#theboy

[phantomdreawingpsycho]

Brahms heelshire

( Not mine )

[rabbitsrules]

I don't have a type

I have a problem

With masks, specifically. 💞

[wilt1ng]

Brahms Heelshire One-Shot: PRICE TO PAY

THIS IS NSFW. 18+ ONLY.

Tw: NSFW, Mature Content, and CNC themes/dubcon

Please don't proceed forward if any of those contents make you uncomfortable.

-

The estate was much larger than you had initially anticipated. Getting inside would be all the more fun seeing as how many doors and windows there were. Having only your backpack you unzipped it to reveal a crowbar, your key to financial freedom. Word had spread a rich family had completely abandoned the estate, drawing in curiosities from thieves and criminals similar to yourself. Well, you were no criminal, merely someone desperate for a cash grab.

The front doors popped open after a few minutes of prying the metal bar between them, first try. You couldn't help but exhale with a smile as you stored the crowbar into the bag.

Too easy.

It was much bigger on the inside than what you previously imagined. As you walked inside you couldn't help but note the condition it was in despite the circumstances. Sure there were cobwebs and the air was stuffy, but it was shocking how intact it was otherwise. Countless of valuable artifacts sat untouched on wooden shelves and you were betting the jewelry box was also full of treasures. Without another second to waste you began bagging some small vases and objects which look to have some value. You left plenty of room within the bag to assure there was space for the real goodies, whether it be pearls or diamonds.

After collecting what you needed you began your journey upstairs. A large family portrait caught your eye. A mother and father sat with their young boy, their smiles seeming fabricated. You gaze at the painting, seeing the faces of the people which you were robbing caused some unease, but you pushed on forward. Making it up the stairs you notice a master bedroom with the door already wide open.

You step inside and begin looking with the bag of stolen junk in hand. After some investigating you finally came across what you were truly after. You opened a small box which sat on the nightstand. It was full of beauties like rubies, pearls, and gold.

"Jackpot."

You whispered to yourself. This was all too easy, and you wondered how it was you were the one who got there first, seeing as the area was notorious for break-ins. Without speculating it a second more, you stuffed the beloved prizes in your backpack, deciding to wear the pearls. The ambiance of the home had shifted seemingly after you had robbed the possessions. Whether it was guilt or paranoia, something just didn't feel right. You stupidly ignored the goosebumps that rose on your skin as you proceeded down the stairs. As you walked past the painting, it carried a heavier weight, as if all the faces were staring at you in anger.

You swung the heavy backpack around both shoulders and quickened your pace to the front door. Your imagination grew wild with thoughts of what you'd do with your new found treasure that you hardly noticed the figure standing in front of the entrance.

Until you did.

You immediately stopped in your tracks and gazed at the man before you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You had been caught.

"H-hello?" You spoke. Your tone was surprisingly kind, but nervous as you hadn't expected this at all.

You immediately drop the bag off your shoulders and set it on the floor in front of you carefully, maintaining your eyes on the shadowy figure. Panic was setting in as you knew you were busted.

"I..." You spoke gently, clearly wanting to explain yourself but what exactly would you say?

"I, uh, I didn't realize anyone still came through here..."

At this point you still couldn't make out any details about the man. It was dark and the only thing illuminating him was the moonlight from behind.

"Do you live here?" You finally asked, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he still hadn't said a word.

The figure cocked his head and for a split second you could almost make out his face. There was something uncanny about it that made your skin crawl. He wasn't answering you and you assumed for good reason, he must be pissed off you trespassed on his domain. This wasn't good. Nothing about this situation was.

On a whim you decide to rip open your bag and pull out the crowbar in which you had used to break in. You held it towards him with both hands gripping onto it tightly. He didn't like that.

"Move out of the way." You demanded, looking at the man and then the door behind him.

"I don't care about the bag, just let me leave."

Taking a brave step forward your eyebrows furrowed as you caught a better look. His once white shirt was stained in God knows what and his face was horrifically pale, as if he was wearing a mask. The sight was enough for you to gasp, dropping the crowbar as you jumped back.

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out seemingly to touch you despite the distance you made.

Fuck this.

Without another moment of hesitation you turned on your heels and bolted the opposite way. You could hardly tell if he was following behind as your eardrums were bombarded with the sound of your beating heart.

After making it up the stairs you made the mistake of looking over your shoulder, eyes widening.

