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berryslasher · 2 years

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Shamelessly rebloging my own fics

Don’t leave me-Brahms Heelshire X F!Reader Part 2

Back at it again with my bs. Manny errors I feel lazy to correct rn but here's me wanting to post more. I'll go over them later. Also, I'm not a doctor so the medical treatments described will be inaccurate.

TW: Blood, gore, mentions of violence, reader having a life crisis, and a pinch of nswf :P. bit of a praise kink thing going on. bitch boy brahms ahead Minors Please DNI.

Wordcount:3k+

Taglist: @sowhatariyana, @carnationhcs, @auggiehuds (I have a taglist now apparently :0)

Part 1

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"Just great".

You grumble to yourself when a raindrop falls on your face. The rain is just perfect for the mood. It really adds to the gloomy scenery. The lightning illuminates the path towards the manor and the thunder rumbles softly in the distance. The gentle rain droplets fall against your figure and the blowing winds ruffle your skirt and the surrounding foliage. It’s almost dramatic. Like a scene from a movie.

As you walk barefoot on the harsh gravel back towards the manor, you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield your body from the cold. Your feet and arms are painfully freezing but your mind and heart are far too busy trying to calm down to even care about your current condition.

"This is a bad idea..."

You quietly tell yourself as you reach the driveway of the manor and continue towards the front door. But before you step on the porch, you recall Brahms locking the doors, meaning that entering through the front door wouldn’t be possible.

And neither was exiting....

"What the hell are you thinking!!?".

Your nails squeeze into your arms as you scold yourself. Not even 20 minutes ago, you had been running away from a man that everyone thought had died twenty years ago but lived inside the Heelshire manor's walls, killed your abusive ex, and had been chasing you to do god knows what to you.

But now, you were willingly going back towards possible danger because you blamed yourself for his injuries and pitted his state of life. You felt guilt.

He had been relying on you for the past couple of weeks for food and care. You were his only company. No one else knew of his existence other than his parents. But they are gone. And judging by the letters you had previously found, the Heelshires weren't coming back...

He has nothing else. No one else.

'You’re really going mad huh?' you interlay question yourself.

The rainwater drips from your face and you cringe at the feeling of your damp clothes against your skin. A sudden flash of lightning startles you and brings you back to your present dilemma. How to re-enter the manor. And considering if you should even go back inside.

Another flash followed by a distant rumble falls, and with a deep sigh, you turn to head towards the manor's side door. Malcolm would occasionally use the door to bring deliveries when he forgot his back door key and you wouldn’t hear his knocks. The door was always kept locked, which could only mean the key was somewhere hidden outside.

You immediately begin to look for the key when you approach said door. You lift the small doormat and look under, but find no sign of the key. You then check under the small potted plant to your left. Nothing. Inside the porch light holder. Nada.

"What the hell?" You exclaim as you continue to look under nearby decor and go as far as to check under rocks. But no key. "GOD DAMNIT!". You yell in frustration and throw the eighth rock you had checked under.

Your irritation begins to build more. The rain was only falling harder and the wind was picking up. You were running out of options.

You had considered the back door a possibility, but just like the front door, it was most likely locked. You couldn’t climb up to the second-story balcony in this weather, and even if you managed to, no doors would be unlocked considering that you would religiously maintain them as such. There was also the fact that the windows were painted shut, so there was absolutely no way they would open. 'screw you, you tradesman fuck'. The only way left for you to enter the estate would be the same way you exited...

You hug yourself as the memory of crawling through the walls and under the pipes while being chased by Brahms sends shivers down your spine. And once again, make you question your 'oh-so-stupid' decisions.

Not wanting to go through the small cramped space again, sends an idea to your mind. You slowly turn towards the rock you threw behind you and then back towards the glass panel on the door. If you break the glass, you could reach inside and unlock the door; technically breaking in.

"oh, what the hell", you sigh and turn away from the door to walk towards the rock. You hesitantly pick it up, feeling its rough edges on your palm as you clench it and place your fist on your forehead, and sigh. "You’re really about to break into a rich ass house aren't you?" you tell yourself. With one last deep sigh, you raise your hand that holds the rock and turn towards the door.

But before you can throw the rock, it falls from your hand when you're startled by a tall shadow that now stands behind the door.

