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willshipanything-blog · 2 years ago

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Rules of the Game- Chapter 24

We're nearly there! The penultimate chapter is here. Y/N wakes in Al's bed for the first time. Both think about their possible futures together. Hope you enjoy! ✨🖤

MINORS DNI. Detailed tags over on AO3.

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For AO3 link, click here

Chapter 24- The Shape of Things to Come

Soft morning light woke you the next morning, warm on your face as it filtered through the thin red curtains, casting a hazy rose glow into the room. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you felt invigorated after such a peaceful sleep on a plush mattress, not once waking up in the night with shivers or nightmares. If the red aura of the room matched your passions last night, then the gentle morning pinks signified a serenity. A peace that had been unmatched in all the time that you’d been here. You wondered if Al might let you stay the night in his bedroom again, perhaps on another special occasion. These gratifying thoughts in mind, you turned in the bed to face him.

“Good morning-”

Clunk.

You noticed two things. The first: Al wasn’t beside you in bed, only a vacant spot where you expected him to be slumbering. The second: you felt a tug on your left arm. Looking up, you saw your wrist, cuffed to one of the wooden slats of the headboard. Did he still not trust you? Your heart dropped a little in your chest, like an elevator juddering, causing a momentary panic. But it was ok- just a precaution on Al’s part. You supposed the bedroom door didn’t have a padlock like the basement, and Al didn’t want you running off anytime soon. You’d have stayed in bed obediently if he'd asked, but you understood his reasoning behind the restraints. Even though Al cared for you, perhaps he never truly forgot about the precarious situation in which you both existed.

You yourself tried to forget this fact as best you could (that he was your captor, and his house a prison), though it attempted to rear its ugly head frequently. Sometimes, especially during solitary moments, these dark thoughts crackled in your mind like staticy music on a cassette tape. No matter how hard you tried to rip out the tape, unspooling the entire memory into ribbons, it would always wind itself back up, ready to be played back. It was getting easier to stop pressing play on those vile thoughts, but they weren’t able to ever be truly erased.

You wondered whether it was the same for Al. How often he might also think of past violations. Did he distinguish between you, his captive, and you, his little dove? How meticulous in his planning, and how hard he must work: to keep you hidden, to meet your needs, to take care of you. And still, to never really know the extent of your trust, whether one day you would just stop speaking, or recoil at his touch, or try to escape. It made you pity him all over again. It was a gloomy thought, and not one you wanted to pervade the rosy morning air, so you thought of better things as you waited for Al’s return.

You bunched up the covers around your naked body and reclined, hands resting above your head on the pillow. You stared absentmindedly at the stippled ceiling, tinted blush in the morning glow: your attentions were elsewhere, thinking dreamily of the previous night. Closing your eyes, you breathed deeply, feeling the soft embrace of the bedding you’d cocooned yourself in. The silky top sheet had felt heavenly last night on your bare skin, like water gliding against both of your bodies as you made love, but the comforter underneath was fluffy and warm. Even without these comforts, you still would have felt toasty this morning, warming yourself on the memories of the night before.

Last night had been… nice. You smirked at the simplicity of this thought, but it was the word that came to mind. It had been quite the birthday. There had been hiccups of course, you remembered a little poignantly. But you had rectified your mistake after you first denied Al the opportunity to speak. You had given him a second chance to admit those feelings freely, even if you had no response to his heartfelt confession. But the rest of the night had gone so wonderfully. Al’s intentions had been so sweet and earnest. And a night of firsts for you: dinner; drinks; dancing. It was like a bygone era, like something out of Grease. You realized- Al probably had dated back in the 50s, when he was around your age. Your brows furrowed at this image, and the recognition of your own feelings made you literally gasp in disbelief. Were you… jealous that Al might have done this before?! You laughed away this thought- it didn’t matter. He had you now. Only you, his little dove, all to himself.

You changed your mind as more and more recollections of the last 12 hours spun in your head like a movie reel of some Hollywood romance: last night hadn’t just been nice. It had been so much more. The dinner had been delicious, the wine sweet. The gifts, thoughtful and the dancing breathtaking. The sex had been amazing. And when you held each other, and Al had spoken those words to you, it felt like magic.

