“Baby Duck Reunited With Siblings”

Can you do yandere triplets x reader?

Yandere Huey, Dewey, & Louie Duck (Team-Up, Romantic Scenario - "Crunch Time")

TW: Implied Kidnapping, Delusional Mindsets.

A.N. - I feel like having all three of these boys obsessed with you would just be utter chaos. All the time.

Hearing someone clear their throat, you hesitantly turned your head to see a vexed Huey standing at the end of the sofa closest to the entrance. The neurotic duckling was tapping his foot on the floor impatiently and looking back and forth between Louie and you, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed. Upon noticing the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook clutched to his chest, you immediately understood the motive for his unhappiness. 

A deep frown settled on Huey's face as he blinked and angled his head upwards slightly, glare halting on his youngest brother. "Why is the TV still on?" 

Louie merely shrugged and removed a hand from his pocket to place an arm around your shoulder, gaze never leaving the television. "Mmm, 'cause I still got five minutes?"

The older triplet's eye twitched as he tilted his head and leaned forward, a strained smile beginning to stretch from ear to ear. You looked down at Louie's hand as he grabbed a fistful of your shirt, his grip tightening.

"Actually, your session ended five minutes ago. Five minutes and twenty-three and a half seconds ago to be exact."

The lackadaisical duckling abruptly tugged you closer to him and rested his head on yours, smiling smugly. "Huh, guess my watch is a little slow." It was a warning for Huey to get off his case, but the neurotic duckling was nothing if not persistent. 

He raised his beloved guidebook to his mouth and sunk his teeth into its spine, pulling both sides of the book in opposite directions before lowering it and shouting, "You don't have a watch!"

His hands were trembling, and his gaze shifted to you, silently demanding that you take his side. Louie had long since made it a habit to dance around the truth and purposefully elicit this type of reaction from his eldest brother, but you knew better than to play favourites. The last time you attempted to manipulate your way to freedom Louie had sniffed out your scheme instantly and sparked a nasty confrontation. 

Pursuing your new strategy of flying under the radar, you kept your mouth shut and returned your focus to the television. Huey, infuriated by your rejection, marched in front of the two of you and obstructed your view. "It's my turn now, Louie. You got the exact amount of time we agreed to, plus an extra five minutes and twenty-three and a half seconds."

 Louie finally met his brother's gaze and simply offered a lazy smile. "Yeah, but," he countered, kicking his feet up and sinking further into the sofa, "I had to listen to Scrooge eat breakfast for most of it, so that earns me another half-hour at least."

Huey bit into his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook again, breathing quickening as his face began to turn a bright, cherry red. "That's not how math works," he screamed before raising a hand and pointing the tips of his fingers in the direction of the dining room, a hint of confusion entering his wrathful visage. "Also, that doesn't even make sense. Scrooge ate lunch, like, an hour ago." 

Louie's face crumpled in disgust as if he had been scarred for life. "He came back for seconds." 

You wriggled your shoulder and realized how limp the lackadaisical triplet's grip had become. Your prolonged inaction must have been paying off. 

Huey shot his younger brother a flabbergasted look, momentarily forgetting his anger, before sighing and glowering at him. "I don't have time for this."

With the speed of a snail, you began to lean away and scoot in the opposite direction. 

The youngest triplet stared up at his eldest brother with half-lidded eyes and asked in a mocking tone, "Whatever do you mean, Hue?" His jeering smile reignited the neurotic triplet's fury, and Huey reared his head back, rapidly flapping his hands. Louie's fingers were gradually slipping from your shoulder one digit at a time and the autonomy you had been stripped of was in sight. 

You started to rise from the cushion. 

"That's it!"

All at once, you were yanked to your feet and the lackadaisical triplet raked his fingers down your other arm in a frantic attempt to secure a hold on you. 

As searing pain shot up your limb like a bullet, Louie managed to snatch your hand, but Huey promptly grabbed it and jerked the two of you apart. "We're going up to our bedroom, and I'm locking the door!" 

The eldest triplet stormed around the sofa and headed for the entrance, pulling you along behind him. His younger brother gawked at the proclamation, a glint of desperation permeating his eyes.

Louie scrambled to his feet and seized your hand once again, tugging you backwards and digging his heels into the rug. "Wait," he begged, wincing at the seething glare his older brother shot him from over his shoulder, "you promised we could at least be in the same room together!" 

