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jokeringcutio · 2 years ago

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The Gift - The Grabber x Reader Insert

Summary: Your curiosity got the better of you.

Fandom: The Black Phone (2022) Pairing: Albert Shaw | The Grabber x (f) Reader Rating: Mature Warnings: Dark themes, kidnapping, older man\younger woman, age difference, size difference, allusions to dubious consent, dub con, reader insert. Read it [ here on AO3 ] or read it below <3 Written for the amazing @willshipanything-blog ~ * ~ Despite the blue lucid sky, the house in front of you looked grey and solemn. As if the building was covered in shadows despite the sunlight shining brightly over Denver.

A deceitful wind was blowing, chasing the clouds away, tricking people into thinking it was warmer outdoors than it actually was. Though, when out of the wind, the weather could actually be described as nice, hot. Bone-warming.

A lamppost nearby was flickering lightly despite it being day. And then the wind reminded you again that there was still a chill in the air.

The front door to the house was open, inviting strangers into the otherwise uninviting home. A paradox with a sense of mischief to it. It let itself be pushed by nature, its hinges creaking and cracking every time the wind picked up and played with it.

So this was the house your friends had been talking about, eh? A rather elongated ground floor building with a tiled roof and a low iron fence around it. You hardly ever crossed this street when on your way home, so you hardly had paid attention to it. But then your friends had taken their sweet time to tell you stories about this place, challenging each other to be the first to check it out.

You had doubted their words then, thinking that if no one had gone inside, how did they know it was abandoned? It had something to do with the lease, one of your friend’s – whose father was into real estate – had told you. And now it just stood there without a purpose, waiting for a new owner to come and lay claim. But so far, no one had bothered yet. It was positioned in one of the less interesting neighborhoods, a suburb of Denver. Most young people wanted to move uptown. When you looked at the house you could imagine why. It was no castle. Just an ordinary looking building.

The door creaking caught your attention again and you watched it swing in the wind. Surely the neighbors must be annoyed by the sound, you thought. Perhaps you should go and close it?

Not that you were curious and looking for an excuse to step closer, of course.

Slowly, you made your way to the porch, pausing a few times to glance over your shoulder to see if anyone was approaching. But no one seemed to be around.

As you lay your hand on the doorknob, you wondered what would happen if you had a little peek inside. The idea of an abandoned home – history unknown – was thrilling to you. Would there be any furniture left behind? Any clues of whoever had lived there?

Your fantasy ran wild.

And so you did the brave thing and quietly placed one foot over the threshold. You listened with bated breath, but apart from the wind you heard no other sounds. The building emitted a sense of forlorn peacefulness. The air being quiet, like the silence before a storm.

Carefully, you moved forward until you stood fully inside, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness surrounding you. You gasped when you realized you’d come into a little hallway. Plain cream-colored walls and floor stretched in front of you. A rug the only thing giving color to the space.

There was still furniture inside.

An ordinary hallway with a little empty white plastic cabinet to the side and a tin umbrella stand in the shape of a misshapen flower in the corner to your right.

A cold gush of wind brushed past your arms and sent shivers down your spine. You subconsciously closed the door behind you, eager to get away from the wind’s chilly touch.

You did it! You’d been naughty and entered someone else’s house. No, scratch that. You were exploring an abandoned building. How more exciting could things be?

Taking a moment to revel in this feeling, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath and smiled. The air around you felt warmer here. It did not smell dank or musty like you would have expected for an unmaintained house. Perhaps it had not been abandoned for that long? You couldn’t recall if your friends had said anything about that.

As quiet as a mouse, you continued your exploration. Two doors at the end of the hall made you come to a halt, and you decided to try the one to the left first. It opened with a click, and when you carefully peeked around the corner, you spotted a twin-sized bed in the middle of the room, its wooden headboard pressed neatly against the wall. There was an old wooden closet there, and a nightstand next to the bed on which you could see an old glass, fingerprints smudged over it.

You wrinkled your nose. Someone’s bedroom then. Judging by the sight of clothes strewn in one of the corners of the room, you wondered if someone else had been here before you and ransacked the place already. It would explain the lack of little nick-knacks in the hall.

