Summary: During a long needed vacation you and your boyfriend go on a hike.
Content: fluff, established relationship, talk about serial killers, referring to him as Frank🤡 (idk I'm not good at these
A/N: yall idk im so bad at dialogue🤦♀️I based part of it on a convo me and my bsf had while hiking a couple months ago. Also I have had no motivation recently so this is terrible.
WC: 1.1k
It's a rare occasion that you guys got off. It's an even rarer occasion that it's together. Sometimes you and Frank would get a day or two off in the middle of the month or sporadically here and there but there wasn't a pattern to it. After numerous other staff nagged you guys for “working too much” and “needing an actual break” because nine times out of ten one of you ended up going in anyway for some emergency. After months of planning and negotiating, you guys got two weeks off to go out west and visit a couple national parks for hiking and other outdoor activities.
Hiking is your favorite couples activity. After all, it's how you met. About four years ago you found a hiking group that was doing a trail you've been longing to do in Acadia national park. It was the perfect opportunity to get outside, get a break, and meet some new people. Everyone in the group was very different, but that was the beauty of it, different people from all over being u tied under one common interest. One person in particular caught your interest. He was walking alone in a small gap the group had formed when people started talking, but he looked like he didn't mind. So, you being you, went up to him and started a conversation. You guys had talked the whole time about anything and everything, eventually finding out you both lived in Pittsburgh. After the new found numbers were exchanged, dates were had, and then he asked you to be his.
That leads to now, on one of the numerous trails Yosemite had to offer. The crunch of leaves and gravel filled the warm September air. It was a warm morning with a slight breeze that would make the long hike comfortable. It was a total of 5 miles to a beautiful opening looking over Yosemite valley.
“This was such a great idea.” Frank stated while closing his eyes for a moment while taking a deep breath.
“I know. It's wonderful being able to reconnect with nature and disconnect from everything else. This is exactly where I want to be.” You added stopping for a moment to reach for his hand to give it a squeeze.
“I'm always where I need to be as long as I'm with you.”
“Well aren't you just adorable.” You said attempting to mimic a southern accent. Key word attempt. It just made him laugh, but boy was that music to your ears.
The clearing was big and scattered with Little Rock's and fallen logs. You plopped down on one while taking the backpack off to reach the water. To get an optimal viewing experience, guys decided to start the hike in the late morning. Frank estimated it would take close to three or four hours depending on how steep it was and how often you stopped. It had been close to two hours which meant the top had to be nearing soon. Thank. God.
“Sitting has never felt so good” you groaned while sipping some of the water.
“I bet but don't get too comfortable, we're almost there!”
“Yeah but how far is almost? I once asked someone on a hike in Montana how far it was and dude said 'you're almost there’ but it was actually another three miles.”
Frank couldn't help but laugh into hysterics at the short story, “that has got to be the greatest thing I've ever heard.”
You rolled your eyes at him before putting your hands on your knees and pushing off the log to come to a stand.
“Let's get rolling!” You cheered before skipping off to continue the trail while a comfortable silence fell upon you. But it didn't last long. It never does.
“You know…” you started taking a peek at him, “I can't stand the girls that idolize serial killers and stuff.”
“Uh would you like to elaborate on that?” Frank asked with a raised eyebrows
“Yeah well I see all over TikTok and Instagram that these girls idolize these serial killers like Ted Bundy and what not and they're like 'he's so hot I'd totally date him’ and 'I'm exactly his type’ but it's just like girl no he wouldn't love you he'd kill you.”
“Yeah that's really weird. Those types of people don't know love. They're psychopathic killers that don't only find joy in taking the lives of others.”
“They need therapy.” You shake your head while simultaneously watching your feet to make sure not to trip over any of the roots or rocks.
After some time just as you picked up your head to see how much further, as you have done twice in the last 15 minutes, only to spot a worn out wooden sign that read “Dewey point” with an arrow pointing up to indicate it was straight ahead. Your walk faltered for a second to make sure you followed the right pathway before it turned into a slight jog to reach it faster.
