#black phone fanfic

[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.

[dancingisdangerouss]

Chapter 13: Lover Ungrateful up now here: X

[theyluvlyss]

𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲...

...wishing there was a yellow font color😔...

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

《 ♡ 》 headcannons

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

while it's always fun to imagine (haha, get it💀) what it'd be like for him to be your best friend or your boyfriend, there's times when you yearn for that tension. that something in between that's more than a platonic relationship, but just short of being a lover. and I'm here to revive that feeling of what it'd be like for vance hopper to have a crush on you...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!reader x vance hopper - she/her/her pronouns!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

70s-80s - the grabber doesn't exist

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing (lots of it though, it ain't just me this time) - mentions of aggression/violence/fighting (it's vance, y'all, get serious lol) - vance also being kind of a menace as well, ngl💀 - some angsty themes/scenarios - good ending tho, dw lmao.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

Vance even finding somebody attractive just in general sense, no deeper emotions than that, feels like the end of the world to him. Like, on one hand, he knows these feelings are natural, and there's not really shit he can (or will) do about them, but GOD is it torture for him.

He hates the butterflies, the nerves, the stress-sweats, the inescapable urge to look his crush’s way, all of it. It's gross and uncomfortable, and if he could turn off the ability to feel attraction on a whim, he would.

Butttt,,,, at the same time, he is also a teenage boy. There's no way where SOMETIMES he doesn't mind maybe, POSSIBLY having a lil' hallway crush. Getting to check them out when they're not looking or seeing them outside of school; a pleasant surprise.

And I think just that alone could be a potential reason for why and how he'd be crushing on you. One of those things that, kind of like in Robin's case, just sneaks up on him without realization until it's “too late”.

It was obvious and amused scoffs at your outfit choices (because it's not like you or anyone else is gonna say shit about it lmao). It's him - like I said - checking you out when you're not looking and sometimes even shamelessly. It's him suddenly growing more and more ready to see you every day at school, lowkey trying to make sure you see him.

Walking past you a bit slower than his average stride through the halls, purposely tapping his pen against the desk louder than it to just be written off as "habit", other things similar that would leave you not wondering in the slightest because each "move" he makes is more subtle than the last (not on purpose, he just doesn't know what he's doing lmfao💀).

Leave him wondering why it even mattered to him if you did just give him the smallest morsels of your attention … until you did give it, and then he forgot how to think and he was fighting down the heat steadily rising to his cheeks and he just…

He'd get so pissed tf off, I just know it😭💀. Not at anyone in particular, but he's highstrung, okay, we know this😭✋🏽. And he never knew if that factor about himself was a good thing or a bad thing, because while chasing you off meant that these "gross" feelings would subside, it also meant losing the good aspects of all of this, too.

He'd be a little upset to see you look at him - not with curiosity like you had been - but the same way everyone else did. With fear and nerves. Or even not look at him at all, just a head and a set of eyes drooping straight to the floor or the nearest wall or wherever, anywhere to avoid his gaze. He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but if you did it, it'd sting a little.

But, regardless of everything I just said, no way in hell is he making any of the first moves. Not because of lack of confidence or anything, but the guy has no clue where he'd even begin to approach someone romantically. You'd just be another faded crush added to the pretty short list of faded crushes.

But, for the sake of these headcannons, let's say you were the one to nonchalantly approach. He'd go through that little routine he has with anyone he wasn't “cool” with, a glare up and down your person that, if didn't send you away on it's own, came right along with a snarky, “The fuck do you want?” leaving his lips.

“You're Vance Hopper, right?”

“Who's asking?”

“I am. I actually have a question for you.” … “How come you play that pinball machine so much?”

“That's none of your fucking buisness, unless you're tryna’ beat me or something.”

“‘Course not, I don't even know how to play. But…you know, it is the only one in town…”

“...And?”

“You should teach me.”

“Why in the hell would I do that? You're out of your mind; move.”

“Like I said, the machine you play on is the only one in town. You're hogging it.”

“The fuck'd'you just say…?”

“And since you're hogging it, you might as well teach me. Not like anyone else can…”

“tch, Please. Fuck off…”

And say, for the sake of these headcannons, you didn't fuck off, and that you showed up a random afternoon to the Grab'n’Go and bothered Vance anyways until he agreed to teach you (just as long as you didn't come close to his high score).

Or anything relating to this could definitely work. Maybe you pestered him about a specific comic you saw him holding. Or maybe where he'd gotten his jean-vest. Or just any one of his interests, really. If you have enough patience and he doesn't completely decide to push you away, he'll find himself reluctantly flattered at the way you persisted in learning more from him.

Let me repeat.

From him.

Wouldn't you know it? It's quite literally that easy. With a little bit of confidence and persistence without getting too pushy and insane amount of luck, you too can have your very own "Pinball" Vance Hopper. Ka-chow😎.

Once again, he won't say that, obviously, but it's true. It's the thing of now he can't help but let the crush get worse now that you've taken such a wanting interest in him. Actually hoping you come up to him in school, or smile when he checks you out without a care in the world, or actually agree when he's asking- well,,, more or less demanding you to go somewhere with him…

“After school, we're heading to the diner; I'm fuckin’ starving…”

“You ate your lunch and mine, what are you talking about😭?”

"Right, which means your ass is probably hungry, too, so we're going.”

And god forbid if he's ever jealous. Fuck his world ending. THE world ends, ain't no saving the person who's causing these riled up emotions within him, not when he's already as temperamental as they come😭💀✋🏽. Hell, it doesn't even have to be a person! As long as your time isn't occupied by him or being with him, he's salty as fuck.

And hey, don't get me wrong. He knows better than to let it bubble over and affect whatever’s going down between you two. He wouldn't want to come off as controlling or toxic. Chase you away, just like the rest. But that doesn't mean he still won't let it be known, especially when it's all over his face.

Brows furrowed and lips pulled down into a frown. More curt than usual, and strangely, there's a lack of curse words rather than the normal “fuck” “shit” or “ass” flying from that motor mouth of his.

But sometimes, he thanks whoever above when it isn't something as trivial as homework or a job or anything else inanimate keeping your focus. When it's something reasonable, like a family member holding up your time, or a close friend, maybe even a teacher…

He thanked the heavens when it was another guy - someone who he was well within rights to scare off, a viable reason to release some of those jealous tendencies under the thin guise of, “The dude was looking at you like goddamn meat, (N/N).” or “Fuck him, the guy’s a shitfaced manwhore looking for his fifth girlfriend…”

To be honest, it's kind of why it's rare that you're ever the jealous one. Or rather, rare that he notices you being jealous. Not that he doesn't pay attention to you, of course that's not the case. But it's also not really something he considers, you being envious, because (and this is, once again, definitely him talking), “What the fuck would she have to be jealous about?”

It's actually kinda nice having him to act as scary dog privileges. And while maybe sometimes he might get a bit too antsy, you're lucky he likes- oh, I'm sorry, in his words, "respects" you enough to cool it whenever you advise him to. Not in a - dramatic, "Stop fighting, look at me, this isn't you🥺" - way (he'd probabaly laugh and actually physically move you out of his way if you ever did some shit like that💀✋🏽), but more in a - mildly vexed, "😒🙄Don't bother with that guy, it's not worth it..." pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing - kind of way (while he might still ignore this sometimes, at least it isn't pure cringe lmao).

And to be fair, he's right in the sense that he's rather loyal, whether either of you realize it or not. Again, it's not like he's purposely going out with the intentions to woo other folks, but from time to time, a girl or two won't shy away from ogling him and even being bold enough to approach (such as you did, but that's neither here nor there so it doesn't count lol😆).

And in these moments, kind of resemblant to Finney, you can't help but be a little taken aback yourself because… Who the fuck is this girl talking to right now? With you standing right there, no less! The disrespect and audacity of these hoes…

“Sorry, he's busy later and doesn't like talking to…*looking up and down* people… But I can take a message.” As if Vance ain't standing right behind you, putting his things away into his locker and pretending not to listen to this entire interaction💀✋🏽.

“Oh, well, maybe you could just give him my number for me? I'm Anne, by the way, so if you could just tell him to cal-”

“-Ooo, aaahhh, see… I would but, like I said; not much of a talker. Plus, he already has mine, so, sorry😬😆…”

And as you're nearly tugging Vance away, he's very alarmed at the sudden cattiness you've displayed seemingly unprovoked.

“...The fuck was that?!”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing, you were mean as fuck back there…!”

And once he clocks that jealousy in you, omg he doesn't know HOW to feel lmao😭. It's like this odd mixture of annoyance, pride, and adoration is suddenly coursing through him, and all he can do is laugh because “What the hell…”

I feel like, after maybe a few more interactions like this, plus some more close proximity, it wouldn't be long before he started trying to pull away. Not because he dislikes you, quite the contrary. Bro’s just,,, scared, really. He doesn't quite have a grasp on these feelings he has for you, and you don't seem to mind, but you're also not giving him the clearest insight either. Not to mention his past and what he's previously been through…

To sum it up, I think this could lead to the classics we all know and love. He pushes away, you persist and maybe even get a little too forceful for his liking, he snaps, it hurts your feelings or whatever, he (in an attempt to salvage what he's about to lose) angrily confesses, you hit him with the, “You're so stupid, omg🙄😽…” And tell him you've felt the same way all along, ya smooch, the end.

Y'all are now the new power couple in school, and anyone who doesn't like it can suck shit (once again, probably his words🤭💀).

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬😽✨️!!

again, I wish tumblr provided a yellow color font, cuz that's what I would use for him, so unfortunately, I had to just bold his name/dialogue, but oh wellll💛🪩🙃.

next up is bruce !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

@in3rci4

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

1,896 words

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[katscloudy]

me when im trying to find good fics but its all smut ..😞

like PLEAAASE 🙏 i love smut but sometimes i want to read angst

[ghostiesnightmare]

Bound by Kindness

Pairing: The Grabber x Female Reader Summary: A raging blizzard brings an injured man to your doorstep. Against your better judgement, you decide to help him and show some compassion. But as the snow piles up, so does the tension, and you begin to wonder if your kindness was a terrible mistake. TW: DARK content, non-con, gore, blood, stalking, power imbalance, kidnapping, foul language, violence, choking, degradation, unprotected sex, bondage, loss of virginity, rough sex, abuse, and more. Read at your own risk. Word Count: 12,453 -Damn, she's long. MDNI- NSFW

-----

You always hated the cold. The frigid air was teeth-chattering inducing, causing your breaths to come out in steamed huffs. Another gust of wind whipped through the empty streets, and you tugged your coat closer to your body, trying to fend off the chill seeping into your bones. Thick globs of snow fell intensely in the December air, each singular snowflake seemingly making it their goal to cling to your layers and burrow into your skin. Crossing your hands over your chest, you tilted your head down and continued to brave the blizzard. Trudging through the sludge, your toes burned within your boots, mentally cursing you for not wearing warmer socks. It would take a miracle to keep your boots from becoming soaked, and your bones ache at the thought. Gritting your teeth, you questioned your sanity at the idea of walking the few blocks home instead of waiting for the storm to pass. 

December was always like this in Denver, with snow piling up until you felt as if it could sweep you away among the banks of frigid white. Living in a snowglobe, as some would say. Sometimes the weather looked like it came straight out of a Hallmark postcard, with the picturesque pine trees dotted with snow and Christmas decorations adorning every house in aesthetic symmetry. Being in the postcard however, was a completely different story, with frigid nights that left you burrowed under multiple blankets next to the fireplace of your house. Looking up into the night sky at the silent snowfall around you, you almost would have said it was pretty if you were trying to keep your teeth from chattering beneath the wool scarf strung around your lower face.

The streets were almost empty, with most preferring to huddle up indoors rather than face the wrath of the cold. A stray car would creep down the streets, headlights blinding you for a moment before veering onto another street, almost as anxious to get home as you were. Pushing onwards, you picked up your pace, boots crunching against the snow on the cracked sidewalks. At this rate, there would be ice coating every surface come morning, and you mentally noted to salt your section of sidewalk to prevent any hazards as the snow died down. Trudging past yet another snowman, you glanced at the bulking individual. Twigs adorning both sides, a warm scarf strung around its neck, and buttons pushed into its midsection; a true gentleman of a snowman. Two stones gazed soullessly back into your own, and you shivered at the sight. Creepy. Tearing your eyes away, you sighed in relief as the familiar brick of your home met your gaze.

Settled on the outskirts of Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge, your home seemed tucked away from the bustling life of Denver. The house was old, with creaking floorboards and a sagging porch, but it was all yours. The brick was chipping in places, worn by weather, but the structure had never looked more inviting against the cold air. Practically leaping up the steps of the porch as you fished for your keys, you leaned against the front door to support your weight. The door creaked open, causing your hand to freeze within your pocket. You had always locked the door, especially during the recent boogeyman stories you had only heard in whispers. The Grabber. A fitting name, seeing as he stole boys out of their beds at night, only for them to completely dissipate into the air. Only having recently moved in last month, you took extra precautions with the news, trying to stifle any panic that would arise from living alone on the outskirts of the refuge. Pushing the door open fully, you stepped inside before shutting the door behind you quickly, grimacing as the wood slammed from the force. 

Although in the comforting warmth of your home, a new chill seemed evident, weighing heavy with every step you took. Shedding your sopping coat, you kicked off your boots before padding against the wooden floorboards, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Heading towards the kitchen, you ripped the scarf from your body, winding it in your hands anxiously. “Hello? Is someone there…?” you called out, praying for silence. When your wish was granted, dread began to settle in your stomach, and you gnawed on your bottom lip from nerves. Had you locked the door? Did you forget in the bustle of trying to beat the storm on the way to work? Creeping into the kitchen, you sighed in relief when being met with nothing. Leaning against the counter, you finally let the scarf drop onto the , a laugh forcing its way of your lips due to your paranoia. You really needed to take some time off, the boogeyman clearly getting to your psyche from the long hours. 

