summary: Robbie’s daughter works for PTMC as a social worker and has a…complicated history with former golden boy Frank Langdon. Langdon is back from rehab after ten long months and is looking to make amends. Robbie finds out a few things about his daughter that he never wanted to know.
word count: 1.5k
pairing: frank langdon x reader
a/n: bedtime scenario so good i had to put it in writing
Y/N was not happy with her father. Shocker.
When he told her that his sabbatical was approved, she was ecstatic. He hadn’t taken proper time for himself in years. She had fuzzy memories from her youth of her father joining week-long family vacations, taking days off on a whim because she wanted to go watch the sharks at the Pittsburgh Zoo, or even taking off to visit old colleagues in Chicago. That changed after her parents separated. Now, most of her memories hold an undercurrent of wishes that her father was there. But he chose to throw himself into the Pitt.
He’s finally pulling himself out, and of course it’s for that stupid motorcycle. She gives him maybe three hours on the open road until he can’t handle being alone with his thoughts and turns back. Hell, he’ll probably be back in the Pitt before the end of July. She can only hope that it’s of his own accord, and not laid out on a gurney.
All that said, Y/N was avoiding the Pitt as much as her job would allow. At least that’s the excuse she was giving people. They didn’t need to know that her avoidance was really because she wasn’t ready to find out if the rumors were true. That Dr. Langdon was making his grand return to the Pitt today.
She hadn’t seen him since PittFest. Since she found out second-hand that he was stealing drugs from the hospital. Since she woke up in his bed that morning, only to take separate cars to the hospital and pretend to be no more than acquaintances. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Whatever he had to say to her, she wasn’t ready to hear it. Thankfully, dodging emotional conflict was in her blood.
Things were going well for most of the morning. She was able to successfully dodge the few consults coming their way from downstairs, thanks to a colleague who owed her one. Just when she started to think she might actually get away with her plan, Caleb asked for her specifically, and she was promptly dragged out of her tiny office to make the descent into the Pitt.
It was absolute chaos, as usual, as Y/N plunged in, trying simultaneously to keep her head down and on a swivel at the same time. Robbie caught her eye from across the nurse’s station, and her eyes landed on Fra—Langdon’s—back in an effort to avoid her dad’s gaze. He was turned toward a patient, nodding along as Mel spoke. Deciding it was easier to face the more familiar of two evils, she turned her attention back to her father, thankful to find him being pulled away by Whitaker and a new face that looked to her like a taller, bizarro Whitaker.
Her shoulders dropped in relief as she continued to the family room, where she could now see Caleb and Javadi huddled by the closed door.
“You know you’re gonna have to talk to him eventually.” Dana sat at her computer, looking up at Y/N over the rims of her readers.
Y/N’s steps faltered, her mouth open, about to ask how do you know about that? Before Dana continued, “He’s leaving soon—you don’t want him to go on bad terms.”
Oh, right. Dad.
“If he cared more about his wellbeing, we wouldn’t be on bad terms in the first place.”
Dana scoffed. “Last I checked, caring about his wellbeing has never been his thing. Hasn’t held you back before. What’s the point in letting it now?”
Y/N returned the scoff, angling herself back on track, “I’ve got a patient waiting on me.”
“Don’t we all,” Dana turned back to the computer, dismissing Y/N, “think about it, kid.”
Y/N practically teleported over to Caleb and Javadi. “What we got?”
———————————————————————
“Well, that went great.” Y/N rubbed a hand across her forehead after the door to the family room closed gently behind them.
“Could’ve been worse—at least we got a family history.” Caleb closed his notes with a sigh and checked his watch. “I have to go check on a few things. I’ll be in touch about this.”
Y/N gives him a curt nod and Javadi a tight smile before walking away, “let us know if his condition changes.”
Okay. Now get out. Quickly.
She’s almost to the elevator, and she feels the weight of his gaze before she sees him, his eyes locked onto her as he walks alongside a sunburnt man on a gurney.
“Dr. Santos, you can take care of Mr. Jones here.” She hears his voice. Distracted. Distant. Maybe even fearful? Maybe she’s projecting.
