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T (?) | 1.8k | pre-kingdon, langdon & javadi friendship | discussion of omegaverse
One of the only nice parts of the timing of Frank’s return to the Pitt was that he’d been basically free the entire month of June, which meant he got to actually watch the World Cup for the first time since college. He’d tried to get Tanner and Penny in on it, too, but their interest only lasted until the Netherlands got knocked out.
(Despite Frank’s attempts to get Tanner to choose a team based on anything substantial, he’d taken one look at the neon orange jerseys and declared them the best team of all time. Frank’s hoping Tanner will move on before the Euros. Langdon complexions aren’t built for orange.)
Being back in the Pitt means that he finally feels like he’s actually doing something helpful, doing something he’s good at, for the first time in months, though, so he barely mourns the fact that he won’t be able to watch games as much anymore. It’s made easier each shift as he finds his rhythm with more and more of his colleagues: self-deprecating jokes about being an old man to Javadi (mixed in with sly allusions to Dr. J), open-ended questions to Whitaker (when he isn’t running around frantically), offers to show Emma pictures of his kids while fending off her offers to babysit.
Luckily, his social media algorithms have all deduced he’s all in on the World Cup, so at the very least he stays up-to-date. He follows along on the will-they/won’t-they reversal of Ballogun’s red card and still gets the best memes, even if he’s a few hours delayed. (The best English language memes, that is. He’s been told the Brazilian memes are the actual best.)
It’s this confluence of factors that leads Frank to seeing a tweet that will haunt him forever.
(continued below or read on ao3)
Actually, that first tweet is more confusing than anything; the haunting part is more what he learns, sees, and reads when he turns to Google to figure out what about pheromones could possibly have led Norway to losing the game. For some reason, he just keeps falling down the rabbit hole, unable to tear his eyes away from the corner of the internet he’s inadvertently stumbled upon: Yaoi. RPF. Omegaverse. Mpreg?
He finds himself watching a TikTok edit about Bellingham and Haaland that’s honestly pretty compelling before he snaps out of it.
He’s trying not to be judgmental—something he’s had a lot of practice working on over the past year—and he’s reminding himself not to yuck other people’s yums or whatever, but it’s just...a lot. It’s completely different from how he engages with sports and celebrities and even characters. He wonders how many other people are wandering about with this framework in their head. Is this supposed to be a fight club situation? Is the first rule of reading the omegaverse Wikipedia page to never tell anyone you’ve read it?
Whatever. It’s really not his business.
---
Except....maybe it is his business if it means a new way to mess with Javadi.
It only occurs to him when he walks by her during a lull and catches a glimpse of her phone screen.
A week ago, what he saw on her phone would have meant nothing to him. Now, however, he’s a man of the world, so he knows what that red little scribble in the lefthand corner means: Javadi is an AO3 user. Not only that, but she’s an AO3 reader to the extent that she’s actively on it at work. In an emergency room.
He can work with that.
His opportunity presents itself later in the day, during another slow moment. Javadi is leaning against the Hub, scrolling on her phone again. Mel is charting at a computer nearby, but all the other nurses and doctors are on the other side of the Hub, listening to Santos regale them with some story about Whitaker’s ineptitude as a roommate.
Frank sidles up next to Javadi, resting his forearms on the counter and knocking into her shoulder companionably. She locks her phone frantically.
“Hey, Dr. J,” Frank says, tone deceptively friendly. “I saw something online the other day that confused me. I figured my favorite Gen Zer could help clear it up.”
Javadi rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Who let you on the internet? You should use your kids’ tablets so that safe search is on.”
Frank huffs a laugh.
“Uh, excuse you, we’re extremely careful about Tanner and Penny’s screentime. They don’t have tablets.”
Javadi’s smile becomes more real, the way it does every time he does something that reveals him to be more than just an asshole with a drug problem.
“Anyway, have you been following the World Cup at all?”
Javadi grimaces.
“I was following it until the people’s princesses got eliminated.” At Frank’s blank look, she continues, “Cape Verde? The only reason to care?” She kisses her fingers and points upwards. “We’ll never forget you, Vozinha.”
