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Im like if an unemployed person had a job

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Langdon smiles. He's good when he wants to be

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asking for praise for a thing you made feels so humiliating like oooh look at me I’m a little animal and I did a trick and made a thing can I have pets and treats about it. and then somebody tells you it’s good and you understand why golden retrievers are the way they are

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THE PITT 107 "3 P.M." script

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glancing down at mens chest hair while theyre talking like it's cleavage

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mel king x frank langdon | 61.9k | explicit

for @sawdustandstardust; moodboard by @thatbuddie

“Page fourteen, bullet thirty-two. Obligations related to maintaining a family-focused brand,” she said unblinkingly. “Included, but not limited to: public outings and appearances, exclusivities regarding interpersonal relationships, and family planning.” At this, she tilted her head, smiling. “If necessary.”

read on ao3

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@kingdonmicrofic day 14: picture | wc: 500

Frank knew that Mel King was a lot of things. She was smart, sweet, beautiful. Relentlessly positive, in a way that never felt forced. A kindness that made you want to be better, if only to get the chance to bask in her light.

What he didn’t take her for was a tease.

There it was, though, plain as day on his phone in the middle of a crowded bar that some residents—okay, Santos—had dragged everyone to: a picture of Mel.

Smart, sweet, beautiful, Mel, in nothing but her bra and scrub pants, the delicate lace just barely concealing the rose of her nipples. Blonde hair falling in loose waves over her shoulder. She was still wearing her glasses, and there was a shy, close-lipped smile just under the blush on her cheeks that made him want to ravish her, plain and simple.

The shock had been instant, like getting dunked in cold water while simultaneously experiencing a shot of fiery, instant arousal. He’d had to subtly adjust himself while sitting in the dingy booth next to Whitaker, for Christ’s sake.

He knocked on each of the stalls, stopping once he heard a surprised squeak in response. When he barged in—because of course he did, what else was he supposed to do, exactly?—Mel was cowering against the wall, biting her lip and staring at her phone. She was still topless, arms crossed around her chest, eyes wide as she watched him enter.

“Mel, what is this?”

Her frown grew deeper, arms winding around her even tighter. “Samira said it would get your attention. That you wouldn’t be able to ignore it.”

“And when have I ever ignored you?”

She seemed to think about it, gathering her strength before uncrossing her arms and approaching him head-on. “You’re a very good friend, Frank. The best I’ve ever had.”

“A friend.”

She stepped closer, seeming gratified when his eyes were unable to move up from her chest. Her entire face, chest, and freckled shoulders were flushed. Her nipples peaked through the fabric. Frank was going to die.

“I want you to see me as a woman.”

Frank had been trying very, very hard to be good. To not move so fast, so as to scare her away. To take his time, winning her over. To get every step with the woman he was in love with was perfectly right.

It seems he’d been going about it all wrong.

Frank wound a hand around her waist and pressed her against him, firm enough that she could feel his hardness. “You know there are consequences for sending a picture like that, right?”

Mel let out a breathy sigh, putting a tentative hand to his chest. “Oh. What kind?”

“Let me put it this way. You can find out here,” he said, voice low, leaning so that his lips were near her ear, taking in the scent of her. “Or in my bed. Up to you.”

Mel shivered, biting down a smile. “Why not both?”

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i have suffered less than christ but have complained way more abt it

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Unicorn print carved from a 3x4 rubber stamp. I'm quite pleased with how she came out :)

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day fourteen: picture

+ Samira’s texts to Mel & Trinity

for @kingdonmicrofic | rated: t | word count: ??? (inspired by the letterboxd post i made 9 billion years ago bc i love a da pitt and love a da movies)

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My Lady Jane 1.04 “Bluebird Is Dead”

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prompt fourteen “picture” for @kingdonmicrofic 🐠 497 words

“you should let me take your picture,” becca says. “for my class.”

“here? you don’t have a camera.”

they’ve been parked in the shark tunnel for the past fifteen minutes at tanner’s insistence, his nose pressed to the glass as he stares in wide-eyed wonder. he’s in a fish phase, frank explained, with the weariness of a man who’s watched finding nemo enough times in one week for it to be classed as torture under the geneva convention.

becca rolls her eyes. “charlene said next week we’re learning how to take good photos on our phones, so i want to show her i've been practicing.”

(the duh goes unsaid, which is fair, given that becca’s new photography class is what she talks about roughly 85% of the time.

the other 15% is loudly wondering when mel’s going to tell frank she’s in love with him—thankfully not within his earshot, since mel’s answer to that is a staunch never, if i can get away with it.

it’s harder than it sounds, especially when he insists on doing things like inviting her and becca on an aquarium trip and paying through the nose for a stuffed squid just because she said it was cute).

“the need to be top of the class runs in the family, huh?” frank whispers, leaning into her so becca doesn’t hear. the nicotine gum he chews obsessively is cinnamon-scented; it’s given mel a pavlovian response to the bakery she walks past each morning, a bone-deep hunger that can’t be satiated with pastry.

“she really likes the instructor,” mel murmurs, quiet beneath the rapid-fire shutter of becca’s camera. “last week their assignment was portraits and she made me pose for hours after work.”

“hm?” frank’s voice is a low rumble that mel feels in her bones. “you’ll have to show me sometime.”

becca is skilled at a lot of things: she’s an excellent knitter, a keen baker, mel’s best friend. she’s also the perfect diffuser of tension.

“okay, done! you can look now.”

it’s a great picture: their silhouettes contrasting sharply against the ultramarine water, a school of fish in the background, tanner reaching out like he can touch them through the glass.

“annie leibovitz eat your heart out,” frank says, holding his hand out for a high five. “this is amazing, becs. send it to me?”

becca, suddenly shy, tucks her neck into her shoulder and nods, glowing at the praise.

that’s the last mel thinks of it, tanner declaring that he’s finally ready to move on: there’s the promise of ice cream; gracie stirring from her nap; the car ride home with two overtired children and a sister who’d surpassed her threshold for stimulation at the stingray exhibit.

it’s not until frank pulls up outside her condo that she notices, his phone lit up with a text from abby asking when they’ll be home. mel’s not snooping, but she’d have to be blind not to see it.

he’s made the photo his lockscreen.

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mel & langdon make me feel like i could lift a car over my head and throw it 1000 ft

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langdon + leaning in to talk to mel

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i hate hate hate when i cant share a funny piece of information bc it doxxes me . What if i want to share my information i fucking love my information #myinformation

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