#Albert shaw x you

[jokeringcutio]

The Grabber x Hufflepuff (f) Reader [1] (Explicit, warnings)

Because I noticed an astonishing amount of my Grabber readers have this one thing in common. It's the house. Hufflepuff. They all have Hufflepuff on their profiles. Summary: You're a Hufflepuff student and you get caught by the Dark Lord's infamous snatcher known as The Grabber.

Fandoms: The Black Phone, Harry Potter Rating: Explicit Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, clad touching, non/con or dub-con touching, Reader is a Hufflepuff, Reader is Innocent. Reader is a virgin, Reader is a Mudblood/Muggle-born, use of little witch/littlegirl/little one, Reader is of age, Grabber has an innocence corruption kink, Reader gets kidnapped. Harry Potter 2nd Wizard War AU.

Grabber x Hufflepuff [ 1 ]

The Room of Requirement shimmered with the focused intensity of young witches and wizards, secretly preparing for the fight against the Dark Lord and his followers. You were among them, your wand tracing arcs in the air as you practiced defensive spells like all others. Some students here were younger than you, some slightly older. But everyone was practicing with the same passion. The air was thick with concentration, punctuated by the occasional crackle of magic gone awry.

"Hey," Ginny's voice cut through the hum of activity, pulling you aside. She was in the same year as you, although you hadn’t truly talked until you joined Dumbledore’s Army. Her eyes held an edge of urgency. "I need you to fetch some Hellebore Herb from the Forbidden Forest."

You nodded, a quick, sharp motion. "I can do that," you murmured, feeling the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. Slipping out of the school was a grizzly task nowadays. Students weren’t allowed to leave as it was said to be too dangerous out there now that the Dark Lord had returned. But you knew danger lurked inside the walls of your school as much as it did outdoors. Most of the staff at Hogwarts was sympathizing with the pure-blood radicals. If one of them caught you sneaking out of the school, they’d be taking their time punishing you with heavy torture spells.

Luckily, you were quite skilled at being silent, always alert, and excellent at not being noticed. Ginny knew this. It was why she usually asked you or Clementine Felley, a Ravenclaw with similar skills but a year below you two, to do these sorts of assignments.

Because you’d been doing this for a while, you had grown confident in your skills. In the shadowy corner, you slipped into your school robe to protect yourself from the cold outside. You made sure to flip your hair from underneath it before donning the hood and hiding it again.

The yellow and black of Hufflepuff covered you, and you were glad you belonged to that house. Somehow, the yellow became just another shade when you were out in the dusk or dark, resembling green or brown and adapting to your surroundings. You ran your fingers over the emblem, feeling the rough embroidery against your skin, before you grasped a wicker basket, its weave tight and firm.

Creeping out of the Room of Requirement, you clutched the fabric of your robe close. The corridors loomed silent and watchful. You knew the stakes — capture meant punishment, Crucio, or worse if the Carrow siblings got their hands on you.

As the doors groaned closed behind you, you drew a deep breath. Every shadow could hold a spying eye, a guard, or an enchantment meant to betray your step. But like so many times before, you made it out of the school with practiced ease. The Forbidden Forest loomed, a dark maw ready to swallow you whole. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, but you pushed forward, feet whispering over fallen leaves and twigs.

Like you had hoped, nothing happened. You weren’t spotted. There was no alarm raised. And the deeper you got into the forest, the more at ease you started to feel. Not that there weren’t countless of dangers here, but with your wand and your knowledge of spells, you felt you could handle the forest’s creatures.

The underbrush crunched beneath your knees as you knelt, fingers sifting through the damp soil. You found the Hellebore — a sinister beauty with its deep green leaves and delicate blooms that belied the poison lurking within. Your breath came in careful puffs, visible in the twilight of the forest.

"Aren’t you a brave girl?" The voice was like gravel, grating against the hushed whispers of the trees. It struck a chord of fear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your gaze lifted, heart beating high in your chest. There, a few feet away from you, a devil's mask leered down at you, eyes hollow pits of malice. You instantly recognized the foul creature from pictures in the newspaper. Moving images of the same mask, two hands raised next to it, showing the same rings you saw now glinting on his fingers in the light of the moon.

The Grabber.

His name slithered through your mind, conjuring images of snatched souls and vanished faces. His jacket hung open, revealing a swath of bare chest, skin pale in the moonlight, betraying he was just another man.

“What are you doing, lovely?” The voice was so deep and low that you felt it deep in your core. You squeezed your legs together uncomfortably, hoping the man didn’t notice the gesture, as you slowly rose from your knees.

Even standing, the man was at least a head taller than you. If not more.

“Well?” He tilted his head, the mask mocking you as it slanted.

"Collecting herbs," you managed, voice a mere wisp of sound. You tucked the Hellebore behind your back discreetly.

"Oh,” the man made a mocking sound that was almost called gentle. “Sweet thing, aren't you? Voice like honey." The Grabber cocked his mask, angling it in such a way that his eyes could trace you up and down. You could feel it, felt his gaze as it roamed over every inch of your body. It felt intimate, the way he studied you.

He stepped closer, the scent of earth and something darker emanating from him.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell the big bad man what kind of herbs you are collecting out here, on your own, at the cusp of midnight?”

You knew he had you there. No student was allowed in this part of the forest or indeed allowed to roam outside at night. In fact, no students were allowed out at all. And by your robes, he could easily tell you were still a student, that you belonged to the school nearby.

A man like him, working for the Dark Lord himself, would not let you go unpunished. He would either hand you back to the school, or he would dish out the punishment himself. But with his reputation for being a man who tortured his victims and made innocent people disappear, you had a feeling which one it would be. The others wouldn't get their herbs today. You had failed them. For a short moment, you wished one of the Carrow siblings had caught you on your way out instead.

“I-I will,” why was your voice trembling? Why did you stutter? Were you truly this scared of the legendary snatcher who was said to be more demon than man?

“Very cute all the stumbling,” the man interrupted you. “I don’t care what you came here to collect. All I care about is that you are being naughty. Being out here, on your own, late at night. There are all sorts of bad men prowling about. Hadn’t you noticed?”

You blinked, clearly confused by his words because he obviously was one of these bad men himself. Why else would he trod around wearing a demon’s mask, bare-chested, in the middle of the night? He was out here, hunting.

Did that mean that others were nearby? That you somehow had been unlucky enough to cross paths with the ones he was chasing. People the Dark Lord wanted to see dead.

“I-I am s-so sorry. The H-herb I needed only grows at night and I thought-" you lied.

“Hellebore Herb,” he interrupted, cutting you short yet again. Of course, he must have caught sight of it. You nodded, realizing that although you had been trying to hide it behind your back, there was some more Hellebore near your feet. It would have been an easy guess.

"Well, well” he muttered, and you watched as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The way his jacket swayed about revealed a hairless stomach with trained abbs, slightly pudgy but you supposed that came with age.

“Are you a full or half-blood?"

Huh? It was a sensitive question, but you could guess why he would ask it. The Dark Lord wasn’t keen on anyone not considered pure. You could lie to him. You knew you should. But something about the glint behind the dark holes of eyes in the mask told you he already knew the answer.

"Neither,” you reluctantly admitted, hanging your head in defeat. The herb dropped from your hands, fingers outstretched behind your back. “Muggle-born," a reluctant whisper and most definitely a death sentence. To lie was folly; he would know. To think all your bravery and good intentions would end here, tonight. That your defiance would be squashed down by one man and an unlucky encounter. Fear danced along your nerves, yet you forced stillness upon your frame.

"Charming," he murmured, surprising you as he closed the gap between you. The brush of his fingertips against your hair sent an unwanted tingle down your neck. "I would love to take you home."

You stiffened, the words wrapping around you like chains. There was no mistaking the implication, the threat veiled as a compliment. He wanted to snatch you the way he had done so many others. But there was something else underneath, something thick with arousal.

His presence loomed, a specter of dread. His breath grazed your cheek, slipping out from underneath the mask as he studied you with a sidelong glance. You let him touch your hair, let him believe he held sway. Inside, your thoughts raced — plans, strategies, hopes all tangled in a desperate knot.

"Would anyone miss a sweet little muggle-born witch?" he cooed, playing with a lock of your hair. His closeness disgusted you, but you tried to use it to fool him. Your hand slipped into your robe, ever so carefully, and searched for your wand, mentally preparing to knock him back with a spell.

"Everyone is missed by someone," you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

"Ah, but will they look for you?" The Grabber's tone was a taunt, a predator enjoying the quiver of his prey.

They would. They had to. Ginny and the others would notice if you didn’t come and deliver the herb. They would alarm the others, start a search for you, make sure your parents were informed. And then, the true search would start. No matter how influential the Dark Lord was, he couldn’t stop your loved ones from searching for you. They would, you just knew it. You were loved. You clutched your wand in your fist, preparing to attack.

"Let's find out," the moment the whisper reached your ears, his hand left your hair. You felt how his hand slipped into yours, disarming you by taking your wand. How had he known that you'd reached for it? That you held it? "You don't need that, little girl. Wands are for grown-ups," he teased, voice sing-song. And you silently fumed because you were an adult. Even if it hadn't been for that long. How belittling the man sounded, how he seemed to take pleasure in making you feel small. Then, his mask came closer again, forcing you to lean a little more backward.

"Run, little girl," the Grabber hissed, and without a second thought, you spun on your heels and you ran. With a twist of your body, you broke free from his grasp, feet pounding against the forest floor as you sprinted toward safety.

You could hear him, the laughter that bubbled up from his throat, rich and deep and terrifying.

"Run, little witch, run," he taunted, delight evident in each syllable. "I do so love a chase."

Branches whipped against your face, leaving hot, stinging trails in their wake. Your lungs burned with exertion, the distance between you and the safety of the school shrinking with every desperate stride.

You could reach it, you had to. At this point you didn’t even care if any of the guards spotted you and if they crucioed you until you wished you had never been born. Anything was better than this. Anyone was better than this man. This demon who you’d read about.

Kidnapping. Torture. Unethical spells.

If he got you, you’d never see the light of day again. You’d be done for. You'd die a horrid death.

The outline of the school loomed into view. Just a little further. You pushed yourself beyond your limits, limbs stretching, going faster than you ever had, before your freedom was snatched away. An arm snaked around your waist, making you tumble. His hands clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape. Together, you crashed into the underbrush, his chest, a wall of heat and hardness, pressed against your back. The scent of him enveloped you—earth and sweat and something darker, unnamable.

You fought to breathe, feeling the strain of his fingers against your lips, pushing tightly so they couldn’t even part. You tried to wiggle out of his grip but he only tightened it, hissing in your ear as something hard poked against your butt and you instantly came to a still, eyes wide open. That wasn’t…?

"Shhh," he hissed as a guard's lantern light flickered in the distance. "Not a sound."

You had no choice but to wait in his embrace, feeling his chest heave rapidly up and down behind you. His palm warm against your lips, his heart hammering against your spine. Sweat from his naked chest brushed against your robe.

The moment stretched, an eternity wrapped in seconds, until silence returned and the light of the lantern disappeared into the dimness of the night. Then he rose, pulling you with him, his grip ironclad and unyielding.

"Be silent. Don't make this difficult," he commanded, his hand was upon your arm, gripping you tight, as a wand was raised by the other. It took less than a second for you to realize what was about to happen, but you didn’t have time to counter his spell or try and get away.

You knew what came next—the sensation of being squeezed through an impossibly tiny space, the world blurring into darkness. Apparition. A forced journey to an unknown hell.

You now stood somewhere else, in someone’s living room by the sights of it, too busy taking in your surroundings to stop how the Grabber replaced his hand from your arm to your neck. The squeeze was painful, bringing tears to your eyes, and your hands darted up to try and alleviate his grip. But to no avail.

The man forced you to walk from the living room to the kitchen. Standing in front of a white door, you couldn’t distinguish the soft muttered words that were muffled by the mask, but it was clear he was using some kind of magic to unlock and open it.

A deep and dark room appeared, a staircase leading down to it. Like a basement full of concrete. Then he pushed you through the door.

The grip he had on your neck was firm enough that it became difficult to breathe, as he guided you down the stairs and into what seemed to be a grey and mostly empty room.

The basement was a tomb of dampness and decay. You were thrown onto a mattress that reeked of rot, each spring groaning in protest. He loomed over you, a shadow stripped of humanity.

"Let me have a look at you," he demanded, settling before you and reaching out without expecting an answer.

You felt like a trapped animal and tried to crawl away, but your robes obstructed your movements. And where would you go? There was only a wall behind you, the grey concrete looked chipped and filthy, but also sturdy. You’d need your wand to get out of here.

The man’s hands were already untying your robe, pushing the cloak aside at both sides. Fear twisted inside you, a serpent coiling tighter with every passing second. Veins were visible on the male’s hands. He must be an older man, you thought. And strong.

You tried to struggle and pushed your hands against his arms in an attempt to stop him. But he only stopped his movements to shush you, angling his mask your way before his hands slid past the fabric of your clothes once more.

"Yellow and black," he mused, fingering the edge of your school robe with a touch that was both reverent and mocking. "I always had a thing for Hufflepuffs... loyal, kind, innocent. Wouldn't harm a fly." His voice dripped with sarcasm even as his fingers delicately parted the fabric to reveal your uniform beneath.

You held your breath, trying to shrink away from his probing gaze, but here there was no safety for you. He leaned in closer, heat radiating from his body as you deliberately tried not to look at the bulge he was sporting in his pants. "But innocence is often just a facade... physically they are pure. But mentally," here he chuckled.

"Please..." The word escaped your lips as a whisper, a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity.

A low growl rumbled from the depths of his chest and his nails pressed into your skin as his grip on you became more bold. “I like it when you beg. Makes you look cute, honey.”

You whimpered sadly, realizing that begging wasn’t going to save your life.

"Quiet now," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. "You won’t need this."

The robe was pushed down your shoulders without a fight.

"Shh," he hushed you, his fingers sliding up the sensitive flesh of your bare thigh, just above your stockings, causing an involuntary flinch.

His coarse fingertips traced dangerously close to your skirt now. You couldn’t help it. You weren’t a fighter like the Slytherins or Gryffindors were, but you had your boundaries. With a sharp movement, you brought your elbows down to harm the man, but the Grabber was quicker. He caught your wrists with just one hand. A sad realization that his hands were large and strong enough to subdue you. You wiggled ineffectively, feeling the grip around both your wrists tighten.

"Cute," he chuckled darkly, taking pleasure in the shiver that coursed through you.

"See," he breathed out, his hand venturing beneath the pleated skirt, touching you where no one had ever touched before. "You are going to love this." His words were poison, staining the rawness of the moment with vile certainty.

"Stop," you tried to command, but it came out as a whimper, your own body betraying you under his invasive touch.

His fingertips stroked past your covered folds, the crotch of your panties dampening with each intimidating stroke. The pressure was just right, pressing down tightly enough to stimulate your clit through the soft cotton layer until he had you squirming. Soft mewls escaped your lips instead of pleas while he still held your wrists up with one hand, making it impossible for you to fight him off or crawl away from his touch.

