fromiftowhen

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 15 | waterpark | 247 words

Frankie’s Water World was supposed to just be a summer job. But then her mom got sick, and Becca needed more from her, and college slipped away, and now Mel is the assistant manager of a falling-apart family-owned waterpark.

It's not what she thought she'd be doing. It isn't what she wants to be doing.

But she does it well, dependably, and she likes most of her coworkers.

Her boss, however… Frankie Jr. (“good lord, call me Frank”) — Mel isn't sure she likes him.

She actually thinks she might love him.

He's not supposed to be here either. He's supposed to be a doctor, he'd told her late one night when they were alone. But life is funny that way.

So they train new lifeguards together. They make summer schedules that their teen employees don't ever stick to. They sit in front of the security monitors for hours, laughing at people who clearly don't realize they're being recorded.

And he asks her questions, and listens to the answers, and sometimes she thinks he's the only person in the world who gets her.

“What would you do if you didn't work here?” It's what he asks all the time, always when they're alone. She isn't sure if he thinks her answer will change or if one day she'll suddenly say, “actually, about that…” and leave him.

“I don't think I remember a time when I didn't work here.” It feels true.

“Yeah, me either,” he always tells her.

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 14 | picture | 312 words

Frank’s never believed in that whole a picture is worth a thousand words thing.

That is, until he meets Mel.

She has pictures everywhere: her and Becca as kids, each with a funny, endearing story. Her mom, ageless, smiling in a familiar way — someone Frank can never meet, but who he still works to impress.

Over the years, his face pops up in frames around the house:

A work Halloween party, where his regrettable costume makes him near-impossible to recognize.

What neither of them realized was their first date, in a coffee shop when she asked to meet to discuss a journal submission they were collating on, where instead they ended up just talking for hours.

One, just the two of them, the first with a simple gold band on her finger.

Their most recent vacation this summer with the kids and Becca, where no one came back sunburnt because Mel was there.

It's become one of his favorite games, actually: coming home and immediately noticing that something is new, but there being so many pictures — and so many other messy, amazing signs of life and pops of color — that it usually takes him a day or so to spot the new picture she's framed.

He walks in the door on a Tuesday in September, and something immediately feels new. He scans the bookshelves, the end tables, but nothing catches his eye. It isn't until he's grabbing water from the fridge that he sees it.

His fingers glance over the edges, pulling it free from behind a magnet.

“I didn't have time to get a frame,” she says, quietly, from behind him. She sounds tired.

“Really?” It's not a question, more a rush of breath in the form of awe.

“Really,” she whispers, her tone matching his.

Next year, they’ll have a new little face to spot in all those framed pictures.

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 13 | bugs | 419 words

Took "bugs" more... electronically, here. Spies AU!

Mel King is stealth. The quietest person Frank has ever met.

Frank Langdon, he's been told, is charming. It occasionally feels like a compliment.

But these are the traits that make them great partners:

Frank can talk to anyone about anything, can place his hand gently on an arm and guide their attention elsewhere, leaving Mel a perfect opportunity to sneak in and do the (sometimes actual) dirty work. Sometimes it's swiping something — a watch, a key. Once, notably, a vintage motorcycle he didn't even know she knew how to operate. (That one turned him on a little massively.)

But sometimes it's simple, like tonight. Just planting a bug. Quick, effortless. They've basically done it in their sleep.

Except, no matter what he does, he can't distract their target well enough. Maybe, probably, it's because he's distracted. Usually, when Mel needs to blend in, she wears black, her cat burglar attire.

But tonight's target is hosting a black tie event. Easy for Frank — he practically lives in tuxes. But a floor length ball gown, such a pale blue she almost shimmers, isn’t as easy for Mel. Or him, apparently.

Finally, after the fourth failed attempt, he subtly beckons her to him, her name mumbled into his earpiece.

“You okay?” She asks, suddenly at his side, a citrusy scent he's never noticed before wafting up to him.

“He's impossible,” Frank mutters, stealing a glance at her. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“You're impossible,” she whispers. “Maybe he needs more of a distraction.” She signals to Santos, trusty backup playing cater-waiter tonight, and then takes his hand.