“We made it!” You yelled out into the rocky valley below followed by a soon to throw yourself into franks arms.
“Well worth the walk if it meant I got two wonderful views.” He smiled. His arms wrapped around your waist for a quick moment before he turned you around so you could look out at the view.
“It's beautiful,” you added in awe.
“Just like someone I know.” He whispered in your ear followed by a kiss to your cheek.
“You're so corny” you looked up at him. He looked back down at you again flashing the smile you fell in love with all those years ago. His lips came down to meet yours in a passionate kiss to celebrate the moment. It was short and sweet and filled with love, it made the moment with him even better. After a few short moments he pulled away and your head rose back to look at the valley below.
“I think we should quit our jobs, sell the apartment and move here.”
“Like we could ever do that. We both know we won't quit till we're forced into retirement.” You laughed at him.
“Well then we'll move here after we retire”
“That's if you can put up with me for so long.”
“You are very high maintenance” he giggles again.
You let out a loud gasp and step away from his embrace with a shocked expression and a hand over your chest, “how dare you!”
“Oh come on love, we both know it's true.” This earned him a smack to the arm while he giggled at your antics.
“Yeah yeah whatever. Now come sit with me, I'm hungry.” You let out with a groan.
pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader
the pitt masterlist | jamie's y(2k)sleepover (open event)
wc: 2k
summary: after hours at the pool
contains: making outttt, criminal activity, divorced!dad!frank
a/n: from this request - thank u, I’m so proud of this one!! be sure to get your requests in for my 2k celebration <3 | dividers from @strangergraphics
The sun has set, the city skyline blinking around where you stand in the center of Frank's apartment complex, making googly eyes at the pool.
The water glistens and dances in the light of the two lampposts bookending either side of the fence. The lounge chairs —the quantity of which you can count on your fingers— lay scattered across the cracked concrete in varying states of disrepair.
It's not much, but it's clean, and the record-breaking July heat means this shoddy pool is an oasis.
“Closes at 11,” Frank murmurs, reading off the sign posted on the gate, locked by a number pad with a code supplied to residents. Pouting, he kicks a rock, sending it rolling under the bottom gap of the fence.
Any other day, you might be worried about the chemicals —or lack thereof— in the water. You might fluster over the possibility of a property manager reneging on Frank’s lease or a neighbor snitching on you for trespassing.
It’s too goddamn hot to care about any of that.
You square up to the steel-barred fence, about seven feet tall, nibbling on your tongue in concentration. This whole week, even after sundown, you’ve existed in a perpetual, thin sheen of sweat. A bubble of perspiration.
The still, blue water mocks you.
Probably isn’t even that cold, you reason, having sat in direct sunlight all day. Trying to convince yourself you don't need it. Even if you were thinking about cool water splashing over your skin all day.
“Let’s just go inside,” Frank sighs behind you. “I’ll blast the AC, we can stand in front of the freezer and not touch each other. Like a normal, loving couple.”
You barely hear him, too focused on the siren call of the water. It would be such a relief, even if it’s only ten degrees cooler than the air.
“Baby?” Frank asks.
You launch your towels over the fence. “Give me a boost, Frankie.”
His bewildered reply: "What?"
You whip around to see his head cocked to the side, an adorably confused German shepherd.
No, a golden retriever.
"Give me a boost," you insist, jerking your chin in the general direction of the pool.
"Are you serious?"
"No, I just threw our towels over for fun," you mock him, too miserable in your own skin to pretend you're playing instead of straight-up being mean. "Yes, I'm serious!"
"We might get it trouble," Frank protests, much to your surprise.
"No doy, dummy," your voice ventures further into annoyance territory. "Come on, it's too hot to play by the rules."
"God, you were the kid pressuring everyone to drink at parties in high school, weren't you?" He asks, crouching and beckoning you forward.
As you clamber into his grip, you grumble. "That would require me to have been invited to parties in high school."
Frank punches your weight up, giving you enough momentum to vault over the fence.
Your ankles scream when your flip flops smack against the concrete, but you're otherwise unharmed. You beckon Frank towards the metal bars.