“You’re kidding me, I’m no—“
“Thanks.” Footsteps approaching, his voice gently calling out her name.
She quickens her pace, pretending she didn’t see him. She’s almost there.
His hand on her arm. Hesitant. The elevator door closing in her face before she can slip through. The ghost of her name on his breath. Looking up now. His deep blue eyes looking back at her.
“Can we talk?”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Dr. Langdon,” she swallowed with a shrug of her shoulder, not fully facing him. Not being able to.
Anyone else but her wouldn’t have noticed his posture tightening at the moniker. His hand remained on her arm, however, testing the waters with a slight tug at her elbow. Her body betrayed her racing mind, too attuned to giving in to his direction.
She still hadn’t said another word as the door to an empty exam room closed behind them. At least he didn’t shove her into a supply closet, as he was accustomed to do when no one was around. She might’ve thrown up if he had.
Now that they were alone, she let herself look at him—really look at him. There was no trace of his old bravado, his usual self assuredness replaced with something different, something that softened him around the edges. She wasn’t used to that, and didn't really know what to do with it.
“I’ve spent a lot of time these past few months thinking of what to say to you,” he hesitated, “I thought of a lot of different ways to do this, and I realized that I don’t want to beat around the bush with you. Not anymore.” He swallowed thickly, and Y/N felt the lump in her own throat double in size.
“I’m sorry. For everything. For betraying your trust, for hiding you away, for taking advantage of you—”
“I’m a grown woman, Frank. I’m not stupid. I’m very aware that this,” she gestured between them, “was never supposed to mean anything.”
Her chest tightened at the hurt that flashed across his face.
“Do you really think that? That it didn’t mean anything to me?”
Her response was barely above a whisper, “I’m not really sure what to think anymore, Frank.”
“Y/N, I care about you. A lot. More than I was willing to admit to myself at the time. To admit to you.” A sharp inhale, “and I understand if you want nothing to do with me. But I want to try—actually try. If you’ll let me.”
His hands were warm, his grip on her clasped hands gentle. “You can tell me to fuck off, and I’ll leave you alone forever. I just need to know.”
Her hands moved to cup his face seemingly on their own accord, and his found their home on her hips.
“Frankie, I—”
“What’s this?”
The venom in her father’s voice sent a chill down her spine. They were too wrapped up in their own world to notice him opening the exam room door.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Frank’s body angled slightly in front of hers, as if he could protect her from the daggers shooting from her father’s eyes.
“Robbie, listen—” He was silenced by Robbie, who held his open palm in front of him.
“No,” he pointed at his daughter, “Y/N, how long?”
It felt like her voice was coming from someone else as she held her father’s gaze.
“A while.”
His jaw clenched as he turned his glare back to Frank.
“How long.”
“A little over a year,” Frank’s voice was small, “if you don’t count the past ten months.”
“Jesus, Y/N, it’s bad enough that he—” his voice broke off, a hand rubbing down his face, “but you?”
She took a step around Frank, toward her father, “Dad, could you just—”
“No.” He was backing out the door before she could stop him.
“I can’t do this right now.” He paused for just a second, “I just—no.”
And he was gone.
Tears were blurring Y/N’s vision, and she barely registered that Frank was still behind her until she felt his touch ghost across the small of her back.
“Y/N,” he used the soft tone that was reserved only for her.
She looked at him, back to the door, to him again, sniffled, “I’m sorry.”