“Trin has the backup bug.” She moves fluidly into his arms. “She's been wanting to try that new gymnastics sneak attack thing, anyway.”

“Right, yeah,” he mumbles, because his hand is in Mel’s and she's snaking it around her waist. Low. Purposeful. Like it's been there a thousand times before.

“Spin me.” He does.

“Dip me.” A quiet demand.

“Y’know, I've danced with a woman before—”

“She's almost done,” Mel whispers.

A crash. Their target’s attention flicks across the room, toward Santos.

“Kiss me.” It's Mel’s voice, but it's like he's hearing her from another dimension.

And then her lips are on his for the first time, stealth and deliberate as she ever is. There's nothing covert about his groan.

“Bug’s placed. You can stop, Romeo,” he hears, sarcastically, moments, hours, later through his earpiece.

Mel’s lips twitch into a smile against his. She doesn't pull back.

He can't stop. And he doesn't want to.

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 12 | coconut | 491 words

There are three indisputable facts about Frank Langdon:

He is in love with Mel King.

He has two kids he adores.

He is deathly allergic to coconut.

They are, on the surface, very boring facts.

He'd never trick anyone in a game of two truths and a lie.

(That might be a lie.)

***

“Hey, baby,” he calls, setting down his backpack. It's dark, well past when he said he'd be home, but there she is nonetheless:

Honeyed-blonde hair in a simple braid, glasses on the coffee table beside her. Perfect.

“Y’all have a good week?”

She nods, smiling up at him, lips tilted up for a hello kiss.

(There’s a simple gold ring meant for her finger. He hasn't asked her yet, but he can almost feel the cold press against his skin when she touches his cheek.)

“Always do,” she says, shifting over as he settles in beside her. “Did you read this month's JEM? There's a really interesting study on—” She carries on, but he zones out a little.

It's hard to keep it all straight after long shifts, even longer days.

***

“Hey, baby,” he calls, setting down his backpack. It's dark, much earlier than she's usually awake, but there she is nonetheless:

Dark brown hair, thick waves swept into a messy bun. She's rubbing her eyes like she's tired, or maybe she's had her contacts in a few days too long.

“Y'all have a good week?” He asks, and she sighs. She doesn't lean in for a kiss, or move over on the couch for him. If anything, she shifts to take up more space.

(The simple gold ring meant for her finger is missing. She thinks she lost it. He's not sure she cares enough to blame herself. He doesn't blame her. Not really. Not after all these years.)

“Tanner has strep. Millie has the sniffles, so…”

“So no, not a great week.”

He reaches for a half-empty glass on the coffee table.

“Don't,” she says lowly, when the liquid is halfway to his lips. “It's coconut water.”

“Jesus, Abby,” he mutters. “You want me to die?”

She doesn't say no, which. Well, it doesn't surprise him. She rolls her eyes.

“You're gone every other week, sue me if I want one of my favorite drinks while you're not here.”

***

“Do you think about kids, someday?” Mel asks the next week, late at night. She's wrapped around him in the dark.

His heart lurches a little.

“Yeah, Mel.” He thinks about kids with her hair and eyes all the time. A brother or sister his kids may never meet.

“You want dessert?” She asks, getting up. “I made brownies. Becca wanted German chocolate cake, but I told her to wait til next week.”

“Thanks for not trying to kill me,” he laughs.

There are three indisputable facts about Frank Langdon.

Actually, maybe four.

4. He is an excellent liar.

(Neither his wife nor his girlfriend know all four.)

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 11 | evening | 191 words

They only meet in the early evenings, when his house is still quiet and empty.

It's nice. He’s nice.

He asks how she is when he opens the door, offers her a drink (she declines). He traces his fingers along her jaw slowly, ducks his head down boyishly before leaning in to kiss her.

And he's gentle. He knows what he wants, and how to ask for it — ragged breath asking for another dizzying kiss, fingers slipping along her hips, begging silent permission before pressing inside her.

But she needs to leave. She's stayed longer than normal, and she has an early morning with Becca.

He's telling her about his day, about a fellowship he's interested in, smiling as he runs his fingers along the letters on his bracelet. D-A-D.