Taking a deep breath, it felt as if the house took a breath of relief with you as you finally relaxed your spine. Tugging open a cabinet, you grabbed a wine glass and decided to treat yourself before bed. After all, nothing helped cure the chill of winter than alcohol. Rummaging through the fridge, you pulled out a white blend, pouring it to the glass absentmindedly, wracking your brain for any movies that sounded interesting to unwind to. Leaving the bottle on the counter, you scooped up your glass and moved to make sure the door was locked before relaxing. 

A cough ripped through the silence. You froze, the glass slipping through your fingers, shattering against the tiles of the floor, and a startled yelp clawed through your throat at the sound. Whipping your head to the source of the sound, your eyes landed in the living room. A dark figure sat on your couch, blending in with the shadows. Immediately, you rushed to the wall and flicked on the lights. The first thing you noticed were his eyes. Striking blue clashed with yours, seemingly tearing you open and reading your soul. Brown hair messily clung to his forehead, with sweat and grime covering his skin. Rough, hagged breaths seeped from the figure, and he hunched over his stomach, a hand clutching his side. Your frantic reaction didn’t seem to startle him at all, his steely gaze watching your every move. Your mouth opened, but you found yourself gargling on the words, nothing coming out. Sensing your shock, he shrugged slightly. “Sorry for the scare, hon. I’m sure you’re confused but–” he grimaced suddenly, removing his hand from his side, which was covered in crimson. “I–... I could really use some help.” He said plainly, as if he had known you his entire life and was casually talking about the blizzard raging outside. 

There was a man in your living room. A man who needed help. Trying to still your breathing, you warily approached him, back hugging the wall as you neared the couch. “I… how did you get in here?” you squeaked, cursing yourself silently for not having a weapon on you. He could be anyone, anything, and his intentions could be far from innocent. Sensing your apprehension, he lifted both hands up, surrendering. “I was in the woods when I was charged by a bison. He only nicked me in the side, but as you can probably tell…” He gestured to your surroundings, chuckling slightly. “...There isn’t much around. I had to get shelter from the storm and hopefully get patched up. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He jested, a smirk adorning his face at your anxious state. You stared at his appearance blankly, trying to piece together his story. Bison were well known to the refuge area, but to have one charge… you grimaced at the thought. “I… stay here.” The words fell from your mouth before you could stop them, and you whirled around, rushing up the stairs to your bathroom. 

Throwing open the door, you rummaged through the drawers, grabbing towels, a first aid kit, and anything else that seemed remotely useful. If you had any sense about you, you would have called the police at the sight of the strange man in your living room, but the threat of him bleeding out would have added even more problems to the predicament and you didn’t want to be deemed as a murderer after just moving in. Shuffling down the stairs, you almost sighed in relief when realizing he hadn’t moved. At least he listens… you thought, and your feet gravitated to the wounded man before you even had the chance to stop yourself. Looking up at you, the man grimaced again while keeping his hand on his side. “I… I can help, but you have to stay still.” You say, dropping the first aid kit to the empty cushion next to the man’s leg before unpacking any supplies that seemed useful. He nodded curtly, fingers gripping the edge of his shirt before pulling it over his head, discarding the clothing onto the wooden floor. 

Your eyes widened at the sudden movement, heat flushing your cheeks at the sight of the now shirtless man sitting before you. A nasty gash sliced through his right side, moving from his sternum to below his pec, blood pooling from the wound. Your eyes lingered on the wound before traveling to the rest of the exposed skin. He was pale, lean, but very fit, with sinewy muscle adorning his frame. His bicep curled as he moved to put pressure on the wound, causing his stomach to tighten from the pain. Sweat trickled down the cavity of his chest to his belly button, where a dark brown happy trail slipped seductively down his hips and into the confines of his jeans. Your mouth gaped open again, unable to stop staring at the very mysterious, very attractive man spread out before you. 

A chuckle tore you from your thoughts, and your eyes ripped to meet the icy blue eyes that bore into yours once again. He smirked at you, brow cocked at your obviously flustered state. “Sorry…” you gulped, and grabbed the towel on the couch, knuckles brushing against his upper thigh before you retreated into yourself. Turning, you rushed into the kitchen and drenched the towel under warm water, cheeks burning as you tried to shake the image from your head. Focus… there is a man injured and he needs your help. You chided yourself, ashamed at the heat that licked against your skin. Wringing the towel between your hands, you approached the living room again, trying to muster a brave face while racking your brain on how to clean a wound. Eyes never leaving your form, his smirk seemed to burn into your brain as you approached the man. It all felt so… lewd, the air having a tense atmosphere that seemed almost suffocating. You pushed the rag into the man’s hand, almost shaking as his fingers brushed against yours. “Hold this to the wound… I have to sanitize it.” You muttered, refusing to make eye contact as you grabbed a bottle of iodine. 

“This will sting…” you warn, unscrewing the bottle cap. “Albert. My name is Albert.” He answered, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. “Albert… It’s nice to meet you, although I would have preferred to not have someone break into my house in the dead of winter.” You teased slightly, earning another chuckle from him. He shrugged slightly, muttering off another apology before wincing again. You grab another towel and drench it with iodine, the pungent smell invading your nostrils. You gag slightly from the chemical scent before scooting across the floor in between the man’s legs. Brushing off just how inappropriate the position was, you pushed yourself up onto your knees before pushing Albert’s hand away from the wound. Albert’s gaze seemed to burrow into your skull, but you braved onward. Pushing the rag onto the open wound, a hiss escaped the male. He flinched at the contact, and you had to fight the urge to watch him squirm beneath your touch. 

“Fuck…” He seethes through gritted teeth, and you swallowed thickly at the noise. You dabbed at the wound, sanitizing it until his right side was coated in a deep orange. Grimacing at the sight, you moved to grab the tissue adhesive. “This will hurt, I have to glue the skin together.” You said, praying that watching medical dramas after work had any resemblance to reality. “You really know what you’re doing… should I be nervous?” He teased through gritted teeth, and you flushed. “...lots of television.” You muttered before cradling the wound on his side. He immediately tensed at your touch, and you felt the warmth from his skin seep into your hands. “Shit… you're freezing.” He bit out, and you stuttered out an apology. Squeezing the glue onto the wound, you worked quickly to close the wound, trying to ignore the feeling of iodine and blood coating your fingertips. Once the gash was glued, you grabbed gauze and packed the wound, ignoring the curses flying from the man’s mouth.

 “Sorry, sorry, I’m almost done.” You said, before taping the final block of gauze on top of the wound. You marveled at your work, thankful that the wound wasn’t as deep as you initially thought. He sat up, inspecting your handiwork. “Not bad… I guess all that television really pulled off, right hon?” Your cheeks burned at the nickname. You grabbed three acetaminophen and dropped them into his open palm. “Here… I’ll grab you some water.” You moved to the kitchen to grab a glass, sidestepping the now ruined wine glass and puddle on the kitchen tiles. Now that the immediate crisis was out of the way, questions swirled in your head. Why your house? Why was he out in the refuge in the dead of night in winter? Who really was this man? Brushing off the thoughts, you filled up the glass before padding back into the living room. “Thank you…?” He looked expectantly. You chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously. “Y/n.” You stated quickly, gaze dropping from his once more. “Y/n… I appreciate it.” He thanked again, smiling. 

The lights flickered around the house suddenly, and your heart almost burst out of your chest. Glancing to the window, the flurry of snow continued its onslaught furiously, wind howling and battering against the old brick. No one in their right mind would travel now, especially injured. “I have to clean up my mess… are you hungry?” You queried, bending to pick up the broken glass. “That’s sweet of you, hon. I’m famished.” Heat rose to your cheeks again, and you cursed yourself for being so easily flustered by his words. Throwing the pieces into the trash, you dabbed at the spill before opening the fridge. A stray takeout container, some sauces, and more wine stared blankly at you within the barren container. 

Groaning, you pushed open a cabinet, grabbing a can of soup. Comfortable silence enveloped you as you worked, and Albert decided to move to the kitchen and watch you cook. As the soup heated on the stove, you turned to meet the man’s gaze. It dawned on you that he was much taller than you expected, towering over you to the point where you craned your neck to maintain eye contact.  “I hope chicken noodle is fine… I wasn’t expecting guests.” You joke slightly, grabbing two bowls from the cabinet before setting them on the counter. Albert shrugged, unphased by the intrusion of space. “So… a bison? You’re lucky you got away…” you said. It became apparent that you barely knew this man, and you couldn’t decipher if you found that intriguing or terrifying. He nodded, leaning against the fridge, fingers drumming against the metal. “Could have been worse… I was lucky enough to choose a house with a good samaritan.” He jested, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the statement.

Ladling the soup into the bowls, you sat at the small kitchen table, and Albert made himself comfortable across from you. Poking at the soup, small chat ensued between the two of you. You talked about being new to Denver, and not being used to the cold. You vented about work and the day-to-day tasks you did in your spare time. You learned that Albert worked at a hardware store, and had lived in Denver his whole life. He had a dog named Sampson and worked as a part time magician. As you talked, the picture of Albert became more personified, he was just a simple man who was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing to worry about. “Storms like this don’t usually go on this long… it would have been hell to be caught out there.” He grumbled out, spooning another bite of soup into his mouth. You hummed in agreement. 

The blizzard would only get worse throughout the night, and after hearing Albert had abandoned his car at the refuge, your heart clenched at the misfortune of the man. You decided that Albert could spend the night to ensure his wound would properly stay sanitized and dry and let the storm blow over. When he protested, you ignored him, shoving a pillow and quilt into his hands. “It’s decided.” You smiled, guiding him back to the couch. Throwing his bloodied shirt into the laundry, you stretched, joints popping as fatigue began to seep into your bones. “Goodnight Albert.” You called, heading upstairs into bed. Practically flopping onto your bedsheets, you rolled over to change and get ready for bed, the events of the day wearing you out. Finally situated in bed, you pulled the covers over your body, turning to look at the snow falling outside. Maybe being kind to strangers isn’t a bad thing after all. 

—

There was a body in the woods. 

Albert barely spared it a second thought, his luck finally running out from a clean kill. The little shit deserved what was coming to him– having the nerve to pull a knife on him. It didn’t make a difference in the end, however. Albert wasn’t thrilled to end the game that quickly on a whim. It was too easy that way. He always stuck to a motto: grab, hide, kill, repeat. Simple, quick, and always calculated. Trudging through the refuge in the pitch black while injured was not his forte, especially after having to abandon his jacket due to it being drenched in brain matter and blood. When he approached the residential neighborhood, he hadn’t planned to stay, just grab some medical supplies from a house and circle back to his van. Silent, predatory, deadly. 

He never planned on running into you. Innocent, naive little you. He almost felt bad for startling you so badly. Almost. Something about the way that fear radiated off of you just made him want to reach out and grab you. He had half the mind to lunge at you and steal the life from your eyes, breaking you. But when the apprehensive nature you had immediately faded when you saw he was wounded, the pulling of your heartstrings to help was too good not to indulge in. You were so gentle, so kind in a way that made the darkest parts of him want to corrupt you. The most thrilling part of his… habits was the ability to completely and utterly destroy something, then pick up the pieces and mold them into whatever his fucked up desires had in mind. You were no different. You seemed so compliant, such a good girl who is too kind for her own good. You saw the best in everyone, and it made the monster within him want to take that kindness and twist it until it shattered. It was your achilles heel, and no amount of good intentions would be able to keep him away from you. 

Still high from the adrenaline rush of his most recent kill, the darkness called from the most depraved parts of his mind. He wanted you. He wanted to grab you and mold you into the perfect little toy for him to ruin. It would be so easy to creep into your room and ravage you beyond repair, but Albert was a patient man. He wanted to gain your trust, make you feel safe around him, before dragging you down to the depths of hell with him. Sweet unsuspecting you and your naive way of trusting strangers. Didn’t your mother tell you not to trust others, especially if one of them was a big, bad killer? Now that his basement was empty, he had plenty of time to prepare for the perfect time to take you. He wondered if the betrayal in your eyes would be just as delectable as your fear, it made his fingers itch to see just how far he could push you. He was always easily fascinated, especially when you were just so trusting. It was laughable really. Poor girl, your fate was sealed the second he walked into that house.

 Maybe his luck didn’t run out, it must have been fate to choose the house with such a perfect, malleable toy waiting for the taking. You didn’t even realize it, did you? Taking care of such an evil man, yet being so trusting to let him sleep in your home. So trusting… so vulnerable, he had to teach you a lesson not to trust strangers. You thought you could fix him, patch him up and send him on his way, but what you didn’t seem to realize was that Albert didn’t want to be fixed. He didn’t want to do anything other than completely destroy you, ruin you for anyone else other than him. He was never good at taking care of his toys, but the thrill of pushing you until you snapped seemed like a worthwhile challenge. The thought alone had his heart racing. You were his, his to love, his to ruin, you just didn’t know it yet. How cute, almost adorable even. You took him in like a stray, and now Albert will make it his goal to never let you go. 

The thing about strays? They always come back.

—

A knock on the door jolted you out of your cooking, causing you to bang your head on the open cabinet door. Hissing at the sensation, you rubbed your head before shouting, “The door is unlocked!” The door creaked open, and you glanced at a snow-covered Albert shedding his extra layers, kicking his boots off while cursing the howling wind. You rolled your eyes at the sight, turning back to the bolognese sauce simmering on the stovetop. Albert hung up his drenched coat before waltzing into the kitchen, making himself comfortable at one of the stools situated by the kitchen table in order to watch you cook. 

It had been two weeks since he had nearly given you a heart attack, and after your consistent begging, he finally went to the hospital to get his wound checked out. It turned out that your medical television obsession had pulled off, with him only needing fresh dressings and a prescription of low grade pain medication before he was discharged. Albert had begun to see you consistently, bringing takeout or random trinkets he thought you would enjoy. “It’s a gift… I promise, hon.” He would always muse at your attempts to pay him back for his endeavors. It turns out, Albert lived only a 10 minute drive from your house, and most nights he was more keen on crashing on your couch versus making the effort to go to his home. You didn’t mind however, feeling more safe with your new friend nearby.