You hold your breath and stare at the looming figure through the distorted glass panels. The lack of light makes it even more difficult to make out any details. Your heart pounds against your chest and you are frozen in place. The rain falls heavy against your figure, but you don't dare move an inch.

A startled gasp leaves your lips when you hear a soft 'click' coming from the door lock before the figure slowly disappears. You stand frozen for a few more seconds, staring at the door, before your body finally decides to move.

With trembling hands, you reach for the door handle. You take a few more seconds, catch your breath, and reconsider everything that has happened in the past hour or so.

Many thoughts and images race through your head and you close your eyes to try and sort them out.

'what the hell is wrong with you?!. Are you seriously going to go back in after you fought so hard to get out?!' your grip on the handle tightens. 'he needs my help' you try to argue with yourself. 'HE KILLED COLE' your mind basically screams. Your knuckles are impossibly white as your argument In your head persists. You cycle through the events but keep thinking back on Brahms’s state. "He needs me"...

You loudly grunt, shoving all your thoughts away, and in a flash, push the door open. Your body is propelled forward and towards the floor as a gust of wind basically throws open the door, pulling you along. You land on your hands and knees and the howling wind spills into the minor. Your embarrassment overtakes your shock and you push yourself up quickly, and turn to shut the door.

You hold yourself up against the door breathing heavy, trying to catch your breath. Your damp hair and clothing are more noticeable now that you're out of the rain and wind and you can feel the weight of it pulling you down.

Your eyes shift down towards the door lock and you reach to turn it but your hand is met with a wet substance. And that's when you see it.

Blood.

Your heart rate picks up once again and you're immediately reminded why you returned. "Brahms..."

Your head whirls behind you and you squint your eyes through the darkness and catch sight of the trail of blood that is littered across the hardwood floor. You slowly follow it away from the entry and towards a small hallway. You enter the dark hallway and continue but stop in the middle of the hall where the blood trail abruptly ends—but before you have time to question it, you feel a presence behind you.

You quickly spin around but then freeze in place. The soft moonlight that seeps through the large windows behind him emphasizes his tall dark form. There at the other end of the hall, Brahms stands just a few feet away from you.

Alarms go off in your head and scream for you to run, to get away from the possible harm he may cause you. But you stay in place.

"Brahms..." You speak but it's barely above a whisper. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to keep yourself from running away. "I-I came back..f-for y-"

Before you can mutter anything else, Brahms begins to walk toward you. The stained porcelain mask that covers his face slowly becomes more visible with each step. Your heart rate picks up for what feels like the thousandth time today as his figure slowly approaches you. Through the darkness, you can see his shoulders rising and falling from his heavy breathing. When his towering figure stands right in front of you, you advert your gaze towards the floor in order to avoid his stare.

"I-I came to h-help you..." You stutter. Your eyes squeeze shut when you feel him move closer to you, towering over your shorter form. His face moves closer to your head, barely touching your hair with his porcelain mask...It's almost as if he's breathing you in.

You open your eyes and you come face to face with his rapidly rising and falling chest. Due to the proximity, you can see the sweat glistening on his chest and the hair that peeks past the off-white tank top he wears. You can't help the small heat that rushes to your cheeks when you notice his built body, even through the baggy clothes he wears.

You quickly advert your gaze away from his chest and catch sight of the red stain on his clothes. That's when you see it. The bloody wound on his abdomen.

"You're bleeding!" You gasp out a bit louder than expected, making Brahms jump and take a step away from you. His eyes widen and stare at your trembling hands as they move towards him.

"I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. " You apologize. You slowly reach towards the wound. His gaze burns into your hands, making you pause just centimeters from his body.

"Can I?" You softly ask, not wanting to cross any boundaries. Oh, The irony of your situation. You're really asking him if you can touch him when he had been chasing you through the house not long ago. But to be fair, he did get hurt trying to save you.

You look up towards his stare. You're close enough that you can see the green in his dark eyes and notice the bloodshot red in his right eye. His own stare dances between your features, trying to read your expression.

"P-please. I want to help. It could get infected if we don't tend to it." You say, trying to calm the turmoil in his eyes. After a few seconds, he responds with a slight nod.

With that, your reach for the fabric of his shirt and lift it a bit to better look at his wound, not missing the way his breathing quickened when you make contact with his flesh. You try to ignore it and study the slash on his abdomen. It's messy and swollen and although very slowly, it is still bleeding.