“Think I should apply for it?”

That's how Mel knows it's time.

“You should probably ask your wife’s opinion,” she says, standing to slide her dress back on. “Not mine. I'm just the woman you're sleeping with.”

Too mean. Her stomach clenches when he frowns.

But he pulls out his wallet, and just like every other time, she takes his money.

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 10 | tank top | 388 words

When he takes off his hoodie, Frank is wearing, politely, the ugliest tank top Mel has ever seen.

The pattern’s too garish to really decipher, splotches of tie-dye that run together to create clumps of brownish colors.

“I was drunk in undergrad,” he explains, shrugging. “I didn't rinse it right, either, and it stained the apartment’s dryer. Didn't get that security deposit back, but at least I've still got the tank top.”

Mel just nods, because she has nothing nice to say about it.

She presses her lips to his chest minutes later, lets her teeth drag along the collar.

She takes the tank top off him for the first time that night, drops it on her bedroom floor, and lets him pull her down onto the bed.

The tank top is still on the floor when he goes home to his wife.

***

She wears it to sleep a couple times over the next week, presses her face into the neck of the shirt and breathes in while she texts him late at night.

She knows it's wrong. Every fiber of her being buzzes with the knowledge that this is another woman’s husband.

But when he texts, you free tomorrow?, she doesn't feel bad about immediately responding, yes, absolutely.

***

He drags his knuckles along the fabric of the tank top the next night, her front door still open.

“Mine.” His voice is husky, lower than she's ever heard it. She shivers. It's too cold for such a threadbare material.

But with his hands on her hips, pulling her in, it's too hot for any clothing at all.

***

“I think I owe it to the kids to try again. For real, this time,” he tells her.

She doesn't agree, for many reasons, but she nods all the same.

“This isn't what I want,” he says, earnestly. “I just… they need me.”

(She needs him too, but Mel has lost many people she's needed in life.)

She doesn't need it. It smells more like her than him at this point, but she keeps his tank top stashed in the back of a dresser drawer for weeks after he leaves her apartment for the last time.

The next time she pulls it on, it barely stretches over her belly.

(She still doesn't need him.

But she hopes he'll be there anyway.)

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic Day 9 | 🌻 | 125 words

CW for major character death. If that isn't for you, please don't read.

“Hey, I was right behind you, my name’s Frank, I'm a doctor. It’s okay, stay still. What's your name?”

Her face is pale, breathing already shallow. “Are the people in the other car okay?”

Frank grimaces as she tries to move, blood soaking deeper into her yellow shirt.

“Let's worry about you first, sweetheart.” He moves quickly, assessing her, but there isn't much he can do until EMS gets her out.

“You like sunflowers?” He asks, a bouquet in the passenger seat catching his eye. They're crushed, wilting.

“My favorite,” she murmurs. “I’m starting a new job tomorrow, wanted to treat myself.” Her voice is fading.

The fire department shows up three minutes too late.

PGY2 Melissa King doesn't start at PTMC the next day.

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 8 | Sailing | 257 words

This can be read as a prequel to day 7's hammock prompt, but can also standalone.

Content warning for (non-graphic) character death and references to grief.

Frank almost drowned when he was five-years-old.

He'd taken off his life vest on the boat, despite being told not to, and a rough wake sent him hurdling off the stern. He could swim, but he was no match for the Atlantic.

His dad, red-faced and gasping, pulled him back aboard.

But the Atlantic took its due, and his dad, that day.

(His dad always said the ocean keeps score.)

(It was a heart attack, they found out weeks later. His mom, more forgiving than he deserved, blamed the ocean, never setting foot in it again.

Frank blamed himself.)

(He hasn't stopped drowning since.)

Despite his best efforts, the ocean still calls to him. He took up sailing when he was ten, and when solid land gets too rocky, he lets the water soothe him. He feels closer to his dad there, and further from the guilt.

It's almost like his dad sends her to him.

He's easing back toward his slip for the day in late April, and there she is: warm blonde hair, eyes worried, broken paddle in a bright red kayak.

“Hey,” he calls out over the bow. “You need help?”

