Frank used to think he didn't care for the color red…until he met Mel. The way her cheeks blushed in that dimpled smile when she was finally got one of his jokes or the rosy tip of her nose when she was hard at work on any case. For the longest time, he could never figure out what it meant when he started to associate the color in every shade with her. In his mind, red is aggression, anger, and frustration and Mel's the complete opposite of those emotions. In spite of all that she's been through in her life, she's everything precious and right with the world.
He sees her wearing make up for the first time when they go out for drinks with their friends. It's subtle in a way that's so Mel, more so choosing to emphasize what was already beautiful about her.
"It suits you. I really like the red." He says softly, sure he's blushing himself with the warmth he feels.
"It's technically a maroon." She says in that matter of fact way only she can make sweet as she fiddles with her fingers. There she goes, blushing again sending his heart into a tailspin.
It's later that night when they've settled into his living room couch sharing a bottle of water to stave off the hangover. They didn't bother with the lights knowing they couldn't handle them being moderately buzzed, her especially, choosing instead to open the patio curtains for natural moonlight. Frank finds himself being unable to help himself from watching her. They sit in any easy silence; Mel's legs over his lap as he scratches the hairs at the nape of her neck, her eyes closed enjoying the feeling. She's always gorgeous but he finds her especially so tonight, all undone and so comfortably against him.
Suddenly Mel opens her eyes and Frank swears his heart falls out of his chest when she stares back him, fluttering her eyelashes. Were he not a doctor himself he would think he was dying. He knows he has a strange look on his face when she eyes him suspiciously, always looking for something deeper in him.
Frank doesn't even really think about the words before the words spill out. He just says them because it's the truest thing hes ever felt. "You know…you're my best friend."
Mel is stunned the same way she always is when anyone praises her, as though she barely believes it. Her face going through various emotions of bewilderment, until she settles on a silent tender smile. She settles even closer into him with her whole body, nosing at his neck, as though this was the only place she belonged. As she burrows herself closer to him and deeper within the recesses of his frayed heart, Frank realizes that he's in love, in real true burning, all consuming, passionate love with Mel.
november 2025 microfics, day 29: soup | 1,068 words | rated g (part 4 of the author!frank universe [parts 1, 2, and 3])
for the @kingdonmicrofic @kingdonmacrofic challenge
Mel’s used to them by now. The nicknames. Trinity’s come up with a few different ones over the years, but she has her go-tos: melly, melatonin, mel bear. They’re kind of cute—and Mel knows she’s only teasing, anyway.
But Yolanda hadn’t been teasing earlier, when she’d elbowed past Mel into Trauma One and sniped, “Watch it, Sunshine.”
People get upset in the ED. Tempers flare. Mel knows this—she’s used to this—but Yolanda’s comment had bothered her. Everything bothered her, after that day at the coffee shop.
It didn’t help that she was sick—sniffling, coughing, runny nose. The whole nine yards.
“Mel!” Trinity shouts through the front door. She’s banging on it, the sound reverberating through Mel’s skull.
She’d hoped to stay in tonight, wallowing on her couch. Becca was at the center, her second sleepover this month, and Mel had the apartment to herself—except for Trinity and Samira bustling in, arms laden with grocery bags.
“Alright, we’ve got acetaminophen, mucinex, afrin no drip, throat lozenges, benadryl, pedialyte, cheap wine, green tea, veggie broth, more veggies, noodles, and chicken breast,” Trinity says, dumping her grocery bags onto Mel’s counter.
“For?” Mel follows them into the kitchen.
“You, silly.”
“Trinity, I have half this stuff already—I’m an adult. And a doctor.”
“You have ingredients for chicken noodle soup?” Samira asks. Gently, because she already knows the answer. Mel doesn’t cook.
“Guys, you really didn’t have to,” Mel whines. Scratch what she’d said about being an adult.
“But we did, and we’re here, so you’re going to sit on the couch while Samira makes you tea and I throw this shit in a pot.”
Sometimes, Trinity sounds like a drill sergeant. It would bother Mel, if it didn’t remind her so much of Frank—of what he sounded like when she needed someone to walk her through her bedtime routine, after the shifts that left her shell shocked.
A few minutes later, Samira walks over with a steaming mug and drops herself onto the couch next to Mel.
“Brainrot time?” she asks, the way she always does when they’re in the break room alone.
