halfway undone.

“That’s... one way to settle a rivalry,” she says, trying to sound cool.

Frank lets out a ragged, triumphant little laugh. The blue in his eyes is vivid, and for the first time, he doesn’t look like he’s performing. No... He looks like he won something much better than a residency spot.

“You like me,” he exclaims victoriously, his thumb tracing the line of her bottom lip. “You just don't like that you like me.”

Y/N pulls back, straightening her pink stethoscope with trembling fingers, her heart still hammering. She rolls her eyes at his words, heading for the door.

“I’m not the one who forgets how to function when flirting is involved,” she says smugly. “Now get out of here and stitch up your patient before I report you for distracting the superior candidate.”

[girllblogging777]

𝜗𝜚 "how's your head ?" reader x "i've been told it's pretty good" spencer reid

his head was pounding.

thump, thump of his heart beating behing his ribcage and blood rushing in his veins. he couldn't bear it anymore, not when the minutes had turned into hours that had turned into days, and spencer's brain had now forgotten what it felt like to live without a headache.

small and fragile under your touch, he'd refused your affection at first. a dark room was all he needed, paired with silence that contrasted with the loud throb reverbating inside his mind.

"i really think you should get an MRI scan," you expressed worriedly with your hands framing his face. the coldness of your touch offering a feeling of relief.

it wasn't enough, he needed to get inside his head and physically extract the ache that had infested him. or to detach from his own body perhaps,a feeling you were usually good at giving him.

"i think," he grumbles dryly "you shouldn't matronize me. i'm used to it, i'll be fine."

"and i think, genius. you wouldn't do this to your mother" reverberated against his lips when you leaned down to give him a soft kiss.

he met you halfway, chasing you too eagerly for someone in such suffering. hand on your waist, yours in his hair tugging at the curls on the nape of his neck, his lips parted as a signal to deepen the kiss. you could only oblige.

the pain he felt was still there, incessantly nagging him.

when you pulled away to take a breath, giggling agaisnt him, he could feel your breath mingling with his. "are you sure you're okay, i thought the migraine was bad."

groaning against you, he kissed you again.

relief, relief.

you sounded like calm music, felt like a warm embrace. you would solve the intricate puzzle he was, accept the inaccessible parts of his dark, dark mind.

you pulled back when his grip got too tight. "spence... i'm serious. how's your head ?" he didn't stop kissing you, leaving little pecks al over your face.

"i've been told it's pretty good"

surely the migraine made him delirious.

you tilted your head in curiosity, the heat of the moment lingering in the air. from the lack of sleep, blood vessels had bursted in his eyes and still, the hazel shade mesmerized you.

"mean. and gross, reid" you declared with a threatening finger pointed towards him. he could only look up, puppy gaze silently asking for a remedy until you tought.

"also, i think i should be the judge of that."

another look, more intentional this time. a kiss, tongues colliding, and a headache long forgotten, replaced by another ache between your thighs.

[clarktologist]

ㅤㅤTWO HANDS [AND A BIT OF TEETH]

summary: 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. pairing: frank langdon x girlfriend!reader tags: afab reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, objectification & destruction of frank langdon's limbs, playfulbf!frank langdon unlocked, nonsexual & childlike wrestling between adults, frank refers to reader as a dog [affectionately], seduction in the form of nipping word count: 3.2k notes: this is for everyone that gets something similar to cuteness aggression and just wants to bite people [<- me!] all of these end in dialouge on purpose, i swear... please reblog if you enjoy!

1. UNCONTROLLABLE URGES

The sunset stretches through the blinds of your apartment, spilling over the harwood floor like liquid gold. Your fingers unfurl to brush through the rays from where you’re sprawled out on your back, eyes watching the shadow that breaks up the light. There’s a slight ache in the small of your back from lying on the floor for so long, but you make no attempt to move.

“You own a couch.”

Your head tilts back to look at the doorway, an almost goofy smile stretching across your mouth at the upside-down view of Frank. He looks the exact same as he does everyday, and you had seen him only a few minutes ago when you had abandoned him in the kitchen to finish making his meal prep, but the sight of him still makes your heart thud a bit harder against your rib cage.

“If I get on the couch, I won’t get anything done.” Your bottom lip pushes out in a pout, hands folding on your stomach. 

One bushy eyebrow raises as his gaze trails over you, prowling closer slowly. “And you’re getting things done by laying on the floor?” he asks.

He leans over you, devishly charming with his hair falling onto his forehead. You’re not sure how you got a Disney prince as a boyfriend, but you thank whoever, or whatever, is above you that you did. Now, you get the pleasure of staring at his handsome face whenever you want.

Admittedly, Frank wasn’t incorrect. Originally, you had disappeared into the living room in order to at least begin to organize your vast array of bookshelves, however the task had become larger and more overwhelming the longer you had debated where to start. You had sat down to get a look at the big picture, somehow ending up on your back and distracted by the rays of sunlight coming through the windows.

There’s a huff as you take his outstretched hand, letting him drag you up onto your feet. You take the opportunity to slide your palm along his abdomen, appreciating the soft twitch of muscle that happens in response. As much as you love all of his reactions to your touches, you love the unintentional ones the most. 

Noticing your lack of response and the forlorn gaze you have trained on the bookshelves, Frank presses his face into your hair, breath brushing against your hairline. “Do you want some help?” he mumbles gently. The question comes out almost hesitant, aware that you didn’t like to ask for help much.

You stay silent for a breath, eyes glancing over the books you’ve hoarded over the last few years. You debate just giving up on the project completely, leaving the literature to spill wherever it’d like, spine showing or not.

Finally, rationality wins out and you groan, turning to bury your face into his sweater. “Yes, please.”

He holds you for just a moment, thumb brushing along your shoulder from where his arm has curled around your body, before you finally separate to get to work.

The plan is simple at first. Frank grabs the books from the higher shelves while you start on the lower, pulling them out so that they can stack on the floor and await their sentencing. Color-coded or alphabetically by author or separated by just genre - the possibilities are endless.

That is, until your boyfriend pulls off his sweater, revealing the curve of muscles that are his biceps.

You’re quickly distracted by the sight, staring up at him with parted lips. Poor, sweet Frank just continues working, surprisingly focused on the task at hand despite being so blatantly ogled. 

Perhaps he’s used to being stared at by you. Perhaps he’s just happy to be allowed to help you out, for once.

Now, you’re on the same bookshelf in the middle of your array, your elbow pressed into his abdomen with every reach forward. His arm is right there, muscles tensing every time he reaches up for another book to place it in the growing stack in his free hand.

You try to push back the urge. You really do. You press your tongue between your teeth, biting down on it just enough to feel the pressure. Remind yourself that it’s not normal to want to consume your partner whole, to cause them pain out of pure love and lust for them.

