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headcannon that Langdon loves physical touch and that's his love language for giving, and words of affirmation is his love language for recieving. Mel on the other hand is a touch starved angel who craves it for recieving, and is a words of affirmation giver.
perfect match, though on odd days, Langdon's giving love language could be acts of service
@alysonafterdark just read Fever. holy perfect. new ao3 tag found. please send me many more and keep me posted on the chlidhood friends to lovers PLEASE...
do you want to talk kingdon in dms i need more kingdon friends stat
Robby gonna be soooooo confused when he comes back from his sabbatical and he sees Mel king and suddenly the doctor who he remembered as highly sensitive and who could not be more of a physical embodiment of sadness if she tried when he last saw her is now walking around the ER like she runs that bitch (she does). Sheâs strutting. A patient says something rude and she DGAF. in-fact she might now bitch that patient out. He will soon learn that the reason behind this is bc she has spent the last 3 months with Frank langdon being completely addicted to her sooo obsessed constantly blowing smoke up her ass (rightfully so) so now sheâs like Yeah. Iâm Fucking Awesome. Try Me Bitch. Fuck You
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If Frank had ever thought about it before, heâd probably conclude he likes physical touch about as much as the average person does.
Itâs not like he minds it when people touch him, especially since heâs kind of oblivious about personal space. He often ends up brushing up against people or dropping a hand to a shoulder or bumping into someone in the Pitt, and he doesnât tend to think twice about it beyond a quick apology when needed.
(And maybe he does some of that on purpose, when it comes to one coworker in particular, but again, this isnât something Frank has ever thought about, so he definitely doesnât dwell on what that means.)
(continued below or read on ao3)
He tends to follow other peopleâs lead. His mom has always been pretty effusive in her love for her kidsâhugs to greet them and say goodbye, squeezes to the shoulder when she walks by them in the kitchen, gentle pats on the back when theyâre under the weather or feeling downâso he initiates hugs and swings his arm around her shoulders when he sees her. Frank can genuinely not remember a single time he and his dad have touched. He must have clapped him on the shoulder, right? At graduation or his wedding or something? Whatever. Heâs not going to rock that boat. His siblings arenât particularly touchy: maybe a hug when they see each other at the holidays, but probably not even that.
He canât remember having many friendships that featured much touching. His track and cross country teams had none of the homoerotic butt slapping or locker room horseplay he saw from the football or baseball or hockey teams, which he was grateful for. He probably knocked knees on the couch during COD marathons with his high school friends, but they tended to do the bro hug or clap or whatever when they saw each other.
He had one girlfriend in high school who was always touching him, wanting to hold hands in the cafeteria and sit in his lap when they studied in the library and make out behind the PE building. He went along with it, because he really wanted to get laid and it didnât seem like that big a deal, but he definitely wouldnât have started any of that without her encouragement. Same with his first girlfriend in college, who really liked going to parties and then ostentatiously making out with him on the dance floor or against the wall or in the line for the bathroom. If he had been more in charge, less of a pushover, he probably would have shut that down, but she was super hot and he had no idea why she was even looking at him, let alone regularly having sex with him, so he pushed his discomfort down instead of her away.
It was kind of a relief to start dating Abby, whoâs not big on PDA or maybe any displays of affection towards him. He got to do what felt a little more natural to him, an arm around her shoulder or a hand to her back or a kiss on the cheek, and Abby didnât like even that much attention, most of the time. Low maintenance, she said in the beginning, which. A lot to unpack, there, in the end.
Itâs completely different with Tanner and Penny, of course, because hugging them and smoothing their hair back and feeling the weight of them against his chest is the best feeling in the world, probably. Itâs so easy, too, to know that they want some kind of affection, to meet that need, and to watch their little bodies relax and lean into him, feeling safer and regulated by something so simple.
He never really knew just how much little kids like to touch other peopleâhe was the first in his family or friend group to have kids and heâd never spent that much time with them before becoming a dad, which is kind of crazy in retrospect, just like so most of what happened around Tannerâs conception and birth and early childhoodâbut he loves being their jungle gym, pudgy hands grabbing whatever part of him is available for better leverage, or mattress, chests rising and falling against him in that twitchy sleep of a kid napping when they didnât want to, or canvas, little fingers painting his face or tying his hair into crazy ponytails.