He doesn't move.
"Come on, Frankie," you coo, giving your best impression of Marilyn Monroe. The air around the water is humid, but inviting.
You tug on the strap of your swimsuit cover-up —a dress made of towel material. "Don't you wanna see me in my swimsuit?"
"Got a pretty good view when your legs flew over my head, Tinkerbell."
Your doe eyes tighten to daggers. "Pervert."
Frank snorts and grabs a fistful of the materal through the gap in the fence. "Tease."
You smack his hand away.
"Come on," you step out of his reach. "I don't want to break the law by myself."
"But you look so cute in orange."
"Frank!" You whine now, going so far as to stomp your foot.
"Ok, ok. Jesus," he holds his hands like you've got him at gunpoint, then glances around.
Frank finds a concrete block by the gate, and uses the extra six or so inches to white-knuckle the top of the fence. He grunts as he swings himself over and lands in a shaky squat. The chlorine instantly infiltrates his nostrils.
You stand with all the patience of a feral cat, your hip jutted out at an angle. Lips pressed tightly together.
The urge to kiss that disgruntled look off your face is all-consuming, but Frank has learned from experience that it's far too warm for you to appreciate —nay, tolerate— any physical displays of affection.
The heat wave this past week has been hell for many reasons, but the worst of all is how touch-starved Frank has been.
On a typical day, his hands find your body through countless excuses. At work, he often 'needs to slide past' you, strong palms finding your shoulders in a firm squeeze.
From the moment you leave the hospital, he's a stage-five clinger. Holding hands. Finding any reason to cup your cheek, scratch your back, tug at the hem of your shirt. Whether you like it or not is irrelevant. You put up with it as a comfort to him, and he's grateful for the grounding the skin-on-skin contact provides on a daily basis.
You've never complained. Until this week.
And Frank agrees, it's too hot to be swapping oxygen back and forth for any length of time, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. Deeply.
To the point where glancing up your little towel-dress-thingy was enough to send him into orbit.
And now, as you tug the dress over your head, the water casting a soft, yellow-blue glow over your sweat-polished skin, Frank's breath catches in his throat.
Your swimsuit's nothing to write home about, objectively speaking —just a white one-piece decorated in little pink stars. But it sculpts over every last one of your delicious curves. Frank thinks he might like to have it framed.
After folding your dress into a neat rectangle, and setting it atop your towel, you clock Frank gawking at you like a schoolboy.
"Is your back okay?" You ask.
"Huh?"
"Your back, Frank," you reply, all concern as you step closer. Entering his personal space for the first time in a week. "You've got this horrible look on your face. Did you tweak your back?"
"N-no," Frank stutters through a broken laugh, then blows out a long huff of air. "Let's just… let's just get in the pool before we get caught, yeah?"
"Okay, weirdo," you scoff, then take the clip out of your hair. Tresses spill from where they'd once been secured, falling around your shoulders in waves. Frank's heart trips over itself.
He peels his own shirt off then, dropping it beside the towels in a heap beside your neatly folded cover-up. There's a splash behind him.
When he turns around, you're emerging from the water, hair now slicked back against your neck. You rub the water from your eyes, and smile up at Frank for the first time in a week.
"Oh my god, Frankie, it's fucking amazing in here," you exhale all in one breath. Water ripples around you.
The water is almost perfect, perhaps a hair too warm, but still an ice bath compared to the muggy, thick heat hazing over the rest of Pittsburgh.
Frank squares up to the deep end, creating distance between him pool's edge. You scrunch your whole face up at him, perplexed, until you see him take a running start.
"Frankie, no, we gotta be quiet!" Your words are drowned out by the enormous splash that reverberates through the whole pool as result of Frank's cannonball.
Water flies in all directions, small waves erupting through the water. You're lucky enough to miss the brunt of the splash, but that's the least of your concerns.
You flick your head around, searching for anyone who might be around to bust you for trespassing. Once the cool(ish) water sent relief through your body, the mild delirium started to clear, and now you're dreadfully aware of how much toruble Frank could be in, lest you get caught.
