#no bc why do I feel like I’m always sick

[valewritessss]

Any tips to making a cold go away sooner?

[willowfey]

someone tell me to be brave and hit send on this email

[starlooove]

Reading isn’t enough I need to start beating white ppls asses

[jeonqkooks]

[graevs666]

god i don’t wanna be here i don’t wanna exist

[szczylpierdolony]

regretting getting festival ticket. but i know i would also regret not getting it

[milo-is-rambling]

I know I should be excited for my brother but this whole thing feels like it’s going to be hours and hours of me feeling like a failure while my brother is happy and it’s so hard to step out of myself and be fully happy for him without feeling like a shitty disappointment

[urbanfiltered]

😋

(hearing The insect noises inside my brain again and being very normal about it)

[nightly-ruse]

I think I may be a little odd

[willowfey]

it’s so unfair to just Wake Up with an anxiety bellyache. like nothing even HAPPENED yet

[hoot-h00t]

girl HELP

[kavehater]

I can’t believe people assign Kaveh the yandere trope sometimes like that is SO ooc he literally wouldn’t ?! I mean I personally don’t care if he is or isn’t but canonically speaking bro let his own mother whom he loved so dearly to leave FOR HER SAKE even though he was so hurt by her going … he would not trap somebody like he would probably end up killing himself from guilt like are you serious 😭

[foxmulderautism]

you’ll never believe this but i brainstormed a new sad lover boy flashback scene whilst on my walk

[silverwindptv]

I’m actually done.

[moonstruckme]

I love your roomate!james. I was wondering if you could do one where shy!reader is sick and she doesn’t tell james bc she’s used to taking care of herself but he’s adamant about taking care of her. 🥺🖤

Thank you lovely!

cw: implied nausea and vomiting

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

James worries he’s scared you off. 

He thought you’d been having a good time the other night, hanging out with his friends and then teasing each other while he battled you for cleanup duties after. He’d certainly had a good time. Watching you smile more readily as you got comfortable, feeling your soft form tucked up against his on the couch, it had made his whole body feel light and fizzy, but now James wonders if the easy, familiar energy of the night had made him too bold. There had been a moment, just before you’d gone to bed, where you’d seemed to stumble, defaulting back to the awkward, self-conscious way of speaking you’d had before you got to know each other. 

James might not have thought anything of it—you still get shy sometimes, he can never figure out what causes it—except you’ve been very obviously avoiding him ever since. That next day, you went to work and then disappeared into your room straight after you got home. He told himself he was being paranoid. But yesterday, you seemingly had the day off, and every time you needed to emerge from your room James heard you dash down the stairs and back up as if your bedroom was the only safe zone in the apartment. 

He hears you doing it again now, the soft click of your door unlatching before quiet footsteps start down the stairs. If Sirius were here, they’d probably make a game out of timing you, but James estimates it’s less than a minute before you start back up again. He wishes he could tell you not to hurry yourself; he has no intent of cornering you in your own home, even if he does want to patch things up. 

Then something falls on the stairs with a loud thud, followed by a sharp gasp just outside James’ room, and all thoughts of giving you your space are quickly abandoned. It was a valiant effort. 

“Shit,” he says as soon as he opens the door. He crouches beside you, taking your elbow in his hand, cushioning it from the cruel edge of the step, “Did you hurt yourself?” 

You must have had a mean fall. You’re completely crumpled on the stairs, one of your legs curled under you and one outstretched behind you as though it’s slipped back. Both of your elbows are braced underneath your body, keeping your face from smacking into the corner of the stair. James is willing to bet that big sound he’d heard was your knee hitting the step below you as you tripped. 

“Fuck,” you whine, pulling an entire loaf of bread from beneath your other elbow. The middle has been completely crushed, smashed between your forearm and the edge of a step. You look genuinely distraught about it. 

“Did you hurt your knee?” James frets, fighting the urge to haul you up off the stairs so he can look you over properly. He does take your other elbow in hand, using a firm grip to encourage rather than haul. You get more or less upright. 

“I’m okay.” You sound a bit odd, though he supposes you could be winded by the fall. “Thanks, sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” James can’t help it if a bit of teasing makes its way into his voice. This is something the two of you always do, you overapologizing and him making fun of you for it. “It seems like if anyone ought to be apologizing, it should be the stairs.” 

Your mouth tips up slightly. “Solid point,” you concede. 

The load in James’ chest lightens at your willingness to fall back into a casual repartee. He rubs the point of your elbow distractedly. “Wanna tell me why you’re taking an entire loaf of bread to your room?” he asks, grinning. “Do you have a secret stash of sandwich-making supplies in there?”

He feels goosebumps erupt on the side of your arm, and he does his best to soothe those, too. It must be too cold in here for you. “No,” you say quietly.

“Mm. I thought we were past this, angel. Come downstairs, I’ve still got leftover pasta in the fridge.”  

He starts to lead you down, but before he’s made it two steps you say, “No, thank you.” 

