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when mels cutesy little maroon hair tie breaks and he hands her the one off his wrist he carries for her in front of their coworkers and she says thank you frank 😇
The reveal at the end of season 3 that Mel is the one with Langdons ring because she likes the wear it when they hook up
SHE LIKES TO WEAR IT WHEN THEY HOOK UP EXACTLY when we get a shot of the car rocking and her hand pressed up against the glass and you can see the ring sliding off cos it’s too big for her
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thinking about freshly divorced frank langdon spending the holidays alone in his sad divorced dad apartment listening to styx and big star maybe eating a frozen hungry-man meal and then jerking off in the shower and cumming in 2 minutes before passing out in his big empty bed ughhh boner alert
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Abby shifted, rolling over and taking half of the covers with her, blinking sleepily over at him, “Who is calling you at midnight?”
read on ao3!
or here:
Abby shifted, rolling over and taking half of the covers with her, blinking sleepily over at him, “Who is calling you at midnight?”
Frank froze, snatching his buzzing phone off of the nightstand before Abby could catch a glimpse of the contact ID flashing on his screen: Mel PTMC
“... It’s the hospital. I better take this. Could be an emergency.”
Abby shrugged, too tired to argue, and went back to sleep.
As cautiously as he could, he crept out of the room and shut the door before answering the phone.
“Mel?” He asked, voice low, concerned.
There was a sniff, then a sound like she was clearing her throat. Oh, shit, Frank thought, she was crying.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
A moment of silence, and then she finally said, voice hoarse, “Um, hi, Dr. Langdon. I’m sorry for calling so late… you were probably sleeping! I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay, hey,” He tried to assuage her, “I never sleep, okay? You’re fine. What’s up?”
“I just, um,” More sniffing, he could imagine her wiping her face off with her sleeves, her red-rimmed eyes, “I wasn’t feeling great today at work. And, I didn’t want to go home, so Dana tried to give me some Zofran, but, you know I hate taking medicine— sorry, hold on, I’m rambling,” he could hear her take a big deep breath.
“It’s okay. Just, say whatever you need to say.”
“Um, anyway, she asked me if there was—” Another big, shuddery breath, “any chance I could be pregnant."
Frank stopped cold, back against the wall.
They weren’t even dating. This wasn’t an affair. It was one time in the back of his car after a particularly rough shift. It wasn’t romantic, it had actually been kind of desperate. And afterwards, he had said she could call him any time if she needed him.
He supposed she had come to collect.
“I’m sorry,” Mel began to cry again, “I didn’t know what else to do!”
“Slow down, slow down,” he said after a moment of recalibration, mind going a thousand miles an hour, “Did you take a test at home?”
“Um, yes, I got about twelve of them–”
“Twelve? How did you have enough pee for twelve pregnancy tests?”
“I know,” She said miserably, “I’m sorry. It was my fault, I thought it would be okay.”
“It is going to be okay. No matter what, it’s going to be okay. And it’s not your fault. It’s my fault, for sure.” He was the one who had touched her leg in the passenger seat, had taken her face into his hands and kissed her.
“It’s just something that would happen to me. My first time ever having sex, and,” A puff of breath, dejected, “Of course.”
“Hold on, that was your first time? In the back of my car?”
it's give me the ick when mel has IUD in fics... she's virgin asf. she never needed it. what do you think about it?
admittedly i don’t know much about birth control LOL i’ve heard people say the pill helps with periods is that true w the iud too? honestly i just headcanon she got an iud the week she met langdon cos she was #plotting to Get him
The first time, she thinks it’s a mistake. She says Hello? twice and then Dr. Langdon? once and when he doesn’t respond, she hangs up. She mentions it at work the next day, and he isn’t looking her in the eyes when he says “Huh,” and changes the subject.
The second time, she only says hello once, and then waits with the phone pressed hard to her ear. There’s nothing - then a deep, quiet inhale. She thinks she would have known it was him even without the caller ID. She can visualize him: his drawn-out breaths, his mouth hanging open, probably laying in bed with his back to his wife.
She doesn’t know why he does this, and she doesn’t ask. Now, when he calls, she says nothing at all.
It’s mostly breathing. But sometimes - sometimes, he makes little sounds. Tonight, he startles her: she thinks he’s crying. It’s a shallow whimper, something desperate sounding. But then, right as she’s about to ask if he’s okay, he makes a low-pitched, filthy moaning sound.
She can really hear him now. For the first time, Mel can hear the wet pumping sound of his hand on his cock. His groans crackle down the line, into her ear, through her entire body. She wonders if he’s done this every time that he’s called, and if he has, why he’s being so much louder about it now.
She presses her thighs together and squeezes her eyes shut. They won’t ever talk about this - they never do. So she slips a hand under the waistband of her sleep shorts.
She has two fingers on her clit for maybe five seconds before she’s mewling. He’s grunting in her ear and she’s rubbing circles, her hips rolling, her fingertips getting wetter. Maybe he can hear it, the slick sound of her teasing.