That was a lot more than Frank anticipated.
“Valid,” he chuckles. “Do you know anything about the England-Norway game the other day?”
Javadi’s eyes fly open in poorly concealed panic. Bingo.
She shrugs, trying to look casual as she starts to spin her phone around on the counter in front of them.
“Uhh, just that there was the Viking rowing thing, and that one guy looked like Shrek.”
“Haaland?”
Frank pauses to consider this. He wouldn’t have compared him to Shrek necessarily, but he sees where she’s coming from. Regardless, that’s the perfect segue for him.
“That’s actually what I wanted to ask about. So I saw this tweet—” Javadi’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “—yeah, I know, fuck Elon, it’s a cesspool of white supremacist bullshit, but it’s also where all my favorite sports journalists are, sooo—”
“I bet they’re on Bluesky,” Mel pipes up.
He didn’t even know she’d been listening; she’s been typing the entire time he’s been here.
...Not that he was watching her or anything.
“Uh, maybe,” Frank allows, thrown. “I guess I should check.”
Mel nods with a pleased smile.
“Anyway, I saw this tweet saying that Haaland didn’t score against England because of Jude Bellingham’s pheromones and because he didn’t want to make his omega sad. Do you know what the fuck any of that means?”
He wishes he had a camera to capture the journey Javadi’s face goes on. First, eyes the widest he’s ever seen. (And that’s saying something: he’s seen her eyes go pretty wide before.) Then, her entire face scrunches up, like she’s tasted something unbelievably sour or she’s dealing with the worst brain freeze of all time. She squints at him for a second and then scrunches her face back up, eyes clamped shut as she shakes her head a little. She slowly opens her eyes, barely more than her previous squint, while her lips are fixed in a moue of displeasure. She opens her mouth for a moment, like she’s going to talk, then snaps it shut. Her hands find the back of her neck in a move that’s more something he would expect from Mel than from her.
He’s starting to feel a little bad—it seems like this might be causing her, like, psychological damage, not just embarrassment—but Mel unexpectedly chimes in before he can backtrack.
“Oh! I know this one!”
Frank looks over at Mel. Her hands have paused on the keyboard, and she’s smiling brightly up at him, the complete opposite of Javadi’s slow-motion horror.
“That is a reference to something called omegaverse, which is a genre—subgenre, maybe?—of fiction, generally fanfiction that introduces specific dynamics and physiological changes derived from werewolf fantasy stories.”
Javadi’s eyes widen again, her mouth dropping open in a look of panic.
“It’s based extremely loosely on wolf dynamics, but it’s often used in erotic writing as a way to amplify sensory experiences for those involved.”
Mel pauses, her eyebrows creasing thoughtfully. Javadi makes a high-pitched noise not unlike a squeak.
“I guess I should back up. Do you know what fanfiction is, Dr. Langdon?”
Frank’s mouth has fallen open at some point in Mel’s spiel. He clears his throat, not trusting his voice.
Javadi glances around, but Frank can’t tell if it’s because she wants another witness to whatever the hell is happening here or if it’s because she wants to ensure nobody else can hear. Everyone is still across the Hub, so she’s on her own.
“Uh, yeah, it’s when people write stories about characters from shows and books and stuff, right?”
Mel nods enthusiastically.
“Oh my God,” Javadi whispers beside him, her hands coming up to cover her face as her eyes flick between the two of them.
“There’s a misconception that fanfiction is just erotica, but a lot of it is character studies or opportunities for fans to explore universes they love. Omegaverse is definitely more about smut, though, since the physiological changes include things like self-lubrication and the ability of cis men to get pregnant.”
“Nope, I can’t,” Javadi says, throwing up her hands and speed walking away.
She leaves her phone behind, the clearest sign of a Javadi in distress that Frank can imagine.
“What was the tweet you saw, Dr. Langdon?” Mel asks him earnestly. “I might be able to help explain what they meant if you tell me more about the two players involved. Is one of them more—meek or submissive?”
