It's Too Cute!!!

It's too cute!!!

legit listening to "beautiful boy - John Lennon" rn hear me out ghost and his Mreader hubby cuddling with their new baby just wholesome fluffy stuff yknow🤯

When I tell you I cried writing this-- UGH! Thank you so much for this request! It was so sweet.

Adoption was no easy feat, anyone with a right mind would know that. There is a lot of paperwork, a couple of interviews, as well as money that goes into it. It was more difficult with your growing family, you decided bitterly. Most agencies looked at the jobs you and your husband held, you as a freelance writer at home and him as active duty military- well, the active duty military was more of a raised red flag to them. Especially because the two of you were looking for a baby, not a child- an infant.

When the struggle with adoption started, your focus turned less away from your work- which did ultimately have a deadline, to what could be done. In your heart, you felt this emptiness that needed to be filled, and Simon expressed himself the same at home. You sometimes wished that like him, you could separate it while working… but you had too much heart in you. (Those were Simon’s words- and he said that he was glad you were like that)

Tonight was one of those nights that you couldn’t focus on your work. All those creative writing and English classes in college, gone throughout the window. So, you settled on looking through other adoption agencies- maybe even some women who were pregnant that didn’t want the child, but wouldn’t do an abortion. What was the name? Ah, you didn’t care much to remember. The aged whiskey in your hand helped with that too.

As per usual, you spent about three hours looking for something new. A couple emails sent out to some agencies, the last two that would maybe consider interviewing you and Simon. The analog clock next to the TV expresses how late it was, so did the yawn that left your mouth. You decided the whiskey glass could be cleaned in the morning as you set it down on the coffee table, your closed laptop next to it. The front door and its eighteen locks (that’s an exaggeration, it only had four) needed to be turned before you could sleep. Right after you locked the first one though, you heard something through the door- something like… crying?

Now, you and Simon live in a nice neighborhood- with little to no crime activity, but that doesn’t mean something could happen. You retreat from the area for just a moment to grab one of the tactical knives hiding in the coffee table, then walked back to the front door. Very quietly, you undid the lock you’d just turned and very slowly opened the door. Nothing was directly in front of you, so you looked down and your heart shattered.

It’s always in the movies, so the scene in front of you is unexpected in real life. There is a large woven basket with an infant tucked comfortably with a blue blanket. Before you investigate further, you look around your yard and towards the sidewalk but see no one walking about- or running away. So, you bend down and pick up the basket, taking out the little note that’s sticking out as you walk back into the house. Just for a moment, the basket is set on the couch as you read it.

‘To who little Gregory comes to,

I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of him myself. When he was born in the hospital, everyone in the room was happy to see him but me. Gregory is the result of a… you know what case. I looked at him, and I couldn’t see myself at all- only him. I hope that you can find yourself to take care of him. Love him. 

Thank you.’

Oh… “Fuck.” You look down at the baby- who has been crying this whole time, and quickly pick him up from the basket. It’s probably really uncomfortable in there- and oh, how long has it been since Gregory has been fed? Christ on a Cross, when you talked about jumping into parenting, this isn’t what you meant! “Hey, Siri!” You’re trying your best to calm the infant in your arms, who is still crying, but it’s thankfully gone to hiccups now. “Call Simon’s work on speaker.”

“Calling Simon *work* on speaker…” You take a seat on the couch, careful not to disturb the now sleeping infant as you pick up your phone and bring it closer to your person. Gregory seems… smaller than the other infants you’ve seen with the adoption agencies, you wonder if it’s a birth cause or he wasn’t taken care of before being handed off. “Hey, I’m about to go on a mission. Are you okay?”

You breathe in and exhale slowly. “Simon. You need to come home, tell Price it’s an emergency.” Your husband makes a noise on the other line, and you can hear him beginning to protest it all- “Someone dropped a baby on our doorstep- I… I cannot do this alone right now.”

There is a lot of noise coming from the other line now, you hear shouting- it’s Simon doing it. And… Gregory has woken up, he’s crying again. “Och. Simon, on your way home, which you better be doing- or I’m going to find your captain and kick him into next month- get some supplies, like we’ve talked about. I’m gonna hang up because he’s woken up due to the noise, but if I don’t see your arse in thirty minutes, there will be words, Simon Riley.” Before he can reply, you press the ‘end call’ button and turn your attention back to Gregory.