He’s never spoken aloud on one of these calls before, but he’s full of words now: “Oh, yeah, God, Mel, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She doesn’t know if he’s in bed with his sleeping wife, or if he’s cooped up in his bathroom, or if he went out to sit in his car. She doesn’t care. Right now, he’s with her.
“Are you - can you - I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna come,” he says, his voice hoarse. He lets out one loud gasp, and then goes silent. Or maybe Mel just can’t hear him for the way she cries out, the way her head goes fuzzy and her whole body trembles.
By the time she stops shaking, he’s hung up.
In the light of day, Mel thinks that maybe she imagined the entire thing. Then they’re weighing their options on a treatment plan and she says, “It’s your call,” and he startles.
When he calls her later, she’s already got one hand under the covers and the other on her phone.
@kingdonmicrofic day 8: midnight | 323/323 | rating: g
[incoming voicemail - July 23rd at 12:26 am]
Oh did it beep? I think it beeped? Dr. Langdon! Or, uh, sorry Frank. (a pause) Frank. Frank. Frank. (she giggles) Sillysillysilly, sorry, I’m still getting used to it. (Her voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper that is absolutely not quieter) Can I tell you a secret? I like Frank. No one else calls you that, I feel special. A special Mel name. (humming) You should like your name more! It’s nice. Quick! Like Mel! We match. MelandFrank. Well. That’s not as fun as when Dana yells MelandLangdon. We’re like… a compound word now.
Not that I don’t like Dr Langdon. Oh! Not like… not like like Dr Langdon… you know what I mean. Veryyyy handsome doctor name. Dr Frank Langdon. (another giggle)
(loud cheers erupt where she is)
Oh shoot — (distant) Why was I calling again… oh! Oh yes. You know that new place around the corner from the hospital? With the fancy light up signs?! Well I came here with some, uh, friends but I think my ride home is making out with someone in the bathroom and there’s no one here I want to do that with. Except… Anyways. But, I want to go home now, so I’m gonna go.
I know it’s after midnight, I’m so sorry and I know this went to voicemail so you’re busy or sleeping, but please, pretty pretty please if you’re awake can you call me back while I order an Uber or something? I don’t wanna be alone. And I like when you talk to me (she draws out the e sound). It’s very nice. You’re very nice — at least to me. I like that. I think you like it too. Which I also like.
Shoot, how long is a voicemail? Ok talking too long! Goodnight Frank. Call me back please. Buh-bye.
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The ceiling is familiar. He wakes up and leaves the bed where Abby is still sleeping. He grabs his phone to check the time, plain midnight. “Emotional cheating,” Princess had said, which is bullshit. Of course, they weren't particularly talking about this, just the general topic, but he knew it didn't exist. Relying on someone on nights like this, where sleep wouldn’t come, when he needed some company, isn’t cheating. Her number being pinned on top of his wife’s isn’t cheating. The fluttering in his stomach while he waits, the sheer plain joy when she picks up, isn’t cheating. Late night conversation, casual, small talk, really; the weather, a random tv show, their day at their shift; that quickly transforms into deeper topics, his fears of fatherhood, the grief of the loss of her parents, his relationship with Robby, her relationship with Becca, doesn’t make It cheating. Sitting on the couch of his living room, the dog snoring at his feet, her voice like a lullaby, the peace that comes, tranquility, the feelings he would push aside, not think about, isn’t cheating.
He is tired, she’s tired as well, he can tell. They are sitting on a bench in the park, the one in front of the hospital. And they both know it’s late, it’s stupid. There’s no phone, no break of reality here. They are facing each other, knees touching, she’s moving her hand over his legs, telling an anecdote, and the hand is part of it, and he pretends he hasn’t heard the story before, because of course he did, because they have been speaking every day for months and there’s a limit on how many stories they have, but he’s enjoying himself too much, and the hand on his leg, the bare touch of her fingertips, sends chills through his whole body, and still not cheating. Still not cheating when he says “Fuck it,” and grabs the wrist of said hand and pushes her body against his, not cheating when his other arm hooks her waist. Not cheating because she pushes her arms against his chest and grabs him by the collar. Not cheating because his face is so close to her lips can feel the warmth of hers, but she’s keeping one fisted hand against his jaw, the other on the nape of his neck, leaning in and refusing at the same time. Not cheating because his eyes get obfuscated when trying to look at hers, and she's so close, but not touching yet.
“Langdon,” she whispers, “ask.”
It’s not cheating because he hasn’t voiced it yet, he hasn’t said the words he hopelessly has been thinking, over and over, ruminating at the end of each nightly call, always at the tip of his tongue, touching his teeth, keeping it mouth close, surrounded by darkness, keeping it in his dreams.
“Mel,” he grunts, desperately, “please.”
“Just ask,” she’s desperate too, voice dripping with heat.
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