BACK TO YOU — CHISHIYA X FEM!READER

No one else could've played Chandler Bing. Thank you for making us laugh and always putting a smile on our faces.

We will miss you and you will always be remembered.

Rest in peace, Matthew Perry ❤

Can I get a Miguel whatever his last name is from the spider verse movie x either gn or fem reader (whichever you want to write baby boy ;p) it can be fluffy or angsty (just trying to get you to actually write something ;) )

- with lots of love from your bff

You brought this on yourself.

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"Y/N!" Miguel yelled in a sexy way.

You jumped because you're so traumatized

"Come here!!@!" Wow he's so hot hehehehhehehwhee youthought to urself

"W-w-w-what 0_0" you asked cutely

"Im... in love with you" He hid his attractive face with love

"M-me? But you're so big and sexy and I'm so small and petite" you cried. This was true. He towered over you at 7'5 and you were only 2'4. 😞 your troubles haunted you as your beautiful blue orbs filled with tears

"Ur prefect to me" miguel said

Then he picked u up and kissed you but since he was so big and you were so small uou died instantly 😞

"NOOOIOIIOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Miguel SOBBED. He was so sad. So big and sexy and so sad.

The end

running out of time - newt

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I actually started this fic back in 2018 when the movie came out but I never got around to finish it lol. But here it is, finally :)

•••

“Come on, Newt.” you cried out as you struggled to carry your best friend’s body on top of the burning building. Your limbs were shaking, and you kept stumbling on your own feet as you tried to keep him up.

Newt was loosing himself to the virus and it was getting harder for him to stay conscious. You could feel him try to push you away but you tightened your grip on him as much as you could, knowing that every second was precious. You had to save him, like he had saved you multiple times before. You had to keep going and make him live the life he deserved to live.

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Hi Mei!! ♡ How about Reid dating a sunshine!reader who tells obviously wrong facts when he is in earsight, just to mess with him? Bc I think it would be so funny 😭😭 Anyway, have a nice day, and thank you so much for all your quality content, you're saving lives <333

"Oh my god Emily, you're never gonna believe this," You lean in towards the brunette grinning at you, but your voice stays loud enough for Spencer to hear across the desk, "I just found out that bowling is more dangerous than dinosaurs are."

Her brow dips but her lips quirk up, "Alright, you've hooked me. What's the punchline?"

"No punchline," You shake your head, feeling Reid's curious stare on the back of it, "In 2019 someone died at a bowling alley after slipping on the floor and splitting his head open. But in that same year, there wasn't a single death by dinosaur. Isn't that insane?"

Spencer is already piping up before Emily can properly laugh, but you can still hear her beneath his frantic, "Uh, honey, that's not- that's not exactly right. I mean, dinosaurs would be incredibly dangerous, if any of them were still alive. Which, in 2019- uh, they were not."

"Statistically speaking, Spence," You use his favorite phrase against him, but you're not sure he picks up on the teasing grin set on your face beyond the concern he's stewing in, "You can't argue with the numbers."

"Well- you can't, but in 2019, the number of dinosaurs alive was zero, so that's- that's the only number that really matters, baby, but if you wanted to read more about the risks associated with communal sports venues, I'd be happy to share some articles I've looked into on-"

"Ah, leave it to Reid to turn a sick-ass discussion about dinosaurs about the dangers of fun," Morgan scoffs. He wasn't in on your plan from the beginning, but he's happy to jump on the bandwagon, "Besides, the last Jurassic Park movie was made in 2022, so there were dinosaurs alive, duh."

Gally: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos- y/n: I wrote you a poem. Gally, already crying:You did?

