Hi! My name's Lu, they/them, bi, minor. I write fanfic (if you didn't already know that). I love interacting with you guys so please feel free to send me asks!
Characters
-Luke Castellan
-Coriolanus Snow
-Billy the Kid
-Jack Abbot
-Dennis Whitaker
-Micheal "Robby" Robinavitch
-Trinity Santos
-Frank Langdon
-Art Donaldson
-Patrick Zweig
-Tashi Duncan
-Dodge Mason
-Riff Lorton
-Roger Sharpe
-Nightwing/Dick Grayson
-Any Jhutch chararacters
-Felix Catton
-Steve Harrington
I'll also write for really any character as long as I'm familiar with them
Rules
I won't write smut or anything super graphic for pretty obvious reasons. I'm also hesitant to write heavier things, so if you're unsure about something, just ask!
Extra
I want this blog to feel like a sleepover, so send me anything! (most dividers are from @pngblog)
Can you please give me some Charlie bushnell x reader fics!!! I’ve seen so many smau ones but I 100% believe that you can write some amazing other ones!!!
hehehehehe this is so nice!!! here's a little smau for you hehehehe
(ignore the differences in formatting i can't fix it)
its.charlie.bushnell - took 5 minutes to set up the camera...
⤷ itsy/n - okay but it was definitely worth it
leahjefferies - literallyyyyy a princess
⤷ itsy/n - you too girl!
user432 - sooooo cutieeeee
aryan.simhradi - y/n better move over i want some of that pizza
⤷ its.charlie.bushnell - pizza night next week??
⤷ walkerscobell - wait guys can i come too...
⤷ itsy/n - stealing my boyfriend....
y/nsfriend - aww! so cute!
⤷ itsy/n - so cute!
its.charlie.bushnell - u looked so cute when you got the chocolate on your nose
⤷ itsy/n - hehehe you're making me blushhhhh
leahjefferies - we should have beach day....
⤷ itsy/n - YESSSSS that would be so fun!
user298 - lit the cutest couple
⤷ itsy/n - aw thank you bby!
itsy/n - hehehe reining queen of egyptian rat slap
⤷ its.charlie.bushnell - you're just too good....
aryan.simhradi - i played bs with her once.... never again
⤷ its.charlie.bushnell - its like she turns into another person while playing cards
⤷ itsy/n - evil y/n comes out during games.....
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summary: carmy is chronically offline, which of course means that he has no idea about trends but will still happily go along.
contents: fluff, established relationship, carmy has no idea about social media, reader is kinda chronically online/deep in tiktok, tiktok couples & recipe trends, carmen is very strong and reader gets picked up and spun (see trends used), slightly suggestive but not that much
word count: 2.1k
a/n: this was originally just going to be the second one (extended) which is still might but i had this overwhelming urge to write carmy confused and obedient… how obvious is it that i’m really into the idea of being picked up by carmy? ofc thank u to the wonderful @dumbbandpoetic for ideas i’m incredibly obsessed with ur brain. the videos/trends mentioned are this quenelle dessert video, this trend to she’s always a woman (but pretend it’s his left hand), bumping into each other trend, upside down trend, kissing with lipstick trend, “current boyfriend” trend, slim pickins (a boy who’s jacked and kind) trend.
check out the masterlist if u want
Carmen really didn’t use his phone. Texts and calls for inventory and schedule, communicating with you and the staff, but not much more. Very much unlike you.
It’s not like you were glued to it. A normal amount for any twenty-something year old, which, yes, was more than it should be, but not too much. However, asking Carmen to participate in couples trends with you made way for… interesting situations, ones where he’s incredibly clueless, but just as eager to make you happy.
“Bear, have you done this?”
Carmen hums, raising his head from where he’d buried it in your neck as you two are lying on the couch to peek at your phone. A video plays of a girl scooping up whipped cream, warming the bottom of the spoon in her hand then placing it on top of what looked like pudding.
“Mm,” he confirms, “quenelle, the actual dish is.. French. It’s a technique for creams and similar stuff too,” he mumbles, resting his head on top of yours. Your mouth parts slightly, then closes. He looks up at you, your eyes fixed on the replaying video.