"Ah, there it is," he whispered triumphantly as his finger traced over your damp core. "Your mind's as filthy as they come, little witch."

Panic clawed at your insides, yet amidst the terror, a spark of rage ignited. You hated him, hated his touch, his violation of all you held sacred. You loathed the way he made you feel; exposed, vulnerable, and worst of all, responding despite yourself.

"Doesn't this prove your point?" you spat out with venomous defiance, despising the trembling of your own voice. You were wet, you could hear it now. You felt your nipples peak underneath the fabric of your blouse, their tips pressing through the layers of clothes you were still wearing. But you had no doubt he had caught sight of it.

“Who said I wanted to prove anything?”

For a moment the two of you sat in complete silence while his fingers still rubbed your clothed core. Slick sounds emerged from between your legs while the Grabber stared at you. Was he waiting for an answer?

You tried to control your breathing, thankful when he finally lowered his other hand and with it your wrists. Your arms were starting to feel sore. Yet, that didn’t distract you from the warmth that was slowly building up inside your core. A tight coil was inside your tummy, your legs started to tremble. Whatever function your panties were supposed to have was rendered nihil as he flicked and fondled your clit through the now-soaked-through piece of garment. The fabric clung to your folds, making it easier for him to brush his fingers and the cloth deeper inside, even being as bold as to try and dip a fingertip in until you moaned and thrashed against him.

You turned your head aside, unable to look at him and his devilish mask as an orgasm was rapidly approaching. Your body trembled under his touch as the finger pushed against your entrance once, twice. And then suddenly withdrew.

Shaking, you sat there, blinking confused before you turned your head to face him. Your body felt hot, between your legs, it was burning with desire. The orgasm was so near that you could feel the first tremors already racking through your body. But he had stopped on the cusp of it, withdrawn as a form of pure torture. Leaving you undone, a trembling and whimpering mess on the dirty pale mattress.

You looked up at him, cheeks red and eyes full of arousal. Even forgetting to lower your arms now that his hold on you was gone. Not that you wanted him to have sex with you, but you were the epitome of a woman on the cusp of ecstasy - eager to have your bodily desire fulfilled. You wanted to feel good. Your mind was now conflicted, torn between wanting him to finish and wanting him far away. You looked at him, flushed, eyes begging him to finish what he started. No wonder a low groan escaped him while he squeezed the bulge in his pants as he rose to stand tall again.

“So innocent,” was all he announced before trying to run a hand through his shoulder-length hair. It must be a habit, you realized, mind still hazy with lust, because the movement had no purpose. The man’s mask was clasped behind his head with several bands. His fingers couldn’t properly run through his hair, and he had to halt his movement and lower his arm again.

You smirked up at him, as if you’d just found out a secret about him.

If you could undo those clasps, you could see his face. If you could escape, you could pass that information to the others. He’d finally be an easy prey.

A sudden movement shook you out of your thoughts when he suddenly dipped his hand inside the pocket of his own jacket. Your wand slid out, the hand in which he held it still glistening in the dark from your juices.

"M-My wand," you whispered, the sound barely escaping your lips.

"Shhh, little Hufflepuff," he cooed mockingly before holding your wand up high, seemingly to study it.

And you finally propelled into action. Your wand was an extension of yourself, of your magic, and it shouldn't be in his possession. You scrambled onto your hands and knees in an attempt to jump up and snatch the wand out of his hands, even if he was that much larger and even if you probably couldn’t reach it when you jumped anyway. But you had to try it. You had to get it back.

Your wand was the only thing that could get you out safely.

The Grabber seemed to have predicated your move. It only needed a whisper of his lips, and you sat frozen.

“It works well,” he muttered, words muffled by the mask. And you had no choice but to watch as he lowered his arm. Your breath caught as his fingers, rough and calloused from years of unforgiving work, slipped into the pocket of his dark robes, taking with them your wand—your lifeline.

He patted the pocket of his jacket as if to taunt you, the jacket smacking against his hip as it still hung open to reveal his naked chest. You could see his belly roll with each deep breath taken. He was still aroused, taking delight in playing these games with you.

A whimper escaped your lips, unbidden, raw with the fear of helplessness.

"Isn't that just adorable," the Grabber mused, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the cavernous basement. You watched, heart pounding, as he prepared to leave, the satisfaction in his stride unmistakable. "Don't worry, pet. You won’t be needing that while you’re here."

You watched him as he made his way to the door. If only he hadn’t put that spell on you and you could still move… But as it was, all you could do was sit and watch as he carried your only hope for survival with him.

“I think I’ll just add your name to the list of deaths," the low husky murmur of the Grabber surprised you. It came unasked, just another way he was mentally manipulating you, you guessed. "No one’s gonna ask for you. But you know, future reference. In case anyone decides to start prowling,” he paused, turning his mask to face you from over his shoulder. “It'll just be another whoops. My hand slipped. Killed a pretty little girl out in the forest. Mud-blood witch. I had my orders.”

Anger raged inside of you, boiling under the frozen surface. You wished you could grit your teeth, curl your hands into fists, growl even. But you could do nothing.

He'd report you as another casualty, another life claimed by the darkness he served.

"It’s a cheap trick, but it works every time," he said casually. "Mostly had boys before you. This will be new." The implication hung heavy in the stale air, a sentence without an end, and it was suffocating.

Why? You wondered. Why not just kill them? Why take them home?

The Grabber paused, the mask changed direction until it almost looked like the demon grinned. "I like to play a game. Only with the cute ones though.”

Panic seized you and you felt like you suddenly couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t just read your mind, had he? Merlin, please don’t let him be a Legilimens.

The Grabber fully turned back to you, the demonic mask’s expression seemed to have changed. But surely, that must be your imagination. Or had he cast a spell on it?

“Want to know what it’s called?” he taunted. And you thought. No. No, I don’t want to know what the game is called.

But instantly after, a different voice inside your head said otherwise. What game did he play with his victims, you wondered?

You almost heard the smirk that was hidden underneath the mask. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, confirming your fear that he was someone who could read minds.

“It’s called the naughty game.”

Then he smoothly turned on his heels while a thousand thoughts clouded your mind. You watched him, his back to you as he ascended the stairs, leaving you to contemplate the twisted rules of his game. What happens if you're naughty? you wondered, a desperate plea for some semblance of understanding.

He halted, his silhouette framed by the dim light at the top of the staircase.

"You lose," he answered, the words echoing ominously off the walls.

And with that, he disappeared from sight, leaving you alone with the chilling silence, your wet panties, and your racing thoughts. ~ AN: More? ~

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[komotionlessqueenmm]

Can i request something platonic with the grabber? like maybe y/n is one of the kids he took and he grows attached or something

Platonic headcanons here we go!!!!

Headcanon/Preference # 29

Picture & gifs NOT mine.

Year posted - 2023

*I wrote this with the idea that the reader is like preteen to teen, female and comes from an abusive/neglectful home life. So ⚠️Warning⚠️ sensitive topics ahead!

✨Albert "saves" you~

• The first time Albert ever saw you, it was while you were at the hardware store he works at, shopping for house paint with your father. (Who of course was making you carry everything, despite being twice your size himself.)

• Initially he didn't really think much about it, or you for that matter. But when you were trying desperately to haul everything up onto the counter, you'd dropped a paint can, which spilled paint everywhere.

• He would have been upset with you, if your father hadn't immediately backhanded you as of you were a grown adult. The sheer force sent you flying to the paint covered floor, where you wept softly while you father yelled and berated you.

• It was then that he noticed how malnourished you looked, how pale, and the bruises on your arms and legs. The lavender sundress you wore, clearly way to big for you, and filthy long before you fell into the paint. Albert wondered subconsciously when was the last time you'd eaten, or gone outside to play?

• He kicked your father out, and begrudgingly you along with him. Because despite himself he didn't want to see you suffering. So for the rest of the day he devised a plan, and within a week of stalking you and your family, Albert kidnapped you and locked you way in his basement.

• He'd even gone out of his way to clean up the basement a little, and put clean sheets on the musty mattress down there. He wasn't planning on hurting you like all the others, no no he was saving you! You just needed time to adjust to it, before he could move you to the spare bedroom upstairs he'd decorated just for you.

• The authorities actually didn't know about your disappearance until the school called. Your parents essentially just shrugged it off and told the cops you'd run away. So no one thought the infamous Grabber had snatched you. He only kidnapped boys after all.

• When you woke up to find Al watching you, sitting on the floor against the across the room. Initially you were startled of course, I mean who wouldn't be? But he spoke softly to you, assuring you that you were safe now. And you honestly believed him.

• He promised to return in a few hours with food and soda, and he kept his word. Bringing you a meal of baked linguini, which he had clearly picked up at a local restaurant. Along with your favorite soda, how did he know that was your favorite?

• When you inquired about it in a soft whisper, Albert couldn't help but chuckle behind his grinning mask, explaining that he wasn't a very good cook, but he wanted you to have a good first meal with him. He left out the fact of how he knew that was your favorite soda.

• Making smalltalk as he sat at the foot of the mattress, watching while you ate, you absentmindedly told him about how you're a fairly good cook. Stating about how your family always made you cook, clean, and maintain the house.

• Albert asked why you were so skinny then, if you were the one cooking. And you explained that your family kept you locked in a broom closet beneath the stairs when you weren't working. And you only ever got the scraps, and oftentimes expired or stale foods.

• That fact confirmed his suspensions about your home life, and it enraged him to say the least. You are a dream, a sweetheart, why would anyone hurt you? But he contained his anger as best he could, he didn't want to scare you after all.

• As the days went by, Albert made it a point to take care of you better than any of your family ever had. Al never wanted kids, still doesn't, but you become like a little sister to him. And he became someone you looked up to for protection.

• When Max was away Albert would let you come upstairs. And he'd let you bathe in peace and privacy, and also let you watch cartoons in the living room. He also provided you with new clothes, clothes that actually fit. And eventually he took down a TV and VCR for you, and a bunch of tapes. He didn't want you getting bored down there, when you had to be confined until Max left.

• Sometimes he'd even sit down there and watch the tapes with you, even bringing popcorn and candy for you both to munch on. It didn't matter what the movie was, he just enjoys seeing you happy and now much more healthy.

• He would show you all sorts of magic tricks, especially on days when you were sad, which was usually a result of having nightmares about your father taking you back, and locking you up in that musty broom closest. Al enjoys the sound of your laughter, and he smiles when you smile.

• Sometimes when you're feeling a bit more childish, due to not having a childhood, you play pretend with stuffed animals Albert brought you, and sometimes sometimes Al will play with you. He especially enjoys having tea parties, and it's the perfect time to show off his magic tricks.

• When it nears the time for you to move out of the basement, and into the room Albert has set up for you. He finally starts to visit you without his mask. The first time he took it off, he sat across from you and actually let you remove it. He figured it would be a good way to make you feel safe and comfortable.

• He was very pleased with how comfortable you'd become with him, with and without the mask. But the real thing that made Al so proud of you, was that you never once tried escaping, or been naughty in any way. You'd been very polite and proper the entire month and a half you'd been with him.

• When you finally met Max, you did as Albert asked you, and kept his little secret. Albert easily convinced his brother that you were a runaway that he found, and decided could stay with them. (Obviously not telling him how long you'd already been there.) And Max accepted his explanation without question.

• The room he moved you into was perfect in every single way. And he was so happy about how excited you got while examining everything within the room. That was the first time you hugged him, practically tackling him in a tight hug, which initially startled him, but he relaxed and hugged you back quickly.

• He knew you still needed an education, but he couldn't exactly enroll you in the public school, considering the county still thought you were a runaway. So he opted to homeschool you as best he could, which in turn took up all of his spare time. And the disappearances had suddenly stopped after you ran away. What a coincidence.

• One day when he was feeling particularly soft, Albert let you mess with his hair, which resulted in several braids with decorative beads and rings being put into his soft hair. He felt a little ridiculous of course, but you were so happy that he didn't mind it. Thank god Max wasn't home!

• You eventually take it upon yourself to try teaching Albert how to cook, which results in quite a bit of chaos in the kitchen, and a hell of a mess for you both to deal with in the end. But he's a fast learner when he's got such a great teacher assisting him.

• You also helped Max to sober up! And helped him to find a really awesome job, both of which Albert had thought were impossible.

• Samson of course took a liking to you, and often slept either at your feet, or in your bed with you, depending on what you were up to.

• Albert's lost count of how many times he's found you curled up with his dog like he was a big ol' teddy bear. Albert is also a teddy bear with you tbh, but no one say anything okay? Okay!

*Hope y'all enjoyed! 🥰

[mandowifey]

MKAY SO WE ALL KNOW ABT AL'S CHEST RIGHT??? Idk why but it looks so smooth-

Anyways how would it go if the reader just straight on tells him that she's obsessed with his man tits?

Anon. This made me ugly laugh at 11 at night. Thank you for this.

○ ○ ○

Fancy You.

Albert Shaw/The Grabber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: General Dead Dove, you're kidnapped by a lunatic, Stockholm Syndrome, Implied NonCon, NSFW content.

(This was not proofed.)

• • •

Time crawled to a halt in this place.

You weren't sure if it was weeks, maybe months since your abduction. When you started scratching lines into the cement walls, you had lost track of the hours that passed. Oftentimes, you couldn't recall if you already marked a day, which meant your count could be wrong or missing altogether. Right now, you stood at 27.

'This place' was a basement. You had taken to thinking of it like your coffin. It was a cold, dark, all-encompassing tomb, which you and many more would die within. Sometimes, you wondered how many before you left their own scratches on the wall. There was no evidence of others, which roused concerns that none of them lasted long enough to count their days. You considered if you were his first, or perhaps his last. Neither option felt palpable.

He collected you around the evening, as usual. Punishment this time had felt less brutal and more sensual, as the welts from his belt bloomed on the flesh of your ass and thighs instead of your back and arms. Hand prints marred your throat and wrists as reminders of your place here. Somewhere between your legs resides something sticky and warm. As you wade through the fog in your mind, you return to consciousness as your captor rocks against you.

'Good girl, m-my good girl.'

A brush of silicone against your throat made your head drop back. Large hands palmed your hips, guiding your flacid body into his. Gasps came quick and muffled behind his mask as he ruts against you, the drag of his girth leaving streaks of precum on your thighs. Each jerk of his body loosened a couple more of your mental screws. Maybe you didn't hate this at all. Maybe you'd always wanted to feel needed.

The man groans something low and guttural in your ear, his fingers bruising your hips as heat spills over your soft thighs. Revulsion fills your stomach like acid, but you can not bring yourself to shed another tear. As his grip loosens, he begins to move you off of his lap and have you stand. He liked to look at you, bloody and broken while covered in his cum. To him, you were a masterpiece meant to admire.

"Look at you," His voice is soft in stark comparison to the brutality in which he took you. "My perfect little dove."

The kitchen floor is cold on your feet, and you feel something in your chest. Perfect, you think, his.

Maybe...

