cinnamon girl

Three-thirty in the morning and Frank’s prayers are answered.

Mel stirs beside him, which wakes him up, because he’s always on alert for her. Especially now, with her belly so full of their babies, fit to burst. There’s a sad, scared little whimper and he’s up, ram-rod straight, pulling the covers down to see what’s wrong. Maybe her water broke, maybe she’s spotting, maybe—

“Frank, Frank it hurts,” she whimpers. He blinks a few times, getting adjusted to the dark, the yellow streetlight casting her in a hazy, soft light. She’s cupping her chest delicately. Her face is scrunched up and he hates that he thinks so but she looks so adorable like this, hurting and needing him. “Isn’t it a little early for this?” 

God, he thinks, not to him. Rather, it’s far too late. Since they met, he’d thought of her, imagining how she’d look when he first kissed her. How she’d look when he first touched her, just under the hem of her shirt, tracing her skin around the corner at work. How she’d look when she felt his wedding ring against her when he fingered her for the first time in his car after work. How she’d look, with her swelling round belly, while her breasts dripped with milk. Over and over and over again he thought of her like this, unable to stop hoping her milk would come early ever since they found out she was pregnant. 

Not that he was very good at leaving her tits alone before, either. There were so many close calls where he’d have his hand on her chest, squeezing and kneading like it was nothing, right out in the ambulance bay, or in the store, or just walking the dog around the neighborhood. He reached for her like it was second nature, and she never shooed his hand away.

She doesn’t shoo his hands away now, either.

kingdon | 12k | complete | M | college au, strangers to friends to lovers

Mel shoots another look at her seat stealer—even if he didn’t know that’s what he was doing, she’s still going to hold a grudge—and notices for the first time that he’s, like, absurdly attractive. His dark hair is sticking up in an intentional bedhead kind of way, his jaw is insanely sharp, and his eyes are a striking blue, light enough that she can make them out feet away. Before she can get too carried away studying him, though, he does something that makes her blood boil: he crosses his arms on the table in front of him and puts his head down, apparently settling in for a nap. A nap! In her seat! What a waste! (or: 5 times Frank steals Mel’s seat + 1 time she steals his.)

Kingdon microfic (but it’s 579 words, womp womp)

Day 22: Connect

PTMC has implemented the new M.E.L. (Medical Evaluation Liason) AI system. Frank is lonely.

Day 22: Connect

Word count: 366/257

Rating: explicit (also, scumbag emotional infidelity frank langdon, you've been warned!!!)

Two weeks until Angsty Kingdon August begins!

If you’re just now hearing about this event or you feel you are behind, please don’t fret! This is an event created for us to have fun putting our two favorite doctors through the torment nexus, not ourselves! Please don’t stress yourself out over something that is meant to be enjoyable! (I say as if I'm not also stressing out getting everything done. Do as I say, not as I do!)

On that note: a friendly reminder! Any creations uploaded after their designated prompt days will be scheduled to be reblogged on Saturday, August 29th! So even if you are late, your work will still be recognized! For example, if you upload something for Grief on August 4th, it will be reblogged on the 29th, same as If you were to upload something for miscommunication on the 17th!

Please refer to these posts for more information if this is news to you!

The official announcement post with all of the basic information!

The prompts for this event as well as brief descriptions to help you!

He took her stargazing on their third date.

More accurately, he took her camping. They had both, miraculously, had the same two-day period off. So they drove about two hours outside of Pittsburgh and spent their “weekend” together, just the two of them. Just Mel and Frank.

She found somewhere for them to sit at night, somewhere they could see the sky unimpeded, and told him that her dad always used to stargaze with her on summer nights in their backyard, pointing out comets and planets and galaxies. She asked him if he knew any constellations, and he pretended to point out Ursa Minor to impress her. She called him on his bullshit immediately with a giggle, and then took his hand, using his finger to trace the pattern of the real Ursa Minor in the air.

It was the first time he knew, unequivocally, that he was in love with her.

He guesses that’s why it’s one of the last memories to go.

When Shen first suggested the procedure to him, he had outright refused to even consider it. It was an experimental procedure, first of all, and the last thing he needed was to screw up his brain and not be able to remember his kids, or something.

Plus, he didn’t want to forget her. He wanted it to stop hurting, but he didn’t want to forget her.

Did he?