Huey came to a halt and whirled around to face him, bellowing out a deranged laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry. Rule breakers don't get benefits." Eyes widening and pupils shrinking to uneven sizes, he stomped towards his lackadaisical sibling. "They get penalties." 

Louie gulped and quivered but stood his ground as Huey smiled triumphantly. "Enjoy one week of withdrawal!" 

The youngest triplet's face twisted in horror, and he lunged forward to hug your arm, falling to his knees and dragging his feet behind him. "No! You can't do that! That's not fair!" 

The neurotic duckling scowled at his actions and released you, marching past to work on prying his brother off. "Oh, so now you suddenly care about the rules?"

A life spent cutting corners and taking the easy way out had left Louie with minimal stamina and endurance, and Huey was gradually overpowering him.

 "I'm sorry, okay? I won't keep them overtime anymore, I swear! Just take back the withdrawal!" 

Feeling the lackadaisical triplet's grip slipping, you began to creep towards the entrance. 

"Are you sorry for the five minutes and twenty-three and a half seconds of 'Huey Junior Woodchuck Guidebook' time you stole from me?" 

Louie's hand was sliding down your arm as you continued to slink further away, while the eldest triplet was pulling him in the opposite direction. His hold on you was almost completely gone, only a few stubborn fingers remaining intertwined with yours. 

"Would you let that go already? I said I was sorry!"

It took a final tug on your part, but you managed to free yourself and discreetly take a step back, allowing the two to zero in on each other.

Huey stood over Louie, who was crouching awkwardly on the floor. The eldest triplet narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, grinding his teeth and growling lowly. The lackadaisical duckling raised his hands in front of his face and peeked at his older brother through them with apprehension. 

"Do you want me to go get the sibling calendar and show you exactly when your time ended," quizzed Huey before adding in a much louder, angrier tone, "because I will!" 

Deciding this was your prime opportunity, you turned and crept into the hallway with all the decorum of a field mouse. Hearing the two began to roughhouse, you entitled yourself to a bit of slack and hastened your pace through the corridor. All was going well until two figures rounded the corner at the end of the hall, and you immediately recognized them as Dewey and Webby. 

They were chatting excitedly about their most recent adventure but fell deathly silent at the sight of you.

While Webby stared at you in horror as if you were ruining a plan that the two of you had devised together, Dewey nearly combusted on the spot. He gasped audibly and pressed his hands against his cheeks, pupils dilating exponentially. Before you had time to so much as blink, he was sprinting down the corridor with open arms and tackled you to the floor in a full-body hug. 

"You were looking for me, weren't you? I was looking for you too!" The spirited duckling spoke with a voice as light as a feather, letting out an airy giggle as he pressed his face against the crook of your neck. Dewey had always been the more innocent of the triplets, viewing your time at McDuck Manor as little more than one big, never-ending playdate. 

Despite his brothers' oppressive behaviour and even your insistence at times, he failed to grasp the notion that you were more akin to a prisoner than a playmate and used to have a life outside of them and the mansion. His apparent naivety made him the easiest to manipulate, but exploiting that was like taking a stroll through a minefield when the other triplets were nearby.

"Guess what I did today! Ah, nevermind, I can't wait! Webby and I went on an adventure with Uncle Scrooge, and we-" The spirited duckling raved about his latest journey incessantly, placing his hands on either side of your head to prop himself up. He was positively brimming with vitality as he sat back, positioning himself in your lap and waving his arms around in various gestures like a child bragging to their parent about what they did at school that day. 

Webby hastily approached from behind and paused next to Dewey, glancing back and forth between him and you with worry and wondering whether to intervene or not. The rambunctious duckling had recognized the triplets' collective obsession before even you did, but with the brothers constantly assuring her that nothing questionable was transpiring and no one else in the household batting an eye at the rather peculiar dynamic, she had become hesitant to assist you in any way.

Huey and Louie tumbled through the entrance to the living room and into the corridor, landing in a pile on the floor. The youngest triplet's face was almost completely obstructed by his hood, while the eldest triplet's hat was on the verge of falling off. Louie had ahold of his brother's leg, who was clasping the back of his hoodie and frantically yanking him in all directions. 

The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook was clutched in Huey's mouth, leaving the neurotic duckling to mutter muffled grievances as his lackadaisical sibling pleaded with him to rescind his previous punishment. 

Dewey looked up at them and fell silent, his euphoria rapidly fading and being replaced with concern and confusion. 

