For the Love of God, You Need a Bath
Because all of us just want to hose off this awful man child.
Brahms Heelshire x Reader
Oh my god, oh my god, it was never a doll, there’s been a man living here, watching me, oh my god he just killed that guy and I’m next!
Those were your first thoughts when you saw Brahms the man for the first time. You had been babysitting the doll for months, and his parents had been a few days late coming home, and they didn’t answer their phones. You were worried for them, but that night someone had broken into the house, and you had become far more worried for yourself.
You hadn’t needed to, however. Seemingly out of nowhere a man in a porcelain mask had come to your rescue, effectively killing the intruder. That didn’t make you feel any better, because now you were in a new dilemma, the fact that you had been living with a man for months and now there was nothing separating you two save for a few feet of air.
You thought you heard a scream, one you thought was yours. You backed up, cutting your hand on mirror shards that had fallen on the floor. You made a move to run, but a pair of large, muscular arms wrapped their way around your neck, stopping you.
“Don’t go.” A childish voice said.
Your voice caught in your throat, feeling the sweat on the arms that held you, confusion still clouding your thoughts.
“It’s me.” The childish voice came again, and you tried to calm down, still shaking violently.
“B-Brahms?” You stuttered, trying to look back at your assailant.
You felt the man nod, and you shivered, feeling how damp his chest felt against your back.
“You’re supposed to be dead.” You squeaked, trying to wriggle out of his arms.
“I was supposed to die.” He murmured, pulling you closer. “Please, it’s still me.”
“You were supposed to be a ghost! A kid!” You snapped, clawing at his arms, your cut hand getting even more blood all over the two of you.
“I am.” He replied, pulling you up to standing position. “Please, you have to promise you won’t run away. You have to stay. I don’t have anyone here anymore.”
Cursing your body’s incessant shaking, you gasped out your breath, trying to do a breathing technique to calm down. You knew you just had to think your way out of this situation. Maybe he had no intention to harm you, but that would probably change if you tried to run.
“Y-you smell awful!” You finally snapped.
Brahms’s grip loosened for a second. “What?” He said after a moment.
“Y-you’re getting sweat all over me! For the love of god, you need a bath!” You tried to get your stern nanny voice to come out, the voice that you always saved for when the kids you were watching misbehaved. “Come on, let’s get you in the tub!”
His hands stiffened, before they slowly slid off of you. You eyed the front door, before turning back to the masked man. He was tall. Very tall. Maybe over six feet. His, well, everything was incredibly sweaty, and his hair was greasy and dark.
“Up to your parents’ bathroom.” You commanded, trying to make yourself look bigger. “Now.”
Brahms hesitated for a moment, eyeing you from behind his blood-stained mask. He paused a second too long, before he finally turned and started walking up the stairs. As his foot hit the first step, he looked back to make sure you were following. You shuffled forward, and while you were happy that he was listening to you, you knew this was only happening because he was letting it happen. You just hoped he would continue to listen.
When you got to the bathroom, he stood there quietly, his hands behind his back, waiting for another command.
Your stomach twisted, and you scooted past him to start the water, trying your best not to touch him. Rolling up your sleeves, you ran your hands under the water, trying to gauge the perfect temperature. You hissed when the water hit your cut hand, the water turning pink from your blood. But you tried not to think about it. Walking over to the sink, you grabbed a small hand towel and haphazardly wrapped it around your cut hand, hoping it would stop the blood. His huge form loomed behind you, making the hairs stand on the back of your neck.
When the tub got half-full, you finally turned to Brahms, who had barely moved behind you.
“Well, it’s ready.” You finally said, gesturing to the tub. You started to scoot past him again, hoping this was your way out. “Have at it.”
Brahms grabbed your hand. “Don’t go.” He said.
Freezing in place, you looked at him. You tried to read his eyes. They didn’t hold any malice, but that didn’t make you feel any better.
“Okay.” You gulped. “Then, strip.”
His head tilted slightly, before he nodded slowly. All of his motions seemed to be in slow motion, as if he knew there was no rush. Everything was on his time.