She frowns a little, unhappy with herself.
“I mean. Does one of them come off that way? While the other is assertive or protective?”
Frank swallows and clears his throat before responding. Against his will, his brain flashes back to the TikTok edit that showed Haaland sprinting up to an opposing player who knocked Bellingham down.
“Uh, yeah, exactly.”
Mel nods, looking pleased.
“It sounds like there’s a fandom that ships those two players, then.” She blinks at him. “That means they think those two players should have a romantic or sexual relationship. Omegaverse is usually kind of niche, so I’m surprised it came across your Twitter out of the blue.”
Frank nods, drumming his fingers against the counter. This plan has gone completely sideways.
“Got it. Thanks for filling me in, Mel.”
Mel brightens.
“Anytime, Dr. Langdon! I know I’m out of the loop on a lot of online trends and popular media, but feel free to come to me with questions about fanfiction or fandom anytime, even the erotic side. I’m pretty familiar with a lot of it.”
Even the erotic side. Jesus Christ.
“Sounds good, Mel.”
Frank backs away from the counter, inexplicably shooting Mel finger guns—which makes her pretend to get hit and flop back in the chair before perking back up with another devastating smile—before he turns tail and flees to the bathroom.
It’s karma. It has to be karma or some cosmic joke, that his attempt to mess with Javadi instead has him trying and failing not to imagine why Mel is pretty familiar with fandom, even the erotic side.
But hey—maybe he can work with this, too. Maybe she’d like that TikTok edit.
@kingdonmicrofic day 19: heels | 151/151 | rating: g
Growing up, everyone around Frank always knew when it was going to rain.
His mother would rub at her knees, grimacing as she ground her heels into the floorboards; his father would squint at the still-blue sky, hollering at him to pull the bikes inside; his brother would walk faster when the tree leaves rustled just right.
No one ever explained it to him — how they just knew. So he waited until he, too, gained this preternatural ability.
He never did figure out that secret skeletal sense. The best he could ever manage is figuring it out right before the skies opened up. Sensing the pressure drop in the silence before that first clap of thunder. Always a touch too late, always leaving him gasping and soaked to the bone.
But the first time he sees Mel King, he suddenly understands exactly how it feels to know a storm is coming.
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The ER is packed with an entire wedding party, and he rolls his eyes at the bride and groom who refuse to be separated for treatment. He spots Mel through the crowd, her arms pressed to her chest, hands clasped, shoulders tense, and eyes glazed.
She’s taking tiny steps backwards until she bumps into the nurses’ station, and he makes his way over to her, gripping his stethoscope and focusing on that so he doesn’t call out her name or sprint to her.
“Go take a breather in the ambulance bay,” he says once he’s beside her, dipping his head to her so only she hears.
She doesn’t look at him, still staring into the distance, and says, “I’m fine.”
He almost laughs because does she really think he doesn’t know her, doesn’t know when she’s lying, when she’s trying to prove she can tough it out.
“Mel.”
That gets her attention, and she turns to look at him, eyes dropping to where his arm is propped on the edge of the nurses’ station behind her, how his body is angled toward her, then she meets his gaze.
“You’re an attending now, Dr. Langdon, you can’t give me special treatment.”
“It’s not special treatment,” he says. “I just know what you need and how to give it to you.”
Her mouth opens, and even though he doesn’t hear it, he knows she gasps at his words, the connotation. He thinks that might be enough to spur her, but she doesn’t relent, just stares at him.
“Well, if you don’t go, I’ll have to go with you to make sure you take a break, and everyone will notice, then we’ll be down a senior resident and an attending. You don’t want that, right?”
She nods, and he knows he has her where he needs her now.
It seems like she’s going to say something, but she just swallows, then turns and heads toward the exit, nearly bumping into everyone and everything on her way.
He follows after her a few minutes later, once he gets the crowd under control, and finds her in what’s become their spot over the last year. He stands beside her, close but not touching.
She shifts, leaning against him, her hand brushing his, the touch making a buzz spread through his body.
