Hey ! i absolutely love your writing, your amazing!! I was wondering if you were doing anything for Brahms at all ? fluff or nsfw its up to you i don't mind, the boy needs some love (if not, ignore this, its cool ) hope you have a lovely day !
I’ve been waiting for someone to ask about him
-In the beginning of your relationship with Brahms, the whole “mother/son” dynamic won’t be totally gone. He’s been living vicariously through a little doll for most of his life, and such habits are hard to break. Expect him to follow you all around the mansion much like a small child would. Now that you know who exactly he is, he never wants to be apart for even a second. The walls that have separated the both of you are no longer, and Brahms is going to take full advantage of this. He’ll want to eat with you, listen to music with you, and even have you put him to bed with the obligatory good night kiss just like before. But, strangely enough, he won’t touch you except to grab onto your shirt to get your attention. And since he refrains from speaking very often, except when to vocalize something he wants you to do with him, this can all be a bit disconcerting after the initial endearment of his actions have worn off. It’s advised you play along until you can find a suitable way to teach him to act his age. Although there is a small part of you that, in a twisted way, still enjoys the illusion of control over this man who can easily overtake you and anyone else who dare try and ruin his routines. Not that he’d ever truly harm you of course. He loves you too much for that.
-It’s to be expected that from living within the mansion’s walls for years, one’s hygienic habits would leave much to be desired. Such was the case with Brahms. Like a petulant child he was highly adverse to getting into the bath or even taking a shower, stubbornly standing right outside the bathroom and shaking his head slightly, his matted curls bouncing with the motion. Not even your stern tone is enough to convince Brahms to follow your request, despite your insistence that no, Brahms, you can’t skip baths five days in a row, you need to wash yourself. No, I will not do it for you either, you’re a big boy now. And no, I won’t get in with you, stop looking liked a kicked puppy. In order to get him to behave, you’ll have to bribe him a bit. The promise of new books is usually enough to get him in. But sometimes, he gets greedy. Brahms sometimes demands, with a hoarse, low murmur, that he get extra kisses for this harrowing deed. You always declare that there is no way you’re kissing his filthy self, and that if he didn’t get in the tub pronto there wouldn’t be any kisses at all. Once he’s finally clean, that’s when you give him his reward by placing a single kiss upon his masked cheek. When he gestures to the spot where his lips would be with a quiet groan, you only smirk and reply, “You should have gotten in with no complaint. Maybe next time if you behave.” Behind his porcelain mask, you could sense he was pouting.
-Over time, you slowly begin to realize that something is definitely….amiss. Brahms’ behavior began to slowly evolve from that of a shy and timid boy who followed you everywhere like a duckling to something more….primal. It was as though a switch had finally been flipped. While Brahms still maintained his quiet demeanor, he now seemed to be restraining himself whenever he was in your presence. Just the air surrounding him seemed more charged, even sensual, a fact you couldn’t help but notice each time you were in the same room as him, which became few and far between. To your innocent eyes, it seemed as though Brahms was retreating back into solitude, even after all of your efforts to appease him with your strict diligence of his routines. It was heartbreaking. The times he was actually in the same vicinity (because who was he kidding, he could never stay away from you for long), you started to become acutely aware of his too keen eyes watching over your form, intense with want. With hunger. His tall, lanky form always so close to yours, his eyes always obseeving, no, raking over your own body whenever you weren’t looking or paying attention. If he wasn’t with you, you could feel his eyes within the walls burning into your body. It was especially prevalent whenever you were undressing in your room, a sensation that someone was carefully observing every dip and curve of your body in a most lecherous manner to be silently stored away in their deepest fantasy. Weeks of a building tension left you needy, your imagination wandering off into dangerous territory. Would Brahms be gentle and shy once push came to shove, letting the boy dictate his desires? Or would he let the man take over, and give way to an animalistic frenzy of pent up lust, fully intent on taking what should have been his from the start? Both possibilities had their perks.
-To enact your own kind of revenge, you would often cater to Brahms’ voyeurism and put on a show for your “secret” admirer while preparing for bed. Letting out soft gasps as you cupped your own breast through your bra, slowly teasing your panties down your tantalizing hips, biting your plump lower lip, letting him know exactly what he was missing out the more he refused to give into temptation. The next day was always the best when you witnessed the fruits of your labor, with Brahms essentially eye-fucking your form, his usually silent breaths more heady and labored. Whether his eyes held a plea for mercy or a desire to punish, you couldn’t tell. Either way, you were in a perpetual state of agonized torture. But oh, it was the best kind. Years of observing unknowing victims was now treading into a voyeuristic quality for Brahms, something you never knew you would be into. Very into. All of this has left him immensely pent up but with no proper way of communicating his desires to you. The heady sensation whenever you were with Brahms soon rose to a crescendo, the spikes of want reaching incredible heights. It finally culminates with Brahms unable to be content just watching you sleep through a special hiding spot with a perfect view of the bed. How could he, when your covers have all but slipped onto the floor and exposing the way your night dress has rode up to reveal your plush thighs. He wonders what it would be like to caress those thighs, to slowly hitch your night dress higher out of perverse curiosity and graze his fingers across your soft flesh. Would your lips be just as soft too? Most of all, he wishes to straddle those thighs and take you while you sleep, slowly at first just to elicit your beautiful moans, then rougher, rougher, until he took his revenge for every single time you had teased him so cruelly. Then once you were fully awake and writhing underneath him, fully expecting to find sweet release, he would deny you with a twisted smirk behind his mask. Your cute whines of please, please, let me finish, I need it, I need this, I’ll be good would only serve to fuel his sadistic glee. He almost gives in to your needy tone, luscious lips parted in a breathy plea, so ready to give in just for a taste of something long yearned for. Another time he would let you have your way. But tonight? Brahms would gladly teach you a lesson not to be forgotten.
