Shadows of the Night - Brahms Heelshire x Reader [The Boy 2016]

Chapter 18: Cuntradiction

You startle awake, body wound tight and skin covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. You gasp in the silence of the still-dark hours of the night, swallowing down newfound panic and re-remembered fear after your dream that had just been reliving one of the worst moments in your life. You can feel the still sleeping figure of Brahms pressed against your back, curled around you almost protectively. Somehow you haven't woken him and you really don't want to after all that you've remembered.

Your childhood memories had always been rather fuzzy, clear in spots and blank in others like a mental topographical map, but you had mercifully only had wispy hints at the events of that day until now. You almost want to pretend like it was a figment of your imagination, an attempt from your mind to weave together the sparse amounts of information and memory you had on the ends of Emily and Brahms as you knew them as a child, but you can feel the truth of it in your bones. You've remembered what you had been thankful to have forgotten and now you are left alone to arrange all of the pieces of your present and past selves into something humanoid.

Brahms shifts in his sleep, snuggling closer to you and his soft breath that you feel on your neck, ruffling your hair, makes you tear up. You knew he killed Emily, you had always known and had been questioning your apparently skewed moral compass since being thrust back into the world of the Heelshire estate because of your lack of empathy for the dead girl, but it hadn't been truly real until now. You have never feared Brahms until this moment, and you feel sick with guilt. Guilt for your role in her death, for not being able to protect anyone including yourself, for fearing Brahms when you know that what had happened was an accident and the result of trying to protect you.

Since he came out of your closet you have felt so completely guilty towards Brahms that every breath you take feels like an added weight in the growing cavern of your chest. He was forsaken by the world decades ago due to a horrible accident and you, still a child, had not known better than to question what you were told. You are now an adult and you feel the unparalleled weight of your responsibility towards Brahms.

You shift and turn to him, your face in his chest which steadily rises and falls tantalizingly close to your lips. You look at his masked face that shines pearly in the soft moonlight, contrasting with the inky curls of his messed hair that falls over the mask's forehead in an almost juvenile way. Your heart beats fast in your chest and you ache to hold him, to go even further than that...you wish you could break open your chest and sequester him inside for at least he'd be safe from everyone else if not from your selfish desires. He only truly has you but the deepest darkest parts of you love it.

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Brahms wakes up early in the morning and his heart beats faster, warming his body like honey and electricity when he looks down at the peaceful figure of y/n curled up against him. Her face is buried in his sweater, her nose touching his chest through his shirt, it's the smallest amount of contact yet it lights him on fire.

Brahms shifts his hips away from y/n, not wanting her to notice the hardness between his thighs on the off chance she wakes up by the time he is rid of it. He always wakes up with an erection when he sleeps at y/n's side and for the most part he has been able to get rid of them through mental strategies, mostly thinking about her leaving him which does the trick but also leaves him with a tight chest full of anxiety and terror, but since the world shifted two nights ago when he had broken his self-made vow and let loose his desire, he realizes that he'll need more than just thoughts to deal with his current situation.

Thankfully Brahms is adept at sneaking around without waking even the lightest sleeper so he makes quick work of getting out of bed without disturbing y/n in the least. He stands above her for a second, not daring to touch her lest he stoke the flames of his base desires which revolt and pleasure him so totally, so he just looks down at her and yearns.