Another two boys had gone missing, the news flashing across the screen upon his most recent stay. A gasp of horror had escaped you as the anchor reported the details of two boys, one 13 and the other 16 seemingly disappearing into the night. Vanished, as the anchor said. You screwed your eyes shut at the thought. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how their families must be feeling, losing their children to a monster in the middle of their night, stolen out of their beds. “He’s like the boogeyman– The Grabber.” You had said, and Albert’s expression had darkened at the television screen. “The only difference, sweetheart, is that The Grabber is very much real.” The words haunted you throughout the night, causing you to toss and turn with paranoia. Albert seemed very… detached about the situation, so you decided to not bring it up again, his lack of emotion towards depicting The Grabber as a very scary, very real person that could be anyone made unease seep into your bones. 

“Everything okay?” The sound of his voice brought you out of your thoughts, and he cocked a brow at you out of amusement. Looking down, you realized you were gripping the wooden spatula, knuckles deathly white from the pressure. You chuckled awkwardly, releasing spatula from your grasp and turning off the stove. “Yeah… sorry, work has been tense.” Stretching against the counter, you felt his gaze burn into your frame. That’s the one thing that unnerved you about the older man, he was very… observant. Always seeming to know what you were thinking before the words fell from your mouth, always watching your every move. Maybe it was his eyes, maybe it was just a habit, but either way, something about those eyes drew you in. His gaze held a type of darkness, like someone who had seen too much and the depths latched onto them. 

“Tense? That’s no way to spend the holidays… you should take a break. I make a mean eggnog, if you think that would help you relax.” He mused, and you scrunch your face at the mention of the sweet beverage. “I’m sure you do… of course you drink eggnog. I find it disgusting.” You shudder, moving to serve two helpings of bolognese pasta. Glancing at the calendar, your eyes widened at the date. December 24th. “It’s Christmas Eve…” You muttered. “You think I just came to visit out of the goodness of my heart? Sweetheart, with a schedule as busy as yours, I would be surprised if you remembered New Years.” Albert teased, taking his plate from your grasp, your knuckles brushing his fingertips. You flushed slightly at the comment.

Albert always had a sense of charm around him that never failed to fluster you. His endearing smile, flirtatious nicknames, and tokens of appreciation made your heart skip a beat at his affections. You found yourself trusting him over the past few weeks, excited for his presence in your otherwise empty house and the attention he gave you. It felt like a fresh breath of air, being looked after when your long shifts finished for the day and you were stuck in the solace of your home. He knew how you reacted around him, almost enticing him to push your buttons and turn you into a stuttering mess. It was infuriating, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“That is not true. I remembered Christmas, I just didn’t realize Christmas Eve was today.” You chided, earning a chuckle from across the table. Rolling your eyes at his teasing, you continued to pick at your pasta, glancing at the calendar once more. “Actually… I have something for you, Albert.” You said, standing quickly before rummaging through the cupboard before your hands settle on a wrapped package, the paper crinkling under your fingertips. Albert’s spine straightens at the table, his food abandoned due to his curiosity. Shyly, you approached the seated male and set the present on the table. Albert’s long fingers reached for the gift tenderly, eyeing you with suspicion. “You didn’t have to get me anything, hon. I don’t have anything for you.” 

Yet. He didn't have anything for you, yet. 

You shrugged. “It’s not much, but I had some time over these past few weeks and…” You swallowed thickly. “- I thought you could use it.” He smirks at that, and your cheeks burn. Gently unwrapping the gift, Albert lifts a blood red scarf from the package. Holding the soft material in his hands, he looks at you, expression unreadable. Fingers dancing along the blood red fabric, his eyes darken. A knot wedged into your chest, worried you had been too personal. “I know you lost your coat… and I thought you could use all the help you could get in this cold. If you don’t like it, I can-” “You made this?” His words sharply cut you off, still unreadable. His fingers tangled in the material, and his jaw clenched, his blue eyes drilling holes into your skull. Anxious you had overstepped, you chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes downcast. “Yeah… I had some extra wool and thought you would like it.” He holds the scarf up, wrapping it around his neck quickly, snapping out of the daze that you had put him in. 

Eyes meeting yours, the blue clashed so starkly against the bold red of the wool that your breath caught in your throat. Finally, he spoke, warmth seeping into his words. “It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you, hon… you just made my Christmas.” He teased, unraveling the scarf from his neck and tenderly folding it in his lap. You laughed bashfully, flustered at the praise. “It’s just a scarf, Albert.” You paused, then muttered: “Red suits you.” Albert chuckled, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips. “Yes, hon, yes it does.”

—

A scarf. How oxymoronic, how perfect. 

You were too sweet for your own good. You had given him a gift out of the goodness of your heart, yet it wasn’t the warm fabric that kept him warm on the chilling journey to his basement, it was you. You couldn’t have possibly imagined what this gift meant… or did you? The scarf was a promise, a vow to show your affection directly devoted to him. Your hands tirelessly worked at the fabric that was now slung across his neck, and if he wrapped himself tight enough within it, it would be as if you were caressing his skin yourself. So intimate, the thought made his heart race. With one simple gift, you had binded yourself to him, and he couldn’t help but imagine how good the scarf would look like on you. 

So sweet, so kind. He was certain that he had cracked his jaw from the force when you gave it to him. It took every ounce of strength to not grab you from across that table and hide you away for only him to see. He wanted all of it; your kindness, your dreams, your happiness, your life. It was his now, and only his. “It’s just a scarf, Albert.” Your words circled in his head, a constant reminder of how much, it was not in fact, just a scarf. You made it for him, only him, as a testament to your adorations. How could he not want to return the favor? You wanted his attention, you spent your precious little time trying to show him how much you cared, and he saw it; he always did. He understood the meaning completely, even if you were too stubborn to admit it. You naive pure little thing, your fate was already sealed when he first saw you, but now? You were undoubtedly his, even if you didn’t know it yet. The scarf symbolized a bond, a bond you forged, and he was more than happy to comply. You wanted him, so he will show you what that really meant.

The darkness within him screamed to respond to your devotion, to tear down the rest of the world and watch it burn if it meant he would be able to repay the love that you bestowed upon him. All he needed to do was reply, reciprocate. For that, he needed a plan. A plan to show you just how much this confession meant to him– how much you meant to him, and he knew the perfect gift to give to you. All of him. He would show you his worst, most twisted self, and bind you to him in ways that only he knew how to do. 

“Red suits you.” You had no fucking idea. He couldn’t wait to see how much it suits you too. He was sure it was going to look sinful. His hands balled into fists, giddiness coursing through his veins. He knew the basement was a vile place, a place where many have been subjected to his mercy, but with you… he had so much more in store for you. Sweet, innocent, angel, you really were about to give the man the best Christmas gift. And he was going to savor every last moment of it. Glancing at his handiwork, he finalized his preparations, a sinister smile breaking across his lips. “Merry fucking Christmas, hon.” Now all he had to do was wait. 

—

I’ll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me.

Please have snow, and mistletoe, 

And presents on the tree~

You hummed slightly at the song playing from the television, scrubbing the tiled countertop hastily. Dinner with Albert went smoothly, yet something about that scarf sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes looked so… cold, with an intensity that sent your head reeling. The last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable by overstepping, so once he left you immediately baked some sugar cookies as an apology gift. Working in the kitchen with Christmas music playing softly in the background felt inviting, reminding you of fond memories with your family in the past. Sighing softly, you poked at the sugarcookies to ensure they were cooled before slathering them in red and green frosting. 

You were always the type of person to give people gifts as a token of appreciation, but sometimes that made others uncomfortable due to the intense giving nature you had. Although it was a fair response, your throat burned with rejection at Albert’s strange reaction of the gift. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you coated the last cookie in a glob of green before throwing the frosting container in the trash. Letting the cookies sit, you stretched, joints groaning in protest from standing in front of the oven for hours. Untying the dirtied apron from behind, you padded into the hallway, throwing the soiled clothing into the washer. Yawning tiredly, you stumbled up the stairs into your bedroom, grabbing a pair of pajamas and stripping out of your clothes. Your skin immediately prickled, hairs raising on the back of your neck.

You were being watched. 

You glanced around, seeing nothing. Scoffing at your paranoia, you continued to change before throwing your old clothes into the hamper, making your way into the bathroom. You needed to sleep, stat. Standing in front of the sink, you laughed at a smudge of green frosting covering your temple. Rolling your eyes at your clumsiness, you reached for the toothbrush, coating it in minty paste before harassing your gums. Spitting in the sink, a shuffle downstairs caught your attention. Worried one of the baking trays toppled, sending your desserts face first onto the tile below, you quickly rinsed your toothbrush and padded down the stairs. 

Scurrying into the kitchen, you sighed in relief at the undisturbed baking sheets, turning to grab a container. Shuffling throughout the kitchen, your gaze landed on a red pen and small sticky note. “This will do…” you mumbled out, trying to figure out what to write. Hey Albert, sorry for being weird and giving you a heartfelt gift? No, too forward. Biting on the tip of the pen anxiously, you opted for a simple message that conveyed your feelings. “Dear… Albert….” You mouthed as you wrote, “-thank you for having dinner with me. I hope you liked your gift,” you paused. Humming slightly, you ripped the sticky note from the stack and tossed it to the counter. “To Albert. Merry Christmas.” Simple and straight to the point. 

Placing the sticky note on top of a container, you turned to load up the cookies into the tray, stuffing as many as possible into the circular container. Eyes sweeping over the red and green desserts, your gaze faltered as it reached the furthest pan. A singular cookie was half eaten, the gingerbread man-shape missing its head and arm. Eyes narrowing, you apprehensively approached the cookie as if it would jump back out at you. Picking it up, your brow furrowed, confusion sweeping your features. Did you happen to snack on it while frosting? 

The soft sound of guitar quickly pulled you from your thoughts, causing the half-eaten sugar cookie to fall absentmindedly to the counter. Peaking your head around the corner, the television stared menacingly back at you, Bing Crosby’s I’ll Be Home For Christmas playing at full volume. Heart stuttering, you approached the television. “That’s weird… I thought I just played this song…”

I’ll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me.

Please have snow, and mistletoe, 

And presents on the tre-

A grunt sounded out from behind you in the kitchen, and you whirled around, panic seeping into your features. Your eyes widened, a shriek tearing through your throat as your gaze met with a mask, its soulless eyes burrowing into your soul. A grin adorned its features, while horns protruded from the forehead of the mask. The white material was splattered with red, and you prayed it was anything other than blood. The figure towered over you, dwarfing your kitchen counter, another sugar cookie in hand. You felt like a deer trapped in headlights, completely frozen in place, eyes raking over the figure in front of you while your lip quivered with fear. 

Christmas Eve’ll find me, where the love light gleams~

“These are divine, doll. So good, I could reach out and grab them.” The masked figure mused darkly, voice dripping with hostility. Your breathing quickened, and you immediately took a step backward. It’s him, your personal boogeyman. The Grabber. Tears immediately fell at that thought, dripping down your cheeks and plummeting to the wooden floor. A sob wracks your throat. This isn’t happening, this can’t be real. Yet the taunting chuckle that erupts from the monster in front of you was very much real. The hulking figure takes a step forward, and you flinch at the movement, another sob wracking through your body. 

I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams. 

“Cat got your tongue? You’re shaking, you poor thing.” The voice drawls, and the familiarity of it all haunts you. The mask cocks to the side, and the light catches his eyes. Icy blue meets yours, and you swear your heart stops. Your lip trembles, and you want to scream for being so stupid, so trusting. Denver’s uncaught killer, your personal boogeyman, was Albert. The same man you nursed back to health, who had been in your house countless times before, who stood before you in that god forsaken mask now. Your knees almost buckled from the realization, causing another bone chilling chuckle to pierce the air. 

Albert reached into his back pocket, producing a string of blood red. Your eyes narrowed and the sight of the scarf wound perfectly in the hands of the killer before you. “This lovely gift had me thinking…” He took a few more brisk steps towards you, closing the distance between the two of you, cold and calculating. “- it’s only fair if I give you a gift too.” His words echo in your mind, and you refused to acknowledge him. A hand shoots out, grabbing you by the throat. You scream, broken out of your frozen stupor, clawing at his hand. He drags you forward, the nose of his mask brushing against your skin. 

The smell of dried blood invades your senses, and you fight the urge to retch. He smells like death… rather he was death, holding your life in his hand as his fingers dug into your skin. His eyes burned holes into your skull, and you sputtered for air beneath his touch. You could practically feel the smirk that he was sporting under the mask at the vulnerable state you were in. Tears welled in your eyes, skin burning at the lack of oxygen. “Tell me, does your fear taste as good as it looks?” He murmured darkly, black spots beginning to coat your vision. Your hands gripped at his arm, the pressure on your trachea making your eyes roll back. 

His grip released suddenly, and you fell to your knees, clawing at the wood while greedily drinking in gasps of air. He glared down at you, seemingly satisfied with the view of you sprawled beneath him. Grabbing your wrists, he heaves you up, and you hate how easily you move. Holding your wrists in one hand, he moves the scarf closer, causing something in you to snap. Screaming, you pull back as hard as you could, kicking and crying for this to all just be a bad dream. Yanking you forward by your wrists, Albert… no, The Grabber, weaves the scarf around your wrists briskly, pulling them so tight you hiss at the sensation. 

“This scarf binds us.” He seethes, yanking you closer by the tail of the scarf, causing you to stumble into his chest. He catches you effortlessly, one hand cradling the back of your head, fingers digging into your scalp, the other pulling the scarf tight. You never thought how your endearing gift would be turned against you, your wrists raw from rubbing against the material. A choked sob escapes you, and you can do nothing but stare in the icy depths of his eyes, swallowing you whole. “You think I wouldn’t notice?” His tone softens slightly, cocking his head slightly, the breath peeking through the mask and fanning your ear. “You gave me a part of yourself, so I’ll show you what it means to belong to someone.” 

