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domesticandlovingmonsters · 2 years ago

Text

Commission: Brahms Heelshire x Reader

Theme: Comfort/Slow Burn Slasher Story, some Stockholm syndrome aspects, mentions of blood, mentions of ex abusive partner

Notes: This character is from the movie "The Boy". If you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend watching it. Both for context of this character and also because I do actually enjoy the film.

This commission was alot of fun to write. Kinda rekindled my love for slashers!

Hope you enjoy!

The rain came down in a misty curtain as you pulled up in the driveway. The mansion sat as silent as ever. With ivy crawling up the side of the house and the dark windows gave it an ominous glare as you cut off the engine. You sat in the car for a long moment. Listening to the soft pitter of water that splashed against the vehicle.

How were you going to explain this to Brahms? You knew you were already in trouble for leaving the house. And even worse the estate. But with the fresh collection of bruises and the cut on your lip, things were going to be even more complicated to explain. You rolled up the sleeve of your warm clothes and tilted your arm. Bruises were already coloring your skin in large deep purple blotches. And you could easily make out the clear markings of fingers wrapping around your wrist. You glanced at yourself in the rearview mirror. The blackeye throbbed and the patch was darkening more by the minute. The split on your lip had finally stopped bleeding at least. You sighed and slumped back into the seat. Everything hurt. You just wanted to curl up into a ball under the blankets and forget about the world. But first you needed to get past Brahms.

You pushed open the car door and headed inside. Ducking your head against the rain as it started coming down more prominently from the sky. The front doors creaked and the sound echoed through the empty house like a siren in the dead of night. It made you wince a little. But you called out to the house as the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind you. “Brahms?” Your voice carried deep into the many endless hallways. But no reply came back. “I’m sorry I left so suddenly. There was an emergency in town. I told you I’d be back….” The silence stretched and you halted by the staircase, peering up towards the second floor. “Brahms?” Had he left to go after you?

It was a ridiculous idea. You never knew Brahms to leave the house very often, very much less the estate itself. You hesitantly climbed the stairs. Reaching the second floor as a clap of thunder rolled over the roof of the mansion. You were about to call out again, when firm hands grabbed your arms and your back was slammed against the wall. You stared up at Brahms as he glared down at you. His chest heaving like he had scaled the entire structure of the mansion to get to you.

The flames of fury in his eyes softened as you gasped in pain. Your arms curling into your chest as you tried to pry Brahms’ hands off your bruised skin. “Let me go, Brahms. Please, you’re hurting me.” You said, keeping your voice soft. Like you were talking to a bull ready to charge. Brahms’ hands lingered on you, but his iron grip released and you winced as blood rushed back into your blemished hand. “You left.” His voice was muffled from the porcelain mask that covered his face. “You left me.” “There was an emergency,” You repeated. Trying to ignore the vicious ache in your arms. “I’m sorry I missed breakfast. Are you hungry? I can make you-”

