honey 🐝

she/her - late 20s melfrank enthusiast writer (debatable)

[holywaterhangover]

hiiii! welcome to my melfrank brainrot blog

i'm still relearning tumblr, so forgive me if i make any errors but i wanted to pin my ao3 in case anyone's interested in reading what i've written

everything i write is for fun. all scenarios, stories, and thoughts are purely fictional and in no way a reflection of the characters or actors. i'm just here for a good time, that's all!

my ask box is always open if you're interested in hearing me yap about melfrank freakisms or anything else

enjoy your stay! (or don't, totally up to you)

[stickwithme1]

@kingdonmicrofic day 3: gala 493/467. reverse age gap. implied secret relationship

Frank Langdon is sweating buckets from anxiety, dread and the thick suit he borrowed from a colleague who worked in the ICU who had forgotten to mention that it was a winter suit.

Which would’ve been helpful, as the hospital’s annual gala was in July.

It wasn’t mandated to come, but lots of people from upstairs had come down to mention all the networking opportunities events like this came with, how it helps make the hospital look good for the public and in simpler terms if you want to finish your residency here, smile your pretty face to the donors, intern.

And Frank can admit, he’s a charmer. It’s how he stayed out of trouble in school and in college, smiling at teachers and professors, putting on his Southern drawl a bit thicker and laying out an extra ma’am or sir when the situation called for it.

But between the heat, the heavy suit and the ways dozens of people’s eyes turned blank the moment he mentions it’s only his first year at the hospital, the night out was a loss.

So, after a while, here he was people watching beside the bar, surrounded by other colleagues from PTMC that are busy talking amongst themselves; as he holds onto an almost empty champagne glass that he doesn’t want to let go of because he has no idea what to do with his hands.

“You know, you’re supposed to hold the glass at the stem.” A voice comes up from behind him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

He’d recognize that voice anywhere, even amongst the constant drawl of ass-kissing and schmoozing in the room. When he turns around, he sees Dr. Mel King, smiling, her crows feet out in force, wearing a simple ankle length light green dress, her hair loose and wavy.

“Enjoying the party?” She smiles, now standing beside him, looking out to the event.

“I am now.” He whispers to her, pleased when Mel rolls her eyes and hits him on the shoulder softly, arm subtly sliding down to his forearm,

“You look…” Breathtaking. Beautiful. Devastatingly hot. Every other completely inappropriate HR-worthy term. “Very lovely, Dr. King.”

She flushes “Mel, please. And thank you, you look lovely as well, Frank.”

“Have you been able to mingle?”

“Oh, yes. Dr. Underwood enjoys showing off her show-pony for autistic representation.” Mel remarks dryly, stealing his finger-print-stained flute glass and drinking the last dregs. “I was actually about to head out when I saw my favorite intern standing by himself.”

“I’ll have to tell Whitaker you hold him in such high esteem.” Frank says lowly, stealing a glance around if someone’s watching, feeling like he’s dancing around something dangerous.

“He could never.” Mel says, kind yet firm, something almost possessive flashing in her eyes

Her hand that had never really departed him his forearm squeezes softly and Frank’s feels it almost as she were holding his lungs in her hands.

[holywaterhangover]

@kingdonmicrofic day 03 -> gala (499/467) hints at potential infidelity, age gap, different first meeting

...

“Mel, have you had the chance to meet Dr. Langdon?”

She’s been pulled every which way since the second she’d arrived. Stuffed into a tight, emerald green cowl neck dress and given one sole order: Sell the ED. 

The event space is decorated intricately, primarily golds and deep, rich shades of navy, with staff floating around offering Hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of champagne; donors and doctors and residents mingling in an attempt to draw in as much funding as possible for PTMC. Not like Mel’s really selling herself well, nor the hospital, anyway, seeing as she’s been employed there for less than a month and really has no clue if she’s intending to stay.

“No, um,” Mel blinks, shaking her head and attempting to keep her fingers from trembling around the glass she’s been holding for forty-five minutes, offering a prim smile. As she turns from Samira’s kind, wide grin to this supposed Dr. Langdon, expecting a balding, tire-bellied man with too much money and a disdain for healthcare workers, she’s pleasantly surprised to find he’s incredibly, and devastatingly, handsome. “I— I haven’t. Hello.”