If you weren’t terrified, you would scoff at the words. Sensing your defiance, he pulls you by your hair to your feet. You whimper, scalp burning under his harsh touch. “Why are you doing this?” You bite out, stumbling as he drags you into the kitchen. He chooses to ignore your venomous words, instead glancing back to you, eyes sweeping over your form. “I can’t wait to see you like that,” tugging on the material again. His voice hardens, “-wrapped up, bound to me. All mine.” The finality of his words sent a wave of terror down your spine, as if your fate was sealed forever. He rummages in his back pocket, the grip on the scarf loosening as he pulls a white cloth into your field of vision.

Freedom. This was your chance. For a split second, you froze before adrenaline pushed your limbs into motion. You turn to flee, wrists bound tightly in front of you, scrambling backwards across the kitchen tile, almost tripping over your feet. Time slowed. You can feel the wrath radiating off of him in waves. You refuse to turn to look, crashing into the kitchen wall, jolting sideways at the impact. Steadying your feet, your legs pump vigorously at the prospect of escape. You almost tumble over the steps leading upstairs, opting to head for the door, your only hope. The thought of freezing to death in the cold was better than what was in store for you. The silhouette of the door reaches your gaze, your savior,  and you bolt towards it without a second thought. 

A sharp pain stabs into your skull. White explodes along your vision, the world spinning as you crumble to the ground. The cool wood bites into your skin as warmth pools from your temple, dripping across your face and onto the floor beneath you. The taste of copper fills your mouth, ears ringing from the impact. Darkness licks at your vision, and you turn to see The Grabber standing over you, a sauce pan in his hand. Triumphant, his haunting smile glares down at you, head cocked and poised to strike. 

Everything goes black. 

—

A slow, rough throbbing pulls you from the darkness. It hurts to open your eyes, your pulse hammering into every crevice of your skull, causing the world to shift across your vision. You blink; once, twice, the swirls of grey and shadows gradually coming into focus with every attempt. Finally, the world seems to fall into place, your left eye burning from the crimson dripping from the cut above your temple. The faint hum of a singular fluorescent lightbulb buzzes from the ceiling, casting an eerie glow across the cramped room. The room was mostly bare, with a singular chair sitting across from the ragged mattress you were laid upon. The air was thick with the smell of mold alongside the faint scent of blood. You didn’t want to know if it was yours or not. A singular sliver of window adorned the top of one of the bare walls, the pitch black of night staring tauntingly at you through the thick glass. Squinting, you could barely make out the soft fall of snow against the dark sky, globs of white sticking to the glass momentarily before melting away, abandoning you. You were in a basement, his basement. 

Your blood turned to ice, pushing your body into action. You tried to sit up, body groaning in the process before you are ripped back down onto the bed. Your right arm hangs above you, taunt against the wall, secured in a chain. A sob wracks your throat as you tug on the metal, the clattering deafening against the silence of the room. A swish of fabric stops you in your tracks, and you look down at your chest, where the blood red scarf is tied into a perfect bow over your pajamas. You pale.

To him, the scarf was never the gift, you were. 

“Finally awake, hmm?” His voice cuts through the air like a knife. You jolted, turning towards the menacing figure in the doorway. His mask was abandoned, leaving you to gape at your capture. Albert’s soulless eyes burned into yours, and you wondered if he was there the whole time, watching you. Stepping into the room, the door slammed shut, the noise jarring you slightly due to the force. “You scared me for a moment there, doll...” He sighed out, crossing his arms and leaning against the closed door, eyes never leaving yours. “-I was nervous I hit you too hard,” He gestured to your head, and instinctively you put a hand to the prickled skin. Your hand pulled back red. “-ouch.” He taunted, chiding you for your attempt of escape. As if you would ever get away from him. “It would have been such a shame to ruin our plans before they even began.” He mused darkly, and you fought the urge to gag. 

“What… what do you want with me?” You force the words out, voice hoarse, throat raw from crying. He cocked his head amusingly, striding forward to close the space between you. He crouched over the mattress, towering over you. “What do I want with you?” He echoed, fingers ghosting over your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. He smudged the liquid between his fingers, looking at it while contemplating. “You gave me a piece of yourself…” He mused, hand gripping the edge of the scarf tied around your chest, playing with the material endearingly. “-now I’m going to give you a gift. Something only I can give.” The scarf dropped to your chest, his head snapping to meet your gaze once more. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“So scared… It's adorable. Your fear is addicting. It makes me want to reach out and bite you.” His calloused hand grips your chin roughly, forcing your face to move closer to his. His breath fanned across your face, a warmth that you savored against the frigid air. His fingers trailed over the bow again, gentle. “Look at you…” He breathed out, voice hoarse with restraint. “-like a gift, the perfect toy. There’s so many ways I could ruin you.” A sob rips out of you at that, and it only amuses him even more. Tugging at the bow, he undid the fabric as if unwrapping a present, the undone material loosely falling to the mattress. Tracing your jaw, he cocked his head. “Tell me, after we first met, did you trust me?”

You did. He knew you did. You trusted him completely, your caring nature not only nursing him back to help, but igniting a spark within you. You found yourself pining for the man, his attractive features and those eyes bringing a sense of warmth around you when he flattered you. He knew that too, and used it to push all the right buttons to make you fall apart like putty in his hands. It wasn’t hard for him to break down your walls, he was just so charming. So rough in all the ways that you were soft, and it made your heart melt. But that warmth turned to ice as his fingers brushed against your bottom lip. 

“Well?” He quipped, and your head nodded immediately. He smirked at the action, your compliant nature getting the better of you. “So obedient, so sweet. You understand why I had to take you, right? You’re just such a good girl.” Your cheeks burned at the words, ashamed at how easy it was for him to stir the warmth within you from something as simple as his words. He sucked in a breath, fingers trailing down the column of your neck, causing goosebumps to prickle at the sensation. You shuddered at the contact, squeezing your eyes shut. It was so wrong, so incredibly skewed in a way that made you question your sanity, but his touch… it left you breathless. 

His fingers brushed the collar of your pajama shirt, fiddling with the fabric like a nervous schoolboy, giddy with nerves. You sucked in a breath. “So pretty… so soft. All dressed up for me, how sweet.” He mused, hands trailing down the expanse of your chest, brushing against the buttons holding the shirt together. His nose brushed against your neck, and your eyes snapped open. Trailing upwards, you shuddered as he neared closer, breathing in against your skin. A low moan tore from his throat, and your chest tightened at the noise. Glancing at you through half lidded eyes, Albert’s gaze was heavy. His stare was suffocating, devouring every reaction you gave him, as if committing it to memory. He looked at you as if he was starving, and you were everything he could have ever wanted, the intensity of his gaze causing a broken whimper to snake from your throat. 

That whimper sealed your fate. His lips were on yours in an instant, his resolve shattered. His lips were rough, moving fast against yours as he pressed so hard against you felt you would crumble beneath his touch. His hand delved into your hair, blunt fingernails scraping against your scalp and pushing you further into the kiss. He hungrily sucked on your bottom lip, tasting the copper that lingered in your mouth, groaning at the taste. Warmth radiated from his touch, and you pushed closer to relish the feeling, melting into his embrace. You were falling from reality, the morals slipping from you as he held you close, stubble raking across your chin. The smell of smoke, sweat, and blood invaded your senses in a way that left your head reeling, and the chain rattled as you gripped his shoulders as if he was a lifeline. 

Albert shuddered at the feeling of your fingers digging into his clothed skin, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard it drew blood. You gasped at the pain, the metallic liquid seeping into your mouth. Albert persisted, pupils blown from the taste, tongue lapping up the liquid feverishly before deepening the kiss, pushing into your mouth. His tongue was rough, invading your mouth so quickly that you felt like you were choking. Tangling his tongue against yours, your saliva quickly mixed with his as he explored your mouth, pressing so hard against you that your skull buzzed. He moaned into your mouth, the vibrations leaving you breathless. Shocked into place, Albert persisted, sucking on your tongue while pulling you even closer. You choked down another whimper, his musk invading your senses in a way that made your head spin. 

He was so warm. Skin pressed so hard against you it felt as if you were melting against him, burning like a furnace. His lips tore away from yours, a mixture of saliva and blood connecting the two of you. Your breaths came out in ragged huffs, lips swollen and sore from the onslaught of teeth and tongue. Albert’s gaze darkened, eyes taking over your disheveled form, soaking in the sight. His hand retreated from your scalp, skin tingling dully. His hands gripped your shoulders, mirroring your movements as he pushed you down into the mattress. You fell willingly, sinking into the fabric while trying to catch your breath, head reeling. 

Albert was on top of you immediately, arms caging you in as he knelt over your form. Ducking into your neck, his lips feverishly left open mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, and you squirmed at the feeling of his tongue against your skin. Your skin burned as if you were on fire, shame pooling in your stomach from how good it felt. His stubble scraped against your sensitive skin as he searched for more ways to make you writhe against him, teeth sinking into your skin with a bruising force that left you gasping for air. Sucking on the tender spot, his fingers ghosted along your skin, mapping your curves. It felt as if he was devouring your skin, biting and sucking your soul from your body. 

He was marking you, leaving blots of red and purple along your skin so dark that nothing would cover the sin he was painting onto you. You would have been lying if you hadn’t thought about Albert during late nights alone in bed, but the reality of it all was all the more addicting. Your eyes rolled as his lips trailed the junction of your neck, chin grazing your collarbone. Spit coated your skin as Albert practically drooled on you, making his way across any exposed piece that was deemed to be untouched by his ruinous intent. “You taste divine…” He muttered into your skin, barely audible as his lips rubbed against a fresh bruise. He peered up at you, eyes almost black from pleasure, and you sucked in a breath at the sight, shrinking under his gaze. 

His fingers toyed with your top button, and your heart stopped within your chest. Before you could protest, his hands ripped at your shirt, the plastic buttons popping from the force, rolling across the cement floor of the basement. Your skin prickled at the cold, gooseflesh as the frigid air coated your damp skin. Practically tearing away the shredded fabric, your chest was left bare to his hungry gaze, and you fought the urge to cover yourself from the icy eyes dragging across your skin. Terrified of his wrath, you stayed still, trying to slow your breathing as his fingers immediately made their way to your exposed flesh, desperate for contact. His hand made contact with your breasts, palming the skin lazily, causing you to squirm beneath his touch. “Oh don’t get shy now…” He growled, a dull pain stabbing into your chest as he pinched your nipples roughly, rolling the sensitive flesh under his fingers. You yelped at the sensation, squirming, trying to cower away from the harsh grip. “-we have so much to do.” he finished, releasing your abused flesh from his hands. 

Gripping the mounds more tenderly, he squeezed them teasingly, thumbs ghosting your nipples again, causing your spine to straighten. He chuckled at your reaction, head dipping into the valley of your breasts, rubbing against your skin. Your brain short-circuits as his tongue licks at the skin of your sternum, warm and wet. His saliva coated your flesh, teeth nipping as he moved, fingertips trailing down your sides. You shuddered at the touch of his fingers ghosting over your ribcage, nails sinking into his shoulders so hard you were certain you drew blood. Albert stiffened, straightening against you so quickly your arms dropped to your sides abruptly. 

Rolling his shoulders, he tilted his head, looking down at you with such a dark gaze it was deadly. You swallowed thickly, lip quivering as you shrank further against the mattress, fear stabbing into your chest. His fingers hooked onto the black button-up he was wearing, lazily undoing his buttons, eyes never leaving yours. If your heart wasn’t in your throat, you would have called his movements seductive. His calloused fingers traced his shirt while his pale skin became more exposed as he went lower, lower. The black material fell haphazardly off his shoulders, the shirt balled up and thrown into a forgotten corner of the room. 

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the whimper building in your throat at the sight, all too similar to that godforsaken night you met him. He was just so attractive, too much so for your own good. The rest of the world seemed to melt away as your eyes trailed the exposed flesh in front of you, watching him roll his shoulders again. Albert clenched his fists, arms flexing as he leaned closer, nose brushing against yours. “It’s adorable, watching you struggle like this. So intent on hating me while fighting the truth. You want me.” He muses, grabbing your hand and laying it flat against his chest. Your lip quivers at the action, the heat of his skin seeping into yours as you fought the itch to explore. His heart hammered against your palm, and a small voice inside of you relished in the fact that it was beating for you. You clenched your jaw shut at the thought. It was wrong, so wrong, but you couldn’t stop your head from reeling at the sight of him in front of you so intimately. 

Crawling over you, Albert easily caught your wrists within his hand, taking advantage of the war waging within your head. Immediately, you squirmed beneath his grasp, confusion wracking your form. Everything was moving so fast, too hard to process. Your heart felt like it was hammering out of your chest, about to burst at any second. Albert knew that though, he always knew, and he was going to use it against you. Pulling the discarded scarf from the mattress beneath you, he knotted the material against your wrists once more, aligning your limbs to the chain that was bolted into the wall above your head. You hissed at the contact of the material against your raw wrists, itching to rip it off and burn it. You tugged on the scarf, but your efforts were all in vain, doing nothing but irritating your abused flesh even more. 

Albert clicked his tongue, admiring his work before tugging the tail of the scarf closer to him, mirroring his previous actions at the house. “So squirmy…” He teased, his other hand slipping down your naval, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle. He toyed with the drawstring of your shorts, and your eyes widened. “W-wait… I don’t-” You babbled onwards, praying, pleading that the train moving a million miles a second would halt. Albert, however, was less easily convinced, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, brushing your hip bone. “-I… I haven’t done this before.” You begged, sinking your back further into the mattress to try and get space from the very eager hand toying at your clothes. Albert paused, fingers hooked on the waistband of the shorts, eyes dilated. 