That iron grip returned and you winced as Brahms halted your attempt to step around him. His head tilted curiously down to your arm, where his hand clasped around your wrist. Without removing his hand from you, Brahms slid the sleeve of your jacket up. Revealing the marks that coloured your skin. His fingers were almost identically placed around your wrist as the bruises. His breath echoed in the mask and you could almost see the tremble that rippled through his body. “What happened?” His voice was soft. A dangerous tone darkening his words. “Who did this to you?” Tears burned the rims of your eyes. You never told him why you escaped into the countryside. Why loud noises made you jump or when he raised his voice you cowered away from him. You took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears before they broke free. “T-The emergency in town…I got a letter from an ex lover of mine. Said they were in town and wanted to meet.” Brahms' grip tightened, but you ignored it. “It was stupid of me. But…they tried to push me into a car. Take me away. And then…punched me when I didn’t do it willingly.” A tear slipped through your defenses and you hurriedly wiped it away. “Some nice guys in the parking lot saw it and stopped them. They’re in the police station.” You didn’t want to say anymore. It was bringing forth a wave of discomfort that made your stomach churn and your chest tighten. You finally looked up at Brahms. His stare gave away no emotion. But his hands were tight around your wrists and his eyes never left the bruising on your skin. “I’m ok..” You said after a long moment. Reaching up with your free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Hoping it would soothe him. “Did you want something to eat?” He didn’t reply right away. But then, the tiniest nod dipped his chin. And you forced a smile to stretch your lips, removing your wrists gently from his grip. “Alright, I’ll get some eggs and bacon started for us.” You expected him to follow. Like he always did when you were going about your chores through the house. But when you turned to address him after entering the kitchen, he had disappeared. You ignored the growing tendrils of dread as you prepared the food alone. Your hands shook and you felt your throat choke like you were about to cry. You weren’t sure if it was caused by Brahms' reaction to your injuries that was causing these emotions. Or the fact you didn’t want to be alone right now. The bacon sizzled and popped on the pan while you flipped the eggs to cook on their other side. You toasted bread and buttered it. Serving two plates and setting them on the dining table before calling out to Brahmns. When he wasn’t with you, Brahms was in the walls. And he would reply to your voice by knocking on the inner foundations of the mansion. You never knew what he was doing back there. But this time, silence answered your summons to breakfast. And you let a minute pass before calling out again. He possibly didn’t hear you. The house was big after all. And Brahms sometimes delved deep into the mansion when he wanted to sulk or give you the silent treatment. Though, it was never for long, it would irritate you when he’d leave you to the empty house. Alone with the creaking walls and whistling winds through cracked windows. It was unsettling. And it wasn’t like you knew how to navigate the inner walls like he did. And he knew that. It was very frustrating that he knew that. “Brahms?” You called yet again. Climbing to the second story after searching through the first. You sighed heavily. Stomping up the stairs. “I said I was sorry.” You didn’t have the energy to deal with a bratty Brahms right now. It was wishful thinking, but you had hoped Brahms would be ecstatic when you came back. Forgetting about you sprinting to the car before he could catch you and him screaming at you to come back. But again, that was very wishful thinking. The rain beat against the windows and thunder shook the walls around you. You hugged yourself. Smelling the iron scent on your clothes. You didn’t get to change before cooking breakfast. The spots of blood littered the woolen material of your clothes and you were sure there was grime all over your face. Perhaps you should change before sitting down to eat. Not that you felt like eating anyway. But Brahms probably wouldn’t like it. If he even came out of the walls to eat. A creak behind you announced Brahms’ arrival. He slipped into existence as silently as a mouse from a hole in the wall you never knew existed.

“Bath.” He said and started walking towards one of the many bathrooms. His bare feet made barely any noise as he walked over the polished wooden floor. Only stopping by a door to watch you hurry after him. Tilting his masked face to the room. You peered inside. Finding a wall of thick, warm steam had filled the room. You sighed and shook your head, “Brahms, it's too early for your bath. We need to eat first.” You saw his eyes narrow impatiently. And he then shoved you inside the steaming room before closing the door behind you. You were about to scold him for his rude behavior but stopped when you saw a pile of your clothes neatly folded on the sink. A white plush towel, fresh from the linen closet, sat on the towel rack by the tub that was filled with hot water. Bubbles blanketed the surface of the water and you could smell your soap had been mixed heavily into the bath. Brahms moved around you to sit by the tub’s side. His doll mask turned to you expectantly. After a moment, he impatiently tapped the tub with his hand. The narrowed stare turning stone-like when you didn’t immediately jump into the hot water. You hesitated for a second longer, before beginning to remove your clothes. It was no secret to you that Brahms had spied on you when you were alone. There were cracks and holes everywhere in this house, so you knew that he had seen you many times without any clothes. But undressing right in front of him was new. And when you tried to cover yourself up, Brahms slapped away your hand and tapped the bath again. “Bath.” He said again, with more ferocity this time. You nodded and stepped over the rim of the tub. Wincing as the heat of the water enveloped your cool skin. The ache in your body dulled to a much more comfortable throb. And you sighed heavily as you allowed yourself to relax against the porcelain bowl. Shamelessly, Brahms’ eyes drank in the sight of your body. You tried to ignore the heavy staring but it became increasingly hard too when he inched closer and grabbed the sponge. You said nothing as he lathered it up with sweet smelling soap and grunted at you. “Lean forward,” He mumbled beneath the mask. And you did so slowly. There was a pain in your ribs, one you haven’t yet noticed until you sat down. Did a blow hit your ribs? You couldn’t remember. You just remembered flailing and kicking. Striking their face until they released you and others came to your aid.

You let your eyes close as the soft material of the sponge touched your back. And Brahms began scrubbing your shoulders and spine in slow, but soothing, circles. “Are you in pain?” He asked. But you didn’t need to answer him. Your stiff movements and shallow breaths, mixing with the way you held your arm against your side, all told him you were definitely in pain. And he could see something you couldn’t. Scratches tore along your neck and shoulders. Nothing deep enough to need stitches, but whoever had touched you; their fingernails scraped skin from your body when they attempted to restrain you.

Brahms' mind roared with an anger he hadn’t felt in a long time. Even the fury he felt seeing you drive away, the sadness and sudden loneliness, didn’t compare to this bonfire of seething rage in him. He forced his hands to stop shaking. Kept the venom and sparks from his tone. You were hurt. He needed to make sure you were ok.