Carefully, you closed the door, resting your hand against it as you thought about the things you’d just seen. One room down, another to go, you thought. And with your head held high, you stepped to the door on the right, opening it swiftly but carefully. You were afraid to make a sound, despite knowing that you were the only one around. The room that was revealed was darker than the bedroom. Long curtains were drawn in front of the windows at the other side, blocking the daylight. A door lurked on the other side in one of the corners, signalling that there was at least one more room to explore.

Taking one step forward, you heard how wooden floorboards creaked under your weight. It made you pause and look down. With a frown, you noticed that a thick Persian rug was lying several inches away from your foot. It seemed to cover most of the room like a squared blanket. You understood the owner’s choice. At least it would dampen the sounds of the wood cracking whenever you walked on it. You made sure to tread lightly upon the rug, making as little noise as you possibly could. Your curious gaze slid past a large wooden cabinet with many drawers that stood to the left side of the wall, and then over to a quilted blanket that lay upon a couch opposite of it. You stepped closer, picking it up, feeling the mixture of soft and rough fabrics slide underneath your fingertips. This seemed to be hand-made with love, you thought. Why would someone leave it there?

A scratch.

Was that a sound? You stood frozen, listening. Like paws sliding past something solid? You held your breath, fearing that a dog might come running round the corner any moment now, but nothing came. Slowly, you turned to face the direction from which you had come, but the door behind you was still open and the hall was still empty. You dared to breathe again.

Turning back to face the room, it was easy to see that this must be the living area, with the couch in the middle. A cushioned chair was beside it, a lamp standing to its side. Probably used for reading, you realized. As your eyes traveled past the room, you spotted the rather obvious television cabinet across the couch. And then, a television caught your eye.

You frowned.

Who would leave an expensive item like that lying around? Especially if others had been here before to ransack the place. But then you noticed that the room seemed clean, no signs of debris or destruction. No graffiti on the walls, no cabinets wretched open.

And so you did it yourself.

You placed the little quilt blanket back on the couch, walked over to the cabinet with all the little drawers, and started to pull open some of them. One drawer held leaflets, another cutlery. There were some glasses and a party cocktail set on one of the shelves above them. Another drawer revealed an unopened package full of black balloons. And then another drawer was opened and you had no idea what it was you saw in there. Like compressed little foam rubbery things? Were those bananas? Another one, and you saw how this entire drawer was filled with scarves and colorful fake flowers. And was that a glass of wine but folded? You quickly closed the drawer and caught your breath.

Such odd things, you mused. But it was all there. All of the drawers were filled. Everything seemed very much there, which meant…

Your eyes drifted to the television cabinet, neatly decorated. You noticed a pile of video tapes with some titles having recently been released.This place did not look abandoned. In fact, every surface seemed in tip-top and pristine condition. No cobwebs, no excessive dust traces. Why had you not spotted this sooner?

Your hand slipped past your thigh. A heavy feeling settled in your stomach, like a stone weighing you down. This house was not abandoned.

As if the devil played a game with you, at that precise moment, when you realized this house was not uninhabited at all, there was a loud sound behind you, like the rattling of keys. You instinctively dashed forward, rushing to the other side of the living room where a door was, determined not to be caught by whoever owned this place.

Surely this house must have some kind of backdoor? Or at least a window that would allow your escape? Imagine the embarrassment you'd feel if the owner of the house caught sight of you. It would be like Goldilocks, but so much worse, because it would be you who got caught. And you had no idea how to explain your actions. Would this person belief it was just curiosity? Or would they think you were a burglar, a thief? Would they call the police? No, you did not like to think of that. This was all a misunderstanding, a silly mistake.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you closed the door behind you, willing yourself to calm down and think rationally. A mere glance was all you needed to see that you had ended up inside a kitchen.

The window here was uncovered, allowing the daylight to spill in. A table was all prepped up, someone’s range of breakfast cereals posed on one side. By the look of the used plate at one end of the table, whoever lived here must have been in a hurry this morning. A smudge of yogurt or milk and a lonely forgotten berry adorned the plate. At least whoever lived here had taste, you thought sardonically. But there was no time to dwell on your thoughts for a sound came from outside. A dog barking. So you had been right, there was a dog out there. And were those paws again, tapping against the front door of the house?