But then he reaches up again, that dip of muscle stretching from just beneath his elbow all the way to his wrist, and your brain shortcircuits. 

It happens quickly. Your chin tilts forward slowly and your lips part, the top set of your teeth finding the juiciest part of his muscle and pressing down. For a moment, you don’t even worry about if you’re causing him pain. The squish of his arm beneath your teeth is satisfying enough to dull out everything else.

Frank yelps in surprise, dropping the book in his hand to press the heel of it into your forehead with just enough force to push your head away. “Hey!”

You give him a sheepish smile as his hand moves to rub at the teeth-shaped indents in his skin. His face is an array of emotions, although amusement and confusion ring out above them all. The only thing missing seems to be anger, or anything similar, which only makes you fall more in love, if possible.

His hand darts out to slide over your head, fingers curling around your skull to bring your head into his chest. His fingertips press into your scalp as he scrunches at the roots of your hair, chest rumbling with a laugh as you wiggle in protest. “That was mean! I’m trying to help you and you bite me!”

“You were the one slutting yourself out, this is not my fault!” Your palm presses into his abdomen, whether out of your struggle or a need to objectify him more, trying to pry out of his hold on your head. “Waving it in my face like a dog with a bone!”

Frank laughs as he finally lets you go, playfully shoving at your shoulder to get you away. “Start organizing your books, puppy. Stay far away from me until you learn how to control yourself.”

2. GAINING THE UPPER HAND

“The fact that you are a doctor and save lives every day never fails to astonish me.” You deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at your boyfriend.

It had been Frank’s idea to build a fort. Something about how his parents had never let him make one out of blankets and pillows, too afraid of the mess he’d make, and how he thought it’d be fun to eat dinner. 

You had been ecstatic. That is, until you realize that your boyfriend was completely incapable of doing anything that didn’t require too-complicated words and needles.

His brow is furrowed in slight irritation, a lot of confusion, as he stands up, kicking off a throw blanket that had snagged around his ankle. His elbow brushes against your arm as he crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursing as he stares down at the mess he made. “It’s just not staying,” he mumbles beneath his breath.

“Because you’re not anchoring down the blankets. You can’t use pillows to hold up a blanket, babe, they’re not stable enough.” Your fingers point at the decorative pillow he had placed atop the corner of the blanket, glancing up at him through the corner of your eye. “You gotta go find some heavy books or something.”

Frank’s head turns to look at you, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows. “Books? In our fort? That doesn’t sound too comfortable.” Then, he steps to the side, curling his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Well, you’re not laying on them, are you?” You tease back, tilting your head to touch your temple to his.

He huffs, breath brushing over your collarbone, before his fingertips are pressing into your ribs. “Oh, yeah? You’re the fort expert now, huh?” He locks one arm around your waist while the other continues poking and prodding, ignoring your squeals and wriggling. “A little fort architect, aren’t you?”

“Frank!” You squeak, laughing as you crouch down to attempt to slide out of his hold. “Let me go!”

Your boyfriend crouches with you until both of your knees are on the ground, his arm loosely locked around your neck now while fingertips dance on the most ticklish parts of your body. Your hands grab at his forearm, attempting to pull him off, but he simply just wrestles you onto the heap of blankets that was his attempt at a fort. 

The two of you roll on the floor together in a mess of limbs, Frank curling both of his arms around you at every chance that he could get. The blankets curl around your legs and waist as you twist and wriggle, laughing until your lungs hurt and you’re begging him to let you go.

The wrestling only ends whenever he moves to wrap his forearm around you again. Willing to try to get anything to get out of your predicament, your teeth find his skin easily, sinking in just enough to leave a bitemark.

As any grown man would, Frank squeals, removing his injured arm away from you while his other one just tightens around your waist. “What have we said about biting me?” He scolds playfully, pulling you closer to the curve of his body, until your hips are flush to his. 

“You wouldn’t let me go!” You retort, although you make no attempt to pull away from him. Instead, you roll over to face him, passing him an innocent smile.

He softens when your fingers wrap around the forearm you had bitten, your thumb brushing against the indents in his skin. Leaning down, he presses his lips to your mouth, kissing you sweetly for a brief moment before pulling away just enough to mumble. “Can we give up on the fort?”

You laugh, then shake your head. “Nope. But I will finish it for you.”

“Deal.”

3. RUIN THE MOMENT

Frank had to stay late at work. And while you didn’t mind, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your boyfriend more than probably healthy.

Rather than be dramatic about it or just sit wallowing until he somehow managed to find his way home, you decided to do something nice for Frank. He did sweet gestures for you like it was as easy as breathing, and now was the perfect time to do something for him.

In the couple hours it took him to finally get off of work, you had made the relaxation spot of his dreams. The comfiest throw blankets on the couch, greasy boxes of his favorite takeout on the coffee table, the big lights off and only a small orange lamp illuminating your cozy living room.

When Frank gets home, you’re tucked into yourself on the couch, scrolling through something on your phone aimlessly. Your head perks up like a dog at the sound of the front door opening, hanging off the back of the couch to grin at him as soon as he’s stepped through the doorframe.

“Hi, baby.” You greet him, voice quiet. The hospital was always overstimulating, therefore you always made sure to keep calm and gentle when he got home. Like a dog coming home from a shelter.

Frank drops his bag onto the ground to pick up later, hand raising to rub at his face. He shuffles over to the couch at the sound of your voice, plopping down beside you and placing a hand on your thigh to remind you that he’s present. “Hi.”

After a moment of just staring at him, you slowly move to crawl behind him, propped up between the back of the couch and his back. Your fingers find his shoulders, pressing into the tight muscles there and letting yourself smile at the soft hum of relief it draws from him.

“Exhausting day?” you murmur. Your thumbs find a particularly large knot, rubbing firm circles to try and loosen it.

He nods slowly, head dropping forward with a quiet groan. “Just a lot happening. Didn’t have a chance to sit down all shift.” His eyelashes flutter closed as he lets himself relax, sinking further into your touch.

After the knots are nonexistent, you curl your arms around his neck, leaning over his shoulder. Your lips press into the hinge of his jaw first, sweet and chaste. A rush of air leaves his mouth as he sighs, back pressing into your chest.

“I’m sorry you had a long day.” You mumble the words into his skin, pressing a kiss to the space beneath his jaw before along his carotid. You reach the juncture of where his neck meets his collarbone, the rest of his shoulder covered by his scrub top, huffing in playful petulance at the lack of skin.

Frank tilts his head to the side just a smidge, the muscle in his neck tensing at the movement. There’s a small grin dancing across his lips when you spare a glance up at him, causing you to smile against his skin. “Feelin’ better now,” he muses.