“Is it really so hard?”
He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “With something like whipped cream? Yeah. No, if it’s denser.” He meets your eyes before he speaks again, “Want me to teach you, baby?”
You nod eagerly, sinking into his side and the couch further as you scroll past the video, “Yeah, obviously. You’re my personal culinary instructor.”
“So… I’m holding a flower to cover your head?”
Carmen stares at the phone screen, a singular forget-me-not in his hand as he tries to figure out the perspective. You stand in frame with a very cute outfit (that may or may not have caused you two to go out a bit later than planned), nodding. “Like… a flower instead of my head, bear. It’s not that complicated—”
He cuts you off with a “Shh,” then repositions the phone, “You don’t get the intricacies of filmmaking.” The remark is met with a scoff, which he ignores in favor of positioning the flower perfectly to cover your head.
“Okay, ready?”
You nod, and he records you as you turn 360° once then wave as he’s focused on moving the flower accordingly. The end result is a video in which his forget-me-not tattoo shows in the way he holds the matching flower. It ends up going viral and Richie sings She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel at work for two days before Carmen catches on.
Carmen stares at the phone set up on a ledge on the street, squinting his eyes.
“Are you sure your phone’s not gonna get stolen?”
You roll your eyes, trying to drag him away from being directly in front of the phone, “Barely anyone on the street, baby.” He scoffs, opening his eyes wide as if to punctuate his words, “Exactly! Someone could take it and run— It’s also snowing, what is this even for?”
It takes about five minutes to convince him it’s fine, and another ten to explain to him what the hell you’re doing. You seriously underestimate how absurd it sounds to Carmen to pretend to bump into you in the street then grab your face to kiss you. By the time he agrees, you’re basically jumping in place to keep your warmth, which stops the moment he nods, “Fine, you go… check your fit, I’ll bump into you.”
You don’t bother explaining to him that it’s a fit check, but instead push him back lightly so he’s out of frame and go to start the video on your phone. You walk a few steps back when he “bumps into you” and you’re positively surprised when he roughly grabs your face to pull you into him for a kiss. The video ends, but his hands don’t let go, one finding its place behind your head and the other going to grab your waist, slipping under your coat. His cold hand presses into your skin, making you gasp lightly into the kiss, which he takes full advantage of to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him closer, relishing in the moment before you part, panting.
“The phone… should probably get it,” you breathe out, and walk over to put it in your pocket. He’s grinning with his hands in his coat pockets when you walk back to him and start making your way home, “You know,” he starts, “I’m starting to love these videos.”
Carmen lifts you up, holding you a few inches above the ground and swaying you from side to side a bit, as if to test his own strength. He puts you down, then lifts you up again, this time with one hand holding onto your hip and the other almost wrapped around your thighs. He does this a few times, testing the steadiness. He spins around while holding you once, in another he lifts you up as far as his arms allow, and by the fifth try, you’re convinced he's trying to mess with you or just nerved about lifting you.
“If you’re nervous,” you start, only to be cut off by him, “To spin you? Of course I’m nervous.” You stare at him as he turns you to face him with a smirk, “I can also do it.”
You furrow your brows, “Why have you been lifting me for the past ten minutes then?” The question is met with an overly-innocent shrug, his gaze going to the ceiling, “No reason. Not for my own benefit certainly.”
“Don’t try to get us off course,” you start, tapping his shoulder to be let down to which he obliges quickly, “We’re doing this.”
You set up the phone, starting the timer and going to stand in front of Carmen. The music starts playing and he places one hand between your knees and the other on your hip, then picks you up, spinning you upside down once before placing you down with his hands now on your hips. You laugh in amazement, turning to look at him as one of his hands slides to your waist to pull you closer. The music stops, signaling the video’s end, and you rush over to watch the video. You’re in awe watching him spin you effortlessly when he suddenly picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder and making his way to the bedroom.
“Hey!” Your exclamation goes ignored as he pats the back of your thighs once, “You’ll continue watching the video later.” He throws you (gently, or as gently as he could) onto the bed. You save the video then place the phone beside you and lean to wrap your arms around him as he moves to hover over you.