There’s thin wisps of grey in his otherwise lush dark hair, meticulously styled, of course. The expression he wears is tight but curious, cerulean eyes glimmering like tiny island coves would beneath moonlight. His suit fits him like a second skin.

Dr. Langdon extends his arm, “Pleasure to meet you, Dr. King.”

Mel’s thumb brushes against the loose, gold band adorning his finger when they shake hands. It sends a jolt through her entire nervous system. “Likewise,” she says, “Are you, um.. on the board, or..?”

She’s horrific at small talk, obviously. Conveniently, Samira is pulled away by someone Mel doesn’t recognize, which leaves her in this little bubble with a man whose simple stare makes her stomach do somersaults. She desperately tries to distract herself from his looks but she can’t help but tally up the supposed difference in age between them. He can’t be older than forty, she estimates.

“Ah, no,” he shakes his head with a light, airy chuckle. “I’m the head of Presby’s emergency department.”

Mel’s eyes widen cartoonishly. “Seriously?” she can’t help but blurt. “But you’re, um.. so young?”

Pink dusts his cheeks. “I’ll be forty-five this November,” he says. “I’m flattered you think I’m too young to run an ER, though. That’s a new one.”

“I mean, I wasn’t— um— like, doubting you,” she stumbles. “I’m— I just started my second year of residency and.. my boss is in his sixties, so— gosh. What am I even talking about?”

Dr. Langdon’s lips lift into a crooked smile. “I don’t know, but I’d love it if you kept going.”

She spends the remainder of her time at the gala ignoring Gloria Underwood’s one request, instead shuffling into a corner with Dr. Langdon and avoiding, well, everyone else.

It’s no surprise when a week later, there’s an offer letter to join Presby’s ER team from one Francis J. Langdon, MD.

[kingdonagegap]

champagne, words: 464

childhood friends to lovers, infidelity, love rosie inspired @kingdonmicrofic

dedicating this one to my lovely friend @kingdonspirits hbd!! ☺️

Mel snags another glass off of one of the caterers walking by. She shifts uncomfortably in her dress. It’s gold and silky against her skin, but it’s strapless and she feels exposed and indecent.

She doesn’t dare look behind her, because she knows if she does she’ll see Abby, beautiful and funny Abby, clutching onto Frank like he’s a life saver and laughing, looking at him with her big brown eyes. And it’ll hurt because Mel knows that’s how she used to look at Frank, before Abby, Liam, before any of all this mess. She can’t look back because Frank will be looking at her, instead of the woman who now wears his ring. It’s a big diamond that cost a fortune, not like the one that belonged to his mother. (She had refused to give it to him when he told her about their engagement.)

One of Abby’s bridesmaid’s, dressed in a bright orange dress, clinks her own glass and announces it’s time for the speeches. Abby’s brother goes up first and Mel downs the rest of her champagne and gets her note card ready. Mel had been worried about what to speak about when Frank asked her to be his “Best Man.” They’ve shared thirty something years together, how do you put that down onto a small piece of paper?

Abby’s brother is wrapping up his speech and that’s Mel’s que to start making her way up to the front of the room. She gives the guy a brief smile and takes the microphone from him.

For most of her speech, she avoids looking at Frank. Instead at the faces of everyone in the room as she regails tales of childhood freedom and teenage rebellion, pausing to let everyone laugh at the right times. She glances down at her notes and finally looks at her best friend. The one person who knows her better than anyone else and tucks the paper in her pocket.

“I just… I want you to know that no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, or who you’re with…” Her breath catches in her throat and she feels her eyes burning and Frank is just looking at her, open and raw. “I will always, honestly, truly, completely, love you.”

Abby grimaces and Frank’s eyes are just shiny, like they’re both kids again.

“...Like a sister loves a brother.” She finishes lamely and walks back to her seat quickly, refusing to meet the pitying eyes of her sister, or Frank’s mom, or fucking Abby.

Her phone buzzes on the table.

Frank So. you gonna tell me your room number?

Mel squints at the words and glances at Frank. He’s not looking at her. She sends it before she can think twice and snatches another glass of champagne.