"I like your chest," you say suddenly. Time grinds to a stop, and you are hardly breathing. "It's smooth, nice to look at." Who was this speaking for you? Or perhaps this voice had been there all along, waiting for its chance. The fog in your brain makes you lethargic. Your head felt weighted as it rolled in his direction, your eyes on the sockets of that devilish mask. He was frozen in place, watching you.

Standing up, the man you only knew as Mister towers over you and breathes hard. Fingers cup your chin and pull your face up to look at him. It was difficult to keep your eyes open as consciousness rattled around in your head like loose stones. At this distance, you can see the glean of those predatorial blue eyes.

"What else?"

You blink and try to focus your attention.

"What else?" He says again, his large hand encompassing your jaw in a painful squeeze.

At a loss, you gawk up at him and frantically try to discern what you're being asked. He moves you backward by your jaw until you touch the counter. You gasped as you're lifted by the hips and placed on the edge, legs forced apart so he could slot between them. Slowly, you start to understand. He must not ever receive compliments, certainly not from his victims. You had caught him off guard and thrilled him. You could tell by the way he was already hard again.

The man drags the weeping tip of his cock along your crease and pulls another noise from your throat. As he angles to drive inside of you, he brings that large hand to your throat and presses into the flesh.

"What else do you like about me, kiddo?"

[evilvvithin]

make me bad pt.1

pairing: the grabber x f!reader warning: average stockholm syndrome, violence, some non con wordcount: 2,254 words notes: this was supposed to be dirty albert smut, somehow turned into something more. cant explain. kinda AU where where the grabber is simply deranged stalker/kidnapper and has nothing to do with kids AO3 link//masterlist

summary: It was a day like any other during this time; grey, cold and depressive. A day like any other; another missing person. Another strike from the unknown kidnapper. "If he wanted to take me, he already would."

It was a day like any other during this time; grey, cold and depressive.  A day like any other; another missing person. Another strike from the unknown kidnapper, serial killer more likely. It's been like half a year since the first girl disappeared - what were the chances of finding her alive at this point?

Shaking your head you finished coffee and rushed out of your apartment. 

‘Almost late for the cinema’, ran through your head as you glanced at your phone. 

Others were canceling their plans and limited going out, especially when night covered the streets, but you felt you had no reason to do so.

If the creep wanted to take me, he'd already do so. 

You laughed to yourself and headed towards the cinema. Was it because you needed some courage? Because you kept lying to yourself? A cold chill ran up your spine and you nervously laughed again. 

“You are late!” Your friend's loud voice cut the silence. “Hurry up, it's almost starting!”

“Coming, wait!” 

Not reserving seats before and being late, you had no choice but take what was available. You were here for the movie, yet being separated from your friend bothered you.

“Well, hello!” The older man next to you smiled. “Enjoy the movie, hey?” 

Something about him seemed eerily familiar, yet you'd swear you had never seen him before. His eyes sparkled from the projector,  visibly shifting from your knees to your chest repeatedly. 

“Thanks. You too.” 

If the creep wanted to take me, he'd already do so. 

~~~~~

It was a day like any other during this time; grey, cold and depressive.  A day like any other; another missing person.

Finishing your usual morning coffee, you packed up all you needed for work and left the apartment. 

“Good morning!” You smiled at the neighbor next door. 

“Morning, beautiful!”

‘Should've brought an umbrella with me’, you thought but continued your walk nevertheless.

 This time of the year used to be unpredictable with weather - almost moody you could say. The street suddenly became so stranded and silent, the sound of the wind was almost deafening. Nervousness creeped up on you and you increased your walking pace, rhyming it up with your heartbeat. 

“Hey, stop! You just lost this!” A male voice shouted behind you. 

You did not want to stop, did not want to look who he was, but what did you lose? Taking a deep breath to try to relax your heartbeat, you turned around and was met with a funny looking guy. White painted face with a wide smile, framed by his hair and finished with a black top hat. 

“Is it yours?” He asked again and waved a key with a big keychain at you. 

You couldn't make out exactly what it was in his hand, but him being seemingly so friendly and harmless, you didn't hesitate to make your way towards him. 

Replying to his smile with one of yours, you nodded and grabbed the key, a key to your apartment. “Thank you so much. I didn't even hear it hit the ground.” 

“You seemed to be lost in thoughts.”

“Yeah.. uhm, well, thank you again, sir.”

“Gladly.” He tipped his hat and got back to his car - a black van to be specific. “Won't steal your time any more, don't worry.”

“No it's fine,” the awkwardness visible in your laugh. “Thank you again.”

“Alright! See you soon.”

You waved at the man mindlessly, watching the black van disappear around the corner slowly. Once he was fully out of view, you observed the key that fell out of your bag - or a pocket - who knows. It was indeed a key to your apartment, but a spare one you had hidden in your room in case anything happened. Quickly rustling through your back, you found the original key and your jaw dropped.

There was no chance you'd take both keys with you - the realization slowly kicked in. Someone must've took them. Someone was inside your home. 

Someone… 

Standing there in the middle of the street frozen, you recognized the van as well. His ‘funny’ white face with a tophat. That was the so-called magician with the black van that was seen near the areas of kidnappings. How could you be so oblivious to something so obvious? So careless?

‘See you soon as well? What?!’

You swore he seemed somewhat familiar too, despite the white make-up all over his face. Never seen him before, yet you knew him. Somehow. Squeezing both keys in your now shaky hands, you turned around and hurried to your home. 

“Sooner than I expected,” a male voice whispered behind you the second you closed the door to your apartment and within a second, a numb blow into the back of your head sent you unconscious to the ground. “Thought we'd get to know each other better first, but well,” he smirked and reached for the needle in his pocket.

~~~

Cold water dropped on your cheeks, slowly but annoyingly enough for you to open your eyes and squirm away. Dirty mattress underneath you, little window behind bars near the ceiling and cold, concrete walls all around you. Heavy doors you'd never be able to open on your own. Lonely black phone on the wall with ripped out cable. Scratches on the wall like if someone dug their nails into it. Unreadable words. 

‘What in the fuck is this place?’ You thought as you wiped the water off your face and touched the back of your head. ‘Aah.. my head.’ 

You stood up ignoring the pulsating headache, trying to get away from the mattress. It smelled horrendous - combination of piss, sweat and blood. The smell of horrendous death. Is this where all the previous kidnapped girls were? Where they died?  You gagged suddenly, almost throwing up despite your stomach being empty. After effect of a sleep drug he used after knocking you out, to make absolutely sure you won't wake up earlier than he wanted you to. 

The heavy door's joints screeched being opened and you saw a dark silhouette standing in the doorway. Silhouette with horns. 

“I need to look into that,” the man sighed and stepped inside, making sure the doors were closed and locked behind him. “Brought you something to sober up.”

You observed his every move without moving much yourself, without saying anything. He carried a large plate with a bowl on it. 

“How did you sleep, beautiful?” He laughed like someone trying to ease up the mood in an awkward situation. 

Making his way towards you, you stepped back till your back crashed into the cold concrete wall. 

“It's just food! Come on.”

He placed the plate next to the mattress and looked at you, exposing his mask in the light. That's why his silhouette seemed horned before, like a demon, you weren't imagining things. The Japanese demon mask - or something similar at least. The eerie smile carved into it only added to his unsettling look. It looked like he tried to look nice and polished - smiley mask, black shirt without a single fold, red shirt to his neck underneath it, black pants without any folds as well, his hair freshly washed and brushed. 

“Don't be stupid.” He sighed at your silence. “It's not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, I already would, don't you think?” 

You had to admit - he was right about that. Why go through all the trouble of stalking and kidnapping you, taking you all the way here, to just end up killing you right away. But then; then there was the question of what he actually plans to do with you. Your body uncontrollably shivered at the thought. 

“You can't be cold,” the man laughed and then tilted his head, hoping to get some kind of reply or reaction out of you. 

But no - you were determined to stay as unreadable as possible. “Thank you for the food,’” you whispered,  voice raspier and scared-sounding than you planned. 

The man didn't utter a word; he just bored his eyes into you for what seemed like an eternity before making his way to the heavy door. Standing in the frame, he stood still and turned his masked face to you: “I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're anxious about. Not unless you make me.” 

~~~~

“Calmer today, aren't we?” He shouted upon entering the room. 

You couldn't see his face but knew he was smiling under the mask. A sinister smile. Watching his body movements you couldn't help but wonder what he was so happy about - but you weren't gonna ask him. Once he got close enough to you, you noticed his mask was different; there was no creepy smile decorating it. It was all blank. 

“I didn't wake you up, did I?” He asked and sat right next to you at the edge of the mattress. 

You shook your head in a reply - of course he didn't. You didn't close your eyes for a second in fact. Spiraling all possible ways to run away in your head, all the way you could maybe manipulate him, overpower him, anything. 

“Good, little bird.” 

His hand reached to your face and stopped right before touching your skin, seemingly waiting if you moved away or not. It looked like he predicted you'd try to squirm away immediately but the fact you didn't made him froze in a pleasant surprise. He tilted his head and grabbed a strand of your hair, twirling it around his finger again and again. His eyes boring into yours, waiting for any kind of reaction out of you. 

“Hmpf,” he sighed and let go of your hair. It wasn't a sigh of disappointment though, rather a sigh of entertainment. You were not gonna be as easy as the others - just as he thought the second he laid his eyes onto you in the streets many, many weeks ago. 

Oh, he was going to enjoy the challenge. He was going to enjoy breaking you. 

~~~

You lost count of how many days went by. Weeks maybe? Who knew. You observed every single part of the basement, all the cravings in the walls, imperfections in the floor - it seemed to have been repaired multiple times in one spot. Every piece of brown and orange leaves on the trees you could see outside the tiny window - surprised they didn't all fall off already. You felt like you knew everything about this room, except the phone.

The black phone. 

At first you thought the man left it here to mock his victims, to make them call for help desperately, just to laugh at them. That was until you started hearing the phone ringing; faintly, but still ringing. It wasn't possible - the cable was cut off. The phone didn't work. Wasn't supposed to work. You couldn't tell if it was just your mind playing tricks on you after all the time you've spent just in this single room without nothing else except occasional visits from your captor. 

Him … he didn't hurt a single hair on you yet. Just as he said the first day. He didn't even touch you as you thought he would, leaving you wondering what was the purpose of all this. Why? He seemed to have no motive so far. He got you a new mattress as he said, brought some clothes for you to change. Didn't even demand to watch. Nothing. 

How could you ever outsmart him without knowing what he wanted?

You decided to be safe and just play your role. Not panicking, trying to get out at any cost. Just be calm and wait; eventually the way to freedom would show itself. The newspapers he brought you sometimes showed that people were searching for you. They cared. Eventually they have to find you, you just need to stay calm and alive. You started to talk to him after the first few days, sometimes you two shared a decent conversation which he seemed to actually enjoy. Mostly about news from the newspaper or other generic stuff, you never asked anything personal about him. What if he got mad? 

Often you found yourself sitting against the wall and wondering what he looked like. His mask was two pieces as you already knew, which he kept swapping depending on his mood, but he always wore the full mask. Despite what or who he was, he had cold but beautiful eyes; often framed by his loose hair strands. He wasn't really tall and was lean, yet surprisingly strong. 

If you ever saw his face, you were not staying alive to tell anyone about it. 

The door made a familiar noise and opened. “Here, something to read,” the man threw newspapers near you. “From today.” 

“Why's this here?” You pointed at the black phone. 

“It never worked,” he shrugged. “It's a decoration.”

“Al! Al?! I think i got to the core of it and-” Another man yelled from upstairs and was cut off by the man hissing angrily and quickly shutting the door behind himself so you can't hear anything else.

That was the first time you've ever heard any noise outside the room as it was made soundproof. The man himself made sure nothing gets in and out, as he proudly mentioned once. You never even thought about someone else being in the house. His accomplice? What did he shout, Al?  ‘Al… shorter for Albert,’ you smirked and grabbed the newspapers Al brought you. Now you knew his name - maybe you could use it against him.

[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 21

Penultimate chapter!! (Besides a couple little epilogue things I have planned). Al has just revealed his plan to confess his crimes- how will y/n ever stop this mad scheme?

Full tags, as well as the fic if you prefer, is on AO3 here. As usual, minors please DNI!

Full Tumblr chapter index can be found here.

Hope you enjoy lovelies! 💜✌️✨

Chapter 21- The Depths

“Take that mask off.” 

The fire in your voice was low and rumbling, a biting warning that you hardly thought yourself capable of. Your initial reaction at his affixing the mask had been terror, but a scorching fury had lit inside you at the audacity of Al to try this, after all this time. You’d had enough of this. 

Of Al attempting this confession, of him even thinking about throwing everything -throwing you- away after all this time. The warning had little effect and Al, wearing the familiar horns and expressionless face, came closer. 

“I’m serious, Al. Take. It. Off.” 

Another step towards you.

Al remained undeterred, his eerie silence reminiscent of nights spent watching silently as you cried yourself to sleep on the mattress. If he was trying to evoke those memories, it was working. Cruel bastard. You slammed your good hand on the table, but as you used the force as leverage to stand, an agony speared through your arm. Al had reached you, had gripped your hand before you could stand. The tight grip had provoked the still-tender muscles in your dislocated finger and you jolted, an electric current tearing through your bloodstream. A sibilant hiss escaped through your teeth at the pain, which had forced you back onto the chair.

“I’ve got to finish this, Y/N. To pay for my crimes.” 

“That wasn’t you. It was-”

“The Grabber?” he asked, a theatrical air of incredulity heavy in his voice. “Not Albert Shaw? They’re one and the same, sweet. You need to stop pretending those are two different people,” he leaned closer, “It’s all me.”

No. You’d seen the change, that almost physical manifestation of the otherness that enveloped Al like a black shroud of fog in the past. In the past, though. He might be using the same mannerisms and voice, but this was all an act. The mask wasn’t some summoning device; it didn’t automatically call on the Grabber to appear like an evocation of some paranormal being. 

“It’s NOT you, Al,” you hoped the repetition of his name might break the mad spell he was trying to hold himself in, the lie he was telling himself to make all of this seem justified. Did it make it easier to betray you like this if he played such a role? 

“Stop kidding yourself. Look who I am-” here, Al nudged open the wooden box with a knuckle, plucking out an item at random (the blue choker necklace) and shaking it wildly in front of you. “Look at what I’ve done! You want me to tell you how I killed each of them? Why not read that note again, huh? Or I could tell you all the details I didn’t put in that confession.”

You’d already looked away by this point, eyes scrunched closed and head shaking, trying to refute Al’s words by purposefully ignoring them. But you knew them to be at least somewhat true- your shameful averting gaze was in part because you had no retort, no justifiable defense for what he was saying. You felt the tears start at the outer corners of your eyes, tumbling down your cheeks before a much rougher sensation met your skin. 

“Look at me!” Al roared, gripping your face between his thumb and forefinger, the course fingertips digging into your cheeks as he forced you to face him. Your eyes stayed closed. His voice again, softer but infinitely more lethal, spoke:

“Look at me, little bird.”

