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I guess slight trigger warning for the catholic imagery? Shrugs.
Anyways my birthday is coming up and @sethmacfarlanedeathpose’s blog is giving me too many fucking ideas about kurt wagner, so i decided to make something incredibly self indulgent, sooooo time to explain.
A joke started on their blog about how nightcrawler has the weirdest biology of the X-Men canonically like they keep quoting him as that so it’s entirely possible he could just randomly get pregnant from parthenogenesis or something. It’s escalated sense but the fact that he’s a Catholic priest makes me want to compare it to the immaculate conception as it would for all intents and purposes be a virgin birth, by arguably the most holy member of the x men cast…. So this happened.
I can get away with this cause im still catholic somehow. Anyways. Heres the art piece i based this on. Instead of crushing the devil hes crushing Mr sinister cause he’s basically the devil
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I finally got around to posting my finished Casca pinup drawing that I did for the Dark Eyes, a Casca NSFW zine. Here's both SFW and NSFW versions here.🖤
Summary: Frank and you are testing the waters of more than just recovery. From teasing over trivia and NA tales to sushi, putt-putt, and an unexpected kiss, sparks fly in ways neither of you can ignore.
Notes: I'm going to put the same trigger warning as I did on part 1. This part and others will discuss drug abuse in a way that may seem slightly insensitive. It's meant to be a little self-"theraputic." It’s inspired by my own experiences dealing with a loved one’s refusal to get help. Reader discretion is advised… and remember: hugs, not drugs, kiddos.
And once again, was going to include tasteful smut in this part and...1500 words later...here we are. Promise to put it in Part 3!
Additional Warnings: MINORS DNI - probably best for this to be an 18+ fic. (but I'm not your mom, so read at your risk), Drug abuse/prescription medication, eventual smut, Frank Langdon needs a hug, slow burn, fluff, mutual pining, Langdon is newly divorced. Probable medical inaccuracies.
Your therapist liked to mention that routine was good for recovery. Which is probably why you and Frank got coffee after every weekly meeting. Still hadn’t gone on a “proper” date yet, but neither of you seemed to mind.
“Hey, got a question for you,” Frank started sliding next to you, two coffees in one hand.
“Only if you tell me how you manage that,” you teased, grabbing one of the cups.
It didn’t take long for him to learn your coffee order. Sometimes you switched it up, but an iced dirty chai with extra shots was almost always your go-to.
“Easy. Big hands.” Langdon held your hand against his, demonstrating the stark size difference.
You both paused at the contact.
“Anyway. Why don’t you want work knowing that you go to NA meetings?”
You shrugged as he casually threaded his fingers through yours, causing your heart to skip a beat.
“I don’t know. You remember what it was like when Dr. Robbie found out about you?”
You remembered the last meeting when Frank talked about how traumatic it was when his attending found out. It was exactly the wake-up call he needed, but still incredibly difficult. And humiliating.
“They always tell us to talk to someone, or call the mental health hotline if we need help. But there’s still such a dirty stigma about it.” You paused to take a sip of your coffee.
“No offense, but the mental health measures in place for doctors aren’t the same for those of us without a master’s degree.”
There was no malice in your voice. You simply just stated what you knew to be true.
Frank’s eyes softened as he listened, and you shrugged again.
“Either way, I’d already been sober when I first interviewed. Only one relapse since, and I didn’t see it as anyone’s business.”
You felt a small relief as he changed the subject.
“So, does Grace bring up her dog at every meeting?” He leaned in close to you, as if sharing a secret.
“I mean, I love Jax–don’t get me wrong. But I don’t know if I could ever place my sobriety on him. That’s a lot of baggage for a golden doodle to carry.”
You laughed, nodding your head. “Yeah, unfortunately, she does. ‘Where would I have been if Mr. Snookums hadn’t stuck with me through my addiction to cough syrup?’” you mimed, picking up a napkin to wipe away the proverbial tears.
“You know, we probably shouldn’t be making fun of people in active recovery?” Frank reminded you, though he couldn’t quite hide his laughter.
“Probably. But, hey, we also learned today that laughter is the best medicine. And to use each other as examples in our recovery. We’re not making fun of Grace, we’re healing.”
You felt warmth swell through you as Frank threw his head back laughing. God, you would do anything to make him laugh like that.
“Hey, got a question,” he started, breaking you out of your thoughts.
“Hey, you just asked a question,” you reminded him teasingly.
He paused, before shaking his head, a clear sign he almost forgot what he was about to ask.