The man wasted no time wrapping his hand around your throat and thrashing you towards him, as if you were a ragdoll. You could see his "face" in full if you could even call it that. He was wearing a mask, a porcelain one at that. His deranged eyes bore into your own, and they were so dark it was as if he had black eyes.

You wanted to scream badly. But you couldn't. With being petrified and the pressure around your neck, you couldn't squeak if you wanted to. Your eyes could only plead into his own, wide in terror as to what he'd do to you.

When he had decided to loosen his grip, you noticed his fingers clenching around the pearls you selfishly decided to slip on mid-robbery. Although he was mostly expressionless, you could see the fury in his eyes. The deranged man tore the beads from your neck. You watched as they fell onto the wood floor, the sounds of its impact being the loudest thing in the room.

"Bad." The man uttered softly.

His voice was hoarse, as if it was the first time he had spoken aloud in a while.

Your chest was rising up and down rapidly. It felt as if you were a mere rabbit in the midst of a heart attack. You could do nothing but stand in front of your attacker. Your eyes never left his own. His messy hair hid the whites of his eyes, adding further to your anxiety.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You whispered to him, clenching your eyes shut. You felt as if you couldn't speak any louder.

He ignored you. Instead, he pulled you closer, keeping a solid grasp around your neck.

"You'll pay." He spoke, leaning into your ear.

"-for what you took from me."

You released a panicked breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You felt as if the wind was knocked from your lungs. The sides of your throat tightened from choking back tears, and you couldn't stop yourself from trembling.

"I-I don't have money." You began to cry softly.

"I swear I won't return. Please, I'm begging you."

He sighed, cocking his head to the side as you cried for mercy.

He brought his hand to your cheek, wiping a tear away before fixating on your lips. He swiped his thumb across them, seemingly enjoying the sensation of them.

"Kiss." The man uttered to you, almost gently.

You furrowed your brows, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

He grazed your lips once more before finally staring into your blood-shot eyes.

"A price for your freedom." He answered.

"I-I don't understand." You whimpered, feeling emotionally exerted.

He sighed disappointingly, clearly losing patience with you.

"Kiss me." He spoke again, repeating what you feared he had meant.

"Or..."

He laced his fingers into your hair abruptly, pulling it back as to gain better access into your ear.

"I'll have you."

You shuddered against his lips, which brushed against the side of your face before he returned his darkening gaze onto your own.

"I-" You sputtered, unable to even get out a sentence.

He took your hand in his and walked into the darkened living room. You obliged, following him close out of fear, seeing as you had no other choice. The man stopped in front of a tattered couch and turned to look at you, seemingly waiting for you to make your decision.

You were beyond confused and frustrated but were eventually able to put two and two together. You looked at the vintage styled couch, biting your lip in anticipation before returning your gaze to your captor.

Finally, you sat down.

He stepped to stand in front of you. Your face was mere inches from his torso. You noticed the shirt he wore no longer fit him as it exposed his happy trail and a brutal scar near his abdomen. You tilted your head to look at him. His dominating prescense was enough to strike fear in your heart.

"Kiss." He repeated.

Brahms grabbed your wrist and forced your hand onto his stomach, eventually to the hem of his pants.

You ripped your hand back from him instinctively but instantly regretted it. Brahms took you by the throat and bent down eye level. He took your hand once more and held it to an erection beneath his trousers.

"Kiss... there."

Brahms unbuttoned his trousers while maintaining his domineering stare. You felt stuck in place once again, now understanding the consequences of your actions.

Your heart was merely beating out of your chest as he pulled down his boxers, exposing his cock.

Brahms shuddered at the sight of seeing your face so close to his member. He brought his hand to your face and caressed your cheek, gently, before returning his attention to your lips.

"Kiss."

He took hold of your head and adjusted himself close. You mistakenly gasped, and he took advantage. Brahms forced his tip into your mouth, pushing further as you gagged against the intrusion against your throat.

You tried your best to fight him. You attempted to stand, but he pushed you back onto the couch. He forced you to lay down on your back as he crawled on top, just above your chest. This way, you lay immobile against his efforts. His knees sit on either side of your head as he re-adjusted his cock back into your mouth.

Brahms groaned loudly as he tightened his grasp around your hair. He was slow at first, gliding his twitching member deeper into your throat. But soon, the sensation becomes much too intoxicating, and he can feel himself losing restraint.

He grinded himself into you deeply, not taking any account for whether you could breathe or not. With a tear streaked face, you couldn't stop yourself from slobbering everywhere with the force of his cock stretching your throat.