You opened your lids slowly, discerning those still-blue eyes behind the mask. Heavenly, you might have thought that shade, had they not been sitting beneath literal devil horns. Deep blue, with no trace of that hunger or feral rage that signified the Grabber. Al was angry, perhaps at what he thought to be a hopeless situation, but those emotions were Al’s alone. Not the Grabber’s- no matter how much Al pretended to still house that monster within him. 

“Please take off the mask, Al.” It was more desperate and pleading now, spoken through hiccuped breaths, your tears still tracing downward paths down your face. You knew Al’s hardened resolve had already set like cement; unyielding. He didn’t answer you as he released your face from his grasp, finally letting go of your injured hand too. 

You shook the pain away from your hand, looking up at Al, who stood silently over you. He sighed heavily and rolled his shoulders, as if sloughing off the last remnants of himself. His eyes closed behind the mask, and as he opened them, he spoke. The voice was barely an imitation anymore, any attempts at theatricality and grandeur erased by the hoarseness, that clear distress of his words. 

“You gonna be my good girl one last time?”

You had no time to react before he pounced. 

Quick hands had grabbed and lifted you from your seat before implausibly strong arms wrapped around your body. You’d been so numbed, paralyzed by his cutting words about that fragile dichotomy between Al and the Grabber, that his sudden lunge towards you had blindsided you. 

“Let me GO!” You roared, your legs kicking wildly in front of you, your arms squashed too tightly under his grip to help you wriggle free.

“I- am letting- you go,” Al huffed from behind the mask, his winded breath the only sign of a struggle; his strength seemingly carrying you with ease across the kitchen, towards the wooden door waiting for you in the corner of the room. Once there, his arm had to reach out to twist the doorknob, yet with just one arm around your torso you were hopelessly outmatched. You pried an arm free, desperately clawing behind you, as if the possibility of ripping off that demonic mask might snap Al out of this madness. Your frantic mauling only served to bend your injured finger out of place once more, tearing a howl from you. With the wooden door open, Al’s free hand moved to muffle your groans. 

All too much. The pain shooting through your arm, the tight grip around your body, the suffocating hand stifling your shouts, the dizzying ordeal of being carried back towards that prison you’d spent too long in. And the worst part of all of it: that Al had planned this, wanted- thought he needed this to happen.

It wasn’t the sick perversion of actually wanting a victim in the basement, carrying down your unconscious body like he had done nearly a year ago. It wasn’t the heated passion like he’d shown just a couple of nights ago, where he’d nearly dragged you down those stairs in a sudden burst of fury. This was an entirely different purpose. A kindness, in Al’s eyes- to keep you there one last time, to present you as the Grabber’s unwilling cohabitant. A short stint in those depths, to save you from a lifetime of being with him. 

You felt your body still, felt the damp air, and realization hit. The realization that Al had already kicked open the metal door at the bottom of the stairwell. The realization that you were already in the basement. The physical pain of your injury, along with the growing hopelessness of the situation, meant that you’d not fought hard enough to stop this insanity. Another sickly sensation as you felt your body teetering, discerning that Al was leaning forward, dropping you to the floor, his weight on your back pinning you to the cold stone. Hands retracted, but the weight holding you to the floor only allowed a thin rasp of a breath to plead with Al. You’d always used your words before, unable to match the bestial strength on full display now, so you choked out your plea.

“Al, don’t. Please-”

“Enough.” 

The coldness of that voice from behind was a steel blade in your back. He wrestled your hands behind you, though the pain of your twisted finger paled in comparison to the agonizing realization of what was happening. With both your wrists clasped in one of Al’s, you heard a fumbling and then a staccato rip of duct tape. The noise was enough to spur your body into a fresh convulsion beneath Al. The sudden struggle seemed to catch him off-guard, and he had to pacify you with a forceful grip on the nape of your neck, pushing your cheek into the cold floor. Still reeling, your ragged breaths unable to scream but your last bit of strength still pushing against him, and Al loosened his grip on your neck, only to push down even harder a second later. Your head collided with the floor, a dull thunk followed by a high-pitched buzzing in your ears. It was just hard enough to daze you, and when the buzzsaw in your brain came to a halt, Al had already tied your hands behind your back. 

A more intimate sensation now, as Al held your bounds hands lightly. If it seemed a kind gesture, that fallacy was erased a moment later as he pulled at the ring on your finger. His ring, the gold band he’d given as a promise, was pried from you. Your finger felt suddenly cold, exposed. He’d gifted you the ring as a promise to keep you safe. But what good was that when Al saw himself as the danger? What good was any of it when you were drawn to that danger like a moth to a lethal flame? 

“No more of my broken promises.” In saying that, Al couldn’t see the cruel contradiction that leaving you would be the biggest betrayal of all. Still, if he cared about promises at all, didn’t that show that he was still Al beneath that mask? Maybe there was time to stop this ill-conceived scheme. 

Your body jolted again, this time with a pressure on your arms as Al grabbed them, heaving you across the room. Your bare legs scraped against the grimy floor as you were jostled before Al tossed you onto the mattress a few feet from the floor where he’d wrestled you. The familiar feeling of the damp, worn bed as Al threw you down was a sickening déjà vu. Instinct had you scrabbling back towards the wall, feet slipping on the dirty fabric until your head and hands hit stone behind you. A scene you’d seen dozens of times lay before you- Al standing there, fully masked, looking down at your weak, helpless body on the mattress. Somehow, knowing Al’s intention to give himself in, knowing you’d soon be without him, made this more terrifying than any of the earlier encounters. With the spool of tape still in one hand, Al retrieved something from his back pocket with his other, pulling out his small switchblade. Your pleas, desperate wriggling and heavy tears weren’t enough to stop his advance, and he strode over the mattress, dropping down with his knees astride your thighs, eye level with you. 

“He’s not there, Al. You’re just pretending. Don’t act like the monster we both know is dead.” you croaked.

Blue eyes in the mask’s shadow looked back at you silently. The slight tilt of Al’s head had you wondering whether Al was still embodying those impish mannerisms, or whether he was really considering your statement. 

“It’s who I need to be right now, dove.” His admittance that it was an act was little comfort when his refusal to give up that role was so evident, and you crumpled as he said those words. Perhaps he wanted to console you with a soft touch, but his resolve won out, and he got to work quickly as you cried to an unresponsive audience of one. 

Some of the work was already complete: your bruises from Naughty Girl, taken willingly, would tell a different tale than your twisted game. The handprints still red and visible on your buttocks would be unexplainable as anything other than abuse to those outside of this room. The dirt and grime from your writhing on the basement floor was an extra little touch, more evidence of mistreatment. But Al had other lies to tell, and worked quickly to write the false tale. Your shirt first, Al tearing it at the collar, creating rips with his small blade. When he was done, there was more skin exposed than covered by the remnants of the cotton material. Your underwear next, which he whipped down your legs, discarding to the side. That image would leave no doubt for whoever found you, deducing what vile acts the Grabber inflicted upon you in this room. Hell, you even had his seed inside you from this morning. Who would believe that such an act was consensual, given the state of you now? 

He seemed to think twice about his next move, before slow hands approached with the switchblade. You held your breath as Al drew near, the indecisive knife hovering over your neck, then chest, before Al chose the spots carefully. A couple of skillful nicks on your upper arms and thighs shocked more than hurt, the shallow cuts bursting with small patches of fresh red on your skin. A few fresher wounds that the Grabber had inflicted, giving more credulity to the fabrication that you were still a captive. The cuts barely even hurt. Not compared to everything else.

“Go deeper,” you sobbed as Al made a small incision above your knee, stopping when he heard your words. “If you’re really doing this, I’d rather be dead. Cut deeper.”

“No more killing,” Al said, folding down his knife and retreating it back to his pocket. “You’ll appreciate this one day, dove. You’ll see it was the one good thing I ever did to you.” 

No retort you might muster would be enough to sway him, your mind too jumbled and shocked to form any sort of coherent argument. Your stomach lurched at the inescapable truth; that Al’s confession was coming to fruition, that he was about to lock you down here, and end it all. 

“Shit-” Al had risen, looking towards the metal door before turning to you again. “Sorry dove- I broke the door lock. Can’t have you going anywhere until they find you.” In an instant he was on you, another stretch of duct tape unwinding with a cracking rip before he quickly wound a length of it tightly around your ankles. 

“Al!” you pleaded as he secured your legs, running out of energy, out of ideas. “I won’t be able to stand it, seeing you go to jail. Everything that will follow-”

“You might not see me do any of that,” he explained as you gave a pained, confused look, “If I put up enough of a fight, if I’m a big enough threat, they might just shoot on sight.”

That dizziness returned without a fresh bump to your head, the idea of not just being away from Al, but him not existing at all…. It felt like you had no more cards to play. What else was there to say to persuade him apart from your true feelings?

“Al, don’t do this. I love-” a swift shadow lunged at you. Al’s hands moved to silence the tail end of your admission, one over your mouth and the other cupping the back of your head. He knew the pain of those words, what pain it would cause for him to hear those three words on your lips one final time. 

“NO!” he cried, bringing the masked face close to your own. “You think you love me. After this, you’ll realize you hated me all this time. Then you’ll forget me, and that will be the happy ending you deserve. You don’t need me for your happy ending.” You stilled beneath him, even as the tears dripped over his fingers that covered your mouth. It really was over. 

Through your tear-soaked lashes, you looked up at Al and nodded, showing him you were pacified, and he moved his hand in understanding. 

“If you’re going to say goodbye, do it as Al. Don’t let my last memory of you be of this- this thing that I don’t see you as.”

Al tore the mask away from his face, obeying your final request. His eyes matched yours in their tearful state. 

“Thank you, dove. For not seeing me as the monster.” And then he rushed at you. His lips crashed against yours, harsh and desperate and so full of love and loss. You returned the kiss, straining against your bonds to try and hold him there forever if it meant never leaving. But after a moment, he tore himself away and you released a keening wail. A quick rip of tape and Al covered your mouth, muffling your cries beneath the gag.

He kissed your temple before rising, walking briskly towards the door as if scared he might change his mind about the whole confession. You moaned desperately through the tape as he retreated. One last, lingering look and a final goodbye. 

“I’m sorry, dove. I love you.” 

And with that, the metal door closed. 

If the closing of that metal door felt like a death sentence, it was the least he deserved, Al thought as it shut with a dull clang. But she deserved so much more, so much better. Even from behind the door, he heard the muffled screams of his love. It broke him to know how much she was suffering, even if she’d been through worse at his hands in the past. But the quicker he worked, the sooner she’d be free from her restraints and from the basement. From him, too. 

He strode briskly through the house to the bedroom first. The first scene to set up. From the bedside drawer, he pulled out the handcuffs he’d been chained in just yesterday. One bracelet he looped through a headboard slat, the other left open on the rumpled sheets. The very picture of an unwilling bed partner. From the box in the closet he pulled out a few more things he scattered on the bed; some lengths of rope and some toys they’d played with during the game. Along with some risque underwear he’d bought her as a suggestive gift (also thrown on the bed), it painted a sordid, disgusting picture of the things he’d subjected this innocent girl to over months and months of captivity. Al could already picture the scandalous headlines he’d probably never live to read. 

In the kitchen, Al placed the duct tape and knife from his pockets on the table with the mask he’d thrown on there minutes earlier. The confession, the wooden box and the alternate faces of the mask still sat, waiting to become evidence once Al finally did what was needed. He removed the pink-jeweled ring from his pinky finger- her ring, which he’d taken early in her captivity. First, as a cruel taunt that no one was coming to save her. Then later, as a promise that he’d be the savior she needed. What a hollow promise that turned out to be. Al put the pink morganite ring in the box with the other trophies, the silver band hitting the base of the box with a sad clatter. He put his own gold band inside too, not wanting to mar the ring his little bird had worn for so many months. That ring was an empty promise too, a past relic now. Al didn’t deserve to wear such a thing. It joined the other ring before Al closed the box. 

He collected the photographs of him and his dove from the kitchen fridge and the frames in the living room- a few snapshots that he’d need to dispose of. Over the sink, he held a match to the small polaroid of her and him in an intimate, comfortable lover’s embrace, watching the edges blacken and disintegrate. Wisps of the photo fell into the sink, followed by tears as he watched it burn slowly. 

As the orange flame began to eat away at his image on the polaroid film, Al thought about what was coming, and how he deserved every punishment. But to have gotten her so deep in this web, to give her hope of a future after he took her old life away, only to throw her back into the unknown, was just as callous an act as kidnapping her the first day he set eyes on her. Still, he hoped that one day, she would move on. She might mourn him a little, but in the end they’d be wasted tears. 

The fire had all but erased Al in the image, moving to devour his dove next. It was his greatest magic trick he’d ever performed, Al thought. Though truly, more hypnosis than real magic. What was more incredible- that she’d fallen for him in the first place, or that he was pathetic enough to believe it could last?

The last scraps had burned out, and he scrubbed the sink of any sooty remains to finish his task. Al went to the white phone in the living room, picking it up and carrying it with him to his armchair, the corded wire taut, but just long enough for him to use the phone from his chair. One hand lifted the receiver to his ear, whilst the other hand reached towards the rotary dial.

[dippindaz]

Sneak peak for grabber fic I’m working onn, technically part two to one of old MxM grabber fics but I think it works as a stand alone as well

Enjoy~

“So desperate for me.” He laughed and crouch down to your level. He gently placed his hand on your cheek and ran his thumb along the bone of it. “Like a bitch in heat.” His voice dropped, and your stomach along with it.

[dancingisdangerouss]

All right hoes, as promised, I’ve delivered. Here’s chapter 3 of Non Compos Mentis: X After how long I’ve made y’all wait, I hope it’s decent 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Also, this entire fic with Reader thus far, Al has just been like:

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Copycat

Summary: After receiving a mysterious offer, a police officer drives to a remote location in the middle of the night to trade the notorious Black Phone off to an unknown buyer.

CHAPTER 1

He could lose his job for this. That was all he could think as he stared out at the slick roads glistening in the glow of his headlights. The rain continued to pour without any signs of slowing, which was unusual for that time of year. Though he was lost in thought he kept a keen eye on the road, trying his best to see through the haze of the rain. Headlights glaring from the other side of the road helped him, as did the brake lights of the cars in front of him. They took it slow. He couldn’t afford to take it slow. 

He had to wonder what else could happen if he were caught. Would they charge him? Did this count as tampering with evidence even though the case was long over and solved? 

His foot unconsciously pressed harder on the gas pedal. His hands tightened on the steering wheel - his knuckles turning white as he sped through the worsening weather, weaving through traffic with little concern for those around him. It wasn’t the greatest choice he could make. He took a moment to glance at the clear plastic evidence bag on the passenger’s seat with a weary eye. No amount of money should be worth it to do this… yet there he was. 

The buyer, who simply identified themselves as “Charlie” in their voicemail, seemed like one of those true crime freaks. She seemed way too interested in the phone - that stupid phone that winked tauntingly at him under the street lights, like it knew he was anxious. It made him feel dirty. Guilty. 

That damn thing gave off the worst energy when he was around it, like something was attached to it and that thing wanted to hurt him. He was honestly surprised it didn’t ring while locked up in the evidence locker. His hands shook when he unlocked the locker, and when he collected the phone, frightened it would ring and give him away to whatever lurked in the darkness of the closed precinct. The cop couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would willingly go near it, let alone buy the damn thing. 