What did some babies fall asleep to? What would calm the storm that the call to your husband created? You remembered seeing your sister sing softly to her child- but you can’t give bars for shit. So, you decide to hum, very quietly ‘Hey Jude’. And just like with your niece all those years ago, it seems to do the trick. Gregory stops crying, moves to hiccuping then starts cooing at you- reaching at your face with his little chubby baby fists. He’s just so cute… You wish you could fall asleep with him, but the other thing your brain processed is that this would be the beginning to several nights of restless sleep.

It’s another thirty minutes of you humming different soft songs, mostly rock- because you can’t think of an actual lullaby for your life right now. Africa, Every Breath You Take, Tears in Heaven, Hard to Say I’m Sorry, Can’t Help Falling in love, Beautiful Boy… so many others. It works like a charm with little Gregory, he only wakes up for a moment to gurgle and reach for you, before falling back asleep.

Ten minutes later, your front door opens- almost slamming, but Simon catches it. He’s carrying several bags from the local grocery store- all in full gear. He shuts the door as quietly as he can, but it’s a little noisy with all of the plastic bags in his arms as well as his gear. Everything in his hands is set on the ground in front of the coffee table, then Simon’s walking over to you, eyes widening as he looks at the infant in your arms. “You weren’t…” His words die down when you point with a random finger to the note that had been left. Simon scans over it while taking off his mask. “Oh… just the baby then? Was there anything in his basket?”

You shake your head, stopping the humming so you can speak- hopefully Gregory won’t start crying again. “Just him, his blanket and that note.” You gesture with your head to the bags. “Do you have baby formula? Bottles? I don’t know the last time he’s had anything… there was no information on it.”

Simon brushes Gregory’s head, moving some of the hair, then walks over to the bags. He takes out a lot of formula and a couple bottles. “Woman at the register looked at me like I was mad. Told her I had a newborn and she calmed her tits.” You snort and shake your head. “I’m gonna make some warmed milk for him, then set up his crib- that’s still in the car.”

All those agencies that said the two of you were incapable of raising an infant were incorrect. You were careful in waking Gregory and giving him the bottle, once your husband had come back with it. Before leaving the room to go get the crib he needed to build, he looked at you and… well, the kid was his son now, he’d say. There is a rare instance that tears are building in his eyes, and he allows them to fall. “Simon,” you call softly from the couch. He snaps out of it and walks over to you. “Why don’t you hold him? I’ll go get the crib.”

For a moment, his brain goes to the fact that his hands aren’t meant to hold something so small and precious- his hands are those of a killer’s… but the way you look at him, a hopeful look in your eyes and the softest smile. He slowly takes Gregory from you, one arm curling around his tiny body and the other keeping leg support and holding up the bottle. “Hi, Gregory,” he whispers. The baby coos back and makes the same grabbing motion towards him, the chubby fist brushing against his paint.

“Simon,” you’re now next to him. The crib that needs to be built is in the corner of the room. “Why don’t we just sleep on the couch tonight? The three of us? It’s in a way that we won’t crush him… and it’s late.” He nods silently and gets on the couch first, handing you Gregory so he can get properly comfortable. You follow suit, lying your head against the side cushion and setting up a little pillow wall with one of your hands. “Love you, Simon.”

He breathes in deeply, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His arms go around your waist, hands cupping around the side of Gregory’s body. “Love you too.” Simon waits until both of you are asleep first before closing his eyes. His mind drifted into how lucky the two of you were to have Gregory now as sleep took over.

I feel like how to get started with this, I should just make a innocent quote's of my horror/slasher/DBD oc's

*slurps* I would love this to happen, but but not a complete stranger

Hiya! I read your recent Pinhead one-shot and adored it, your writing is so good. Can I request a Ghostface NSFW one-shot where he call’s his next victim but she happens to be masturbating? And they end up having phone sex. I would really appreciate it and if you do please let me know if you take payment or even if I can give you a tip! <3

Oh my gosh thank you so much! I actually gasped when I read this request, I fucking love this idea I hope I did it justice lol. I still get kinda insecure when writing smut even though I've read some not-so-great erotica and still be turned on by it so does it matter? Either way, practice is practice haha.

delicious (nsfw, 18+)

danny johnson x reader | warnings: phone sex, dirty talk, degradation, | note: the title comes from the charli xcx song, somehow not a tswift song for once! | word count: 1.8k

Perhaps your mother had been right in not allowing you to have a phone in your bedroom growing up.