“Thank you,” she says, letting out a calming breath. “I needed this.”
Then, a moment later, she says, “And you.”
“Yeah? Think you’ll need me tonight?”
She hums, nodding, and when he turns his head to look at her, she’s already looking at him, head tilted up, biting her lip, the sight of her driving him crazy with want.
“I needed you last night, too, but I had to take care of myself because you worked late, so I think you owe me.”
@kingdonmicrofic day 17: crowd | 317/317 | rating: m (sexual content)
“It’s a 2.”
Frank’s pencil hovers above the paper. “You say that like it’s obvious,” he grumbles, scribbling a 2 in the box, erasing some other markings he’d made earlier in the puzzle.
“If you spent as much time actually doing the sudoku as you do watching me, maybe it would be obvious,” Mel muses, eyes fixed on her own puzzle.
Across the couch, he scoffs playfully, muttering something about multitasking. A self-satisfied smile curls up on her face at his feigned frustration; she’s found she quite likes when she can rile him up. Likes when slow Sunday mornings morph into something else. He’s laughing as he lounges forward, crowding her against the couch cushions. “I’ve created a monster,” he teases, kissing up her neck.
“I think,” she replies, a sparkle in her eyes as his hands slip under the hem of her shirt, “you just met your match.”
The next Sunday, Mel finds the morning paper spread out in front of her on the marble countertop of their kitchen. The pencil in her grip wavers as she scribbles potential solutions in the margins. No, not seven, there’s already one in that row, she thinks, already flipping the eraser over, but it’s difficult to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of Frank pressed against her, one hand firm on her hip, the other moving steadily between her thighs.
Lead hovers over the page, useless and hesitant, as his fingers curl inside her, hitting a spot that makes her knees buckle and her vision go a little blurry. He only presses closer, pace unrelenting despite her whimpers.
“Come on baby,” he whispers against her shoulder. “I thought you were good at multitasking.” The hand on her hip trails up her body, gathering her hair into his fist, pulling her head back slightly. She moans at the pressure, the angle. “What do you say? Met your match yet?”
Frank doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this at all.
“Thank you again for this, Mel,” Whitaker says, sitting very stiffly on Mel’s couch—in Frank’s spot on Mel’s couch— looking like a kitten that was left alone in the rain.
Which, well, he sort of was.
“I still can’t believe Santos isn’t letting you stay with her! I thought you two enjoyed living together?” Mel’s making three mugs of hot chocolate in the kitchen, still wearing the adorable little pyjama set he bought her. He’d been hoping to take it off her before they got a call from their coworker. “Amy and Theo are doing okay, though? What awful luck that the pipes in the bathroom burst like that. How long will it be until you can all move back in?”
Desperately, Frank hopes that Whitaker will say something about it only being a few days, a week at most. Instead, his eyes get somehow sadder. “We don’t know yet. It’s going to be a lot of commutes for me, going to make sure the farm stays running while Amy keeps an eye on the house repairs.”
Frank crosses his arms, glaring down at the floor. It isn’t that he doesn’t… tolerate Whitaker, it’s more that there’s this old saying.
Two’s company. Three’s a crowd.
He and Mel have been together for just coming on three months now, and they’re deep in the honeymoon stage. Which means sex. A lot of sex. Sex on every surface they can possibly fuck on. It’s nearly impossible for them to get a weekend like this one (where they’re both off, Becca is staying at the centre, and the kids are with Abby), and Frank had been hoping to spend the majority of it naked.
With Whitaker lurking here, that isn’t happening.
“This actually works well,” Mel says. Frank, utterly betrayed, whips his head around so fast that he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “Frank and I can just stay at his apartment until you and Amy get the house back in order. She and Theo can come over too if she gets tired of staying with her parents.”
It’s like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. “We can stay at my place?”
Mel tilts her head, smiling. “Of course, we’ve been talking about moving in together at some point anyway, this feels like a good test run. I figure we’ll just show Dennis where everything is, give him a spare key, pack, and head over tonight. So we can, uh, do that thing we were talking about?”