"Let's get you to the bathroom, there's a first aid kit there. We need to get it cleaned and stop the bleeding" you say. You look up at him and he's already staring down at you. Your eyes catch sight of his clenching hands at his side.

"Come, " you slowly reach for his hand. He doesn’t pull from your grasp, so you take his wrist and softly tug. "We need to do this as soon as possible"

He stands for a few seconds, staring down at your connected hands. You swear you can hear his heart rate, but you dismiss it as your pulse in your ears. His face turns to yours and he slightly tilts his head, almost in question at your actions. You give him an encouraging nod, and with that, he follows as you guide him towards the nearest restroom.

Once you enter, you guide him towards the tub and motion for him to sit on the ledge. You take a step back from him and even sitting, he is almost at eye level with you. His height should scare you, but in some way, it intrigues you. It makes you wonder how he was able to manage to live in such cramped spaces while being over 6 feet tall—And not to mention his not-so-small physique.

You realize you have been staring at him lost in thought and only remember you're still holding his wrist when Brahms lifts his free hand to take a hold of your rain-soaked sleeve. It's now your turn to stare down at his hand on you—There's still speckles of dried blood on them.

"Your clothes, they’re wet"

He states in his childlike voice and it startles you a bit. Hearing the voice of a kid coming from a grown man in his twenties is very odd to you. And it's even more freakish when you previously believed the voice belonged to the ghost of a dead 8-year-old.

"Y-yea, the rain was pouring pretty hard" You give an embarrassed chuckle and pull away from his touch. A low disappointed huff escapes Brahms when you let go of his wrist.

"You’ll catch a cold." He says, still in that voice, with a tilt of his head, dark brown locks falling over the porcelain of his mask.

"ill change later. Right now, I need to tend to your wound"

Before he can protest, you quickly turn towards the sink to look for the first aid kit. You catch a glimpse of your appearance in the mirror. Your hair is still wet but beginning to frizz up, and it lays a mess on your head. Your skin looks a bit pale due to the cold and you can already see eyebags beginning to form under your eyes.

‘you look like utter crap' you tell yourself.

Your eyes catch sight of Brahms’s reflection as he stares at you checking yourself out. You clear your throat and quickly smooth your hair down before looking under the sink for the kit.

You take the kit and return to step in front of Brahms. You lay the kit on a near-surface and open it, taking out the things you'll need to clean his wound. You then turn to him in order to start but a sudden realization hits you like a truck— you can't access the wound with his clothes in the way.

" You n-need to take off your shirt. O-or else I won't be able to access the wound" You tell him, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Okay" He replies., the childish tone still not leaving his voice.

You hear shifting and look up to see him beginning to slide off his green cardigan. Your eyes immediately are glued to his biceps.

'Jesus! when did this man have time to hit the gym?' your thoughts run wild. You suppose that having to move about and maneuver through the walls would be enough physical activity to build muscle. 'or good genes perhaps'

You’re pulled away from your thoughts when a soft pained grunt leaves Brahms as he tries to lift his white top.

"Here let me help!"

You shoot up quickly and take hold of the edge of his tank top. You slowly lift it, careful not to disturb his wound. He lifts his arms, and you pull the tank top off completely and throw it in the pile along with his cardigan. Your face turns beet red for the hundredth time when you're able to fully look at his uncovered upper body.

Not wanting to stare for too long, you turn to grab a damp cloth, and when you turn back towards him, you go straight to cleaning his wound. You have to bend down a bit in order to wipe off the blood and dirt from around the abrasion and you can feel his stare on your every move. When you get near the wound, a soft jolt leaves his body.

"S-sorry.Does it hurt?" You ask him.

"No, just surprised me" The child voice replies.

"You can talk to me in your regular voice y'know?" You look up at him "you don't have to use that voice anymore". His eyes shift between your own stare, contemplating your words.

"O-okay" He breathes. His voice shifts from the higher pitch down to a lower more natural-sounding one. His normal voice sounds much deeper and…better.

"Good" You give him a soft smile before turning back to finish cleaning up the wound.