She was pushing through the door before she could think. What felt like hundreds of people bustled around her, but she couldn’t see a single trace of her father’s retreating figure. He was gone again; swallowed by the Pitt.
ngl i'm growing increasingly weary of the Mom Steve thing in st fandom. it's gotten to the point where his prevailing characterization is, like, fussing over the kids' bedtimes and full-naming them and scolding them for swearing, and like... i'm sorry, but no. steve is not their mom (and tbh a lot of it would be wildly overbearing even if he was). he's the big brother. like, yeah, he'll look out for them and protect them and give them advice, but he also cusses them out and would probably cheerfully dump any one of them into the pool fully clothed if they gave him cause
happy 700 love!!! for the post break up prompts, can i request the 8th one (about a family wedding and almosts) with steve?
ily also can it have a happy ending
A smart woman | Steve Harrington
summary :: your grandmother thought you were gonna marry that boy. you have to tell him, drunk and at midnight. a month after your break-up.
anon anon anon!!! this was the one I wanted to do and with steve!! so we think so alike. so thank u!!!! i did have too much fun writing this so it’s a bit longer than my normal blurbs.
warnings/tags :: she/her pronouns, fem!reader, tiny mention of throwing up, drunk!reader, allusions to SA, basically steve jumps to conclusions when you’re just upset and dirty from a long walk.
Was the wedding after-party being two blocks from Steve Harringtons' house too good to be true? Or were you just pathetic?
Was it two blocks? Could’ve been three, or five. You’re not completely sure. After downing an inappropriate amount of wine coolers, the eighth one swinging from one hand, your strappy heels in the other, time was completely lost on you.
If Hopper were to drive past right now, he’d definitely have to drive you home. Luckily not the precinct to sleep it off. Hopefully, you thought.
Leaving the wedding seemed an amazing idea at the time. The subconscious urge to head to Steve’s house didn’t feel stupid at all in your drunken haze. Now, with cuts along your feet from the unforgiving gravel and wind-bitten, flushed cheeks, you were half-regretting it, half-wanting to get to his house even quicker.
“Y/N, dear. Where’s that arm candy you were supposed to be bringing along tonight?” Your Grandma had asked you, two champagnes deep. You could tell she had been wanting to ask you ever since you had shown up alone. You’d expected her to bite her tongue off.
“Who? Steve?” You had feigned obliviousness. Acting as if it wasn’t a big deal. Truly, it wasn’t. You didn’t miss him one bit.
Not when your sister had shown up with a date. Not when, no matter where you looked, everyone seemed to have a partner linked through their arms or pressed to their lips. Even your six-year-old cousin seemed to have a cute little boy she was following around all night.
Not even when the bride and groom kissed did you miss Steve. Not even when tears had welled in your eyes and you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom for thirty minutes.
“Yes, Steve. He was quite the charmer. If I knew you weren’t going to be showing up with him, I would’ve asked him myself.” She chuckled. You had the decency in you to not laugh along with her.
“Oh, he…” You’d choked on oncoming tears you thought you had controlled, the lump in your throat felt as though it had grown tenfold. “We broke up.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. You two did really seem like a match made in heaven. I’d have thought it would've been you two at the end of that aisle next.” She truly didn’t mean any harm in her words. You had gushed to her about how much you loved him not only a month prior. You actually were supposed to bring him here tonight.
You had lasted all of two mundane rounds of small talk with relatives you didn’t care for before you had up and left.
You really did think the walk would be quick. It was longer than you had anticipated. You don’t remember there being this many hills. It was okay though.
You thought it was okay until you were standing on his landing, with no security light to illuminate your path. You tripped on his door mat, causing you to fall very unceremoniously right into his front door. A loud crack followed when you dropped your glass bottle. Wine cooler sprayed up your pretty dress. You rubbed your cheek where it came into contact with the wood and you were beginning to regret showing up so drunk, and so late.
You knew he would be awake. No matter how late it seemed. His parents were clearly away, no surprise there, and you knew his house to be so lonely and terrifying at times. He struggled to sleep these days. Especially after everything that had happened.
Steve walked down his stairs as quietly as possible, bat held in both hands and floating above his shoulder. It wasn’t until he stopped in front of his door, and heard a few sniffles and, shits and fucks did he almost relax. He had a half idea who it could be.
He reached for the doorknob, still ready for anything to be outside, firm but hesitant. When he heard you say,
“Fuck, he’s gonna kill me.” Your shaky voice prompted him to open the door.
Your glassy eyes widened at his appearance and you looked so sad it almost made him forget how out of place it was for you to be here. You looked at the bat and he lowered it quickly, settling against the wall.