He ignores the way Abbyâs parents stiffen and frown when the kids throw their arms around their shins or tug on their hands. He loves how open Tanner and Penny are in their love and doesnât want their WASP bullshit interfering with that. Luckily, itâs something he and Abby actually agree on, so at least that is one thing they donât argue about or have to hash out in front of lawyers or therapists or extended family.
He only realized when he saw his mom for the first time after his second stint in rehab and she gave him an enormous hug that he probably hadnât really touched anyone in months, not since he last saw Tanner and Penny, and it settled something, feeling her arms wrap around his shoulders and smelling the hint of perfume sheâs worn his whole life.
Anyway, if asked, which he hasnât been, Frank would probably say that he didnât care all that much about touch, one way or another, which is why itâs weirding him out that he keeps noticing and cataloguing how Mel seems to react to touch.
Looking back, he can say it started his first day back on the Fourth, when he was the one trusted to look her over after that asshole knocked her to the ground. It wasnât when he ignored how soft her hair was, how fragile her head felt in his hand, as he examined her, barely knowing what he was looking for, but when he went to lay a hand on her leg before thinking better of it, drawing his hand back at the last second. As he left the room, lights turned off behind him, he wondered why he had the instinct to touch his colleagueâs thigh and also what stopped him, hand flexed an inch away from her scrubs.
Mel probably doesnât like people touching her, he thought, which seemed to vibe with everything heâd learned about her up to that point. That seemed like a normal, perhaps even thoughtful or useful, thing to observe about somebody he was hoping would become, at the very least, a work friend, maybe even a real friend.
But he just kept noticing more about Melâs reactions to touch, little interactions and microexpressions. More than that, he was inexplicably holding onto them. Her enthusiastic high fives after close saves. The awkward pat she bestowed to Jesse when he returned to work, followed immediately by a wince and a hasty retreat from the interaction. Her flinch when Dana clapped a hand on her shoulder at the end of a shift; her smile when Perlah did the same. Her nonreaction when somebody brushed their hand against hers in a trauma bay. The competent, steady exams she performed on patients, palpating tender injuries or rubbing sternums hard, usually accompanied by an explanation of what she was about to do in her calm, reassuring voice. The six inches or more she seemed to leave between herself and Santos during rounds or when they leaned against the counter under the board. The two inches she left between herself and Samira on the break room couch or during huddles. (The half an inch or less she left between herself and Frank in the ambulance bay.)
And sure, he knew he was collecting little facts about her in general, anecdotes tossed aside casually while chartingâshe once started what was meant to be a two-sentence memory by saying, âBack when my parents were aliveââ which was an insane way for him to learn about her family, Jesusâand rambling stories shared on break. Like: Sheâs an Aquarius. She took Latin as her foreign language in high school, but wishes sheâd taken Spanish (âIt would be so much more helpful with patients!â) or French (âI could read the actual primary sources about 17th-century fashion in France, instead of relying on translations of variable qualityâ). She hates eggs. Sheâs been on-and-off anemic since high school, so sheâs always trying to add more iron to her diet. She wishes she could have a dog, but she wouldnât feel right about leaving them alone so often. She looks cute in a braid and devastatingly hot in a ponytail.
Just, you know, normal friend stuff to notice about your favorite coworker.
Anyway, he tries to be a little more careful, a little more thoughtful, with how he touches her, outside of the rush of a trauma or when they spend time together (thrillingly) outside the hospital. He stops himself from actually touching her when his hand automatically goes to her lower back as theyâre leaving somewhere, wondering why he has some bizarre urge to escort or guide her. He asks if she wants a hug when he tracks her down in the stairwell and holds her gently, loosely, when she nods and collapses against his chest. He leaves his hand a careful distance from her head when he finds himself stretching an arm along the back of the couch as they watch something, even though his fingers itch to reach out and play with her hair.
Heâs surprised when she brings it up, a few months after his return. He probably shouldnât be, though, since sheâs always honest and direct, two qualities he both admires and appreciates about her.
âFrank, weâre friends, right?â she asks, a night that heâs moping on her couch, not wanting to return to his depressingly quiet apartment quite yet. (The dog travels with the kids, something theyâd landed on after a fair amount of trial and error and, helpfully, an article from Mel about co-regulation and pets. Itâs definitely for the best, but it means that Frank alternates between having a full house and a completely empty one. It sucks.) He doesnât have to think about his response.
