Slasher x Reader Drabbles & Imagines ||Requests Open||

🔪~Movie Night~🔪

After that night had ended you had thought over what to do now. The couple watched you leave in the morning with sad eyes as they thought their only chance at any freedom had been snatched away but as you meet Brahms' eyes through a window you knew you wouldn't be away for long.

"[Y/n]?" Brahms' was in the doorway of the library fiddling with his hands as he watched you slide books into the shelf, making sure everything was put back in the correct order as his parents had requested. You looked to the man with a smile only for it to drop as you see him nervously wringing his hands in front of him. "What's wrong Brahmsy?" you asked, setting the pile of books down on a nearby end table and walking up to him before taking his hands in your own. "Can we have some hot chocolate maybe?" his voice was quiet and you found yourself chuckling at his bashfulness. "That depends, Brahms. Did you clean your room as I asked you to do earlier?" He nodded his head after thinking about your question for a few seconds "What about your dishes from dinner. Did you put them in the sink?" Once again Brahms thought about your question but this time he muttered a sounding sad "No."

"Once you get your dishes cleaned up and I get these books put away we can make some hot chocolate together and have a little movie night." You released Brahms' hands. "How does that sound to you?" you asked placing a hand on his cheek.

"That sounds amazing," he said, his own smile breaking out on his face, happiness shining in his eyes. You gave his cheek a pat before he walked away, hurrying to put away the dishes as quickly as possible.

Brahms has done this countless times; it was a simple minor task that should take no effort. All he had to do was take the delicate porcelain dishes and place them in the empty sink, a no-brainer. But as Brahms excitedly grabbed the dishes, his mind preoccupied with what movie you both should watch, Brahms stumbled sending a mug tumbling to the floor before it crashed shattering into a million little pieces. Brahms watched as the pieces bounced on the floor scattering around and he felt dread settle into his stomach.

His eyes were blown wide and he quickly moved to set the dishes into the nearby sink before dropping to his knees, his mind growing hazy as tears formed in his eyes. He felt like he was losing control as his hands tried to grip the first pieces, pulling back as his hand was sliced open, blood slowly dribbling to the floor. He scrambled continuing to try and pick up the sharp glass, every Tears continued falling down his cheeks, you would be mad at him he thought as he heard your footsteps approaching. You would hate him and leave.

"Brahms?"

You would leave him all alone.

"Brahms!"

You were rushing to his side before sinking onto your knees and grabbing his hands. Brahms was shaking slightly as tears fell from his face before dripping down his chin. He sniffled as you slowly took what glass he was able to pick up from his hands, setting it to the floor "I'm sorry [Y/n]," he said in his kid voice catching you off guard momentarily. You had never seen Brahms look so vulnerable and it broke your heart as you caught a glimpse of his bloodied hands.

"You hate me now!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking when he shocked you with the untrue accusation "We're not going to have a movie night anymore, and you're going to leave me,"he said, crying as his lower lip quivered with the attempt to keep full-out sobs from escaping due to the thought of him making you disappointed enough to leave.

Your hands were gentle against his face and your eyes met his "Brahms, baby. It's okay. It was an accident." you kept your voice calm, and even as you addressed him, not wanting to spook the distressed man despite your shock over the whole situation. "I would never hate you for an accident." He seemed to calm down slightly when you pulled him close to you, encircling your arms around him in a warm embrace. His bloody hands gripped the back of your shirt, bunching up the fabric there, along with staining it with blood from the cuts in his hands. The wounds stung as Brahms flexed the muscles in his fingers to keep you close to him but he could care less at that moment. His fear-riddled brain was more set on not letting you disappear. He couldn't lose you.