When his head bursts out from underwater, you glare at him.
"You're gonna get us in trouble!" You growl from where your feet can still touch, hanging on to the concrete side.
"Wanna see me do a handstand?"
Your frown persists as a long silence passes between you. Him, wanting attention. You, denying it.
He swims to you in wide, broad-shouldered strokes, the cords of his arms rippling with each arc. His hands find your hips under the water, tugging you closer.
You shove his shoulder, but make no real move away from his touch. "I actually wanted to cool off, not just have a five-second dip in the water," you complain.
"Grumpy, grumpy girl," he tuts, relief spreading through his visage as he spreads his hands over your backside. "I wanted to show off. Can you blame me? You're just so pretty."
"Hmph."
"Grumpy Gus," his touch drives your hips, angling you so your back presses against the side of the pool. "You didn't like my cannonball?"
"You're a child."
"You're the one who broke into the pool," he counters, tilting his head closer to yours. "I missed you."
"I haven't gone anywhere," your brows knit together as Frank's lips find your neck.
"No, you've been gone," he husks between wet, pointed kisses, tingles shooting up and down your arms. "The heat took you from me."
You purse your lips in the side of your mouth, not quite giving in to the desire starting to rumble in your tummy. "I didn't realize I was so terrible in the heat."
Frank pulls his head back, frowning at you. "Baby," he scoffs.
"Frank."
"This week has been awful for everybody," he explains.
"But apparently I'm grumpy and terrible to be around and not at all myself," your mouth flattens, arms still flopped, useless, at your side.
"So's everybody else," Frank says like this makes it all better. When you don't cave, he slides his hands to your shoulders, squaring you up to him. "Baby, you've always been high-maintenance. You can't look at me and tell me that's not true."
Your expression tightens.
"You think I'm high-maintenance," you phrase it as a statement rather than a question.
"Everyone thinks you're high-maintentance," Frank shakes your shoulders like you're a ragdoll. "But, listen, okay? I like being the one maintaining you. It's, like, my favorite job. Second only to Dad."
Frank presses his wet thumb to the corner of your mouth, coaxing a half-quirked smile.
“There's my girl," he hums, then ducks his head to kiss you.
On instinct, your palms slide up his bare chest, winding around his neck. You reach up and pierce your fingers through his sopping hair.
He hugs you closer by the hips, one hand traveling to squeeze your rear.
Frank’s tongue juts out to play with yours, lapping you up like… well, water. But these aren’t kisses you’ve gotten before. These are a homecoming, missing-you, glad-to-have-you-back kisses.
You whimper. He swallows the sound, legs tangling with yours under the water.
“You’re not so grumpy anymore, are you, baby?” He hums, voice low and breathy, as he squeezes the curve of your ass.
“It was just hot,” your pout rematerializes, but Frank’s just as quickly kissing it away.
“I know,” he sympathizes. “But you’re all cooled down now, aren’t you?”
One hand bursts from the water to cup your jaw, rubbing with pressure. Under the water, his fingertips dip beneath the taut nylon at your thighs. It’s a tight fit, teasing you under your bathing suit, but he manages somehow.
“Not here,” you shake your head in a whine, and Frank’s fingers leave the warmth under your suit. You crave his touch, but you aren’t willing to risk trespassing and public fornication. Not tonight. “Later, though.”
“Mmm, okay,” Frank hums, then kisses you again.
It’s just as deep and long and wanting, the promise of what’s to come once you’re out of the pool, out of this suit, out of your heat-induced bad mood. He nibbles and sucks at your bottom lip. Where your hips square up to his, you feel a distinct firmness.
Your man. Your best friend. The guy who breaks into a pool with you half past midnight.
"You do a good job at it, Frankie," your voice comes out a half-moan, a squeaky lilt. "Maintaining me."
"I know," he pulls back to shoot you a cheeky grin. "Now will you please watch me do a handstand?"
You'd think Dennis would find this funny, wouldn't you?
Housesitting for your boss, when one day a dirty magazine arrives in the mail. Oh how hilarious. Now Dr Robby not only owes him a favour, but Dennis now has something funny to tease him over too. Fantastic. Trinity will piss herself laughing.