“Well don’t you look like the cat that got the cream?” You sat upright upon hearing that velvety voice, wondering how long Al had been standing there in the doorway, watching you get lost in your serene musings.

The sight of him standing in the bedroom doorway left you a little breathless. Al was wearing just a pair of striped pajama pants, leaving his stomach, chest and arms free for you to ogle (you secretly committed this image to memory, hoping your blush was hidden by the pink glow of the bedroom). But it was his face that had really taken you by surprise. No mask covered it; his blue eyes unobstructed by the pale, devilish horns, his beautifully crooked smile unimpeded by any false grin or frown he might have previously chosen to wear. You scanned the room in half a second, noting no sign of the mask on the nightstand where you had placed it last night. Had he really decided to let go of them, to stop hiding behind the shame and insecurity that ran deep in his veins? You snapped your head back to him, where he was waiting silently. In your surprise, you’d almost forgotten what he’d said.

“Where were you Al?” If your question was curt, it was softened by your wide smile that had broken out on your face at the sight of him.

“Ah, sorry dove. Turns out pancakes are trickier than pot roasts!” he quipped, as he stalked over to the bed. You crossed your legs under the sheets, and he sat across from you, placing a tray delicately on the mattress between you both. It held a plate stacked high with fluffy, syrup-smothered pancakes and two steaming cups of milky coffee. You rattled the metal cuff against the wooden headboard, reminding Al that you were still shackled to the bed. He smiled wickedly, not averting his gaze from you as he casually picked up a cup, blew on the hot coffee and took a deep swig. So he was in one of his playful, impish moods- you didn’t need to see the toothy masked smile to discern that. With your free hand, you took your own coffee as Al began to cut off a piece of pancake, popping it into his mouth and humming emphatically at the taste. Teasing you. The next bite he offered to you, and you opened your mouth to allow him to feed you. The fork was placed carefully inside before you bit down, and Al removed the utensil, dragging it slowly, slowly between your closed lips. You both knew how provocative this felt. You ate in silence, save for low, appreciative hums as you enjoyed the sweet breakfast. Al alternated bites between the two of you, taking it in turns to eat. Just as you’d taken turns last night, each undressing the other. This felt like a continuation: a slow, seductive build up to something more. Al’s finger waded through the last glistening pool of sticky syrup on the otherwise clean plate; you happily accepted this on your tongue too, trapping his finger in your mouth as you licked him clean. His digit finally retreated, escaping your lips with a soft squelch.

“So, what are you doing today?” you asked, a little anxious, though keen after a breakfast that promised such possibilities.

“We have a busy day planned, Y/N.” Just what he meant by ‘busy’ was anyone’s guess, but you could predict what some of the day’s activities might include. But Al had spoken eagerly, including you in his sentiments, and it warmed you more than the cozy sheets ever could. He sprung up from the bed, placing the tray on the nightstand beside you. He perched down, right by your side now as he palmed each side of your neck, thumbs delicately stroking your blushing cheeks before drawing you in for a deep, lengthy kiss. There was no mask to act as a barrier between you, and the feel of his bare face against yours, your skin against his, was magnificent. Not just for how soft it felt, but for what the shedding of the mask signified. This happy thought spurred you on, leaning into the kiss, offering up your mouth for him and finding his tongue with yours. Twisting together like ropes, lapping over each other like ocean waves. Your free hand dithered over where to go, but decided to grip Al’s covered leg, resting on his thigh and pressing four eager fingertips into the flesh beneath.

As he pulled away smiling, your face still ensconced in his strong hands, he answered your question, albeit cryptically.

“I suppose today, I’m going to take good care of my good girl.”

“Hmm, but what if she's naughty?” you teased, speaking through a puerile giggle and squeezing your hand a little harder on his thigh, just inches from his groin. You’d never ventured to broach this taboo so early in the day. But it had been a night of firsts- why couldn’t the morning be more of the same? Al’s grip on your neck became a touch tighter and his smile widened, an innumerable count of those dangerously charming teeth bared for you. No longer lurking in the shadow of the mask, his sky blue eyes still managed to flash a dark look, eclipsed by some celestial force that had reacted to your question.