[ironcharliee]

Prompt: Champagne @kingdonmicrofic | 500 words | Rated G | 2/31 | Castle AU

“I still don’t understand why you killed off Derek Storm, Frank.” 

Frank rolls his eyes. This again. “Haven’t you ever wanted anything new and exciting, Abby?” 

“No,” Abby says curtly, leaning against the bar. “What I want is my bestselling mystery writer to not have killed off the best spy since James Bond.” 

“Are you saying that as my bloodsucking publisher, or my bloodsucking ex-wife?” 

“Cute.” 

“Leave it alone, Abs,” Frank says, reaching over to grab a glass of champagne and hand it to her. “It’s a party, didn’t you hear?” 

“And have you found that something new and exciting, Frank?” Abby asks, taking a delicate sip of her drink. “Because my sources say that you haven’t written in weeks.” 

Shit. 

“My sources say that you’ve been listless, sitting around in your pajamas, staring at an empty page. My sources say you’ve lost it.” 

“Your sources are wrong,” Frank lies. So what if his bestselling character bored him to tears so much that he killed him off in the latest book? So what if he’s lost his muse, his creativity, his will to write? “I haven’t lost anything.” 

Abby smiles tightly, taunting him as she makes her way over to the other end of the bar, where a young redhead sits with some headphones, hunched over a science textbook and paying no attention to the party. 

“My sources are never wrong,” Abby says about their teenage daughter, kissing her on the forehead before turning to him. “You owe me new pages next month, or we’re demanding the advance back.” 

“I already spent it,” Frank jabs, “divorcing you.” 

Abby flips him off, gives one last kiss to Penny’s forehead, and then makes her way across the party. 

“What’d you do this time?” Penny sighs, taking off her headphones. 

“Nothing,” Frank protests, motioning to the bartender for another glass of champagne.

“You must’ve done something.” 

“So I killed off Derek Storm, so what.” 

Penny rolls her eyes. “Mom just wants what’s best.” 

“What’s best for who?” Frank says lightly, accepting the drink from the bartender and downing it in one. “Everything with Derek just felt so predictable, I mean come on, I’ve written ten books on him.” 

“Ian Fleming wrote twelve books and two short story anthologies for Bond.” 

“I just wanted something new, something exciting, is that so much to ask for?” 

“Mr. Langdon?” someone says from behind him. 

Frank turns to see a blonde woman in a suit, flashing a police badge at him—oh god. What’s he done this time?

“Detective Mel King, NYPD, we need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight.” 

“I’m sorry, officer, there must be a mistake,” he says, confused, “I’ve been here all evening.” 

“No, sir,” Detective King says, “you misunderstand. We found a body earlier tonight, it was staged like one of your books. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” 

Huh. 

Penny leans up, pats him on the shoulder, and says, “Well that’s new.” 

[kodwrites]

Day 2: Champagne

@kingdonmicrofic, Wedding 'Verse, 499 words, Rated G (read on ao3)

March 8, 2029 (276 days to go)

“Mel, sweetheart, love of my life, it’s your wedding. What do you want?”

Mel groans, “First of all, it’s our wedding. And second, I just want to make a decision. I didn’t want to spend this much time on bridesmaids dresses.”

Frank had returned from his shift to find Mel at their kitchen table, biting her thumbnail while frowning at her laptop, her tea having gone cold. After the usual pleasantries, Frank brewed Mel a fresh cup as she filled him in on today’s wedding planning drama.

Apparently, Becca wanted to wear a champagne dress, while Mel had been leaning towards emerald green. (Booking a December wedding had at least helped narrow down the color palate.)

“If you don’t like that color, just say no. It’s not Becca’s decision, she’ll have to deal.”

Mel frowned. “I know that, but I still want her to be happy and like what she’s wearing- she’s the maid of honor!”

Mel and Becca had come a long way since their July 4 falling out, but over a decade of acting as surrogate parent, twin sister, and caregiver meant that even now, years later, Mel still struggled to not automatically give in to Becca’s whims.

Becca had gotten used to that dynamic- adjusting it had taken significant time and effort. It hadn’t been easy, and was still a work in progress, but Frank gladly supported Mel as she cultivated and enforced healthier boundaries with her sister.