You swipe the lipstick over your lips one last time before closing it and placing it aside, shifting on Carmen’s lap to grab his face. You start to plant kisses over his face carefully, covering it and taking note of the placements as he chuckles, rubbing over your hips.
“Can’t say I get it, but also can’t say I’m complaining,” he grins as you lift his hair to kiss his forehead. His hands tighten on your hips when your kisses trail to his neck, lifting a brow, “You sure that’s gonna be in frame?”
You shrug, lifting your head and checking over his face to make sure it’s covered, “Those were just for fun,” you correct, smiling at your handiwork.
You climb off his lap, much to his disappointment, and grab your phone and lipstick, “So I’ll put this on,” you lift the lipstick, “and purposefully smudge it. You reach and wipe it off, and I turn the camera to you. Got it?”
He rolls his eyes, “Not rocket science, baby,” his words ring confident, though you both know he appreciates the step-by-step. You lean to press a last kiss to his lips, grinning before you shift your focus back to opening the app and setting up the video. He leans back on the couch for a moment, eyes trailing over you as you reapply to lipstick, the video not yet started, looking at you as if you were a divine being. He averted his gaze after a second, fearing that if he kept staring, the color of his cheeks would match the red lipstick left over them. An unsuccessful attempt, as he looked right back over to you, unable to stick to his previous resolution.
You start the video as you apply the lipstick then “smudge” it, his tattooed hand coming into frame to wipe the corner of your lips. You turn the camera to him, catching his dazed and mesmerized look. The video stops soon after, and after quickly saving it, you put your phone aside to climb back over onto his lap.
“Wanna test how much this lipstick stains?”
He raises his brows, an amused smile making its way to his face when your lips start trailing down his neck again, “Definitely.”
You balance the phone on the counter in the kitchen, pots and bowls scattered over the counter along with ingredients for your dinner. You’d told Carmen that you wanted to do a “cook with me and my chef boyfriend” video, which he found reasonable. He checks over the stuff laid out on the table, making sure everything is ready as you set a timer for the video. He looks at you on the phone screen as the video starts and you clap your hands together.
“Okay, so today, me and my current boyfriend, who is a chef, will be cooking—” He cuts you off with an arm wrapped around your waist and another wrapped around your chest, “Wanna retake that?”
You try not to laugh, you try to keep it going but the smile on your face is undeniable, “No, I think I said it right,” you grin, finally letting out a laugh when he tightens his arms around you, smiling against your shoulder with a shake of his head, “I think you wanna rerecord that.”
Your wriggling doesn’t make much difference, his arms flexing as he keeps you still then lifts you up enough to move you in front of the phone, “Come on, because you know I’m not current, I’m pretty permanent.” He moves the arm previously wrapped around your chest to hold your hand, guiding it to stop the recording. You’re still laughing, causing him to tilt his head.
“That’s a trend, baby, the ‘current’ thing,” you let out between laughs, turning in his arms to press kisses to his face. He rolls his eyes, lets out a huff as if he’s oh so annoyed, but catches your lips with his at the first opportunity.
“I remember this song,” Carmen says, looking at the video of a guy lifting his girlfriend and placing her on his shoulder as Slim Pickins plays. You nod next to him, smiling at his recognition, “You might,” you grin, “So can you do it?”
He rewatches the video as he replies, “I can try, let me try,” and throws the phone onto the couch, tapping your thigh for you to stand up as he does so too. “Might need you to jump,” he mutters, which is met with a “Might?” from you, brows raised. Carmen just nods, moving to stand on the carpet, behind you, and grabs your waist.
You do a few test runs. It’s obviously lighter when you jump to meet his lift, but you discover that it’s way too easy to lose balance that way (proven by the two times you almost both fell down, only saved by him grabbing onto the arm of the couch). You settle on you going limp as he lifts you, then securing yourself by holding onto his head.