“Then it’s going to be a very busy day indeed, isn’t it, little dove?” he growled menacingly, though you sensed that wild theatricality about Al, and you weren’t fearful of anything he might do right here in his bed. He reached into the pocket of his pajama pants, retrieving a small silver key. He slid this into the lock mechanism of the cuffs that chained one hand to the bed, though he seemed to stop when it made a small click. Springing open the fastening around the bedpost, he paused to let his shiny eyes flicker your way for just a second before his hands quickly got to work. Deftly, he threaded the cuffs’ empty bracelet behind the bed frame and yanked your free hand towards it. He clasped it shut around your other wrist with a clink. In an instant, both of your hands were immobile, manacled above your head. Al hauled your body down the bed so your arms were outstretched, and you were hopelessly, exquisitely trapped. A bunny caught in a snare, with the hunter ready to go in for the kill. But Al’s prey wasn’t quite ready. In one swift motion, he tugged the sheets from the bed and they fluttered wildly to the floor like a ship's sail in a storm, exposing you fully to him.

Even if the room was warmed from basking in the morning sun, the sudden change in temperature goosepimpled your entire body. Both the cold and the anticipation made you shiver. You prepared for the thunderous explosions he would soon wreak on your body, followed by the electrifying sensations that always followed. But there was to be a calm before the storm: he towered over you, unflinching but with an obvious hardness in his pants, and you lay beneath him, body tremoring like an addict craving a hit of what they desired most. It seemed the breakfast hadn’t satisfied either of your carnal appetites.

“What do you want, naughty thing?”

“I want you, Al.”

“Mmmm,” he cooed, as he traced a finger along your side, from your armpit to your hip. Your body writhed, both wincing at the ticklish gesture, and needing more of his touch on your skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.” You weren’t sure how his words could be spoken in that low, guttural rumble, yet feel sweet as caramel in your ears. Al was a walking paradox, always had been.

“I- I want you to kiss me.” He acquiesced, and planted a soft but brief kiss on your lips. As he pulled away from your mouth he also pulled out a desperate, keening moan from you. It wasn’t enough, and he knowingly chuckled.

“You only have to tell me. Come on, you weren’t this shy last night, little dove.” You thought he’d found your shyness endearing, but he must have reveled in you asking for the same last night, inhibitions lost in your lustful stupor. That damn sideways smirk never left his face, and it infuriated you just enough to embolden you to take what you wanted. After all, he seemed to be obeying you, taking requests, even if you were the one fettered beneath him.

“I want you to kiss me- everywhere. I want you on me,” you stuttered a little as he shuffled out of his trousers, his manhood erect and ready. “A-and in me. I need you inside me, Al.”

“One more question, dove.” You locked eyes. This was routine, and you were ready with your response. It was an easy question, with a truthful answer.

“I think we can manage that dove,” he crooned, slowly clambering onto the bed, straddling your body as his hands touched your hips to start, “But we’ll have to work on your dirty talk later.” Your hearty laugh evolved into an excited shriek as the first rough kiss to your neck took hold. If it didn’t draw blood, it would at least leave a stunning mark for Al to fawn over later. Another swift trail of kisses and nibbles along your neck and his hands gripped ever more tightly on your hips, before Al withdrew, straightening his back as he sat atop you. The only touch he gave was one finger, which he traced purposefully below your collarbone. Where that white-hot engraving inhabited your skin, and your heart.

“I’m yours.”

“Who do you belong to?”

With that, the deal was struck. Al explored your body with his hands, his mouth, tongue and teeth, and finally his cock. Pleasure lapped at your body. Slowly at first, though pacing ever faster like an approaching storm. Heat rising with each wet kiss he delivered to your jawline, each squeeze on your swollen nipples. The raging tempest building in your body as he stroked your heat, then added skillful fingers, before finally plunging himself into your core, each new thrust an intense ocean swell that lured your orgasm ever closer.

Your hands balled into fists, pulling helplessly against the metal cuffs. The restraints had become the worst punishment of all, more so than any bruise or mark inflicted by Al. Not a punishment because they bound you, held you in place as Al used you as he pleased, but they tormented you because you couldn't do the same to him. All you could do was wrap your legs around him as he thrust into you, moan his name and enjoy the waves of euphoria that washed over you. A riptide of pleasures crashed into each other, threatening to overwhelm you, your body unmooring from itself. Al crashed into your body like waves upon rocks, relentless and powerful and seemingly unstoppable. But eventually, he came with a thundering roar and relented, and you rode your own comedown on a gentle, bubbling current.