âOf course.â
âIâm sorry if this is too forward,â she says, which she continues to use as a preface to almost every question she asks him, for topics that are both completely normal (whatâs the custody arrangement between him and Abby?) and completely unexpected (how and when did he lose his virginity?). âBut do you dislike physical touch in your friendships?â
Frank frowns.
âUh.â Heâs not entirely sure how to answer, particularly since his âfriendshipâ with her exists somewhere outside all the other relationships in his life, somehow both more terrifying and more precious. âNo?â
Mel nods, like she has a hypothesis or research question and is simply collecting data before she can arrive at a conclusion.
âAre you uncomfortable touching or being touched by me?â
He stares blankly at her for a minute. The combination of hearing the phrase being touched by me in her low voice while she stares at him expectantly, glasses reflecting the warm fairy lights in her living room and hair hanging loose around her shoulders, sends his brain straight to some places it should not go. He swallows and tries to remember how talking works.
âUh, no?â he says, then feels stupid when he realizes itâs the exact same thing he just said.
âIs there a reason that you avoid touching me directly?â
âI just thought it seemed like you probably donât like other people touching you?â he hazards, wincing. He should have known that she would be tracking him the way he notices him, and he hadnât thought what she might think about how he gives Dana a quick hug at the end of a hard shift or knocks shoulders with Donnie when theyâre messing around while trying to keep himself outside the bubble he imagines around her. âEspecially since you have to do it so much and itâs usually outside your control.â
Mel looks pleased, not offended, and Frank feels his shoulders relax.
âThatâs very thoughtful, Frank.â He clenches his jaw, trying, as always, to ignore how much he likes how his name sounds when sheâs the one saying it. âAnd youâre right, I usually donât like people touching me, especially strangers or people Iâm not comfortable with. But youâre not people.â
Frank nods, a little light headed, and sees how this distinction aligns with his observations. Heâs a little curious what it is about Dana that makes Mel feel uncomfortable, where Jesse lands on that spectrum. He doesnât want to touch the Santos of it all with a hundred-foot pole.
âDo you, um, want me to...touch you more?â Frank asks, mostly because he always wants to make her feel comfortable, but also because heâs an idiot.
Mel bites her lip and studies him for a moment, her forehead and nose scrunching up thoughtfully (and adorably).
âDo you want to touch me more?â
Frankâs mouth is drier than the Sahara, probably. He nods, not trusting his voice, and continues watching her as she scrutinizes him, wondering what sheâs looking for and what he should be doing to help.
âDo you want to touch me in...ways that a friend doesnât usually touch someone?â Mel asks, starting out strong but rushing by the end, bravery spent. Frank isnât sure what answer sheâs looking for, but he never wants to lie to her, so he nods, still not confident he can actually form words, and braces himself for whatever will come next.
âThank goodness,â Mel sighs, launching herself at him. Between one blink and the next, she goes from sitting calmly on her side of the couch to straddling his lap, arms hooked around his neck, face expectant. âCan I kiss you, then?â
Itâs never been a question of whether he wants to touch Mel, of course, but whether she wants him to touch her, so heâs not surprised that kissing her is his new favorite pastime, a better rush than the adrenaline after a perfect STEMI. (And then, of course, he keeps discovering new favorite pastimes: biting her neck, thumbing her nipple, making her come on his fingers and mouth and dick, hearing her moan his name, leaving hickeys where nobody but him will see.)
Frank was wrong, as he so often is. Mel really likes physical touch, when itâs coming from him.
She tucks herself into his back, forehead against his scapula, while he brushes his teeth in the morning or cooks. She plops down in his lap and wraps her legs around him like a koala when she finds him on the couch after a shower, hair tucked in her little microfiber hair towel. All the tension in her body bleeds away when he hugs her against him at the end of a long day, one hand rubbing up and down her back while the other cradles the back of her head. She loves absent-mindedly rubbing her feet against his shins (which he learns is called âcricketing,â and which she prefers to do against his legs than her own).
(All of this is only at home, of course. They touch at home or in the park or at a restaurant, but never at PTMC.)
(Ok, sometimes in the back staircase, only if nobody else is around.)
(Maybe in the ambulance bay, if itâs a really bad day. But only if nobodyâs around.)