“Okay, well I’ve got another question. Do you like sushi and putt putt?”
“Hmm,” you tilted your head trying to act casual. “Yes to the sushi, not really to the putt putt. I’m not really that competitive.”
Frank looked at you knowingly. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You literally almost started a fist fight during the last trivia night at NA.”
You grinned wickedly, remembering how much you wanted to throw your clicker at Mr. Shapiro.
“They seriously shouldn’t have put two medical professionals on the same team for Grey’s Anatomy trivia. I’m not that competitive—putt-putt’s just boring.”
“Well, that’s just because you’ve never been putt-putting at this place downtown. We should go.”
His tone was as casual as if he were asking you to pass him a napkin.
“Well, actually, that’s because I’ve never been to one that was fun.”
Frank leaned down as he said your name. Once again, he was close. Like really, really close.
“But seriously, listen. We don’t have to do putt-putt, but I’m trying to ask you on a date. How about Saturday?”
He was so close you were certain he could hear your pulse as you swallowed.
“I work Saturday, but sure, we can go after my shift.”
Langdon released your chin, grinning widely.
“Great! Sushi’s not far, I’ll just pick you up from the hospital. When do you get off?”
You held up a hand, slightly pushing his chest. “No, you can pick me up at home. Gives me a little bit of time to make myself pretty again.”
“You don’t have to make yourself pretty. You're gorgeous.” Frank stated it as if it were a fact. “But okay, I’ll pick you up at your house. How’s eight sound?”
Your cheeks were warm as you nodded. “You only say that because you’re a guy, and you have to.”
He shook his head, scoffing. “No. I say it because it’s true.”
—
Frank arrived right at eight, which was perfect—you had been dressed and ready since 7:30. Sushi was amazing and delicious, but it felt a lot like your previous coffee dates, just in a fancier setting.
It was at putt-putt where the magic started to kick in.
“Ready to lose?” Frank challenged, pointing his putter at you.
You smirked, tilting your head. “I don’t know…will there be a consolation prize?”
He grinned at you, his eyes bright with mischief. “Obviously. The consolation prize will be me.”
“Oh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Does that mean I have to be your consolation prize if you lose? I was kind of hoping to get a keychain.”
You pouted your lips out, not failing to notice as Frank’s eyes drifted to them.
Nine rounds in, and while you were having fun… You were failing miserably. Not even you could have predicted just how bad it would get.
“Wow, it’s like you have no hand-eye coordination,” Frank observed, throwing an arm around your shoulders.
You pouted, only slightly serious. “How many times does a ball have to get thrown in the pond until we get thrown out?”
“Here, let me help with this next round. Come here,” Frank insisted.
Taking his hand, you allowed him to guide you to where you were supposed to stand before placing the ball on the turf.
“I really don’t think you can do much for me, Frank. I’m kind of–”
Frank shushed you as he stood behind you, hands resting on your arms.
“Just pay attention, young padawan,” he said, his voice low. His warmth pressed against your back as he guided your movements. “Let me show you the ways of the Jedi.”
Your breath caught in your throat, but you pushed it back down with a giggle.
“First, use the club to line up the ball with the hole. Like this.”
He leaned even closer, adjusting the putter in your hands. “Focus.” His mouth was near your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.
“Take a deep breath. Inhale, pull the putter back.”
You mirrored him as he breathed with you. “Exhale—and hit the ball.”
He let go of you, leaving you breathless as you looked up at him wide-eyed.
“Now you try.”
You couldn’t help but think that he’d done that shit on purpose.
But Mama didn’t raise no quitter. You mimicked what he showed you and…
“Hole in one!” you squealed, jumping and clapping your hands.
Frank cheered, rushing to grab you. He spun you around, and as he slowed, his lips met yours.
He almost immediately pulled back, eyes wide and apologetic.
“I’m so sorry. I was just really excited… probably moving too fast… I really should have—”
His words cut off as you pressed your lips to his, pulling him in close.
Frank hesitated, then wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers tugging at his hair.
A soft groan escaped him, encouraging you to deepen the kiss.
Suddenly, someone cleared their throat.
You pulled away, but he kept his arms firmly wrapped around your waist.
“Sorry,” you murmured, eyes locked on his. He chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Hey… It’s not too soon to cash in that consolation prize, is it?” You flashed a teasing smile. He hesitated for just a moment, and you worried you might have misread him.
“No definitely not. We'll just put this game on hiatus. Like NSYNC,” he finally said, grinning widely.
You laughed, shaking your head as the two of you ran to drop off the putters.