A kitchen counter was to your right, a fridge to your left. It all seemed so ordinary and lived in. You could not believe you had thought this place to be abandoned only moments ago. So it had been a prank after all, you could not help but think bitterly. Your friends had pulled a prank on you and you’d fallen for it. Would they be laughing if they found out it had worked? That they had fooled you? And so easily, you thought angrily. How foolish you must seem to them, and how foolish you would seem if you got caught by the owner.

You looked around, frantically, for a place to hide or escape. The kitchen cabinets would offer you no room to hide, and underneath the table you’d be spotted within seconds. But there was a blue door to your right, and a staircase in front of you that spiraled to some place below ground level. It was an easy equation.

Without a second thought, you dashed forward to open the blue door in the corner of the room. But unlike the other doors, this one remained closed. In an attempt to force it open, you placed your shoulder against it and pushed with all your might. It took all of your strength, but the only result was a disappointing creaking. The door would not budge and you could only conclude that it must be locked.

You let out a small agonized cry when you realized that this must be the backdoor you’d been hoping to find, but it was offering you no escape. You tried to peek through the slats that covered the door’s glass and caught a glimpse of the side of the house. It was large, must larger than the rooms you'd been through. There must be more rooms, you realized as you looked at the house from this angle. There must be some door that you had missed. But there was no going back now.

You heard the tell-tale sound of a front door being opened and closed. Something was placed in the tin stand, the sound a loud clink that resounded throughout the hallway.

You looked up, sweat forming little droplets on your forehead. Then, an unbidden thought: It was getting later in the afternoon. What if they got hungry?

Swiftly you spun around, desperately looking for a place to hide. Footsteps sounded, heavy on the floorboards. Alarm bells were ringing inside your head. Whoever had just entered must be someone big, you mused. Who said the person wouldn’t come up to you with a gun? This was America after all.

The footsteps halted shortly, then grew louder, a clear indication that whoever had entered the house was now heading in your direction. You could hear the happy barking of a dog.

Shit. They were going to find you. If not the house owner, than probably the dog.

For a moment, you stood there indecisively. There was no place to hide in here. The kitchen counter was empty, the cabinets already in use with plates and mugs. The only way for you to go was forward, down the concrete stairs that led into some kind of basement.

I have no choice, you thought. If I go in there then hopefully they won’t see me. Perhaps you could stay hidden for long enough until whoever lived here would leave the kitchen, then you could get out unseen and unembarrassed for accidentally barging into someone’s house. Yep, that sounded like a solid plan.

You were swift to descend the stairs, wincing when you heard the first few steps creak alarmingly. There was no way to get up or down here without being heard, you thought. That is, if whoever lived here was nearby. You hoped the dog hadn’t heard or smelled you yet, but there was nothing to be done for it.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs you came into full-contact with a closed door. Dread it, you thought angrily. Was this how your great plan of escape was going to end? But luckily, all it took was just a push for the door to open. You wasted no time in getting into the dark space behind it, letting the door fall to a close behind you.

It was a basement, just like you had predicted. But it wasn't filled with anything like you had expected it do be. There were no crates and no racks filled with wine. It wasn't converted to some kind of game room or man cave. It was just a dark and empty place. You weren’t sure what you had hoped for. If the owner would have had all of his stuff cluttered in here, then at least you would have had the perfect place to hide. Now it was just an empty and open space with little to no room for you to curl your body into and pretend you weren’t there.

You hadn't hardly taken a step into the room when you noticed the change between the air here and upstairs. Here it was mushy and nearly suffocating. What was this smell? Your eyes darted to the only two objects in the room. A wired bed frame with an old damp mattress covered in dark spots. Yikes! And then there was a black phone attached to the wall. You could see the cord of it dangling into nothingness. That would not make any calls for your rescue.

Whoever lived here seemed to have taken little care of this space, perhaps even forgotten about it, you thought. It was obvious the room had been given little love in recent years, by the way the walls showed traces of crumbling and the floor was covered in dirt and grime. A little window at the other side of the room caught your attention, but it was way up high. You doubted you could reach it.

