honey 🐝

Prompt: Feast @kingdonmicrofic | 500 words | Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content | 10/31 | Princess Mel/Stableboy Frank AU

“Mel? Are you in there?” 

Mel stifles a moan. “Yes, Father,” she chokes out, trying to sound normal. 

“Are you coming down for the feast? Your birthday banquet is almost ready.” 

“Be there soon, Father,” she huffs, sitting up on her elbows. “I’m just—oh, wow—just getting dressed!”

“Alright!” 

“We have to go,” Mel urges after she hears her father’s footsteps recede.

“I’m busy.” 

“Frank, you are not—oh, hell.” 

“I’m busy,” Frank repeats, pulling away from her core. “The kingdom will have to wait, as I have a birthday gift to give to the princess.” 

“You’ve already given me two,” Mel whines, trying to dislodge Frank from his position in between her legs, but he just grips her thighs harder. 

“And does the fair princess not deserve more praise?” Frank asks, hoisting up her legs over his shoulders. “Does the princess of this beautiful kingdom not deserve adulation? Admiration?” He leans in again and licks a wide stripe up her cunt that makes Mel fall back onto the bed. “Worship?” 

“The princess,” Mel pants, “is required in the Great Hall, I’m sure she—fuck Frank—will receive more than enough praise.” 

“Wouldn’t be enough.” 

“Frank, please,” she says, raking her fingers through his hair and pulling his face away from her. “If you’re going to make me late, make it worth it?” 

Frank grins maniacally. “Does my princess have a request?” 

“She does,” Mel smiles widely. “Your princess requests an audience.” 

“An audience?” He repeats, shucking off his breeches. Her gown is long gone, and Frank scrapes his teeth against her breast, sucking on a nipple as he lines his cock up to her entrance. “Do you happen to know where this audience will take place?” 

“Oh, I think you know the place,” Mel laughs, urging him forward with her knees. “I think you know it well.” 

“I do,” he says, pushing into her slowly. “I’m very grateful my lady would take my audience, as I have many thoughts about the kingdom I’d like to share.” 

“Oh?” she gasps, the breath knocked out of her as Frank bottoms out. 

“I have an opinion on her chosen husband.” 

“Not my chosen husband,” Mel corrects, groaning when Frank starts moving. “You know that.” 

“Of course, my apologies,” Frank smirks. “Your chosen husband would be a lowly stableboy, if I remember correctly—”

“My best friend,” Mel corrects, pulling him in closer for a kiss. “My everything.” 

“Then I have opinions on the man courting her.” 

“Men.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he laughs, picking up speed. “The men courting her.” 

Mel whines as he starts circling her clit and pleasure coils in her abdomen. 

“I find them arrogant, haughty, and altogether unworthy of her hand.” 

“Do you think you could do better?” Mel teases. “Do you think you could satisfy the princess?” 

Frank winks. “Oh, I know I’m up to the task.” 

Click. Click. Click.

“Can you go two seconds without making noise,” Mel huffs, hand already on her temple.

Across the note-littered table, Langdon clicks his pen again, defiance twinkling in his eyes. 

God, the nerve of him. 

She’s never met someone so stubborn and cocky and competitive before, which of course means she's never met someone who understands her better. He knows every button to push, how to crawl right under her skin, so much so you’d think he lived there. Always so good at keeping up with her, always catching her eye after a heated debate, watching. Smirking.

(If she thought about it for more than a second, their rivalry is less of a battle and more of a feast — each of them arriving hungry and wide-eyed for the challenge the other provides. He pushes her, she pushes him, cloaked in annoyance and insult. Satisfaction after supping themselves on their wit.)

(But why would she think, when she could blindly hate?)

“You’re insufferable.”

“Am I?” His eyes narrow. “Or do I just steal your chances to be right?”

Mel scowls, an indignant noise rumbling in her chest as she rearranges something on the whiteboard.

There’s another noise behind her, louder than before.

“Can you please be quiet?” She asks, turning quickly.