But that's not what happens.
Dennis immediately drops the thing out of shock, shouting "shit shit shit shit shit-" in a progressively panicked tone.
Because this, this, is the magazine that, back when he was extremely desperate for money, he did a boudoir style shoot for.
He never thought about those photos again after they took them. Until now obviously. But now all he can think about is that his boss/friend/crush might have seen him like that.
Arms above his head, with his jumper riding up, and his nipple peaking out.
Oh god Dr Robby might have seen his nipple.
He also tries to shove down the unhelpfully hopeful thought about how Robby is subscribed to this magazine. This magazine that this is very much targeted towards men who are attracted to other men. Dennis has to actively stomp down that giddy internal monologue squealing "I have a chance!"
Because that is ridiculous. No matter what this subscription might suggest, there is no way someone like Robby would want a relationship with him.
As far as he could tell, from overhearing Princess and Perlah's gossip, all Robby's previous 'relationships' had been with women. All the ones serious enough to be known about at work anyway. This must just be some fun that the man enjoys privately? Right?
The thoughts become even harder to shut down when Robby starts casually phoning him at his rest stops.
"To check how things are going."
That's what his attending says he's doing anyway. But over time the calls have morphed more into friendly chats than practical discussions about the house.
Asking more about what music Dennis likes and what it was like growing up in Nebraska, than about if he remembered to take the bins out or if any of the neighbours had asked after him.
These chats flowed both ways obviously. Dennis learned a lot about Robby too. From how he liked his eggs cooked, to how he sung and played bass in a very shortly lived rock band in medical school.
Robby was momentarily horrified when Dennis managed to find a grainy camcorder video on YouTube of "The Flu Fighters" performing in a crowded bar sometime in the 90s. He also blushed when his resident complimented how good the performance sounded. And laughed when Dennis screeched out "IS THAT DR ABBOT?!" mid way through watching the clip.
It was, the night shift resident was on vocals, and at one point had his leg (not yet a prosthetic) propped up boldly on one of the amps, strutting like a peacock at someone in the front row of the crowd.
So given how 'close' they had gotten, it only felt natural when eventually these chats turned into video calls.
Their talks usually took place after Dennis' shift, so this way he could make himself some dinner, without the need to sandwich his phone between his shoulder and the side of his face. It was much easier just propping 'Robby' up on the worktop so the older man could watch Dennis potter around the kitchen prepping and cooking a stir fry while they shared details about their day.
It makes the house feel less big and empty. And good lord Dennis definitely notices the difference on the days the Motel's lack of wifi stops Robby from calling.
Robby jokes skeptically on one of these calls that Dennis "probably hasn't managed to keep any of the houseplants alive". That he was expecting to come back in just over a week to "a barren wasteland in colourful pots".
To which the younger man became very mock offended. Because as he pointed out, he is "an excellent plant foster dad, thank you". Proving his point by taking Robby on a tour of the luscious, green, and thriving beauties.
Though when he goes to show off the Monstera by the front door that was now actually starting to flower, Robby suddenly goes white as a sheet. Dennis taps his phone at first, thinking the feed must have frozen given how still and silent his boss had gone.
He scans the room for what may have panicked Robby.
Oh god. Did he fuck up somehow?
Did he trek mud in on his boots?
Did Trinity leave a liquor bottle laying somewhere?
Did the mail pile look too mess--
Oh shit
The magazine. It was clearly visible on the entry way table right next to the plant.
Dennis hadn't known what to do with it, so he'd just sort of left it there hoping it would disappear like a bad dream. But if the thing arriving here in the first place was a bad dream, then this was a nightmare.
Just as Dennis is about to start a frantic diversion onto another topic, Robby waterfalled out a thousand apologies.
"Fuck! Shit Dennis I'm so fucking sorry. Shit fuck I thought I cancelled the damn- "
"Robby?"
"-fucking hell- Dennis I cannot apologise enough, this was a total overstep-"
"Robby."
