#brain is overloading and not in a good way

[rainrot4me]

Hi Rain, I absolutely LOVE your work and you are definitely my favorite creepypasta writer. The way you characterize each of the creeps is so good and I especially love how you write for my fav creeps Jeff and lj💖 That being said, how do you think any of the creeps would react to a victim that tries to flirt their way out of dying? Like before they even do anything the victims all like "wait ur hot, pls don't kill me"

AHH YESS thank you so much!! My unhinged duo fr I love them to death. Thank you for the love!!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

You say he’s hot and suddenly the knife is… not stabbing you?

“Wait…what?” He actually blinks like he misheard you.

He’s crouched over your bed like a sleep paralysis demon, hoodie messy, grin blood-stained—and you’re flirting? That throws him so hard his brain blue-screens for a sec.

“You think I’m hot?” There’s a pause. Then a smirk. Then he leans in.

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all night, sweetheart.” He may not kill you now. He might toy with you, tease you, and get in close just to watch you squirm, now that he knows you’re into it.

He’s flustered, smug, and a little annoyed he liked hearing that.

✦ . ticci toby

“I—What the fuck?”

His whole system malfunctions. You call him hot and he blinks like an overloaded CPU.

“Are you seriously tryi-trying to flirt with me right now?”

Red ears. Tight grip on his axe.

Toby’s flustered but suspicious. He’ll pace in front of you, rambling. “Is this some kind of tri-trick? No one says that shit to me un-unless they’re fucking high.”

You might live just because you confused the hell out of him.

✦ . eyeless jack

“You… what?”

There’s a pause. Long. Heavy. Then a small tilt of the head.

He’s not the type to be easily shaken—but your tone makes his breath hitch slightly.

“You think calling me attractive will spare you?”

But the twist is: he finds it amusing. And a little intriguing. There’s a long exhale from under his mask.

“You’re strange. Brave. Stupid, but brave.”

He may test you. Push your limits. Let you bleed a bit and see if you still flirt.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“…Is that really the best you’ve got?”

His voice is a low, irritated rasp.

Masky doesn’t take well to being interrupted—but you throwing him off script with a flirty grin gets under his skin in the worst-best way.

He shoves you to the wall, mouth close to your ear. “Keep talking. Let’s see if that charm of yours works with a broken jaw.”

You may have just earned yourself a longer life. He won’t admit it, but he likes the chaos of you.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

“…Hm.”

He doesn’t speak right away. He stares.

Silent. Observing. But the tilt in his posture says he’s amused.

You call him hot? Bold. He doesn’t get that often.

He’ll lean close, lift his mask just enough to murmur, “If you’re going to lie to save your skin, at least be more convincing.”

But your nerves amuse him. He might not kill you. Yet.

✦ . kate the chaser

“…You’ve got a death wish.”

There’s a moment of silence, then she bursts out laughing—a sharp, unexpected sound.

“You serious? You’re bleeding, cornered, about to die, and your last move is to flirt?”

If you keep it up, she might press the blade to your collarbone just for the shiver it gives you.

But it buys you time. And that little smirk on her face? It’s not nothing.

✦ . ben drowned

“LMAO what?”

Ben is living for the drama.

He absolutely loves this kind of chaotic energy. You flirting with him mid-panic? That’s hilarious.

“Damn, you’ve got taste. Kinda freaky, but I respect it.”

Might hover closer, glitching between spots like a ghost with game. He teases you relentlessly. “So you into killer guys or just desperate?”

You’ve now become his favorite plaything. Lucky you.

✦ . clockwork

“Are you flirting… with me?”

She actually blinks in surprise, then snorts.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. And honestly? I kinda love it.”

Clockwork’s got a twisted sense of humor and confidence. If you try to charm your way out, she’ll press her knife to your throat—but there’s a grin tugging at her lips.

“You know, you’re cute when you’re panicking. Keep it up and I might give you a head start.”

✦ . laughing jack

“Ooooh, someone’s got a crush.”

He lives for this.

Jack leans in nose to nose, grin practically splitting his face.

“Hot? Me? Darling, you should see me with the lights off.”

He’ll torment you in the most teasing, suggestive way possible—teleporting, whispering in your ear, tracing your jaw with a claw.

You’ll survive, but only because he finds you endlessly entertaining.

Whether that’s a good thing… well, up to you.

✦ . slenderman

“…Mortal desires.”

He doesn’t speak often, but this moment warrants it.

There’s a tense, vibrating stillness. His tendrils shift—uncertain if they’re insulted or intrigued.

No one flirts with a cosmic horror. And yet here you are, sweaty and wide-eyed, calling him tall, dark, and terrifyingly handsome.

He draws closer, tilting your chin up with invisible force.

“…Curious creature.”

You’ve won him a sliver of fascination—and that might be the most dangerous gift of all.

꩜ .ᐟ

[paperclips37]

Looks like Shirtless Chapter 3 is currently stuck please have a sneak peak in the meantime.

Perhaps peer pressure will give me an idea.

-------

‘Zeus shush. We both know you are sprinting back to that couch the moment I open the door.’ Zeus just yapped louder. An apparent denial of the accusation. Sassy little fucker.