Mel nods, and Samira pulls tiktok up on her phone. They scroll through videos of someone cutting soap, a man making stick figures out of acorns, and a woman giving out book recommendations for adults who’d liked The Magic Tree House as kids.
Samira’s about to scroll past the next video, but the caption catches Mel’s eye: What Frank Langdon Did (Not) Write.
“It’s a tell-all memoir about his life up ’til now, right?” the woman on the screen says. She’s facing the camera, wearing a very serious, very black outfit. “So the book’s split into ‘before the move’ and ‘after the move.’ There’s a serious tonal shift, a sense of loss that comes with the departure for California. And it’s never really explained. He doesn’t actually say what he left behind.”
There’s a snort, loud and obnoxious, from behind the couch.
“What?” Mel asks, and Trinity rolls her eyes.
“He left you,” she says.
“That can’t be it.”
“Mel,” Trinity argues, looking to Samira for back up. “He literally wrote the book for you.”
“He wrote it for his family,” Mel counters. Because he did. It’s in the dedication.
“And for his light. Which is you, Melly. Why do you think Garcia calls you sunshine?”
She’d assumed it was because of the color of her hair. Or her sunny disposition. Everyone was always telling Mel she got too excited, too smiley.
“He couldn’t have written it for me,” she starts, only to reword her thoughts when she notices Trinity about to interrupt—“and even if he did, it doesn’t matter.”
“Mel,” Samira says.
“No, it—it doesn’t matter. He still left. People like me, sometimes, or even—maybe even love me, and they still leave.” Because she isn’t enough. Not like Abby, not like his kids. “He’s still living in California, and he’s not coming back for me. So no, it doesn’t matter.”
She can’t look up, doesn’t want to see their faces. The pity on Samira’s face. The anger on Trinity’s.
“Fine,” Trinity huffs, stomping back to the kitchen. “But you’re going to take that Mucinex, because you’re getting snot all over your sweatshirt, and then we’re going to drink wine and tea and water and forget all about Frank Langdon’s stupid face. Okay?”
“Okay,” Mel sniffles.
But it’s hard to forget about his face, she knows. She’s been trying for two years.
When Samira and Trinity finally pass out in her king-sized bed, Mel shuffles into the bathroom, robe pulled tight around her waist.
She dials a number she can’t forget, and lets the phone ring.
[2029-11-18, 02:19 minutes]
Hi, Frank. Um, it’s me? Mel? I know it’s late—it’s two a.m. over here. Which wouldn’t be that late for you in California, but I know you’re not home. Is it weird that I know you’re in Philly right now? It’s probably weird, but Samira showed me your tour schedule, and I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t get you out of my head. We haven’t talked, not really, in so long, and I—I miss telling you about a patient, or asking you for advice. I miss, um, I miss seeing you? And the way you look at me? Or used to look at me. And used to touch me. It was so nice, having someone to touch me. Victoria tries to hug me sometimes, when I look a little—um, when I haven’t slept in too long, but it’s not the same. She’s really excited about the hug, and jittery, and I just… I just need someone to hold me. I should probably find someone else to do that; I mean, it’s been two years, so—what am I waiting for, you know? But I guess I’m, I’m waiting for you? Even though you’re not coming back. So it’s all just stupid, and this whole thing is stupid, and I really, really shouldn’t have called. Um, please delete this in the morning, okay? I’m on a ton of meds right now because Trinity thought I was dying of the plague or something, so I’m a little out of it, probably won’t even remember this in the morning. I hope you don’t either. You’re good at forgetting. Anyway—goodnight, Frank. Sweet dreams.
@kingdonmacrofic • Day 17: Maze • 641/285 • Rated: E
CW: Infidelity, Age Gap, Fingering, Dubcon
standalone but it's set in the same universe as day 4 and day 5
•••
The first time Langdon kisses Mel, he takes note of her pelvis bucking up to meet his. They're locked in a supply closet.
Once caught, she jumps to apologize. Her stream of conscious becomes a blubbering mess explaining she had never done such a thing or wanted to, especially during a work hours, it's really so out of character, she's usually such a good girl, everybody would tell her so–
"Is that what you think you are, Melissa?"
Mel's rambling halts. Eyes wide at the insinuation she is anything but. Still, she nods.