Frank leaned across the table and took her hand, rubbing his thumb across the back in an attempt to sooth the worry written across her face.

When it came to wedding planning, Frank felt fortunate he’d done this before. He’d admittedly taken a back seat to Abby and her mom, and hadn’t engaged with it as much as Abby wanted, much to her chagrin.

This time around, he swore to himself that he’d be a better partner in this process, as well as in life. He wouldn’t take this second chance for granted.

“Mel, honey,” he started, softly, “everything is going to work out fine. Becca loves you, she wants you to be happy too.”

Mel sighed, bringing one of his hands to her mouth, lightly kissing it. “I know. You’re right. It’s just a dress. It’s just- it feels so much bigger than that, you know? I never thought I’d get to have this and now I do. I just want to enjoy it.”

Frank stood up from his chair and kissed her forehead. “You will. I know you’ll find the right compromise. If you need backup, I’ve got you.”

Mel hummed, pulling him down for a tender kiss. He felt the stress leave her body as she relaxed into his touch.

“I’m gonna call Becca and work this out, can you start on dinner? I got some chicken out to thaw.”

“Of course, baby.”

In the end, the King sisters did find a compromise. Instead of champagne, they decided on gold- the color of Mel’s heart.

[langdonmels]

day 2: champagne

for @kingdonmicrofic & @kingdonspirits (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!) wc: 158 | rating: e | cw: ddlg, infidelity, sleezy frank, dirty talk, references to blindfolding & bondage

“Oh, it’s cold.” Blindfolded with hands tied to the bedpost, Mel squirms as the champagne spills across her skin. “And messy.”

Licking between her breasts, Frank savors the bitter taste. “Good.” He’ll buy Abby new sheets later. “Open up for me, baby.”

Her legs spread and Frank smirks at her easy obedience and pretty cunt, glistening for him. His finger swipes through her folds. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

“Please…” she begs.

“I know, sweetheart… so needy.” He tilts his head, admiring. She’s so open, vulnerable. “You’d do anything for me, right, baby?”

Mel keens. “Yes, Daddy.”

Frank strokes his cock using her wetness before climbing over her, breath hot against her lips; his fingers linger over her throat. “Good girls let Daddy fuck them.”

What he doesn’t say: lose your virginity to a married man in the bed he shares with his wife.

Mel stiffens before melting. “Okay, Daddy… I trust you.”

Frank smirks. She really shouldn’t.

[kmsk8r]

@kingdonmicrofic day 2: champagne | 158/158 | rating: g

“So you go, but you don’t go as yourself?” Frank clarifies.

“Well, no, she’s like an alter ego. Like a character,” Mel explains sheepishly.

Silence stretches for a moment and when she looks back up, he raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Well, go on.”

“You want to hear about it?” Her voice thick with disbelief.

“Yeah,” he replies, scoffing like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that he would. She’s still getting used to him listening to her and wanting to understand who she really is. Still getting used to having a friend. All her own. It’s nice, really nice.

“Well, she’s a seventeenth-century French milkmaid. I have this whole binder at home with research in it, oh my gosh, everything is period accurate to the Champagne region at the time. A couple years ago, I actually hunted down this specific fabric to make part of the chemise I wear.” 

“Cool,” he breathes. “Do you have pictures?”

[reciprocityfic]

@kingdonmicrofic day one: confetti | 382/382 | rating: g

She’s never liked hockey.

She prefers baseball, likes the endless statistics and methodically keeping score like his dad taught her at one of Penny’s softball games. She does this even when they watch Pirates games at home, Tanner checking over her shoulder to make sure he’s doing his scorecard the right way, too, Penny playing with the dog at her feet and Frank always sitting by her side, his thumb rubbing over her kneecap.

But hockey is Frank’s favorite, the quick pace and ceaseless action matching the way his brain tended to move at one million miles per hour. Even in the breaks in play, something was always moving – a player skating to the bench, a puck gliding across the ice, the occasional fist fight breaking out despite the referee’s whistles.

When she overheard one of the new surgical attendings talking about selling her pair of rinkside tickets to game seven of the Stanley Cup Final between the Penguins and the Sharks, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity. She and Frank were both already off that day, the cosmos seemingly aligning to Get Frank Langdon to a Stanley Cup Playoff Game.