He’s much closer than she expected, towering over her. She swallows, and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, and if she hadn’t been staring into his eyes — have they always been so blue? — she might’ve missed the way his gaze flickered downward for just a split second.

“I don’t know, can—”

Before he can finish, as if continuing the same argument they’ve been having all night, Mel grabs the front of his shirt and kisses him hard.

@kingdonmicrofic | july 10 | prompt: feast | 418 words

cw: mentions of sexual content

Before

The sheepish look on Frank’s face was incredibly endearing, in Mel’s opinion.

“Yeah, so it’s not a feast, or anything.” Frank held his hands out, palms up, gesturing to the food he’d laid out on the coffee table for them. He put out slices of cheese and crackers, rolled up lunch meat and grapes, wedges of apple and rounds of cucumber. “And if you end up staying for dinner, we can order out. Um.” He cleared his throat. “That is, if you want to.”

It looked like a feast to Mel. “I’d like to,” she said with a smile. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to impose.”

@kingdonmicrofic • Day 9: Gift • 446/446 • Rated: M

CW: hand kink, improper use of medical gloves

stole this idea straight from @morgadec's brilliant mind :)

•••

The idea took form over several weeks of watching Dr. Langdon intently, specifically his hands in extra large blue nitrile gloves. For weeks now, Mel had searched for the perfect present—a birthday present for herself and an early Valentine's present for him—and this was near perfect. It also happened to be cost efficient (completely free and available by the bucketload at her workplace).

Before her shift ended, Mel nicked an extra pair of the gloves in Dr. Langdon’s size. She followed the rest of her usual routine—finished her charts, transferred her patients, said her goodbyes, and thanked Dr. Langdon for the ride home.

An hour ticked by before she texted him, summoning him to her apartment. And once he arrived, she kissed his freshly shaved face until he nearly toppled over on their way to her bedroom. She wanted to make good use of the circumstances.

“Wait, put these on.” Giddy, Mel fished around her workbag for the gloves and presented them to him. “We can play doctor again.”

“Right on, Doctor King.”

That was all it took to watch him stretch the blue gloves around hands. His hands looked nearly as good as what she had in mind for weeks now—his lengthy digits, his tendons, his prominent knuckles, his protruding ring—and for weeks, she wanted to get her mouth on them. And boy oh boy, when his gloves were wet from ice bath water after handling an overheated patient, every detail of Dr. Landon’s hand was delectably visible.

The hunger brought her lips closer and closer to his hands. Mel gripped his left hand by the wrist and let his right hand roam her skin just as she wanted Dr. Langdon's hands to. She kissed his fingertips one by one, then took his index and middle fingers in her mouth knuckle by knuckle as she sucked. Blue flashes of Dr. Langdon’s hands ran through her mind as she moaned around his digits—how his hands expertly navigated human anatomy, how they fit so perfectly around Mel's waist, how they felt on her skin even with the nitrile barrier.

Get ‘em nice and wet, sweetheart, look at you go.

Mel heard his words in her mind. That was when she led his other hand inside her scrub pants, beneath her panties, and inside her slicked cunt. God, they felt as good as she hoped.

“Mel,” Frank whips past central grinning widely, already snapping gloves on, “Trauma 2. It’s a good one.”

That familiar adrenaline starts to course through her at the promise of something interesting. She’s already standing when she hears a scoff behind her. 

“Figures.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of the day setting in, or maybe it’s her breaking point after months of frustrating comments. Regardless, Mel whips around and not too kindly asks, “Excuse me?”

Across the station, Santos suddenly looks very interested in her computer screen.

“Just— uh,” Santos stammers, words incoherent. “You know…” she trails off, gesturing vaguely between Mel and the retreating attending.

“Know what, exactly?”

“You’re the favorite,” she shoots back. Then adds under her breath, “His, at least.” Mel stands up a little straighter. “And that’s fine, everyone knows it, but like… yeah, Langdon wants you on the case.”

