@kingdonmicrofic Day 12: Gold (481 words, explicit, tw: infidelity)
Abby wanted their rings to match. Gold on gold. Her grandmother’s diamond paired with a classic band for him.
Frank never liked the ring he chose, but it was the one they could afford. He looked wistfully at the sleeker, more stately platinum option and still went with the bright yellow gold that practically glowed under florescent lighting. Abby smirked when he complained about it.
“Good,” she laughed, pulling her dark hair away from her face. “It’s like a warning sign. Stay away, he’s taken.”
She never thought he would be the one she’d have to worry about.
***
Frank always had a thing for blondes. It was such a cliché to admit, and of course, he could play it off. A celebrity crush on Margot Robbie was innocent enough, boring to most.
No one knew it actually came from Caitlin Redwine, the lifeguard at the Science Hill Community Pool. She was nineteen when Frank was thirteen, and he was well into his twenties when she stopped being the first person in his mind when he wrapped his hand around his cock, the freckles across her nose and long braid down her back.
He did a double-take at Mel her first day, that same shade of dirty blonde woven tightly together, a little mole below her eye. It was his teenage crush all over again, and when he thought about her midway through his second rehab stint, hand down the front of his boxers after Abby missed visitation again, Frank came within seconds.
A fantasy, he told himself, reaching past his ring for the box of tissues on his nightstand. Nothing more.
***
Abby started wearing her rings again in June, and Frank did the same.
It was odd, cold to the touch and heavy. By August, it started to feel normal again when Frank would wear it more places than around the house and the hospital, when he stopped slipping it on and off in the parking lot, wondering if that morning’s fight was the last straw.
He thought he might never take it off again, but that was before he kissed Mel King, giving into his fantasy outside a 24/7 diner; before her eyes went dark, and she told him that she lived just on the next block; before he followed her up past the front door and into her bedroom, clothes in a pile on the floor.
“Leave it on,” Mel panted against his lips as he started to remove his ring. “You might forget it.”
Frank nodded and kissed her again, pressing her down against the mattress, exploring her soft, slick folds and teasing her entrance before sliding his finger in up to the last knuckle. She whined, hips bucking up against his hand. He slipped in another finger, and her tight cunt clenched around him, the shiny metal of his ring tangled up in her soaked curls.
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@kingdonmicrofic day 27: opalite | 266/266 | rating: e (sexual content, cumplay)
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Mel breathes in response.
It takes a second for the world to stop spinning and for Frank to really focus and look down at Mel, who is now sitting back on her haunches, opalite beads of his own pleasure dotting across her perfect tits. In the moment, he blacked out and he’s grateful that he managed to only hit her chest and not her hair or her face or oh my god.
Some buried, caveman part of his brain lights up seeing the aftermath of their experiment, him all over her, deriving a sick pleasure from claiming her or something, while the other part of his brain starts spiraling about why he’s thinking that in the first place.
“It doesn’t feel as weird as I thought it would,” she pokes at a glob below her shoulder, smearing his cum around her bare skin, delightfully unaware of his inner turmoil. “Like I thought I’d dislike the texture of it more, but it’s sort of nice.”
After a second of pinching the iridescent liquid between her fingers, she beams up at him, “Was it good for you?”
“Was it—” Frank chokes. “Yeah baby, fuck, I just— I feel like an asshole right now?”
Mel frowns. “Why?”
“I feel bad that I like it. Like I’m being a guy about it. In a bad way”
“Well, that’s silly,” she tilts her head. “I asked for it. You delivered.” Frank watches her swipe another bead off her chest, bringing her finger to her mouth and licking and his brain shortcircuits. “I think you’re thinking too much.”
day 5: speech word count: 316/316 @kingdonmicrofic
“So,” Abby says dangerously.
“Dont’t start,” Langdon interrupts, feeling a headache come on.
A blisteringly fake smile has spread across Abby’s lips as she ignores his warning. “So,” she emphasizes, “You seem very familiar with Mel.”
He sighs. From the moment they ran into Mel at the park, he’s had a bad feeling. Of course, he’s always happy to see her. Everything in the world slows when he looks at Mel. She makes him softer, agreeable, eager to sing her praises and lick her wounds.
It’s just a feeling he’d rather not experience while his wife is next to him.
His children had run to her. Tanner and Penny love Mel, a fact that Abby was not previously aware of. Langdon knew from the look on her face that they would be getting into an argument at home after this.
And that was before Tanner wanted ice cream.
“Mel,” his son pleaded, tugging on her fingers, “Can we go to the ice cream place we went last time, please, pleaseeee!”
Abby glares at him, “She’s even got a special nickname for you.”