But perhaps it was that very same denial that made you determined to have one in your room when you lived on your own, living out a childhood dream of being able to chat to friends on your own phone in your own room. Not that it got much use, with you rarely being home enough to answer calls and it being even rarer for your friends to even bother calling.

The phone became more like a bedside decoration than serving any real functional purpose in your life, except for when you wanted to call in sick to work or order takeout from the comfort of your own bed. You forgot, it seemed, that phones could actually be kind of a nuisance.

It had been a slow week of long hours at your work, and every class you took seemed to have major assignments due within the past three days. You could’ve cried from relief when you finally got home and had the freedom of the weekend in front of you. You didn’t envy the students pouring their way into parties and bars, though you might have felt a twinge of nostalgia for when you were one of them.

But just because you weren’t going out didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the rest of your night and have some fun with yourself. Once you were out of your work clothes and into your chosen sleepwear for the night (which was simply a big t-shirt), you plopped onto your bed, all the stress and tension leaving your body as soon as you hit the soft surface.

You roll over onto your back, lazily running your hand down your body. You don’t waste time messing with your chest, instead moving directly to your underwear, slipping your hand inside. There was no need to tease yourself, after all.

You had just begun to slowly circle your clit, feeling a bit more sensitive than usual, when the phone started ringing.

Your eyes snapped open, hand still in your underwear. At first, you barely recognized the sound of it, only knowing that the piercing tones had interrupted your alone time. But once your tired and horny brain fog cleared- if just slightly- you glared over at your bedside table.

From where you were laying, you could see the caller ID display, though it only provided you with “UNKNOWN CALLER” on the tiny green screen. You shifted your gaze slightly to your alarm clock, which dimly displayed 11:37 PM. That’s a bit late for a salesperson to call, and your friends would have been announced through the ID display, had they decided to call this late.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in your stomach and the nagging itching in the back of your brain to remember something you saw in passing on a newspaper at the store, you waited for the phone’s ringing to end.

Settling back in, you slowly get back into the proper headspace for touching yourself, resuming your slow movements. You wanted to both take it slow tonight and really enjoy it, and seek your pleasure as fast as possible, needing the release it promised after the week you’ve had.

As a compromise between the two desires, you started to pick up the pace, feeling yourself get slightly wetter from your touch.

The phone rings again.

You curse, this time sitting up and snatching the phone off the hook, but not before seeing that this, too, was from an unknown caller (likely the same one from before, you thought in the back of your mind).

“What?” Normally you would never answer the phone this way, but it was way past decent calling times, and you were fucking tired.

But in response, there was nothing. You were starting to wonder if you had somehow not picked up the phone in time for the call to go through when you realized you could faintly hear someone breathing on the other end.

Great.

One of these calls.

You were hardly ever in the mood to deal with prank calls, let alone when you were just trying to destress after a long, exhausting week. You just wanted a fucking break.

“Listen, asshole-”

“I can see you.”

You manage to catch yourself before you’re able to vocally react, instead somehow calmly looking over at your window. The blinds are shut. You don’t doubt that someone, if determined enough, could find a way to peek inside, but you doubted that the man on the phone was that pervert.

“Liar.”

On the other end, the man lets out a chuckle. And you realize, despite yourself, that his voice is kinda attractive, at least for a creep.

“Made you look.”

Scratch that. Very attractive.

Biting your lip, you lay back down, the horny side of your brain pushing you to start your movements again. You have no plan- ideally he would hang up and you would be able to fully indulge yourself, but as the seconds pass without the telltale click of the line being cut you figure this won’t happen.

“What do you want, weirdo?” You can’t help but throw the insult in, figuring he deserves it for interrupting you twice. Not that he knew he was doing it, but either way it didn't matter to you.

“You wound me.” His voice is deep and expressive, and you are definitely getting wetter listening to him speak.

“Good.” You chuckle, but it’s breathless in the way that only someone who was currently masturbating (as you were) would sound.

He’s silent for a moment, and you begin to pick up your pace, adding pressure to your movements, the occasional jolt of pleasure running through your body distracting you from the fact that it was definitely louder than you realized.

“Are you fucking yourself right now?” He doesn’t sound offended (thank goodness), but he does sound confused. You, on the other hand, are suddenly too mortified to examine his tone and you only realize this fact after.