Her yes, please, is strong, loud enough to carry over the lapping water between them, and he's pulling her aboard a couple of minutes later.

“I'm Frank,” he says, watching her over his shoulder as he ties her kayak down to the cleat.

“Mel,” she smiles, looking out over the horizon.

If the ocean really does keep score, he knows he's finally winning.

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 7 | hammock | 481 words

Mel King rarely leaps without looking.

Which is why she can't blame anyone for their reactions to her summer plans. Not her mom — “If this is what you really want, honey…” — or Becca — “... Where are you gonna sleep?”

Even Frank.

Frank’s was the best: joy and disbelief and wonder, like he was finally seeing something science couldn't explain.

“You sure?”

She'd nodded.

“You really sure?”

She'd smiled. That was weeks ago, and she isn't sure she's stopped since.

Not much seems to dim it:

Not the gentle sway of the sailboat, even when the water gets rough.

Not the unrelenting sun, tinting her skin pink despite her best efforts.

Not the hard, physical work, keeping the sails taut or loose, whatever the winds demand at the moment.

And definitely not Frank, whose smile so fiercely matches her own that she worries they might get stuck like this forever.

(It wouldn't be so bad. His smile has always made her feel a little off-balance, just like the swaying boat. She’s learned to like the feeling.)

The only thing that made her smile falter, briefly, was the sleeping situation. (Becca, always observant, was right.)

They'd slept on the deck under the stars the first two nights, pure exhaustion and adrenaline taking them down easily, but Mel knew that wasn't sustainable.

Frank hadn't planned on company this summer. He definitely hadn't planned on Mel, whose intense desire to touch him was really only edged-out by her slight fear of never being able to stop.

So the fact that there was only one bed, and that that bed was a hammock… well. The last few weeks have taught her that her fear was accurate: she cannot stop touching him.

It's physics, mostly. The gentle swell of the hammock naturally rolls them into each other. Mel lets her hands do the rest.

He is always ridiculously warm, like sun has permanently seeped into his skin. Her fingers almost burn where they brush his chest, and she’d happily let his hands brand her thighs.

(His lips make her feel like she's actually on fire. She's pretty sure she'd let him set her whole world ablaze. The ocean would heal them eventually.)

Sometimes they really do just sleep, the gentle motion lulling them. Some nights, almost her favorite, he reads to her from an old medical textbook he'd stolen from the library years ago. And sometimes they whisper their dreams and fears aloud, the hammock tucking them in close like a forever secret.

“I love you,” he whispers one night, a first. It's quiet like a secret, but it swells and echoes through her until it feels like it's so loud the ocean has no choice but to swallow it up.

“I love you back,” she whispers. She'd shout it if he asked.

It turns out, Mel doesn't have to look before she leaps.

Frank is already there.

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 6 | Lemonade | 334 words

The lemonade is too sweet, but the kids, messy-haired and smiling, were way too cute to pass by.

Mel’s halfway through her second sip when she realizes her jogging shorts hold her house key and phone, but no money.

“Oh, no,” she whispers, setting the cup down on the rickety card table they've covered with what feels like a very expensive bedsheet.

She's just about to explain when a tall, blue-eyed man bounds down the driveway toward them.

“Come on, guys. Time to pack up. Mom will be here soon,” he says, addressing the kids, but eyes on Mel. He's in scrubs, which piques her interest almost as much as the rest of him.

She's blushing before the words are even out, but she'll blame it on the heat. “I’m so sorry, I just realized I don't have any cash,” she says sheepishly. “I can run home and grab some, or I can Venmo you,” she says hurriedly, to who must be their dad.

“No, don't worry about it. Seriously. This was just for fun, right guys?” The kids nod, more gracious than expected, but Mel feels awful. She gestures to a Sharpie and paper on the table.

“Can I?” She asks, and then she's scribbling out three bold letters, I O U, and handing it over to their dad for safekeeping. “You’re on my way to work. I'll drop something off tomorrow,” she promises.

The guy smiles and nods, in a way Mel can tell means he doesn't really believe her.

***

“I really didn't think you'd come back.”

“I like to keep my promises,” she tells him, smiling. He still hasn't taken the money she's holding out.