You met Webby's gaze, and she stared at you uncertainly before her eyes widened. She gasped quietly and stepped closer to Dewey, whispering something about Huey's sibling calendar. The spirited duckling's happiness returned in an instant. "Huey, you didn't tell me today was a freebie!"

The neurotic triplet finally detached his lackadaisical sibling from his leg and slowly stood up with his guidebook in hand, eyeing his younger brother with a mixture of frustration and perplexity. "That's because it isn't." 

Louie was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling with a look of begrudgingly admitted defeat, but he turned his head to glower at the sight of his older brother effectively cuddling you. "I don't recall inviting you to 'Louie TV' time, Dewford." 

Dewey was taken aback by his hostility, and Huey immediately turned to glare down at him with clenched fists. "Have you listened to a word I've said," the eldest triplet cried out, flapping his arms, "'Louie TV' time is over! It's been over for several minutes! Besides, we're not even in the living room anymore!" 

Louie grumbled and rolled his eyes, looking off to the side dismissively. 

The spirited triplet leaned back, gaze shifting from one brother to another. "Did I miss something?"

You tilted and lifted your head slightly to peek past Dewey, glancing up at the duckling to ensure that he was still distracted by his siblings' squabble, and plotted how far the front door was from your current position. It was only a couple of hallways straight ahead before you would spill into the foyer, the extravagant door could simply be pushed open, and no one in the mansion except for those who surrounded you would present an obstacle. 

Louie was not a threat as long as you kept him at a distance, and his poor fitness would take care of that for you. 

Huey's rage provided him with a surplus of energy but getting an ample headstart would most likely put him out of the equation. 

Dewey was easily the most athletic and agile of the triplets and needed to be impeded somehow, which spurred you to look at Webby. 

The rambunctious duckling was already staring at you with a conflicted visage, having caught on to your line of thinking. 

You doubted that she would go so far as to tackle and restrain Dewey, but you trusted her to not rat you out either.

As the two of you looked into each other's eyes, you recalled a certain move you had witnessed Webby use on the spirited triplet many times during survival or fighting games. Every so slowly, you returned your attention to Dewey and began to tuck in your legs. 

Huey crossed his arms and stared down at Louie in disapproval, shaking his head. "Don't worry about Louie, Dewey. He's just mad because he's actually having to face the consequences of his actions for once." 

The lackadaisical triplet yanked the strings of his hoodie in opposite directions, leaving only his beak visible, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning away. 

Dewey furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth slightly, flashing you a brief smile when he felt you grip his wrists. "What hap-"

You suddenly slammed your foot against his stomach and flipped him over your head, sending him roughly crashing onto the floor behind you. 

Louie immediately peeked over his shoulder before scrambling to his feet with a gobsmacked expression, while Huey gawked at the sight. 

Webby scurried out of the way as you hastily jumped up and began sprinting down the corridor, watching you with a mixture of sorrow and hope.

Heart pounding and legs quaking, you rounded the first corner. All sorts of elegant paintings and sculptures lined the walls, but your eyes never left the end of the hallway. Every tandem of focus was wholly devoted to your next step, but as the frantic and enraged cries of the triplets roared from behind like a tidal wave, a sprinkle of self-doubt and terror began to infect your mind. 

Your speed was coming into question and the hallways only seemed to grow longer with each breath while the debilitating parasite of diffidence dug deeper into your psyche. As you swore you felt a hand graze the back of your shirt, the image of the front door came into view and with it, a renewed sense of determination. Pumping every bit of strength left into your legs, you raised your hands and pointed your palms at the entrance. 

Angling your body forward, you careened into the front door like a wrecking ball, bursting it open and landing on the porch. The concrete slapped your stomach harshly, and your elbows roughly skidded across it, but you used your arms to break your fall and protect your head.

"Curse me kilts!" 

The moment the Scottish accent registered in your disoriented mind, a wide smile appeared on your face before being replaced with a look of exhaustion. You lifted your head to see Scrooge McDuck staring at you with a box of treasure in his hands, eyes wide. He was your new trump card. 

The wealthy duck noticed your skinned elbows and weary visage and quickly set the box on the ground, concern entering his gaze. "That was quite a nasty fall there. What's your hurry," he asked, offering a kind smile as he extended a hand to you. 

You reached out to take it and opened your mouth to ask for salvation when someone suddenly tripped over your legs and collapsed on top of you. Letting out a grunt, you peered over your shoulder and saw a frantic and confused Dewey. 