“Poor girl… so innocent.” He growled, fingers digging into the waistband while his other hand pulled the scarf impossibly tight. You whimpered at the sensation, pain stabbing into your wrists. “Don’t worry… I’ll break you in nice and rough.” He finished, yanking the shorts down your thighs in one swift motion. Immediately, you snapped your legs shut, hips locking into place as you cowered, watching as your shorts were discarded at the edge of the bed, dangerously far from reach. Guilt gnawed at your stomach as you felt the slick between your thighs, mentally cursing your body for being so traitorous. Completely bare beneath Alberts prying gaze, you flushed, trying to ignore the warmth that blossomed within your stomach. 

Albert dropped the scarf that connected your wrists, opting to grip your hip instead, his nails digging into your flesh so hard you were sure there would be bruises in the morning. His fingers ghosted over the exposed flesh of your thighs, trailing inwards so slowly it caused a shudder to rip through your body. He chuckled at your response to his touch, braving onwards, pushing forward. Your toes curled in anticipation, whether from terror or excitement you couldn’t decipher. Wedging his hand in between your thighs, his index finger scraped against your unclothed center, and you squeezed your eyes shut. He hummed slightly, satisfied at the slick that gathered between your legs, and you swallowed thickly, shame rippling off of you in waves. 

“So compliant. I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked for me… such a good girl.” Albert praised, teasing your folds. Your eyes fluttered as he eased in a finger, the length scraping along your gummy walls. You tensed at the foreign feeling, naval tightening as he stretched you out, testing the waters. Brows furrowed, you sucked on your bottom lip for comfort, trying to clear the battle of morals within your mind. It felt… good, Albert’s long finger reaching further than you ever could have on lonely nights, the stretch within causing that oh so sweet bundle of nerves to stir to life. Pleased with your warmth, Albert sunk another finger inside of you, and you gritted your teeth at the slight sting. Working his way into you, Albert’s fingers curled within you, searching for ways to make you more reactive. The pads of his long digits hit that hidden spot within you, and you writhed against the scarf, tugging at the material sharply. A whimper slipped, your facade quickly fading as his fingers continued to sink into you, prepping you. 

Albert sighed at your noises, eager to draw more out of you, fingers picking up their pace. His free hand left your hip, and he palmed himself lazily over his slacks, growing impatient. This was for him after all, not you. Slipping in a third finger, you felt like you were being split open at the intrusion, glancing down at him knuckle deep inside of you. Your arousal was evident, slick coating his hand and dripping down your thighs, and you flushed at the squelch that emitted when he withdrew his fingers from your core. You wanted to slap yourself when your hips jerked to meet his fingers, body betraying you as you subconsciously chased that high. Albert’s thumb brushed against your clit, and you almost jumped out of your skin, a gurgling moan ripping through your throat at the contact. 

Albert’s lips twisted into a wolvish grin at that, thumb continuing to draw circles on the bundle of nerves as he pumped his fingers within you until you were a breathless, blubbering mess. You felt like a furnace, skin hot to the touch as you writhed beneath the male’s sensual strokes, jerking at the rough touches to your clit. Obscene noises slipped from you, facade completely cracking as he scissored his fingers, stretching you so far you felt you would tear in two. Practically gurgling, you clawed at the scarf, hips rolling into his touches as you abandoned all hope of shame or guilt. The feeling was addicting, your inexperienced body reacting in ways you never thought possible. “Shit… you’re sucking me in, doll… so needy.” He teased, thumb pressing against your clit so sinfully your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

Your stomach tightened, pressure building within you as Albert fucked you with his fingers. Your core tightened as you throbbed around him, practically milking his fingers. So close… you were so close. Albert’s fingers brushed against that spongy spot again, and you almost tipped over the edge, a broken moan tearing through your throat. Then it was gone. Albert’s fingers withdrew from you so quickly it hurt. You clenched around nothing, tears lining your vision as you felt the emptiness overtake you. Nails digging into your palms so hard you were sure you left marks, you writhed against the mattress, gritting your teeth at the denial of pleasure. 

Albert chuckled darkly at your suffering, and you wanted to scream. “Look at you... practically begging me for it.” He brought his fingers to his mouth, drenched in your juices. Albert’s tongue ran over his fingers, slurping your slick off his digits, groaning at the taste. Humming in approval, he smirked down at your form, tongue running over his bottom lip. You flushed at the action, embarrassed at the way your stomach flipped at the sight. Screwing your eyes shut, you tried to shake the image burned into your eyes, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. The jangling of a belt buckle ripped you from your embarrassment, and you cracked your eyes just enough to see Albert rip his belt from his belt loops, the item of clothing clattering noisily as it skidded across the cement floor. 

Albert quickly unbuttoned his slacks, the black fabric straining against his form. Glancing downwards, your eyes almost bulged out of your skull at the tent sported in his pants, looking dangerous. You paled, reality setting in as Albert tugged his fly down, hissing at the cold air. Impatiently, he shoved his slacks down, and god you were not prepped enough for that. In the dim lighting, Albert’s cock stood proudly, straining against his abdomen. Ridged veins crawled along his length, trailing upwards seductively until they reached his head, red and angry and very hard. Precum leaked from his tip, and your mouth instantly watered at the sight. 

Wasting no time, Albert’s hand lazily stroked his length, running his thumb along his slit, gathering the precum that settled there. He squeezed his cock, a hiss escaping his form, and you swallowed thickly at the noise. His hips stuttered forward, and Albert pushed in between your legs, causing you to nestle around him. Your lip quivered as his head brushed against your slit, gathering your slick. “This is going to hurt…” Albert cooed sadistically, hand gripping your jaw roughly while his other continued to align himself against you. You sucked in a breath, trying to steel yourself against his harsh words. With that, Albert thrusted forward, plunging inside of you. White hot pain exploded within you, and you felt as if you were being torn apart. A sob tore through your throat, tears filling your eyes at the painful stretch. 

Unphased by the intrusion, Albert continued, pushing so deep you were sure you were dying, his hips flush against yours, moving immediately with no room to adjust. Groaning, his grip on your jaw tightened so hard you felt as if you were going to snap. “Fuck… you’re so tight. Just like a bitch in heat.” He murmured, bottoming out before jutting forward again, causing a gargled yelp to escape you. It was too much, you were too full, feeling as if you were bursting at the seams and filled to the brim with nothing except him. He was ruining you, practically tearing you apart and stuffing you so full there would be nothing left. His hips rolled again, cock dragging against your sore folds so roughly you were sure you were stretched to the brink. 

Albert moved at a bruising force, fucking into you so roughly you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. With every harsh thrust, the searing pain began to subside, an indescribable warmth beginning to take its place. Albert’s hand wrapped around the scarf, tugging it closer, and your back arched off the mattress to meet his grueling pace. You subconsciously clenched around him at the action, the thrusts of his cock becoming much more clear against you at the shift in your position. The other hand dug into your hip, forcing your legs even further apart as he drove into you. Heat prickled across your skin, the stretch of his cock becoming everything except pain with each thrust. Your toes curled as he hammered into you, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. Quick, heated huffs escaped you as he ruined you, the pain completely shifting into white-hot pleasure. 

Albert practically growled as you succumbed to his ministrations, broken moans filling the air as he fucked you into the mattress. “Taking me so- hah… well… I knew you needed it…” He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder as his scarf-entangled fist met the bed, pulling you even more upright. “-Such a- fuck… dirty slut.” His degrading words burned at your skin, yet the way his hips rolled against you made any semblance of a response die on your lips. The warmth returned to your stomach, kneading so heavily within you it felt like you were going to burst. Your legs trembled around Albert’s waist, the tension continued to build with every stroke of his cock through your slick walls. Uncontrollably, you clenched down, causing a hiss to escape the male hovering over you. “Shit… you’re milking me. You- mmh… you wanna cum?” He mused, dropping the scarf completely to wrap both hands around your neck, pushing you flat into the mattress. 

Pushing his weight against you, his hips slammed into yours at such a bruising pace your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Using your neck as a lifeline, Albert barred down, cutting off most of your oxygen as he pounded against you. “Cum for me, let me- ah… let me ruin you.” He pushed, thrusting so deeply you swore you saw stars. Your heels dug into the mattress, tension building within you so tightly tears welled in your eyes. And finally, you burst. Your orgasm hit you so suddenly your nails cut into your palms, body spasming as pleasure cut through your whole body, the dam releasing. A guttural scream tore through the air, rough and jagged, before it dawned on you that it was coming from you. Albert’s paced faltered as he fucked you through your orgasm, the pleasure radiating off of you in waves to the point you felt like jelly in his hands. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-.” Albert chanted into your neck, riding out your orgasm before his hips stilled within you, stuttering as he reached his own orgasm. Hot, wet ropes of cum spurted within you, and you clenched at the feeling. Albert shuddered, practically collapsing against you, hips shallowly thrusting against yours. Sweat clung to your skin, and the smell of sex, blood, and saliva coated the air heavily. Albert’s grip on your throat released, and you gasped for air. Albert tore his head from the crook of your neck, sweat dripping from his temple as he took in his handiwork. You were sprawled beneath him, skin adorned with love bites and bruises, covered in blood and sweat as you tried to catch your breath. You were his, ruined for all others.

A wicked grin spread across his lips, and he gently unwrapped the scarf from your neck, rubbing the raw flesh of your throat endearingly. He hummed at the way you melted against his hand, brain turned to mush and still reeling from your orgasm. So sweet, so compliant, all it took was a little breaking in, and you were all his. Albert withdrew his hips from yours, his softening cock retreating from your folds. You jolted at the feeling, a hiss escaping you as the emptiness consumed you again, soreness creeping into your form. Crawling off the bed, Albert quickly dressed, shoving himself into his slacks before glancing at your fucked-out form on the mattress, a mixture of cum and blood dripping onto the mattress from between your legs. Albert huffed at the sight, buckling his belt into place before moving to crouch beside you. 

His fingers brushed your hair, and you sleepily opened your eyes to meet his own. Albert smiled at the empty gaze within them, only trained on him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm? How about some of that eggnog?” Albert mused, grabbing your ruined shirt and pushing you upwards. You limply complied, jerking slightly from the shift in position. Albert produced a small key from his back pocket, unchaining your wrist from the wall before slipping the ruined shirt back onto your form. You hummed slightly, relishing the way the fabric brushed against your sore skin. Releasing your form, you flopped backwards onto the mattress, exhausted. Albert chuckled at your almost broken state, standing and grabbing his shirt. Shrugging the material back onto his body, he buttoned the bottom few buttons before turning towards the door. “Merry Christmas, hon. I’m sure it’s one you’ll never forget.”

Your eyes met his once more, and he smiled, knowing he had won. Bound by kindness, he thought. Turning, he creaked open the heavy door before slamming it shut, leaving you alone in the cramped room. Rolling on your side, you brought your knees to your chest, the warmth fading from your skin. Shame and guilt blossomed like a pit within your stomach, the pleasure seeping from you as you stared out at the wall. You winced at the pain from moving, groaning slightly as you felt Albert’s cum leaking from you onto the damp mattress. Mind swirling with emotions that were too complicated to decipher, you waited for Albert to return, craving his warmth, yet hating yourself for wanting him near you. His betrayal was a fresh wound to bear, yet you couldn’t find yourself despising him, a much more primal emotion forming in your gut. You couldn’t tell which was more terrifying. Figuring out how you felt about Albert and how to adjust to your… new life was a tomorrow problem, for now you needed to rest. Staring out at the small window by the ceiling, you watched the snow fall once more, the frigid air creeping into the room and seeping into your bones.

You always hated the cold.

—

A/N: This was definitely a labor of love... requests and suggestions are still open for anyone interested!

[bosinclairsgff]

Slashers reacting to you biting them

Includes: The Grabber, Otis Driftwood, Bo Sinclair

Warnings: kidnap, cussing abuse, NSFW mentioned

Not full on drawing blood type biting but love nibbles yk? Also I hate this but idk.

- Depending on Alberts mood, he’d either giggle and find it cute or he’d slap the shit out of you.

- It’s so hard to tell what he’s truly feeling so your careful when you first do it. He had been spending more time in the basement with you, sometimes holding you. So one day while he’s holding you, you grab his arm and lightly bite him, and holding him in your mouth for a moment. Immediately he’s frozen in place, not knowing how to react at first. “Why’d you do that dove?” He’d ask while holding you closer to him. He wouldn’t mind after you explain it’s kinda your love language.

- You read the room so wrong. Al is holding you sure, but the room feels off and he breathing heavy. You make the decision to slightly bite his arm, in a loving way like you had explained last time. This time though, he pushed you off his lap, you hit the concrete floor hard letting out a small yelp. He towers over you and kicks you directly in your stomach. You cry out in pure pain. “Please, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you mad, I’m so sorry!” You try to reason with him. “You dumb bunny. Such a dumb pathetic bunny.” He say’s delivering another blow to your stomach, knocking the breath out of you. Satisfied, he kneels down to look at you. Saying nothing he kindly pushes your hair out of your eyes. Albert then leaves without saying a word.

- Otis would take it as a kink or a way to kick of sexy time.

- Otis was working on one of his art projects, not paying much attention to you. “Otis?” You question standing by his chair and putting a hand on his shoulder. “What do you fucking want mama?” He says slightly annoyed. He turns around to look at you. “Can I sit on your lap while you work…please? I’ll sit still and be good I swear.” You say as you pout. Otis rolls his eyes but pats his lap. You happily take your stop on his lap. Straddling your legs over his thighs, facing him. After a second of looking in his eyes, you lay your head into the crook of his neck. You stay that way for a few minutes before you get the idea to slightly bite his neck. He lets out a deep sigh. “What the fuck are ya doing girl?” He questions. “I jus wanted to bite ya. I’m sorry.” You say feeling your cheeks heat up. Otis grips your ass and pulls you closer to him.

- You can only guess what happens next.

- Bo would also take it as a way to get in your pants.