A giggle bubbles out of you, moving your arms to wrap them around his waist. Now, you’re fully curled around him from behind, palms pressing into his abdomen and lips traveling along his neck. His body’s a heavy weight pressed into your front, welcomed in the quiet serene of your dimly lit apartment.

Now, one would say that your priority was ensuring that Frank stayed calm and lax, especially with the lengths you have gone to ensure that your home was a place of relaxation. Unfortunately, you love your boyfriend to the point of wanting to consume him, and the way his neck is flexing is way too tempting.

One look up at him and a distracting slow kiss to his neck reveals that his eyes have closed, lost in a trance of your hold and the feel of your mouth against his skin.

It’s your time.

You place a few more kisses along his neck before you nip at his carotid, giggling softly at the surprised gasp that it elicits. Frank groans in mock exasperation, one hand reaching up to cup the side of your face. He turns to look at you, sleepy blue eyes narrowing at your beaming expression.

“This fuckin’ mouth is going to get you in trouble.” He grumbles tiredly, hand sliding down until his pinky hooks beneath your mandible. 

His thumb presses at the seam of your lips until you part them, sliding inside your mouth to slide against your top teeth, pushing up gently against the pointed end of your canine. Your jaw raises at the push, lips widening in a grin at the touch. Your bottom teeth move to press up against the skin of his fingertip, laughing when he finally takes his finger out of your mouth.

“Bad dog.” He playfully remarks, fingers patting against your cheek.

“Woof,” you respond.

4. CAN’T BEAT ‘EM, JOIN ‘EM

The best thing about having Frank Langdon as a boyfriend is that whatever clingy level you were at, he would match. If you chose to have your own space, he’d respect it and find something else to do somewhere else. If you wanted to cling to him like a koala, he’d ensure to have two hands back on you at all times. If you wanted a happy middle, he’d be glad to just sit with one hand on your knee while you watched television.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten all forms of boundaries today. The worst part about Frank’s off days is that he tended to get bored and understimulated without the buzz of the Pitt, and therefore he loved to bother you while you were trying to take much needed alone time.

“Honey.” The pet name drips off of his tongue in a purr as he hangs his body around the threshold of the kitchen, pretty face poking in as he grins. “You almost done with lunch?”

You look up from where you’re pushing vegetables around in a pan, eyebrow quirking. It was never very good when he started off any question with a pet name, much less said like that. “No,” you respond, drawing out the word. “What do you want?”

Frank huffs as he steps into the kitchen, almost immediately crawling into your personal space. One arm curls around your waist while he leans on your other side, peeking at the stove like a curious child. Boredom practically radiates off of him, especially with the way his finger taps against the counter.

“Nothin’. Can’t I just ask my girl a question?” He presses a brisk kiss to your cheek, arm tightening around your waist slightly. His palm flattens on your abdomen, pinky brushing the waistband of your shorts. Devilish.

You keep your spine straight, attempting to brush him off. The last thing you need is to get distracted from filling your grumbling stomach, no matter how good your boyfriend smells or how warm he feels behind you. “I know when you want something, Frank.”

His chin tucks into the crook between your neck and shoulder, a hum reverberating from his chest into your neck. “Just to be with you,” he cheekily responds. His thumb brushes along your sternum from where his fingers have splayed further.

“Frank.” You warn, although there’s no irritation in your tone. “Let me finish lunch.”

He whines like a petulant child, pulling you closer with a tighter grib on your stomach. “I’m bored,” he complains. 

You choose to ignore him, instead focusing on turning the heat down on the stove. In retaliation at being ignored, his lips find your shoulder, exposed by the thin strap of your tank top. 

A sudden pinch spreads across your shoulder as he nips at the skin covering your collarbone not once, but twice, closer to your neck on the second one. Despite the shiver that crawls up your spine at the cool feeling of his teeth against you, you manage to stay strong. 

Unfortunately, your boyfriend is stubborn and very attention-seeking.

His next bite is a bit harder, directly on your neck. He soothes the slight sting with an open-mouthed kiss just above where your skin reddens, tongue lathing as an apology. “Too hard?” He mumbles teasingly.

“Don’t be an ass.” It’s meant to be a tough remark, something to show that he isn’t affecting you as much as he thinks he is, but it comes off as more of a whine.

He continues to kiss along your neck, laughing slightly at your remark. When your head tilts and your grip tightens on the spatula in your hand, his hand moves from your abdomen to the knob on the front of the stove, turning it until he clicks. Then, he gently grabs your jaw, tilting your head to kiss your lips.

Despite the fact that he finally has your direct attention, he still nips at your bottom lip, grinning victoriously as he pulls away.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

[clarktologist]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTACHYCARDIA!

summary: your boyfriend accidentally brings home his stethoscope, so you use it to check his heartrate. pairing: frank langdon x girlfriend!reader tags: 18+, mdni, afab reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, small bit of grinding, sitting on frank's lap, mischievous seduction word count: 1.8k notes: why doctor boyfriend if not do doctor stuff to him :] please reblog if you enjoy! also, check out my masterlist!

The day is winding down. Aureate light streams in through your half-unfolded blinds, flooding your living room with natural lighting. The only other sources of lights are the numerous candles littering all flat surfaces, matching the sunset that’s dimming outside.

Evening tends to be your favorite part of the day. No more responsibilities now that your workday was over, just finishing up on the numerous things that had to be done before you were able to tuck yourself into bed and let the day wash away. Plus, that meant your boyfriend would be leaving his day shift, heading straight to your apartment to slouch into your arms and moan about how exhausting his day had been.

Bubbles pop in your sink as your hands duck into the warm water, fingers closing around the silverware floating near the bottom. You hum softly to the music floating through your house from your living room TV, fully entranced by the repetitive task of scrubbing at dishes and placing them in your drying rack. A single plate of dinner sits on the other side of your kitchen, covered in saran wrap to stay warm and clean, ready for Frank when he gets home.

You raise your head at the sound of keys outside your door, a smile already pulling at your lips. The door creaks open a moment later, revealing your boyfriend one glimpse at a time. His fingers around the door, his shoe, then his knee, slowly followed by every other part of him.

As usual, he looks ragged, weary from a long day. Multiple strands of hair droop over his forehead, tickling his eyebrows. He looks down as he kicks off of his shoes, those pieces staying stubborn as he lifts his head back up.

“Hey, baby,” he greets quietly. His voice usually tended to be softer when he came home, ears still ringing from the loud environment of the hospital, but you didn’t mind it. It fit the quiet and calm environment you tried to turn your apartment into for his arrival.