“Wait, you work at PTMC?”

Mel glances down at her new badge and nods. “Yeah, I'm a PGY3. Starting today.”

He laughs, head thrown back. “Y'know what, keep your money, I'll keep this”— he holds up her messily scribbled IOU — “and I'll see you at work. Maybe you can buy me a drink one day soon.”

[fromiftowhen]

mel/frank | exactly 334 words | rated g ↳ for day six: lemonade of the august @kingdonmicrofic challenge

[fromiftowhen]

@kingdonmicrofic day 5 | Blackout | 267 words

“Mel? You in here?”

Frank’s voice fills the cracks in the darkness around her, and Mel lifts her head. It's darker than usual in the stairwell, emergency lights only powering critical areas.

She sniffles, breath coming slowly again. Footsteps fall closer, and then he's there, lanky legs and spicy-sweat, all more pronounced in the darkness.

“Babe,” he says quietly. It’s the first time she's been anything but Mel or Dr. King at work. “Can I sit?”

She smiles a little at the question, so out of character for Frank, who naps with his head in her lap whenever possible and acts like he can't drive a vehicle without his hand on her thigh. But she nods all the same, because this is work, and he's Dr. Langdon here, and Dr. Langdon always respects her boundaries.

She leans into him a little as he sits.

“Dana said county emergency response expects the blackout to be over soon,” he says quietly. She's not sure how they can really know that, but if Dana believes it, it calms her a little.

“I'm just worried about Becca,” she admits. “You know she doesn't love the dark.”

“I know. But it'll still be light out for another hour or so, and by that time we'll be on our way to her. We’ll just camp in the living room together if the power is still out.”

She still isn't used to having someone else there to help, someone so willing to find solutions to things that worry her.

His lips press against her temple in the dark, and nothing's really scary at all.

[fromiftowhen]

For @kingdonmicrofic day 4 | Garden | 170 words

“Guys, you wanna show Mel and Becca what we did today?”

Mel smiles. It's pretty obvious what they've been up to. Dirt streaks down Tanner’s face and Millie’s hair will need multiple washes to get out slivers of mulch.

Frank’s the worst of all: knees muddy, hair caked with dirt, beginnings of a sunburn creeping up his neck.

“Oh, I can't wait to see,” she says excitedly. Coming home to these three is one of the best parts of her day, only made better with Becca beside her.

The kids grab Becca’s hands and Mel smiles as Frank takes hers to lead them outside.

“You're filthy,” she whispers, cheeks blushing as he winks in response.

“Look! Flowers!” Millie announces as they walk out into the backyard.

Becca’s grinning already, flowers all around her.

“Mel, it's just like growing up,” she says, and Frank smiles.

“Violets for you, poppies for Bec, and gardenias for…”

“For my mom,” Mel whispers, tears already threatening to fall. “It's just as beautiful as I remember.”

[fromiftowhen]

Back with my second fill for today's road trip prompt from @kingdonmicrofic | 297 words |

(This is a complete 180 from my first fill for this prompt, but this is the one I originally wrote weeks ago, and the M rated one just yelled at me this morning until I wrote it. I can't not share words when I write them, so enjoy the fluff of this one!)

“Please don't make us listen to a medical podcast all the way to North Carolina,” Becca says from the third row, behind the two booster seats.

The kids agree, but Mel isn't sure they even know what they're agreeing to.

“We all get a turn, guys. And you all have headphones if you don't like what Mel chose,” Frank says, smiling over at her.

“Personally, I love what Mel chose,” he says, but it's really just for her, because Mel can hear everyone else pulling out their headphones. “Gotta keep the skills up, even on vacation.”

Mel laughs. “Please, you're hoping someone will go into cardiac arrest right in front of you in the woods. You'll be itching to get back next week.”

His hand finds her knee, sure and steady as he watches the road in front of them. “Honestly, when that guy coughed back at McDonalds, I was ready to Heimlich him.”

“You can't even make it through a nine hour roadtrip,” she laughs. “I can't take you anywhere.”

His fingers press in around her thigh, warm in the sun spilling through the window. “Babe, you can take me anywhere. I just wish our first vacation together was going to be a little more fun than my parent’s annual mountains trip.”