Huey and Louie emerged soon after, the former only a hair's breadth away from a nervous breakdown, while the latter was panting and seething. 

Your face twisted in desperation, and you turned to beg Scrooge to pull you to your feet. To your horror, he was retracting his hand and reaching for the box of spoils from his latest adventure.

"Ah, it's one of you kids' 'games'. Sorry to interrupt." The old duck tipped his hat at the four of you and lifted the loot into his arms. 

When he began to step around you, a spark of adrenaline surged through your veins and prompted you to grab a fistful of his red coat. "Mr. McDuck, I've been here for almost a week. My parents are worried sick, and I need to go home now." 

Scrooge stared at you as if you had slapped him before an uneasy smile gradually expanded on his weathered face. He started to agree, but Louie interrupted him. 

"Ignore that, Uncle Scrooge. They're just being dramatic because they lost the game." The lackadaisical triplet dismissed your pleading with a chuckle and a wave of his hand while Huey and Dewey brought you to your feet and kept a firm grasp on your arms. 

Knowing your chance was slipping through your fingers, you looked Scrooge in the eyes and said, "My parents called me earlier and told me to come home." The triplets had confiscated your phone days ago, but they were not about to admit that to their uncle.

It was the perfect trap, and Louie's silver tongue was unable to counter in time.

The wealthy waterfowl nodded in understanding and entered his mansion, balancing the box in one hand and holding the front door open with the other. He looked back at the four of you expectantly, and the triplets reluctantly released you and stepped aside. They stayed on your heels once inside, and when Dewey tried to hold your hand, you scurried closer to Scrooge. 

The old duck shot you a small smile, although it felt a bit strained, and the faraway look in his eyes suggested that he was contemplating something significant. Scrooge paused at the beginning of the stairs and looked at you with an odd glint in his eye. "I'm just going to hand this off to Beakley. Then I'll give Launchpad a quick call. You kids can wait here." 

His expression and tone betrayed nothing, but you could not shake the feeling that he was subtly asking if you approved of his plan. 

Every moment spent alone with the triplets was a gamble you did not want to take, but before you were able to voice your objections, arms wrapped around you from behind and pulled you into an unwanted embrace.

Dewey's cries echoed in the foyer as he clung to you, tears brimming in his wild, wide eyes and cascading down his cheeks like his own personal waterfall. He was beseeching you to stay, but your resolve never crumbled for even a moment. 

As Huey staggered to your side, gnawing on the spine of his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook like it was his favourite delicacy, Scrooge squinted warily and hastily ascended the stairs. 

Louie was the last to approach you, his expression one of frustration and fear. He dug his hands into his pockets and scowled at the floor, breathing frantically. "You're coming back, right?" 

Huey, twitching and fidgeting, lowered the book and shot his youngest brother an incredulous look before blurting out, "Of course they are! They need us!" The neurotic triplet tilted his head and laughed hysterically, a deranged smile stretching from ear to ear. "We take better care of them than anyone else could ever dream of!" He began to recite rules from the guidebook and mutter gibberish, rocking back and forth on his heels.

As you impatiently awaited Scrooge's return, the triplets encircled you and implored you to reconsider in various forms. Dewey's pleading was nearly incomprehensible due to his sobbing, Louie attempted to bribe you with everything he could think of, and Huey ranted about how no one in the outside world was capable of protecting you as well as he could. 

You did your best to ignore them.

When Scrooge finally emerged from the top of the stairs, you were on the cusp of racing forward and hugging him, for two of the triplets immediately fell silent and backed away at his presence. 

Dewey continued to weep, and his grip did not slacken in the slightest. 

The wealthy waterfowl descended from the elegant steps and began to guide you to the front door, sporting a deadly serious expression. He gently removed his great-nephew before stepping outside with you and shutting the door, ensuring that his next words would be private. 

"Beakley told me everything." His voice was low, and his gaze settled on the horizon. "Webbigail informed her of my great-nephews'-" he paused, struggling to find the right phrase, "-abnormal admiration for you."

The old duck observed Duckburg in silence for a while before sighing and turning to face you. "I can't guarantee that this'll be the end of it. If those three inherited anything from their mother, it was her stubbornness." Scrooge glanced at the door with narrowed eyes, knowing that the triplets were most likely pressed against it and trying to hear as much of the conversation as possible.

"Still, I'll do my best to keep a rein on them." He peered towards the gates of his property, spotting Launchpad's limousine cruising up the driveway and steadily nearing the mansion. 