PSA: bot comments are taking over ao3

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Basic rundown:

They are all 3 sentences long

Perfect grammar, capitalization, and punctuation

Like absolutely flawless English teacher-style writing with only a single exclamation mark, ever

No mentions whatsoever of character names, settings, situations, or anything that could be tied to the story

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Please spread the word about this so authors can filter comments and report them accordingly

There has been some speculation about why this is happening at all, and the best guess is that this is a feature that AI-training story-scraping tools are implementing to try and make their browsing traffic look legitimate

Tumblr Top 5: Hottest Horror Movie Characters

Enter the sick and twisted minds of @wearewatcher's Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara as they countdown their top five hottest, steamiest, most sopping wet horror movie characters, with a little help from unofficial official Tumblr mascot, Coppy.

i hope i’m the first nathan request because i would be honored 🫶🏽 but that gif where he’s holding a bottle of wine…how about something with a stay at home date night 😗

ask box |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist  |  taglist

w/c: 573

warnings: the tiniest bit of suggestiveness and one mild swear

a/n: you very much are my first nate request hehe thank u for sending lovely <3 i edited my taglist so y’all can be tagged in nate works too so it’s linked above if ur interested! enjoy

“look what i’ve got.”

nathan has a bottle of wine in hand. he smiles proudly and raises the bottle to present it to you, piquing your interest. he saunters over to where you sit at the kitchen island.

“a smooth red, aged and imported.”

“sounds expensive.”

“it is expensive.”

nathan grabs two wine glasses from his hanging glass rack. he skillfully flips them over, one handed, and sets them down on the island. you cross your arms and rest them on the island, leaning forward. you watch your boyfriend as he pours you a glass of wine.

“how’d you get it?”

“from work.”

“you mean the bar? or your side hustle?”

“what’s my side hustle?”

“scavenger hunting.”

your lips curl into a smirk. nathan hands you the glass with a lighthearted shake of his head.

“treasure hunting.”

“i know, i know. i’m kidding. did you get the wine from one of your… expeditions?”

nathan pours a glass for himself.

“nah, but that would’ve been cool. i snuck it from the bar during my last shift.”

“you don’t think they’ll miss it?”

nathan leans in closer to you.

“they’ll never know it’s gone.”

he clinks his glass with yours and sips from it. you swish the wine around before you taste it.

“damn, nate. you’re the best pickpocket in all of new york.”

“bold statement, babydoll.”

“and a true one, too. you are.”

nathan’s gaze trails down to your lips.

“aren’t i?”

he tilts his head to connect your lips. you hum into the kiss. his hand comes to the back of your neck and holds you in place, and you put down your wine so it doesn’t spill. it’s a kiss full of love and want and need.

“come sit with me.”

nate takes your chin between his fingers.

“okay.”

he pecks your lips. he grabs his wine glass by its stem and walks around to the other side of the island, sitting on the empty stool beside you. you swing your legs over so you’re facing him. nate shoots you that ever so charming smile of his, his eyes somehow shining in the dimmed light of his stylish apartment.

“do you miss the city when you’re gone? y’know, looking for treasure?”

you drink your wine while you await nate’s answer.

“yeah, all the time. it’s home. because you’re here, and you’re my home.”

“aw, nate.”

you squeeze one of his buff arms.

“you should come with sometime.”

“i dunno. i don’t think your mean friend with the cat would approve.”

“who, sully?”

“yeah, him. does he bring his cat every time you guys go looking?”

“pretty much. who’d have thought he’d have such a soft spot for the little guy? but seriously, you’d be a much better companion than sully.”

you tangle your sock clad feet with nathan’s, a half smile adorning your lips.

“your brother loved to explore, right? so you’re finishing what he started? i admire that, how you honor his legacy.“

“thanks, baby. i owe it to him. gotta do the drake name proud.”

“you will, and you do.”

nathan presses a kiss to your temple. you finish the rest of your wine, so he reaches for the bottle to pour you more.

“wait, wait, wait. you said the wine’s expensive. shouldn’t we, like, savor it?”

nate pours you another glass regardless, then tops off his own. he winks.

“don’t worry about it. i could always get us another.”