“Oh, come off it.” James shoots you another easy grin, hoping to loosen you up. “Don’t be a martyr. I’m all for carbs, but bread by itself will hardly sustain you.” 

“I don’t have much choice.” You shrug, and your shoulders stay up higher than they had been. You seem embarrassed. He waits, intrigued. “It’s sort of the only thing I can keep down at the moment.” 

It takes a blink for James to understand. “Are you not feeling well?” 

“Not very.” Your voice is softer than soft, swallowed up by the nerves James thought he’d earned an exemption from but nonetheless can’t hold against you in this state. 

He can see it, now. The way you’re holding yourself, like you could curl up on the floor at any given moment. Your complexion is flushed and your eyes slightly unfocused, glazed. 

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” It comes out more caring than he’d ever meant for it to, but James is too worried about you to dwell much upon that. You bat his hand away weakly, but he just moves them both to your cheeks, feeling himself frown. “You’re burning up, love. Why didn’t you say?” 

“Not much to say.” You move away from his touch, backing towards your room. James pursues you, hand hovering near your elbow because you really do look like you could pass out. "It's a stomach bug. It'll pass."

“I could have been helping you if I knew. I just thought you were avoiding me,” he admits. You look so sorry he’s quick to smooth things over with a smile. “Do you need me to get you anything from the store?”

“I already went.” You slump onto your bed before seeming to realize he’s still behind you, your brows coming down. “I’ve got everything I need, but thanks.” 

“You went to the store like this?” James is aghast. “You should be resting! How high is your fever?” 

“Dunno.” You seem to give up uncharacteristically quickly on getting him to leave, sighing and sinking back against a propped-up pillow. “I don’t have a thermometer.” 

“You don’t?” He’s more frazzled by the second, every way in which you’re not being properly taken care of piling onto the last. It seems a miracle you’re still alive. 

You look suspicious. “Do you?” 

Shit. He grins sheepishly. “No...” 

But that doesn’t change the fact that you should, for some reason. People like James are allowed to coast through the world unprepared because responsible ones like you always have the things they need. 

He feels your face again. This time, you let him. Your breath fans warm over his wrist, those fever-glazed eyes drooping slightly. 

“Your hand is cold,” you say through a sigh. 

“I think you’re just hot,” James mutters, but that doesn’t stop him from stroking his thumb over your cheek, just once. Your lashes flutter closed, and his heart does an impressive flip in his chest. 

“Have you had paracetamol?” he asks you. 

You hum. James sweeps his thumb over your cheek again, hoping to rouse you, but it only seems to worsen your drowsiness. Your head actually lolls into his touch. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Mhm, yeah,” you say without opening your eyes. “You need to stop doing that, m’gonna fall asleep.” 

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly. It’s impossible to keep the fondness from his voice. “I’m gonna get you a cold flannel, okay?” 

Your eyelids crack open. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say, voice nearly slurring with sleepiness. “I’ve always done fine, by myself.” 

“You never neglect to remind me.” James slips his hand from beneath your face, going to the bathroom between your bedrooms. “I don’t mind helping, though. You don’t always have to do everything on your own, what are roommates for?” 

You make a quiet, breathy sound he suspects might be a laugh. “None of my other roommates were ever as nice to me as you are. I think you’re taking things beyond the requirements of the job.” 

James thinks so, too. But still. Regardless of the complicated feelings he’s starting to have for you, you’ve always deserved to be treated with care. 

“You mean to tell me,” he says, wringing out the flannel and going back to your room, “that if you were this poorly, none of your previous roommates would have offered to help?” 

Your eyes are open more fully now. You watch him as he lays the flannel on your forehead, smoothing away a couple of baby hairs before they can get trapped underneath, with an odd expression on your face. 

“I handle my own problems,” you say softly. 

James’ thumb is still stroking the baby hairs at your temple. He can’t get it to stop. 

“Maybe your problems could be my problems, too,” he says. The lightness of his tone is automatic, but it serves as no representation of the great and weighty feeling in his chest. He realizes his breathing has synced to yours. Quiet inhales and exhales in your quiet apartment. 

Your eyes slip closed again. “Why?” you murmur. 

James doesn’t have an answer for that. Not one he’s ready to think about. The lines of your face smooth out as you relax. More evidence of frowns than smiles, but he likes to think he’s made progress on the little creases fanning out from the corners of your eyes since he’s moved in. He feels a pang of triumph any time they make an appearance, little rays of sunshine on a wholly lovely face. 

Because he’s your roommate. Because whether you’re ready to admit it or not, he’s your friend. Because he cares about you. 

In the end, James doesn’t have to come up with an answer. You’re already asleep. 

[dollaches]

— one more time

♡ painslut!sub! ellie williams x fem! reader

a/n: from a request! for all my impact play enjoyers lol

warnings: DON’T LIKE DON’T READ! — porn w no plot, sub! ellie, dom! reader, begging, crying, thigh riding, tit slapping, face slapping, ellie is a squirter bc i said so, busted lip, mentions of blood, impact play in general, needy and pathetic ellie (praise god), mentions of spit, fully clothed r! w/ naked ellie, pain kink (?), very poorly written aftercare

wc: 1k

“please— puh-lease” ellie mutters for what must be the hundredth time, her incessant pleading frustrating you to no end. she is begging like her life depends on it yet all you do is keep a firm grip on her hips, digging into her soft flesh with your fingers so you’ll be able to see the bruises by tomorrow. 