Frank stands up, grinning from ear to ear, and manhandles Whitaker to his feet. “Here, I’ll show you where the spare towels are!”
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There's a little crowd huddled around the nurses' station and Frank has a bad feeling about it. Javadi’s in the middle with her phone out, Princess and Joy leaning in, Santos with a hand over her mouth. A few of them are laughing.
"What's up?" He shoulders his way in.
Javadi hesitates - that’s a bad sign. Then she tilts her phone so he can see the screen.
He recognizes the woman they're watching immediately: it’s Becca King. They’re watching what looks like a TikTok with Becca King front and center, and she’s doing some sort of choreography with her arms and lip syncing to the music. But behind her, only mostly in frame and also doing the dance, is Mel.
"There's like five of these," Princess says. "Mel does the-"
"Cool,” he cuts her off, annoyed. "So we're laughing at the King sisters, then."
"Not like that," Santos starts, rolling her eyes. “And not Becca, anyway.”
Javadi, to her credit, slips her phone in her back pocket, appearing appropriately chastened.
"She's not even here today,” he snaps, because that was where his bad mood began, when he rolled in at six-thirty and remembered Mel wasn’t scheduled this weekend. "She's off, and you're all wasting time laughing at her." None of them are looking him in the eyes. He gives up. "Whatever. Santos, your guy in North 3 started throwing up again."
He’s been practicing distancing himself from unnecessary stressors, so. He walks.
Frank lives alone now, and there isn’t all that much to do, which is why he downloads TikTok as soon as he gets home. She’s easy to find - the app has somehow gone into his contacts and pulled the profiles of what seems like everyone he’s ever met.
Becca has 76 followers and forty-two videos. In most of them, she’s either alone or with a man Frank assumes is Adam. Only a handful feature Mel, and he finds those quickly. He watches the one from earlier, just to see it better, just so that maybe he’ll understand what was so fucking funny. Then he watches the next one. It’s the same sort of thing, Becca dancing in front, Mel behind. They both know all the words, and they both look like they’re having fun.
There are two more like that, but then there's one where the sisters accidentally bump into each other and Mel laughs with her head all the way back. Her shoulders shake. He can’t see her face but he knows how it’s lit up. He can’t hear her laugh, but he knows what it sounds like.
Frank doesn't get what the big deal is. They're cute.
When the country doesn’t have easily accessible public libraries, piracy is sometimes the only option. They’ve been collaborating with the police to arrest poor street vendors and small book shop owners. Evil, just evil
@kingdonmicrofic | day 16: glitter | rating: T | word count: 227/227 | cw: briefly implied sexual content at the end | ao3
“What’s going on here?” Mel says, bemused, upon entering the apartment. She hadn’t been gone that long—just enough to grab pizza for dinner.
“Melly!” Penny chirps with excitement. “I made daddy pretty, see?”
They’re sitting on the floor, Frank’s hair messily pushed back with a headband and his face— Mel can’t help herself as she erupts into giggles when he turns to look at her.
“What’re you laughing at?” he says, unbothered, sticking out his tongue. “I look pretty!”
“Yeah! He looks pretty!” Penny defends, not looking up from his face, concentrating as she adds more sparkly blush to his cheeks.
“Oh, yeah,” Mel agrees, setting down the pizza and coming over to perch herself on the couch, “Very pretty.”
Frank’s face is a mess of sparkly glitter eyeshadow, blush, and lipgloss that looks like it has confetti in it. Mel’s face itches for him.
* * *
Afterwards, once they’ve had dinner and Frank has corralled the kids into their beds, Mel saunters up to him, biting her lip around a smile.
“Penny wanted us to be princesses,” he supplies, and Mel giggles again.
“And what a pretty princess you are,” she teases lightly, pulling him down to kiss him. “But we should probably get you cleaned up.”
Frank snorts. “Yes, please. Join me?”
Mel’s smile widens, and she pulls him towards the bathroom by his shirt. “Of course.”
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