‘Mel!?’ The last person he’d expected to see at his door in the middle of a downpour. Her thick blonde hair was stuck to her face and she was shaking. Lips practically blue. Zeus jumped up for a demanding pets. Then vanished back to his stolen spot as Mel didn’t drop to the floor as usual. ‘Shit. Come in. Are you okay?’

‘M-my car broke down two blocks over. Tried texting but you didn’t answer.’ Frank instinctively patted himself down. Then realised he’d his phone to charge in his bedroom.

‘Sorry my phone is still switching to silent randomly. I’ll get you a towel. Do you want to hop in the shower?’ The question popped out against his better instincts. Yes she needed to warm up but the idea of her showering with him- in the same house. It was overload.

Something in the universe was out to torture him. Was it for the lying, the stealing, compromising patient care or antics in a past life? Why else would this be happening to him? Mel King was standing in his house, clothes plastered to her frame. A frame he was trying to to stare at. Glasses fogging and staring at him with that look he just couldn’t figure out on her face. Face bone white in the cold.

‘If you don’t m-mind.’

‘Of course. Can’t have my favourite resident coming down with a cold.’ He shouldn’t say that. But it was true. She was his favourite resident. Everyone knew it. They just didn’t talk about it. But it was worth it to see the tiny pleased look that passed over her face. Frank tried to keep his voice steady. ‘I’ll leave out something you can throw on and I’ll dry your stuff. I have my own water logged clothes to dry.’

Mel would normally insist on air drying her things. Refusing to alter his bills to her benefit. He was not in the mood for a silly disagreement over a few bucks.

He tugged out his very best towels. Fluffy and huge. She took them with trembling hands. Her her hand jolted at his hand brushed against his. He wasn’t the only one affected. He just wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. She could just be overwhelmed, overstimulated. She may be awkward about his continued shirtlessness.

Frank could have directed her to the main bathroom: but it was still half covered in mud. And dripping wet. She probably won’t have minded too much given the mess was confined to one corner of the room. But for some reason he tried not to think about he led her to his ensuite. Telling himself she’d have more privacy in his room. Not hoping she might get curious and poke around. Mel would never, but Frank wouldn’t mind if she did.

Thank fuck he cleaned his room that morning.

Mel hovered awkwardly in the door frame. Frank was pulling out his smallest spare sweats and a couple of t-shirt options. Just in case something aggravated her. None of these had any tags. Well worn, soft as could be. He’d never be able to look at his garments the same way ever again.

‘Mel you are turning blue. Go shower. Use whatever you want. Tea?’ She nodded mutely and quickly vanished into the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of her cheeks flaring red. They were probably a matched set.

He had a few cozy socks that might fit so he dug those out and laid them nearly on his bed next to everything else.

He could hear her moving around and the sounds of clothes hitting the floor. Frank’s brain instantly flooded with images of Mel. Slowly stripping down, wet hair hiding her face as she bent down to take off her-

Get a fucking grip.

She is your friend.

He left as quickly as he could before he something really stupid like offer to join her-

[coldsummernight]

Gonna be taking a break from socials (other than discord), this goes for my side blogs too.

Cya laterr

[philcoulsonismyhero]

A thing I've been thinking about a lot as I've been obsessively re-listening to the Rivers of London books on a loop and putting colour coded bookmarks into my paperbacks (in short, being Extremely Autistic about the series) is just how interesting it would be to explore what it would be like to be an autistic wizard in that 'verse.

Like, take vestigia. It's a whole extra category of sensory impressions on top of everything else that you're picking up on, and you only get more sensitive to it the longer you train for. Peter wonders at one point if Nightingale isn't just straight up listening to the magic of the city in order to find out about cases, and even if he isn't doing that he's still got to be picking up on a Huge amount of sense impressions from the magic around him. Would an autistic practitioner be even more sensitive to vestigia? Just how much of a sensory overload trigger would it be, given that it's not a true smell/sound/whatever? Do really skilled practitioners like Nightingale ever get overloaded by just how much they can sense? Would an autistic wizard have to train themselves to shut out their sense of vestigia so they didn't get overwhelmed?

And then there's how you learn magic in the first place, which is a lot of repetition, doing the same thing over and over again until you produce an effect, and then continuing to repeat it until the effect becomes consistent. And you build spells by learning more and more formae, memorising them in the process. Which sounds to me like Such an autism-friendly way of learning to do anything, I fucking love repetition and memorising huge amounts of information.

Also, it's pointed out a bunch of times that Nightingale has almost scary levels of focus. In Broken Homes he spends ages watching CCTV footage, and then a full half hour just staring at the dog batteries at Skygarden. And it's pretty obvious that his level of obsessive focus is what's made him such a powerful wizard, since he's willing to put in the hours of practice, so autistic obsessiveness would be useful too.

(Sidenote, but I'm not sure if I actually think Nightingale is a character I'd read as autistic. He's definitely got a bunch of traits in the right direction, like the single-minded focus, the scary levels of concentration, the things he's very particular about and the way he can miss Peter's sarcasm sometimes, but in his case I think it's more just his personality and training and age, plus all the trauma. But I do think it would be a fun possibility/what-if to explore.)

And when it just comes down to it, I don't think I've ever encountered a magic system that appeals more to the specific way that my brain works than the RoL one, it seems like it would be So fun to learn. Even, tbh especially, the Latin and all the other studying that's also involved. So it does rather entertain me that I've gotten really autistic over a book series that has such an autism-friendly magic system, it feels Good and Correct.