(...They get caught their second week together.)
Itâs like she sees Frank as a human extension of her fidgets and lava lamp app and white noise machine with the bonus that he can apply pressure. She likes to stretch out on the couch and stick her feet underneath him, rubbing her toes together and erratically pressing against him, or bring his hands to the sides of her head so he can squeeze, first on the sides and then front-to-back, or drag him on top of her, telling him to let all his weight go even though he feels like heâll crush her.
Itâs a heady power, the ability to relax Mel with a single, well-placed touch, but itâs not one he takes lightly. Itâs a lot more physical contact than heâs used to from another adult, but he feels himself settling, his own body and brain going quiet, each time her shoulders sink lower and her forehead smooths out and she smiles, that soft, secret smile just for him.
What Frank failed to take into account, though, is that Mel is one of the strangest people heâs ever had the honor to know. Which, to be clear, he loves. (How soon is too soon to say that?) He alternates between feeling like he understands her on a deep level and being completely baffled by her behavior, in the best way, and some of her most surprising behavior centers around touch. Or, more broadly, how she interacts with his body.
Sometimes she just sits right next to him and stares at the side of his face, whether heâs reading or scrolling on his phone or watching something. When he looks back, she smiles, unabashed, and continues her study.
She does things he doesnât think are weird so much as not something he would ever think to do. She rubs her hand along his jaw in the evening, when his cheeks are a little stubbled from a five oâclock shadow, completely lost in the texture. She separates each of the toes on their right feet from their neighbors, ignoring his squirming because heâs more ticklish than he wants to admit, and hooks their toes around each other, beaming at him and explaining that sheâs always wanted to hold feet with someone. She likes how soft his ears are, which isnât feedback heâs ever received before, and reaches out to just hold on to an ear sometimes, softly rubbing his earlobe between her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger.
Sheâs doing her staring thing one day, but instead of smiling when he looks at her, she slowly inches closer and closer to his face. (Heâs reminded of the knock knock joke she recently showed Tanner about the interrupting sloth.) She stops an inch or so away from his face, her sweet breath fanning against his lips when she exhales, so he leans forward to meet her. She draws back, then ducks back to rub their noses together, mouths almost touching but not quite. He has no idea whatâs going on.
âWhatâre you doing?â he asks, when itâs been at least a minute of extreme proximity but no kissing.
Melâs eyes start to crinkle and he braces himself for something absurd to happen.
âIâm edging you,â she whispers before falling back against the couch, laughing.
And thatâs the thing he keeps finding about it: he has so much fun with Mel. Heâs never laughed so much in bedâwhen he slips out of her or theyâre switching positions and their elbows knock into each other or she starts nibbling on his bicep, but also when theyâre whispering before bed or she leans over to show him something absurd in the romantasy sheâs reading or she scrunches up her nose at his morning breath. He feels like everything is just a little looser, like he lets go of some of the tension and guilt and uncertainty heâs been carrying for the past couple years each day he gets with.
His favorite is probably the way she sometimes completely lets go, like her brain has finally shut off because she knows sheâs safe and in good hands. Itâs the most obvious right after she comes, eyes closed and chest heaving, completely limp and boneless, but he sees it other places: the shower, when she tilts her head back for him to brush her hair or lather shampoo or wash it out; in bed, when she reaches her hands or legs out so he can rub lotion into her outrageously soft skin; on the couch, when he hugs her with the right amount of pressure for the day and all the stress in her body ebbs away.
As they spend more time together, falling asleep and waking up side by side, clothes migrating between their apartments, sharing grocery lists and Google Calendars, Mel becomes more and more comfortable just being her unmasked self, with a corresponding rise in what Frank starts thinking of as silly Mel.
She starts a game with herself to surprise him by suddenly sticking her tongue into his mouth, a quick peck on the cheek turning into a shock of there-and-gone-again tongue. Itâs not kissing. Heâs not sure what it is. The spiritual cousin of a wet willy but wildly more intimate?
She hates it when he does the same back.
âHow is it a game, if itâs just you doing that and then giggling about it?â Frank asks, a little perplexed but mostly, as always, charmed, the fifth or sixth time heâs been blindsided by her tongue and then sudden absence. âIs there a points system? A winner?â
Mel shrugs. Sheâs wearing the smirk that only comes out when she thinks sheâs being very sneaky and mischievous. It makes Frank worry that his heart will burst straight out of his chest from the force of his affection for her.