- You were in the shop sitting on the counter watching Bo work. “I can feel ya staring at my ass y/n.” He chuckles, making your face turn red. Standing up and walking over to you, just to hold you in his arms for a moment. His arms wrap around your waist and his chins rest on the top of your head. You melt into his touch, closing your eyes and relaxing. After a few moments just resting with each other he lets go of you. You lightly grab his arm and kiss it before slightly biting it. He’s immediately turned on. “Woah I’m usually the one doin tha biting baby.” He jokes. “I don’t mind this though.” Bo closes the distance between you to and catches your lips with his.

- Pound town goes CRAZY, you do explain after though that it’s a love language. He doesn’t understand and will probably always take it as your down for a quick fuck.

[sp7-mr]

[meelusinee]

JUST A CALL AWAY | R.B X READER

word count \ 2.8k | fluff and stuff | slash / regulus black x reader

in which you teach regulus how to use a phone, and he asks you on a date author's note at the end!

A LITTLE LOAF SERIES MASTERLIST

JUST A CALL AWAY | REGULUS BLACK X READER

You were closing shop in your bakery by the time 2 o clock rolled around, the counters and floored cleaned and bread placed inside the fridge.

Your mind had been racing the entire day thinking about Regulus.

He seemed like a rather nice guy, all things considered. You didn’t know much about him, though he didn’t know much about you either. Maybe you two could become closer after this, though you weren’t sure how much about you he was truly going to understand. He didn’t even know what a phone was, something you would have to teach him.

You found that you didn’t mind it that much.

The door’s bell rang as it opened, your eyes darting up to look who had walked in. A smile grew on your face as you recognized Regulus’ face from yesterday, eyes skimming over his outfit.

Regulus was wearing a long sleeve shirt with ruffled sleeves, similar to something you might see a vampire wearing. He had a blazer laid over it, though it wasn’t wrapped around his arms. His pants were black work pants, with a corset belt wrapped around his waist and large boots on his feet. It was an outfit you didn’t expect to see him wearing, though one you quite liked nonetheless.

“Hey.” he said softly as he walked up to the counter, a small smile on his face.

“Hi there Reggie!” you smiled brightly, before your face turned into a more pensive expression. “Do you like the name Reggie?”

Regulus’ face grew a bright pink tint, much easier to see from his pale skin. “I don’t mind it.” he whispered, voice cracking near the end.

“But do you like it?” you asked him.

Regulus seemed to think about it for a moment, looking down at the counter before nodding. “I do.”

You smiled brightly, jumping up once before walking out from the counter. “Reggie it is!” you smiled brightly. “Now, let’s go get you a phone, grandpa.”

“Grandpa?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Grandpa!” you smiled brightly at him.

The both of you started to make your way to the phone store, which you said was a medium length walk from the bakery that you worked at. His body walked close to yours, although he kept a respectable distance still.

“What do you do for a living?” you asked Regulus curiously. He assumed that you wanted to find out more about him, especially since you didn’t know much about him to begin with. All you really knew about was his name and what he looked like, though not much after.

“What?” he asked you, clearing his throat. “For a living?”

“Yeah.” you said to him, a small smile growing on your face. “Like work.”

Regulus looked at you for a short moment before looking at the sidewalk, clearing his throat. Looking at you seemed to be like a death sentence for him, his heart stopping every time his eyes even glanced at your face. “I don’t have any work right now.” he mumbled quietly, shrugging his shoulders. He couldn’t really say that he worked for an evil Dark Lord that . “I just moved here.”

“Oh, you did?” you asked him, looking around at the different stores. “You could become a jewelry seller. You seem like the type to know all about that.”

Regulus smiled softly at that. “I do like jewelry,” he whispered. 

You seemed to read him like a book, like his whole entire soul was open for you to read for your entertainment. He seemed more scared at the fact that he didn’t mind the feeling, something he knew he might regret later. 

“Maybe you can sell me a ring.” you winked at him, bumping your arm against his.

He blushed at that, the thought of you in a ring that he got for you in some way bringing a large flush to his face. “Maybe one day, yeah.”

“What would you want to do for work?” you asked him curiously, looking up at him. You seemed genuinely curious about anything about him, something that warmed his heart more than he could imagine. “If you could choose anything to do.”

Regulus thought about it for a moment while he walked, not really sure himself. He had thought about it for a long time, a release from his home. He thought of being an Auror for a moment, though he quickly got rid of that idea. Potioneering was something he was good at, though not something he could exactly explain to a muggle.  

“Maybe writing,” he whispered under his breath, quiet as he thought. “I like writing, but it’s rather intimate. I don’t know if I’d want people to read it.”

“That is true.” you said, humming softly before a teasing tone took over your voice. “Maybe you could try working in my bakery? I bet you’d sell cake pops in three seconds!”

“I doubt you’d want me to work there.” he chuckled quietly, smiling softly at you. 

“I feel like I can trust you more than a lot of people who want to work there,” you said, a small but genuine smile on your face. “Which, you’d think is weird, right? We met just yesterday.”

“Maybe we just match better than most people do.” he replied, blushing after suggesting that. “Maybe.”

“Maybe we do.” you smiled at him, playfully nudging him before looking up. “Here we are!”

Regulus looked up at the store they stopped in front of. Inside were a bunch of boxes with small icons on it, pictures and icons that he couldn’t exactly describe to himself. 

“These are,” he muttered, looking at one of the phones as you both walked in. “Pones?”

“Phones, yes.” you smiled softly, looking up at him. “You can buy a phone, right?” you asked him.

“Probably,” he mumbled. He had wealth under his belt, money he could easily sneak out of Gringotts despite the fact his parents probably thought he was dead. He was still the Heir, after all. Kreacher had transferred a lot of his Galleons to Muggle currency as well, which meant he had quite a bit of cash on his person.

“Good.” you smiled brightly. “As much as I’d love to pay for you, they’re extremely expensive. I can barely afford my own right now.”

“Are they?” he asked confusedly, looking at the price of what seemed to be a higher quality one. It seemed to be a similar price to a high-end owl, which made sense in his mind.

“Yup.” you said. “But, even if you can’t buy one right now, I can still teach you how to use them.”

Regulus looked up at you before nodding. Even if he wasn’t sure whether he’d even use one or not, he still wanted to hang out with you. He wanted to be closer to you, in any sense of the word.

“Let’s find you one!” you smiled brightly.

Regulus had been dragged around for about 10 minutes as you expertly profiled him for a phone. He ended up with an Iphone in his hand, a newer model but not the newest.

“Okay,” he mumbled confusedly, holding it in his hand. It was the weirdest shape he had ever felt. “And how do you use it?”

“Well, let’s go one by one.” she said to him. “Firstly, how to turn it on and off.”

You held his hand as you helped him turn it on and off, teaching him the difference between just pressing the button and holding it down. You taught him how to make calls and send messages, your body close to his.

It was a beautiful feeling.

“Do you know how to navigate this?” you giggled softly, looking up at him.

“No,” he mumbled quietly, watching you hover even closer and help him.

“You can drag down from here to access notifications and stuff,” you explained to him, hand pointing to the top right corner. “You drag down here for the control panel. Like your flashlight.”

“A flashlight?” he asked confusedly. He had no idea what a flashlight was.

“Yeah!” you smiled softly, dragging the control panel down and clicking the flashlight button. He looked at the other side of the phone, realizing it was like a Lumos charm.

“That makes sense.” he whispered.

“What were you thinking of?” you asked curiously.

He shrugged, not sure of it himself. “I’m not sure.” he whispered softly, looking at the phone with a mix of bewilderment and confusion. 

You giggled softly. The giggle was quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds, something that he could repeat in his mind when thinking about anything good. He wished that he could hear it for longer, maybe forever.

Maybe one day.

Regulus had bought the phone as soon as you gave him a basic tutorial on it, his hands holding it hard as he tried to figure out things himself.

You decided to sit outside in the park with him while he figured it out, giving him your number so he could text you whenever either of you wanted. He figured out how it worked relatively easily, and you figured out that he typed grammatically correct. A little bit different than what you were used to, sure, but something you couldn’t blame him for.

The sun was setting beside the both of you, which made his face glow under the sunset lighting. He was rather beautiful, if you were to say so yourself.

“So you can type a sentence with these buttons,” he mumbled, his French accent thick as he pointed at the letters. “And then you press send to deliver it. Like a letter?”

“Kind of like a letter.” you smiled softly at his confusion. It was definitely adorable. “But it sends a lot quicker. And you can see me typing back in real time too.”

“That’s,” he whispered softly under his breath. “Rather cool, actually.”

You smiled brightly, not realizing just how amazing a phone really was. You were used to it being a daily thing, but you found yourself truly being amazed by how impressive it was by his response. “It is rather cool, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” he whispered, before nodding and pocketing it. “I think I’ll figure it out more later.”

Your smile softened at that, not wanting him to leave just yet. You had loved hanging out with him, even if it wasn’t really that long. Maybe five hours was long for most people, but you felt like it had only been for a couple of minutes with him.

“Does that mean you’re leaving?” you asked. You didn’t want to seem desperate.

“Do you want me to?” he asked quietly, his eyes staring into yours. “I don’t mind staying.”

“Do you want to stay?” you asked.

He paused for a moment before looking down at the ground, his face lighting up in a wide shade of pink. “I’d like to, if you’d allow me.” he whispered under his breath. “I enjoy your company.”

You felt your cheeks heating up a little yourself, but chose to ignore it. “I enjoy yours too.”

“What do people usually talk about?” he asked. As far as you knew, he didn’t have any friends.

You shrugged, not really sure yourself. “What do you think about this park?” you asked.

Regulus looked up and around the park, analyzing anything his eyes landed on. “That tree is an Oak tree,” he mumbled. “And I like the moss on the tree next to it. Some people call it old man’s beard.”

“Really?” you asked, looking at the moss he was looking at. It definitely earned its name, the color and shape reminding you of an old grandpa who complained about the economy and had a 2 hour storyline about how long his trip to school was. “I can see it.”

“I can too.” he smiled softly, leaning forward from where he was sitting. “That Magnolia tree reminds me of you.” he whispered, looking over at you as he spoke. 

You smiled softly, looking over at him. Your heart started to beat rather fast, a warmness growing on your cheeks. “Does it?” 

“The color,” he whispered. “And its warmth. It reminds me of your bakery.”

You looked over at the flower before back at him and smiled brightly, “I don’t really know how to say thank you to that.” you whispered softly to him. “But still, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling softly. 

The two of you wandered around the park for some time after. He pointed at things and explained them, all while you listened and clinged to his arm. It was a rather intimate moment.

“Thank you for this,” you whispered as he walked you home, a small ice cream cone in your hands. He bought you one on the way. “Seriously.”

“It was nothing,” he smiled. “I liked this.”

You smiled back, a small flush heating your cheeks. “We should do it again.”

“We should.” he mumbled quietly, his hand squeezing yours. 

You smiled softly, patting his head. He said his goodbyes and you went inside, finishing your ice cream and laying down on the couch.

You hadn’t been able to relax much since you got back, your body going between phases of pacing and tiredness. Your fingers flicked through your contacts, finding your best friend and calling them.

“Y/N?” they asked confusedly. “What are you calling for? You rarely call at this time.”

“I am freaking out, that’s what!” you said excitedly, sighing softly. “I’ve just found my dream man. Like, seriously. I need to find wedding rings.”

“Woah, calm down.” they chuckled softly. “Start from the start, okay?”

So you did. You explained everything, from the moment you met him to your hang out today. You explained how easily flushed he’d get, his aesthetics, how much he seemed to love nature and literature. You explained anything and everything you could, breath running short by the end. “I think I’ve fallen in love, seriously.”

“Seriously sounds right.” they chuckled.

Your best friend said something, but you didn’t register it at all. Regulus had texted you.

You opened the message and smiled just as wide as the lot of times you did around him. It was a sweet message, one that made your heart ache.

REGULUS: Thank you for listening to me talk today. I really enjoyed hanging out with you today. I would love to do it more often, if you would like.

REGULUS:  Again, I’m very sorry for talking your ear off. I’m not the best at talking to people, especially how I did today. I’m sorry if that has inconvenienced you. But you make me want to try.

Your cheeks flushed wide at the message, especially at the last seven words.

“Y/N?” your best friend asked. “You there?”

You nodded, before realizing that they couldn’t see you nodding. “Yeah, I'm still here.” you muttered. “He texted me. God, he’s so sweet.” 

“Well, what’d he say?” they asked. You sent them a screenshot of what he said, smiling brightly at their loud squeaking sound. “I know, right?”

“Marry him, right now!” they said excitedly. “But you need to text him back first!”

“I’m getting there!” you said excitedly, typing out a response.

YOU: hi again reggie!!! i really enjoyed listening to u talk, i really don’t mind it. u sound really nice whenever u ramble like that, so don’t ever stop!

YOU: thank u so much for today <333

You smiled as you watched Regulus type, giggling at his utter confusion on your typing style.

REGULUS: That is the oddest way of spelling I have ever seen.

REGULUS: I don’t mean that to sound rude.

You giggled softly at his clarification, sitting on the couch and kicking your feet happily. God, you were already falling hard.

YOU: u don’t need to use proper grammar or spelling on text!!! i like typing like this :D

REGULUS: Is that a smiley face?

YOU: it’s my favorite :D i don’t like emojis much

REGULUS: Noted. They do look ugly.

You smiled widely at that, hugging your pillow and kicking your feet again and again. Your phone had started to get a couple of notifications at a time, your heart bursting out even more as you read his new messages.

REGULUS: Really though, Y/N. Thank you for hanging out with me today. I really enjoyed it.

REGULUS: Maybe we can hang out tomorrow? I’ve heard that there is a nice restaurant down the street, and I would like to take you.

REGULUS: Unless you’re busy, or this is too forward.

REGULUS: I don’t want to irritate you.

YOU: i don’t think u could ever irritate me. and yes, i would love to go to that restaurant with you <3

YOU: call it a date!

You squeaked softly as you sent the message, smiling as he agreed eagerly. It was really happening. 