Although. Ben Aaronovitch. My guy. Give me a list of all the formae and how they work, I am Begging you. I've never wanted an in-universe textbook tie-in book as much as I do for this series and Eventually I'm going to get my hands on the TTRPG book and obsess over every little detail of how they've interpreted the magic for that.

[halfbaked00q]

ngl. I want a Dom Q flavor that is like. a bit of a sadist. like maybe not necessarily a looot of a sadist. but like at least a bit of one. I want him to like. rly bully Bond. and not just in a cute way. like in a genuinely sadistic for his own haha sickos personal, gleeful pleasure kind of way.

this can include for example things like, playing with Bond (handling dick, tweaking his nipples, continuing to finger him or fuck him) after he's come and while he's like still sensitive and like getting into the overstimulated territory about it. also lmao. ...habe to admit. I found many of @/doll-tamer's posts very like. "ooh what if this for a specific flavor of Dom Q & sub Bond 👀👀👀... 👁👅👁." some examples that uhhh yeah I do gotta admit had me thinking... quite a few thots... (some of them are wow that would be gr8 to see... I want all of this but 00q.... and lowkey a couple are me going "....yea this is kind of Bond-core...." or like this is the-flavor-of-Dom-Q-Im-going-for-here-core....)

to be fair to me tho!!!!!!! I know Im not the only one cuz some of these DO in fact bear similarities to things I have seen in fic!!! So yes this is about me and myyy haha sickos personal tastes. But also I Know it also is Our tastes!!!

But also I want this specific flavorr and also.. if I could get like five more of these little blonde bitches dot meme.........

[savage-rhi]

I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

[pinesandcones]

anime dislikers finding anything to complain abt just admit this episode went SO hard oh my god im gonna explode it was so good im AAHJFHJKFDHJKDF

[roseverdict]

microdosing on childhood nostalgia by staring dead-eyed at a windows 98 screensaver while sick enough to hallucinate*

[easyhotdog]

having summers off as a teacher is NOT it!! mainly because it's forced unemployment, but also because you end up with WAY too much free space in your brain to obsess over fictional gays. jfc put me out of my misery.

[teartoshed]

day 637642 of @diiscordandstriife making me go insane over our ship with her oc AUAAUAUUAA

[cripplecryptid]

Slowly going back to my old ways to relax has been soooo good. Instead of laying down in bed during the day I lay down on the couch, instead of watching tiktok I read a book. Esp the tiktok part is doing wonders, my brain no longer feels too full and loud after 'relaxing'

[reasonsforhope]

Pictured: Luis Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat. He's photographed at his house, which has a green roof.

Article

"Cassiano is the founder of Teto Verde Favela, a nonprofit that teaches favela residents how to build their own green roofs as a way to beat the heat without overloading electrical grids or spending money on fans and air conditioners. He came across the concept over a decade ago while researching how to make his own home bearable during a particularly scorching summer in Rio.

A method that's been around for thousands of years and that was perfected in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s, green roofs weren't uncommon in more affluent neighborhoods when Cassiano first heard about them. But in Rio's more than 1,000 low-income favelas, their high cost and heavy weight meant they weren't even considered a possibility.

That is, until Cassiano decided to team up with a civil engineer who was looking at green roofs as part of his doctoral thesis to figure out a way to make them both safe and affordable for favela residents. Over the next 10 years, his nonprofit was born and green roofs started popping up around the Parque Arará community, on everything from homes and day care centers, to bus stops and food trucks.

When Gomes da Silva heard the story of Teto Verde Favela, he decided then and there that he wanted his home to be the group's next project, not just to cool his own home, but to spread the word to his neighbors about how green roofs could benefit their community and others like it.

Pictured: Jessica Tapre repairs a green roof in a bus stop in Benfica, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Relief for a heat island

Like many low-income urban communities, Parque Arará is considered a heat island, an area without greenery that is more likely to suffer from extreme heat. A 2015 study from the Federal Rural University of Rio de Janeiro showed a 36-degree difference in land surface temperatures between the city's warmest neighborhoods and nearby vegetated areas. It also found that land surface temperatures in Rio's heat islands had increased by 3 degrees over the previous decade.

That kind of extreme heat can weigh heavily on human health, causing increased rates of dehydration and heat stroke; exacerbating chronic health conditions, like respiratory disorders; impacting brain function; and, ultimately, leading to death.

But with green roofs, less heat is absorbed than with other low-cost roofing materials common in favelas, such as asbestos tiles and corrugated steel sheets, which conduct extreme heat. The sustainable infrastructure also allows for evapotranspiration, a process in which plant roots absorb water and release it as vapor through their leaves, cooling the air in a similar way as sweating does for humans.

The plant-covered roofs can also dampen noise pollution, improve building energy efficiency, prevent flooding by reducing storm water runoff and ease anxiety.

"Just being able to see the greenery is good for mental health," says Marcelo Kozmhinsky, an agronomic engineer in Recife who specializes in sustainable landscaping. "Green roofs have so many positive effects on overall well-being and can be built to so many different specifications. There really are endless possibilities.""

Pictured: Summer heat has been known to melt water tanks during the summer in Rio, which runs from December to March. Pictured is the water tank at Luis Cassiano's house. He covered the tank with bidim, a lightweight material conducive for plantings that will keep things cool.