Breathing heavily as your pressed yourself against the brick walls, you tried to listen to the sounds above your head. But oddly enough, there were none. It was as if the space you were in had been concealed, like a little pocket of time and space in another dimension. A little box of nothingness; of darkness and silence.

You knew that going back up was not an option. But where could you hide? As your eyes started adjusted to the meager light that came in from the window up high, you noticed there was a corner at the end of the room. Perhaps there was something hidden behind it?

You slowly made your way deeper into the basement. Your footsteps slapped on the uneven tiles of the floor. Yet, any sound you made, any breath that was a bit too loud, seemed to be absorbed by the walls. You hoped that whoever was up there did not hear you as you made your way to the other side of the wall. Your joy was short-lived and you flinched upon the sight of what you found around the corner. An old toilet. That explains the nasty smell somewhat, you thought. Though it did smell like a rat had died in here. You pulled a face and, with your nose pinched between your fingertips, you looked around. No rat to be found, must be the toilet then.

Looking around once more, you saw that there was nothing there. Now way out. No secret door. No room. Just some old rugs piled on top of each other.

With no wish to remain next to the smelling pit any longer, you headed back into the main room the basement had to offer. Your eyes flitted shortly to the door. Should you push against it? Set it ajar so you could hear whatever happened above you? Did you dare to do that? But what if the owner was up there and caught sight of you? What if the dog was there? You felt like you were left with no alternative but to seek your escape from the window that was up high. It was probably your best bet to get out now. But how could you get to it? You glared up at it, studying the window way up high. As if it had been put there at that exact height just to tease you. Then you squinted your eyes. Did you see it correctly? Did it have bars in front of it? You briefly wondered why it needed that, then remembered seeing bars on many more basement windows around town. It was a thing apparently, probably to keep cats and hedgehogs out or something. Or thieves, you mused. Now, however, the bars made it feel like you were inside of a prison. Just what you needed after barging into someone's home uninvited.

Your eyes slid back past the few items in the room. It wasn't much, but you figured you could use whatever you had. You could get the rugs and step upon them to try and reach the window, you imagined. But they seemed heavy and you would have to move the whole lot of them. That seemed like a mighty bit of work to do. Then again, it seemed like you had time aplenty now that you had yourself trapped in here.

Then there was the issue of the bars. How were you going to get past them? Standing on your tiptoes, you tried to study the window from afar. You thought you could see how some of the bars were bent. Perhaps if you used all of your strength you could bend them some more and find your way out. If only you had something to help you make the job of bending them easier. Then your eyes fell upon the black phone. Yes, that might work.

As quietly as you could, you set about pushing and pulling the rugs from their resting spot and underneath the window until you had formed a nice pile. Nice.

Admiring your handiwork, you then set out to get the cord from the telephone. If you could get high enough on the rugs to reach the window, then you could wrap the cord around two bars and pull it tighter and tighter until the bars would bend under its pressure. At least, that's what these prison escape movies had made you believe. Stepping over to the black phone, you placed your hand on it and felt the dust bite into your skin. How long had it been here, you wondered? Forgotten and abandoned. Why had it been installed here in the first place? You wiped off some of the dust with your sleeve, then pulled at the cord. It slipped free easier than you had expected and with a thud, you fell backwards and landed on your buttocks. A groan escaped your lips. Of course this was just your luck. But at least the cord was in your hands. And dangling from it was the phone itself. You could use that, you thought, to smash the window when time came. It was a risky idea, but you thought you could get there. You had all the tools: something to climb upon, something to bend the bars and something to break the window. You got this.

Slowly, you got up to your feet and walked over to where the rugs had formed a nice slouched pile on the floor. You placed your foot on top to test if the pile would hold you. When the rugs didn't slip off of each other, you climbed your way up.

You were close to it now, much closer than before but not quite close enough. Why were you this small? Why as the window so damn high up?

A creak sounded behind you but there was no time for you to react fast enough. Two strong arms encircled around your waist before you could even as much as turn around to look behind you, and then you felt yourself pulled downwards. Your feet slipped off the rugs whilst the phone fell from your hands. A cry escaped your lips. You’d been so close to getting away!