There’s an edge of something in her voice — a hidden malice that Mel is getting better at recognizing, but this time it makes her bristle. She’s gracious; she lets so much of it slide. The offhand comments about her quirks, stomaching pointed comments about him in the name of peace, but she will not tolerate the implication that their growing personal relationship has made Frank a bad teacher or unprofessional. This thing with Frank isn’t new, he’s always looked out for her, but him being her boyfriend is and it's something they’re both hyper-aware of at work. They’ve worked too hard on maintaining strict boundaries for professionalism to suddenly become an issue.

“That is completely inappropriate,” Mel snaps. “I get that you don’t like him, and that’s fine—”

“ —Yeah, you could say that,” she cuts Mel off, making her grimace more. 

“It’s fine,” she repeats more forcefully. “But don’t comment on how we manage our personal relationships at work. Since you have a gift for muddling the two, I don’t think your input is necessary here.” The other doctor opens her mouth, perhaps in shock, but Mel barrels forward. “If you really can’t help yourself, maybe wait until I won’t hear it.”

“Oh my god. That’s not what I meant—”

“But you did. That’s why you said it.” She pointedly grabs a pair of gloves, not breaking eye contact. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re a little busy, it might be more useful to pick up another patient than complain about others’ assignments.”

Mel turns sharply, speedwalking towards Trauma 2, cheeks ablaze with indignation and embarrassment. She shoves the glass door open with her shoulder, and Frank startles from the force of it.

“You ok?”

Abby stared at the leatherback journal in front of her, small daisies and a name inscribed onto the fabric.

It was custom, she could tell, from the softness of the leather to the detail in the gold of the name:

Doctor Melissa King

M.D. | MPH

The Fort Pitt Museum's gift shop isn't very big, but she still wants to browse. He does, too; he'll be damned if he lets today pass without commemorating it with some sort of memento.

He follows her as she looks through stickers and magnets, coos over an off-brand Lego set of George Washington. He explains the That's it, Fort Pitt! t-shirts to her, a phrase he only knows from spending time in Pittsburgh as a child.

Those items are forgotten when she sees the tricorn hats in a basket at the corner of the store. She darts over, picks one up and places it on her head unselfconsciously, turning towards him with a beaming smile.

“How do I look? Trinity asked me if I could pull one of these off once, and I told her that maybe I could…”

“You look beautiful,” he says helplessly, honestly, as she trails off.

She blushes, her smile turning shyer but more pleased.

“Really?” she asks, almost in wonder, like no one has really said that to her before, especially while wearing a replica colonial hat made of felt and plastic.

“Really,” he promises, reaching and lacing their fingers together.

“You think I should get it, then?”

“Absolutely.”

He reaches into the bin with his free hand and pulls out a second hat. He stares down at her confused expression fondly; he wants to kiss her, but she's already informed him she's not the biggest fan of PDA. He's taken that as a challenge, mostly, but knows he has to ease her into it. That he would never do anything to make her uncomfortable. 

“You think I'm not gonna get one to match?”

After all, he'll be damned if he lets their first date pass without commemorating it. He knows this is the last first date of his life.

“Plus,” he says, starting to walk toward the register, “Tanner is gonna think this is so fucking cool.”

He only takes three steps before he's stopped by the resistance from her hand that's still holding his. He turns to find her staring at him, eyes shining.

“Thank you, Frank. This is…I'm having a really nice time. The perfect time.”

He means to say of course, that he's having the perfect time, too.

“I love you.”

Her eyes widen, and he curses mentally. It's too early – it's their first date – and he's going to scare her away.

It's just…he’s wanted to say it for such a long time.

Before he can apologize, her smile morphs again, into something warmer, more intimate.

“I love you, too.”

We hope Mel and Frank are ready to go through the wringer, because every Monday and Friday from August 3rd to August 28th they will be enduring

Angsty Kingdon August!

This is an event entirely centered around putting Mel and Frank through angsty situations, so a trigger warning is definitely in place! There’s going to be some pretty dark content that comes out of this, so if that’s not something you want to see then go ahead and block our blog and our tag!

We will be having Mel Misery Mondays and Frank Forlornness Fridays! These are just suggestions to inspire you (and because who doesn’t love alliteration?). You do not need to choose Mel as your main subject for Monday and vice versa. These will be the days of the week that you upload your creations. Anything posted outside of the designated days will be scheduled to be reblogged on Saturday the 29th!