You watched the approaching vehicle in silence, only desiring home. 

Scrooge leaned against his cane and turned his head to smile weakly at you, having too much on his mind to offer anything more. "If you'd like a wee vacation from Clan McDuck, I'd understand." You merely nodded, whether in appreciation or simple acknowledgement, Scrooge was not certain. He decided to stop talking regardless. 

As Launchpad pulled up and got out to hold the door open for you, the wealthy duck quietly bid you goodbye.

His troubled gaze followed the limousine until it reached the gates and disappeared behind the wall. Then, his countenance collapsed into a foul scowl, and he spun around, throwing the front door open. As the old duck expected, the triplets fell onto the porch in a pile, gasping and grunting in surprise. 

Huey recovered first and looked up only to come face to face with his great-uncle's seething visage. "Kids. In my office. Now."

yandere-toons, all rights reserved.

Puppy thinks he’s a bunny

I felt that

Brahms Heelshire

AN: Brahms is here!!

Warnings: major character death, violence, Brahms being insane and his usual toxic self, swearing

"What do you think you're doing?"

His voice was alarmed, panicked, as if he saw you holding a knife instead of a pair of pants. Brahms had that kind of thing where he'd worry about the tiniest things. A word that wasn't pronounced like he was used to, food that didn't taste like usual, mistakes that broke the routine. It made him uneasy, and scared.

You were standing in front of the bed, trying to decide what clothes to wear. The satin sheets were littered with varying clothing articles arranged close to each other to determine which colors matched.

"The new girl who brings the groceries invited me into town to show me around in case she can't go shopping for us. I thought I'd go, you know-", you gestured towards him, "in case there's an emergency."

Brahms was quiet for a few seconds, still observing you while nervously grasping the edge of the door.

He didn't want you to go. Not at all. You wouldn't come back if he let you go.

"I don't want you to go.", he mentioned his worries quietly, voice dropping deeper, now that he knew he had to stop you. It sent shivers down your body, the way his childish voice faded. As if a switch inside him just clicked.

"I know, Brahms, but I think it's for the best.", you smiled at him sweetly, finally deciding what clothes to wear, "And it'll be just for one evening."

Brahms felt anxiety rise in the pit of his stomach like bile. No. You couldn't go. He didn't want you to. His parents went away too, and they never came back.

"I don't want you to go.", this time it was louder, more rushed, more panicked. Brahms knuckles had turned white from holding onto the door frame.

"Brahms,", you sighed quietly, swiftly putting on your pants, "I know this seems scary to you, but it'll be fine."

The way you kept insisting that you'd go made him swallow harshly. Even just the idea of having to stay here alone, knowing you'd leave him, made him feel sick and hopeless inside. His stomach churned.

No, he wouldn't let you leave.

"I'm not scared,", Brahms shook his head vehemently, making the dark brown locks dance in front of his face, "I just don't want you to go."

You rolled your eyes at him, swiftly putting the clothes back into your dresser. Did he always have to be such a child? You understood the whole trauma, commitment issue thing, but god, it was annoying sometimes. He was a grown man after all, he should be able to stay alone for a few hours.

"Brahms, I will go.", you stated with a curt nod in his direction, "It's just one evening, I'm sure you'll survive."

Another eye roll from you accompanied the statement. This conversation was not what you wanted before leaving the house, even if a small part of you knew you'd had to face this the second you accepted the offer.

Something clicked inside the man in front of you at the sight of you being so careless about all of this. Did you even care about his feelings in this whole situation? You loved him, didn't you? Then why be so cold about all of this? Maybe you wanted to leave him, you wanted to be with someone else, betray him, and everything he felt for you. Jealousy seeped into hos system, clouding his thoughts.

"I said no.", he yelled, moving in front of you, blocking the door with his body.

He was huge as he loomed over you, and even though you trusted him with your life, you flinched back a little, intimidated by his size. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving while hot air hit you through the holes of his mask.

"Brahms.", every bit of warmth had left your voice, and you pressed your hands against your hips, sending a cold stare to the man in front of you. You had enough.

But the brunette just kept breathing heavily, never once breaking eye contact. His gaze would've scared you if he didn't behave so childishly. Just like always.

The two of you kept looking at each other, eyes fighting a war one could never express with words. Just as Brahms was about to give in, ready to cling to you if that meant you staying, the deafening ringing of the doorbell echoed through the large, empty house.