“Y/N? What are you..?” He looked at your wet dress that was clinging to your legs and the dark tracks of mascara down your cheeks and his worry worsened. He wasn’t sure what would’ve been worse. A demobat, ready to shred him to pieces, or you looking so lost on his front steps. He thinks he knows which one.
“Steve.” You blink, arms moving to fold over your front. Clutching the silk of your dress. “Steve.” You repeat with more cadence, “Fuck. I’m so, so sorry. I just. I don’t know what- I didn’t mean to.”
Steve was starting to feel dizzier than you looked, trying to catch your rambling words, “Woah, Y/N. Calm down. Breathe, okay?”
You bit your tongue, harder than he’d like to see, worrying you’d draw blood and could see you trying to even out your breathing. Maybe even holding it. You slammed your eyes shut and he looked down.
A pattern of glass and wine sprayed across his steps, your red heels lying in the grass behind you. Your bare feet inches from the shards of glass.
Steve doesn’t know what to do. To say he’s shocked is an understatement. You hadn’t spoken in at least a month. Granted, he’d wanted to.
Wanted to reach out to you every time he got off the phone with Dustin and he stared at his receiver, your phone number one that was seared into his brain.
Every time he saw you at the supermarket, wondering who the flowers were for that were swinging from your hessian bag. Every time he saw you talking to Robin, wondering why you were checking out so many movies. Who had you been watching them with?
You were both so good at avoiding each other and it gave him, probably too much time, alone with his thoughts. Forming sentences and thinking of what if’s.
And now you were here, on his goddamn front doorstep, looking sadder than he had ever seen you. Sadder than the day you broke up. And he doesn’t know what to do.
“Are you okay?” He finally asks, also holding his breath.
“Um.” You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know why you’re here and what to do. You think you’re an idiot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make such a mess. I just sort of ended up here.”
“You walked?” Steve’s eyes widen. Steve also thinks you’re an idiot. Though with more love than you’d showed yourself.
“Yeah.” You nod and stray bits of once sprayed down hair, fall into your eyes.
You move to brush them away and step to the side. Steve watches your steps with wary eyes as you inch closer to the glass.
You step again and with quick hands, Steve moves out to grab you. Holds your shoulders with a firm, but never cruel grip and you gasp.
You both stand there, balancing. “Glass.” He looks down and you swallow.
“Can I come inside? It’s cold.” You laugh. And then hiccup and Steve almost smiles too.
He’d never say no to you. Not before and not now. Though he doesn’t say yes either. Just ushers you inside, closes the door and promises himself to clean the mess once he’s figured out what to do with you.
You stand in his front entrance, padding on bare feet like you’d never been to his house before. It pains him. You look out of place more than he has ever felt in his own home.
“Thank you.” You say slowly, as he moves you into his kitchen and sits you down on one of the many bar stools. Your feet swing over the edge and you’re thankful to be off them. Blisters and cuts littered everywhere.
“Are you okay?” Steve leans on the opposite wall, an appropriate but also foreign length of space between you. It feels cold and you wished he’d move closer. Your fingers tingle, wanting nothing more than to reach out and grab the hem of his shirt to pull him in.
“I don’t know.” You hiccup. It wouldn’t take a genius to realise how drunk you were.
Steve looks at you again, a rip in your dress right above your hip bone, and mud and grass along the hem a few inches where it rests above your ankles. Your smudged makeup and tear stains causes a twisting in his stomach. “What’s happened?”
You don’t know. “I don’t know.”
He frets further. “Were you with someone?”
“What?” You raise your head and look at him with pinched eyebrows.
“Tonight. Were you with anyone?” He asks again and it clicks in your drunken mind.
“What? No, Steve. I was at a wedding.” You put him at ease and his shoulders lower. Not that he was asking to be an overprotective, jealous ex-boyfriend. But your appearance had him thinking stupid things.
He remembers the wedding you had told him about months ago. He then remembers he was supposed to attend. With you.
“Oh.” He says, mournfully.
You can see him taking in your appearance, “It was a rough walk.”