Langdon narrows his eyes. Not that he doesn't believe her, he wishes to test her claim. Good girl implies she's loyal, clinging to his side, operating on praise, taking rewards and retribution eagerly—like a puppy. The kind of girl he'd drop in a maze to see if she'd run to his embrace from scent alone.
Good girl, he scoffs thinking about it. If she would like to make high claims, she wouldn't mind them tested, would she?
Her only saving grace is his index finger languidly trailing from her lips, between her breasts, over her abdominal plane (two, five, eight, he whispered), and settled on the edge of her waistband. He tapped thrice.
When Mel responds with a hiccup and a shaky we can't right now, he slips a hand in. He dips a finger through her panties, gathering wetness on the fabric. "If you're such a good girl, tell me to quit."
Their proximity does her no favours. Langdon's lips hover over her, momentarily, as his fingers push aside the fabric and trace her entrance. She's new to this, he can tell.
Sometimes he wishes she worked in the ER instead of pushing pencils upstairs. Though, she spends enough time trailing him anyway.
"Sweet that you think I won't take it right here. Jesus, does Gloria know her little intern spends her day in the ER like this, or should I shoot her an email?"
There's a whimper when he pushes a finger in. One he'll file away for quieter, lonelier nights.
Dr. Lang–
"Listen, sweetheart, you can walk away if you can tell me to stop playing with your cunt. One word, that's it."
There's no protest. Mel moans when he adds a second finger and even grinds on the heel of his hand. He feels the bundle of nerves, soft on his hand, chasing friction. Good girls don't lose their virginities in supply closets, he's sure to save hers for his marital bed.
For now, he settles for three fingers pumping fervently, stretching her for the first time. That's too many, sir.
Sir? Christ, she's adorable.
"Tell me to stop then, sweetheart."
That elicits a breathy moan. Langdon revels in it, flies this one away with the rest.
Should he record her?
Just as the thought hits, so does her orgasm. Unable to keep it at bay, Mel quivers around his hand.
One sweetheart is all it takes. He wonders if there are other pet names that might do her in faster. Baby, sugar, angel, pumpkin. Another thought for another day.
Delirious, she asks if she's meant to feel lightheaded. Langdon frees his hand from her shorts, sucking his fingers clean. With his free hand, Langdon tucks a wet strand behind her ear. The July heat finally catching up to her.
There's reason this sort of act happens horizontally. Mel deserves to throw her head on a pillow or curl under his arm after exerting herself.
"Mel, you okay?"
"Uh-huh, just a tad exhausted," she replies, still giddy. "Maybe I should head upstairs soon, I've been gone all morning."
Patting her braid back in place, Mel leans up to kiss cheek, then his lips, offering a soft thank you before heading out.
@kingdonmicrofic
nov 28 prompt: coffee
rated g
136 words
She thought she’d remember everything about him: the smell of the cologne he wore off-shift, the particular length of the hair on his knuckles, the way he’d always jump over the last three stairs from the landing, swinging around with one hand firm on the banister. Her brain chemistry convinced her she would learn him inside and out better than Abby ever had, and that knowledge would be the foundation for something life-long.
But when she flips the calendar to December, it takes her a second to recognize his handwriting scrawled over a faded coffee ring. She struggles to conjure the image of him last fall, filling out important dates in an effort to counter his ADHD. The curse of brain plasticity; she’s already used to him being gone.
Robby goes on, “You should prepare yourself for the possibility that her memories might not come back.”
Frank turns to face him. He looks like shit. Not that he must look much better. He’s been at the hospital for ten days straight, only leaving to shower and change or check on his kids.
Robby runs a hand through his hair. “No matter what, it’s shit.”
On that, Frank agrees with him. “You really think Mel might not remember me?”
Robby hesitates, and it’s the only answer he needs. He can’t recall the last time the two of them talked alone like this. It’s probably been years. Between Frank’s 10-month absence and then Robby icing him out for the months that followed, they never got back to where they were before. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, they were never friends. It just took him a while to realize it.
“You have to consider that the best option might be to…Let her go,” Robby says.
“Because that’ll fix everything.” Frank sounds as bitter as his father does when he talks about his mother.
“I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
It’s the ugly truth, and yet, Frank isn’t going to listen.
“I don’t care if she never remembers me. I’m staying.”
Remember, Melissa. If the wind howls, listen. If it whispers, run.