He slipped off his cardigan, and then pushed the suspenders that held up his pants off his shoulders. It would have been a cute outfit, if it wasn’t on someone so objectively terrifying and so objectively stronger than you.
As each article of clothing was stripped and more of his body was revealed, you couldn’t help but blush and look away. A good chunk of his body was covered in burns, and the unburned parts of him were incredibly hairy. However, every part of him was toned, more so than you thought someone living in walls would have been.
Finally he stood completely naked in front of you, except for the mask. Your eyes-completely against your will-tried to move downwards. You couldn’t help it, it was just human curiosity!
“Get in the tub.” You instructed, forcing your eyes to look at a small stain on the ceiling instead of this naked killer’s crotch.
He nodded slowly again before climbing in the tub. He was so tall, he looked uncomfortable, even with the huge clawfoot tub his rich parents had in their bathroom. He reached up, grabbing a bottle of body wash from a shelf near the tub and squirting it directly into the water.
Even though his face was covered, you could have sworn he looked confused.
Does he think that bubbles just appear when you squirt soap in? You thought in annoyance.
“No, like this.” You snapped, taking the soap from him. You turned the water back on, squirting the soap in the stream, and reaching your hand in the water and stirring it up further before you could convince yourself not to. Quickly bubbles appeared, and you heard Brahms giggle, which surprised you in and of itself. However, the bigger surprise was that you liked him giggling. You liked him happy. You weren’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because part of you still wanted to think of him as the little boy you’ve been taking care of. Maybe you were happy that your view of his crotch was obscured. Maybe it made you feel safe, that he liked you, and that he had saved you from a home intruder. Maybe you liked his laugh.
Grabbing a loofah off of the side of the tub, you dunked it in the water and brought it to Brahms chest, gently scrubbing him clean. You could see he was watching you from behind the mask, but you tried to ignore it. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, which was getting this dirty dirty man clean.
It helped to distract you from your current situation. You scrubbed most of him, occasionally telling him to shift one way or another, or to lift up an arm, continuing to clean him until the water turned dark with dirt.
When the water got too gross, you drained the water. Brahms made no move to get out, which was good, because you weren’t done yet. You filled up the tub again, making it bubblier than the first time. Which seemed to delight Brahms, as he started playing with the bubbles.
You watched him for a while, smiling slightly. “You’re being a good boy.” You mumbled.
He nodded slightly, pausing from playing with the bubbles to look up at you.
“I’m going to wash your hair next. Lean back.” You instructed, and he complied, dipping his head back so it was half-submerged in water.
“Don’t take off the mask.” He said, his voice deeper and more serious than before, he finally sounded his age. It made you shiver.
“I won’t.” You squeaked, pouring water over his greasy hair. You made quick work of washing it, careful not to touch the mask. You almost felt accomplished, being able to tell the difference like night and day when you were done. Even wet, his hair looked much cleaner and healthier after you had given it a little TLC.
Now completely submerged in the task of teaching his man-child some hygiene, you quickly noticed his horrendous Amish beard.
“I’m shaving that off.” You stated, turning to look around the bathroom for a razor.
“I won’t touch the mask.” You interrupted, finding an old-timey razor in one of the drawers, like the kind that was used in the play Sweeny Todd. You flipped out the blade, eyeing it. It was sharp. Dangerously sharp.
You kneeled down by Brahms in the tub, and he eyed you with a high amount of suspicion. Both of you knew you could kill him in seconds with a swift drag over his throat.
Your cut hand was shaking, and you tried to tell yourself it was from the bleeding, not the dilemma of if you could kill this man without getting hurt yourself, and if you could even live with yourself if you killed him.
“Tilt your head back.” You said weakly.
His eyes narrowed, and you expected him to lash out, but instead he obediently tilted his head back just as you instructed. Taking a deep breath, you squirted a bit of soap in your hand, rubbing it over Brahms’s neck. His eyes glimmered behind the mask, and you didn’t know if he was happy to be touched or just waiting for you to try to attack him. You weren’t sure what you were going to do yourself as you brought the blade to his neck.