“Charlie” said she was a writer trying her best to understand the horrors of the Denver Grabber, and that explanation made enough sense and solved the mystery of the missing mask. She definitely bought it off of another cop, which meant he probably had nothing to worry about when it came to keeping his job. Getting rid of the mask and now the phone felt like a relief to the officer, who truly wanted nothing to do with the items now that the case was over, and giving them to a writer seemed like a better option than auctioning them off to some rich freak years down the line. 

The rendezvous spot was an old, decrepit building just outside of the suburbs. It was an old warehouse just off of the main road in the middle of what was now a blossoming field filled with long grass and most likely all sorts of snakes and rodents. Even further behind it was a forest with dark, looming trees that he wouldn’t be caught dead near. The warehouse itself was built in the thirties and quickly renovated into a factory to build aircrafts and such during World War II. Sometime in ‘65 it was converted back to a warehouse for a quickly sinking company, and then it was closed officially in ‘73 and never sold. The vandals and drug addicts got to it quickly, leaving behind broken windows and knocked down doors as well as graffiti mosaics on the concrete. 

And now the cop was driving up to it with an offering. He felt dirty. He felt guilty.

“Charlie” was leaning against a black 1972 Chevy Nova with her back facing the approaching vehicle. She was parked under the mostly intact awning in front of the dark maw of the building. The awning was leaking water through small tears in its fabric and it landed on her car, splashing in the puddle that was no doubt forming on the roof. She remained dry though, nonchalantly checking her watch even though she knew that the cop was there. The headlights cast large shadows across the concrete walls of the building. A larger than life shadow for a larger than life person. 

The woman herself wore a large leopard print coat with the collar pulled up around her neck, undoubtedly to combat the quickly dropping temperature. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. On her hands were black leather gloves that beckoned the officer to come closer. She hadn’t said a word, nor had she really acknowledged him besides the slight hand wave. In that moment he realized he was handing the phone over to a freak, regardless of occupation. 

This is wrong, the officer thought to himself, this is a murder weapon. He believed the monster got what he deserved in the end, but handing off the phone to the first person who calls and is willing to pay felt wrong. Not only was it a murder weapon, but it bore witness to the murder of several children, and he wasn’t sure how he could handle looking at the thing knowing that. He had to wonder if there was something wrong with this “Charlie.” She’s probably seen worse, he rationalized as he got closer to her.

“Are you Charlie Myers?” She still didn’t look at him. Her hand came up to her face before she spoke. 

“Yes sir, I am.” Her voice was higher than he expected, and it sounded a bit muffled too. He wondered if she truly was the person who left the voicemail. It made him want to stop in his tracks. 

“You have the money?” He continued on, holding out the phone as he inched nearer. Her shoulders stiffened for a moment.

“Oh yeah, give me a sec I’ll get it.” Her gloved hand reached into her handbag, sending nervous chills down the officer’s spine. He knew something wasn’t right. His hand immediately shot to his right hip where his gun holster sat. His instinct told him to turn around and return the phone - his instincts told him this woman was no good. 

“Actually ma’am, can you do that facing me? Can’t be too careful these days.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight as the woman froze. Her hand was still firmly inside the handbag. She slowly turned around to reveal a ghostly white, porcelain mask. Black eyes stared at the officer as he froze in fear, unsure of what to do now that his suspicions were confirmed. 

“Sure thing officer.” 

This was a copycat killer. 

He moved quickly to draw his gun, but he wasn’t quick enough. From her black clutch, the buyer produced a handgun and fired three times, hitting the officer in the shoulder twice before hitting its mark: his chest. The officer let out a groan and fell to the ground in a matter of seconds. Despite everything she still wasn’t entirely used to how quickly they fell. 

Calmly, methodically, the woman stalked over, giving a horrifyingly closer look at the mask she wore to conceal her true identity. Through blurry eyes the officer saw the familiar porcelain, with reddish-pink cheeks to simulate blush and long painted on eyelashes. The lips of the mask were small and black and curled slightly upward in an unsettling smile. It looked almost clown-like, though not overtly so. She could be seen as a doll. 

The woman stared silently as the officer wheezed, choking on his own blood as it filled his lungs and throat. She tilted her head like a dog observing a squeaky toy, listening to his suffering. Her gaze shifted from the dying man to the phone that laid a few feet from what would be his final resting place. She looked back at him and pointed the gun at his head as the officer began to weakly sputter out cowardly pleas, clutching his chest and panting. His face was wet with rain and tears. The rasp in his voice was disgusting to her.

She pulled the trigger to finally silence him. No more rattling. No more pleas. 

The patter of rain echoed louder in the suddenly still night, along with the running engine of the dead officer’s car. Her gaze was focused on the phone. That damn phone. He used to yell about it - about the ringing, about the voices. When she was allowed near it she couldn’t hear anything, and it didn’t ring when she picked it up. That damn phone.

It was hers. 

_____________

It was fall when they met. She remembered the chilling weather and dying trees well. She remembered the clothes she wore, how her hair was done. She often could recall trivial things like that, especially when it came to meeting new people. 

She knew Max, and he considered her a friend. He came to her after losing his job, and while she knew the reason for it, she actually didn’t mind. Max not having to work meant that she could be around him more often. Yet, her selfish desires didn’t stop her from helping him. She considered that to be her best trait - her fierce loyalty and protectiveness. If there was a problem bugging someone she cared about she’d fix that problem. 

Max was rambling on and on in an anxiety-induced stupor as he tried to figure out what to do. No one would hire him with the record he now had, and on top of that he had to go to meetings mandated by the court. All she could do was watch, wait, and think. He eventually told her that he contacted his brother, and while he still had to look for a job, his brother would be taking him in. His brother who lived in Denver. 

 Denver.

Those words weighed heavily on her. It sunk into her chest and weighed on her heart - it ached. She didn’t like that at all. 

He must have wanted to leave her, like everyone else did. She didn’t like that. 

“Denver? Denver? That’s like, six hours away. I can’t hang out with you if you’re six hours away.” She wondered if she came off too strongly. Her hands were sweating. 

“To be fair, I am going there to get better.” He wasn’t even looking at her. 

“And I can’t help you with that?” She asked, not caring about how she came off anymore. 

“Look, you’re my best friend and I do love hanging out with you but I think it’s best for me to start fresh for a few months and then see-”

“I thought you said your family was fucked up. You said you wouldn’t ever go near them ever again.” She couldn’t believe that she ever took him seriously when he said that. The concerned look on his face turned grim.

“They… you know who I mean when I say that. My brother’s helping me and I’m sure he managed to get help, unlike me.” She felt he was saying this to placate her. His demeanor had changed, and she didn’t like that. It felt like he was shutting down, growing colder as he shrugged off her comments. 

“What did I do wrong?” She couldn’t help but ask him. He furrowed his brow.

“What? Nothing, I’m just -” 

“If I didn’t do anything wrong then why are you leaving me?” She raised her voice slightly, feeling her heart ache and race at the same time. “I thought you liked me!” 

He wasn’t sure how to respond. He did like her, she was his best friend. She had been there for him even at his lowest. She was sweet and kind but at the moment she was scaring him. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t upset her further. The look on her face was reminiscent of a madman, and part of him was afraid of what she’d do next. 

“You can drive me there if you want, come see the place and help me move in.” He offered, hoping that would be enough to make her feel better. Her expression softened for a moment, but she was still worked up. 

“Let me come with you. For the whole time. I’ll look for a job there and an apartment. Don’t cut me out Max, I’ve seen what you do. You just leave people behind and I won’t let you do that to me.” He nodded along, letting her get her thoughts out, hoping she’d calm down soon. He’d seen her worked up before but not like this. 

“Sure, we can do that.” He agreed half heartedly, watching her calm down at his reassurance. 

She remembered the day she met him, it was fall. She drove him to the small suburban home in Denver, brought his boxes of various items inside, and for the most part it seemed she wouldn’t be meeting Max’s brother.

Then he stepped out of the basement. 

He was tall, with shaggy, greying hair that dusted his shoulders. She wasn’t sure what to think as she froze in her tracks. He didn’t seem to want to speak with anyone, and as he avoided eye contact with her as he made his way down the hallway she thought she had gotten the hint.

“Oh, you must be Max’s brother.” She mused in a tone that hid her anxiety. Dark eyes stared at her for a moment. His lips were thin and a look of seriousness was chiseled into his features, as well as tiredness. His eyes, though. His eyes seemed to hold some sort of life. He looked as if he were sizing her up, waiting for her to make a move or say something. She shifted the box around in her arms, freeing one of her hands as she held it out for him to take.

“I’m Tanya.” She introduced. Much like moments earlier, he stared at her for a moment before gingerly taking her hand in his. Tanya wasn’t sure what to think just yet, but he was able to take Max in, and while he was a bit weird she was sure he was a good person. 

He glanced over Tanya, as if looking out for something, as he muttered his own name. “Albert.” His voice was much higher than she expected, and softer. She smiled, ignoring the changing expression on her new acquaintance’s face. He hadn’t let go yet. 

Albert wasn’t exactly thrilled about his brother coming to live with him. He didn’t care about the drugs Max would undoubtedly bring into the house, nor did he really care about what happened to Max. He cared about who Max might be bringing around. The girl in front of him could have been a good solution to Max’s problem, and even then he didn’t know why Tanya was there. He watched her with a distrustful eye from the basement window as she brought each box inside from her car. He wanted to know who she was and why she was there. She obviously knew about him, so what was she hiding?

“Sorry about this being kinda last minute, Max didn’t even tell me he was doing this until yesterday but… it’s really cool that you’d do this for him.” He tugged her forward by the hand she so graciously offered, causing her to drop the box of clothing. The pull itself wasn’t that hard, she was caught off guard by it. The noise it made was loud - loud enough to draw attention to what was happening assuming Max wasn’t outside. 

Even a mere inches from his face she was unafraid, still staring into his eyes unyieldingly as her breath caught in her throat. She felt her nerves building, unable to break the feeling she had earlier when she first set her sights on him. It was a familiar feeling she felt before, one that had her cancel plans to drive Max out there in the first place. She could feel the way her heart shifted, the way she felt about Max changing in an instant. 

She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t throw everything away like that again. 

“He couldn’t stay with you?” He asked, whispering the question in her ear like it were a dirty secret. Tanya snapped out of her thoughts, taken off guard. 

“No… we talked about it though, tried to make it work.” She answered truthfully and out loud, though she made no effort to hide her displeasure with the situation. Her new, oncoming fixation with Albert wouldn’t erase the hurt and betrayal she felt from Max moving anytime soon. His grip on her hand tightened for a moment as he scoffed. “Again I’m sorry if it was last minute, I know he does stuff like that and-”

Albert backed away, suddenly smiling. She wondered if Max was behind them and checked over her shoulder, only to see no one was there. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Tanya.” Her heart fluttered at the sound of him saying her name. He crouched down to pick up the clothes that slipped out of the box when she dropped it, and all she could do was watch. 

“Thanks.” She muttered, trying to take the box back from him.

“I got it, don’t worry. You should get going, it’s a long drive back to Durango.” She couldn’t help but furrow her brow at that. Did he know how she felt? Did he know she hated the idea of living that far away? She brushed a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. 

“Oh I’m actually moving to Denver soon. I want to keep an eye on him.” That wasn’t entirely true anymore. Six hours was a long drive to come out to see someone she barely knew. He nodded halfheartedly. She wondered if he was actually listening to her. “It was nice meeting you too.” She continued, hoping to get a bigger reaction out of him, but she was met with nothing but his back walking away from her. 

“I see you met Al.” Max said, startling Tanya. She looked up at the face of the man she’d loved for months, and found her obsession was fading. He was a good friend. 

“Yeah, I did. Seems like he’ll be a good influence.” She remarked almost coldly. Her heart was set on someone else now, that much she couldn’t deny. He was odd and cold, but that never seemed to stop her before. She couldn’t do it again. 

She couldn’t do it again.

She knew she would do it again, and she was ready to sacrifice anything to get close to him. 

[bosinclairsgff]

What the slashers smell like

Warnings: this is realistic lol

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Amanda Young, Mark Hoffman, RZ Michael Myers, The Grabber, Thomas Hewitt

A/n yes I realize this may be just a bit weird

- He smells like grease, sweat, and a cheap cologne. Of course there’s a hint of iron on him most days buts it’s just faint enough to miss. Bo definitely washes his hair with soap. He also reeks of cigarettes.

- This man is musky I’m sorry. He probably doesn’t shower a lot. His hair is very greasy, all the time. He usually smells like a moldy basement and sweat. With a waxy smell (duh).

- This man smells like blood, sweat, alcohol and a man who hasn’t showered in YEARS. He is stinky sorry girls. He also smells like piss.

- Baby takes better care of herself than Otis does. She smells like alcohol, blood and maybe I cheap perfume she stole from one of her many victims. Something floral.

- She takes regular showers so she’s not stinky. Amanda doesn’t care what shampoo she uses so she probably smells like coconut or vanilla, whatever she found at the store. I say she most likely doesn’t drown herself in perfumes. However there’s slight irony smell about her most days.

- This man smells like a expensive cologne he bought years ago and still hasn’t used it all. Also, he DEFINITELY uses three in one shampoo, conditioner and soap.

- He smells awful. Reeks of death and literal shit. Michael kills humans and animals, he’s stinky guys. He doesn’t know how to take care of his hygiene. His breath is AWFUL to.

- Albert loves being clean and well kept. He showers regularly, brushes his teeth regularly and wears a nice cologne. His cologne smells like old spice.

- Another stinky boy! He does not shower, ever. Maybe he’ll take a bath? I doubt it though. Thomas smells like blood, human shit and pure musk. You know how in cartoons when someone stinks there’s a green cloud? Yeah, that would be him.

[dolleyedoe]

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

me with billy, stu, ethan and roman

[funnyexel]

Short Stories

A little cuddle session (Gender/Sexuality Friendly)

Potential Yandere x Abused Fem!Reader

Quiet Tsundere x Reader

Yandere Villian x Identified Female Reader 

I’ve Missed You Beloved (Jack Sparrow x Gender Neutral Reader)

Newt Scamander x Black Female Reader (Oneshot)

Afraid of My Words (Request : Billy Loomis x Black Female Reader)

Give Yourself To Me (August Walker x Black Female Reader)

Second Chance (Gally x Black Female Reader)

Lets Play a Game (Albert Shaw x Black Female Reader)

A Routine (Brahms x Black Female Reader)

Yandere Blurbs

he's obsessed (yandere blurb)

loves you. hates them. (yandere blurb)

a thrill ride of obsession (yandere blurb)

its the stalker (yandere blurb)

missing items (yandere blurb)

what if your stalker loses the remaining piece of human decency he has left (yandere blurb)

imagine clark as your coworker (yandere blurb)

[jokeringcutio]

"Almost Kidnapped" - BLACK PHONE & FNAF CROSSOVER - READER INSERT (GRABBER X READER (and implied your boss William Afton having an eye on you) [ 2/?]