Both of your heads snapped towards the big entrance door, temporarily forgetting about the tension in the room beforehand. You sent one glance back to Brahms, and before he could react, pushed yourself through the gap between him and the door, leaving him behind. What a mistake.

Brahms stared at his hands for a few seconds, in disbelief, before his eyes followed your form marching down the stairs.

His vision turned red with rage. How could you. How did you dare.

With his stare never once leaving you, he started steering towards you. It felt like his sight was restricted, the only thing he perceived a tunnel vision and at the end of it, you.

And you came closer and closer as he followed you, your body now nearly in reach.

Like in a trance, the brunette noticed his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, as well with a sharp, piercing beeping that made his skin tingle.

One of his hands got a hold of your arm, and with a strength he didn't look like he possessed, he pulled you back against him.

You wouldn't leave. You'd never, ever leave. He'd make sure of it, even if it meant he'd have to chain you to the bed.

You, however, grew furious as soon as you felt his skin on yours and with one sharp push, you shoved the man away from you and against the banister. Brahms yelped as his spine hit the sharp edge of the wood, but right now, you couldn't care less.

"Touch me again, and I'll leave and never-", your voice was dripping pure venom, eyes shooting ice-cold daggers at the man in front of you, "-ever come back."

That was the final straw, the final statement.

With a grunt and a loud, final "No!", Brahms forced you away from him. His strong arms pushed you back as he stepped forward, locks sticking to the sweat on his neck.

He saw you fall as if someone froze time. The way your foot missed the step, the way your eyes widened as you stumbled backwards, arms fishing around the air, searching, hoping, for something that could catch your fall. Your pretty mouth opened in a scream, you tried to grab the wooden railing next to you but failed as your body flew back without you having any control.

A loud, sickening crack filled the open lobby like a gunshot, and then it was silent. Dead silent. Brahms noticed that the doorbell stopped. The bitch must've realized that no one was coming.

Brahms took a deep breath, swallowing blood he didn't know he had in his mouth as he glanced down the staircase. He didn't see nor hear you. Anxiety filled his brain, earlier rage swept away as if he'd forgotten about it.

"...Y/n?", he whispered, voice suddenly small and high-pitched again, filled with fear. He didn't mean it, he didn't mean it, oh lord, he didn't mean it. He hoped you wouldn't be angry.

"Y/n? I'm sorry.", Brahms took a few small steps down the stairs, hands gripping the railing as if he'd fall when he'd let go. A few more steps, and he saw your leg behind one of the banisters, unmoving.

A few more steps and your torso came into view pressed into the carpet of the staircase.

"Y/n...?", Brahms didn't know why he was talking so quietly. He didn't know what was going on at all. He just wanted you to stay with him and now- he swallowed harshly.

A few more steps and he saw it. Your head had hit the floor on your fall down, breaking your neck on impact. Blood pooled around the skull, face sickly twisted and contorted as your skin had moved to give space to your moving bones. Dead, cold eyes stared up at him, lidded and filled with... fear.

The masked man moved closer, slowly and quietly, as he looked down at you. A few seconds later and he was kneeling on the ground, gently reaching out to touch your cheek. It was warm but felt weird, like a doll, like dough. It scared him, even if he didn't know why.

"Y/n...", the killer softly petted your cheek smearing a bit of blood over your skin during the process, "M'sorry. Just didn't want you to leave."

His voice was small and scared, like a child apologizing for eating too much candy, or breaking Mother's favorite vase.

Brahms anxiously waited for an answer. When he didn't get one, he stood up, slowly moving backwards. What was he going to do now?

"I'll wait upstairs, okay?"

No answer.

"I am sorry, Y/n.", the corners of his mouth pulled down like a giant, exaggerated pout. He looked a child. A child stuck in the body of a grown man.

Brahms slowly made his way upstairs, softly trudging over the carpet.

It was still deathly silent in the lobby, the only noise came from the big clock, ticking away in the corner.

As soon as Brahms reached the end of the stairs, he looked down one more time, hoping to see your face follow him, your sweet voice call out for him, but nothing moved.

Sighing, he made his way to his room, hoping that even though this time, he'd made a grave mistake, you'd still forgive him. After all, you loved him, right?

AN: I love the idea of Brahms not understanding death and "falling back" into his childish self because of it. I thought it fits well. I'd love to hear your opinions though.

Way to go superstar! 💫

“She loves to PLAY with (not eat) cherries 🍒”

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Best friend is best bed

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