You were going on a date.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

thanks everyone for reading!!! i've been writing a bundle lately, so i think that this is a pretty good thing for me? i've written maybe 6-7k words in the past two days, so that's fancy. dno't really have many other things to say about this other than that tho unfortunately

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, and reblog! love u <3

[starboardharpy]

This is basically what happened, right??

Psst, hey! @bilan-igg , it's the Gay Doritos :>

[aanhedoniaaa]

Vance Having a Crush On a Quiet Reader

Vance usually hates people like you, quiet, introverted, and he surprised himself.

He tries to tell himself he doesn’t like you

He even misses multiple days of school just so he wouldn’t see you, not in a bad way, he just has such a big crush on you

but then he sees you at school one day and he can’t stop staring.

He stares so much, and sometimes he doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. He gets zoned out just thinking about you.

You’re sure Vance doesn’t like you. Maybe he just has a staring problem. he seems like the type of guy to bully people like you. But you’re wrong. Like, dead wrong.

His friends think that he has a crush on you he does but he doesn’t wanna admit it

They make fun of him for it, he doesn’t have crushes a lot.

I honestly think his friends are the type of people to yell out “Vance likes you” whenever they see you.

Overthinks asking you out a lot.

He’ll legit walk up to you ready to ask you out, and when you face him he’ll run away.

[svnraez]

shoutout to artists and fanfic writers, you guys really are the entire backbone of every fandom ever and i love you for it.

[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.

[3rachaswrld]

I Like You | 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Pt 2

Description: Vance said he likes you, and you said it back which led to a make out sesh. But he warned you...and you wanted to continue.

Warnings: Sexual content, Reader being a virgin

Vance pulls away to catch his breath. "Should we continue? Or do you want to stop? Because if we continue, I might not control myself. Vance breathed. "Continue." You panted.

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Vance clears his throat. "Vance, I know...we've only talked for about a year or so now. I didn't think you'd like me back. Plus, the scenarios in my head are probably worse than what you had in mind." You chuckled. "What scenarios?" Vance furrowed his eyebrows. "Oh, because I knew you messed with other girls and I know that you straight up leave them." You avoided his eyes, scared to hear what he will say. "They're boring, but I actually like you. I almost pussied out when I came over." Vance caused you to laugh. "Are you scared of me?" Vance asked. "No. I was just scared to lose our friendship." You fiddled with your fingers anxiously. "You won't lose me unless you push me away." Vance sat down next to you.

"I know I can be an asshole, and I do dumb shit. But I do like you, Y/N. I promise." Vance held your hand that was resting on your knee. "Was the make out too much?" Vance teased. "You're funny, but no. I actually wanted... more. But, I don't know what this means for us. Because you stole my first kiss." You smiled, your cheeks going back to that pink hue again. "What do you want it to be?" Vance scoots closer over to you. "I think you know." You smirked. Vance returned the smirk and pulls your jaw with one hand, kissing you softly yet so harsh. You both grunted into the kiss as you fall backwards onto the bed. This time your hands were free, and your mind was so fogged up, you simply let your body do all the work. Your hands yanked his sleeveless jacket off and threw it somewhere in your room. "I'm gonna assume you're a virgin, too?" Vance back away. You looked away and sighed. "It's okay, I'll be gentle." Vance turned your head with his hand that was still on your jaw. "That's if you're oka-" You cut Vance off by reeling him in again.

His hands began to roam around your body. A minute passes by, and Vance was still glued to your lips. In his jeans, he pulls out a condom. "Do you just casually carry those?" You laughed. "No, I thought I should bring one just in case things will ever... happened." Vance snickered.

Pulling in for a kiss one last time, his lips traveled down to your jaw, then to your neck. "I'm gonna make you mine." Vance hissed, nipping at your neck. You covered your mouth, not wanting to make any noise. His knee was back between your legs, and moving further up. "Move your hand, I wanna fucking hear you." Vance growled against your bruised skin. You removed your hand, as Vance sits up. He takes his shirt off in one swift movement. You clearly see the bulge in his pants starting to grow. This was your first time, but you didn't feel nervous.

Vance's lips were so puffy making out and sucking hickeys on your neck. He looked so beautiful under your dim lit room. You immediately took your shirt and pants off, not wanting to wait any longer than you had to. Did you expect this? Not really.

"So beautiful." Vance began to move his fingers up your leg, ever so lightly that it almost tickles. His fingers stop at the edge of your underwear. "Are you ready?" Vance looks for reansurrance in your eyes. You eagerly nodded. He firstly started rubbing the pads of his two fingers against your heat. You gasped and threw your head back. Vance bit his bottom lip, focused on what he was doing. "Do you mind if I take these off" He asks, his fingers were already hooked to them. "Yes." You breathed. Vance smiled, and yanked them off. The soft gaze in his eyes, you've never seen it. Vance was normally rough, aggresive, and mean. But, this? This was different. Vance licked one finger, and slowly enters it inside you. You gasped so loud that Vance had to cover your mouth as his other hand was working on you. You felt a knot twist in your stomach. But before you could say anything, you came undone. "Yeah, yeah. Good girl." Vance stops. He began to take his jeans off, along with his underwear. Your eyes stayed glued to his length. "Don't worry, I'll go slow." Vance smiles.

His length was wrapped up, and he inches closer to your entrance. "If it hurts, let me know, and I will stop." Vance kissed you. The pain of feeling him stretch you out was almost agonizing. But soon you began to feel more pleasure than pain. Hearing Vance's moans and groans drove you wild. His hand was pinning next to your head and other was holding your hand. His head was leaning on yours. "I...fucking...love...you." You panted each word with each thrust Vance had made. "Mmph, I love...you too, babygirl." Vance loudly grunts. "I think...I'm." You paused. "I'm gonna cum too." Vance kissed you. Your free hand scratched down Vance's back as you both released. Vance muttered sweet nothings with some cursing at the end.

You both laid there, out of breath, snuggled up together. "So...when does your mom get back?" Vance asks. "Not until next week." You answered. "Cool, so I can stay until then?" Vance smirked. "Hmm, maybe." You smirked back, laying against his warm, semi-sweaty chest.

THE END.

I would've added more but its late and got other fanfics to do. ;-;

[theyluvlyss]

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭...

...you'll be able to find each ghost boy (under their respective section, ofc lol) in the master list all with the same title :). I decided to just do them all one at a time to keep from having you wait any longer/forcing myself to pump them all out in one go/one long ass post lmao.

plus, to hopefully make it easier, I'll just tag you each time as the requester so you know, if that's okay lol♡.

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

《 ♡ 》 headcannons

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

while it's always fun to imagine (haha, get it💀) what it'd be like for him to be your best friend or your boyfriend, there's times when you yearn for that tension. that something in between that's more than a platonic relationship, but just short of being a lover. and I'm here to revive that feeling of what it'd be like for robin arellano to have a crush on you...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!reader x robin arellano - she/her/hers pronouns!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

70s-80s - the grabber doesn't exist

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

cursing - robin lowkey being a menace💀 - him also liking you tho - mentions of fighting/violence - manhandling,,, kind of?? (idk I personally wouldn't call it that, but- 😭✋🏽) - me focusing a little too much on the jealousy stuff lol whoops🧍🏽‍♀️...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

I feel like he doesn't really "crush" on ppl. He finds people attractive and that's about as far as that's gonna go lmfao. If anything, he finds it fun to recognize/point out the difference between when people are conventionally/deemed by society's standards "attractive" vs when HE actually finds somebody to be a good looker to HIM (he wanna be different so bad🙄✋🏽).

But like I said, him finding someone hot doesn't really go anywhere. He doesn't do/say anything about, nor go out of his way to force things, especially when there's no prior connection/feelings there.

On that note, I feel like for him to have a crush on you (reader), two things would need to be an order; You'd have to attract him one way or another. Like, there's gotta be something about you that makes him have that, "Oh, she's fine as hell, I gotta talk to her." mindset towards you, even if he'd have yet to act on it. And, there's gotta be, like I said, a prior connection.

Or, you could get lucky, and a very specific set of circumstances could spark something up between y'all. He's not opposed to a meet-cute😻.

If y'all were already friends/close, he'd deny👏🏽deny👏🏽deny👏🏽 having feelings for so long. Not towards you, but towards himself. He would deadass be lying to himself about liking you romantically, even a little a bit, but unfortunately, it'd be one of those things that sneaks up on him one day and then just all comes crashing down into one existential crisis.

But even after accepting them, he'd STILL not bother to do anything about it - not bc he doesn't think he has a chance (well, maybe a little bit, but see if he'd tell anyone that), but also bc he doesn't want to ruin the friendship between y'all.

He'd hate to lose you just because he woke up "...on some bullshit, bro, I can't believe I like her..." one day, so he's more than likely to keep quiet about it.

Although, he can say that's what he's doing all he wants, his actions kind of prove otherwise; he might accidentally drop a subtle hint or two, and the stuff that he normally does that held the air of friendship and loyalty suddenly becomes a bit more,,, ✨️🧡💫💋, ykwim?

If he's walking with you, maybe crossing the street or something, he could care less about how far you are behind him if it meant getting to the nearest idk Burger King or whatever faster💀✋🏽. Or at school - sure, he might be on the look out for you if he's bored, or should he hear anyone tarnishing your name without you there to defend yourself on your own, shoot them a dirty look. And even just hanging out at the drive-in; it's viewed as more of a casual hangout than anything.

But let a crush develop some,,, let him become a little infatuated with you... Now, all of the sudden, crossing the street is a whole ordeal; checking for cars is routine now, and whether you like it or not, he's got a hand wrapped around your wrist and is tugging you along gently with an alertness that both amused and perplexed you. And at school, he's now taking any free time he may have to actually go looking for you instead of your paths crossing due to natural coincidence, just to act as though he had no time at all to waste with you, and would pester you at your locker whenever he did spot you.

And, as much as he hated the way his hands would clam up and how his heart would beat out of his chest and how he practically had to force himself not to look for your reaction to every single scene of the movie he picked, he was insistent on having a specific schedule for going out to the movies now. And no, he'd never, ever let you pay, even when you really should've and definitely could've.

But...

Say if he hadn't known you beforehand tho, and y'all met through some sort of meet-cute or whatever,,, him starting to like you would be a little easier of a process for him.

Something he wouldn't be so against because there's "nothing" to ruin or fuck up besides his chances with you, so now he can pretty much just focus on not screwing that up.

He's way quicker to drop hints (not saying he's any smoother with it, but that's not gonna stop him from doing it lmfao cuz who finna check him😗😹).

It's things like really obvious (almost bad) flirting, and teasing that isn't in the same way as he might do with his regular friends. If anything, he might use it as an excuse to always be touching you in some way - OMG TELL ME HE WOULDN'T BE A CHRONIC "You got something on your shirt..." JUST TO FLICK YOUR FACE TYPE OF PERSON LMFAO!!

You'd hate it and look at him like, "😐" and he'd just get a kick out of it, looking at you and laughing every single time like he's comedy fckn central💀.

Or if he's telling you a story - probably about the last time he beat someone up - he's using you as "the other guy", gently tapping you with ghost punches and moving you about by the shoulders when need be lmao. And even just in general, when he's not storytelling,,, give him ONE good reason to try and be physical, and he'll take it and SPRINT.

And if you notice that fact (there's no way you possibly couldn't), all he'll do is smirk at you and go, "It's fine, you like it😌."

Bro just slaps on an obnoxious and obscene amount of confidence and calls it a day, basically. Fake it 'til you make it type of thing, and it most definitely works (you wouldn't be reading this if it didn't🤭🤷🏽‍♀️). But of course, let it be known he'd never do anything to make you uncomfortable. I just imagine he's rather cocky in his abilities to woo someone if he really, really wanted it, and well... it's you, so...

He really, really wants you LMFAO😭. Anyways, back on track...

I feel like he's definitely the jealous type, but he won't do anything about it/won't get outta pocket unless your well-being is at stake. Like, if you were clearly uncomfy in a situation, or you specifically came to him on some, "This guy's bothering me..." type shit, oh, it's 0-100 rq. He's absolutely beating the shit out of that person (more so than when he's just in a regular fight).

Because of that, he'll definitely be scary dog privilege, like, I'm sorry, but,,, I feel like he's the type to - once he decides he's gunning for you - that's it. Not in a possessive way, just in the sense that he's totally made up his mind and, as much as he likes to maybe slap on a chill and nonchalant-type persona, he actually cares very deeply about things and people that have an affect on him.

He's also a go-getter, so with all of that in mind, it makes sense that even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings, he'd STILL make it known that he don't play about you lmfao. But even so, jealousy is also one of those things he just deny-deny-denies, will totally brush it off if you bring it up, even if you tease him for it.

But, he is a dork at the end of the day lmao tease him long enough and he'll eventually fold and just be like, "Nah it's just cuz I treasure you and I like you, like... would you rather I didn't care or just ignored it whenever a guy looked at you crazy? Exactly, hush, you love me😌✨️🧡." Once again, it's that seemingly blind confidence that definitely has you shaking your head a lot with a giggles escaping you, but YOU ALSO DON'T SAY NO/TELL HIM OTHERWSIE, SOOO😆🤭...!!

Honestly, with Robin being jealous, I feel like it's one of those things you dk/even realize he's feeling until it's "too late" - he's stalking towards someone you've complained about making you uncomfortable or he's already done what he needs to do, he's coming back to you, and after a short conversation with you pressing him about why and whatnot, it just hits you, and you're like, "Oh...Oh my god, you're jealous🤭..." and he's all "nO😡....."

"You lyin'?😆"

"...yeah😔..."

Although, jealously for you surprisingly isn't often. Like sure, girls dk how to back off, but not only are you both pretty secure, but he's also very reassuring. Both in speaking directly to you, telling you he doesn't really have eyes for them, AND towards the other people. He breaks hearts left and right, and it's highkey not even on purpose...

Bro just doesn't know how to let folks down easy - so much so that sometimes even YOU feel bad😭. Sometimes...