AN: Enjoy your Sunday 🥳 As I am known to do, I might just start a few drabbles in this setting because I love it. Might follow up on this [ This is a nice job ].

Summary: You have a narrow escape. ( 'You're working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place for William Afton and Mr. Henry, and Albert Shaw (aka the infamous kidnapper known as The Grabber) regularly performs as a magician at parties').

Fandoms: Five Nights at Freddy's, The Black Phone | Rating: Mature?  Warnings: Talk about arousal (but quite politely), Reader almost gets kidnapped. Older man/younger woman, Only implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber(Albert Shaw) x Reader, Flirting with murderers? Not betaread. [ Support x ]

"Five minutes, no more," Erica's voice cut through the cacophony of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place. “I’ll cover for you.”

Gratefully, you nodded, muscles uncoiling as you slipped out the back door, hoping your boss wouldn’t notice your short absence. But it had been such a hectic day. The pizza place was stuffy and crowded, with multiple parties held at once. And Freddy’s was short of staff, leaving you with Justin and Erica. Lucy was ill, Jax was abroad, and Mike and El were at a wedding. Thank goodness you had Erica by your side or you wouldn’t survive the day at all.

Especially with the way your boss, Mr. Afton, kept looking in your direction with that stern gaze. As if he saw something that disturbed him. You had checked your uniform several times, made sure there was nothing stuck between your teeth, and all of that. Whatever made him look at you that way, it was unnerving you and you needed a breather.

The second you stepped outside and the hot summer air brushed past your cheeks, you realized you were not alone. A black van was parked in the parking lot in front of you. Its owner was busy loading the van. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Today’s performer hadn’t left the premises yet, it seemed.

Not many people came around the back; only staff or suppliers. Well, both staff and supplier then, you thought amused.

You curiously watched as Albert Shaw tried to stack cardboard boxes inside the van. He was still dressed in his magician’s clothes. Black flared pants clung to his legs, a top hat perched atop a head with a face painted ghostly white. Red peeked from beneath his black shirt, a silent scream against the somber attire.

He looked pretty hot… for an old man.

Okay, you had to shake that thought away. You knew you and Mr. Shaw had some kind of flirty thing going on – although granted, it could just be mostly in your head. Something along the lines of wishful thinking and so on… But having such thoughts about him would only make things awkward. You needed to clear your mind before you approached him. Will those dirty thoughts away.

Which was pretty hard as you watched him bent forward and caught a good glimpse of the tight fabric stretching around his thighs and... You quickly glanced away and swallowed. Hard.

This was ridiculous. You were already incredibly itching down below, but who could blame you? You’d been focusing on little details like this the entire afternoon. You’d last seen him only half an hour ago or so, when he was giving his last show. He’d been performing all afternoon. The way he captivated the room and made children smile had something magical. Perhaps it was only fitting that he performed as a magician. But still… There was something about this man.

You just couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. Your gaze traveled to see how he lifted one of the boxes. His unclad forearms tensed, his muscles and veins showed, and you bit your lip. Yep, definitely appealing. The man looked like he was a lot stronger than anyone would give him credit for. You wondered if he worked out.

But what was he stacking in there? You knew he had been the entertainer this afternoon, but Mr. Afton and Mr. Henry bought a lot of their party supplies from him too. Was he taking empty boxes back with him? They shouldn’t be heavy. So what was he doing?

You curiously peeked around the average-sized man, catching a glimpse of stacked boxes and brown paper bags now that the backdoors were open and the interior of the van was exposed. Then he shifted until he blocked your view.

Albert Shaw bent forward a little, clearly putting some of his magical equipment inside the van before he straightened his spine and turned around. When he saw you, he flashed you a smile.

“If I had known I had an audience I would have put on a better show,” he greeted you in that low and gravelly voice of his. Did he smoke, you wondered? You’d never seen him do it. But how else could he sound this animalistic, this raw?

The white makeup cracked as his smile broadened. Sunglasses hid his grey eyes, leaving you to guess the expression that lay within them. Your pulse quickened.

“I’m just here to catch some fresh air,” you truthfully replied. And did you just stammer? You didn’t, right?

“Getting a little heated, sweetheart?” he murmured, and by the gods… that did things to you. It was almost as if he knew how he affected you.

“Trying to escape the chaos for a moment,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, eyes tracing the contours of his frame, the sinewy strength of his arms. "Your performance earlier today was... mesmerizing."

He chuckled, a sound that rumbled from deep within his chest. "I try to please my… audience," the way he said that last word sounded sinful, as if he implied something erotic.

You bit your lip. "Well, you're very good at what you do," you said, stepping closer, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes.

"Need a hand unloading?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, an offer to linger in his presence, to be closer to him. Something about him was attracting you like a magnet.

"Already done," Shaw said, gesturing towards the back of his van. The doors stood open like dark wings, and you peered inside, drawn by curiosity. You saw the boxes he’d placed inside, the brown paper bags. The sight of several black helium balloons bobbing against the roof of the van caught your attention.

"Black ballons?" You asked curiously, a smile playing on your lips. He usually supplied colorful ones to Afton and Henry.

"Part of the act," Shaw replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

You smiled at him before looking inside once more, admiring the balloons when something metallic clattered to the ground from his grasp.

"Oops," he muttered, a clumsy interlude to his usual grace.

Instinctively, you bent to retrieve it, your fingers brushing the cool metal. It was a silver bracelet, engraved with arcane symbols. His bracelet, you recognized with a start. He always seemed to wear it, just like the rings on his fingers – which you hadn’t studied to see if he was married or not… of course not.

You were weighing the bracelet in your hand when something tickled your senses; a prickling warning that made the hairs on your neck stand.

In a swift motion, you turned back to him, thrusting the bracelet at him with both hands and surprising yourself when you noticed this simple gesture seemed to increase the space between you. It made him take a step back. You hadn’t felt him coming.

“Oh, I forgot,” you started, exclaiming it a little too happily to cover your fear.

Albert Shaw stood momentarily frozen, a canister in his grip, aimed at you. You could see the way his jaw twitched, as if you had caught him during something sinister. Your heart thudded against your ribs, each beat screaming for you to flee, to scream. But no. Surely, you must be mistaken. You’d play this the clever way, distract him, puzzle him. Surely you were misinterpreting things. He was just loading his van. The canister must have fallen out or something.

“Your card,” you said, scrambling your brain for words. You searched for his gaze behind the glasses, your breath steady, betraying none of the terror that surged through your veins. He was close enough that you could see the faintest quiver in his hands and smell the sharp tang of chemicals coming from the canister.

"I’m so sorry, Mr. Shaw," you said. You tilted your head, feigning innocence.

Albert Shaw's composure cracked, the corners of his lips started to tremble as he tried to maintain a small smile. The canister disappeared behind him, his arm hooked as he hid the item behind his back as casually as he could muster. But you had seen it, and you had felt the danger. The fact that he hid the item now only raised your suspicion even more. What had he wanted to do with that thing? Drug you?

"I seem to have lost your business card and I was wondering…” you bit your lip, faking shyness. You wanted to take a step back but didn’t dare to move. The air between you was thick with tension, as if one wrong move could mean the end – of what, you didn’t know. Surely you were just paranoid. Surely, the man hired to perform at kids parties wouldn’t try and hurt you.

But still… it felt off.

Putting your hands behind your back, you looked at him through your lashes as you murmured gently if he could perhaps give you another card. Yeah, that’s it. Fake ignorance. Flatter him. Flirt a little. What harm could it do?

It seemed to work as his breath hitched in his throat, his chest rising as his lips parted in a stuttered yet silent sigh. You thought you could see his nostrils flare as he tried to compose himself.

"Of course," he said, a low murmur that sounded bittersweet. He reached into his van, movements deliberate – but you still caught sight of how he placed the canister out of view, in a corner behind the door. Now you could no longer see it and attempt to read the label. You could only guess what it had been filled with.

He fumbled with his bracelet, putting it back on smoothly before he pulled out a card with his name and number on it. Then he offered it to you with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. Calloused fingertips brushed gently past yours as he pressed the card into your hands. A current of electricity snapping between you, dangerous and undeniable.

"Thanks, Mr. Shaw," you said, pocketing the card without looking, your eyes never leaving the abyss of his sunglasses. You deliberately mentioned his name, hoping it would disarm him and put any nefarious thoughts out of his head.

Well, depending on the nature of those nefarious thoughts.

He stood close to you. So close that you could feel the heat of his body, a wall of warmth as he leaned in close to point at the details on the card.

“In case you ever need me to liven up a party,” he murmured, voice dark and deep. His breath skimmed your ear as he murmured instructions on how to reach him, voice low and rough, like dragging stones across velvet. "Call anytime."

"Will do." You pocketed the lie along with the card, stepping back, distance a frail shield.

"I think more than five minutes have passed,” you said, hesitating. You tried to search his eyes through the glasses but they remained hidden from you. All you saw was Shaw’s crooked smile.

"I’m afraid it has,” he agreed, warmth bleeding through his tone, a contrast to the chill that had crawled into your bones when you’d been on your knees to retrieve his bracelet for him. A bracelet that seemed to be clasped quite securely around his forearm, you noticed. How had he lost it anyway?

"Got to head back," you said, stepping away and flashing a small smile to signal you were ending the conversation. Get out of here, your mind screamed. Don’t be silly, another voice inside your head whispered. Why would Mr. Shaw harm you? Everyone knew who he was. He was a well-known face around Freddy’s. “Break's over."

You turned to leave but then froze when you felt a hand upon the small of your back. He touched you. He actually touched you. A gentle but firm touch, and for a moment you thought you would die. That this was it. That he would drag you into his van and slam the door closed, taking you away from your job and the life you had once known.

But nothing like that happened. His touch was heavy but gentle. Not in a harmful way. Not in a way to pull you aside. It was a guiding touch, protective almost, leading you to the safety of the backdoor.

He walked with you. The sound of his footsteps on the gravel first and then on the pavement as you neared the threshold kept you distracted. Up this close, you could smell his heady scent, a mixture of cologne and sweat. You heard his breathing, low and ragged. You felt his touch searing through the fabric of your uniform.

His hand tightened against your spine, fingers pressing deep enough to claim. A silent message carved into your skin.

Your lips parted, astonished, confused.

Then he released you, as if surrendering something precious.

"Until next time.”

The words were a whispered promise, a low grumble heavy with implications and sentiment – but loud enough for you to hear.

“Bye, Mr. Shaw,” you said, hesitating. You didn’t want to give him a promise of meeting him again, although you were certain you would see him more often as he regularly performed here.

But what nonsense were you thinking?

You halted at the door, flashing him a final smile while you watched him take a step back into the sunlight and out of the shadow of the building. The paint on his face was a blinding white and you had to squint your eyes a little when you studied him.

He seemed harmless. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling you had when you picked up his bracelet and handed it back to him. The feeling that something really bad was going to happen.

You closed the door.

Had you averted danger? Or had your senses been wrong?

AN: Well? Have you averted danger? Let me know.

[livindeadgirlgrav]

Taken part 2

Pairing: The Grabber x fem reader!

Warning: Kidnapping, violence, possible dubcon, manipulation, bad language, toxic, NSFW, abuse, Stockholm syndrome!

A/n: Please read part 1 first! It’s linked below! I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry for the delay I’ve been super busy with work 🥲

Part 1

Ps. I don’t condone anything this character does he’s a bad person like all the other slashers!

This story has alternating povs!!

The Grabbers pov

She was never part of the plan, never. She got in my way that night, almost got me caught. It was a dirty job, I don’t like dirty unpredictable jobs. But I had no choice. The night she ran into me I was out looking for one of those stupid boys. “Please help me! Please. A man is trying to hurt me! He’ll kill me if he catches me!” What was I supposed to do? Leave her there? Definitely not she saw my van, Samson, and me but she didn't look smart enough to remember me. So I made note of her small figure, she was smaller then one of the boys I took, I knew she would be easy to handle. “Okay, okay I’ll help you.. here jump in here.” I told her as I opened the van door letting her get in, shutting the door behind her. Not even a couple minutes later whoever was chasing her was questioning me. I wanted to snap his neck and hers as well for getting me in this situation. “Nope, haven’t seen any girl. I've been walking Samson here.” The man nodded and thanked me leaving without question. I growled opening the door to the van once the man was out of sight. “Thank you so much! I really appreciate it!” She said jumping out the van. I grinned knowing exactly what was going to happen next.

Once I got her in the basement I resented her. She was in my way. She better be glad I was able to find the boy that escaped. She would have been dead that night if I didn't find him. But as time passed I noticed she was making me soft, and I hated her for it. I was already thinking of ways to get rid of her. It was all too complicated, at first I treated her like one of the boys but I couldn't play the game with her. It didn't sit right with me that was my special game and it wasn't for her.

That night she kissed my mask I wanted to take her right then and there, but I also wanted to choke her, see the life fade from her. Why was she acting like this? What did she want from me? After that I stayed away from her. She was conflicting me, tormenting my mind. From the time I woke to the time I went to sleep I thought about her non-stop. I would feed her every now and again, but I didn't talk to her. I would watch her sleep a lot. It was the only time I truly understood her.

Al was very distance since the kiss. I would beg him to stay with me when he would bring me food but he never did. I was mad at him for many things, leaving me alone and during my free time I found evidence he was lying about kidnapping those kids. But crazy enough I craved his attention more than anything. Why couldn't he see that? He brought me here! I never asked for any of this! Sitting on the bed starring at the door, I shook my leg waiting for him. Having already been crying my eyes were all puffy. I feel like all I ever do now is cry. Once the door opened I stood and walked towards him. "Why won't you pay me attention? I've been begging you! What did I do?" I yelled, he looked down at me with his emotionless stupid mask on. Walking in he closed the door. "Huh!? I never asked to be brought here! I asked for help not to be kidnapped and ignored!" He just stood there tray in hand. I started to pace getting anxious. Tears starting to form but I was unable to cry, I was starting to doubt if I had any tears left. "I don't want that!" I slapped the tray out of his hands but before the tray even hit the floor he had me pinned to the dirty ground by my throat. I kicked and grabbed his arms. "Al!" I coughed and cried. His hands tight around my throat. He didn't say a word just progressively tightened his grip, sitting on my legs so they wouldn't be able to kick him even though I tried. "Albert! You're...hurting me!" I was able to cough out. And like that he let go and got off me. He looked at me and for the first time I saw emotion in his dead eyes. I grabbed my throat and cried. "I-I'm sorry!" I cried out before curling into a ball. He darted for the door slamming it shut. All I could do was cry so I did till I passed out. About an hour later I felt two arms wrapped around me. "Al?" I questioned. "Be quiet." I nodded, I looked around I was now on the bed with a blanket draped over my legs. Albert had his arms wrapped around me and his head was pushed into my back. I tensed up scared, not knowing what he was going to do. “Are you okay?” Asking softly, Albert growled. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He sat up, putting his hand over your mouth and pushing your head into the mattress. “Now I’m giving you what you wanted, stop being stupid.” Nodding he let go and watched you sit up staring at him with tearful eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.” Looking at his emotionless face you looked down wiping the tears away from your eyes. Starring at you he removed his mouth to his mask. “Don’t cry. I know you are scared, be good and I won’t scare you anymore.” You looked at him looking at his mouth like you never seen one before. Watching it move as he spoke. “I’ll be good.” He studied your face before lifting his hand and wiping a tear away from your cheek. “You know I care about you, right?” Rubbing your cheek, you smiled. “You do?” He nodded. “Yeah I do, that’s why I took you..” “Because you care about me.” You finished watching his mouth curve into a smile which made you smile as well. “That’s right.”