A kind word travels farther than a fast horse.
You shan’t ever make deals with the fae.
Her mother was partial to repeating those three sayings to Mel, almost a mantra. Lucille was very fond of knowing things —that’s where you get your curiosity, Missy, her father used to say when she was young—, but not nearly as much as she enjoyed turning her wisdom into a King’s decree, never to be strayed from.
Nevermind her youngest struggle to keep them all afloat. The writings must always come first. None of that mattered anymore. Mother was long buried and winter was coming soon. They had to leave for the continent before the first snow hit the ground. Becca’s little vegetable garden and Mel’s work as an apprentice healer at the apothecary wouldn't keep them from starving.
The bargain struck was very clear. If Mel was able to find her way out of the maze before the third moon’s turn, she would be granted enough coin to safely make it out of their dreary village. If she failed, the maze would collapse on itself, dragging everything in its midst down to the Pit.
Mel sat behind a mossy rock by the river, adding more marks to her makeshift map. She was confident in the path so far, surely would make it if she kept trekking west, away from the moonlight’s shine.
A branch creaked under someone’s foot. Mel stilled. There was a shadow moving in her direction.
They are as beautiful as they are deceitful. Her mother’s voice rang in her ears, but her blood was rushing louder.
The man, was he a man? was dark-haired and fair, tall and slender. It seemed the closer he got to Mel, the broader his frame became. Was it a changeling?
“Good evening, dearheart” he spoke in a honeyed drawl, coming to a stop so close she could smell the spearmint on his clothes. Fresh and sharp, just like his otherworldly blue eyes.
Mel gulped, looking down at her feet. They were planted in the ground, her lips were sealed shut. Good. It was better to keep her piece than to talk herself into an early grave.
When she said nothing, the man lifted her chin with his thumb —calloused, dry skin— until she met his stare.
It was surprisingly warm. Suddenly, violently, Mel wanted to keep her eyes on his until they both turned to dust.
So distracted by the unexpected connection,none of them noticed the ring of flowers around their feet, glowing alight in the quiet night.
november 2025 microfics, day 17: maze | 475 words | rated g (melmisery, greek myth)
for the @kingdonmicrofic challenge
Her father had warned her about men. (Women too, especially the ones from out there, but Mel was a woman and her sister was a woman, so she figured they couldn’t all be bad.)
Watch their eyes, her father told her. Their hands, as they approach you. Their backs, as they turn away.
So Mel watched. She’d found an alcove when she was younger, a smattering of rocks cocooned by dense foliage, right in front of the golden door. An eye-catching door. A warning.
She watched as her father led seven women and seven men—all outsiders, she noted—past the door, down the steps, and into the mouth of the labyrinth.
The men were the first to scream—that was how she knew they were unkind. They bellowed and hissed and the sound traveled up the walls all the way to her alcove. And then the women shrieked, and her sister shrieked, and Mel would have to wait another year for someone to rescue Becca from her prison.
It had been designed by a man—a logical, unfeeling one who hung around despite the shrieks and the bellows. A man her father kept well fed, even after the labyrinth had taken his daughter. It was odd, to Mel, that her father had never asked the man to undo what his designs had done.
It was odd that her father never entered the maze himself, to rescue his daughter.
She’d forgotten something, until now: her father was a man too.
When the next fourteen outsiders arrived, Mel met them at the shore. She scanned their eyes (their hands, their bodies) from behind a tree at the edge of the sand.
They walked past her, silent and solemn, gaze steadfast on the ground. It was hard to see eyes that way.
But the last one—slightly older than the rest, but with a litheness to his limbs—turned her way. Kind eyes, she thought. Blue like the sky; specks of green like the sea.
Hands that said trust me, as they held hers that night. Hands that said follow me, as they tugged at the folds of her skirts. Hands that said wait for me, as they took her skein of spun wool down into the maze with them the next morning.
Lips that had said, I’ll come for you, right up against her own. I’ll take care of your sister, take care of you. You won’t have to watch us all on your own anymore.
He had come back, at some point during the night. She knew because Becca was sleeping soundly next to her. She knew because her skein of yarn lay in a heap next to her sister’s head.