Al rolled off your body with a satisfied groan and you turned your head to look at him. His head mirrored yours and your eyes met, both of you staring silently at the other. The pair of you trying to steady your panting breaths, wisps of sweat-soaked hair framing your faces, but both wearing matching, wide smiles. Al cupped your cheek in his palm as he talked to you.

"You know, it's Saturday today, dove. I could just keep you here all weekend and come play with you when the mood strikes me."

You chuckled at his musings as you leaned into his touch, but your laughter ceased and you took on a sincere tone. Your thoughts (often so guarded and calculated before speaking) seemed to flow freely. Surely now, any subject could be discussed between the two of you.

"I could stay here Al. I wouldn't leave. You wouldn't need these." You rattled the cuffs once again on the bed frame, and Al was quick to produce the key and free you at last from the chains.

"Sorry sweet," he said, bringing your wrists to his mouth and kissing them gently before speaking again, "Old habits, I guess." He rubbed at the fresh welts embedded (only shallowly) in your skin, and you turned your body towards him. The pair of you silently watched him work, massaging away the pain and numbness in your hands. He still hadn't responded to what you'd said. Maybe he was thinking of the nicest way to deny your request. Maybe he would never let you stray from the basement.

“Hey, look at me, Y/N,” he said, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing your eyesight up to his “I want you to stay upstairs. I really do. But you know I can’t- not yet, don’t you?” His strained expression and pleading eyes told you how frustrated he was with this arrangement. He didn’t trust you, not yet- but he wanted to trust you so badly it hurt. You nodded slowly in acknowledgement but your tears were evident. Al stroked them soothingly away, his thumb pads feather-light on your wet cheeks. It helped to reassure you, especially when his hand rose to caress the white scarred line on your cheekbone. He knew how it soothed you when he touched you there, and with each steadying breath your quiet sobs lessened until the tears ceased.

“How does this sound?” he asked after your last few strangled hiccups stopped.

“Al?”

“You can stay here, in my- in our room, at night,” he offered, his thumb still lovingly brushing your cheek. “You’d only have to go back downstairs while I’m out. Only if you want that, Y/N.”

Tears threatened to spring up again, in delight this time, but you stemmed the flow and nodded.

You signaled that you needed to use the bathroom, and Al rifled through his drawers to find you a pair of boxers and a pajama shirt, an oversized, striped shirt that matched the pants he was wearing. As you shut the door connecting the bedroom and ensuite, you ruminated on the way things were progressing, taking shape to form some tangible sort of life, a future with Al. You couldn’t be too upset that his trust in you wasn’t completely unwavering: there had been progress, after all. Last night had been a huge step, you thought meditatively. Al had allowed you to unmask him, and had spoken candidly about how he felt. The only thing that marred your thoughts was what hadn’t been said. Those words on the tip of your own tongue- could it really be true? Not today, Y/N. You washed away these introspective thoughts as you freshened up. Back to the simple things. There had been greater forward progress than you had expected- Al had promised no more nights alone in that cold cell, no more waking up without his assuring touches to dispel your fears. Even the idea of having a clean mattress and toilet thrilled you. Being able to brush your teeth! And eventually (Al had hinted), the basement wouldn’t be used at all- right?

“Of course I want that.” Your voice was muffled as you buried yourself into Al’s chest, clinging tightly as you hugged him. Naturally, he reciprocated, holding you close and rubbing his fingers in soft, undulating strokes on your back, like soft, foamy waves breaking on the shore.

“Hey, Al?” You had propped yourself against the doorframe after finishing up in the bathroom. He had been looking out of the window, but turned to look at you as you spoke.

“Hm? Yeah, dove?”

“If,” -you looked at him, and his soft azure eyes spurred you to think more hopefully- “When I stay up here, permanently I mean- what happens with the basement?” Those dark thoughts threatened to fog your mind like an approaching storm cloud. Would that empty room, vacant without you, be a temptation for him, that monster you would no longer name? You didn’t think so, but you needed to hear it from Al. He had understood your meaning, and hurried over to you, placing his large hands on each of your shoulders. Reassuring, but serious too.