"-of boundaries and I completely understand if you want to swap shifts or-"
"ROBBY!" He shouted. Which finally made his attending stop babbling, didn't make him look any less frantic though. "I-It's fine, honestly! You have nothing to be ashamed of. There's no need for me to swap-"
"Nothing to be ashamed of?!" Robby cutted in again, "Dennis I don't know how stringent HR laws are in Nebraska, but an attending subscribing to a magazine because they saw a picture of their resident in an issue of it is so far beyond the realms of-" Robby cut himself off as he realised what he'd let slip. The chief hid his face behind his hands and let out a long sigh turned despairing groan.
"W-what- you- how did-" stuttered Dennis
Robby sighed much lighter this time. "Jack bought me one copy of it. As a joke. A 'funny' Christmas present after I came out to him as bisexual"
"Oh.. I, didn't know you were bi,"
"Honestly? It's a fairly recent thing. Well, recent in proportion to the rest of my life, I guess..." Even over a video call it was clear Robby was looking anywhere but him. All this talk of sexuality very clearly still made him a bit nervous.
"Well that's, ok? You know?" Dennis tried his best to be comforting. He hadn't exactly had many positive coming out experiences to base this chat off though. "There's no timeline for these things"
"I didn't even know I was on a timeline. I've only ever liked women. I'd never even looked twice at a man like that until I met-" Robby cut himself off and shook his head
"Until.. you met..?"
Those deep brown eyes returned to Dennis.
"You."
It felt like time stood still. Surely he can't be hearing this right, could he? That's impossible.
"Why would you say that?" Replied Robby with a furrowed brow
Oops, Dennis had said that last part out loud it seemed.
"Dennis, you're... you're amazing. You're smart, and you're funny. And you're somehow both handsome and adorable... How could I not start to like you?" His attending's kicked puppy expression returned. "I can only apologise that you've been saddled with an old man fawning over you like this..."
"You're not old! Well, you are- I mean, you're not that old, er, I don't mind that you're old? Or the fawning. Because I am too! The fawning that is, not the uh, old... Yeah"
Robby's face was a mix of shocked eyes and a tiny hopeful smile.
Meanwhile Dennis tried his very best to be brave. "So maybe when you, uh, get back, we could? Fawn? Together?"
The attending smirks at the unintelligible waffle of cuteness "Whittaker. Are you asking me on a date?"
"Yes. I think so. If you want to. Or er, would like that or- something."
"I would like that."
"That's great!" He shouted, unable to curb his enthusiasm. "Ah- yeah that, erm that would be cool" Great save Whitaker, flawless.
Neither of them spoke for a while beyond beaming like smitten teenagers and playfully telling the other to "piss off".
forever making dana call emma her babydoll. because that IS her babydoll. dana dresses her in her scrubs in the morning, takes them off at night, cooing over her little lamb. slips a pretty little nightgown over emma's head, helps her arms through the sleeves, telling her good job, babydoll, aww, now don't you look so pretty? yeahh, the prettiest girl... <3
in 2003, dana evans (37) and jack abbot (28) had a night of passionate fucking (NOT LOVEMAKING!) that neither have acknowledged but it has charged every single interaction that the two have shared since
summary ! He comes home to you after another long day at the ED, seeking comfort from the only person who can put his nervous system at ease.
warnings ! Fluff fluff fluff, kissing, cursing, pet names like “babe” and “baby.” allusions to smut. oh and did I mention fluff?
wc:1k
pairing: Frank Langdon x fem!wife!reader
alanas-masterlist
Your husband comes home from the hospital heavy and slow, carrying the weight of a long shift in the rigid set of his shoulders and the tired drag of his shoes across the floor. He smells of sharp antiseptic, stale coffee, and the quiet chill of fluorescent hallways, a scent that marks the invisible boundary between his long hours away and the safety of home.
The front door closed with a quiet click, followed by the shuffle of shoes being kicked off and the sharp exhale of someone who'd been holding it together far too long. Frank didn’t call out right away. He rarely did after a shift like that, fourteen hours that bled into fifteen, two codes back-to-back, one lost. He didn’t say anything, he leaned against the archway staring at you as you stood by the stove stirring up something in a pot. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how life would be without coming home to you.