“Shit!” You pull the phone away from your face, as if that lessens the impact of the fact that you were just caught masturbating by a stranger. “I’m sorry, fuck-”

“No- keep going.”

You definitely did not hear that right. You put the phone back to your ear.

“I’m sorry? No-”

“I said, keep going.” Oh boy. If his voice was attractive before when he was just casually talking with you, it didn’t compare to how hot it was when he gave you a command. “You had no problem being a slut before, so you shouldn’t have one now.”

“I- okay. I just feel awkward now.” All of the bravado you felt earlier had quickly dissipated once you were caught.

He hums on the other end of the line and you wait impatiently for his response.

“Would it help if I told you what to do?”

This was certainly not how you had anticipated your night ending up, but you weren’t complaining. How often would you get the chance to have consequence-free phone sex with a complete stranger?

This could very well be the only time in your entire life you would have this thrilling opportunity, and you weren’t going to let it pass you by.

“I think so.” You could hear the man getting comfortable, the rustling of fabric faint in the background on his end. You wondered if it was him getting his cock out.

“Are you still touching yourself?”

“...Yes.” You’d slowed down after you’d been caught, but never fully stopped.

“Play with your clit for me.”

“O-okay.” It was a simple and vague instruction, but something that you could quickly comply with, given that your hand had barely moved from its earlier position. You resumed stroking it, noticing that you had gotten significantly wetter since you’d first picked up the phone. Not quite dripping, but enough to signify that you were definitely turned on by the situation you had found yourself in.

“Good girl.”

Fuck. Your hips jerked at the praise, and you bit your lip to hide your moan. But you clearly didn’t do a good job of it, because the man on the other end chuckled, the sound once again going straight to your pussy.

“Oh, did you like that?”

“Y-yes.” If you were of sound mind you would be embarrassed by how quickly this man had managed to reduce you to the stuttering mess you were now.

“Put the phone on speaker, and don’t even think about holding back any of those little noises.” You rush to comply, fumbling slightly with controlling your non-dominant hand.

“Done.”

“Good. Close your eyes.”

“...Okay.”

“Are you still touching your clit?” You hum in response.

“Just how fucking wet are you right now?”

You gasped, rhythm faltering. “Very.” Your voice is breathy, shaking as you stumble over the single word. “Fuck, please tell me something- anything. Wanna hear what you want.”

“Yeah?” You can now hear the distinct noise of him jerking off on the other end, and you’re certain he must be able to hear the sloppy noise your own movements are creating. “I wanna to fuck you so hard you won’t be walk right for a week, every movement you make a reminder of how much I fucking own you. You’re mine, got that? My little slut, just a fuck toy for me to fill up.”

You shuddered, turning your head against your pillow.

“You want that, want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please, I want your cum, oh my god,” you’re mumbling, words you don’t truly mean but your brain is far too gone to think about the things you’re saying.

Plus, he’s just a stranger, someone you’ll never meet. You can say whatever you want, it doesn’t even matter.

“I wanna make you cum on my cock, feel your tight little pussy around me-fuck,” You wished, briefly, you knew what he looked like, so you could properly imagine him fisting his cock, the muscles in his arm straining as he made himself go faster, chasing his release.

“I want it, I want it, please,” You were just saying the same thing over and over again, too close to your climax to think of anything sexier to say.

“Are you gonna cum?” His voice was strained, almost muttered out.

“Yes, yes- please I need it, fuck-”

“Then do it. Cum for me like a good little girl.”

And with his permission, you comply, continuing your litany of curses and pleas as your back arches, your orgasm crashing through your body. Gasping, eyes and mouth open, continuing to touch yourself until your body screamed at you to stop from the overstimulation on your clit.

On his end, he lets out a long, low groan as he reaches his climax in the midst of your own. In the back of your mind you wish you were more present to fully enjoy the noise he’s made, to revel in the fact that you did that to a total stranger.

Once you both have come back down from your high, the line is silent. You have no idea what to say, how to even continue a conversation from here. For a moment you contemplate just hanging up and going to sleep, but he beats you to the chase with a line that turns your racing blood to ice.

“See you soon.”