I didn’t care about her, I wanted her gone just didn’t know how yet a knife would work, or poison. I’ve never poisoned someone before. After she went to sleep I went back upstairs to think. Starring at the ceiling of my room I soon went to sleep. “Dove? I got you something.” She smiled at me, excited to see me. “What is it?” She asked practically jumping with excitement. “Well I thought you deserved something special so I made this for you.” I said crouching down beside her mattress and placing a small piece of cake down beside her on a small plate. She smiled and hugged me tightly. “Thank you!” I hugged her back then ushered her to eat. Which she did. Her smile soon faded into a frown. “Al?” Smiling I watched her face contort. She coughed and tried her best to throw up sticking her fingers down her throat. I smirked as I stepped back. She began to cry and cough up blood as she grabbed after her throat. “Al! It burns..” she coughed getting blood on the mattress and floor. “I-I thought you loved me?” She whimpered I laughed as I took my knife and shoved it into her stomach twisting it slightly. “A-Albert.” I gasped waking up sweating ‘It was all a dream’ I said to myself trying to calm down I quickly got up and threw on the head piece of the mask and ran to the basement. Opening the door I was relieved when I saw her sleeping peacefully. I pulled the door to and got in my spot next to wall, sitting down just to watch her sleep. Did I care about her?

Fluttering your eyes you noticed the dark figure by the wall. You shifted and sat up, rubbing your eyes in the process to get use to the darkness. “Al?” You called but no response so you quietly crawled over seeing he was asleep. Sitting back on your legs you smiled to yourself for seeing him like this brought you comfort. You gently pushed his hair back from his masked face. That was when two thoughts came to mind 1. Remove the mask and truly face your abductor or 2. Leave. Looking at the door you noticed it was open. “I’ll just quietly leave” you thought to yourself but where would you go? And what would he do? Would he track you down or would he go back to his killing spree. You noted he couldn’t be to terribly rich to afford two houses to kidnap people you were occupying his only hideout his soundproof hideout.

Tears formed in your eyes you knew who he was without his face or name you knew from the moment you arrived. You stood up looking around eyes truly opened. Walking to the corner of the room opposite of Albert you sat down knees to your chest and cried. It was like your brain was being pulled from every angle. You had feelings for him you craved his attention but you knew he was a killer and would kill you. Crying hard Albert shifted picking his head up and looking at the mattress then quickly to the corner you were crying in. “Y/n?” He called. “Why did you bring me here?” You asked looking up at him it was dark and it was hard for him to see you but he knew your face had to be swollen from crying. “Because I wanted to hel-“ you cut him off “tell me the truth!” You yelled voice cracking. It pissed him off of course but he didn’t say anything he let you yell. You stood up and walked to him remaining far enough so you could run if needed. “You killed those kids, you killed them in here and now you’re going to kill me because I know.” He stared blankly at you. “I told you I didn’t kill them..” he said in a soft tone which confused you. “Albert tell me.” “Don’t call me that-“ cutting him off again “why does it matter! You’re gonna kill me anyway!” With that Albert walked closer to you making you back up. “I was going to kill you! You wasted my time trying to find that stupid!” Albert caught himself growling “I should have killed you I don’t want you here! You are an inconvenience to me. And I have the perfect way of getting rid of you.” He said his tone darker then ever. You watched his every move tears falling down his words hurt you deeply especially since you were falling for him. Which you hated yourself for.

Albert watched you then suddenly charged after you, you ran to towards the door which he blocked so you ran down the small hall forgetting it led to a dead end. You tripped over a little hole in the floor and Albert was quick to grab your leg and pull you towards him but you kicked his hand with your free foot and got up running to grab the lid of the tank on the back of the toilet. Albert chuckled at your poor excuse to defend yourself but when he charged at you again you hit his chest with the lid causing it to break and him to stumble backwards leading you to quickly and I mean quickly run pass him and up the stairs. You stopped in your tracks when you saw a man in what looked to be the kitchen. Confused you looked at the man. “Oh hello, I didn’t know my brother had visitors this late. Are you okay?” You were stunned. “I-I’m sorry Al didn’t tell me he had a roommate.” You put on a fake smile and facade. Hearing Albert’s heavy steps running up the stairs over the random man’s voice you knew you were caught so you did what you thought best “ I’m sorry if we woke you!” You said raising your voice over the man’s just as Albert entered the room. “I wanted to try something new.” You chuckled and smiled out of breath from running. “Ohh okay I’m sorry to cockblock” Max joked. “Cool mask!.” You looked up at Albert seeing his anger radiating off him and the pure shock in his eyes. “Sorry he’s embarrassed.” You faked a smile and Max laughed “Well I’ll just be in the living room have fun with your ‘trying something new’” he smiled brightly flashing the grit of powder on his teeth before turning and walking back into the living room.

You looked up at Albert with a mean look, Al growled and quickly grabbed your arm. “Max! Could you run to the store for a minute or two.” Albert shouted starring at you watching your eyes grow. Max chuckled. “I can definitely do that it’ll be a little strange for me to hear that.” Albert kept starring at you and you kept starring right back hearing Max grab keys and then shut the door. Once the door shut Albert grabbed you by your hair causing you to yell out before he pulled you into the bathroom throwing you down into the tub grabbing after your legs and arms as you tried to kick him. Somehow Albert was able to turn the water on and the shower head, cold water shot out coming down on you like needles. You cussed at the coldness but continued to try to push and kick Albert off of you. With the tub filling fast with cold water, you were drenched. After a few minutes of Albert trying to push your head under the water and you fighting against it, Albert finally got a grip on your wrist and pulled you out the tub. But he quickly turned you around and shoved your head in the water trying to drown you with both hands on your head you placed your hands on the side of the tub and pushed trying to get up. Albert pulled you up causing you to gasp for air but thinking ahead you quickly flung your hands up to hit him causing his mask to fall off into the water. Screaming Albert covered his face and backed away from you which allowed you to push yourself back hitting the floor in the process. Gasping you pushed your hair out of your face and just started at him watching him freak out in the floor beside the toilet. Catching your breath you stood up dripping water everywhere and walked to the tub unplugging it, throwing the plug on the ground before reaching down to grab his mask. “A-Albert” you called looking at him his knees to his chest and face buried into his hands. “Here” you reached the mask down for him to grab the strap touching his hand making him grab it from you.

Exhausted you walked out the bathroom shivering and nearly fell over catching yourself on the counter. Albert put his mask back on and quickly got up walking over to you. You bent down to sit on the floor and Albert watched you. It was dead silent you could only hear the sound of the water hitting the floor of the shower and the clock tick. “I-I think you’re safe. Your buddy doesn’t know.” You stuttered out trying to catch your breath still. Albert looked at you then at the counter where he had a block of knifes. You looked up at him as you hugged yourself trying to get warm. “Get up” Albert said as he pushed you with his foot. “Please let me sit here for a few minutes then you can kill me. I won’t fight you’ll just over power me again.” You said letting your head fall back on the wall behind you as you gave up causing Albert to smirk but it quickly faded as he saw how pale you were, seeing a blue tint to your rosy lips. He felt bad even with the mask on he knew what he was doing wasn’t right. Albert huffed and sat at the little table taking his mask off rubbing his eyes. You giving up wasn’t an option he saw you doing so now it made him second guess himself.

“I liked you that's why I was so angry with you. Because I couldn’t believe that I would like someone like you but I do. Maybe I’m crazy or just like toxic men.” You giggled which turned into a cough. Albert looked at you without his mask on. He stood up and walked to you grabbing your arm and pulling you up. You just let him, standing there you shivered. Grabbing your hand Albert pulled you to his room. “Albert please..” you looked up at him scared “I’m not going to hurt you..” Looking into his blue eyes you nodded. Then proceeded to look at his unmasked face. “You’re quite beautiful.”

Albert didn’t say anything he just proceeded to unbutton your pants and pull them down. Stepping out of them you watched him tensing up as he went for your shirt pulling it over your head. Covering your chest you watched him walk to his closet and pulled out a brown button up shirt which he handed you. Grabbing it you put the shirt up and started to button it but your fingers were shaking too much so Albert buttoned it for you as you proceeded to breakdown again. Crying hard Al pulled you to him hugging you tightly. “Please don’t.” Sobbing you pleaded. He hushed you and guided you to the bed to lay down which you did continuing to sob all Albert could do was hold you and let you cry.

I sighed as she finally fell asleep. Her face was red and tear stained I never felt this bad before but I can’t deny it anymore I do care about her even though she can be a bitch it’s none of her business to know about what I do or did but maybe we could make this work just maybe.

Thank you for reading! This part 2 was long overdue lol but I hope you guys enjoyed it!

[mandowifey]

Headcanon request for either Albert Shaw or Arthur Harrow as a dad. But honestly, I would accept such a Headcanon for any villianeous character you write about. So surprise me.

This has been sitting in my head for awhile, so I'm excited to get to work on it.

I'm gonna do both these handsome fellas!

° ° °

Fatherhood

Albert Shaw & Arthur Harrow x Reader HCs

Warnings: Hints of Dubcon, definitely Noncon, implications of above mentions, crazy boys around kids, reader is not referred to by specific gender terms but is able to get pregnant.

♡ ♡ ♡

Arthur Harrow, first and foremost, wanted a child.

A child to him is a means of keeping you beside him. The bond would tie you two together forever. He likes the sense of control it brings him, especially over you. When you first met him, you were on the pill and mentioned never wanting kids of your own. But Arthur, as he does, convinces you otherwise. Perhaps even it was an 'accident'. He is certainly the kind of man who would swap your birth control with sugar pills. But he'd smile anyways and assure you it was fate.

While pregnant, you would be doted over. Every need met, whether it be from him or his followers. You would be given luxury and love and treasured like a little goddess. This is Arthur's child, after all, and that baby would be considered a herald. He would enjoy sitting with you, head on your stomach as you two talked. He would additionally make sure you ate well and took all the things you need for a healthy child. Arthur enjoys touching your belly while he reads or falls asleep. You have never looked more stunning.

When the child arrives, Arthur is in love immediately. While most wish for a boy, he always wanted a girl. Regardless, he was happy with whichever. He would sit beside you and help you cradle the crying newborn, imagining all the great things your baby would grow to accomplish. You, as the carrier, get to name the baby. Arthur would suggest names of course but leave the choice to you.

Fatherhood suits him. The man is extremely patient and controlled. He is great with teaching your child and helping them along. You've never heard him laugh so much before. There is considerable joy in his life now, and it shows. That baby would be raised with love and expectations. However, he is stern and unrelenting. The child never gets away with anything, and punishment is taken very seriously. It will learn that for actions, there are consequences.

I think Arthur would be a natural with parenting and fatherhood. He'd enjoy the molding of such a young life. He would eventually ask you for another, and maybe one more, once the first is a little older.

○ ○ ○

Albert Shaw has never wanted children. As a child, he was violently abused and mistreated. He can not mentally grasp the responsibility of a child (even if he can raise and train a dog, it's different).

That being said, in this instance, you are a victim/obsession that he's grown fond of and wants to keep. Pregnancy at its core appeals to him. The idea of his seed stuck inside of you, the fact that you are forced to grow and bear something that is equal parts his own excites him. He enjoys the thought of you being stuck with a piece of him inside of you and for life. But that is just about where it ends for him.

When you start showing signs of pregnancy, he'd simply watch. Maybe, depending on if he really enjoys you, he'll give you water and use his softer tone to reassure you that all was well. He does find it arousing that your skin clears and breasts swell - he'd be very interested in those. When your tummy grows, he'd touch it and talk to you about it, generally wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"How does it feel? Being stuck with a piece of me inside of you."

When it came time for birth, you were most likely alone. Stuck in the basement and forced to go through the entire process alone. In this instance, if you survived, he would return home surprised to see and hear a baby.

There is a long pause, and he is gripping and loosening his hands. You can't really tell what he's thinking. You would be filthy, tired, barely awake if not for that need to protect your newborn. He would come across the room and shake his head, scolding you about the mess you made. You are afraid when he sits beside you and looks at the child. Part of you wants to believe he cares, but you see no semblance of love in those eyes of his.

He'd sit in silence for a while, wincing if the baby cried. Eventually, when you got too tired to keep awake, he'd take the child out of your arms and leave the basement.

And you would never see the baby again.

[creepycassidy]

Heyyy! I hate to be annoying and request again- Ik your busy and you don’t have to do this requests at all or anytime soon but IF and only IF you want and can- could you do an UA Albert Shaw x male (or gn) reader who has CDH? (chronic daily headaches)

I’ve been really struggling with it and today has just been horrible 😭🙏🏻 I’ve been crying about it like all day if I’m being honest ☹️🤚🏻

Thank youuuuu either wayyy! I’m so in love with your writing!!

Omg!!! I deal with CDH myself and this request really hit home and was a very easy one to write. I understand the pain of what you’re going through completely and truly hope you find relief. Today has been a horrible head day for me as well. Tried all the usual remedies and ice pack but nada. Having a headache all of the time sucks the joy out of life, ugh!! :( I hope this can make you feel just the slightest bit better though at least. Enjoy! <3

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Alt!Albert Shaw x Reader w/ CDH - HCs

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Warnings: non-graphic mentions of vomit and illness

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Read below the cut! ⬇️

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It makes Al really sad to see you feelin’ all yucky.

Of course, if he could, he’d do a little magic trick and take it allllll away from you. And, poof! You’d never have to worry again.

Unfortunately, that’s a little bit outside of his abilities as a part-time magician…

But!!

But but but!!!

Albert will take care of you as best as he can!

If he can’t take them away, he’ll do just about whatever he can to make you comfortable. Just say the word, sweet boy.

Al put in some low lighting options in the bedroom and throughout the rest of the house in case the brightness ever becomes too much.

Heck, he’ll take the day off of work to spend it with you, if it’ll help.

Always packs painkillers and sunglasses in the van incase you need them. Keeps a frozen bag of peas in the freezer to double as an ice pack.

There’s no reason to feel ashamed or bad if you can’t fulfill certain promises or tasks due to not feeling well. It happens, and it’ll be a-okay! Pinky promise.

If you’re having a particularly bad day or if your headaches ever end up as migraines, Al is there with a wastebasket and a cool rag if you happen to get sick to your stomach.

Al rubs your back, gently soothing and comforting you.

Don’t you even worry your silly self about getting up. Al brings you ice water to be sure you stay hydrated and (canned, he’s still not much of a cook…) soup to keep your tummy full.