Each of his thrusts felt suffocating as his size was blocking your airways. He'd use your throat or grab at your hair to force every inch inside. He took no shame in face fucking you into oblivion.

It had felt like hours before Brahms came close to finishing. He roughly held your face to his hips as he bucked violently into you, finally cuming down into your throat and mouth. You gagged and choked as he finally removed himself from your mouth.

He stood as you lay messily on the dampened couch. You hadn't bothered to move nor open your eyes as you desperately heaved, catching your breath.

Brahms watched as you lay there, his cock still seemingly hard.

Once you had somewhat recovered, you glanced up at the man that had violated your mouth. He brought his hand to your face, wiping away the semen from your mouth.

~

Some fucking kiss, huh?

Sorry for cutting it short. This was a mere practice to get back into things. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it. ;)

[doddleasther]

Chibis... /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ 💕

.

[strawberryraccoontails]

plsplspls gimme ur transfem five headcanons 🙏

< trans fem five headcanons >

omg you’ve unlocked the beast frfr

warnings: spoilers for seasons 1-4, she/her pronouns for five, talk of coming out & transiting

she keeps the name five but switches her pronouns to she/her

doesn’t figure it out til season 4 (probably started to really question it in season 3 when viktor came out)

having long hair makes her soooo happy and she gets offended anytime someone says she looked better with it short

only wears light makeup- mascara, eyeliner on her waterline, lip stain/lip gloss, maybe some nude shadows if she’s going out and a lil blush for color

keeps her nails long but natural and doesn’t like acrylics, the most she’ll do is press ons

told lila first & then sparrow ben surprisingly (it was less stressful than telling her siblings)

her & sparrow ben grow closer during the time that he knows but nobody else really does - and they stay close! five & sparrow ben is so important to me okay

she keeps her wardrobe pretty similar to before her transitions but she does invest in some feminine sweaters, cardigans & skirts

she only wears a skirt if she’s feeling particularly dysphoric and wants to look outwardly feminine Or if klaus & claire convince her to wear one with them

she lets allison & claire do her makeup/hair

her, claire & allison started having “girls nights” that Klaus said he had to be included in

luther does end up throwing a coming out party for five but she makes sure it’s split between her & viktor because she doesn’t want all that attention on her

lila gives her old boots & tops that she doesn’t use

allison also gives five some old clothes but it’s mostly nicer things so she only wears them on special occasions

she youtubes hair tutorials once she figures out how her phone works when they get back to 2019

she already knew how to sew but she starts making her own clothes & altering things to fit better (she may have started this just to avoid going to a tailor for her suits but she actually quite enjoys it)

indulges herself in girly music with luther’s encouragement (she likes raye a lot)

owns two pairs of heels - one black & one red, she finds excuses to wear them but would never admit it

eventually starts estrogen and is astounded by how smooth/soft her skin becomes

starts working out with diego to look a little more feminine

[marrziy]

Brahms Heelshire x Male Reader

"Os bonequinhos de Brahms"

• Filme: Boneco do Mal (2016)

• Gêneros: terror/dark

• Sinopse: finalmente, você descobre onde sua irmã está enfurnada depois de sumir e não dizer para onde foi. Sem ter noção do que lhe aguarda, ao pisar naquele chão profano, você assina um contrato inquebrável com o destino, ignorando as letras miúdas que detalham com exatidão as horas, dias e semanas infernais que vêm junto da estadia.

• Avisos: descrição de violência, sequestro e toque indesejado.

• Palavras: 1.6k

3° pessoa - presente/passado

De longe, era possível avistar a fumaça saindo de uma das várias chaminés no telhado vermelho, quase invisível no céu cinzento e de percepção nula quando diluída entre os pinheiros altos. O vislumbre da grande residência, mesmo que limitado, convidava a dar meia volta. Se não fosse a preocupação que guiava seus passos no pedregulho, você já teria redirecionado os calcanhares.

Você parou diante da arquitetura antiga. Seu tênis esmagava a grama verde e a presença arrepiante da mansão fazia o mesmo com você, tornando-o pequeno naquele cenário, onde você não passava de uma vítima da magnitude.

Seu corpo estava agasalhado, imune ao frio, diferente do seu rosto, nu e vulnerável, presa do vento fantasmagórico, que sem razão lógica, era mais cruel naquela região estranha.

Com o passar dos segundos reflexivos, você caminhou lentamente em direção à entrada, e conforme se aproximava da madeira cinzenta, ouvia a algazarra que se estendia de dentro para fora, ecoando da mansão.