___

ao3 link | part two

I need more-

Gentle Touch

Brahms Heelshire x M!Reader

Last Edited: June 16, 2021 11:00 PM

TW: slight praising

Anon: I love your fics so much, could i request a brahms x male reader where y/n has usher syndrome? y/n being deaf–blind and being the older brother of brahm's nanny, maybe moves with her for the job, and gains the attention of brahms? really need some bromantic fluff <33

Tags: none

You loved Erla, you really did, but there were times when she annoyed you. You couldn’t blame her for trying to help you constantly but it really got on your nerves. She was always treating you like you were glass; some fine china that needed to be cared for every second of the day. It was why you didn’t want to go with her to the UK. You had known that she would keep you attached to her hip at all times but at the same time, there was Dündar. Dear ol’ Dündar. An abusive asshole is who he was and is. You hated his guts more than anyone else’s. You guessed you could say that going to the UK was a new start; a new start for both of you.

You have been staying at the Heelshire mansion for a while; maybe 6 months now? You were unsure since you couldn’t really tell the time or know what day it was due to your condition. Well, you would know if Erla was to tell you. Though she never told you anything. All she ever did was lead you around or leave you alone to your own world.

From what little information you knew, you were with Erla in the UK and babysitting a child. Or... Well… A small porcelain child replaced the dead child. Either way, you didn’t mind. A porcelain doll wouldn’t run around you, make fun of the Usher Syndrome, or try to ask you questions about it when you could only answer them through braille and sign language; you doubted the child would have even known those two.

You had hearing aids but you didn’t use them all the time. You only used them to listen to music or to listen to the television. You don’t keep them in all the time since you don’t really want to. Well, it’s more of the fact that Erla’s voice is high pitched and slightly annoying, not saying everyone’s voice like that is but her’s is just terrible. You’d rather sign and read braille than hear her talk. You had to put in your hearing aids when you met the Heelshires but you enjoyed their voices. They were a lot better than your younger sister’s.

The story about losing their son was sad but replacing him with a doll? It was slightly uncomfortable. Erla had no problem about it though. The moment the Heelshires left, she ditched the doll and did her own thing. You didn’t want to leave the doll though. You couldn’t really do most of what needed to be done, but you could keep it with you. Besides, the little fellow felt cute, despite being made of cold porcelain and being slightly heavy.

Maybe that’s why the man in the walls was attracted to you. You kept the doll with you and tried your best to follow whatever rules you could. Today was the rare occasion you had your hearing aids in. You weren’t listening to the television or listening to music. You wanted to listen to your footsteps, the random creaks from inside the walls, and the distant sounds of Erla talking on the phone with her significant other. You didn’t care who they were, just as long as they made her happy. You are her older brother, and who are you to deny her any happiness? Besides, you can’t be stuck with her forever.

The doll keeps you company as you walk around the mansion. You have no destination in mind as you walk into a room. With how cold the room is, you already know it’s the kitchen. You place the doll down on a chair, gently tucking the chair in. Despite not being able to see, you can still feel, smell, and taste. And that’s all you need when you cook. You start getting your ingredients; you feel and smell every ingredient you grab, making sure it’s the one you want. When you’ve collected all your ingredients, you start to make dinner.

It’s a small dinner with a basic fruit salad and spaghetti with meatballs. You prepare everything with gentle hands, making sure that when you cut the fruit into smaller pieces, you don’t accidentally nick yourself. The salad is the first thing you finish before moving on to the spaghetti. You keep in mind to make enough for three people: you, Erla, and Brahms.

You hear the walls creak again, but you may not mind it. That is until you hear something opening. You don’t look up though and pretend you didn’t hear anything. You can hear quiet footsteps approaching you from behind. Despite how quiet they are, you can tell that the person must be heavy or at least tall; maybe even both. Their breathing seems to be heavy as they approach you.

You keep busy, not leaving the other person know you know about them being there. You freeze up when you feel a Gentle Touch on your hip. You don’t move away though, leading to the person slowly wrapping around your waist. “[Redacted]?” You hear a boy’s voice behind, not matching the large figure that is now pressed against you. “[Redacted]... I finally get to touch you… [Redacted]...” The voice sounds like the one on the phone. Or the one Erla has told you about. You never answer the phone since you never seem to have your hearing aids in when the calls happen. You give him a small hum of acknowledgment, unsure of who he is. Your answer is soon answered by the man.