Garrett “The Garbage Man” Garrison

He can make my bed rock tbh

breath of fresh air | sherlock holmes

pairing: sherlock holmes x fem!reader

summary: you overhear some mean things being said about you and it gets you thinking about your importance to sherlock and why he keeps you around. (based off this request by @little-gallaxy.)

warnings: slight bullying, hurt/comfort, crying, soft!sherlock

word count: 2.6k

a/n: haven’t written for sherlock in a hot minute so i hope y’all enjoy this one!

you had stopped by scotland yard that morning to drop off some freshly-baked muffins, packed neatly in a cloth-lined basket, that you had prepared earlier as a little treat for the detectives in an effort to cheer them up after a particularly gruesome case. you had insisted on not being given any further details once sherlock had mentioned something akin to ‘a frankensteinian dismemberment and re-stitching of three separate victims.’ at that point, you had heard more than enough and expected nightmares to greet you that same night. you shivered at the thought now, unable to fathom how someone could be so brutal.

you shook off the memory as you continued down the long hallway. the building was familiar to you and you had grown somewhat fond of the detectives and other personnel, especially the older gentleman up front who manned the reception area and doubled as a security guard. he always greeted you so warmly and offered a new joke each time you stepped foot onto the premises. you had prepared a joke for him this morning for a change, having searched through countless internet browsers the previous evening in the hopes of finding a joke he hadn’t heard. he had laughed heartily, a deep, throaty chuckle that echoed throughout the entryway. you both knew the joke was ridiculous, but it was nice to see him indulge you.

lestrade had always been kind to you as well… at least as kind as he could be. he was gruff and a bit rough around the edges, but for the most part, he made an effort and that’s what mattered most to you. the others, however, donovan and anderson, in particular, never really seemed to enjoy your company whenever you stopped by to ‘help.’ it really wasn’t much help at all, of course, as you were well aware that you weren’t the most knowledgeable of this sort of field, but it was nice to get out of your flat and experience a change of scenery.

sherlock, for some odd reason, had been more than pleasant around you, which was incredibly strange considering the rumors you had heard about him from the others: that he was cold, emotionless, machine-like, sociopathic, and generally just… off. you hadn’t encountered any of those characteristics from him, in fact, he was rather kind and often kept you close by, insisting that you never strayed too far from him. you weren’t entirely sure why, but it certainly felt nice to be wanted.  

wicker basket in hand, you approached lestrade’s office, where everyone was no doubt gathered to debrief; however, before you could make your presence known, you heard whispered chattering through the crack beneath the door.

“she’s totally useless and she’s always bloody crying!” you heard someone whisper harshly, donovan, it sounded like. “she can’t even step foot into the autopsy room without shaking like a stray dog.”

another voice piped in, “honestly, greg. what’s the point in her coming ‘round every day? why the hell does sherlock drag her here? she’s always in the way and you know just as well as i that she doesn’t do anything,” anderson said.

“she’s like his pet or something, it’s repulsive. have you ever seen that lunatic even so much as tolerate being in the same room as a moron for longer than a minute? and now he’s bringing her ‘round like she’s his shadow or something.”

you did not cry all the time, you thought to yourself, though your eyes were starting to blur with the warning of tears. their comments hurt, knowing that they thought so negatively about you. you had no idea they hated you this much. they weren’t always the most welcoming bunch you’d ever come across, but still, this was pure disgust and hatred for your very being, your entire personality and presence in general. why did sherlock keep you around, you thought to yourself. truly? you couldn’t offer any assistance in crime-fighting or case-solving. so, why?

as the conversation continued, you had hoped lestrade would pipe in to come to your defense, or to at least put an end to the defamation of your character. but no, he didn’t utter a word, just chortling now and then at each new insult. that, more than anything, stung the most.

having heard enough, you left the basket of muffins at the edge of the door and walked back down the winding hallway and out the door, back to 221b baker street.

you brushed past mrs. hudson in the doorway, still managing to offer a smile and polite greeting like you usually did, and made your way up the stairs and let yourself inside sherlock’s flat.

you found that he wasn’t there—he wasn’t pacing back and forth or standing in front of the window playing his violin, nor was he concocting an experiment of any kind in the kitchen, so you assumed he was in his bedroom getting dressed. something you knew about the famous detective that nobody else had the privilege of knowing was that the man spent an absurd amount of time fixing his hair each morning. while it usually looked carelessly tousled or ruffled from the wind, it was definitely done on purpose.