“No.” You replied. Liar! His inner voice screamed at you. Bubbles and water poured from his fist as his fingers clenched tight around the sponge. It was the only thing he could do to stop this anger from surging out.

Your eyes were closed. You saw nothing when his composure cracked and he tilted his mask to the side. Or the deep breath that made his chest swell before he let himself speak again.

“Are. You. Hurt?” He asked once more. A silent threat lining his words if you were to lie to him again. Though your eyes opened, you didn’t look at him. But nodded. Raising your wrist from the water to show him the deepening colors. The formation of bruises now prominently displayed the thick fingers that had squeezed around your wrist. Brahms could even make out the small scratches of nails digging into your skin.

“This hurts more than anything else.” You told him. And Brahms, with a gentleness that surprised you for such a strong man, took your wrist in his hand and started to massage it with the soap. Removing the grime and touch of another from your skin. Silence stretched between you as Brahms washed you. He rolled the sleeves of his cardigan up so he could run the sponge along your legs without you leaving the water. He grunted when he wanted you to move and guided your body with careful hands when you didn’t understand what he wanted. You soon came to the realization that he was mimicking you. When you had first given him a bath some time ago. You had moved slowly and carefully. Not wanting to stress him out by having him sit vulnerable for too long or touching him to the point of oversensitivity. Though he had enjoyed the bath, it was new to him. Like this reversed situation. And he was treating you how you treated him. Gently. Cautiously. Perhaps a bit more touchy than you had been. But it soothed your body into a relaxed state.

You rested your chin on your knee as Brahms examined the bruises along your arms and side. The curled up position brought some comfort to you, and also stopped the pain from your ribs. You winced as Brahms fingers grazed the painful area and his hands twitched away from you. You heard his breath hitch behind the mask and you gave him a small smile.

“It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt too much.”

His eyes flicked up to your face and you almost physically recoiled from the glare that scowled from under his mask. “Do not lie to me.” He growled, his voice echoing behind the mask.

And you nodded. Falling silent as he dunked the sponge into the water and then tilted your chin up with his free hand. You closed your eyes as he cautiously washed your face. Taking care not to scrape along the scab that had formed over your lip or drown you in water over your nose. You felt his thumb graze over your cheek and you could sense him leaning towards you. Watching you as his hand brought the sponge down to your neck to clean around your chest. You didn’t dare move. His hands were calming, but never had you allowed him to touch you this way. And you jerked back when the sponge went a little too low over your chest.

“Not there,” You said softly, but firmly. And Brahms nodded. Finishing up his cleaning by cupping water over your face to rid the soap from your cheeks and chin.

Brahms then stood and moved to sit beside the tub, facing the door. This was another common occurrence. When Brahms felt particularly bratty or lonely, he would sit between you and the door. Able to keep you from leaving the room until he said so. At least this time, you were able to relax in a hot bath and not be stuck reading the same poetry book for the next two hours. You settled back into the water. Allowing the silence to stretch between the two of you as the storm grew more wild outside. You weren’t sure how long you were in the bath for, but the storm blackened the sky and soon the outside world was hidden in shadows. When your fingers turned wrinkly and the water started to lose its heat, you started to rise from the water. You were about to make a move to gingerly climb out of the tub when a thunderous crash shook the house. The lights flickered off and you froze as the room disappeared around you.

You could hear Brahms shift somewhere beside you. “Can you help me out, Brahms?” You asked the very dark room. “I can’t see anything.”

“Give me your hand.” You heard him say. And you offered your hand to the darkness. It almost gave you a fright when his warm fingers wrapped around your palm. And very cautiously, you stood out of the water and stepped over the edge of the tub. Wincing as your ribs protested the sudden movement. But you forced yourself to stand, blindly searching for the towel. Finding it a second later being wrapped around your shoulders.

You thanked the shadow that was Brahms and started to dry yourself.| But then heard him whine softly and you stalled mid wipe along your arms. Warm hands began to move the towel along your skin. And you let your own hands drop to your sides so Brahms had free rein of your body. The soft material stroked along your shoulders and back, but Brahms carefully patted down your ribs and bruised arms. So not to put too much pressure on the injured area. And then you felt a comb begin to smooth through your hair. Gently unknotting any tangles from your hair and patting out any moisture left from the water.

You stood there in silence with your eyes closed. It was unnerving to stare into the void. You had only Brahms’ touch to center you. And soon you felt the prickle of the cold night air begin to tickle your skin. And you asked Brahmns to hand you your clothes. Which he did after a small hesitation.

“I’m going to freeze, Brahms.” You said into the void. “Please, hand me my clothes.”