“Do you like little me? Mommy said he was always so perfect…” You feel a mask(?) told the top of your head. It’s cold and sends a small shiver down your spine. You don’t want to anger him so you simply shake your head. “No..? Does that mean you like me more?” The boy voice being used slightly unsettles you but you’re sure there’s a reason for it; there’s always a reason for everything. You give him a nod as you finish up dinner.

“I knew you were the one… Mommy and Daddy said she was but I hate her. She doesn’t listen to the rules… But you try… You try to,” You hear him take in a deep inhale, his made face still buried in your hair. “You even make me meals, [Redacted]... You’re such a good boy… A nice boy… My beautiful boy…” He sighs out, the child voice still not fitting with his words. His arm around your waist tightens before he seems to force himself to let go. “Be good and don’t tell Erla about this…” You hear a plate and bowl be taken off the counter before his footsteps fade away.

“So! What’s for dinner, [Redacted]? Smells nice!” Erla says suddenly, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, making you flinch.

When you partner is like Rhys~

Rhysand’s Kinks Headcannon

Warnings(s): smut obviously, choking, bondage, squirting, edging, exhibitionism, marking, daddy kink

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

-It was no secret that Rhysand was a sex god.

-He loved nothing more than edging you all night long, his fingers drumming against your clit feverishly, then stopping right when you were close. Right when he felt you clench around his fingers, signaling that you were about to let go. He could literally do this all night, but he’s too kind to ever torture you for that long. Give him your signature puppy eyes and he’ll let you cum.

-Even better than the latter, he loves to make you squirt. It’s physical proof that stays on the sheets all night that he truly pressed all the right buttons inside of you. Squirt in his face too, he’ll say “good girl” and let you choke on his dick.

-Exhibitionism. But, only in other courts. He adores having you sit on top of him, legs spread as he toys with your clit through your panties. (think that one scene in acomaf 👀) the shocked gasps and embarrassed looks from the other fae around fills his ego up even more, if that were even possible.

-Daddy kink. I will not accept anything less. This. Man. Is. Daddy. He’ll refer to himself that way, too. Saying things like “Does someone want daddy’s cock tonight?” “Want daddy to make your pretty pussy cum? Hmmm? Be a good girl.” If you call him that in public, good luck…he will take you in an alleyway pressed up against the brick.

-Bondage. Simple. He enjoys tying you up so that you can’t close your legs when he hits that sensitive part of your g-spot, or when he keeps licking your clit languidly even after you came.

-Choking. Nothing too intense, but he does think his large hand looks rather pretty like a necklace around your sensitive neck. He might just have a thing for necks in general, though. He loves kissing and sucking on your neck just as much as when you do it to him. And fuck…do those growls and moans he makes when you do it encourage you.

-Impact play. Again, nothing too intense. In fact, you’re the one who brought it up. You were being a tease, he called you naughty. You replied with “maybe you should punish me then. spank the brat out of me?” You could of swore you saw the feral horny look in his eyes illuminate. He was still hesitant to lay a hand on you like that, but when you moaned in pleasure and soaked your panties after his first little smack, he knew how much of a pain slut you were. Your safe word is wingspan.

-Marking. You belong to him, and he wants everyone to know that. Expect to have dark purple bruises all over your neck, tits, and in between your thighs. You swore that Rhys could make you cum just from sucking on your jugular…

He's baby

Brahms heelshire x male reader bc i love him

the news caught on the returning of a local modern noble and bombarded the gates and door asking questions about what is the caused of the return, this stresses brahms out by the sudden amount of people in his front door with leads to reader shooing the news folks off then comforting brahms by the sudden change.

Or hcs of how brahms would react to the news folks and if he reacts greatly with being a known noble now since coming out of hiding? How’s he gonna feel about paparazzi‘s when adjusting to society again? /i like to think reader is guilding him slowly into society again like a little trip to the park here and there, etc, so he doesn’t surprise or go to fast for brahms/

Sorry for the time again unu I hopeyou like this

Neither of you noticed the change that had taken place outside the Heelshire mansion, as you were immersed in the book Brahms was reading, in a clear and passionate voice.

The deep timbre of his voice soothed you greatly, to the point where you felt at an intermediate crossroads between the events of the book and the sensations of the real world. Brahms had long since discovered what your favorite book was, and whenever he sought to be even more pampered by you, he would read you your favorite passages in that voice that tickled your heart.

It was Brahms' hand touching your thigh softly that brought you back to the present moment, and you could finally perceive the commotion outside the place.