A lightweight solution

But the several layers required for traditional green roofs — each with its own purpose, like insulation or drainage — can make them quite heavy.

For favelas like Parque Arará, that can be a problem.

"When the elite build, they plan," says Cassiano. "They already consider putting green roofs on new buildings, and old buildings are built to code. But not in the favela. Everything here is low-cost and goes up any way it can."

Without the oversight of engineers or architects, and made with everything from wood scraps and daub, to bricks and cinder blocks, construction in favelas can't necessarily bear the weight of all the layers of a conventional green roof.

That's where the bidim comes in. Lightweight and conducive to plant growth — the roofs are hydroponic, so no soil is needed — it was the perfect material to make green roofs possible in Parque Arará. (Cassiano reiterates that safety comes first with any green roof he helps build. An engineer or architect is always consulted before Teto Verde Favela starts a project.)

And it was cheap. Because of the bidim and the vinyl sheets used as waterproof screening (as opposed to the traditional asphalt blanket), Cassiano's green roofs cost just 5 Brazilian reais, or $1, per square foot. A conventional green roof can cost as much as 53 Brazilian reais, or $11, for the same amount of space.

"It's about making something that has such important health and social benefits possible for everyone," says Ananda Stroke, an environmental engineering student at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro who volunteers with Teto Verde Favela. "Everyone deserves to have access to green roofs, especially people who live in heat islands. They're the ones who need them the most." ...

It hasn't been long since Cassiano and the volunteers helped put the green roof on his house, but he can already feel the difference. It's similar, says Gomes da Silva, to the green roof-covered moto-taxi stand where he sometimes waits for a ride.

"It used to be unbearable when it was really hot out," he says. "But now it's cool enough that I can relax. Now I can breathe again."

-via NPR, January 25, 2025

[lovelyghst]

just imagine ghost getting his Jacob's ladder piercing while he's dating you and after it's healed yall have sex for the first time and it's just like sensory overload

i know absolutely nothing about piercings, but this idea is simply too good to pass up. my brain is melting.

hmmm, thinking about ghost who, despite not being able to properly get off himself, is still so attentive to his sweet girl throughout the whole healing process; offering you his mouth and fingers whenever he notices your focus beginning to drift off and shift elsewhere, having you rub yourself up on his jean-clad thigh when you can’t seem to shake the burst of energy.

because while you never outright asked him for anything of the kind, he just knew.

and even if you were the one so insistent on following the piercer’s advice—taking each and every precaution possible in avoiding the risks that simon shrugged off as ‘not gonna happen.’—you still felt bad. though, he couldn’t resist your stern pouting for long, turning weak the moment you cocked your head and promised him a sweet treat when he’s all healed up.

so, of course, ‘whatever you say, doll.’

anything to put your pretty mind at ease. he is a soldier, after all. he can wait, even if it kills him. it got pretty damn close to it, too.

which is what makes the first time back so fucking good. that reunion, and the return of that glimmering look you get in your eyes every other time he presses his pink lips to your collar and gently hikes you up the mattress after a long time away.

and truthfully, he was done in the moment you tapped him on his shoulder and told him to guess what day it was.

“shit, baby—” he grits out with a heavy breath, eyes trained on your own as he watches you reverently lick up the underside of his cock. your fingers tighten around the base when his abs pull taut, tongue gliding over the cool metal.

taking your time in feeling each and every barbell leading to the tip, making him twitch in your hand at the hot and wet drag over his sensitive skin. a heavy breath seeps from his lungs, his jaw clenching as he fights to hold off. jesus, you’re too good to him.

a sweet fucking treat, indeed.

you giggle before taking the head of him between your swollen, spit-stained lips, reveling in the quick hiss he sucks in through his teeth as you whine at the familiar taste of his pre leaking onto your tongue. your other hand slips up his thigh while you squeeze your own together, your freshly done-up nails leaving little, pink crescent shapes in his thick skin.

“fuck— not gonna last ‘f you keep that up,” he warns, a struggle in and of itself, and it’s an utter miracle he doesn’t collapse to the floor when you only hollow your cheeks and suck in response. he hardly manages to stifle an embarrassingly whorish moan at that.

god, you look so pretty down there, on your knees for him. so fucking debauched, and so, so perfect.

the way your thumb toys with the piercings as you have your own fun, and how you preen in his hold like a sweet cat when he slips a hand to the back of your neck. he’s going to miss it when he forces himself to pull you away, frowning at the pout you give him as he’s lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to your bed.

“’m sorry, sweetheart… just too fuckin’ pretty for yer old man anymore— didn’t want it t’go to waste.”

he kisses your temple, mumbling his apologies in your hair. you hardly even register your bare back making contact with your sheets, so wrapped up in his hold, before he’s kissing his way down your neck.

“wanna fill yer pretty cunt,” he murmurs, and it’s nearly incoherent as his lips press against your racing pulse point. “make ‘er cum ‘round my cock… know y’missed it too, sweet girl. a proper fuck…”

he’s talking more to himself than anything, and a small gasp from you follows soon after when his arm is snaked between your bodies and his fingertips make contact with your swollen, little clit. won’t even stretch you out with his fingers; he’s had his fill of that over the course of the last month. let him feel how much you missed his cock.