"You didn't have to say it to her like that...!"

"Wha-? But it's true! Should I have lied? Like..."

"No, but I'm just-! ... You need to learn to be more sensitive about these things😭..."

"Fym, I'm the most sensitive guy I know😙."

"...The kid whose nose you broke a month ago would say otherwise, but okay🙃."

But otherwise, if and when you're not scolding him, he finds your envy to be very endearing and validating. It lets him know that you are actually thinking about him in the romantic sense like he is you, and he just likes seeing you get all worked up lmfao. Something about your brows being furrowed and the heated look in your eyes reminds him of, well, himself! And he takes a little bit of pride in that, if he's being honest with himself, especially if it's a rare occurrence.

If you're normally this little sweetheart, and you're not exactly on the violent and/or temperamental side, in those moments where you might snap a little bit, he's DEFINITELY paying the most attnetion and he's DEFINITELY standing there like, 'Omgomgthat'shot-...' 💀😭.

If anything, I feel like these strong emotions from either one of you two could for sure be the gateway into him finding out/realizing you like him back...

Like, you'd definitely slip up one time, say something you weren't supposed to, or he'd reassure you way too much and let something slip, SOMETHING LIKE THAT, and either way, he finds out and he's like "Ohp🫢...AAAAH😃🫵🏽⁉️....YOU LIKE MEEEEE I KNEWWW ITTT🤪😘🫵🏽!!!"

He'd probably be too busy celebrating the fact he "...always knew and I'm always right about these things, blahblahblah..." while you stand there like, "🙄😒..." to remember there's actually supposed to be something following up after a whole ass love confession💀.

But, because you do, in fact, love him, I'm sure you'd be the one to fill in that gap, and short after, a very chaotic yet loving/meaningful relationship would ensue.

THAT BOY LOVESSS YOU, OKAAAY💋🧡✨️‼️‼️‼️

𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐥...

...as I was writing this one (well, adding onto what had already been written), the app glitched, and the whole thing deleted itself...

shit pmo so bad, I just didn't touch it again for like a whole month😭✋🏽. it's also part of the reason why it's shorter than I actually intended, so I apologize, but I hope all enjoy it regardless🙏🏽♡.

next up is vance, tho !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

@in3rci4

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

1,830 words

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[fruitcoops]

Clean Slate

Ah, the passage of time. If anyone has been here since the first phone call, you may be entitled to financial compensation (or an AARP membership). Character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

“Reg?”

On the first ring, as always. “Hey.”

“…hi?”

“I was thinking about going back to Gryff for Christmas.”

“Oh.” Surprise, but pleasant surprise. Regulus shook his pan of sausage. “Yeah, sounds good. You always have a room here. Or were you staying with the cubs?”

“With you.” He stretched his neck from side-to-side. Tension bled out of his forehead and shoulders at the familiar roll of French on his tongue. “If that’s okay.”

“Always,” Sirius answered immediately, almost hasty. Regulus wasn’t sure they’d ever get past that. Ah, well. The damage was done.

The line remained quiet for a moment. Sausage sizzled, and he turned to the pile of green beans on the cutting board. Leo had taught him how to snap the ends off with his fingernails, and though he was better now about not chewing them to the quick, he still didn’t like the feeling of stuff stuck beneath them. Regulus had really only called to clarify plans.

“How—how are your friends?”

“Good.” Sirius liked to talk, even if he wasn’t very good at it. “Jax and Kris set up the living room last night.”

“Do they still have that stupid poster?”

Regulus snorted under his breath and carefully sliced the tip off another bean. “They tried to hang it in the window.”

Sirius groaned.

Regulus grinned. He supposed he could have a little mercy. “Don’t worry, it’s under my bed.”

“Somehow, that’s worse.”

“I can’t get rid of it. It’s their favorite possession. They have a thing for your long hair and the murder face. Jax is still waiting for the day you spontaneously get divorced and need a hot young college student to rebound.”

He wasn’t sure whether the gagging sound Sirius made was real or exaggerated. As long as he was in mild torment, Regulus was happy. A simple, ever-amusing perk of long-distance communication.

“I hope your classmates are less in tune with pop culture.”

“Hockey, yes. Pop culture, no.” Regulus eyed the pan, then added another knob of butter to be safe. There was nothing worse than a burnt vegetable. “And my classes are going well, thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome.”

He rolled his eyes. It didn’t matter that Sirius couldn’t see it; the message would certainly get through.

“Don’t make that face at me.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You always make faces.”

Regulus stuck his tongue out at the microwave above the stove.

“I can feel you doing it again.”

“That was a different one. I’m taking physics 3 this year and it’s making me want to eat a doorknob already.”

“You’re anemic enough that it would probably help.”

“I take my supplements!” Regulus argued, shaking his pan. “Not my fault we were force-fed protein in fucking sun-less Canada.”

“We had sun, you just never went outside,” Sirius countered, like it was some sort of argument. “I don’t have to take supplements.”

“Well, you’re perfect and bulletproof, as everyone knows.”

“Exactly.”

Regulus angled his face at the dark phone screen when he pulled a face this time. It was a good one. Pity that Sirius couldn’t see it. He should’ve gone for FaceTime.

“Are you starting a fire?”

“I’m making dinner.”

“So…yes?”

“Not all of us have a home cook.”

“I can cook now.”

“Oh, you’ve been housebroken.” Regulus blew out a mouthful of steam as he tested a piece of sausage. “How thrilling for Lupin.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one. I learned that last week.”

He could feel Sirius shaking his head. “Knutty is formally banned from teaching you new slang.”

“You’ve never said ‘no’ to him in his entire career.” Regulus let the line hang silent for another half-minute as he turned the burner off and began scraping his dinner into a bowl. It still bore a faint orange tinge from last year’s finals-week spaghetti run. He fished a piece of pasta out of the water and popped it in his mouth, grimacing at the heat on his tongue. It was cooked well enough—at least, he was hungry enough to forgive a more al dente texture.

“By the way,” he started, as if his stomach wasn’t stuttering. “I think I’ll be back in time for family skate.”

The shuffling sounds on Sirius’ end came to an abrupt halt. “That’s nice,” came the faux-casual answer.

Anxiety made a valiant effort to claw up and silence his tongue. “I was thinking about going.”

“Well,” Sirius began, then paused. Regulus swallowed a few times to clear the block in his throat while Sirius pondered. “I—yeah, sounds good.”

“I want to.”

“Good.” Sirius’ relief was audible. “Okay, good. You can change your mind.”

“Don’t be weird about it,” Regulus ordered as he toed his slippers on and made his way to the apartment’s tiny coffee table. They’d get chairs at some point, but for now three pillows sat on the floor beside it.

“I’m never weird.”

“Boo, liar.”

“Freak.”

“I’m telling Lupin.”

“Do it. He likes me better. I can cook.”

“I’m—” Regulus caught himself at the last second and felt Sirius’ breath hitch on the other end of the line in anticipation. “—not joking, I actually want to go and play stupid ice fetch with your irritating friends, and nobody is making me feel pressured.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t sound so…” He wrinkled his nose and stuffed a mouthful of pasta into his mouth. “Smiley.”

“It’ll be good to have you home.”

“If you’re weird, I’m staying with Leo,” Regulus threatened. “For real, this time.”

“Right, because you love being around people who are engaged and anywhere near a holiday, or mistletoe, or the magic of Christmas—”

His loud groan silenced Sirius’ words, but not his laughter. “Get your laughs in now, before I whoop your ass on the ice.”

“Would love to see you try.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled.”

“Everyone else is going to underestimate you. I won’t be nice like that.”

“You’re never nice,” Regulus lied.

Sirius let him eat in peace until he was scraping the last bits of cheese from the bottom of the bowl. He heard the faint beeping of the dishwasher buttons in the background and glanced at his own sink, nearly overflowing with haphazard dishes from the first chaotic weeks of their senior year. The apartment was a pleasant change from living on campus, such as it was. Jax and Kris had offered to pay rent—tried to strongarm him, really—but a few withering looks had finally made them relent. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was his. Theirs.

The string lights lining the ceiling weren’t strictly allowed, but Regulus liked their gentle blue cast. The blanket Remus and Sirius had sent as a housewarming gift sat cozily on the back of their couch. Curtains from Jax’s mother let in just the right amount of light in the mornings.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

The sound of Sirius’ voice in his earbuds startled him. “Yeah,” Regulus said. “Yeah, sure.”

“Even for laundry.” Sirius tried for wry, and it made Regulus crack a small smile, but it was gentler than either of them intended. “Don’t shrink your clothes. Check the tags.”

Always do, he thought, but kept it down. “Good advice. No centipedes here, yet.”

Sirius’ laugh was a little weak. “You’re just not looking hard enough.”

“Eugh, don’t say that.” Regulus blinked fast, tipping his head toward the ceiling. “Hey, this washer even has a ‘normal’ setting, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, wow. Lucky you.”

Picking up the phone on the first ring, always. For four years straight. “I’ll see you at Christmas.”

“We can come up in October, if you want.”

Of course Sirius had the academic calendar on-hand. “I’ll be gone that weekend with the guys. We didn’t want to be around all the new parents. They’re very damp.”

“And you melt when water touches you, of course.”

“Of course.”

Sirius let out a quiet breath. “See you at Christmas, Reg. Call me when you have flights.”

“Mhm.”

“Stay safe.”

“Always do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do here,” he corrected.

“Fine.”

“Miss you.” The streetlights down the road were just starting to come on. “Say hi to Lupin for me.”

“He’s in the other room,” Sirius offered. “You can say it yourself.”

“I’ll talk to you both enough at Christmas.”

“Call any time. And let us know when you hear back about graduation tickets.”

What a terrifying thought to leave for the end of the call. “I’ll forward it to you.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Okay. Bye.” And before he could second-guess himself—“I’ll be home soon.”

“Don’t talk to strangers,” Sirius answered. Regulus heard the truth under it. “And do your laundry.”

[luvrlou]

"I Didn't Know You Could Read."

Pairing: Vance Hopper x fem!reader

Summary: It seems Vance Hopper is smarter than he looks.

Warning: swearing

A/N: she's backkkkk (and bearing a tiny fic)

Word Count: 0.8k

The bell had just rung to signify the end of your maths class, however, you had been asked at the beginning of the class to stay behind and talk to your teacher.

You stood up from your seat and walked towards your teacher, Mr Kelly. You cleared your throat and stood in front of his desk.

"So, Y/N I expect you know what this is about." he spoke dryly, looking up at you while pushing his glasses up his nose.

You groan softly and nod. You knew this was about your grades as it was safe to say maths was not your strong point.

The older man continued, "as we both know... you have failed every test we have took this semester, which only means you will have to be tutored."

"Yes, I understand." You answer meekly, embarrassed by being called out on your mathematical ability.

He picked up on your tone and tutted, "there is no need to feel down about this as there are many tutors out there. Now of course if you don't feel like spending any money on a tutor I can contact our top student in the maths department to help you."

You nodded, "I'd prefer that," you chuckled, "I'd rather not have my dad find out I'm failing."

He pursed his lips, "okay, sounds good, I'll have you meet them in the library after school."

You smile awkwardly at him and then walk out of the class, at least you wouldn't have to study with anyone you knew very well, it would probably be one of those self-centred nerds.

Oh how wrong you were.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You walked into the library with all of your maths equipment and sat down at an empty table waiting for your tutor to arrive.

Your pen battered against the desk as you sat there impatiently. "God, can you stop that?" You looked up and gasped lightly. It was Vance Hopper.

"Don't tell me you're my tutor." You groaned, dramatically throwing your head onto the table.

He huffed and sat down across from you, "quit complaining, I'm giving up my good time to help you."

You looked up at him, "I thought Mr Kelly was getting the top student in the maths department to help me."

"You're looking at him."

You couldn't help but laugh, "you? seriously?"

"Yeah me! How is that such a surprise?" He spoke sternly, crossing his arms over himself.

"I didn't know you could read! Nevermind be some maths genius!" You laughed harder.

He looked at you straight-faced, "do you want help, or do you want to continue to be a failure."

You rolled your eyes, "well that was rude."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It's been about 2 months now since your first tutor session with Vance, and surprisingly that boy was a genius. After all the sessions you and him had started to grow a friendship.

"So Vance, my test is tomorrow!" You smiled, leaning your head onto your hands.

"Which means if you pass I can get my Thursday nights back," he tilted his head as he spoke.

"Am I really that bad to tutor?" You chuckled lightly.

He smiled at you, "to tutor yes... but you're quite nice to talk to."

His words made you flush lightly, "aw that's sweet!"

"Yeah, yeah don't get used to it." He laughed and leaned back in his seat.

You and Vance sat and studied for about an hour and a half, sharing a few laughs here and there as you worked. It was nice. If you told yourself 2 months ago that you would be enjoying Vance Hopper's presence you would tell yourself to fuck off.

As you were packing up your things Vance turned to you, "come and find me tomorrow and tell me what your results are," he smiled sweetly.

"Will do Vance."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You had gotten 87%. That is the first time you have passed a test in maths ever since you were 12 years old. You had to find Vance.

You left the class immediately after the bell rang, as soon as you left you scoured the hallways for your curly-headed friend. You speed-walked up and down the corridors, then you spotted him.

He was standing with his group of friends when you found him, you approached him cautiously, you weren't exactly acquainted with his friends.

"Vance..." you meekly spoke, causing him to immediately turn around and smile while his friends looked at you confused.

"How did you do?" He asked, looking down at you.

You grinned up at him, "I got a 87!"

His smile grew wider, "actually?" You nodded excitedly, "I'm so proud of you Y/N!"

"and you now have free Thursday nights again!" You laughed.

His smile faltered as he gazed at you, "well about that, I thought we could maybe do something tonight."

"Are you asking me on a date Vance?" You chuckled.

He made a face before speaking, "...maybe?"

"Pick me up at 6," you grinned and placed a kiss on his cheek before walking away up the hallway.