Keeping your hands in the sink, you lean back against him when his arm curls around your waist. His chin tucks into the dip between your collarbone and neck, watching as you scrub leisurely at a dish.

You tilt your head to press your temple against his head, smiling like a lovestruck fool. “How was work?” You ask, moving as slowly as possible to tuck the dish into the drying rack. One hand reaches in to pull the plug from the drain while the other reaches behind you to curl around his waist, squeezing at him playfully. “Save any lives?”

He groans, face pressing further into your skin as he rubs his cheek against your jaw like a cat. “Exhausting. Glad to be home with you.” The words are muffled as he presses his mouth to your neck, placing a chaste kiss there.

Once you’ve finished drying off your hands, you turn to face him, both hands now sliding around his waist. You press your chin into his sternum, blinking up at him. “I’m glad you’re home, too.”

As if reading your mind, he dips his head down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, shoulders lowering as he relaxes against you. After he pulls away, he bumps his nose against yours, moving to press a kiss to your cheekbone before finally untangling from you apart from one hand on your hip.

“‘m gonna shower.” Frank raises his hand to brush it through his hair, giving your skin a squeeze. “And then we can watch a movie?”

You nod, covering his hand with your own. “As long as you don’t fall asleep.”

He gives you an almost bashful smile. “No promises.” Leaning down, he presses a parting kiss to your forehead before finally disappearing out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

After he leaves, you busy yourself with more cleaning up. Once he was out of the shower, you would be too busy spending as much time with him as possible, leading to your mess piling up until you managed to find another moment of free time. You always had to find these windows of opportunities to actually focus on getting things done.

The shower is still running by the time you finish tidying your kitchen, a groan every once in a while the only sign that Frank hadn’t fallen asleep beneath the spray. You glance around to assure you’ve finished everything, focus landing on his backpack, lying abandoned next to his shoes.

Well, there was no such thing as a bad time to gain some girlfriend points.

Kneeling on the floor, you unzip the backpack slowly. Reaching in, you expect to pull out just his lunchbox, however your fingers brush against something cool and metal instead. Curiosity quickly wins out, untangling it from whatever he had shoved in there and pulling it out.

His stethoscope glimmers beneath the golden glow in your apartment. The calligraphy “L” on the bell glints at you tauntingly, as if mocking you with how expensive it is. Frank had lost his old one a few months ago, meaning that you had to listen to a few days of whining about how he had to spend seventy-five-ish dollars just to do his job.

Placing the ear tips in both ears, you press the bell to your own chest and listen to the thud of your own heart. It’s so loud in your ear that you don’t hear Frank’s sock-covered feet padding towards you, hair still wet from his shower.

“Fuck, did I bring that home?” He groans, louder now that he’s had some time to relax. Both hands go onto your hips as he stands above you. “Meant to leave it in my locker.”

You grin as you look up at him, pulling one of the tubes out so you could hear him better. “I’m not complaining. This is fun.”

Taking off the stethoscope, you hang it around your neck. One hand curls into the fabric of his sweatpants to pull yourself up off the ground, his hand curling beneath your forearm to help you up. You use that as an opportunity to grab his wrist, turning and pulling him over to the couch. “Sit, sit, sit.”

Frank watches you with a look of pure amusement as he settles back on the couch, stretching out his legs as you settle beside him. Returning the headset back onto your ears, you press the bell to his chest. “How do I know if something’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t sound like badump, badump?” He jokes.

You scrunch your nose up in playful annoyance, the hand not holding the chestpiece reaching out to poke at his chest. “Be serious, doctor,” you scold. “I’m trying to make sure you’re not dying on me.”

That pulls a laugh out of him, heartbeat thumping a bit faster in your ears. An idea sparks in your brain at how easy it was to audibly raise his heartrate, the corner of your mouth pulling up into a smirk.

“Excuse me.” You sit up on your knees before throwing a leg over his lap, situating yourself down on his thighs. Your knees press into his hips as you squirm slightly, attempting to get comfortable.

Once you’ve settled, his hands on your thigh and thumbs rubbing circles into your skin, you focus back on his heartbeat. You must seem really focused on the way it picks up, because he laughs again. “Are you having fun, baby?”

“I have a diagnosis.” You sing-song the words, glancing up at him. You squirm once more, the apex of your thighs pressing directly in the spot that makes his legs tense beneath you. “I think you have a crush on me.”

Frank’s fingers tighten from where they’ve settled at the top of your thighs, fingertips pressing pale circles into your skin, exposed from the way your shorts ride up higher. Despite the way his pulse thrums even faster in your ears, he still smiles as he watches your face. “What led you to that conclusion?”

You hum in response, giving him a look before shrugging. “Your heartrate picks up when I do this.” Bracing the hand not holding the diaphragm against his abdomen, you give a singular roll of your hips, just enough pressure to hear a sharp intake of breath through the stethoscope’s headset. His grip on you also tightens, a subtle attempt of making you stop moving.

“We call that tachycardic,” he breathes out. His pupils have slowly grown in size, usurping the baby blue you’ve loved since the first time you looked into them. “Heartrate faster than normal resting rates.”

A smirk blooms on your lips, sitting a bit higher on his lap. The bell falls a bit lower, unable to hear his heartbeat and only slightly able to hear his breathing now, but you’re more focused on how he looks like this. Hair unruly as it airdries, pupils blown as he watches you, lips parted to breathe out all of his heavy exhales.

As much as he tried not to be, Frank was always easy to read. In the way he shoved his hands into his pockets when faced with a situation where he needed to think harder, or how he propped his arm up on the back of the couch whenever he wanted you to tuck yourself into his side. Maybe it was the fact that your eyes never strayed far from him when he was in your space, but it was pretty easy to tell what he wanted at all times.

And right now? His eyes are only on you.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, body rolling to drag along his again. Finally, he pushes back on your hips, grunting as he attempts to push you away.

“I have a diagnosis of my own for you,” he murmurs into the quiet bubble surrounding the both of you. His spine straightens off of the back of the couch, breath brushing against your lips.

Fingertips trace a spark up your spine before his hand curls around the back of your neck, applying pressure to the sensitive spots beneath your ears. “You have ulterior motives.”

A grin blossoms on your lips, head leaning back into his touch. A challenge of your own. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Frank gives you a hum of mock acknowledgement, eyes flickering down your body, gaze molten at the sight of you perched in his lap. When he glances up at you, he’s wearing a matching smile. His fingers move from the back of your neck to the back of your head, pulling you down. “C’mere and kiss me, baby.” He mumbles in the limited space between your mouths.

You let a giggle slip out right before you finally press your lips to his, the sound muffled by the kiss. His hand stays in your hair the entire time, manuevering your head to kiss you deeper, until your lungs are sparse of oxygen and your lips are kiss-bitten and rosy.