After it's all cleaned up, you're able to see the wound better. The bleeding finally stopped and It's not as deep as you had originally thought, but it was starting to swell up due to the trauma. You reach for a bottle of disinfectant and dab some of the liquid on a gauze pad. "This is to make sure it doesn’t get infected. It might sting a bit"

He gives you a small nod before you dab the product on the wound. Immediately, Brahms reacts with pained grunts. His hands grip the edge of the sink as you continue the stinging treatment.

"It's okay. It's okay." You soothe as you quickly finish disinfecting the wound and pull the gauze pad away. "There, I'm done".

His eyes are droopy and his chest is heaving. The color on his neck turns a bit paler due to the pain. You quickly reach over for a gauze patch and place it over the wound, covering it in order to allow for it to begin to heal. And before you can think about it, your hand reaches to brush away the curls from his masked forehead.

"There, all done. You did very good." You try to reassure but it comes out a bit more like praise.

His eyes shoot wide open and stare into yours. You freeze in place and stare back into his eyes. A glint of something you can't quite name fills his gaze.

Your hand still on his messy curls, shifts lower onto the cold porcelain of his mask and stops to caress his covered cheek, palm brushing against the hairs of his beard that peek out from under the mask. His own larger hand slowly reaches up to take a soft hold of your much smaller wrist and leans his face into the palm of your hand, closing his eyes as he drinks up your touch. His own touch sends sparks through your skin. Your free hand reaches up to rake through his dark curls.

At this, you can feel the shiver that travels through his body. His breathing comes out more like a pant and you can hear his breath hitch when you slightly scratch your nails against his scalp.

A tinge of sadness suddenly fills you as a thought crosses your mind. Brahms had probably been deprived of human touch for as long as he's been living inside walls—Deprived of any human company other than that of his parents. And even then, they probably didn’t really pay much mind to him.

Instead, they treated the doll like it was a real boy when their actual son was living within the walls of his own home.

"You poor thing" you soothe in a sympathetic voice, continuing your caress. "You must’ve been so lonely"

His eyes softly open to look up at yours. They’re glossy and his pupils are dilated. His breathing becomes heavier with each stroke of your hands on his curls.

"it's okay, I'm here now"

You slowly lean closer to his face. Your lips touch the cold porcelain of his mask, leaving a small kiss on his forehead. You can feel his body slightly tense under your touch. The hand on your wrist slightly tightens and a choked whimper leaves Brahms when you pull away. The sound alone sends heat through your body.

"kiss"

Brahms speaks, his voice ragged but holding the childs tone again.

"What did I say about speaking in your regular voice?" You softly raise a brow at him.

"k-kiss" he breathes in a broken whisper. In his normal voice.

Your hand leaves his curls to rest on his other masked cheek. You lean down and place another soft kiss on his right cheek. His free hand also reaches up to wrap around your other wrist. Your lips leave his mask, but you don't pull away completely, leaving you face-to-face with him.

"More," he says, barely above a whisper.

"Where are your manners?" You tease with a soft grin.

"P-please, more", he softly pleads, his eyes teary with what can only be described as desperate need.

As you lean closer, you can feel his hands almost pulling you towards him, but not quite forcefully. You gently kiss his other cheek, lingering for a few seconds before moving and leaving a second kiss closer to the lips on his mask. Your own heavy breaths mix with his as you move closer, barely touching the porcelain of his lips.

"One more....please"

You comply with his request and crash your lips to his, moving your warm lips against his still cold ones. He presses his face closer to you in an attempt to reciprocate the one-sided kiss. Needy moans escape his throat and his hands pull at your wrists, almost fearing that you will pull away.

But eventually, you need oxygen, so you break the kiss to catch your breath. Brahms also sounds out of breath and you push back to see his neck and naked chest flush pink. Your eyes move down his chest and past his abdomen, where you catch sight of his clothed arousal.

Brahms calls your name in a needy, out-of-breath moan when he sees you staring at his trousers,sending heat to your core.

"I'm here Brahmsy" you soothe, moving your body closer to his, making him have to part his legs, and slide between them. "I'm right here". You press your body flush against his, allowing some friction between you and the hardness in his pants.

A desperate whine leaves Brahms and he releases your wrist to hug your torso closer to his body. This allows you to move your hands to hold the back of his head and pull it towards you and press his cheek against your chest.

"Let me take care of you"

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sorry for edging you, babes :p. Don't worry I'm already working on the next part

~👻

#brahms x reader #brahms the boy #the boy 2016

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