“I’m just saying, dude,” Shen said, taking a long sip of his iced coffee. “You’ve been moping around here like a kicked puppy for months. I know some researchers at the Cleveland Clinic who specialize in it, and they say it works fucking wonders.”

It only takes seeing one picture of Mel, with someone else’s arm around her shoulders, on Becca’s Instagram for him to tell Shen to schedule a consultation.

The doctors in Cleveland describe something that seems too good to be true. Completely safe, ninety-seven percent effective. It’s an outpatient procedure, they tell him, with minimal recovery time.

The best part? He wouldn’t even realize it was happening. He wouldn’t miss the memories, because he wouldn’t even know they were gone in the first place.

In the end, it’s different than they describe it.

He doesn’t miss her, per se. And in a few weeks, he doesn’t even know who he’s supposed to be forgetting. She’s like a dying flame, flickering less and less brightly with each passing day.

He just knows that, suddenly, he can’t get the color of her eyes right. Or the sound of her laugh.

It’s around the time he can’t remember her name that he thinks he might’ve made a mistake.

So, when he startles awake one night, trying to decipher if the feeling of her hand around his pointing out constellations was real at one point, or was always just a dream, he does something he hasn’t done in a very long time.

He prays.

He took her stargazing on their third date.

More accurately, he took her camping. They had both, miraculously, had the same two-day period off. So they drove about two hours outside of Pittsburgh and spent their “weekend” together, just the two of them. Just Mel and Frank.

She found somewhere for them to sit at night, somewhere they could see the sky unimpeded, and told him that her dad always used to stargaze with her on summer nights in their backyard, pointing out comets and planets and galaxies. She asked him if he knew any constellations, and he pretended to point out Ursa Minor to impress her. She called him on his bullshit immediately with a giggle, and then took his hand, using his finger to trace the pattern of the real Ursa Minor in the air.

It was the first time he knew, unequivocally, that he was in love with her.

He guesses that’s why it’s one of the last memories to go.

When Shen first suggested the procedure to him, he had outright refused to even consider it. It was an experimental procedure, first of all, and the last thing he needed was to screw up his brain and not be able to remember his kids, or something.

Plus, he didn’t want to forget her. He wanted it to stop hurting, but he didn’t want to forget her.

Did he?

“I’m just saying, dude,” Shen said, taking a long sip of his iced coffee. “You’ve been moping around here like a kicked puppy for months. I know some researchers at the Cleveland Clinic who specialize in it, and they say it works fucking wonders.”

It only takes seeing one picture of Mel, with someone else’s arm around her shoulders, on Becca’s Instagram for him to tell Shen to schedule a consultation.

The doctors in Cleveland describe something that seems too good to be true. Completely safe, ninety-seven percent effective. It’s an outpatient procedure, they tell him, with minimal recovery time.

The best part? He wouldn’t even realize it was happening. He wouldn’t miss the memories, because he wouldn’t even know they were gone in the first place.

In the end, it’s different than they describe it.

He doesn’t miss her, per se. And in a few weeks, he doesn’t even know who he’s supposed to be forgetting. She’s like a dying flame, flickering less and less brightly with each passing day.

He just knows that, suddenly, he can’t get the color of her eyes right. Or the sound of her laugh.

It’s around the time he can’t remember her name that he thinks he might’ve made a mistake.

So, when he startles awake one night, trying to decipher if the feeling of her hand around his pointing out constellations was real at one point, or was always just a dream, he does something he hasn’t done in a very long time.

He prays.

mel king x frank langdon

wc: 8,124 - explicit

tags/cw: med student mel, orthodontist frank, infidelity, age gap

Mel did as told. After a beat, Langdon let out another small huff of air through his nose. It hit Mel in the chin, warm and quick. Drifting away before she could really feel it. “Mel, I said open. That means all the way.” To that, Mel’s eyes flew open, blinking away the blinding brightness above, narrowing her gaze at him. He wasn’t even wearing a mask, jaw tightly wound. “I am.” Langdon blinked. Hard and swift, once then twice, and a third time, leering between Mel’s eyes and her now half-open mouth. “You’re kidding me,” he mumbled to nobody in particular, a grumbly sound. “You’re absolutely fu– freaking kidding me.” Mel simply shrugged, “I have a small mouth.”

for the lovely @lunarfuneral because i missed kingdon gift week (by six months, but who's counting?) and i've been dying to finish this.