When he finally pulls away, he grins against your lips. “I’m assuming no movie tonight?”

“Amazing deduction, doctor.”

[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."

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

"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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

[keirasficrecs]

frank langdon fic recs

shared walls - jadeittic

kiss it better - redd-blushing-roses

suck it up buttercup - redd-blushing-roses

my sweetest girl - pittsick

captain cocky and the sweet talker - inlovewithquestionablecharacters

damsel in distress - mongoosemagazine

the hospital gossip mill - writtendaydreamm

I didn't know - thefictionalmanswhxre

blind - shadeofpeach

4 am - shadeofpeach

apple pie - liaissante

what are you, a lawyer or something? - imagines-all-day-everyday

dreams from bunker hill - mariasont

handle with care - mariasont

migraine - shadeofpeach

special treatment - deerfawnn

sugar lows - shadeofpeach

just meant to be - redd-blushing-roses

tachycardia - clarktologist

two hands [and a bit of teeth] - clarktologis

untitled - atlas-of-a-human-soul

hands on approach - metal-armed-muse

might drop dead - nostarfights

diet coke - whatif-ialreadydid

[keirasficrecs]

ryland grace fic recs

mayday. - bibigo-lover

drabble - s4turn3st

drabble - rottensec

blurb about your hair - doctor-ryland-grace

strangers, again - stargirl-meltdown

armando is watching - doctor-ryland-grace

i've lost you before, haven't I? - stargirl-meltdown

rude awakening - rockyhatemark

ryland watches you sleep - doctor-ryland-grace

[shadeofpeach]

Sugar Lows

Pairing: Frank Langdon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: medical emergency, severe hypoglycemia, seizures/convulsions, mention of medical equipment/IVs, hospital setting, angst.

Summary: Frank and you have an agreement: he monitors your glucose levels while he’s on shift at the hospital. It’s a quiet act of protection but when a late-night alarm turns into a silent phone call, Frank has to race against time to save the person he loves most. A/N: this is my first The Pitt writting 🥹 Feel free to send requests!!

You’d always prided yourself on your independence and the last thing you wanted was to feel like a patient in your own relationship. Frank knew that when you slipped into deep sleep, your metabolism had a habit of betraying you, pulling your levels down into dangerous lows. So, for him, having the glucose monitor app was about being your safety net when you were too far gone in dreams to hear the alarms yourself and he was in the middle of his daily chaotic hospital shift.

He was in the middle of a chart review when his phone vibrated sharply against the metal surface of the nurse’s station with a particular alarm. A notification from your glucose monitor app.

[LOW: 65 mg/dL]

He checked the time. You had been asleep for hours. He felt that familiar tug of protective instinct, hoping to see the line level off later. But fifteen minutes later, it buzzed again.

[LOW: 52 mg/dL]

His heart did a stutter-step. He quickly texted you: “Hey, baby, seeing some low numbers. Drink some juice and update me?”

Twenty minutes passed.

No reply.

[LOW: 39 mg/dL]

His blood ran cold. He didn’t think—he moved. His hand snatched up the phone, dialing your number while he was already halfway to the locker room, his eyes scanning for the keys of your shared apartment.

The phone rang three times before you picked up.

"Sweetheart," he said, his voice tight, trying to keep the terror out of it so he wouldn’t panic you. "I need you to wake up. Get up and get some sugar in you. Right now."

There was a rustle of blankets, like the sound of someone deeply sedated.

"Mhm..." you hummed, the sound dragging and soft, devoid of any real consciousness.

"Love, listen to my voice," he urged, his voice cracking slightly as he signaled for a charge nurse. "Try to say my name."

"Mhm... ye-n..." you slurred, your voice bubbling and incoherent. It was the sound of a brain starved of fuel and it made Frank’s stomach churn.

"You have to force yourself to sit up. Do you hear me? Where is the juice? Are you still in bed?" He didn't wait for permission or protocol; he was already moving.

The lack of coherent words was the final sign. He didn't wait for a third "mhm." He knew that sound—it was the precursor to a total shutdown. "This is Dr. Langdon," he barked into his radio, already shucking his white coat as he sprinted toward the ER bay. "I have a high-priority diabetic emergency. Unresponsive female, neuro-symptom, unresponsive to verbal commands. Send an ambulance to my address now. I’m going in with them."

The air suddenly felt thin. He called your name—once, twice and the only answer he got was your low breathing. Panic began to radiate through his chest He knew that you were slipping into a neuroglycopenic crisis.

The ride in the back of the ambulance was the longest ten minutes of his life. He sat on the bench, jaw clenched. Frank didn't remember the traffic lights; he only remembered the terrifying sound of your low breaths over the still-open phone line.

When they burst through your bedroom door, the sight nearly leveled him. You were tangled in the sheets and sweaty, your body beginning to jerk in rhythmic spasm of a seizure.

"I've got you, we're here," Frank gasped, dropping to the mattress. He moved with practiced, frantic efficiency, protecting your head as the paramedics moved in with the glucagon and IV starts.

His hands were trembling as he protected you from falling or hurting yorself. He knew the protocol, he knew the science side but the sight of you so vulnerable, made his world tilt.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, his thumb brushing your forehead as the paramedics surged through the door behind him. "Come on, baby."

-

The ER was a blur of activity—voices shouting, monitors beeping in harmony, the cold bite of an IV needle. Frank remained in the corner of the trauma bay, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes never leaving your unconscious face.

Robby looked over at him.

"She’s responding to the D50, Frank. She’s stabilizing. We are going to run a MRI just in case."

Frank sat on the edge of your bed, the adrenaline finally fading and leaving him feeling hollowed out. He was still wearing his scrubs, his hair a mess from where he’d been running his hands through it.

When your eyes finally flickered open, heavy and unfocused, he let out a shaky breath. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice a broken whisper.

"Welcome back," he whispered, his thumb trembling as he brushed it against the back of your hand. He looked exhausted, the skin beneath his eyes dark and strained.. "You scared me to death, sweetheart."

"Hi..." You whispered with a raspy voice. Trying to figured out why were you on a trauma bay. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "My head hurts."

"It's normal, you're okay now," he whispered, his voice thick with relief. "They had you on D50 for a while, your monitor marked a dangerous 25." You frowned and let out a shaky breath.

"We are waiting for a MRI so we can control there's no brain damage, you were seizuring when we arrived." You looked at him and his eyes were glassy and tired but filled with that same protective warmth that had made you trust him in the first place.

"I-I’m sorry." you whispered as the memories of the fog and the flashing lights began to piece together, tears pricked your eyes. You hated feeling a burden and the thought of him having to take care of you in a situation like this, somehow frustrated you.