“Nothing at all. It’ll just be an empty room.” he whispered sincerely, rubbing your upper arms to allay your shaky fears. You pictured it all: the bare stone floor, the damp walls, dingy mattress, broken phone, narrow barred window, filthy toilet. Collecting dust from disuse, cobwebs clinging to the severed cord of the black phone, stagnant gray water in the toilet cistern. The metal door jammed shut. No-one, except perhaps ghosts, inhabiting that musty cell. You could see it all so vividly, a realistic future that so easily appeared in your head.

The part of yourself that was trapped- the one you had locked away to forget things, the one that flashed the knife in your visions, the one that tried to pierce images of past abuses in your head- that voice wondered: would the Grabber ever truly be gone? From your life, and from Al’s? You hoped so. You believed so. Your fears quelled. But Al’s shiny eyes had dulled- perhaps he was saddened by your thoughts that he could revert to that beast he once allowed to roam free.

You pitied him. It wasn’t an emotion you wanted to feel for him, but it was present nonetheless. Secretly, in your own private thoughts, you felt it deeply for him. Al certainly didn’t want this from you. He believed he deserved nothing in this world, especially not you, as he often told you plainly. Your constant reassurances that you were his sometimes consoled him, but not always, and he would continue to bear that burden, not allowing you to free that heavy weight from his shoulders. He was so tormented, such a poor soul. The things he had done were unforgivable- but you would allow Al (not the Grabber) to live freely, even if freedom was the one thing denied to you.

The realization struck you like a truck; Al had never really been free at all. He’d been trapped in his own twisted mind, thinking the only way to serve his mad urges were those things too terrible to even think about. At the mercy of the Grabber, his other half. In your own mind, by staying and submitting, allowing yourself to fall for Al, you had freed him from those violent, decaying thoughts. You had freed Al from the Grabber.

“So!” Al grinned, squeezing your shoulders as you broke away from those notions that had raced through your mind in a matter of seconds. You responded with a kind smile, waiting for further instruction. “If you’re staying here at night, you can change here in the mornings. Make some room in those drawers, Y/N. And have a look in the bathroom- you’ll have to let me know if you’ll need anything.”

“Alright, thanks Al. Aren’t you going to stay?” you asked, curious why he was walking towards the bedroom door.

“I’ll get your things from downstairs. Can I trust you, little thing, or will I need to use these?” He produced the handcuffs from his pocket, spinning them on one finger as he gave you his signature smirk. You exhaled a breathy laugh as they jangled playfully on his finger, but answered with sincerity.

“You can trust me, Al. I promise,” You’d both gotten quite good at keeping those in recent memory, “But will you leave the books down there for me please?”

“Of course,” he replied, retreating the handcuffs to his pocket, “Won’t be long, dove. After we’ve sorted your things we can get a shower.” You beamed at the thought as he left, but just a heartbeat later his body appeared from behind the door, as if he had forgotten something.

“Was it obvious I meant we would shower together?” he jested, feigning confusion.

“It was!” you chortled at his steamy suggestion, blood rushing to your cheeks. He winked at you, then vanished once more as if magicked away in a cloud of smoke.

You got to work after his footsteps faded down the hall, opening the dresser drawers, shifting some of Al’s clothes to make room for the few items you had- some pajamas, a couple pairs of panties, the blue fleece jacket he’d given to you on that cold evening stood on the doorstep. Often though, you simply wore Al’s shirts, and chuckled as you rummaged through the drawers, realizing you’d worn most of their contents yourself. A quick glance in the bathroom, and you made a mental note of some things you’d request, some toiletries that Al was sorely lacking as a man who (at one time) lived alone.

The dress you had worn last night, discarded and forgotten in a corner when Al had stripped you, you thought best to hang in the closet. It was a little overkill for today, you scoffed to yourself. As you tried your best to smooth down the rumpled fabric and put it carefully on a hanger in the closet, you noticed a stray strip of something, like a belt, dangling from the storage space above where it looked like Al kept a supply of spare sheets and towels. But it was thinner, narrower, and you realized why it struck you. You recognized it. It was the fastening to one of the masks. You glanced nervously to the door, but discerned no sign of Al returning. Grabbing a chair, you positioned it in front of the open closet and hoisted yourself up for a better look. There they were, pushed back a little way. Four sections of the masks- the pale horns curved in a slight frown, and each mouthpiece- the grin, the grimace and the vacant, smooth lower half. Each part you’d faced a hundred times over. Hidden, but not discarded.