âI can stop if you want,â she says, her smirk dimming. âI know itâs not fair to do something to you that I donât want you to do to me.â
Frank huffs, sure heâs still smiling like an idiot. Sheâs just so cute.
âHoney, thatâs not how it works. Weâre different people who have different preferences. Itâs not about fairness. I love when youâre happy, even if I donât always understand it, so please, continue your game-thatâs-not-a-game.â
Melâs smirk melts into a real smile and she tugs him closer by the shirt.
âI love you,â she says, and Frank wonders for a second if heâs actually going to cry, what the fuck. Itâs so much more than he thought heâd get, just a year and a half ago, staring at the walls of his detox room for the second time and convinced that heâd be alone and depressed forever because thatâs what he deserved.
(Also, he canât believe she said it first. And not even in the middle of sex or something! Heâs been stopping himself from saying it since, like, day four of them dating.)
âI love you, too.â
He leans down to close the distance between them, heart still feeling too big for his body. He should expect it, he really should, but somehow he doesnât: she sticks her tongue directly in his mouth and runs away, cackling, leaving him spluttering in surprise.
But he knows sheâll come back, probably to stick her feet under him or cricket against his legs or just stare at the side of his face, and his whole being feels impossibly calm and settled and present.
So, yeah. Frank might like touch more than he originally thought. Not that anybody besides Mel has ever asked, of course.
read an intro to a fic that mentioned an AU where Langdon's wife has actually passed away and that had be rumaging through infinate possibilities. Abbot and Langdon bonding, Langdon's internalized and externalized guilt and worry about what she might think of him now, the timidness and fear of stArting something with Mel. God i'm sick.
read an intro to a fic that mentioned an AU where Langdon's wife has actually passed away and that had be rumaging through infinate possibilities. Abbot and Langdon bonding, Langdon's internalized and externalized guilt and worry about what she might think of him now, the timidness and fear of stArting something with Mel. God i'm sick.
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read an intro to a fic that mentioned an AU where Langdon's wife has actually passed away and that had be rumaging through infinate possibilities. Abbot and Langdon bonding, Langdon's internalized and externalized guilt and worry about what she might think of him now, the timidness and fear of stArting something with Mel. God i'm sick.
does anyone have any fic recs involving mel and frank being childhood friends that isn't river and roads because i read that one ages ago and have been CRAVING it. i'm so tempted to write more fanfiction myself, it's been years but kingdon has taken over.
how do you expect me to not be feral about kingdon. do you know how insane it is that your first instinct is running up to a man all giddy after meeting him once, months ago. and then mel trying to get to work in triage with langdon. and then when mel gets hurt later on, dana stares down langdon so he can check her. dana chose him out of all those other doctors. she could have called anyone over. and when he comes over almost mmediately makes a joke to make mel feel better, and the joke just happens to be an inside joke from their first and only other shift together. then when langdonâs checking on her and theyâre alone, he feels the need to confess about why he had to leave and his addiction. him feeling that he let her down and her shutting that down right away saying heâs never let her down. donât even get me started on how close langdon was sitting next to mel. then when the cops walked he noticed right away mel was uncomfortable and then tried his best to fix that. langdon ushered out the cops and then dimmed the lights and closed the door, remembering what she did to make a patient more comfortable on their first and only shift together. i donât know how many times i have to reiterate, theyâve had one and only shift together. i didnât want to ship them because they made him married. i hated that they made him married and had a family. but baby guess what. frank walked into that er with no wedding ring in sight. the camera made sure we saw that and put it on right before he saw the others. he is divorced, separated, call it what you want. mel is not a homewrecker. kingdon is endgame
also do you see how dramatic this gif is. my god if this came out a couple years earlier the whole site would have broke. i keep watching this like itâs a movie
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mel and langdon finally get paired up to work together and itâs after langdonâs world came crashing down. robby said he doesnât want langdon working in the er anymore, so he canât even enjoy melâs company. boy canât even think straight because heâs shaken up, getting flustered and confused. mel seeing this and helping him with the procedures to do and answers to robbyâs questions. mel seeing langdon uneasy and trying to help him got me all giddy. the way they come to the others aid and try to make them feel better. i love them
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