"Don't you ever apologize for this, baby. I've got you. Always."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.

the pitt masterlist

[deerfawnn]

Hello! I saw that you write for langdon!! If you're taking requests could I ask for one where his partner comes to the ER, because of a burn or cut or something and she's not told him she's there so she waits until she's called cause she doesn't want special treatment and he's just concerned and wants to take care of her, pls ignore if you're not taking requests!! Love your work 💛

special treatment

pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, blood, stitching, i am no doctor so i apologize for any mistakes :) a/n: thank you so much for your request, i hope you like it, lovely :) my inbox is always open for langdon requests btw <3

You push the toe of your sneaker against the floor, back and forth, back and forth, watching the rubber squeak against the scuffed linoleum. It gives you something to do besides think about the hot throb in your hand, or the way your whole arm aches right up to the elbow.

The man next to you groans again, shifting in his chair. You try not to look at him. Try not to think about how you’ve been both just sitting here for hours.

You’re so tired. The kind of tired that makes your eyes sting and your thoughts go slow and syrupy. And the pain is worse now than when it happened.

You lift the edge of the bandage with your good hand, just a peek, and immediately wish you hadn’t. The gash is red, very red, maybe even too red. You drop the bandage quick, swallowing hard.

You shift in the hard plastic chair, trying to find an angle that doesn’t pull at the wound. But every tiny movement hurts and you can’t help the hiss that escapes through your teeth. You curl your hand against your stomach, hold it still, try to breathe through it.

All this because you wanted orange juice.

It’s almost funny in a stupid way. You’d been tired then too, stumbling around your kitchen at 8am, fumbling with the carton. The glass slipped right through your fingers. And when you bent down to pick up the pieces, because you’re not the kind of person who leaves broken glass on the floor, your palm found the sharpest piece of glass there was on the floor.

You could’ve gone anywhere. The urgent care across town, the little clinic near your apartment. But your boyfriend works here. And even though you know he’d want you to come find him, even though you know Dr. Robby would probably wave you straight back if Langdon just asked, you couldn’t do that.

Special treatment. You hate the thought of it. Hate the idea of people looking at you and whispering, oh, that’s his girlfriend, that’s why she got seen so fast. So instead you’ve been sitting here for two hours, watching the clock above the admissions desk tick so slow you’d think it was broken, watching the same people walk past with clipboards and coffee cups.

You know how bad the wait times are here. You’ve heard Langdon complain about it plenty. You know. And still, you sat down and waited. Your eyelids are heavy. You catch yourself nodding forward and jerk awake. The man next to you groans again. The fluorescent lights buzz.

But then you suddenly hear your name being called.

You blink, disoriented, like you’d been deeper in sleep than you realized. Relief washes through you as you clutch your makeshift bandage and push yourself to your feet.

The man next to you doesn’t look up. You give him a small smile anyway. Sorry for cutting in line and I hope you get seen soon.

When you reach the desk, Lupe is watching you from behind her glass. Her eyebrows are already up, perched high on her forehead. She knows you, seen you loitering near the exit waiting for Langdon to finish his shift.

“How long have you been waiting, honey?” Her eyes swept over your tired face, the clumsy bandage, the way you’re holding your arm so carefully.

“Not long.” You smile. It feels thin on your face.

Lupe gives you a look. She knows you’re lying. You can see it in the slight downturn of her mouth, the way her gaze flicks to the clock and then back to you. But she just looks down at her papers, shuffling them into neat alignment.

You hesitate, you're not sure if Langdon's working triage today, but still you'd prefer to be treated by any other doctor than him, not wanting to concern him. And you hear yourself speak before you can stop.

“Uh, could I—” You cut yourself off, but Lupe is already looking at you, waiting. Your face warms. “Never mind. It’s fine.”

“Dr. McKay will take care of you.” She nods at you as if knowing what you were going to ask.

You exhale. “Thank you.”

When you turn, Dr. McKay is already there, standing in the doorway of the treatment area with a warm smile. She lifts her hand in a small wave and you smile back, and it feels a little less thin this time.

Cassie was always kind to you. So when she smiles at you now, it's like a small weight lifts off your chest. Her hand finds the space between your shoulder blades, guiding you away from the noisy waiting room and down the hallway.

The treatment room is small and quiet. So quiet. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Loud, isn't it?" Cassie says, already pulling on gloves, smiling at you.

You nod, sinking onto the edge of the exam bed. The paper crinkles beneath you. "So loud."

She settles onto the rolling stool across from you, knees bumping gently against yours as she scoots in. She holds her hand out, palm up, and you place your injured one in it.

"Now," she says, tilting her head, "what happened to you?"

You open your mouth to answer, but then her fingers are very gently turning your hand over, resting it on your thigh so she can get a better look. The shift in angle pulls at the wound and you can't help the hiss that escapes.

Her eyes flick up to yours, apologetic. "Sorry, sorry." She lifts the edge of your sad little bandage, peeling back the tape bit by bit. When she sees what's underneath, she sucks air through her teeth. "Oh, ouch."

You grimace. "Yeah. It's—"

The door opens.

"—worse than it looks, actually," Cassie finishes for you, not looking up, because she's still peering at your palm.

"Hey, McKay, there's a—" Frank stops talking.

You watch his face cycle through about four different expressions in two seconds. Confusion first, eyebrows drawing together like he's walked into the wrong room. Then recognition. Then his eyes drop to your hand, cradled in Cassie's gloved fingers and the blood. Then it settles into something deliberately neutral.

Cassie's head has turned. She's looking between the two of you, her "oops" face already in place, clearly realizing Langdon did not know you were here.

"Crap," you mutter.

Frank is still holding the door open. He's not moving. Not coming closer, not stepping out. Just standing there, one hand on the frame and his gaze hasn't left your hand.

For a beat, nobody speaks.

Then Cassie clears her throat. "I should, um." She's already peeling off her gloves, already scooting her stool back. "I'll go check on that thing. The thing I was going to check on. Before I came here." She's standing now, edging toward the door.

Frank doesn't move to let her out. Doesn't seem to register her at all.

"Sorry," Cassie murmurs to you, and there's genuine apology in her voice beneath the sly curve of her mouth. She shoots Frank a look on her way past go easy on her and slips through the narrow gap between him and the doorframe.

The door clicks shut. And then it's just you and Frank.

For a moment he just stands there, hand still on the handle, looking at you. Then he takes Cassie's abandoned stool, rolls it close. His knees bracket yours. His fingers find your wrist gently, turning your hand over, tilting it toward the light. You watch his face as he studies your palm.

"What happened?" His voice is quiet. He lifts his gaze to yours and something in his expression softens like it always does when he sees you.

