Slasher X Reader Oneshots | Book 1

13. Brahms X Reader

It was hard to tell what had set him off. It always was with Brahms. Despite how long you had known him and how well you knew him, it was nigh impossible to narrow down his triggers, to know what would push Brahms into some sort of tantrum, meltdown, or outburst. You had been trying desperately to figure it out, to figure him out, so you could find a way from preventing these emotional breakdowns and violent eruptions.

  It was the latter of which you were currently trying to control. You and Brahms had been spending time together in his childhood bedroom. It seemed to be one of the places he felt more comfortable in. You had gotten to your feet, saying you were going to get something from your room to show him. He wanted to come with you, but you had insisted that he stay put. Thinking back, you wondered if that might've been when the fuse was lit. Brahms didn't take it well when he didn't get what he wanted.

Nevertheless, he stayed put for the moment. You wandered off to your room and had barely stepped in the door when you heard something hit the floor in Brahms' room. Initially, you had brushed it off, assuming that Brahms had merely dropped something he had picked up to look at or play with. However, you quickly became alarmed when several things all clattered to the floor at once. You knew they had been thrown down on purpose.

You rushed back to Brahms' room to find him on the far side of the room, furiously tearing things off of one of the shelves. You knew you had to pull him out of wherever he had fallen into before things spiraled out of control.

"Brahms!" You said his name loudly, with a firm, but not an angry voice. You needed him to hear you.

You were hopeful as he slowly stopped his destruction of the shelf. He stopped yanking things to the floor and merely stood there for a moment. However, upon closer inspection, you could see that he was trembling.

"Brahms, you need to calm down," you said, stepping further into the room towards him. With his back turned to you, you couldn't get a read on those dark eyes of his. "Everything is okay. You know that. I need you to calm down, sweetheart."

You watched, worried, as Brahms made no move to respond. His hands came up, fingers threading through his messy brown curls, holding tight and pulling them taut. You didn't know if he could completely hear you right now.

"Brahms, look at me. C'mon, I need you to look at me. Just look at me, okay?" You said calmly, inwardly pleading that he would comply. If he didn't, you knew it would be a lot harder to bring him down into a better state of mind.

Unfortunately, your fears came true because after a few minutes, Brahms hadn't moved. You let out a soft sigh, realizing how far gone he was. Tentatively, you reached out a hand to place on his shoulder. You hoped that physical contact might bring him out of wherever he was lost in his mind.

Instead of a comfort, though, your touch seemed to have the opposite effect. The outburst Brahms had seemingly been struggling to control exploded in full force. You vaguely felt him hit you as he spiraled out of control, his hand connecting with your cheek, and the impact knocked you to the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a rational voice reaffirmed how you knew he didn't mean it, how you knew Brahms could get completely lost in the midst of a meltdown and become completely unaware of his surrounding. He didn't know he was hurting you – you were simply caught in the crossfire of his uncontainable emotions – and later, you could accept that truth after the sting had faded.

  However, in the moment, the hit had hurt you both physically and emotionally. You didn't have the time to dwell on it, though. Right now, the most important thing was to get Brahms out of the red zone and back into the green zone before he hurt you again or hurt himself.

  He yelled furiously, incomprehensibly, sounding as if he was ripping his throat raw with every exclamation of anger. He stomped his feet, threw his hands around, shook his head, scratched at himself – he was out of control, mentally incapable of calming down by himself now, and you knew you had to bring him down and bring him down fast.

  You hopped to your feet and made a wild grab for his hands that were moving so quickly between his cardigan, the air, and his own skin. You had to get him somewhat still before he would even begin to hear you. However, Brahms was much stronger than you and it proved difficult to get a hold on him. You inwardly winced, imagining how you might be scratching up his wrists and hands.

  Eventually, you got a firm hold on Brahms' wrists, one that refused to let go. You figured the fatigue had started to kick in and that that was the only reason you were able to hold him down.

  "Brahms!" You had to shout so he could hear you over his own enraged cries. "It's okay, Brahms! It's okay."

  After much repetition of the same proclamation, Brahms gradually began to come down from his frenzied state. His manic stare locked on yours, his chest, now covered with red, raised scratches, heaving with each noisy breath. You gave his wrists a firm squeeze, hoping to ground him further.

  "It's okay, Brahms... You're okay..." You continued in a soft voice. Only when your voice trembled did you realize you were crying.

  Frantically, you tried to blink away the tears, but that only succeeded in causing more to fall down your flushed cheeks. You were tired. Brahms was no doubt exhausted. The two of you merely stared at each other for several long moments, the silence heavy in the air.

  Brahms' throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly and you could see some of the desperately missed clarity returning to his dark eyes. He pulled one of his hands from your tight grip with a gentleness completely alien to him minutes ago. You felt his fingers tenderly graze your cheek, the cheek he had accidentally struck in the midst of his breakdown. You figured it was red and that something of a bruise would be a reminder to the both of you for the next few days. You shied away from his touch as he passed over a particularly tender spot and a muffled whimper emanated from behind the porcelain mask.

  Suddenly, Brahms was enveloping you in a crushing hug and you could feel how his hands shook, how he was desperately trying to hold back a new wave of anger at what he had done to you. You wrapped your arms around him in return, your fingers reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. You were comforting Brahms in this moment more than he was comforting you.

  You quietly shushed him in a soothing manner as your ear rested on his chest, right over his heart. The quick rhythm gradually slowed to something of a relaxed pulse as you played with his hair, rubbed his back, hummed to him, and anything else that would help to calm him.

  And when you thought Brahms had finally relaxed back to his normal self, that's when his tears finally sprang forth and he allowed himself to cry.

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boiiii i love me some angst lol

funny story i actually based this somewhat off a dream i had xD

anywho i hope y'all enjoyed this heart wrenching angsty ficlet

at least i hope it was heart wrenching xD

lemme know in the comments if i succeeded!!✨💕✨