I saw that ur requests were opened and was wondering if you could write a Brahms heelshire x reader where the reader is a heavy sleeper/tired all the time to the point where they just blame all the stuff happening in the house bc they’re tired lol. Oh stuff goes missing or moved? Probably just misplaced it or don’t remember where I place things. Strange noises going through the house? Probably still tired, a nap should fix it!
no rush! And I hope you have an amazing day 💗
Hi! Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy!
[Brahms Heelshire x Reader]
The Heelshire manor was supposed to be a quiet getaway. A bit eerie, yes, but charming. The job was easy: take care of a porcelain doll named Brahms and follow a list of rules. Nothing you couldn’t handle. Except… you were exhausted. Always.
You blamed it on the stress of moving, the long drive, your weird sleep schedule. But truthfully? You were just tired. Constantly.
The first few days, you slept through the nights like a log. When morning came, things weren’t quite where you left them.
Your toothbrush? In the hallway.
A teacup? Balanced on the stair rail.
The front door? Unlocked. Again.
You rubbed your eyes each time and mumbled, “Guess I did that half-asleep. Shouldn’t be brushing my teeth during REM cycles…”
Scraping. Tapping. Breathy whispers. All late at night.
You stirred once or twice but always rolled over with a mutter: “House is just old. Or maybe I need magnesium. Yeah. Magnesium.”
You took naps after breakfast. Naps before dinner. Sometimes you dozed off mid-sentence reading aloud to Brahms. The porcelain face never reacted, but if you had been paying closer attention, maybe you would’ve noticed the head tilting slightly when you weren’t looking.
He knew you were different. Most people ran. Or screamed. Or at least questioned the rules.
You? You shuffled through the halls with messy hair, oversized sweaters, and a cup of tea you forgot to finish. You barely noticed when things moved — barely noticed him.
You even slept through him crawling out of the walls. Twice.
Once, he accidentally knocked over a lamp. You grumbled, “Stupid dreams again,” and went right back to snoring.
He started doing more, just to test you.
Moved your entire dresser three inches to the left.
You walked into it the next morning and muttered, “Huh. Gotta stop sleep-moving furniture. That’s dangerous.”
Then one night, he left a peanut butter sandwich beside your bed. You didn’t make one. You didn’t even like peanut butter that much.
Still, you sat up at 3 a.m., took one bite, nodded, and whispered, “Thanks, me.”
Brahms tilted his head in confusion from the shadows.
You were… unbreakable. Or maybe just incredibly lazy. Either way, he was intrigued.
That night, while you drooled on your pillow, he sat beside you and gently brushed your hair back, his fingers cold.
“Probably just a draft,” you mumbled, half-conscious.
Brahms let out a low chuckle.
Maybe you wouldn’t run. Maybe you were exactly what he needed — someone who wouldn’t question him. Someone who’d just nap through it all.