And when you meet his blue eyes, you suddenly realize how much you'd missed him.

You'd seen him three hours ago but still. You'd only gotten a glimpse of him in the early grey light. His early shifts eat up the best hours of the day, swallow him whole before the sun's even thought about rising. In the beginning you used to fight it. Set your own alarm, drag yourself upright, shuffle to the door to kiss him goodbye.

But after a while your body stopped cooperating. The alarm would go off and you'd burrow deeper into the blankets instead, surfacing just enough to feel the mattress shift as he stood up.

So, he started waking up ten minutes earlier just so you could have those ten minutes together. You'd lie there in the dark, your head on his sternum, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear. Talking sleepily about what you should eat tonight, if he was getting home early, what plans you had for his day off.

He'd, then, kiss your temple, untangle himself. You'd hear him in the bathroom and you'd drift. But you always woke again when the mattress dipped. He'd come back to the bedside, dressed, and face-plant into the curve of your neck. His breath warm against your skin, his body heavy. You'd lift your hand, stroke the back of his head, careful not to mess the hair he'd just spent five minutes gelling. Go to work, you'd murmur. And he'd groan, press one more kiss to your temple, and finally go.

Three hours ago he did all of that. Three hours ago his mouth was against your skin and his hand was in yours and now here you are, sitting on an exam bed in his hospital, bleeding into your lap.

You miss him. It's stupid, he's right here, his fingers circling your wrist, his knee warm against yours, but you miss him. The feeling sits heavy in your chest.

You sigh, and it comes out shaky. "Dropped orange juice," you mumble. "Tried to pick it up."

Your free hand lifts and your fingers find his hair, the strand that's come loose and you tuck it back. It's softer than the gelled parts. You let your hand linger.

Frank stares at you for a beat too long, his thumb still resting against the inside of your wrist. Then his gaze drops back to your hand.

"Does it hurt much?" His voice is like he's asking any patient, like he hasn't spent countless mornings with his face buried in your neck.

"No, it's not that—ouch, what the hell, Frank?"

You practically yelp, snatching your hand back on instinct. He'd pressed right at the edge of the wound.

His jaw is set, but there's something flickering at the corner of his mouth. "That's for lying."

"You—" You glare at him, fully aware that you look more pained than intimidating. "I wasn't lying, I said it's not that bad—"

His touch gentles immediately, fingers careful now as he turns your hand back over. He didn't mean to actually hurt you, you can see it in the way his brow pinches, the way his hold softens. But he's not apologizing, either. You keep glaring for another moment, then sigh, the fight draining out of you.

"Fine," you mutter. "Work your magic or whatever."

He releases your wrist long enough to stand, crossing to the supply cabinet. Your sad little bandage goes in the bin. He gathers what he needs and arranges them on the tray beside you.

"Why'd you wait?" He doesn't look at you when he asks.

You shrug with one shoulder. "Didn't want special treatment."

Frank's head turns. He gives you a look. The one that says are you serious?

"You were bleeding for two hours." His voice is quiet. He's making an effort to stay calm. "That could easily count as an emergency. 'Special treatment' doesn't matter."

He's mad. You appreciate the effort he's making to stay gentle. You also know you upset him, deeper than either of you are saying.

"I wasn't bleeding for two hours, Frank." You can hear how petulant you sound. You don't care. He looks up from the tray. "I had a bandage on!" You can feel your lower lip pushing out. Actually pouting, like a child, and you can't seem to stop. "A perfectly functional bandage."

"A bad one."

"You barely saw it. Cassie already took it off when you came in."

"I know you well enough to know it was bad."

That shuts you up and you look away. He pulls on fresh gloves and the sound of the latex snapping against his wrists is loud in the small room. He takes your hand again carefully, and positions the tray closer.

"Ready?" His voice is softer now.

You nod. The saline stings as it runs over the wound, and you hiss through your teeth. You can't see what he's doing, your view is blocked by his head, but you can feel it. Your eyes start to sting.

"Almost got it," he murmurs, not looking up. You don't answer. Your throat is tight. "Grip my arm."

He doesn't need to tell you twice. Your free hand finds his bicep, fingers digging into the fabric of his scrubs.

When he's done stitching, he snips the thread, discards needles, bloody gauze all vanishes into the red bin. His gloves come off with a loud snap, and then he's just standing there in front of you, hands empty, looking down at his work.

It's neat. You can see that much. Six tiny sutures, precise and even. He's good at this. "You okay?"

You shake your head. "No."

He exhales slowly, and then his arms are opening, just slightly. You fall into him. Your knees part wider and he steps into the space between, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through his scrubs. Your one good hand grips the back of his shirt. The other lies bandaged and useless against his chest. He wraps his arms around you properly, one hand spanning your shoulder blades, the other settling at your waist. You press your face into the curve of his neck and close your eyes.

"I didn't mean to upset you." Your voice is muffled against his skin.

His hand moves in slow circles on your back. "You didn't."

"I did." You pull back just enough to look at him. "You're upset. I can tell."

He doesn't deny it. His jaw shifts, that tell he can never quite hide. His hands come up to frame your face, thumbs brushing the curve of your cheekbones. He looks at you for a long moment.

"You know I worked my ass off to become a doctor." His voice is quiet. "The special treatment should be used."

You sigh, and it's mostly fond. "Come on, Frank. It's not fair to other people."

He opens his mouth, but you keep going.

"I saw a teenage boy in the waiting room. His ankle was the most purple color I've ever seen in my life. Like, eggplant purple." You shake your head slightly, his hands moving with you. "How is it fair that I just skip past him because my boyfriend works here?"

Frank's jaw does that thing again. He fixes a strand of hair behind your ear, tucks it gently, his fingers lingering. He doesn't say anything, but you can see him turning it over, weighing your words against his own stubborn concern.

"My point stands," he finally says softly. "Next time you come here immediately. Got it?"

You don't reply. He gives you a look and you give him a look right back. He makes a mental note. You can practically see him filing it away under Conversations To Have At Home, right next to Why She Doesn't Eat Enough At Work and The Thing About Leaving Wet Towels On The Floor.

But for now, he lets it go.

His hands are still framing your face and he smooths your hair again, tucking another stray piece behind your ear. His fingers trail down, adjusting the collar of your shirt, straightening it.

"When you get home," he says, his voice settling into doctor mode, "keep the bandage dry for twenty-four hours. After that, you can shower normally, just don't soak it." You nod. "The sutures need to stay clean. Watch for redness, swelling, any drainage." His thumb brushes your jaw. "If it starts looking angry, you come back. No waiting."

"I won't wait."

He pauses. Looks at you. "No waiting."

"...I won't wait."