You set the phone up, taking a deep breath as you set the ten second timer and step back in front of him. “I won’t drop you, don’t be so tense,” he mumbles with a kiss to your cheek as the video starts, then before your relaxed smile from the kiss even disappears, Carmen grabs your waist to sit you on his shoulder. You hold onto his head, laughing as he spins around once, then lowers you to his arms in a bridal carry, causing your arms to wrap around his neck instead. You press a kiss to his lips, which is eagerly returned before he sets you down on the ground, safe and sound. You look at him for a while, shocked and unmoving, before he speaks up, “Jacked and kind, hm?”
hope u guys enjoyed this! likes and reblogs are eternally appreciated :]
summary: lazy morning, spilled coffee, floor time and a little messy in the best way
pairing: Frank Langdon x Reader
warning: none
word count: ~1k
note: got a bit stressed lately and thought writing something soft/sweet would help me out a bit. PS: this is my first time writing something for others to read, hope you guys enjoy it!
The apartment was quiet for one.
No monitor beeping. No rushed footsteps through crowded hallways of the ER. No voices calling for doctors from three different directions at the same time. Just silence.
A warm and heavy silence.
Off days were rare in the rush of hospital life. Always running from room to room, one patient after another without a real break. It was exhausting in the long run. That made days like this feel almost unreal.
It was about eight in the morning when you first woke up together.
Soft gray light slipped through the curtains, painting the room in cold colors while the warmth under the blanket kept you trapped against him. Frank’s arm was lazily wrapped around your waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep. His chest rose slowly against your back, steady enough to lull you back asleep if you let it.
Waking up in his arms always felt unfairly comforting.
His skin was warm against yours, almost burning beneath the sheets and the faint smell of detergent mixed with coffee still lingering on him from yesterday’s shift. One of his legs was tangled with yours, keeping you pinned in place without even trying.
You smiled a little towards yourself.
For once, neither of you had anywhere to be interested off each other’s arms.
Frank shifted behind you with a low groan, face pressing into the crook of your neck. His morning voice came out rough tired.
“Why’re you awake?”
“You’re crushing me”
“That sounds like your problem.”
You laughed quietly at his arrogance in the morning.
His grip tightened for another second before he finally loosened enough for you to turn around in his arms. His hair was messy, falling over tired eyes that barely stayed open. Without the sharp focus he carried at work, he looked softer like this. Younger, almost.
He blinked at you slowly before pressing a lazy kiss against your forehead.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
Neither of you moved after that.
You stayed tangled together beneath the blanket while the city outside slowly woke up. Frank traced absentminded patterns against your waist under your shirt, fingertips warm and lazy. It was quite enough to hear the radiator humming softly in the apartment.
Moments like this never happened at the hospital.
There, everything was loud. Fast. Constant.
But here?
Here, Frank Langdon could be gentle.
Eventually, you convinced him to get out of bed with the promise of coffee.
That alone nearly counted as a miracle.
“You’re making it,” he mumbled while following you into the kitchen. “I almost killed myself with the machine last time.”
“You forgot to put the coffee pot underneath.”
“In my defense, I was post-shift hallucinating.”
“You pounded coffee directly onto the counter, Frank.”
“And yet you still love me.”
You snorted softly while reaching for two mugs.
“Debatable.”
He moved behind you before you could escape, arms slipping around your waist once again while he rested his chin on your shoulder. Even half asleep, he was clingy on his days off.
Not that you minded.
“You’re warm,” he murmured against your skin.
“You say that every morning.”
“Because it’s true every morning.”
The coffee brewed quietly while the apartment slowly filled with the rich smell of it. Frank swayed slightly with you in his arms, still not fully awake. His stubble brushed against your neck every time he spoke.
Then the disaster happened.
You turn too quickly after grabbing your mug, bumping straight into his chest.
Coffee spilled instantly.
“Oh my god—“
“Jesus Christ—“
Hot coffee splashed across the counter and dripping onto the floor while Frank jumped back dramatically like he’d just been shot.
You stared at the mess for half a second before bursting into laughter.
Frank looked down at his strain spreading across his shirt with betrayal written all over his face.
“You assaulted me.”
“It was an accident!”
“You threw boiling hot liquid at me on my day off.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You could’ve killed me.”
“You work in an ER.”
“Exactly. I know how these things end.”
You laughed harder while grabbing paper towels, nearly crying from how offended he looked over a little spilled coffee.
Frank eventually joined in too, shaking his head while helping clean the mess off the floor.