There’s a thick and palpable silence settled over the both of you. Words are lost on Steve and so are all thoughts. He watches your feet swing and cringes at the blisters.
“How was it?” He asks. Not sure what else to say.
You blink. “Hmm?”
“The wedding. It was good?”
You don’t lie to him, “No. It was awful.”
“Oh?”
You snort, “Do you remember my Grandmother?” You ask and he nods. He remembers her with great fondness. She was lovely, and nicer to him than his own mother.
“She uh…” You laugh, almost bitterly and Steve frowns, “She thought it would’ve been us getting married next.” You probably wouldn’t have relayed anything your grandmother had said if you were sober.
Steve swallows, words even more lost than earlier and his throat hurts. Your grandmother was a smart woman. Because he really would’ve asked you to marry him if everything hadn’t gone to shit. Something that makes his heart ache and it’s the last thing he thinks about every night before he eventually falls asleep.
“She’s clearly senile.” You smile weakly and it crumples almost immediately. You can tell he doesn’t know what to say and you almost regret telling him. God, what are you doing? “Shit, okay. I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to fuck up your night.”
“What? What do you think I would’ve been doing for you to ruin my night?” Steve leans off the wall and you hold your breath. Maybe he shouldn’t be so close, lest he does actually reach out for you and you freeze. He wouldn’t though, you're sure of it.
“Well, I’m sure you weren’t expecting to see me.” You say, sheepishly and lean backwards. Steve watches you widen the gap again with sad eyes.
“Well, no.” He huffs, “But it’s okay.”
“Really?” Your voice is quiet but he can still hear you.
“Yeah.” There’s a different meaning behind his reply but you can’t place it. Was he actually wanting to see you?
You shiver at the thought. Steve sees this,
“Are you still cold?”
You cross your arms, “I’m okay.”
“You told me you were cold five minutes ago, Y/N.” He scolds though with little heat. “C’mon, I’ll find you something.”
You stammer, throat dry. “Steve, I’m okay. I’ll just walk home.”
Steve frowns, a pinch in his brow and a twitch above his lip, “You can’t walk home. It’s almost midnight.”
“I feel awful.”
Steve closes the gap even again, more than last, “You feel sick? Do you need to throw up?”
You shake your head vehemently, and there’s a pinch in your stomach. He’s lovely. You miss him and you feel like you’ve ruined everything, “No. I feel bad for showing up here, drunk.”
“It’s okay.” The gap is even smaller now and you can smell him. He smells of the cologne you bought him years ago. A bottle that he uses in very small amounts, not wanting to waste it too quickly. It smells of bergamot and patchouli and it has your head feeling funny. Along with the smell that comes with laying in his bed. Fresh linen and the lavender softener you had also gotten him to use after his mum had never taught him how to clean. Even when he’s had to do everything himself since he was thirteen.
“It’s not. I’m really sorry.” You can’t meet his gaze, not that you’d had much luck with doing so this entire time.
“Hey, stop.” Finally, he touches you. His knuckle hooks under your chin with a softness he always uses with you. You swallow as he brushes the small patch of skin along your jaw. You wonder if his skin is as hot as yours feels. If his heart is racing just as quick. “It's fine. Truly. Okay? I’d rather you have come here than somewhere else.”
Despite the excruciatingly long month of being apart, his touch ignites something in you. Like a blossoming flower in the pit of your tummy. Unravelling weeks of trying to move on from something you never saw ending. Something you didn’t really understand why it had ended. You think that’s what hurt most. The not knowing. It left you with too many questions and absolutely no answers.
“Steve.” You’re not sure what you’re trying to achieve by saying his name, but it felt right.
"I know." That. That is what you didn't want. Fresh hope, ready to be squashed. It's probably why it took you to be inebriated to see him again.
"Come on, you don't have to stay here. I'll drive you home." He says, fingers pressing into your skin. You can't find it in yourself to lean into or pull away from his touch. Luckily, Steve does the thinking for you and pulls away his hand to grab his keys from the bench behind you.