And she’s never liked hockey, almost told him to take Donnie. But now – surrounded by the stench of spilled beer, sweaty men with their shirts off and so much yelling – she knows she made the right choice, coming with him.

“There’s confetti in your mouth.”

He looks at her. She doesn’t know how he heard her voice through the noise, but maybe she shouldn’t be surprised; it’s him. He’s always heard her, no matter how metaphorically or literally improbable it seemed.

He looks at her. Sure enough, there is black and gold confetti on his lips.

“What?”

He shouts obliviously around the confetti, above the roar of the crowd celebrating the fact that the Penguins just won the Stanley Cup. She goes to speak, but then she really looks at him (as much as she can through all the aforementioned confetti). Splotchy skin, flared nostrils, and are those tears in his eyes?

The same hat on his head that he wore that first day he came back to her.

“Never mind,” she decides.

He grins at her, that confetti smile.

She’s never liked hockey. But, right now, it’s her favorite sport.

[holywaterhangover]

@kingdonmicrofic day 02 -> champagne (300/158) non-explicit sex, established relationship

...

Is it considered impolite to slip away from your own rehearsal dinner? Just for a moment.. or a handful of moments. An hour, tops. It’s not like anyone will really care, right?

While Frank tries to desperately justify their absence, he realizes nearly all of the blood in his body is racing, rushing south as Mel’s nails scrape along his left hipbone. The windows fog with their panted, champagne-sweet breaths, tangling up in the backseat of his Camry like a couple of rowdy teenagers.

Her dress rucks up just enough to get things moving along, before it’s too late and someone comes looking for them. Sticky, saccharine mouths move in a messy rhythm, something electric and new overlapping familiarity.

These promises, right here in the dark alley on a frizzy August evening, are solely theirs. Not all that different from the ones spoken previously in front of their loved ones in the banquet hall, but the whines and stench of warm skin aren’t exactly appropriate for such company, so.

She trembles one final time, one long, shuddering exhale, her tongue tied around the words that Frank steals right from her mouth, I love you.

He follows suit with far less grace, mustering up enough strength to skate his fingertips along the clouded window, hoping the heart he scribbles isn’t too lopsided. F+M he plunks right in the center; evidence of their little secret rendezvous. 

Mel still smells like champagne when they slip back inside but there’s something different, too, mainly in the way her mouth curls as they catch one another’s gaze from across the room. It’s almost predatory.

Trinity, unfortunately, is the one to make him aware of the cherry-colored lipstick stains marking his collar and throat after their final celebratory bottle-popping toast for the happy couple.

Oops.

[ironcharliee]

Prompt: Confetti @kingdonmicrofic | 500 words | Rated G | 1/31 | Birthday Buddies |

Mel is mad. 

“Alright everyone,” Mrs. Wilson announces, “today’s a special day!” 

Really mad. 

“It’s two of our classmates' birthdays today!” 

Mel’s classmates clap, and at the desk behind her, Frank cheers and kicks her chair. 

“Ow!” 

“Let’s sing Frank and Mel happy birthday!” 

Mel frowns as the class sings. It’s her birthday, she’s turning eight! Why does she have to share her birthday with a boy? Especially a boy who kicks her chair and pulls her braid and cheats off her tests. 

“Wonderful, class,” Mrs. Wilson says when they finish singing. “Make sure you wish Frank and Mel a happy birthday today!” 

Mel’s mad the whole rest of the day. Through recess and lunch and even through the spelling test later that day. And Mel loves spelling tests. She got to spell confetti today and she’s still not happy.

She’s still mad when Frank catches her after school. 

“Hey, Mel!” he calls, his backpack swung low on one shoulder as he walks towards her. “I can’t believe we share a birthday that’s so cool.” 

“Hmm,” Mel pouts. She doesn’t think it’s cool at all. 

“What, you don’t wanna talk to me?” he jokes, arriving next to her. 

“Why would I talk to you?” Mel spits out.”We’re not friends.” 

Frank frowns. “I thought we were friends?” 

“Why would we be friends?” she asks, tightening the straps on her backpack so it sits higher on her shoulders. 

“I dunno,” he shrugs. 