With all the strides you and Al had made, you still had to wonder- how much would these porcelain faces still play a part in the things you did together? Would they still participate in the game? He hadn’t thrown them out entirely, so you assumed the masks would make a triumphant return- all for show, of course. Al no longer wanted to keep you prisoner in his basement, keep you shackled to the cold walls and hide himself and his thoughts behind a frightening mask. Those fears had long gone. But you imagined the frowning mask in particular, returning to play a part in your enthralling games of Naughty Girl, a role for both of you to inhabit, play pretend for a while. Al wouldn’t really be mad, it was an elaborate performance he played so well. Him as master, subjugating his little dove, inflicting torments on your as-yet unbroken skin, using you as a plaything for his devilish machinations and electrifying touches. You, as willing captive, submitting yourself to his wild whims, taking delicious punishments and pleasures at his hand. Just like the paradox of pleasure and pain that came from the game, the game itself was a one of contradictions. By playing it so well, acting as Naughty Girl for Al, you epitomized how good you could be. What was his usual sentiment afterwards?- ‘Perfect little dove. You’re perfect, Y/N’. Where was the harm in playing still? You laughed at the irony as you climbed down and shut the closet door, hiding the masks once more. At least for a little while.

Busying yourself, you made the bed and pulled back the curtains (tentatively at first), to find the window looked out onto the little yard you’d once visited with Al. No houses overlooked, no prying eyes would see your figure standing in the window. You basked in the bright, cold morning that inched silvery winter sunlight into the room, though the creeping beams reminded you of each minute passing. What was taking him so long? Maybe he was putting a surprise down there, to make the basement more comfortable, like he had done with the blanket. You thought affectionately about the small kindness Al had given you, from so early on in your time here, suffusing even some of the darker days with hopeful flickers. But how different the future would look in comparison with that murky past. You would have to stay in the basement, it was true. But only as little time as possible would be spent in its bowels. There would be no pacing, wondering what, or who, was descending, what torments or mind games or unknown punishments were to appear from behind the metal door. You knew it would be Al, every single day, coming to greet you without fail. Raising you from the basement’s depths to the lofty heights above. Not freedom by definition, but freeing in so many other ways.

Still waiting for Al, you sat on the bed and thought a little more. You used to hate this, having time alone with only your perturbed thoughts as company. Once, it had led only to despair, thinking of your seemingly hopeless situation and the fear of what violence and abuse that monster would inevitably inflict. Even with those anxieties gone, some thoughts still felt like unwelcome guests in your mind. Heavy implications of how Al felt, how you felt about him (still unuttered), the hidden knife, the whole complex situation- casting logic and reason aside to escape the reality in which you lived. But not today, you asserted, resolute in your belief. Al had promised today would be a good day- and he didn’t break promises.

He really did seem to trust you, leaving you alone for this long. Yes, you had woken cuffed to the bed, but you half-believed this to have been a mischievous trick, a playful excuse for Al to start your little games so early in the day. But waiting now (for minutes longer than you thought would be necessary), you had begun once again to do the exact thing you had been trying to avoid- letting your mind wander. Your knee bobbed quickly in nervous anticipation of Al’s return, rustling against the silky sheets that your tense fingers had also clawed their way into. You desperately hoped this wasn’t some kind of test. Just outside the bedroom door, down the hallway and in the living room, a working phone. Right beside you- a window that might not be jammed shut, ready to use as an escape. Early in your stay you’d attempted similar, and failed miserably. After that, you’d always told yourself these things were too dangerous to attempt, the risk of failure too great. This shifted to then start asking the questions- If I could, would I? If I could open that bike lock, would I walk out that door? If I could fight Al and beat him, would I? These answers were becoming clearer in your head, unblurring like a camera coming into focus. Like rain clouds dissipating to reveal a bright, clear sky. The answer was no. You wouldn’t run. You wouldn’t fight. You’d stay. Because you loved him.