“It’s just something she picked up from the kids, they say it all the time.”
“You’re their father, Langdon, of course they say it all the time. She should call you by your name. Frank? Or, how about Dr. Langdon?”
“That’s what she says at work.”
Abby bares her teeth sarcastically, “Oh yeah? So, she only calls you Daddy at home?”
Frank groans, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s a figure of speech.”
“That’s not what that fucking means, Langdon. She didn’t say it as a metaphor,” Abby snaps, “She said it like— like she was used to saying it.”
“Oh, I’m not sure,” Mel said. She looks up for Langdon’s approval, “Can we get ice cream after this, Daddy?”
Mel picks up a night shift occasionally. She starts developing friendships with Shen (who brings her an extra donut from Dunkin) and Abbot (who learns that like him, Mel doesn’t have a lot of close people around her anymore). They bond over her time at the VA and Mel catches herself feeling like she’s accidentally joined a club that she never tried out for. It’s nice to be included.
When Frank sees Ellis on day shift more often he’s relieved to see a friend. Someone who doesn’t try to overanalyze every decision he makes as if he’s trying to steal meds. But the best part is that Ellis never asks about his ex-wife.
So like ships in the night, Mel and Frank miss each other but eventually, Shen starts to notice Frank lingering in the ambulance bay during a shift switch. Ellis catches a neatly written form signed by Mel politely requesting a locker switch that gives Frank a spot that he doesn’t need to crouch for.
Abbot sees it all unfold and smiles. Ah, of course. If anyone was going to good enough to pursue Mel King, it’d be the guy with brass balls.
Mel beams at her reflection as she brushes her teeth. She reads over the Post-It notes stuck to the mirror, all various encouraging statements she'd borrowed from the internet. She'd even drawn an outline of her hand on a bigger one so she could give herself a high five before she left.
She removes her backpack, rolls her shoulders, gives a thumbs up to the mirror in her locker, and then turns around to go find him.
He's sitting by the nurse's station with a clipboard in his lap. The physical sight of him puts a pause in her step, he's always so breath-stealy attractive, but it is perfectly okay to find your friends attractive. (She'd looked it up.) It was just going to have to be something she learned to ignore.
He's almost thwarted her plans with the confusing joke, another thing she might need to get used to him doing.
She puffs out her chest. "I would like to go to the museum this Sunday. Would you like to go with me?"
Mel's pulse climbs into her ears as his eyes widen. Oh no, were they not good enough friends yet to hang out outside of work?
"Uh." His jaw hangs. "Sure."
Sure! She wants to run home and give herself another high five!
"Great!"
And because that was the bulk of her plan, she has nothing more to say and goes back to work.
Over the next few days, her anxiety about the museum calms, as Langdon is more talkative and standing closer like he's also been waiting for this new development in their friendship. He asks which exhibits she's most excited to check out, but then he throws her off by asking what time he should pick her up. This seems unnecessary on her end, and she tells him as much, but he refuses, saying something about being a gentleman.
He actually meets her at her door when he arrives, and Mel is humiliated, because does he really think she needs assistance walking out to the car?
And then she notices he's carrying... a bouquet?
"Sorry if they're ugly," he says, "I told the florist purple, and she ran with it."
She takes them out of his hands, but she doesn't stop blinking. "Um, thank you. But... why?"
He cringes. "Shit, is it too much? It's been a while since I've been on a first date. I'm rusty."
Mel almost drops the flowers as she staggers backward. "What?"
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Mel corners him at precisely 6:42 AM. Red Bull in hand, sweating and uncracked, crinkling beneath his tight grip from the way she pushes and pushes, until his shoulder blades thud against the wall and her minty breath fans up into his face in determined little puffs.
“What did that mean?” her voice, low and husky, carries an undercurrent of something sharper that Frank hasn’t had the pleasure of hearing.
He blinks at her. “What did what mean?”
Her brows pull together, lips tightening up. “Your text, last night,” she says, and moves closer, if that’s even possible. Until her chest brushes against his own and he becomes very aware of her breasts, held taut by a sports bra, thick straps barely visible on her shoulders beneath her plain t-shirt. “I sent you that picture of me at the bar, the one Samira took, and you said that you, quote, were “dying for a taste” and “ready to feast” .”
“Uh..” his jaw goes slack, utterly dumbfounded, now forced to face the consequences of his actions.
It was late, I was tired, I meant— no, he knew exactly what he was saying, that he’d been having heart palpitations over his coworker/best friend/trainee who was out drinking, looking all flushed like a spring cherry blossom and wearing a top that showed so much of what he never got to see at work. Or like, ever.