“poor thing’s soaked f’me, baby.” he groans as he adjusts on his forearm and regains his bearings, dick twitching against your thigh with every noise squeaked out from your throat. “cunt’s gonna take me just right, lovie… so fuckin’ well…”

he rambles a lot when he’s needy, you’ve come to learn.

you whine when his hand leaves you to take his cock in a fist, your nails digging into his chest and shoulder when he presses the head to your messy pussy. just the tip in and you’re already seeing stars, the shared moan between the two of you raw and pornographic.

he’s gritting out his swears before you try to shush his dirty mouth with a kiss, and he accepts it greedily, almost too eagerly.

your body reacts to his, simultaneously craving more and trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation all at once. your brain is fuzzy by the time he’s nearly bottoming out inside you, ears deaf to the unabashed sounds spilling from your lips as the feeling of his fresh piercings dragging against your every sweet spot burns itself into your memory.

and before you can catch your breath, a thumb is being pressed up against your sensitive bud once again, your legs constricting around him involuntarily as you jolt with a cry. heat prickles at your skin, his teeth at your jaw making your spine tingle.

he’s telling you to cum, begging you to make a mess of his cock.

his hand picks up its pace, hips grinding against yours sloppier than ever as he pleads right up against your temple for you to use him, just finish him off, fucking cum for him.

you squeeze around his cock like a vice and pull him straight under with you, arms locked tight around his neck as your pretty cunt utterly wrecks him. making him throb and twitch, fucking himself dumb through his high and wringing him dry of everything he’s kept pent up for you. at least for now, anyway.

his and your panting rings out in the room as he sits back on his knees, his cock still hard as he gently pulls out of you. watching his pearly cum bead from your slit, your chest gradually slowing down within the time he takes to drool over the sight of you.

it’s not long before simon has you laying on your tummy with your head in the soft sheets, a pillow slipped underneath your hips to prop you up. not making you do an ounce of work as he uses your warm, pliant cunt as his sweet cum dump for hours on end.

fucking you gently, lovingly, all while trying his best to keep his weight off your back. he kisses behind your ear, cooing praises and choked grunts that make your tummy flutter with butterflies. you can only giggle into the pillow nestled in your arms as he makes up for all the lost time.

filling you with load after load, the number becoming lost on your fuzzy mind after a certain amount, until your belly is achingly full and his cock is numb from overstimulation. only to coax you onto your back, easing your limp legs apart to watch his cum leak from your pretty hole. pressing a flat palm to your lower tummy, sighing in time with your strangled noises as your sensitive pussy drips more of his spend. leaning forward and licking it all up like some starved mutt; groaning at the taste, arms tightening around your hips as he eats his mess out of his pretty girl.

[undyingdecay]

pairing: robert reynolds x reader cw: smut, mentions of the void, overstimulation, dumbifiaction, sub!robert, usage of the term 'good boy'.

robert reynolds is a pervert.

not in a sleazy, frat-boy way. not the kind of pervert that leaves behind smudges on phone screens or searches for content that disappears after midnight. no—bob’s perversion was quieter. more intentional. it was in the way he read. the way he lingered. the way he looked at you like you were the first and last real thing in a universe he barely believed in anymore. the kind that reads neuroscience books with a glassy look in his eyes and one hand suspiciously low on his thigh.

he was draped over the big, circular couch in the middle of the common space—gray, soft, impossibly wide. you’d insisted on it after moving in. you’d pointed out the couch in some overprice magazine—something walker scoffed at—and bob had ordered it the same day without saying a word, just a gentle nod like he understood what you were trying to do. you made space feel like something worth staying in.

the bar stark left behind had made the place look like an empty bachelor pad—just black glass, chrome, and a monument to drinking problems. that didn’t feel like a home, especially not with yelena tossing back beers like water, and walker nursing bourbon while pretending to read his own press.

so you’d pushed for the couch. something cozy. something human. and now there bob sat like a statue come to life, long limbs sprawled across the upholstery, fingers curled around a paperback. “reaching down the rabbit hole.”

you’d brought him the book that rainy sunday. the tower had gone soft and quiet, raindrops streaking the long windows of the library. you’d wandered off, fingers trailing along spines, stopping in the neuroscience section—bizarre, given that everything there usually put you to sleep. but you remembered him talking about it before. how damaged brains lied to themselves, how some patients created entire lives out of nothing just to make their reality feel whole. you’d caught maybe every third word he said, too mesmerized by the way he licked his lips when he got excited explaining neurons misfiring like overloaded circuits.

now, he was devouring it. not quickly—no, he moved through it like a man savoring a final meal. eyes slowly tracking each sentence. sometimes mouthing the words. sometimes whispering them like they mattered more than he did.

you were behind him, mixing a drink in one of those glasses that were too thin to feel real. the ice had melted. twice. but you were still standing there, watching him as he shifted on the couch, his broad frame sinking deeper into the cushions, spine curling just a little. his thighs parted naturally, his sweatpants stretched over the lazy curve of his cock—noticeably half-hard, twitching slightly under the thin fabric. maybe it was the book. maybe it was you.

maybe both.