As Al sauntered down the hallway from the bedroom, his heart palpitated excitedly. A thin, cold vein of dread had threatened the morning’s tranquility, when his other insidious side had been alluded to. He had promised her the Grabber would not return, and she had trusted he was telling the truth. Her reassurances had bled that painful memory away, and he felt truly content.

This is what he’d been wanting for a long, long time. Desperately hoping some semblance of a real relationship might take shape. He’d make sure he was there when she woke the next morning. And the morning after that. And the next. He wanted her in his bed for always; to fall asleep with her in his arms every night, and to gently coax her from restful sleep with morning kisses and caresses, as unfailing as the sunrise.

And if it brought them closer? He wonders when she might return that gesture, say those words he’d admitted to last night. She’d been so patient with him, not pushing him to remove the mask, getting used to his acquired tastes, allowing so many transgressions and still forgiving him. For her, he’d wait forever for her to say it. Even if it went unspoken, at least they had each other’s trust, their shared promises.

There was a small, niggling feeling she might never reciprocate those words. Al wasn’t delusional: he was under no illusions she might never say it back. But she is warming to the situation, and he believes she likes him, hell, maybe even loves Albert Shaw. But who could love such a monster as the Grabber? Even if he wasn’t coming back, he couldn’t erase what had already come to pass. He feared what he once was, but feared more Y/N’s remembrance of that beast, that dark half of himself. He cursed it.

In the belly of the house, Al grabbed the book he’d given his little dove for her birthday, as well as a few scattered ones around the living room. In the kitchen, he spotted the portable radio and took that too. Anything that might help her while away time spent alone in the basement. He’d make those times as brief as possible. Descending the steps and entering the chilly room, it surprised him just how cold it felt. She wasn’t on the other side to warm him, and it truly was a hideous place to inhabit. She had spent so many miserable hours here and it killed him, tore him up inside. It shamed him, but it wouldn’t be forever.

He placed her things on the mattress, thinking what else could make her more comfortable. Clean sheets, certainly. Maybe a TV? He could just ask his precious dove. They seemed to talk about anything these days without guilt or uneasiness; talked as if there was something here, a real future. Al smiled as he thought of the immediate future: he had the whole weekend off. Two whole days he could spend with her, and she wouldn’t have to step into this awful room, no reminders of the heinous things that had happened inside these four dank walls.

Al grabbed her silky pajamas from the toilet area, and picked up clothes that were strewn on the bed, the cleanest surface in the room (though still disgustingly fetid, he thought shamefully). His sweet thing had said he had given her so much, but in reality, the opposite was true. He’d provided her with so little, enough to carry in his arms. He determined to resolve this. After all, she had looked stunning in her outfit last night. He wouldn’t hesitate to provide her with more material comforts.

Scanning the room before leaving, he realized he’d missed the blue fleece cardigan he’d gifted her, on the corner of the mattress near the broken phone. He strode over, averting his eyes from the black rotary on the wall, and bent down to add the jacket to the pile in his arms. Sliding the jacket from the bed, he noticed a small hole in the mattress, just a couple of inches from the top. He really did let her live in such a squalid place, he worried.

He rose to leave, adding new sheets to his to-do list for the day, but that small niggling sensation ate away at him, and as he reached the door, he found he couldn’t ignore it. Turning on his heel, he tossed the clothes he was holding on the mattress, squatting once more at the top corner. Inspecting it with his index finger, a confused frown grew on his brow; it wasn’t moth-eaten. It looked like it had been cut, as if with a serrated blade. He reached inside, clawing desperately, beginning to sweat, hoping to find nothing there. For this to be an old tatter, made long before Y/N’s arrival.

Clawing through layers of rough foam, his fingertips hit something cold and hard, and slowly, slowly, just as he had removed the fork from her mouth this morning, he carefully (though with a shaky hand) extracted its sibling from its hiding spot. He looked down at the blade in his hand. His lip quivered and his eyes began to water. He closed them, exhaling slowly, as he allowed that icy vein in his body to freeze those feelings.

When he opened his eyes in the shadowy basement cell, they were black.

#the black phone #the black phone fanfic #the grabber #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #albert shaw #albert shaw x you #albert shaw x reader #slasher fic #this is a dark romance now i guess?#who'd have thunk

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