Kingdon Week 2026 master fic list! (all 3 of them lmao)
header made by @nameless-ken
day 1: different first meeting | weights before dates - gym meetcute, 8.6k words (sequel coming soon)
day 4: hurt and comfort | hold on, i still need you - car accident, 7.5k words
day 5: nature | wherever you walk - mel and frank at the park, 2.1k words
this was my first time participating in kingdon week and I had a blast!! I'm blown away by the sheer talent in this fandom. y'all have truly incredible brains. already can't wait for next year!
@kingdonmicrofic day 16: glitter 350/227. cw: internalized homophobia
Frank’s heart felt like it was attempting to pound out of his chest as he faced Mel with her three small pots of colored glitter.
His girlfriend looked at him patiently, her own tri-colored shimmer on her face in pink, purple and blue on each cheek, carefully painted on her by Becca before she’d left the house.
She looked beautiful.
He, on the other hand, still couldn’t compute what was happening to him. How his body reacted to Mel’s offer, how he’d said yes before he could even think about it and all he wanted to do was say no and run home, away from colorful crowds and songs that he wasn’t ready to sing along to yet.
Shame was strange, but he wasn’t sure he felt ashamed. He could feel shame for betraying people’s trust, for stealing medication from patients when he was at his worst. But he wasn’t ashamed about being attracted to other men, but something was triggered within him at the idea of other people just… knowing.
Knowing and being able to judge him for it, describe his whole character and reduce him to something. See him as other when he’s done everything everyone else had done to fit in, the wife, white picket fence and two-and-a-half kids. Frank was a part of it all, he’d almost lost it before, and he’d clawed his way back into being seen as a person for that to happen again.
“Baby, it’s okay.” Mel’s voice brings him back into the moment, to the crowd of people walking and chanting around them. The flag they share, the colors adorning her face as she looks back at him with a love he struggles to convince himself he deserves. “Just walk with me.” Mel says, holding out her hand and putting the glitter away
Frank takes her smaller hand in his own shaking one, ashamed he couldn’t do it, relieved that he didn’t. He reaches forward and kisses her in thanks, knowing that maybe a few specks will brush off on him, and that’s all he can ask of himself this year.
What if we get Frank and Mel sitting on the floor together again in S3 after some horrid stuff happens and one of them quietly reaches out, and the other immediately takes their hand and squeezes it?
i think there should be more fics of frank going out to guys night with mateo, donnie and jesse, maybe shen (definitely not robby) while mel waits for him at home. the man is having a terrible terrible time and the only thing getting through it is because mel begged him to
Mel read him stats on male loneliness and how important social bonds are, especially later in life, she loves spending all the time she can with him, but does he remember what happened when he went to rehab and realised all his ‘friends’ were just his wife’s friends? She doesn’t want him to ever end up in that situation again. So here he is, bonding, missing Mel, being great company, and counting down the hours til he can go home to her.
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.”
@kingdonmicrofic july 6, laughter (wc: 357/325)
warning: explicit
Frank has always been a little cocksure. He knows it’s not his best quality, so he’s working on it, but it’s a challenge: his upbringing encouraged it. His parents and his coaches always nurtured his confidence, and all the kids at school seemed to like him better when he insisted he knew what he was doing (especially because he usually did, in fact, know what he was doing).
So, really, it’s hardly his fault that he’s so convinced he knows exactly how he could make Mel King come.
He's pretty sure she's never been fucked. It’s not like they’ve ever talked about it, but he's pretty sure. He thinks she’s maybe never even had an orgasm, so he knows it would be intense. It would be a lot, for both of them, and he thinks about that, her eyes going shocked-wide, her body flushing red.
But she'd be nervous. She'd be so nervous, wound up tense and tight, overthinking everything, and that would make it worse for her, and he can't stand the idea of it being worse for her.
So he’s going to make her laugh. That's the plan, if he ever gets the chance.
He'll find some ticklish spot on her thighs with his tongue and hold her hips while she shrieks. He'll find a way to make some stupid joke - an inside one, something they’ve laughed about before so he knows she’ll laugh at it again. He'll keep going until she’s laughing so hard her whole body shakes. He’ll go crazy for that, her shaking underneath him, all that tightness rattling loose until there's nothing left in her body but good good more please. Then he’ll press into her and his cock will drag just right and she’ll gasp and her hips will snap and -
That's what it will be like with them. He's weirdly sure of it.