“My friends don’t kick my chair,” Mel says. “My friends don’t tug on my braid and my friends don’t use me to cheat on tests.” 

“You saw that?” he winces. 

“Everybody saw that, Frank.” Mel crosses her arms over her chest. “Just because we turned eight on the same day doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Well okay.” 

A few seconds go by, and Mel wishes her mom would hurry. She doesn’t like Frank, she doesn’t want to be his friend, she doesn’t—

“What if I want to be your friend?” 

Mel frowns and looks at Frank. “Then you should ask,” she says. “And stop pulling on my hair. And kicking my chair.” 

Frank kicks the ground as he thinks. “Can I still cheat off your tests?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm.” 

A few more seconds goes by. Mel doesn’t know what Frank’s doing. Why does he want to be her friend anyway? It’s not like they play together.

“Then Mel, I would like to be your friend.” 

“What?” Mel yells. “Why?” 

“Cause you’re nice,” Frank shrugs. “And you’re smart. And I like you.” 

“Well I don’t like you.” 

Frank takes off his backpack and opens it up. After a second, he pulls out a fruit roll-up and holds it out to her. 

“What about now?” 

Mel looks at him. She doesn’t like him really, he’s a boy, but she does want a fruit roll-up. 

“Fine,” she says, taking the treat from his hands. “And you’ll stop tugging my braid?” 

“I’ll stop tugging your braid,” he repeats, nodding his head. 

“Then yeah, let’s be friends.”

[zolusbian]

@kingdonmicrofic day one: confetti - 382 words - slight references to addiction

New Year’s Eve is not a children’s holiday. It is, however, a lover’s holiday. Frank and Mel are not lovers. They’re two lonely people, watching the fireworks, with no lovers. They’re off shift. They’re together because Frank asked Mel to be here, at his apartment. They don’t talk about what this means. They don’t talk about Abby and who she might be with, or Becca celebrating alongside Adam. They don’t talk about why they both declined Jack’s New Year’s Eve party invitation.

“Do you think they’ll keep airing this?” Frank asks her as they watch this year’s Times Square Ball Drop hosts patter on with B-list celebrities in anticipation of the ball drop. “I mean, do you think anybody watches this anymore?”

 “We’re watching it,” Mel says, gesturing to the screen with the bottle of non-alcoholic cider she’s been drinking.             

“I don’t think our taste in entertainment aligns with most people’s.”

Mel smiles, thinking about renaissance fairs and historical reenactments, musical theater, long multipart documentaries, all the shared interests they’ve discovered over the course of a few years. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Frank wraps his arm round her and brings her into him. He’s warm and solid. She finds it hard to believe that he hurt his back while moving, even though she knows all the various way a person’s bones and muscles can twist and turn, even in a young, healthy man in his physical prime. His back still hurts him, sometimes, and when it does, she’ll help him apply heat patches and pain relief cream. They don’t talk about her hands on him, just like they’re not talking about her tucked into his chest at the moment.

When the ball drops they leap up. Mel, feeling antsy down to her toes, reaches into her pocket and throws the confetti she tucked there. This is more than just to celebrate the New Year—Mel knows, down to the minute, the anniversary of Frank’s sobriety. She burns with the urge to tell him, but she knows it’s not appropriate, and trusts him to understand the gesture.

She turns to him, beaming. “Happy New Year’s,” she says, bouncing on her heels, and he takes her by the wrists, confetti flakes in his hair. He leans down, kisses her. They don’t talk about this, either.

[holywaterhangover]

i love how i thought up a very specific melpreg summer idea, started writing it and started shaping the little universe, only to end up reviving an old WIP and realizing it's also very melpreg summer coded. oops!

[avalonjoan]

day 1: confetti

@kingdonmicrofic | 382/382 | rated g

While he dresses for his second day back at work, Langdon prays—hopes, wishes, manifests, whatever—for it to be easier than his first. Robby won't be there, so unless the computers go back down or the city decides that it wants to celebrate the 4th again, it's almost impossible for things to be worse. He's skating dangerously close to conjuring up the Q word, he knows, but synonyms seems safe for now.

Somehow, though, his wish works out. He breathes a little easier without Robby there, something that comes first as a relief and second as an empty ache in his chest, the Robby-shaped hole shrinking just a bit.