A gritaria aumentava à medida que seu andar se transformava em correria.

Chamando por Greta, você atravessou a varanda. Mesmo com a perna tremendo, desesperado para fugir daquela redoma anormal, você pisou na madeira interna, atravessando a porta com o direito antes do esquerdo.

Tremendo como nunca antes, você acompanhou o barulho, arrastando os pés no corredor mal iluminado, chamando pela irmã com a voz morta.

Um bolo inchava na garganta e a confusão mental por não saber onde estava e não ter noção do que ocorria no desconhecido, te tirava o ar.

Lhe restou ofegar.

Não tinha porta no cômodo, não houve uma pausa antes da imagem envenenar seus sentidos.

Era uma sala de jantar. Um buraco enorme na parede destruía a boa organização ao redor, cacos de vidro bagunçavam o chão e no centro, um crime sujava o carpete.

Um homem engasgava com o próprio sangue enquanto outro, de face mascarada, afundava o que restou da face de um boneco na carne vulnerável. A cerâmica rasgava o pescoço da vítima, desunindo a pele e as veias. O sangue esguichava do corpo morto, que você reconheceu ser de Cole, ex da sua irmã.

E lá estava ela, no canto da sala. Ambos compartilham do mesmo pavor, aquele que gela a espinha e mareja os olhos. — Corra! — gritou Greta no instante em que suas pupilas se cruzaram.

Essa foi a última coisa que você ouviu antes de despertar.

Saber que são lembranças, e não um pesadelo qualquer, lhe gera um misto de repulsa, lástima e pânico, que se propaga do cérebro medroso para o coração ansioso e termina na pele trêmula.

Uma terrível dor de cabeça assola seus nervos, mas isso, nem seu corpo dormente, te impede de agir. Você tem os últimos acontecimentos reprisados e seu instinto clama por fuga.

Não há tempo a perder...

Entretanto, seu destino já foi selado, reescrevê-lo requer mais do que vontade.

Ao tentar dar o primeiro passo, que seria levantar daquela cama, uma pressão nos pulsos informa que seu limite de liberdade é a borda do colchão gasto.

Uma corda de fiapos rebeldes te une à cabeceira, tão apertada que a pele ao redor está vermelha. Os fios são muito finos e incomodam quando você se movimenta. Ela é curta e não te possibilita ficar de pé.

— Merda! — o resmungo vem junto da dor. Seu pulso arde após uma tentativa idiota de usar a força bruta como última alternativa.

Estar cativo permite que você observe e sinta os arredores e a si mesmo.

Algo úmido escorre da sua testa. Você leva o dedo e ele volta vermelho. A dor de cabeça está explicada...

Você lembra que acertou o cara da máscara com o atiçador da lareira. A ponta do ferro perfurou as costas dele, mas ao cair, ele agarrou o seu tornozelo e puxou. A sua cabeça colidiu com algum móvel, você apagou e acordou aqui.

O lugar parece uma zona bombardeada, mas é um quartinho. O cheiro de mofo irrita o nariz. Uma lâmpada ligada no teto baixo, quase inútil de tão fraca, ilumina parte daquele ambiente asqueroso. Seu olhar vagueia de um canto ao outro, captando paredes frágeis, móveis em estado crítico e uma bagunça que mataria qualquer perfeccionista. O outro lado do quarto permanece uma incógnita, já que você não completa o giro. Seu pescoço trava no meio do caminho quando uma presença é sentida.

Está no canto da parede, coberta pelo breu da extremidade...

A sua visão periférica embaça o corpo que te encara. Tudo nele está escondido na escuridão, exceto a máscara, que rebate a luz da lâmpada e cintila todo o horror moldado na face de cerâmica.

A quietude é cruel e parece durar uma eternidade.

Suor frio escorre da sua testa. Os músculos estão tensos, os punhos cerrados e as unhas machucam as palmas das mãos. Os olhos acumulam lágrimas, sem piscar por longos segundos, focados em um ponto qualquer na parede, paralisados diante da última imagem vista antes do chão desabar.

Você deseja perder a visão do olho direito, apenas para não ter aquele rosto pálido te assombrando.

Em pouco tempo, o barulho da sua respiração é o único som dentro das paredes. O ar que enche os pulmões parece insuficiente e a saliva atola na garganta.

Você queria que fosse um fantasma, mas é pior.

A presença é viva, é gente e não é boa.