“It will be fun,” she tells him seriously. She’s been excited for weeks, even looking forward to all the time in the car and the gas station stops and the inevitability of Millie’s motion sickness meaning they're in the mountains.

“Yeah,” he says. “But this might be our only quiet time,” he warns her, glancing in the rear view at their distracted passengers.

He turns down the podcast slightly, and then his palm is hot on her skin again.

“Then just drive,” she smiles.

[fromiftowhen]

For @kingdonmicrofic day 3: road trip | rated M | 297 words.

The car breaks down outside of Vermont at midnight.

“This is exactly how this weekend would end,” Frank groans, lifting the hood to add another thing he can't fix to an ever-growing list.

Beside him, Mel yawns. She'd been asleep, finally spent from long days of talking (fighting), longer nights of angry, but unrelentingly perfect, sex.

(They couldn't stop. He’d slipped his tongue inside her against the hotel bathroom counter and she'd cried out for more, more sadness than want. He'd given it to her, her mouth stretching around his cock, his thumb pressing in at the corner, every part of him needing her heat.)

“Does it feel like karma?” She asks now, moonlight ghosting her cheeks where there are still tear tracks.

He doesn't believe in karma. He can't, or he's pretty sure fear would keep him bed-ridden for all his days.

“Sure,” he mutters. It doesn't feel good, anyway.

(He presses her against the warm hood minutes later, waiting for a tow truck. Her back bends, stretches, contorts for him, just like she always has.

She used to do it happily. He feels sick, heart racing, but he still pulls her gently into his lap in the passenger seat, lets his cock fill her, no protection, no worry, and when she comes, her nails leave painful souvenirs. Headlights of the tow truck blind him as he comes a moment later.

He never could see clearly when it came to her.)

“Yeah, this thing is dead,” the tow operator tells them, and Mel’s laugh is hollow when it fills the air. He still, somehow, wants to drown in it.

The tow truck rattles beneath them.

“You guys on your way home?”

“Yeah,” Mel whispers. “Turns out he has a wife and kids to get back to.”

[fromiftowhen]

hey! do you have any kingdon nsfw stuff? 👀

Hi anon! Yes I do!

the whole world is sleeping is 45K, but has a few long smutty scenes.

lessons in abstract art is basically PWP.

There may be some upcoming kingdonmicrofic days with some short smutty stuff. We'll see!

[fromiftowhen]

Kingdon Microfic Day 2 — Ice Cream

For @kingdonmicrofic's August challenge. 300 words. (You may also eventually see this worked into a large Kingdon AU, because I can't stop thinking about it. Wilder things have happened.)

“Mel, can we go get ice cream?” Today is the day.

“Bec, I have a chem test in the morning,” Mel says, already closing her book. She can't say no, and they both know it.

“We'll be quick,” Becca tells her, but she's lying.

They're never quick when it comes to ice cream, at least in all the months they've been going to Langdon’s Licks and Likes. It's a horrible name, Becca had told the guy behind the counter the first time they'd gone in. He was about their age, and had laughed like it was the best thing he'd heard all day.

Mel had gasped and said “Becca!” In the loudest voice she ever used in public, and then blushed when the guy - his name tag said Frank, which was also a horrible name, but Becca kept that to herself - turned his attention on her.

And from that minute on, Becca had made it her mission to get Mel in there as often as possible, because no one has ever made her sister react like Frank has. Becca’s pretty sure Mel has never laughed more in their whole 16 years.

“Hey, King sisters!” Those might be Becca’s three favorite words. “Becca,” Frank greets a few minutes later, already handing her a tiny sample spoon of their daily special. It's fudge brownie walnut, Mel’s favorite.

Spoon in hand, she watches his whole focus shift to Mel, her cheeks already pink. He's cuter than Mel’s first boyfriend, with a dimple in his chin that Mel had googled the genetic probabilities of after their third ice cream trip, “just for science’s sake.”

“Hey Frank,” she says. “Did you know this is Mel’s favorite?”

“I did,” he says, and Mel grins. “I know I'll always see the King sisters before a big test.”