But then he as quickly pulled out of his thoughts, he smelled something else. Seasoning. Cheese. Carbonara warming on in a pot you were stirring.
The moonlight slipped across the kitchen floor in wide, forgiving streaks, and there you were in the dim lighting, barefoot and calm, stirring dinner for the two of you. You looked like peace in motion, dressed in one of those worn shirts that fell off one shoulder, hair slightly messy from sleep, you didn’t need to make yourself presentable for him. He loved you just like this. A half-open laptop blinked on the counter, your notes scattered beside it. Drafts, plot outlines, and a coffee-stained mug.
Your world was made of slow nights and sentences, deadlines that waited for your ideas, not life-or-death decisions under flickering fluorescent lights and linoleum floors.
Frank lingered in the archway. Just for a second longer than usual. Because sometimes it felt like you existed in a completely different orbit, one that smelled like a home cooked meal instead of blood. And he needed that. Most importantly he needed you.
“Are you trying to seduce me by flaunting your carbonara in my face?” His voice was low, rough from the tiredness, but edged with something fond and light. “Because, full disclosure baby, I’m very vulnerable right now.”
“Do you want me to seduce you?” You chirped letting the wooden spoon you were mixing with rest against the pot as you turned to look at him.
He dropped his bag by the entry way with a small laugh, spine easing the second it left his shoulder and when he heard your voice. He softly brushed beside you, fingers catching lightly at your arms. Just for a moment. Just enough to say, I’m here. I love you. I came back to this. To you.
Frank slumped on one of the kitchen island stools with a soft groan, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Tell me I don’t have to think for the next twelve hours.”
“Nope, no thinking.” You replied as you got out ceramic bowls from the kitchen cabinet.
Frank hated it when you tried to serve him first, he would literally refuse any bowl, plate, or drink you gave him unless you plated yourself first. So that’s what you did, you remained quiet letting him have a little bit of peaceful time before you started to bombard him with questions while you plated yourself.
He propped his chin on one hand, elbows resting on the countertop as he tracked your movements. The soft clink of ceramic bowls hitting counter. The gentle scrape of pasta sliding from pot to bowl. His stomach growled audibly halfway through all this domestic theater and Frank actually laughed at himself. A tired but genuine sound.
You set your bowl on the counter next to him and then gave him his bowl as you rounded the kitchen to sit next to him
“You’re spoiling me,” He said after shoving a bite already halfway into his mouth because fuck, it smelled amazing and honestly? He was starving after running codes all night long like some kindred spirit playing god in scrubs for fourteen hours straight.
“Babe this is bare minimum.” You said as you shook your head taking a bite of your own delicious dinner. Frank grinned around his fork, the kind of tired but bright smile that only showed up after food and home.
“Bare minimum my ass,” he said between bites, pointing at you with the utensil like it was evidence in court “You cooked. You’re awake at nine pm on a Saturday when your brain usually turns off because of all the caffeine fumes and your bedtime is strictly eight.” He took another huge bite after depicting you, chewing slowly now that hunger wasn’t screaming at him.
“And you didn’t even make me ask. That’s top-tier wife behavior right there.” You couldn’t help but giggle with a mouth full of food. You put your left hand up flashing the rock on your ring finger.
“Yeah you’re fuckin lucky, but I love you and I would do anything for you. So god forbid i stayed up an hour past my bedtime so I can feed my husband..” You probed, your tone softened and so did the tension in your muscles.
Before he even thought about responding, he pushed your guy’s bowls to the far end of the counter as he stood up off of his chair hovering over you.
“Frank what are yo-“
He swiftly picked you up by the waist placing you on the counter top as the back of your thighs hit the cold surface. He was much taller than you but now you were face to face as he crashed his lips into yours. But you repelled.
“Babe I have pasta in my mouth!” You yelled as you chewed.