your fingers absently stirring a drink in one of the highball glasses everyone kept reusing because nobody wanted to admit they were too lazy to do dishes. the spoon clinked gently, ice long since melted into a lukewarm pool. you stood just far enough that he couldn’t feel you, but close enough that you could smell him—the subtle scent of ozone and storm-scorched pine bark that clung to him no matter how often he bathed. the scent of the void, perhaps.

every now and then he licked the pink of his lips, slow and plush, and shifted like he needed to make room for something—like the fabric of those soft gray sweatpants was suddenly too tight across his thighs. he took his time with each sentence, eyes dark and gleaming, mouth slightly open. he was dissecting it, you knew. reading it the way he wanted to be touched.

god, he was teasing you.

or maybe you were projecting. maybe it was you who was the pervert, letting your eyes drift down the hard line of his stomach, to the subtle bulge rising beneath that book. the way he kept twitching, rolling his hips against nothing, like the words themselves were getting him off.

it wasn’t fair—how every little gesture from him felt like an invitation. the way his fingers slid over the paper like he was stroking skin. the way he exhaled through his nose, low and humming. the way he moved his hips to get comfortable, drawing your eye back to the heat pooling in his lap.

when your spoon finally tapped the edge of the glass, the chime rang out like a siren, and bob’s head turned toward you, slow and fluid. his gaze locked on yours, eyes molten gold, pupils slightly blown. your breath caught. the look he gave you was lazy. knowing. like he’d been aware of your stare this whole time and was just letting you think you were sneaky.

something flickered deep in your core. the press of damp fabric between your legs now felt unbearable. your panties clung to you like second skin—soaked, hot, aching.

you were a pervert—but maybe bob was even worse for letting you touch him like this.

your hands wrapped snugly around his pretty, leaking cock, and he was bucking up into your palms like a man possessed. the shape you made with your fingers had him gasping, breathy and high, whimpering out what you thought might be your name—until it broke into a needy, guttural whine that came from somewhere deep in his chest. god, he whined so much.

you tightened your grip, feeling the slick warmth of his pre cum trickling down your fingers, and he sucked in a sharp breath before his head dropped back against the pillow. he looked ruined—beautiful. lips parted and pink, eyes squeezed shut. you swore you could see the gloss of tears clinging to his lashes, streaking faintly down his cheeks. his chest heaved, his throat worked visibly as he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

you started moving your hand again—slow, deliberate strokes that dragged from base to tip with a little twist at the top, just how he liked it. the sound it made was obscene: wet, sticky, lewd, echoing through the room like it wanted to humiliate him.

you leaned down, pressed a kiss to the flushed column of his neck, humming low as you felt a desperate little “please” spill past his lips. you started moving your hand again, slow and tight. the slick, obscene sounds of it filled the room.

“baby,” you murmured against his skin, “you said you were gonna tell me what you were reading about, remember?”

“uh-huh,” he breathed, a thin, helpless sound—like the wind had been knocked from him. there was nothing left in him but pleasure, but you pulled back just enough to force his mind to scramble for the right words. desperate to keep your hand on him, he spoke.

“it was—fuck, wait—neuro—neurotransmitters,” he gasped, words tumbling over each other as his hips twitched again. “dopamine, mostly. i—i was reading about how it spikes during sex—fucking hell—and how just, just touching like this—oh god—it lights up the reward system, m-makes the brain think it’s dying or flying—shit, i don’t even know—”

his voice cracked into a moan, thick and raw. you watched his lashes flutter, lips trembling as he tried again.

“and oxytocin—‘s the bonding one, the cuddle chemical or whatever—jesus, your hands—baby, your hands—” he whined, nearly sobbing with it now, legs twitching as he babbled. “it makes you—mmf—makes you crave the person touching you. that’s why i can’t—why i can’t think when you—ah, fuck—when you do that thing with your thumb—!”

you obliged, dragging your thumb slowly over his leaking tip, watching his entire body jolt under your touch. he sobbed.

“please, i don’t—don’t even know what i’m saying anymore,” he hiccuped, voice breaking as he clenched the sheets, trying to stay grounded. “there’s this part of the brain—nucleus accumbens—that lights up like a fucking—fuck, a firework—when you touch me like this. i—i read that. i swear i read that, baby, i just—oh god.”

he squirmed under you, legs shifting restlessly, hips twitching up in search of more, always more. every little movement of your wrist pulled another moan from him, another soft curse or hiccuping breath. you watched the way his body responded—so open, so reactive. the way his thighs tensed, his belly fluttered, his toes curled. the way his throat bobbed again and again like he was trying not to choke on how good it felt.

you gave him more. your pace stayed slow, steady, torturously controlled. you gripped tighter, just a bit, and felt the tension in him spike. his cock was flushed red, veins standing out, the head swollen and slick with so much pre it coated your fingers, dripped down to your wrist. he was absolutely soaked.

your thumb swept over the sensitive ridge just beneath the tip once more and his whole body arched—his back lifting clean off the mattress, mouth falling open in a soundless cry. his hands clawed at the sheets, knuckles white, nails dragging lines in the fabric like he was trying to hold on to something—anything

you leaned down, kissed the underside of his cock, then the head, soft and slow like you were worshipping him. the taste of him stuck to your lips—salty and hot like honey drawn from a fever dream. you felt his thighs tremble again.

he was close.

your hand sped up just a little, slick sounds building louder, rougher, the friction bordering on unbearable. his head thrashed from side to side, hair clinging to his temples, chest heaving with every breath he couldn’t catch. he was unraveling—falling apart with nothing but your hand around his cock and your mouth praising every inch of him.