you briefly recalled how you had come across him standing in front of the mirror adjusting his curls through a crack in the doorway and clapped a hand over your mouth to conceal your laughter, but he had still heard you, of course, swinging open the bathroom door and pointing a finger at you with a firm ‘speak of this to no one.’ you had mimed zipping your lips sealed and agreed that you would never tell a single soul that the famous sherlock holmes obsessed over his hair every morning.

presently, you sat yourself on the sofa as you waited for him to come out into the living room. you grabbed a nearby pillow, fingers fiddling with the loose stitching as you thought back to the conversation from earlier. their comments still stung and you wished you hadn’t taken them so personally, but how could you not? knowing that the people you more or less ‘worked with’ hated you and thought you were a mindless idiot that tagged along like a lost sheep definitely hurt.

you startle slightly when john emerges from the entryway, his approaching form having escaped your notice.

“y/n,” he greeted, breathing heavily as if he had just run over here. you noticed the tray of to-go cups in his hand, so he must have gone out for a quick coffee run. “i didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“do you know if sherlock is here?”

“he’s been locked in his room all morning. mrs. hudson mentioned that he was having a slow start today. i got a text from him that just said ‘need coffee –SH.’ who does he think i am, his bloody butler?” the doctor huffed in irritation as he marched further inside the flat and into the messy kitchen before setting down the tray.

“c-could you get him for me?” you hated how unsteady your voice sounded. it was obvious you had been crying and it just fueled your embarrassment further.

he peered over at you, finally noticing your distressed state. “of course. yes, of course. just a moment,” he said quickly before snaking down the hallway to sherlock’s bedroom.

before he could even lift his hand to knock, you heard the door swing open and the tall form that was so characteristically sherlock briskly approach you, indicating to john that the situation was handled and that the doctor was free to depart from the flat.

“darling,” he said softly before kneeling to meet you at eye level, and that was all it took for you to burst out into full-on tears, shoulders shaking as sobs wracked your body. he tsked softly, sympathetically, “come here, my darling girl,” and pulled you forward until you were close enough for him to wrap his arms around you, running his slender fingers up and down your back in soothing, repetitive motions. “talk to me,” he whispered.

you shook your head back and forth against his shoulder, not quite ready to speak yet. tears soaked through sherlock’s suit jacket and you felt guilty for ruining the material. you started to lean back, to at least save the fabric from further damage, but sherlock placed a hand on the back of your head, keeping you steady against him.

“but your jacket—”

“i don’t care about the damn jacket, i care about you. i know i’m good, but i haven’t quite mastered mind-reading just yet,” he mused. “tell me what’s wrong, y/n.”

“this is so stupid. i’m stupid.”

“you’re not stupid.”

“of course i am, especially compared to you…”

“well, not everyone can be as smart as me.”

you pulled back and shot him a look, unimpressed.

he realized how insensitive his comment was. it certainly wasn’t his intention to offend you, not now, not ever. it was just him stating a fact, thoughtlessly listing off things he knew to be true, but it obviously wasn’t the time nor the place. “sorry,” he said with a wince, and he did sound genuinely apologetic. “why do you say that? what happened today?”

you shrugged.

“in case it’s escaped your notice, my dear,” sherlock began, “i can always tell when you’re lying or hiding something from me. so it’s best if you just come right out with it.”

sighing, you began your retelling of the day’s earlier events. “i overheard the others at the yard today and it got me thinking… i mean, they’re totally right.”

“right about what, darling?”

you fiddle with the buttons of his suit jacket, popping them in and out of their respective holes as you spoke. “why do you keep me around, sherlock? i’m completely useless and i always get in the way, and i have absolutely nothing to offer when it comes to solving your special cases.”

he brushed your hair away from your face and tilted your chin up to look at him. “you keep me sane—human. i need you in my life to maintain some sense of normalcy. i get so caught up in cases and going on the run that i forget to breathe sometimes. you help me do that.” he gently stroked your cheek. “you’re my breath of fresh air.”