And somewhere, that’s how both of you ended up sitting on the kitchen floor twenty minutes later.
Still in pajamas.
Still tired.
Fresh cups of coffee in your hands while your backs rested against the cabinets.
The sunlight had started spilling into the apartment now, warming the hardwood floors beneath you. Frank sat beside you with one knee pulled up, his arm resting lazily behind your head.
“You know,” he said quietly, “this is probably the most peaceful morning I’ve had in months.”
You glanced at him over the rim of your mug.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There was something softer in his expression then. Something careful.
Frank wasn’t good at slowing down. At work he was always moving, always thinking three steps ahead before anyone else could catch up. Even at home sometimes, it felt like his mind never fully stopped running.
But right now?
He looked calm.
Truly calm.
“You ever think about how weird this is?” he ask suddenly.
“What?”
“This.” he motioned between the two of you. “Us sitting on the floor like an old married couple.”
You smiled into your coffee.
“We’re not old.”
“You threw coffee at me this morning. That’s at least ten years added to my lifespan.”
You rolled your eyes, nudging his leg with yours.
Frank grinned before it faded into something quieter.
Then he reached over and took your hand.
Simply.
Easy.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I like this,” he admitted softly. “The quiet. You. All of it.”
Your chest ached a little at how genuine he sounded.
Because Frank loved loudly at work. Protective hands guiding people aside, sharp words hiding concern, exhaustion ignored just to make sure everyone else was okey first.
But here?
At home?
He loved softly.
In forehead kisses.
Warm hands.
Shared silence.
Sitting on the kitchen floor while sunlight warmed your skin and coffee cooled between your fingers.
summary - frank gets busy planning penny's birthday, and abby shares some news causing a somewhat sudden change in plans
a/n- just something small to tide us all over :)
chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter five
you returned home with an air of joy around you, feeling as if you were floating. the man who you had met in such a typical romcom meet-cute way somehow turned out to be as perfect as the men in the very same trope.
frank was feeling the same sense of giddy joy when he returned back to his small bachelor pad. he had been buzzing with anxiety at the thought of telling you about his kids, i mean, you were young, and he didn't want to hold you back with all of his baggage.
you and frank had texted back and forth and called pretty much every day for the week after your first date. you had suggested to go to a natural history museum together for your second date, but frank had become overwhelmed with having to plan penny's birthday.
on the eve of penny's birthday, you and frank were face timing as you both made your separate dinners. this had become a sort of routine, a calming way for frank to wind down after work, and a way for you to have some company while you cooked. frank had been ranting about some annoying patient at work when he suddenly paused, furrowing his brows and picking up his phone from where it had once been propped up.
"frankie? what's wrong?" you question, voice lilting up indicating your sudden nervousness.
"oh- well- abby just texted me to let me know that shes bringing her new boyfriend to penny's party tomorrow. i- i'm not jealous or anything i just-"
"do you want me to go with you?" you say, cutting him off, already sensing what he needed in that moment.
"i- yeah, that would be really helpful actually."
so, it was settled, you were meeting the family on the second date.
summary: waking up on the hail mary, you receive quite the warm welcome from the only crew member who has been alone until now. you cannot imagine not losing your mind under such drastic circumstances, so when he meekly asks if he can hug you as if he's asking you to hand over your life, how can you not give him what he asked for tenfold?
tags: sleep deprived grace, ryland referred to as "grace" because you're not quite on the first name basis yet, but also premature cuddling because apparently you've jumped straight to the cuddling to sleep phase, reader is not only open to physical affection but lowkey enthusiastic about it because it's grace ngl, talks of reader's past school life
Cuddling with the most handsome man you have ever seen, in space, is one of the things that was never in the list of things you wanted to do in your lifetime, but somehow ended up happening anyway.
You have known Grace for barely an hour, yet can already deduce he's a delight to be around.
... Or under. You're not picky.
"Are you sure this is comfortable for you?" you murmur, glancing down on his head on your chest. The weight of him on top of you is oddly comforting, and you can tell from him almost melting into you that he feels the same.
"Yes," comes the reply with zero hesitation whatsoever, "Your heart beat is calming."