“you’re so smart, bobby,” you whispered, voice soft and adoring, your lips brushing the head of his cock before kissing it sweetly. his milky pre clung to your mouth like honey. and the praise—just like always—hit his cock first and his brain second. that broke him.

his entire body seized—legs locked tight, back arcing sharply off the bed, muscles pulling taut like a drawn bow. his mouth dropped open in a cracked, ragged cry that caught in his throat and splintered into a gasping moan. his cock gave a heavy twitch in your grip—then another—and then he came.

hot, thick release spilled from him in violent pulses, the first rope hitting your wrist with a warm, wet slap. it was creamy, almost milky in color, streaking across your hand and his lower belly in messy, uneven lines. he came hard—a lot—like his body had been holding it back for far too long. more followed in sharp bursts, painting his skin in long, slow ribbons that glistened in the low bedroom light. it clung to him, sticky and hot, catching in the fine trail of hair below his navel, smearing against his tense abdomen, dripping from the flushed head of his cock in long, glossy strands. your grip stayed steady, coaxing him through it with tender, unrelenting strokes. he whined—high and soft and pitiful—as his hips gave a last, desperate jerk, like his body still hadn’t caught up with the release tearing through it.

“good boy,” you breathed, voice low, thick with praise and want. “look at you, baby. that’s it. you made such a mess.”

the words hit him like a second orgasm.

he whimpered again, legs trembling, hands fisting into the sheets with weak desperation. his chest rose and fell in frantic, shallow gasps, sweat-slick skin glowing in the soft light, flushed pink across his cheeks, his chest, the tips of his ears. he looked utterly, exquisitely ruined—come-drunk, dazed, blinking up at you like he couldn’t remember how to speak.

you watched his release slowly slide down his skin—thick drops trailing along the curve of his hip, pooling slightly in the dip between his abs. you swiped your fingers through it, sticky and warm, then brought them to your lips and licked him clean, deliberately slow—letting him see it.

he groaned, eyes fluttering shut like he was about to fall apart all over again.

“…did you… retain any of that?” he asked between gasps, voice wrecked.

you laughed softly, “not entirely, tell me tomorrow—i want to learn.” and honestly you had, for whatever interested bob in its own way interested you.

you crawled up beside him, tugging the throw blanket from the back of the couch to wipe your hands, still warm and shaking from the intensity. bob curled into you, heavy and loose with post-orgasmic bliss. his head rested against your chest like it belonged there.

outside, the rain hadn’t stopped.

and in the space between seconds — the quiet hum of a god drifting into sleep — the world felt almost safe.

[mixolya]

Heyyy! Saw your requests are open, so I hope you don’t mind me sending one ☺️ Could you write something with the Bllk boys experiencing their first head scratch from the reader while laying on her chest? And after that, they get hooked—constantly asking for more, always laying on her chest and begging for head scratchies nonstop!! Saying stuff like, “Every day. I need this every day. Scratchies on the softest pillow known to man,” or “Yeah, just like that… soft chest, magic fingers… mmhm.”

ANYWAY I LOVE UR FICS SO MUCH 💗 they’re like a cozy hug I didn’t know I needed!! ur writing makes me feel so safe n happy ily keep killin it bestieee 💕💞����

ᓚᘏᗢ — bllk: don't stop !

synopsis: in which they rest on you and a few innocent head scratches quickly turn into an unexpectedly addictive love language, and none of them are ready to let you stop.

characters: rin, nagi, isagi, reo, chigiri, michael, sae + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

— rin itoshi

you were lying on the couch, rin's head resting in your lap while the tv played some random documentary he claimed was "just background noise". your fingers had idly drifted into his hair - mostly because you liked the way it looked messy - and out of habit, you began running your nails gently along his scalp.

and rin... froze.

not in a bad way, but like someone who just got hit with a sensory overload he wasn't prepared for.

"what are you doing?" he asked, voice lower than usual.

you glanced down, amused. "giving you head scratches, why?"

his eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering a little. you laughed and leaned down slightly. "wait.. are you enjoying this?"

"i didn't say that."

"but you didn't say no either."

rin scowled up at you but the effect was ruined by the way he leaned ever so slightly into your touch when your fingers found that one spot near the back of his head. a tiny sound, barely audible, left him.

minutes passed. the documentary kept playing. you kept scratching. rin kept pretending he wasn't dying inside.

until your hand stilled to pick up your phone and-

his brows furrowed. "why'd you stop?"

you blinked. "oh. thought you were falling asleep."

"... i wasn't."

"you want me to keep going?"

rin said nothing, just stared at the ceiling. you laughed softly and resumed your motion. his shoulders relaxed again and he exhaled like someone had just removed a weight from his chest.

after a while, you felt his hand slip around your waist, not to stop you, just to hold it in place.

"...don't stop," he muttered, so quiet you almost didn't catch it.

you smiled, leaning back against the cushions. "okay, rin."

— nagi seishiro

it started with a lazy afternoon and nagi sprawled out on top of you like a very large cat, limbs heavy and warm and not moving.

you rested your hand in his hair and absentmindedly ran your fingers through the soft, snow-white strands.