“I, um,” he swallows thickly, vision tunneled, not at all worried about anyone who may stumble upon them, solely focusing on Mel’s wiry lashes and frustrated, red tinted cheeks. “You looked.. really good. I was.. complimenting you.”
She isn’t convinced. “But that’s not what you said.”
“Right,” he’s a total fucking sleaze and here she is calling him out on it.
How truthful is he allowed to be right now? Can he say that he dreamt of her last night, with his back turned to his wife, and woke up with an insatiable urge so intense that it made him dizzy? Is he allowed to admit that he wished she’d called him for a ride home, and maybe let her hands wander during the drive? Invited him into her apartment, ignoring the evidence of a promise on his finger that he made to someone else? Can he?
The look on his face must say it all because Mel’s head tilts, and the left side of her mouth slowly turns up, satisfied.
“I see,” she says. “Did you mean it?”
“Yes,” he rasps with a weak, pitiful nod. “Yes, absolutely, yes. Of course—”
Her eyes brighten, twinkling beneath the fluorescents. “Oh, that’s so good to hear,” she says, earnest and soft. “So, you’ll come over tonight, right?”
It takes all of Frank’s strength not to sink to the floor, to nuzzle against her navel and fucking sob.
Her parting words solidify the bulge in his scrubs, dooming him to twelve hours of pure agony: “I think that outfit is much cuter in person anyway.”
Even the word made her squirm, the ugliness clinging to its two-syllables, judgement dripping off the six letters. It was too clinical.
Because their relationship was anything but cold. It was warm, tender—and Mel had never felt so loved. After decades of sitting in the shadows, putting everyone first, burning both ends of the candle, it was nice to have someone take care of her.
Frank whispered praises into her skin as he pushed inside of her. “Sweetheart, baby, my clever, perfect girl.” She wanted to tattoo the words, match the ink to the color of the bruises trailing down her thighs and across her breasts.
Mel had never understood why someone would get entangled with a married person. But, then Frank started packing larger lunches, tailoring his meals to Mel’s preferences. Reducing the amount of fish, adding extra servings of ripe watermelon, and hiding her favorite protein bars in her locker. His attention to the smallest details left her head spinning.
The first time they slept together, Frank pressed her hips into the bed, gentle fingers at odds with the harsh pressure. But, what had Mel gasping was the bite of his wedding band against her skin. It dug into the muscle, the pinch sending her floating out of her body.
In a daze, she heard a high-pitched whine escape her throat as she begged for more, begged him “harder, pleasepleaseplease.”
Frank lavished kisses into the fresh bruises, apologies falling quietly off his tongue in the afterglow.
“Don’t,” Mel murmured, tugging lightly on his hair. Frank immediately pushed himself up, tucking her in his arms. “I have no regrets about that—I loved every second.”
He hummed, a note of hesitation in his voice, “even all the marks? I didn’t mean to get so…caveman on you. I just…”
She found his hand, tracing the gold band slowly. It was still so loose on his finger, spinning easily against the digit. Mel’s voice was shy, but steady, “I loved all of it.”
@kingdonmicrofic • Day 20: Stargazing • 314/314 • Rated: M
CW: Infidelity, remorseless homewrecking
•••
Every story had three sides: one side, the opposing side, and the ultimate truth.
From Mel’s perspective, her conscience was clear. She never faced a moral quandary, never looked at anything she couldn’t keep, or took things without asking, let alone steal. All the lackings in her life filled itself or Mel simply trained herself out of her want for them. Mel had a pristine record. And she lived her life with that notion until last night in her best friend’s house where his wife called her a thief. Well, Abby used more colourful language—thieving, conniving, homewrecking bitch—but thief was the main takeaway.
Mel figured that made sense from Abby’s side of things. The woman who looked at her husband wrong, cozied up to him during shifts, spent nights in their bed. Yes, Mel was stealing—she stole glances, stole kisses, stole another woman’s honey, I’m home. He was a stain on her pristine record, a wretched mistake she welcomed between her legs whenever she needed the comfort.
When he kissed her for the first time in the ambulance bay after a difficult shift, she ignored the shift in her morals. He was helping her through a bad day. That was a kiss between friends. When he pulled her into his car weeks later and whispered things between her thighs, Mel thought he was a friend doing another friend a favour. Stress relief.
So when he finally fucked her and pulled her to his chest, Mel figured it was another friendly gesture. He lay over her with the full weight of his body over hers, tracing her skin. His whispers tickled her ear as he told her the love bites and moles on her body were nebulas and constellations, and he was one lucky stargazing bastard.
Ultimately, Mel knew she and her best friend were inseparable—a truth his wife recently learned.