“jesus, shut up or tell me what you want so badly” you spit out, finally bothering to even glance at her flushed features. her lips are parted, the smallest bit of spit dripping from her mouth from having it open just to get a few weak breaths in. 

she lets out the most pathetic whine you’ve ever heard, her eyes so needy as she silently pleads with you— whether the plea is to be gentle or rougher, you are unsure. her hips stutter weakly at your words, barely able to form any coherent sentences as she frantically ruts against your thigh, completely bare while you’re still fully clothed. 

“need you to hit me” she mutters breathlessly, her shaky hands resting on your shoulders just to keep herself upright. you can feel the mess her cunt is making, her slick soaking through your jeans and leaving your thigh sticky beneath the fabric. 

her words are barely loud enough to hear and you scoff at her inability to communicate when she is seeking out pleasure. “speak up or i’m leaving you here to sort this shit out yourself” you threaten firmly, not being in any mood to play games with her today. 

“no, please! just want you to hit me, wanna feel you, please!” she begs as loud as she possibly can, sounding absolutely filthy as she pleads to be hit. ellie’s confession makes you hum, pleased she at least still has enough of her brain left to tell you what she wants. 

“yeah? humping my thigh like some bitch in heat isn’t enough for you, is that it?” you question, only to be met with a stream of mewls from her lips that makes you smile with a sick sense of satisfaction. you want to toy with her a bit; after all you are the one in control. 

“right here?” you question before you raise your hand, landing a painful smack against one of her plush tits, watching it move from the force of the impact, a low moan leaving your lips just from the sight of her boobs continuously bouncing as she rocks her hips against your thigh. 

ellie lets out a pretty moan, one you wish you could play over and over until it was burned into your memory forever. pain blossoms throughout her chest which would usually please her, but she knows you’re purposely hitting her in the wrong place to prolong her suffering. 

“no, no, m’ face. wanna be hit in the face, pretty please” she gasps out, her clit finally being rubbed in just the right way, needing something perfect to help push her over the edge. 

you click your tongue, pretending to be surprised by her statement. “ah, why didn’t you just say so? is your brain leaking out of your cunt or have you always been this dumb?” you question playfully, although your own pussy is aching to be touched from how turned on you are just from watching her. 

without another word you pull back your arm, focusing on your target before landing a smack hard enough to leave a red handprint on her soft cheek. ellie lets out a weak cry, her head turning a bit from the force of the hit. 

“fuck yeah” she gasps, her eyes dazed and half lidded as she manages to keep up her pace of riding your thigh. there's a lazy grin on her plush lips, tears welling in her eyes as a tingling pain sensation overcomes her. 

“more, more” she breathes, her slick cunt practically gliding against you with ease from the mess she’s made. you don’t make her wait much longer, delivering another blow, noting the way she lets out an obscene moan. “close, m’ close” she mumbles, tears now streaming down her cheeks steadily. 

the moment the words leave her lips, you know just what she needs to get there. after giving her little time to recover, you slap her at a painful angle, her bottom lip colliding with her teeth as your hand makes contact with the fragile skin. 

and just like that, she is moaning out your name, spurts of her arousal soaking your thigh completely. she lets out weak cries as she comes down, her head falling as the smallest bit of blood seeps from her freshly busted lip. “thank you” she whimpers, not at all embarrassed by the mess she had made, only focused on being as close to you as possible. 

“aw, you’re welcome, angel” you coo, pressing her nude and shaking frame against your own body to give her the warmth and comfort she is seeking. her thighs shake as she clings to you like a baby cub, her nose nuzzling against you as she buries her face in your neck so she can soothe herself. 

“did so good for me, took every hit so well” you praise, knowing she is still in a spacey state of mind. “does your lip hurt too much, baby? you want me to clean you up real quick?” you offer, keeping your touch gentle as you graze your fingers across her lower back. 

she whines and shakes her head, holding onto you even tighter since she didn’t want you to separate from her in the slightest. “s’ fine, babe. in a little, need you right now” she mumbles, raising her hips a bit since the liquid beneath her was beginning to grow cold. 

you simply hum, guiding her head back for a moment so you can at least wipe away some of the blood with your thumb. with a swift motion, you wipe the crimson substance onto your jeans, figuring you’ll already have to wash them anyways. 

“alright, alright. rest up for a bit and then i’ll get you all clean and bandaged up” you say softly, a complete shift from your previous behavior. 

she simply goes back to hiding her face im your neck, nodding a bit as she tries to not focus on the way the fabric of your t shirts are perfectly rubbing against her hardened nipples. 

as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you, ellie begins to think of the right way to tell you she still needs a little more from you tonight.