“so you keep me around for… emotional support?”

he laughed lightly. “if you wish to put it that way, sure. but you are so much more than that, more than words could ever put into perspective. it’s awfully dull around here without you. plus,” he continued, “you make the best blueberry muffins i’ve ever tasted.”

you burst out into laughter, tears drying as sherlock calmed your nerves and spoke from the heart. for a man who didn’t seem to have much humanity, at least, from an outsider’s perspective, he certainly had a way with words and knew how to comfort you in just the way you needed.

“scoot over,” he told you before he plopped himself onto the sofa, tugging you onto his lap and holding you against his chest, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. he gently rocked you back and forth, and the motion was so comforting, you could have wept—but you had done enough crying for one day, instead, you smiled softly at sherlock’s gentleness with you. “you’re all right, i’ve got you,” he spoke into your ear, your hair brushing against your cheek by his whispered breath. he smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, petrichor, and cinnamon—so characteristically sherlock.

you heard a knock on the open door behind you followed by a familiar voice. “holmes,” lestrade announced, “you never came ‘round earlier. we need your help with—” but before he could finish his statement, you felt sherlock’s grip tighten around you as his head shifted back and forth against your shoulder. “not now,” he said, voice deep and rough as it vibrated in your chest where you two were connected.

“but—”

“get out.” the quiet rage in his voice left no room for argument, and quickly thereafter, you heard the fading echo of footsteps descend down the stairs.  

“sherlock—” you began.

“i’m sorry for what they said about you.”

you shifted slightly in his lap. “it’s fine, i’m already over it.”

he laughed humorlessly. “darling, i know you better than anyone. you’re not over it yet, and that’s expected, hell, i encourage it. they had no right to ridicule you like that, to criticize you for who you are. i’m going to speak with them about it.” his tone changed and you practically felt his infuriation at the situation ruminating just beneath the surface. “in fact, i’ll head over there right now—" he started to stand up but you placed a firm hand on his chest, stopping any further movement.

“it’s all right, sherlock. there’s no need for you to go down there to defend my honor,” you laughed at how ridiculous the situation was becoming, already moving past the offensive words that were spoken about you earlier in the day. give it to sherlock to make you feel better, no matter how big or small the issue was. “i’m perfectly fine now, thanks to you.”

sherlock settled back down, though you could feel the tension radiating off him. “if you insist,” he acquiesced. “but just say the word, and i’ll go—”

“sherlock, really,” you said, humor lacing your tone.

“fine,” he said with a sigh before adjusting you more firmly onto his lap. “what would you like to do today? i’ve taken the day off, it’s just you and me.”

you pondered for a moment, mentally checking off activities you could do with sherlock with him completely at your mercy for one day. coming to a decision, you hopped off his lap and tugged his hand, dragging him into the kitchen. you then slipped away and rummaged through the cupboards until you came across one of mrs. hudson’s old aprons. you giggled to yourself as you approached sherlock, his lanky form standing uncomfortably in the middle of the kitchen with his arms hanging by his sides. “oh no,” he said, backing away at your outstretched hands.

“oh yes,” you replied, tackling him with the apron and tying the strings around his slim waist. “you and i are going to do some baking today. come on.”

the man groaned but secretly, he was just happy to see you smiling again. if him joining you in the kitchen, covered in flour and raw eggs, was what it took for you to cheer up after the day you’d had, then so be it. he would open up a damned bake sale with you if that’s what would make you happiest.

he watched as you pulled down ingredients and mixing bowls from the cupboards, frowning when you couldn’t find everything you needed. “you really need to go to the store more often, sherlock. this is embarrassing for you… no brown sugar? no baking powder?” you threw up your hands in exasperation. “i’ll just go see if mrs. hudson has some. you,” you said, pointing at him, “start cracking three eggs in a bowl while i’m gone.” you weaved through the living room and out onto the landing, but before descending the stairs, he heard you shout, “and make sure there are no egg shells!”

sherlock laughed into the empty kitchen as he did as you instructed, already eagerly awaiting your return so he could throw flour in your hair and eat raw cookie dough with you. you were his breath of fresh air, indeed.