engaging in the 18th century practice of spending time by the seaside in hopes that it’ll cure whatever’s wrong with me (kingdon) but it does not appear to be working (still thinking about them)
mel king x frank langdon | teen | 6.1k | for @treeinthepond
Frank walked back into the Villa hand-in-hand with a short strawberry blonde wearing a lavender dress.
Abby started to laugh.
“Wait, you’re joking?” she asked as hot, unexpected tears ran down her cheeks. Great. She was crying on national television.
“Welcome back to the Villa, Frank,” Dana said, positioning the new couple next to her at the front, “and welcome to the Villa for the first time: Melissa.”
or: the abby pov love island au
mel's funniest line in s2 is 'i forgot how much you like to joke' in ep.2 because. no you didnt. you replayed that captain scurvy line in your head every day for 10 months. now youre lying to everyone come on.
@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.
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