You had not heard the door open. You had not noticed someone approach, as concentrated as you had been on the task at hand. You'd been completely unaware. And now it was too late. You felt someone behind you, heat radiating off his body.

“My, my,” the voice was low and raspy. A man’s voice, definitely, but a man who sounded parched. Like he desperately needed a drink. Two hands were heavily upon you, sliding from your waist all the way up to your shoulders while your back was pressed against someone's front. A firm chest, you thought. Someone larger than you. You felt him push down on you, like you weren’t already smaller than his towering frame.

“A gift!” the man’s voice rose, becoming lighter and almost childish, then an added murmur, “for me.”

What had you stumbled into?

He slowly turned you by your shoulders until you faced him. You desperately wished to know who this man was. Yet at the same time, you were too afraid look up and meet the owner of the lilting voice. So many octaves, so many emotions, in just a few sentences. You did not think you had ever heard such a range in someone’s voice before.And so you kept your eyes on the floor. You did not dare look up.

Firm fingers pressed tightly into your skin, pressing through the layers of your clothes. You felt how he maneuvered you with his grip, making you stumble a few steps backwards until your back hit the firm wall. You saw his shoes. Black pants with red socks. He felt strong. Incredibly so. His warm hands were big when you felt them on your arms, his palms covering the entirety of your shoulders, his fingers curling around your upper arms.

You listened to his breathing, deep and slow. Was he studying you? You tried to subdue your own wildly beating heart and finally willed yourself to look up into the stranger’s eyes.

You instantly knew that you were going to regret this.

He's like dad, you could not help but think when you finally saw him. A man with lines on his face and grayness to his hair. A man around the age of your parents. A father type. A neighbor. Just another ordinary looking man. But boy, did he feel anything but ordinary. His hands lay heavy upon your shoulders. He’s a man, you reminded yourself. Just a man. But then his lips curled into the tiniest hint of a smirk. As if he was enjoying this – whatever it was that was happening between the two of you. His eyes, a pale color, bore into you. His forehead crinkled when he raised his brows, as if he saw something on your face or in your expression that you didn’t know and could not guess at.

Wisps of hair fell to his shoulders; a brown color that was slowly washed to grey by age. The darkness of the room fell upon him like a cloak. He could be part of it, of the darkness, you thought. With his black blouse and black jeans. If not for the red turtleneck that peaked out from underneath his blouse, like blood dripping from an artery, he could have been a shadow himself.

His skin was pale in the dark, dripping wet. As if he had recently been cleansing his face with water.

Strong pale hands gripped your shoulders possessively, thumbs digging painfully into your skin as he pressed you against the wall.

A low laugh escaped him. “Usually they don’t come to me,” his voice was higher now, then it got low again, “but look at you.” The last words came out like a purr.

He leaned his head a little more forward until his lips were near your skin, his breath ghosting past your cheek. You wished you could tear yourself away from his grip, especially when you felt him press his chest to yours. Could he feel your rapid heartbeat? Could he feel your breasts pressed against his chest?

But his hold on you was firm. And when he felt you move, his grip on you seemed to tighten even more.

“Oh,” it came out as a sigh from between his lips. As if something occurred to him. The distance between your upper bodies increased again, for which you were grateful. The heat that radiated from his body affected you less now that he was further away. And for a moment, you thought it was over. That he had touched you and invaded your personal space just to intimidate and scare you. That he had wanted to teach you a lesson after finding you illegally tiptoeing around his home.

You were prepared to step away, but then he chuckled.

“Look at you, honey.”

Dread crept upon you upon hearing his light voice, teasing almost. Elated. This was not good. Your heart was hammering inside of your chest, your breast heaving as you tried to remain calm. The man’s eyes flew downwards, as if he had caught sight of your sped-up heart-rate. An eerie smile slid on his lips, and it was as if a dark twinkle had appeared in the man’s eye.

“Oh,” his voice was low and guttural, coming deep from his belly. His left hand slipped from your shoulder and all the way up to cradle your neck. Cold rings pressed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to pull your head away, to move your neck out of his reach, but it seemed the man had you trapped against the nearest wall and in no position to edge away from him.

A hum rose from deep within his chest, appreciative almost. As if he was studying you and liked what he saw. “You’re special.” The low murmur hardly reached your ears, so soft and quiet it came.