O homem se aproxima da cama, e o único passo que ele dá faz você pular o mais distante possível. — Para! Fica longe! — você grita com a voz falha. A cama range devido aos seus movimentos, e você acaba com as costas apoiadas na cabeceira. Suas pernas estão unidas à frente do corpo, e você abraça os joelhos, desejando sumir conforme se encolhe.

Seu grito o assusta, e por três ou quatro segundos, ele obedece, permanecendo imóvel antes de voltar a andar em sua direção.

Você aperta as pálpebras no instante em que a aparência intimidadora do estranho fica nítida e quase grita quando sente movimentos no colchão.

Ele está tão perto...

Você o viu transformar o pescoço de um cara em patê, sem contar a máscara bizarra e o físico intimidador. Toda a razão está ao seu lado quando você leva as mãos para frente do rosto, se protegendo de algo que não vem.

A voz infantil soa e te conduz a espiar — Você tá machucado... deixa Brahms te ajudar! — a voz dele é mansa, mas não acalma, só adiciona mais à lista de esquisitices do dia.

Você até olha para os lados, procurando por uma criança antes de ter certeza que a voz vem do corpulento sentado na beira do colchão.

— Cadê a minha irmã? Cadê a Greta? — o medo de perder quem você veio buscar transforma seu coração em uma uva, passível de ser esmagado em questão de segundos por uma frase.

— Minha Greta tá dormindo em outro quarto. — Brahms umedece um tecido e prepara uma gaze.

Mesmo torcendo o nariz com a forma que a frase veio, saber que sua irmã está bem te alivia. — Quem é você? Por que tá fazendo isso?

Brahms não responde. Ele se curva em sua direção com o pano molhado em mãos. Sentindo-se acuado e propenso a rejeitar tudo o que vem dele, você afasta a mão de Brahms com um tapa. Seus movimentos estão limitados, o contato é mínimo, mas o mascarado estremece com o toque, denunciando seu repúdio à imprevisibilidade.

Ele não aceita negação e insiste, investindo novamente na aproximação. Dessa vez, você reage com um chute, atingindo o peitoral duro do homem maior. — Quem é você? Que lugar é esse? O que você quer? — não saber de nada é sufocante. Sua cabeça já não dói devido ao corte, mas sim por estar vazia de substância e cheia de suposições. — Me responde, caralho!

O medo aos poucos se torna coadjuvante da angústia, mas antes de se concretizar, você sente um último calafrio com os olhos do diabo te fitando através dos buracos na cerâmica.

— Eu falei pra me deixar te ajudar! — o tom é outro, já não se ouve mais os resquícios doces na voz de Brahms.

Quando ele rasteja até você, sua primeira reação é se encolher, mas no momento em que ele agarra o seu tornozelo, sirenes ecoam em seu interior. — Me solta! Não toca em mim! — você se debate no colchão, principalmente usando as pernas como mecanismo de defesa, mas aos poucos você se vê mais e mais rendido.

Brahms se enfia entre as suas pernas, afastando-as para os lados. Ele pressiona o corpo contra o seu, obrigando-o a ficar quieto. Você até tenta desviar a cabeça, mas a mão pesada de Brahms rodeia o seu pescoço, mantendo seu rosto imóvel enquanto ele limpa o sangue da sua testa. O pano está meio seco, então o Heelshire umedece o tecido com as lágrimas que vazam dos seus olhos.

O toque no seu ferimento é suave, ao contrário do aperto forte no seu pescoço e da pressão intensa do corpo grande de Brahms sobre o seu.

— Greta é a namorada de Brahms, mas Brahms também quer um namorado... por isso você tá aqui. Essa é a sua casa agora.

[contr8]

i’m lookin in a respectful manner 👁👁

[fujin-san]

[breaksusie]

[doyou000me]

I strive to one day be able to create a character with as much chaos energy as The Boy.

Until that day comes, I'll continue to enjoy Z-Pico's The Boy and The Wolf (https://tapas.io/series/The-Boy-and-the-Wolf/info)

[goatchilde]

THE BOY IS HOME

He’s near a plane bc he just flew in (Im so creative)

[lauupf]

Brahms Heelshire boyfriend material🖤

I love this man!💌

[phantomdreawingpsycho]

[soukokumychildren]

To celebrate me finally getting Clip Studio, I drew Atsushi! :D

[strawberryraccoontails]

guys do you think other fives in other universes have their own version of lila and/or stuck in the subway realm

like in one timeline it’s five & patch stuck or five & ray

[freshthoughts2020]