Date night at home!! Sometimes maybe you don’t feel like going out, Al understands. How about he orders a pizza or Chinese takeout? He’ll even put on your favorite movie and turn down all the lights. It’s just like going to the theater, except Samson is there to lay his head in your lap!

Naps. Naps, naps, naps. He is 100% a believer that everyone needs a nap sometimes. Albert is more than happy to curl up with you in bed or on the couch. Lay your head against him and relax.

[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Epilogue 2 of 2

Here we are. The final, FINAL piece of this fic, and the culmination of two stories and nearly two years of writing.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and thanks as always to my dear friend Abracadabras (Aly) for reading and making suggestions that are always so valuable and nuanced!!

Read on AO3 here

Full story index here

Epilogue (2 of 2) Would It Be A Sin?

The months succeeding the would-be confession, that terrible showdown between you and Al, were perhaps the most bittersweet you’d faced. The cocooning cloud of happiness and relief offset only by the occasional thunderstorm of guilt and sorrow. The long winter nights balanced against a new year, a symbolically fresh start.

There were some hard truths you both had to answer, ghosts you had no choice but to confront. But now, you would descend those depths together. Literally- there were two basements that the two of you needed to visit. First: the house across the street. 

Each of the boys’ little trinkets were placed atop the dirt near the bottom of each makeshift grave. Al had carried the wooden box, had held it out to you and opened it in a sort of ceremonial fashion, wherein you’d taken each item out with care. Four small items-seemingly innocuous, workaday trinkets-but heavy in your hands as you lay them down. They were placed on the corresponding graves with a silent reverence. Stepping back, Al had closed the box with a quiet, echoing snap before putting it aside on a table towards the back of the room. You’d both been quietly penitent, as if unsettling the dust beneath your feet might be a dishonor to any presence still in the basement. There were no words spoken, no eulogy- they’d already been said in private ceremonies by families speaking to empty coffins. You would receive no forgiveness from any remnants of those boys. So you stood there beside Al with a silent solemnity and an unspoken promise that it was over. Neither of you had spoken much that night, even after leaving the second house. 

The basement in your house was next. Despite everything that had happened in that stone room, you found the staircase easier to descend. Hardly surprising, given the task you were to perform. There was no reluctance in destroying it beyond recognition- ripping out features that had resided in that stone cell for decades. The mattress dragged out and loaded into Al’s van; the sturdy brackets that had held the bed in place unscrewed and hauled off to the van, too; the metal grate on the window torn away and discarded. And when Al took a sledgehammer to the black phone bolted to the wall- when he swung hard, the thing shattering with a final broken jangle of notes- you thought you caught a satisfied glint in his blue eyes. Not enjoying the violence per se, but snatching just a little joy in destroying those final few traces of his past self, and demolishing any trace of his father’s crimes before him.  Al had promised the basement would just be an empty room someday, after he’d freed you from its confines. Now it stood truly empty and that promise, like all promises these days, had been fulfilled. 

For a little while, Al had been loath to play any of your usual games, even suggesting the masks be thrown in the garbage. But to you, they didn’t signify any danger or threat anymore. Their meaning had adapted, sculpted itself to be unrecognizable from the fear and uncertainty they once possessed when worn by the Grabber. When you’d taken the two halves that made up that deep frown, brought them out and held them out to Al, he’d acceded your request, and you fixed the mask overtop of  that smirking, devilish smile. You slipped back into those salacious games easily: as smooth as the silk sheets that Al tossed you on before going in for his wicked, killing blow, happy to oblige his little dove’s request, eager to make her scream and writhe under him. 

The aftermath of the thankfully-failed confession had caused some truly polarizing moments in its wake. The grief and guilt of it all sat like a poisonous lead weight in the pit of your stomach, unable to be digested, insisting on being carried and unforgotten. But it brought some of the most affirming moments, too. No more secrets. No more lies. The burden of guilt had been alleviated; shouldered partly by another, lightening that load. Your love had cemented  itself in the very foundations of the house you both had learned to  call ‘ours’. It felt like an ending, in a way- but in the same breath, it was a whole new story yet to be told. And rules of the story be damned - from now on, you and Al would write that plot together.

_______________________________

With a final flourish of crimson lipstick, you were nearly ready. And not a moment too soon; as you spritzed a cloud of jasmine and peach-scented perfume, you heard the familiar sound of the van pulling into the drive, practically skipping to meet Al as he walked through the door. 

“Heya, dove, h-,” Al stalled as his eyes fell on you, standing there with a smirk at the immediate effect you’d had on him. “Holy sh- I mean, wow! You look…breathtaking, sweet.”

“What, this old thing?” you mused with mock incredulity, brushing your hands down the flared skirt of your new cocktail dress. You feigned surprise, knowing that little coquettish act rivaled Al’s own theatricality, knowing it charmed him as much as any provocative outfit.  

Al’s eyes darkened, and he stepped towards you, his work boots nearly toe to toe with your black heeled pumps. You looked up through heavy lids, the lashings of mascara and flick of dark eyeliner an extra little effort, today of all days. Al’s eyes darted quickly to the bare expanse of skin exposed by the daring bardot neckline, but it was the faded lines of pink, that indelible mark on your skin where he’d craved his name across your heart, that had dragged his gaze downwards. AL. Still, you were sure he sneaked a peek at the cleavage and the suggestive trail of love bites along your neck before those cerulean eyes snapped back to your face.

“Really, dove. You look perfect. So beautiful.”

“You know Al, I’m still waiting on my birthday kiss.”

Who was Al to deny your command? He cupped the nape of your neck in his palm and drew you in close. A deep, electrifying kiss, sending a buzz skittering down your veins. He pulled back, a soft, warm smile settling on his face as he wished you a ‘happy birthday’ with sweet sincerity. 

“My girl’s special day,” he beamed, hand still clasped softly around your neck, fingers laced through the soft waves of your hair. 

“Not just mine, Al. You know it’s been a year since our first real date?” 

Al’s knitted eyebrows had you wondering if that was a little too raw to be mentioning. A bizarre thought (perhaps even a little morbid) that last year, your last birthday, had been spent as Al’s prisoner. Your date had begun in the basement, being made to dress, being escorted upstairs, being made to sit, to eat, to dance. Still a captive by definition. But one thing hadn’t been forced that night. That night, you’d taken Al’s hand in yours, and asked him to take you to his bed. He’d finally admitted his feelings towards you, and though you hadn't echoed the same sentiment, it was still there. Concealed, but barely contained inside of you, ready to burst like a black balloon. Your mind snapped back to the present. Worried, you backtracked somewhat, not wanting to dredge up any memories of the past. Not tonight. 

“Sorry Al, do you think it’s a little…strange to be celebrating that?”

“Aren’t we a little strange?” Al mused. You replied with a small laugh huffed through a smile, your tense shoulders relaxing when you realized Al wasn’t worried at all. He continued. “Okay, our special day, then.” Another lengthy kiss followed before you pried yourself away from his ravenous grip, shooing him to go get changed into something more suitable for the occasion. 

As you ate dinner, eyeing Al across the table, you wondered if your gaze looked as hungry as Al’s. He’d mirrored you; his jet black shirt and trousers matching your dark dress; the blood-red cravat at his neck echoing the color you’d swept across your lips. Even his woodsy scent of cedar and tobacco seemed to flirt with the sweetness of your perfume across the dinner table. After you’d finished eating, when Al had asked you to choose some music while he freshened up, your dreamy, carefree mind didn’t question when Al bypassed the bathroom for another room entirely. 

Your fingers rifled nimbly through Al’s record collection, as if already playing a soft melody on invisible piano keys. Figuring an older tune would match the evening’s mood, you grinned when you pulled out the Elvis record to see the singer donned in a Hawaiian shirt on the album cover, reminding you so badly of Max. You really couldn’t get away from either of the Shaw brothers, could you? Slipping the vinyl from its sleeve, you put the record on the turntable, dragged the needle to the outer grooves, and set it gently down. 

When Al strode into the living room, giving you another amorous glance as he did, neither of you needed encouragement to dance. You reached out to each other silently, spurred on by the dulcet tones of the King singing about fools in love. The song coaxed you into a slow sway, Al’s arms so natural around your waist, your head leaning against his chest as you were lullabied into the reverie. Al’s thumping heart provided a strong backbeat to the music, though perhaps its pace was a little faster than normal. The excitement of the evening, maybe. 

As you swayed in unison, you couldn’t help but silently answer Elvis’ melodic questions:

Shall I stay? (yes)

Would it be a sin? (yes)

If I can’t help falling in love with you.

You couldn’t help it. You’d traversed every emotion imaginable before reaching this point with Al. Disgust, rage, hatred, confusion, trepidation, attachment. And now, you’d opted for love. Opted, because it was your choice. Your want for him, need for him, had rooted itself deeper than your guilt. In the annals of your mind, you thought about the situation as you swayed softly, silently to the music as Elvis sang of rivers flowing out to sea. You’d sail into the darkness with Al and drown in the oblivion. But that was further down the line. For now, you were content to drown yourself, bask in the warmth of the two of you, bodies pressed close. 

“D’ya want to play a game?”

“Huh?” you asked, pulled away from your blissful introspection by the unexpected question. Not that you would deny such a tempting offer. Your heart picked up speed to match Al’s quickened pace. “What kind of game were you thinking?” Your voice had instinctively taken on a sultry tone, already enthusiastic to play.

“Oh, it’s a long one.”

“How long?”

“A lifetime, hopefully.”

Any question about to slip from your lips was shoved back in your mouth when Al made his next move. He fell to his knees- no, he fell to his knee, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. Looking up at you, his blue eyes entreating, he opened the box, his hands clutched together like an oyster, the contents of the box a precious pearl at its center. But no- not a pearl. On closer inspection, the ring nestled in the box was gold and red, a single, pear-shaped jewel sitting atop a simple gold band. Like a teardrop. Or, given its sumptuous color, a single drop of scarlet blood. 

“Will you be mine, dove?” 

Not ‘will you marry me?’. No chance of such a formal, legal proceeding in the real world. But in this world of yours and Al’s own making, such a gesture would amount to the same thing. A bond, a forever promise. You held out your left hand, trembling slightly, though Al’s tender grip on it steadied you, warmed you as he slid the thin band on your fourth finger. He looked up, eyebrows raised as if in expectation, and you realized you’d not replied to him. There was only ever going to be one answer to his question.

“Yes. Yes, Al, I’ll be yours. Always.” You already were, had been for a long time. Longer, probably, than you dared admit to yourself. As Al rose from his knee with a slightly strained groan, you flung your arms around his neck, crashing your lips into his; Al met with a matched enthusiasm. You could feel his smile mirror yours through the kiss, and when you pulled back, the happy tears gathering at the corner of your eyes were duplicates of the watery blues staring back at you. 

Gripping each of Al’s shoulders, your glance fluttered to each of your hands in turn. To the  promise band on your right hand, then the jeweled red stone on your left. Those small gold bands like tiny manacles binding you to Al. There had been no choice at first, then anguished choices that would end in your shame or your demise. But then- those choices had shifted, had freed you. Freed you to be with Al unburdened by shame or sorrow. You felt complete.

You thought Al was complete now, too, looking up at him with an enraptured smile as he brushed your cheek softly, took your left hand and pressed a fierce kiss to your knuckles. Once, it had been the Grabber shadowing Al, that overbearing dark side that irrevocably connected the man and the monster. But the monster had been slain. You slipped into the gaps left by its absence, clawing into each crevice of Al, until he had been remade into a complete whole. 

“It’s a garnet, the gem in the ring. It was my mom’s,” Al said wistfully, hand brushing your knuckles still warm from the touch of his mouth. “For a long time, it was the only thing of real value I kept in the house. Until I kept you.”

That wording. It was twisted, morose and sick. But then, why did you find those possessive words so charming, perhaps even a little beguiling? You could only hope that the melancholy expression on Al’s face as he looked from the ring to you signified his continued penitence of all that had come before. Otherwise the happiness you both found would feel hollow, undeserved. You thought so. You hoped so. 

“I’m glad you kept me, Al.” If his wording was fucked-up, you’d match it with your own skewed viewpoint. It was a strange comfort, knowing you weren’t alone in your madness. 

A dog barking from somewhere out on the street turned both of your heads to the window.  A heavy feeling, like packed dirt on top of a coffin, descended, only the white noise of the record player filling the silence like a ghostly static. It was as if fate brought about the reminder of the past, the house across the street dominating the landscape out of the front window. Fluorescent orange street lights threw the shadowy silhouette of the tree across the house, dark branches reaching across the mottled brickwork. Thin fingers prying at the door to let those secrets out. 

It was a steep price, shouldering a portion of Al’s heavy burden. Knowing that staying was not the moral course, that each day spent inside this house with Al was a day your soul became a fragment more tainted with blackness. Al’s price was steeper yet: memories of the Grabber he would never scrub from his soul. Of his unforgivable killings, and his treatment of you. Even the torment of never quite knowing if one day, you might snap out of some daydream- the hypnosis worn away like a frayed rope- and escape him.  

They would all be powerful reminders: the memories, the house across the street, the ever less frequent news bulletins about the Grabber and his crimes. You and Al wouldn’t- shouldn’t- forget. Couldn’t forget what Al had done. Couldn’t forget that your relationship was fucked up. How you had broken the rules which dictated how normal people ought to live their lives. But only through playing that twisted game with Al had you found love. And right now, you wanted to play. You allowed yourself to forget, for a little while. 

“You know, Al- I got you a present, too.”

“You got me something?” his voice cracked a little in surprise, turning from the window to look at you. 

“Well, yeah. I thought black lace would match the dress pretty good.”

It took two beats for Al to work out your meaning, the small, confused gape of his mouth morphing into one of lustful knowing. That trademark smirk, dimpling his cheek slightly, always did bring out his playful, rakish side- his most handsome, you thought. Somewhere in the last few moments the music had ceased, the needle scratching the dead wax of empty space, as if ceding its song to allow Al to command the room. 

“Naughty girl, keeping secrets from me,” he tutted, lathering on the dramatics as his arm snaked around your waist, yanking you close as he began to unfasten the dress. The sudden movement hitched your breath, stealing your speech. No noise apart from the slow, growling zziiippp as Al glided his hand down your back, savoring every inch of the undressing. His finger brushed the small of your back as he finished unzipping you, letting the dress pool around your feet with a soft fwhump as it fell. He stepped back, perhaps a little stunned, or perhaps to get a better look at you in the provocative black lace panties and bustier you wore. 

“Fuuuuck,” he growled under his breath, but seemed to collect himself for his next words. “You’re coming me with, Mrs. Shaw.”

“You gonna grab me?”

“You’re damn right I am.”

And with a sudden lunge, he made good on that promise, hoisting you over his broad shoulder as you shrieked wildly, a half-laugh, half-scream of pure pleasure. You pushed your arms against his back, lifting your head to speak into his ear as he carried you down the hallway.

“I’m all yours, Al.” you whispered. 

Al turned his face, a flash of that crooked smile as he replied.

“And I’m yours, dove. Always have been.”

The record was left spinning on the turntable, the needle forgotten and left tracing the run-out groove. 

Sometimes, it was ok to forget.