Each week has two prompts to help guide your creative process! The prompts will follow the blank/blank format and it is up to you to decide which one to use for each day (or use both!). For example- if the prompt is illness/injury, you could give Mel an injury on Monday, and Frank an illness on Friday, vice-versa, or give them both an illness and injury. It is also up to you whether you post/create something for both days, as you are invited to post just on Monday or just on Friday. This is all about having fun (and tormenting our fav characters), so feel free to take inspiration from what you want and leave the rest! 

MONDAY THE 3RD & FRIDAY THE 7TH -Grief/Addiction MONDAY THE 10TH & FRIDAY THE 14TH -Miscommunication/Hanahaki MONDAY THE 17TH & FRIDAY THE 21ST -Touch Starvation/Smangst MONDAY THE 24TH & FRIDAY THE 28TH -Angst With A Happy Ending/Free Choice

Check out the prompts post for further details on these!

Do you want them to be doomed to an eternity of sadness? Leaving them stranded forever in the torment nexus? Go ahead, you can do that! Do you want their story to resolve and for them to both live happily ever after? Do you want to give them the joy canon never could? Go ahead, you can do that too! It’s up to you to decide whether the angst is eternal or gets resolved with comfort! Just please be sure to tag your fics accordingly!

We have created a collection on ao3 that you can add your fics to here. Please use our hashtag #angstykingdonaugust2026 and tag us @angstykingdonaugust. We will be reblogging your creations all throughout the month and can't wait to see what you come up with! 

Check out our Rules and FAQ post for any unanswered questions.

We are so excited for you to participate and help the summer months of the hiatus go by just a little faster!

With love from your admins,

midnight, rated m, 500 words

tags: cheating, unplanned pregnancy

melpreg summer x @kingdonmicrofic crossover

Abby shifted, rolling over and taking half of the covers with her, blinking sleepily over at him, “Who is calling you at midnight?”

read on ao3!

or here:

@kingdonmicrofic | no warnings | 410 words | ao3

When Mel's phone rings at two AM, she's wide awake in an instant. There's no reason someone would call her this early unless it was an emergency, so there's either some city-wide disaster and the ER is calling in extra hands or something's wrong with Becca. She doesn't recognize the number as Middle Hill or the hospital, so she's anxious about a dozen different possibilities when she answers, "Hi, this is Mel."

"Hey, this is Jack Abbot." He sounds calm, casual, but if anyone could manage to sound like that during a disaster, it's him. "Sorry to wake you."

"It's okay," Mel replies, heart racing. "What's wrong? Do you need me to come in?"

"Easy, kid." Abbot laughs gently as he says it, and Mel does her best to do what he says. "Everything's fine, but Langdon went down with the flu around midnight and he's taking up a room I could really use for an actual patient." When Mel hesitates as she tries to find the words, Abbot goes on, "Any chance you could get him home? I'd throw him in a cab, but he's in rough enough shape I'd rather send him with someone I trust—someone we both trust."

Mel's mind races with questions that all amount to 'why me?' but she manages to reply, "I'm on my way."

—

Langdon blinks awake to the soft rattle of the curtain on its track, and then Mel is pulling up a seat at his bedside. "Sorry to wake you," she says, looking him over, and then adds, "You look better than Abbot made you sound."

"Glad to hear it, 'cause I feel fucking awful." He sits up, and after taking a few seconds to adjust, focuses on Mel: dressed casually, hair tied loosely back, her badge clipped to the collar of her sweatshirt. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Of course I would." Langdon aches at her words, simple but capable of carrying so much meaning. "Are you ready to go home?" He nods, and Mel works her fingers together and then apart before asking, "I can take you to your place, or"—she hesitates, steeling herself with a breath—"if you want company, you can come to mine. "

The offer is a balm on every part of him that hurts, which, right now, is pretty much everywhere. "My apartment's basically still packed," he says, "so if you mean it—"