Once dressed, you didn’t dare make a move towards the door. You had slightly been turned while Brahms had been drying you and you had no idea if you were facing the door or the bath. You felt Brahms come up behind you. His large frame seemed to press up against you as you reached for his hand.

“Bedtime, I think.” You said softly. “I’m really tired, Brahms.”

It was partly true. If you were being honest with yourself, you just wanted the day to end. Move on from what happened today and start fresh tomorrow. Let your body heal and continue on with your life with Brahms and the mansion as usual. And the sooner it happened, the better. You expected some sort of reluctance from Brahms. You would miss dinner and you still haven’t eaten the food you prepared earlier. It probably wasn’t even that late in the evening. But your body was indeed tired from the emotional stress. And even though Brahms doesn’t act like it, he is a grown man. He can take care of himself. There was food in the fridge he could eat and it's not like you needed to babysit him all the time. He has lived in the walls for years before you came along. So, he can suffer one night of fending for himself.

Whether or not Brahms nodded, you couldn’t see his reaction to such an early bedtime. But you felt his hand take yours and pull you forward. You heard the door creak open and the soft taps of Brahms bare feet against the wooden floor. It seemed like a lifetime in the dark, being dragged in a direction you had some small sense of familiarity with. But another creak of a door and then the smell of freshly washed sheets filled your nose; told you that you were inside your room.

“Can you actually see? Or do you know the house that well?” You asked Brahms as you were gently pulled towards the center of the room.

“I know the walls better.” His reply came from the darkness. And then you felt your knees hit the side of the mattress. You ignored the small knock of wood against your legs and gingerly got into bed. You felt Brahms pat down the sheets and even fluff up your pillow before his touch disappeared from your hand. But you could still feel his presence beside the bed.

He was unsure what to do. The roles were reversed and the usual routine had been thrown out the window. He wouldn’t get his good night kiss or be tucked into bed tonight. Brahms had half the thought to protest you going to bed so early. Or at least tuck him in for the night before you went to sleep. They’re hurt. The childish voice in his head protested. They look after us when we’re hurt. Shouldn’t we do the same?

But what about him? He wanted to be tucked in. Brahms couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to sleep without your voice saying goodnight to him. What was he going to do? He could stay by your bed until you were healed enough to then walk him to his room-

You reached out and took Brahms’ hand in yours. You felt his entire body stiffen from the touch, but then relax when you grazed your finger against the back of his palm. “Why don’t you sleep in here tonight? I’ll tuck you in.” You moved to the other side of the bed and threw back the sheets so Brahms could join you. His hand still clutched yours as he pondered over the idea. It wasn’t in his bed, though. It's different. But he would be close to you all night. How many times had he thought about sleeping in the same bed as you? After a nightmare. Asking you for comfort when his chest hurt and his head wouldn’t stop pounding?

The bed creaked softly as Brahms sat on the bed. And then slowly laid beside you. Resting his head on the pillow you had just used. Feeling the warmth from your body beneath the sheets as you threw the covers over him. You mimicked his movements from before, making sure the blankets were tightly tucked around his tall frame. And then, you trailed your fingers over the top of the mask. Managing to catch a stray strand of hair and tuck it out of his face.

“Goodnight, Brahms. Sleep tight.” You said softly. And pressed a small kiss to the porcelain lips. You did this all without any insight on where your kiss would land. But you luckily got the angle right and slipped further under the covers. You were unable to roll on your side due to your ribs. So, you tried to get as comfortable as possible on your back. Your hand still firmly clasped within Brahms’ as you heard his breath begin to slow. You fell asleep not long after your eyes closed. The storm continued to beat against the mansion roof and rain splattered against the windows in waves of cold water.

Brahms however, did not go to sleep for sometime. His mind raced with restless thoughts. All of them about you. About what happened to you today and how he had done nothing to stop it. He should have tied you up. Locked you in the attic. He never wanted to hurt you. You wouldn’t love him if he harmed you. Maybe you wouldn’t come back if he did something bad to you. But you left the mansion, anyway. Ran from him when he screamed for you to come back. Drove away to meet with someone else. Someone that hurt you. That tried to take you from him. His fist clenched hard and your whimper brought him from his furious spiral. You turned towards him, eyes still closed and deep in sleep. But you cuddled up to him with a soft breath. And he quickly released the strength from his fist around your hand. And he rolled over so he was facing your sleeping form. The mask hid the small smile that stretched his lips as he tugged a strand of hair behind your ear. Perhaps this time, your adventure away taught you a lesson. You came back to him. Let him take care of you. So, you definitely did love him. At least enough to come back. But he couldn’t let it happen again. You were his. No one, not even you, would take that away from him.

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