He doesn't look convinced. But his hands drop to your shoulders, squeeze once, and then he's reaching for the aftercare sheet on the counter, scanning it. His other hand finds yours, holds it carefully, the uninjured one.

"Elevate it when you sleep," he murmurs, still reading. "Pillow under your arm. And take the ibuprofen before the lidocaine wears off, not after."

"Frank." He looks up. "I'll be fine."

After a while, your head drops against his chest, right over his heart. Your fingers find the edge of your new bandage, toying with the tape, pressing gently to see if it still hurts. It does, but less now. Clean and closed and taken care of.

"How's work going, by the way?" You tilt your head up to look at him, chin pressing against his chest. Your smile feels easier now, the tension finally bleeding out of your shoulders.

Frank glances down at you, and the corner of his mouth ticks up. "Oh, you know. Much better ever since my girlfriend showed up with a bloody hand."

You poke his chest with your good hand. "Very funny."

"Not trying to be funny." His voice is dry, but his eyes are warm. "Really brightened my shift. Nothing like a little relationship crisis to break up the monotony."

"Relationship crisis." You snort. "Is that what this is?"

He considers it. "Minor relationship crisis then." His thumb finds the back of your head, threading through your hair. You shove at his chest, but you're smiling now, and so is he.

The silence stretches again and his hand keeps moving in your hair. Slow strokes from your scalp to the ends, over and over.

To be honest, Frank is quite happy to have you here. Happier than he expected. He's missed you. More than he guessed.

Usually it doesn't hit him until later. Until he's finally walking through the front door after twelve hours. Until he sees you on the couch in your pajamas, some show paused on the screen, your face lighting up when you notice him. You always jump up, always wrap your arms around him like it's been weeks instead of just a day. And he holds on too long, probably, his face pressed into your hair, his arms locked around your waist. He gets clingy after long shifts. Terribly clingy. You tease him about it sometimes, but you never pull away.

That's when it usually hits him. How long the hours really are. How much of the day he spends without you.

But now you're here. Right here, in his hospital, with your head on his chest and your breath warm through his scrub top. And all he can think is that this shift, this shift that was already shaping up to be chaotic, already had him running from room to room, is about to become the longest shift of his life. Because now he'll get to wonder if your hand hurts. Wonder if you're eating enough. Wonder if you'll still be awake when he finally gets home.

He sighs and keeps brushing through your hair. His fingers catch on a small tangle and work through it carefully.

"Do you think it'll be a long day today?" Your voice comes out smaller than you meant it to. It's your day off, the whole empty apartment waiting for you, the whole afternoon stretching ahead. You'd been hoping, maybe, for something else.

He's quiet for a moment. His fingers still in your hair. "No," he says. "I don't think so."Something loosens in your chest. "I'll get dinner on the way home, okay?" He says it casual, like of course he'll be home at a reasonable hour, of course you'll eat together. "And please don't touch any more dishes today." He pauses. "Or anything made of glass, actually. Just to be safe."

He's grinning now, that particular slant of his mouth that means he's very pleased with his own joke. You shoot him a look. It doesn't land.

"Fine," you sigh. "But you're doing dishes for a week."

"I'll clear my schedule."

You shake your head, but you're fighting a smile. His thumb is drawing slow circles on your scalp now, and you could honestly fall asleep like this, right here, with your head on his chest and his heartbeat under your ear.

But you shouldn't. He has patients. He has work. You're taking up his time, his attention, his hands that should be on someone who actually needs a doctor—

"I should let you get back to work." You start to pull away, shifting your weight off the bed.

"Uh uh." His hand on your shoulder, easing you back down. "Nope."

You blink at him. "Frank—"

"We're going to the cafeteria." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. His palm is already open, waiting for yours. "We're making you eat something so you don't get dizzy from blood loss. Then I'm calling you a cab. Got it?"

You open your mouth and close it. He's watching you with that particular expression, the one that says I'm not asking. You've learned your boyfriend's antics well enough by now. A year of him looking at you exactly like this until you sigh and give in.

And you sigh and give in.

Once you had more than enough food in you, it was time to go back home. At the entrance of the hospital, Frank hesitates, his hand hovering over his phone. He has been thinking about driving you home himself, about having a few more moments together before the long hours of his shift swallows him again, but he knows you’d argue with him if he tried. With a reluctant sigh, he taps the cab app and summons a car. Leaning back against the wall, he gestures for you to stay close, and you do, yawning and pressing lightly against him as you fiddle with your bandage.

“Careful with that,” he mutters for the third time, snatching your hand gently from your bandage. You sigh and he just shakes his head, brushing the hair out of your face instead, letting his hand linger there as you waited.

Frank exhales slowly, feeling the warmth of your body next to his. It was the kind of warmth that made him painfully aware he wouldn’t see you for another seven hours.

You look up at him and smile softly. “Thanks for taking care of me, by the way.”

“No need to thank me,” Frank smiles softly, brushing his thumb lightly over your cheek. “Next time, you visit me without a bloody hand, yeah?”

“Will do,” you murmur, smiling back. You glance down at the street just as the cab pulls up, then back at him. “Take care of yourself, okay?” you say softly. “I’ll see you at home.”

Frank nods, reaching out to cup your hand gently, inspecting the wrapping one last time. “I’ll try to be home as soon as I can. Be careful, please,” he murmurs.

Instinctively, you lean in to kiss him, your good hand sliding up toward the back of his neck. Out of habit, you try to tug him down to you, the way you always do, but you forget about your other hand. The bandaged one presses a little too firmly against the side of his neck as you reach, and a small groan escapes before you could stop it.

Frank reacts instantly. “Hey—” His hands are already gently lifting your injured hand away from him. His brows pull together, concern flashing across his face as he cradles your wrist carefully. “Easy.”

He turns your hand over in his, brushing his thumb lightly across the inside of your palm. “Let me do the work, yeah?” he murmurs softly.

This time, he steps closer instead of letting you strain toward him. One hand slides to your jaw,the other still loosely holding your wrist so you wouldn’t forget and reach again. He leans down slowly and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. His mouth moves softly against yours and for a second you forget about the throbbing in your hand, forgot about the shift waiting to swallow him whole.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead brushes yours, his nose grazing lightly against your cheek. “See?” he murmurs quietly. “Much safer.” You huff out a quiet laugh.

He studies your face for another second, before finally straightening just enough to look at you properly. A teasing glint returns to his eyes.“No dishes tonight, yeah?” he says, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “No cleaning. No heroic attempts at doing anything one-handed.”

You roll your eyes at him, though your smile gives you away. “Yes, doctor.”

He shakes his head lightly, thumb brushing once more over the inside of your wrist before finally letting you go — reluctantly.