She knew because his ship was gone from shore, him with it, and Mel had to remind herself. He was a man too. Watch their backs, as they turn away.
fog award(427) •inspiration:biography by nikki giovanni.•@kingdonmicrofic•november day 7•superhero au•oracle (barbara gordon) mel x red hood (jason todd) frank.
The line crackled as their comms connected. He wasn’t expecting her—she wasn’t sure if he’d pick up. There wasn’t bad blood between them, but Frank was on the outs with the ‘patriarch’—he’s convinced Bats would prefer it if he had stayed dead.
“Looks like you took a pretty nasty fall, do you—” he could hear the local news in the background, talking heads regurgitating some press release about Arkham renovations.
“Ah, so you do still keep tabs on me.”
She rolled her eyes, checking the security feed; he was looking at her through his wrist comm. “You’re on Park Row Fr—Red Hood, I’d be bad at my job if I didn’t have eyes there.”
He hummed like he didn’t believe her. (He shouldn’t. Of course she kept tabs on him. She had already lost him once).
“Speaking of your accomplishments,” Mel wished he wouldn’t. She couldn’t see his expression, but his shit eating grin burned in her mind anyways. “National Medal of Science, and a new bat species named after you in the same week. Do you think a statue at Robinson Park is next?”
It looked like she wasn’t the only person keeping tabs. (The bat thing was entirely coincidental, Nightwing said that the scientist had a crush on her—she doubted that theory. She hadn’t been bat anything in a while, resigned to her new identity as Oracle. The whole thing felt like a cruel comedy of errors).
Mel could end the call, Frank was clearly physically well (which she knew before she pinged him). She watched as the sun peeked over the city, criminals slinking away from the light and decided to indulge him (herself).
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful—”
“You never could.” He interrupted like it was a reflex to defend her.
“The awards and honours are nice, they mean something to me. But…” Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, clogging up her words. If there’s anyone who could understand her it was him; by the same hands, with the same distant father figure, they had both suffered—him a death and resurrection, and her paralysis.
She spun away from the camera, afraid of what her tired mind might betray. “It feels unsatisfying that it’s not on my terms. This isn’t the life I envisioned.”
“Yeah I know what you mean.” She can hear the crunch of a used needle beneath his boot, 100 metres away from his apartment door. Frank resided in the same zip code he was born into.
Mel’s eye twitched as he closed the line without saying goodbye.
All their lives, Becca has told Mel, “making friends is a breeze, it's so easy.”
And for Becca, it's always been true. Growing up, their mom surrounded Becca with people she trusted and knew would be kind.
As adults, Becca's care centers have always come with built-in friends in a way that the competitive atmosphere of medicine has never provided to Mel.
Plus, maybe Mel’s biased, but Becca is just easy to love. And more than that, she loves hard. She's a good friend, and it's rare to come across anyone Becca doesn't immediately like.
That's why it's such a shock when Becca dislikes Frank the first time they meet.
When Mel closes the door behind Frank after their first movie night with Becca ends, she already knows by the look on her sister’s face that it’s not good news.
“I don't know why,” Becca insists again, long minutes later. “He was very nice. He was just… weird.”
“Did he… say something? Or do something?” Mel had only left the room once, and she trusts Frank, she does. But Becca shakes her head.
“Mel, no. It's the way he was looking at you? Like…” she trails off, like she's searching for the words. Mel waits, fingers clasped under her chin.
“I don't know. I've just never seen anyone look at you like that,” she finishes finally.
“Oh, okay,” Mel says, for lack of anything else. “Can we try again? He's my favorite person at work. I really want you two to get along.”
***
They try again the following week, and Mel is more nervous than any event involving her two favorite people should make her.
Frank is charming and funny and very much follows Becca’s lead. Still, he turns to her immediately after Becca leaves the room, whispering, “I feel like I'm under a microscope here, and not in a cool science way.”
Mel just sighs. Becca is staring at him a lot. She can see her sister trying to puzzle something out, her eyes flicking between them often, almost like she's cataloguing every innocent look or touch.
When Frank leaves, after a lingering hug where he whispers a plea for her to call him with an update ASAP, Mel braces herself.
“Sooo?” She asks finally, when Becca is uncharacteristically quiet.
“I figured it out. He's not weird.”
“Good, okay,” Mel grins.
“He's in love with you,” she says, matter-of-factly. “That's why he looks at you so weird.”
