emmi

In the three tentative months you’ve dated, you’ve flirted with him, teased him, even cursed at him, but that word has never made an appearance. 

Hospital gossip had originally painted you as the goody-two-shoes nurse recruit hired on in his absence. Perfect chart audits, day-one competency sign-offs, the one who stayed late to feed a confused geriatric patient applesauce. 

This significantly redraws the saintly portrait. 

Frank swallows whatever’s left of the briefing room’s recycled air and slides his phone face-down, as if the glass might burn through the table.

A saint, he reminds himself, shouldn’t make his cock stir in his pants like this. 

He tries, honestly fucking tries, to go back to risk-management’s droning about consent forms, but now every syllable buckles beneath the weight of that single word on the screen.

Daddy. Five letters have kicked open a door he’s held shut with both shoulders for twelve sober weeks.

His fingers tap out an answer under the table: Hallway by the ambulance bay. Five minutes. He deletes it. Types again. Still in committee. Behave. Deletes that, too.

God, get it together, Langdon. In the end all he manages is a neutral, Be there soon, before the meeting finally adjourns.

He finds you giggling at the nurses’ station printer. The sight hits him like an adrenaline push. One purposeful stride, a curl of his fingers around your wrist, and he’s steering you past the Pyxis before anyone can notice. 

The supply-closet door hasn’t even thunk shut before Frank’s got your spun, spine pressed to cool metal shelving, betadine bottles rattling. 

“You again?” you stage-whisper as his fingers walk the hem of your top north. “This hospital really ought to tighten security.”

“Tried.” Frank’s mouth finds the hinge of your jaw, words vibrating against skin as his other hand moves to tug the drawstring of your scrub bottoms loose. “Seems like your day’s been… productive.”

“Mh-hmm. Pulled a double, saved three veins, I’m kind of a big deal,” you taunt, teeth pulling your bottom lip as you flutter your lashes at him. “Just missed seeing my favorite hot doctor on the floor.”

“Overachiever.” He smirks while one hand skims beneath the waistband, knuckles skating your skin, itching to feel how wet you are; the other fumbles his own pants with impatient passes. “He sounds like a lucky guy to get such attention from a pretty girl like you.” 

Once he has you both free, he wastes no time sinking his length into your cunt in aching inches, forehead to yours, breath hitching at every squeeze of silk-slick muscle. You’re just as soaking as he knew you’d be. So perfect just for him.

“Fuck — Frankie,” you gasp, toes skidding on the tile.

“Try again. Wanna hear this newfound vocabulary of yours.” He bottoms out, hips snug to yours, and waits.

The shelf behind you rings with the tremor in your back. “Daddy.”

“That’s better.” His hand cups the back of your skull, holding you still while he drives the word deeper, each thrust into your soft wet heat a dark punctuation. “Say it like you mean it, baby.”

“Missed you, daddy — oh God — missed you all day.” 

Trading vices, his counselor had warned. Once upon a time he had been considered a star pupil. Now he knows exactly how far off the wagon he’s fallen.

MARIA NOTE agreed. agreed so heavily that i needed to write about it <3