Brahms stilled suddenly, reacting to it as well, and his hands, now trembling and clumsy, put on the porcelain mask quickly, forbidding your eyes for an indefinite period of time to appreciate your beloved.

You looked at him in consternation, your mind racing to find an explanation for what was happening.

Finally, you decided to go out to investigate what it was all about, making sure that Brahms was well hidden behind the walls.

After hiding a razor in the sleeve of your shirt and kissing your boyfriend's dark curls, assuring him that everything would be all right, you plucked up the courage to go out...

Not expecting to run into a sea of screaming reporters, demanding an answer about Brahms' current condition, taking pictures that dazzled you, and pushing the limits of civilized socializing.

"The man who was in the room earlier, was that Brahms?" your stomach cringed at these words, for it was clear that he had been seen, there was no point in hiding his presence, and lying about his identity could have been worse.

"What happened after all this time? Who are you?" asked a red-haired woman with the widest and greediest eyes you had ever seen.

"Can we talk to him? He's front-page news," a man who was barely trying to look friendly in your eyes with his feet firmly planted in anticipation of getting through.

"The great Heelshire heir on his return from the dead, the question is not if you're going to let us in, but how long" that tall, strong woman looked capable enough to pull you aside to get her scoop. You swallowed hard.

That kaleidoscope of eager and hungry faces was making you nauseous, but you couldn't leave Brahms at the mercy of such predators. You didn't doubt their curiosity, nor that, in fact, your man's story would be fascinating to the local public, but you did doubt how they would treat him, how they would portray him to the world, and, above all, whether Brahms could even bear their overwhelming presence.

"He won't answer anything and I don't know the story, so there's nothing to see here, I'm sorry," you said firmly but without wanting to be aggressive or rude. Still, this did not sit well with the small crowd, as they were only more insistent on wanting to go in and get the answers for themselves.

"Are you his legal guardian? His boyfriend? Are you connected to his parents' disappearance?"

"Are you aware that he could be a murderer?"

"What are you going to do with all that money?"

Those questions, increasingly invasive, felt like hard blows to the peace that had previously reigned in that bubble away from the world, and of course, the malicious nature of them all made you furious.

"This is private property, so if you don't want to be fined or arrested for trespassing, I suggest you go away and leave us alone" you made yourself heard, more threatening than firm this time, but still, those persistent people seemed to have turned a deaf ear.

"Get the fuck out!" you shouted at the top of your lungs, struggling with the door to close it, pushing away hands and feet until you heard the exclamations of astonishment and felt that familiar body heat behind your back.

"Brahms! An interview! Talk to us! Are you going to jail?" and with his body tense in a way you had never seen before, Brahms slammed the door shut, pinching jackets and fingernails that ended the mess.

"Shit," you whispered again, aware of how much the privacy and your boyfriend's well-being were at risk.

With those same trembling hands, Brahms grabbed hold of your arms, collapsing on top of you, trembling between sobs, soaked with fear.

"My love," you whispered, heartbroken at Brahms' vulnerability and fear.

Without letting go of his hand, you insisted on carrying him to the bathroom, where you knew perfectly well that no one would have access. After taking care of Brahms, you would call Malcolm to have security cameras placed on the property, whatever it took to keep out the press and other curious onlookers.

Your priority now was your boyfriend crying on the spotless bathroom floor, terrified of what they might do to him.

With extreme care, you removed his mask, being able to watch those thick tears run down his cheeks.

"They're coming back, for me" and hearing that come from his lips made your world crumble. You couldn't stand to see him like this.

"I won't leave them, and you know it. I'll do whatever I have to do to keep them from seeing you, so they never get to you and know nothing" you promised, holding his face in your hands, looking for those beautiful blue eyes to look at you.

"You are the most important thing to me, Brahms, I will not let anything or anyone hurt you or separate you from my side, do you hear me?"

And the intensity of your words, the conviction with which you uttered each one and that determined and furious look, convinced him instantly. You were his man, so strong and sure, his knight in shining armor.

"Y/N...I love you" and he kissed you, in that awkward, passionate, emotion-filled way so characteristic of him.

Inside, you were terrified, devising a thousand and one plans so that that hidden nest would not remain exposed, but feeling that kiss, that beard against your face, those curls caressing your cheeks, you knew that you would be able to do anything to keep him safe and experience again those sensations, the most pleasurable of your life, until the world would be extinguished.