(He is. He whispers it to her three weeks and four days later, the same night Becca tells him they're officially friends.)
for @kingdonmicrofic | rating: t | wc: 430
part 8/13 of LOVERCORE
read on ao3
You haven’t been dating.
Abby’s words are stuck in his head, repetitive and haunting. Now that his ex-wife is happily in a serious relationship (good dude, if boring, but that’s exactly what Abby needs and he’s good with Tanner and Kenzie so, whatever), naturally she’s turned her attention to Frank.
He shrugged off the question after saying good night to the kids. Abby hadn’t seemed convinced by I’m trying to focus on myself.
You’re allowed to find someone, you know. To be happy too.
That wasn’t the issue. Frank is happy.
He’s happy with Mel.
Which is why he stands in front of her apartment, hesitating at her door. Mel had mentioned plans for that night and it’s barely past nine. Frank hadn’t thought to call or text first… would she even be home yet? Or was she still out?
Or worse, had she taken them back here?
Rubbing his chest with one hand, Frank knocks with the other.
The door swings open.
His mouth dries. She’s in jeans and a flowy top. A little hint of make-up. Hair down. The nighttime breeze escapes into the foyer, sending little strands to cover her face.
She’s stunning.
“Frank? What’re you doing here?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, I just - ” He inhales a whiff of her perfume, sweet and perfect and her, and he feels himself unraveling on her doorstep. “Are you leaving? Or - ”
“Just got home.” Mel tilts her head. “Are you okay?”
“Are you alone?”
Frowning, she hesitates. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.” Honesty, flowing from his lips, so easy with her. “Please, Mel.”
A beat, and then she nods. “Yeah, come in.”
Inside, Frank leans against a counter in the kitchen. As she occupies herself with making a cup of tea, he steals a moment to just… admire her. How beautiful she is. How much his heart aches just watching her. How calm he feels, just standing in her kitchen.
Without second-guessing it, Frank walks over and backs her up against the counter, hands on her waist. He silences her protests when he lifts a hand to her face, caressing her cheek. “Mel…”
She blinks. “What?”
“I - “ You’re still mine. “Abby asked me why I haven’t been dating.”
Mel stills. “And what did you say?”
“I changed the subject. Couldn’t tell her I haven’t really wanted to.”
“Why not?” she asks, eyes focused on his.
“They’re not quite you.”
Her mouth falls open. Her lips look so pink, so soft. “Frank…”
He swallows his name with his mouth on hers. It’s easier to tell her this way.
A ridiculous bit of crackfic for today's @kingdonmicrofic challenge. This may seem ooc, but believe me when I say LJ back in the day has us all a bit ooc
All November prompt fills
---
mellifluous-musings.livejournal.com
👤 mellifluous-musings November 14th, 2026, 19:32 pm
Return of the King
A LOT of the FList have been asking for more deets about the blue-eyed boy, but we haven’t been on the same shift for nearly TWO WEEKS *growls*
BUT, guess what? I'm back on day shift again. So you know what that means! Yes, I'm back working with Dr McDreamy again *swoon*
I did avoid glomping him IRL don’t worry.
But it was SO NICE, you have no idea. The HB(londe)IC calls us the Dream Team and she’s not wrong – we’re in sync, in step, in the zone. He just gets me, and we work SO WELL together.
I got to do some CRAZY cool procedures today, under his watchful eye (and what an eye). Boss Man was even there for one but McD just talked me through it and I did it and holy cow it was so satisfying! I got a “nice work” from Boss Man and – I kid you not – a WINK from McD. I was very profesh and didn’t melt on the spot… I did a little dance later when I took a bathroom break lol
So, OK, one thing kind of happened? Or is happening? I don’t know, I’m sure you’ll tell me of it’s A Thing in the comments ROFL The weather’s to get bad over the next few days and I said how my bus can be such a pain on days like that and McDreamy? Offered to pick me up *flails* I tried to say no (yes, I did!) but he was very insistent so OBVIOUSLY I said yes please eventually, very normally despite screaming internally.
And OK maybe I buried the lede but…
He dropped me home tonight! Said that I live so close to him (!!) that he’d be happy to CARPOOL!!!
I think I may have turned into a puddle of goo.
CURRENT MOOD 🥰 besotted
CURRENT MUSIC WAP
TAGS work waffle, Dr McDreamy, Prince Charming, tales of the blue-eyed boy