You could feel his fingertips twirl into your hair. A gesture that felt almost lovingly. It was hard to swallow, let alone breathe. You tried to pull your head away from his touch and tear your eyes from his gaze, but he would not let you. With just a tug at your hair he had you lock eyes with him again, deep pools of grey that swirled with darkness.

“Up here, sweetheart,” you heard him say, indicating you should look at his face rather than avert your eyes. The whispered words turned something deep inside of the pit of your stomach. Raw emotion laced his voice. He sounded hungry, starving. His fingers re-positioned in your hair, as if to get a better grip.

Then suddenly, all of the tenderness was gone and his fingertips dug deep into your skin again. It was painful. You tried to reach up to relieve some of the pain, but he started walking and you had no choice but to follow him as he half-dragged you to the bed. Your hands reached out for his to alleviate his grip, your fingers curling around his in vain. He was too strong, his hold never relenting. Not until he dropped you face-first upon the spot-covered mattress.

The bed frame creaked with your weight as you were thrown upon it. What was happening? Your mind was running overtime as you tried to think of ways to get the man to stop. The moment you felt that his hold on you was gone, you tried to push yourself up, crawling with your elbows in front of you as you tried to lift your belly from the bed. But a firm hand pushed against your lower back, effectively pressing you down until you felt the springs of the mattress prick your stomach. Then another weight was added. The man pressed himself against you. His hands caught your wrists with ease, forcing them in front of you with a grunt. And then you felt your whole body being flipped over, roughly, before his weight settled on top of yours.

He had roughly turned you over, trapping you uncomfortably beneath his thighs, and you tried to arch your back to loosen his hold on you. But his weight remained on top of you, his legs at either side of you, keeping you caged underneath his body. Now on your back, panting heavily, you looked up to see his frame atop of you, hurled in shadows, as he slowly leaned over you. His hands pressed down tightly upon your wrists, keeping them pinned above your head. The whites of his teeth glinted as he smirked down at you, like the cat who got the cream – or the predator who finally pounded upon his prey.

“You know,” he said through gasps, as if it had become hard to breathe. In this position, with him leaning over you, you had every opportunity to study his face. The wrinkles that adorned his skin, the black dilated pupils in his otherwise pale eyes. And the maniacal glint that lay within them.

“I never had one like you before,” he breathlessly said, his arms keeping yours pinned above your head.

No wait.

Your eyes grew wide when you realized his right hand had slid down to your collarbone. Which meant he was restraining you with only the one hand. His left. How strong was he? How big compared to you?

“But you know what they say,” he continued, voice laced with delight as he traced a knuckle past your cheek, “can’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.”

You growled, teeth gritted and showing. How dare this man? You were most certainly not gifted to him. "Let me go," it came out fiercer than you thought it would. But here you were, telling the man to stop and let you out. Your voice was unshaken. You sounded confident. He shifted, sitting up straighter to have a better look at you. You would almost say that his eyes softened at what he saw, if it wasn’t for his voice which was still low and husky. “No sweetheart, I can't do that. You see, I so do love a challenge,” the words weighed heavy upon you, almost as heavy as this man’s frame.

Then he was upon you again, fully. His chest brushed against yours, making it hard to breathe. You noticed the first stripes of grey fanning out from his long hair as he leaned over you. "Stop," you begged him, "just let me go, sir."

"Sir," he said, mockingly. "I like that, little girl." His breath was hot on your skin and then his lips brushed past your cheek, ever so slightly.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me?” he purred in your ear.

Your eyes widened again. No, you could not think of it, should not think of what he might have in mind for you. None of that was going to happen to you. It just could not. You struggled with renewed vigor, wildly thrashing against his body. His fingers curled painfully around your wrists, hard enough to bruise, desperate to keep you there, trapped underneath him.

His hips pressed flushed against yours. Something hard poked into your abdomen. Something hard and hot. You instantly ceased moving, your eyes wide and wild. Was that...?

Then you heard him laugh near your ear. “I thought so,” and with those ominous words, you felt all the fight leave your body. Be his good girl? He chuckled again.

“I think I’m gonna keep you.”

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