"...mmm."

you glanced down. "what?"

his eyes were half-shut. "didn't know you could touch my brain like that."

you laughed. "it's just your scalp, sei."

"no," he mumbled, nuzzling closer. "feels like heaven."

you scratched gently behind his ear and felt him melt against you like butter. when your hand paused to check your phone-

"hey," he muttered, without opening his eyes, "you stopped."

"i figured you were asleep."

"nope. still alive. want more."

you gave in with a soft chuckle, watching his lip curve up lazily. "i could live like this forever."

isagi yoichi

you'd barely started when isagi blinked up at you with wide eyes, like you'd just shown him the secret to life.

"wait. what was that?" he asked, voice hushed like you'd cast a spell.

you grinned. "just head scratches."

"do it again."

you obeyed, fingers dragging slowly through his thick, dark hair, and he made a small noise of appreciation. the kind you'd expect from someone sinking into a warm bath after almost freezing to death.

"you're way too good at this," he mumbled, face buried in your hoodie. "are you trying to seduce me?"

"...you're already mine."

"true," he laughed. then, softer: "please don't stop."

you didn't. not even when he fell asleep mid-sentence, with a smile still lingering on his lips.

— reo mikage

reo was used to luxury. silk sheets, five-star dinners, champagne. but this?

this was something else entirely, really.

"you know," he said, voice oddly serious, "this might be better than every wagyu i ate."

you blinked. "what?"

"your nails. my hair. this whole situation. feels like a high-tier spa treatment."

you rolled your eyes, teasing. "do i charge your card, then?"

"charge me everything. my soul, even."

you burst out laughing. he grinned, smug - but the second you paused to adjust your position, his hand caught yours.

"no no no. where do you think you're going?"

"i was just-"

"continue until i'm dead."

you resumed, giggling, while he relaxed again with a dreamy sigh.

— chigiri hyoma

chigiri had trouble relaxing. his body always felt like it needed to do something - run, train, move.

but now, with your fingers threading gently through his long, silky hair, he felt like maybe stillness wasn't so bad.

"...you're really good at that," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

"yeah?"

"yeah. it's like… i can breathe easier."

your chest squeezed a little at that.

you stroked slowly, tangling the strands and then smoothing them out again, over and over. and when you paused for just a second-

he opened one eye. "keep going?"

you smiled. "of course."

and for once, chigiri didn't want to be anywhere else but right there in your arms.

— michael kaiser

michael had dropped his head onto your chest dramatically, claiming he needed a "royal recharge." (whatever that meant."

you started giving him head scratches - partly to shut him up, mostly because you were curious what would happen.

to your shock, he went quiet.

"…this is," he said after a pause, "kind of insane."

"in a good way?"

"in an i'd-pay-you-for-this way. but also i'd sue if anyone found out."

you snorted. "i'm filming it."

his head shot up in horror.

"I'M KIDDING-" you wheezed.

he narrowed his eyes and dropped back down, grumbling. "evil woman. keep going."

"say please," you grinned, brushing back his strands until he relaxed fully again.

"please," he mumbled.

God help you - you actually liked this man.

— sae itoshi

sae had been scrolling through his phone, reclined lazily against you, when you ran your fingers through his hair on a whim.

he paused.

"you don't have to do that," he muttered.

"i want to."

silence. then: "fine."

you kept at it. slow. gentle. careful. you expected him to flinch, or make some sarcastic comment.

but he didn't.

in fact, he sank lower, his head tilting slightly into your touch like a cat pretending it wasn't needy.

after a while, you stopped to grab your water.

"why'd you stop?"

you blinked. "oh, i thought you were over it."

"i wasn't."

a beat. then, lower: "it's actually nice."

you laughed. "i know. i mean, it's me doing it. why wouldn't it be nice?"

his hand found your thigh in a loose grip. and he didn't say another word.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[foldingfittedsheets]

There was this one dude at the pizza place that I really loved. He, like many of my coworkers, had a criminal record. If I remember right he was dealing an insane amount of drugs which he freely admitted to me with the adage, “Seriously, don’t do drugs, fucks your teeth up, for real.”

In general he was a very easygoing coworker and always helped balance my overload of anxiety with waves of utter calm. When I made a huge mess of milkshakes one day I was about to cry but he calmly stepped up and was like, “Don’t sweat it, the floor was clean before and we can get back to that, nothing is permanent.” I’m paraphrasing but the sentiment is there.

But my other favorite thing about him was how open minded he was. I’ve mentioned how a large portion of the staff was pretty religious, and so was he, which I learned by one day saying, “Hey want to hear a fun fact?”

He did.

“So humans evolved to always be looking for water, the shine of it was one of the ways we could find it so that’s why humans love shiny stuff, cause our brains are always looking for that sparkle.” Please accept that I’ve never looked into this fun fact and enjoy the story.

“Well, I don’t believe in evolution cause I believe in God,” he said.

This was news to me and made me instantly regret sharing this particular fun fact, but he continued, “But maybe God made us good at looking for water and now we love diamonds and shit.”

I was delighted. He could have shut down my fun fact but instead he was like, here’s how I could keep my faith and acknowledge this thing you were excited to share. It was just a lovely graceful moment that I still appreciate years later.