Beyond that, work is work is work, and he's back in the groove of things by the time Mel shows up for her 11-7. She doesn't run at him like she had the day before, but her face lights up all the same when she spots him across the main hub. Quickly, she makes her way to his side, then glances over each of her shoulders before saying in a conspiratorial whisper, "I have something for you."

When Langdon doesn't reply beyond an expectant raise of his eyebrows, Mel looks at the board, then toward the ambulance entrance; finally, she says, still quiet, "Follow me."

Langdon does, unable to keep from smiling at the way Mel moves, clearly on a mission. At her locker, she punches in her code as she explains, "Alcohol does the opposite thing for me than most people, so I was awake until almost three"—she takes a plastic container out from under her bag and holds it out to Langdon—"so I figured I'd put that time to good use." She nods at the container.

Inside, there are twelve mini cupcakes snugly tucked together, decorated with a confetti of sprinkles and 'welcome back!' written on them in gel frosting.

"The writing isn't the neatest, given"—she presses her lips together in a self-deprecating grimace—"the alcohol—"

"Mel," Langdon interrupts, beaming. "They're perfect." He takes the cupcake marked with the exclamation point, getting frosting on his fingertips as he holds it out to Mel. "Thank you."

Mel smiles broadly, holding her cupcake out until Langdon takes one for himself and taps them together in a toast.

[holywaterhangover]

@kingdonmicrofic day 01 -> confetti (500/382) no warnings

...

Every muscle feels overused, tight and sore and stretched beyond their capabilities, as his feet thumpthump heavily and lazily on the scratchy hotel room carpet. His vision flits between blurs and overwhelming sharpness; a side effect of sleeping in an unfamiliar place and wearing his old prescription contacts for hours on end because he couldn’t be bothered to throw them out.

The coffee maker is nearly complex enough to require some kind of engineering degree. A Keurig that functions like it’s meant to be in a scientific research facility, with the finesse and perfect sequence of button-pushing required just to extrude a little bit of caffeine. Eventually he figures it out and the thing splutters into a PLA-lined paper cup. He leans against the small desk, the harsh edges digging into the meat of his palms, as last night’s events make themselves known in the forefront of his mind.

Flashes of Mel’s wild curls and the blush high and dark on her cheeks. The gaudy plastic tiara Trinity insisted she wear sitting crookedly atop her head, decorated with hot pink gems that shone bright underneath the bar’s neon lighting. Tequila decorated her lips like gloss, sweet and sticky, shaping the words to songs Frank didn’t know but happily spun her around to. The sheer weight of her ring, despite its daintiness, constantly pressing into the meat of his bicep with every twist of their bodies, every dip, and every breath he took felt unreal. Witnessing her like that. He was almost terrified, wondering if it was all some sort of dream.

He knocks back the tiny cup’s contents, spluttering as something sticks to the back of his tongue. The empty cup clatters on the desk and Frank pries a piece of baby blue confetti from his mouth, muddied by coffee and damp with saliva.

A soft, airy exhale sounds behind him. Then, “Are you okay?”

Frank’s lips curl upward, presenting the tiny piece of colored tissue paper between his fingers. “This stuff sticks around, huh?” he chuckles. “Didn’t think to look in my cup first.”

“I’m sure there’s more,” she says, letting out a tiny groan as she sits up, thick white duvet held loosely to her chest. “But I don’t think the confetti is a concern right now.”

“No?” he muses, bringing himself to the edge of the bed. “Why’s that?”

She blinks earnestly at him, squinting a little without her glasses to assist. He’s likely a fuzzy little blur at the moment but she knows the details of him well enough by now. 

“Because,” she says seriously, raising her left hand. “Your wife is all alone in such a big bed, and I think that’s definitely more important.”

Mel doesn’t even get the chance to let go of the blanket covering her soft, pale skin before Frank lunges forward, ignoring the mildly searing lick of pain at the base of his spine because, yeah, she’s right. 

He married the love of his life last night. Fuck the confetti.

[audreyvoilax]

Some late night soft and sad kingdon

[holywaterhangover]

oh my god i didn't know there was a microfic event be prepared guys i'm about to get VERY annoying very fast!!!!!