Slowly, you dragged the blade down his throat, and when you pulled back, there was a single line of clean-shaven skin.
You gasped in relief, laughing a little.
Brahms brought a hand to his neck, probably trying to figure out if you’d somehow managed to slit his throat without him noticing.
“Sorry.” You laughed a bit more, your hands both shaking a little, you sat back to steady yourself for a moment. “I’ve never shaved anyone before.” You admitted.
Brahms just nodded in response, tilting his head back again, as if to say, keep going.
You nodded slightly, continuing the meticulous and frankly slightly dangerous process of shaving someone. By the time you were done, the tub was filled with curly beard hair, and Brahms was as clean shaven as you could manage without removing his mask.
“Okay, it’s time to get out.” You told him, pulling the plug.
Brahms stood without warning, and you yelped and fell backwards, holding up your hand to block your view of his penis.
“Ah, um!” You scooted quickly out of the bathroom as Brahms started drying himself off. Quickly, you tried to think of something to say, even if only to make the situation less embarrassing for you. “You can’t put on your old clothes, they’re filthy, you um, find some of your dad’s old pajamas and go to bed.”
Brahms nodded, walking past you and into his parents’ closet. You breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have a moment without a naked man in front of you. Your hands were still shaking, your cut hand still burning, though your mind felt more at ease than it did earlier that night. If he hadn’t hurt you already, maybe he just wouldn’t, you hoped.
“Tuck me in.” You heard the childish voice from the closet.
Turning, you saw Brahms standing in the closet doorway, in a pair of plaid pajamas. He was gesturing to the bed and you realized he wanted to do his nighttime routine even though the jig was up.
“Well, get in the bed then.” You said uncertainly, getting nervous again.
Brahms shuffled over to the bed, and you lifted the covers, him fitting his tall form inside. You tucked him in, making sure that he was in nice and tight, a habit left over from when you took care of doll Brahms.
“Kiss.” He mumbled, his eyes looking up at you expectantly.
You hesitated, before gently pressing a hand into his chest. “Just one, and you’re going to go straight to sleep. No getting up. You have to promise.”
“I promise.” He whimpered, bringing a hand out from under the covers and grabbing your wrist. “I need my goodnight kiss.”
Nodding slightly, you leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on his porcelain lips. As you pulled back, he pushed his face up into yours, his hand dragging you down by your arm onto the bed. Pulling back, you snapped. “No!”
Brahms jumped slightly, removing his hand from your wrist and looking up at you with puppy-that-just-got-kicked eyes.
“Brahms, you’re a good boy, you can’t just touch someone without their permission.” You said in a warning tone, glad your voice didn’t shake.
He nodded quickly, trying his hardest to look innocent.
“Now I’m going to go to bed, and you are going to stay here until I wake you up in the morning.” You continued to use your scolding voice, and Brahms nodded again.
“Stay here.” He asked. Well, more like demanded.
“Please.” He persisted, putting his hand back under the covers.
You looked down at this large man-child, feeling nearly wistful at how attached you had gotten to him when you thought he was the spirit of a child controlling a doll. Well, he certainly had the spirit of a child, was this really that much different?
Yes, this seemed infinitely more dangerous.
But, there was something almost charming about him you couldn’t put your finger on. You felt protective of him. And, a bit grateful. He had killed an intruder for you. You tried not to think of the body that was in the living room downstairs. However, by association you did start thinking about the body in the living room, and that made you even more uncomfortable.
“Okay…just for tonight.” You finally broke, walking over to the other side of the bed and laying on top of the covers.
“Thank you.” Brahms whispered, turning on his side to face you, tucking his hands under his head and closing his eyes.
Unbeknownst to you, Brahms wouldn’t be sleeping at all that night. You didn’t know that when you woke up in the morning, the body would be gone from the living room, the mirror on the ground would be all cleaned up, and any signs of a struggle would be gone. Like nothing had ever happened. You didn’t know that the hand you had cut would be disinfected and bandaged. And you didn’t know that Brahms would spend the remaining hours of the night staring at your face, his chest swelling with love and admiration, swearing to himself that he’d do anything to make you stay.