“I don’t give a shit-“ He remarked as his hands slowly crept under your shirt as his warm hands glided across your stomach. “been wanting to take this off since I stepped into the kitchen..” he confessed as all the pasta in your mouth was gone now.
“You’re a freaking horn ball..” You muttered running a hand through his hair.
Guys, I so don’t condone cheating ofc but I listened to “Lips Of An Angel” by Hinder and physically couldn’t bring myself to stop writing this one. Look away from me, LOOK AWAY 🫣 MDNI, 18+
Frank Langdon is at an engagement party with Abby when he gets a call from you. It’s almost midnight, and he’s been dying to hear your sweet voice. He’s been busy from the moment Abby shook him awake this morning, reminding him she’s helping with the set up and he’d have the kids. But right now is not the time. Usually you wait patiently for him to text you he’s home, after Abby goes upstairs for the night. So his stomach flips and he worries something might’ve happened - that you need him.
“Excuse me a second, I have to take this. It’s work,” he smiles politely to a few guys Abby apparently went to college with. She watches him step away from across the room, out the back door and outside near the pool to take the call privately.
“Hey, you alright? I’m still at this stupid fuckin’ party. Should be wrapping up soon,” he rambles.
“Frankieee, need you,” you whine. “Can’t make myself cum the same way you can. I’m all wet and messy with no orgasm!” Frank’s eyes widen and he looks around to ensure nobody can hear through the phone. He turns his volume down just in case.
“Fuck, are you fuckin’ touchin’ yourself right now?”
“Mhmmm,” you hum teasingly. “You’re takin’ too long, so I had to start without you.”
“Jesus, baby. You’ve got no shame, huh? Callin’ me while I’m at a party with my wife just to beg me to come fuck you?” He chuckles as you whimper at his mean words, when really they’re only making you wetter.
“Frank, please! F-fuck,” he hears you curse as you rub slow circles onto your clit. They’re still not his fingers, but the sound of his voice is helping you - getting you slicker and more sensitive to your touch; all worked up and desperate. “Need your big, hard cock, daddy,” you say extra syrupy. His dick hardens in his dress pants, and he lets out a shaky breath, running his hands through his gelled hair.
“Shit, honey I can’t leave right now. You know that. She saw me leave to take this call and already had that sour fuckin’ look on her face.” You huff in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. He’s rejecting you. You know it’s your own fault. You knew what you were getting into with Frank. What the fuck did you expect? For him to break up his family for you? And what would it say about you if you did? Still, it doesn’t stop your chest from tightening or your throat from burning from trying not to sob. You’re now both sexually and emotionally frustrated. You blink a few times and wipe your tears, pulling yourself together.
“Fine. Have fun at your shitty engagement party. Tell Abby I say ‘hi.’ And I’ll make sure to tell Dennis you say the same,” you say bitterly and end the call. Frank leans his head back, jaw clenched and chuckling coldly. He can only keep it together for a second before the anger explodes in his chest.
“Fuck!” he whisper yells as he kicks a pool toy into the water. You set your phone on your bedside table and smirk to yourself, pleased. And then you wait. Within an hour he’s at your place, practically beating down the front door. You open it in nothing but wine red lingerie, with a matching silk and lace robe and stockings.
“Can I help you?” you ask, feigning sugary innocence - like you weren’t just on the phone with him an hour ago letting him listen to the sound of you squelching on your pretty, manicured fingers.
“You better not be wearing that shit for him,” he says gruffly. “Did you actually call him? Tell the truth. And you know I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Oh that’s fuckin’ rich,” you bite back. “You lecturing me on lying.” Anddd now he’s pissed.
“Get the fuck inside, now,” he orders. You just smirk at him, turning on your stocking clad foot and swaying your ass as you walk down the hall. Franks steps in and shuts and locks the door, then follows you into the bedroom where he fucks you face down, ass up into the mattress. He’s smacking it relentlessly, going on and on about how ‘you know better than to call when he’s out with her,’ and how ‘eventually he’ll be all yours, but for now you have to be a good girl and listen.’ And you don’t know if he’s telling the truth. But right now, you’re too fucked out on his cock to care.
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