(It’s dangerous, though, being so certain of this, because sometimes they’re at work and he makes her laugh without meaning to, and she puts her hands over her mouth and squeaks while her shoulders shake, and then he has to slip into the bathroom and spit into his palm.)
The first time, she thinks it’s a mistake. She says Hello? twice and then Dr. Langdon? once and when he doesn’t respond, she hangs up. She mentions it at work the next day, and he isn’t looking her in the eyes when he says “Huh,” and changes the subject.
The second time, she only says hello once, and then waits with the phone pressed hard to her ear. There’s nothing - then a deep, quiet inhale. She thinks she would have known it was him even without the caller ID. She can visualize him: his drawn-out breaths, his mouth hanging open, probably laying in bed with his back to his wife.
She doesn’t know why he does this, and she doesn’t ask. Now, when he calls, she says nothing at all.
It’s mostly breathing. But sometimes - sometimes, he makes little sounds. Tonight, he startles her: she thinks he’s crying. It’s a shallow whimper, something desperate sounding. But then, right as she’s about to ask if he’s okay, he makes a low-pitched, filthy moaning sound.
She can really hear him now. For the first time, Mel can hear the wet pumping sound of his hand on his cock. His groans crackle down the line, into her ear, through her entire body. She wonders if he’s done this every time that he’s called, and if he has, why he’s being so much louder about it now.
She presses her thighs together and squeezes her eyes shut. They won’t ever talk about this - they never do. So she slips a hand under the waistband of her sleep shorts.
She has two fingers on her clit for maybe five seconds before she’s mewling. He’s grunting in her ear and she’s rubbing circles, her hips rolling, her fingertips getting wetter. Maybe he can hear it, the slick sound of her teasing.
He’s never spoken aloud on one of these calls before, but he’s full of words now: “Oh, yeah, God, Mel, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She doesn’t know if he’s in bed with his sleeping wife, or if he’s cooped up in his bathroom, or if he went out to sit in his car. She doesn’t care. Right now, he’s with her.
“Are you - can you - I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna come,” he says, his voice hoarse. He lets out one loud gasp, and then goes silent. Or maybe Mel just can’t hear him for the way she cries out, the way her head goes fuzzy and her whole body trembles.
By the time she stops shaking, he’s hung up.
In the light of day, Mel thinks that maybe she imagined the entire thing. Then they’re weighing their options on a treatment plan and she says, “It’s your call,” and he startles.
When he calls her later, she’s already got one hand under the covers and the other on her phone.
Frank and Abby mostly stopped having sex after Penny was conceived and it was already kind of rare before that, what with the stresses of Covid, his residency and young parenthood. They kind of do it on set dates where it’s expected, anniversary, valentine’s day… three times a year more or less.
On their anniversary in August, Frank just can’t get it up. It’s kind of a last straw thing, but neither of them says it. It’s not like Abby was in the mood, so it’s a bit of an insult to injury thing on that end. He promises to get it checked out, but once at work he just can’t bring himself to see a stranger about it, or any of his male coworkers. Mel finds him with a list of doctors, crossing out names one by one and asks him what he’s doing. He tells her he’s looking for the least humiliating option for someone to see about a health issue. She looks down at the list and finds her name not crossed out yet.
“I could take a look at you?” She offers.
“I’m not sure you want the case, it’s a bit… uhm… intimate.”
“Totally up to you. But I’d be shocked if it’s something that shocks me. Think about it. Let me know.”
He does think about it, and in the end decides that he trusts her the most. They duck into a treatment room after their shift is over, Mel draws the curtain and puts a “knock please” sign up. And Frank tentatively starts his tale of last night’s failure to rise.
“Okay, that can happen for a ton of reasons, mind if I take a look?” And so Frank gets on the bed and pulls his scrub pants down and… “Shit oh my god I’m so sorry.” His cock is rock hard before Mel even touches it.
“No no, it’s okay. That’s good, that looks like a full erection. Was the issue in staying erect? Does it hurt to be erect?”
“I need you to stop saying erect for a minute.” Frank is beet red. “No the issue was getting hard, nothing hurts.”
Mel puts a towel over him so they can talk, not even missing a beat and not giving this any chance to feel too awkward. After checking that he wasn’t drinking, she suggests “Maybe it was an emotional issue. Did you feel connected to your partner? Close?”
He hesitates, shakes his head after a moment. And then realises that his body (currently tenting this towel) is very much implying he’s feeling connected now.