A beat of silence passes, then, "... Unless I'm crushing you?" is tacked on as an afterthought, evidence of how well his social brain still functions despite what you can guess is years without the company of another.
"Feels perfectly like a weighted blanket," you scoff, borderline laughing, "Barely even there."
There's a limit to being considerate, really. Handsome as he is, you wouldn't tolerate a stranger crushing you with his full body weight — though he might not know you well enough to guess that. Still, does he think he weighs a ton or something? Yeesh.
You hear him breathe in as if he's ready to retort, though he eventually decides against it, letting whatever he was thinking of saying go with a sigh. Maybe he's apprehensive about what he says because you had quite the speedy self-introduction, or maybe he doesn't think it's worth it to drag the topic on longer than it needs to.
Merciful as you are, you divert the topic elsewhere instead of letting the slightly awkward atmosphere hang in the air. "So, what would you like to chat about?"
"I'd rather hear you speak," he mumbles, peeking at you through his lashes, tone somber, "I've been speaking to myself for so long I'm almost sick of hearing my own voice."
"Understandable," you chew on your bottom lip in thought, smiling, "I'm good at yapping. You can look forward to growing sick of my voice, too."
There is no sound, but the small tremor you feel from him tells you he laughed. In a good, humorous way, and not in agreement, you hope.
"You don't have to stay awake for it, by the way," your fingers find their way in his tousled hair, gently raking through the surprisingly soft strands, occasionally scratching his scalp. The gesture feels so natural that it takes a good minute for you to remember to inquire, "Is this okay?", hands freezing on his head like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
"Mmyeah," Grace hums, voice laced with sleep already, and if he melts into your touch any further, you worry he'll nestle inside your ribcage.
He reminds you of the videos of spoiled housecats melting into the touch of whoever is petting them, the orange ones especially.
Now with his confirmation, you continue the motion, feeling his arms tighten around you — they are so going to fall asleep under you, but you don't have the heart to warn him about it when he looks so comfortable.
"As I was saying, don't have to listen to everything. Think of it as an ASMR session or something. It's good for releasing — I think they mentioned oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins, or so the studies say. There was also dopamine in there, for some reason. Dunno why. It can lower the co— ... Cortisol. Yes. I was about to say cholestrol, for some reason. I swear it's because I'm still gathering my wits about me after waking up from a coma. Promise, I'm good at biology. My tenth grade biology teacher looked exactly like Clark Kent, with the one strand of curl down the forehead and everything, plus he was really kind and supportive, so my love for biology never faded after, heh!"
"Betcha you were the school favourite." You try to smooth it over, already searching for memories you can weave into the conversation to distract him from drowning in his own thoughts. "I can see it. Sense it, really. As someone who used to be one of those kids. It's so easy to influence them at that stage. My ninth grade teacher sucked. I had literally failing grades until the Clark Kent teacher came along. Turns out I could have straight As in biology. He used to call us a "bunch of pears" when he was mad at us, and the entire class was so attached to him we'd all do our homework just to make him happy," You move your free hand to pat his back, stopping yourself from rambling about it anymore for fear of invoking any fond memories he has with his own class — his kids whom he has no chance of seeing again, his kids who cannot visit him years later with a bouquet of flowers as accomplished adults and tell him it was him who made them fall in love with science.
Grace snorts at that, chuckling at it for a good few seconds, "Had to write my own memories on a whiteboard to try and figure out who I am after I first woke up, you're good." He supports weakly, "'m a teacher too, by the way." He stills, voice trembling with emotion, "..... Used to be. Middle school science."
...... Oh.
"... Anyway." you go quiet for a moment, listening to his breathing to see if it evened out, "Rambling and personal attention extravaganza. Speaking of personal attention, I can also do stuff like tracing your face, like how people sometimes trace the slope of the nose of their babies," you pause, "... Or their cats. Or dogs. Which still counts as their baby."
Grace makes a small, non-commital noise which you can't decipher the meaning of, though you'd rather not take any liberties at the moment.
... You can ask again when he's less sleep deprived, assuming this arrangement becomes regular. He has a very nice nose. Very sketchable side-portrait, even.
Channeling your professionalism can wait until tomorrow.
