honey 🐝

Part 7 | Series Masterlist

“It’s a 2.”

Frank’s pencil hovers above the paper. “You say that like it’s obvious,” he grumbles, scribbling a 2 in the box, erasing some other markings he’d made earlier in the puzzle.

“If you spent as much time actually doing the sudoku as you do watching me, maybe it would be obvious,” Mel muses, eyes fixed on her own puzzle.

Across the couch, he scoffs playfully, muttering something about multitasking. A self-satisfied smile curls up on her face at his feigned frustration; she’s found she quite likes when she can rile him up. Likes when slow Sunday mornings morph into something else. He’s laughing as he lounges forward, crowding her against the couch cushions. “I’ve created a monster,” he teases, kissing up her neck. 

“I think,” she replies, a sparkle in her eyes as his hands slip under the hem of her shirt, “you just met your match.”

The next Sunday, Mel finds the morning paper spread out in front of her on the marble countertop of their kitchen. The pencil in her grip wavers as she scribbles potential solutions in the margins. No, not seven, there’s already one in that row, she thinks, already flipping the eraser over, but it’s difficult to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of Frank pressed against her, one hand firm on her hip, the other moving steadily between her thighs. 

Lead hovers over the page, useless and hesitant, as his fingers curl inside her, hitting a spot that makes her knees buckle and her vision go a little blurry. He only presses closer, pace unrelenting despite her whimpers.

Title: My Head Went Oops!
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: The Pitt
Pairing: Mel King/Frank Langdon
Category: F/M
Rating: Explicit 
Summary: “Disappointing” is an understatement 
Word Count: 11,595
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Stepsibling Incest

Photo credits under the cut

Abby doesn't intend to open the package when it's delivered – it's addressed to him, after all. But she's waiting for a few things, and maybe her phone autofilled Frank's name without her noticing.

So, she opens it, is presented with an expensive-looking orange box. When she searches the company's name, she finds it produces luxury sleepwear for women. Organic mulberry silk, mother of pearl buttons. Price tags that even make Abby pause.

Almost on cue, her phone vibrates. It's Frank.

“Hey, Abs. I think I accidentally got a package delivered to the house.”

“You did,” she confirms softly.

“Can I come over and grab it after my shift? I'll try to get out on time, and –”

“Don't worry about the time. Come when you can.”

“Um. Okay. I'll be over after work.”

She decides to make dinner, this shrimp pad thai recipe that she found on Pinterest years ago, one of the first meals she cooked for him. After she puts the kids to bed, she sets the table, places the orange box next to his plate, smiling as she does. This is the kind of thing Frank used to do for her, before everything went to shit. Buy her something nice unexpectedly, to show he was paying attention.

She pours herself some wine. It's 8:30 by the time she hears keys in the front door.

“Hey,” he says as she rounds the corner to the foyer. “Sorry I'm late.”

“It's okay. I have the package. I made some food, too, if you're hungry.”

“Oh. Sure, but I can't stay too long.”

She leads him to the dining room. She feels him stop short when they reach the entryway, and when she turns, she sees his eyes locked onto the box. He shifts his gaze toward her after a moment. To her surprise, his expression is vaguely horrified.

“I love it, Frank,” she reassures him. “It's so thoughtful. And the fact that you bought it for me means –”

“Abby,” he interrupts. “We need to talk.”

“We do. I still think the separation was right for us at the time, but recently I've been –”

“I have a girlfriend.”

She almost drops her wine glass.

“You said it was okay to start seeing other people,” he mumbles in explanation.

She tears her eyes from him to the orange box that she's realized isn't for her. Oh, God, it's for his girlfriend.

“What,” she begins, and then shakes her head. “Who –”

His phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket, and grimaces.

“Sorry, I've gotta take this. Just…give me a sec.”

He walks into the kitchen, murmuring hi, baby, into the phone, leaving Abby to stare after him like an idiot.

She doesn't think she'll ever forget the sight of his screen, lit up with a selfie of him pressing his lips against the cheek of a woman Abby has never met as she smiles, her name displayed across the image in bright white letters.

Day 16-Glitter | Exact WC 227 | ao3 | @kingdonmicrofic

The morning of July 4th, Mel decided to take Becca’s advice and add a little “razzle-dazzle” to her usual look. She walked into her room and rummaged around for the container of patriotic hair glitter.

She pulled her hair back into two french-braids. She dipped her fingers into the goop, and begrudgingly smeared a small amount across the top of her head. Not too much. Just enough to add a little sparkle.

That 4th of July shift would be the worst Mel ever experienced.

The case that got her most was a family of four that had gotten into a boating accident. The mother and father succumbed to their injuries, leaving their daughters behind. Her last case of the night.

Frank found her doubled over in the ambulance bay, her hands wound tight as her chest heaved.

The second he stood in front of her she crashed into him, her head buried in his chest as he squeezed her tight, swaying her back and forth.

He stayed with her long after his shift had ended. Long after he should’ve been home.

The next morning Abby would confront him about the glitter she’d found stuck to his scrubs. Asking him if the reason he came home so late was to blow money at the strip club.

Abby’s always had expensive taste. It never really bothered him — they could afford most of the nice perfumes and bags, the KitchenAid mixer with all of its attachments. What she insisted on above all was their bedding, sparing no expense in swathing their king-sized bed in silk. She loved the luxury of it, swooned over thread counts, and Frank tried to humor her for a while, but, truthfully, it never made a difference to him. 

When he tosses her onto the sheets, Mel is laughing. He watches her smooth her palms up and down the fabric, appreciating what he could never find the purpose in. It makes him feel a little embarrassed, how much she has politely admired his home all evening. 

Abby was reasonable. She noticed the effort her husband was making to fix things, and she was a good enough wife to be grateful for it. He was sober and he was present and when it was her birthday he’d sat the kids down at the kitchen table with glue and popsicle sticks and they’d all worked together to make her a picture frame. They’d used green glitter to decorate, and it had gotten everywhere, into Frank’s scalp, his collar, in the gap between his ring and his finger. A week later it was still around. He'd pick it out from under his fingernails or shake it out of his hair like a dog and say, I’m pretty sure this is a biohazard, and she'd laugh, and it felt good, like before. 

Sure, Frank didn’t quite look at her the way he used to, but that would probably come back with time. He was coming back to himself more and more every day. 

Part 4 | Series Masterlist