You shiver again, probably from the lack of his warming touch and he points at you, "Wait there. I'll be back."
Steve rushes up the stairs and rummages through his drawers for a jumper for you. The drive to yours is no longer than ten minutes, but you're cold and Steve has game. He has his girl to win back. He can't find the one you'd left the last time you were here, god knows it's crumbled in a ball under his pillow, so he decides to grab you one of his. Bold, but he sees himself as a bold guy.
He rushes back down to find you exactly where he left you, still shielding yourself from everything. He offers the yellow clothing with an outstretched hand and a warm smile.
"What's this for?" You question, but don't yet take it from him.
He offers it further, "I know you're cold."
You take it from him probably too willingly, the material soft and familiar under your fingers. He knew it was your favourite, it was on you more than him.
You thank him as you pull it over your head, it looks ridiculous over your dress, swallowing the material a little awkwardly. But Steve thought you were an image in his clothes. He had to look away from you before it all got too much for him.
When you both walk out to his car he has to fight the urge to grab your hand. A habit he still obviously hadn't fallen out of. It made his hands itch.
The drive is silent and you can't take your eyes off him. Bright lights of the streetside lamps wash him white, waving over his face and down his chest in a calming rhythm. He swallows and you think he can feel you staring but you selfishly can't look away. Your eyes trace every feature you'd thought you'd forgotten somehow. As if they'd change if you weren't there to observe them.
The mess of his eyebrows that were always tickled by his swooping hair. The beauty marks scattered across his face, especially the one you loved the most right above his cupid's bow, almost bleeding into the plush of his lips. You loved to kiss it and wanted to this very moment if it were natural.
Steve was begging for you to look away from him just so he could do his own selfish admiring. Reckless, staring at your ex-girlfriend whilst being behind the wheel. But the side of his face was burning where your eyes had settled for the past five minutes and he wanted it to be his turn to make you squirm. He wanted to pull over and admire you and count your eyelashes until he was bored. Which would be never. He'd stare at you for a stupid amount of time, in a non-weird, completely adoring way.
He pulls up to your house in record-breaking time. If the record was for the slowest drive to your ex-girlfriend's house ever. It was over before he wanted it to be, but you needed to get home and sleep. And a guy still hopelessly in love with said ex-girlfriend shouldn't be pining this hard over her, especially when he thinks she doesn't love him like she used to.
"This the one?" He laughs and you blink, remembering yourself. You smile a little too hard, afraid of being caught.
"I'd hope so." You chuckle.
He notices the lack of lights on inside your house. You're alone tonight just like he had been. "You gonna be okay?"
You reach for your seatbelt and it unbuckles with a quiet click. Shushing back up into its spot. "Yeah, thank you."
You turn until your elbow is pressed into the door and Steve stammers. "Do you- Do you want me to come inside?" He asks with only care in his heart. Nothing else. He thinks you know that.
You smile warmly and your eyes soften, "I'll be okay, Steve."
"Yeah. I- I know." He smiles too, though not as convincing as you.
You move to pull his sweatshirt off and he stops you with a gentle pull of the worn material, "Don't. Leave it on, please." He almost pleads.
"I need to shower, Steve." You laugh.
"Yeah, I know that. Just, just keep it. I know you like it."
You deflate and he lets go of the shirt, "You love it more."
"Yeah, maybe."
"I can't take it, Steve. It's your favourite."
It really is, but he loves it most when it's on you, "Okay, well. Just give it back to me next time you see me."
You almost beam, sitting bright settled inside his clothes. Steve wished he could take a picture of you right there. "Next time?"
"Friday. Come over and we can talk. I think we need to."
You nod, too untrustworthy of your tongue. You can't stuff this up. You won't.
You get out of the car and Steve watches your every move. He rolls down the window once it's shut. Watches you walk in your dirty dress and his sweatshirt and calls your name when you're halfway to your front steps. You turn around with a ruffle of satin and cotton, a small smile against your lips.
"What?" You call back.
"I think your Grandma was right." The smug smile on Steve's lips is blinding and so are your eyes when you realise what he's implying.
