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pricegouge · 3 months ago

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Have you ever watched the movie don’t breathe? Imagine reader breaking into the 141 guys house thinking it’ll be an easy robbery😭

Oh, I had too much fun with this lmao.

cw: poly!141, gn!reader, horror elements, kidnapping, reader is a cat burglar, spoilers for Don't Breathe, I guess? Abrupt ending

They weren't supposed to be home.

You'd been so careful, watching for weeks - months, mapping out their unpredictable schedule obsessively, finding rhyme and reason where you were first convinced there were none. But desperation drove innovation, and soon you'd found yourself running proper work sheets dedicated to each of them, cross referencing between them obsessively until you'd found a few hard and fast rules - minimal, but workable. Enough to have you slipping confidently past their high end security system in the early evening of a quiet Tuesday night.

Fuckin' Tuesdays. You should have known better; nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday.

It's hard to say where you'd miscalculated. Perhaps an error in your extrapolation of the little data you'd collected, just because they had always been gone for days on end each time they packed up their obscenely big SUV in the past didn't mean they always would. Maybe before that, when you'd decided the unassuming, but tightly secured house across town should be your next target after little more than some whispered gossip at the grocery store. ("Four incomes, and living in a place like this? I've seen the way they shop. Prepper types. Bet that house is insulated with cash.") Probably, it was earlier still, when your life had first started unfolding in a direction that often had you sneaking through windows and pawning gold lockets engraved with the names of loved ones you'd never known.

When you'd first heard the thud of car doors outside, you'd laughed to yourself a bit deliriously, thinking the only thing you were likely to make it out of this pickle with was a nice, new pair of matching silver bracelets. Now, watching through the slats of the cheap closet door as the biggest man you've ever seen in your life (Simon, as your brief stint as a PI had told you, though it's hard to recognize him now beneath the hard mask he has on) begins to undress for a shower, the pit of dread in your stomach sinks lower with each knife he pulls from the concealed folds of his damn tac gear and you know you'll be lucky to make it out of this place in cuffs.

The air is stifling in your little closet space, growing more so with every minute that passes as the growing humidity seeps into the unfinished wood of the door. The material blooms in the heat, the musty smell growing strong enough to override the strange mix of expensive cologne and cheap five in one body wash which adorn the shelf currently digging into your shoulder blade. It's hard to keep your breaths shallow in your panic, but you manage, jaw hinged wide and tongue pressed to the bottom of your mouth to avoid any latent nose whistles, or the wet sound of your saliva. Minutes pass. The man before you finally seems to run out of weapons and armor to remove and pulls his shirt up over his head, taking the skull mask off with it and your breath wheezes ever so slightly at the sight.

It's not a shock that he's big and mean, but the severity of it all takes you by surprise. Criss-crossed in corded muscles and scars alike, Simon is somehow more frightening now than he was before and there's no helping the loud sound you make when you swallow back your fear.

When his head whips around, it nearly startles a shriek from you, but you seal your lips tight when his gaze lands on the window, kitty corner to your hiding place. Still in his boots, you expect his step to ring ominously when he paces closer, but Simon moves with lethal grace, silent as the grave. You didn't even realize he had grabbed a knife until it glints in the streetlight glow, light speckled and refracted through the obfuscatory, pebbled window cling. Your breath stills, Simon's eyes narrow as he cranks the window open wider, confusion and apprehension evident. You're on the second story so no doubt he wonders how on earth he heard someone outside -

"LT, ye in h -?" The question cuts off with a low whistle and Simon looks like he's visibly fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Nothin' you 'aven't seen before, sergeant."

"Nothin' ah wouldn't mind seein' again." Johnny, one with the mohawk, counters. You'd never heard him speak before and the accent throws you briefly. He's dressed much like Simon had been, decked out in the kind of tac gear you've only ever seen in movies. Just your fucking luck. He sidles up behind the bigger man, hooking his chin over Simon's shoulder "What're ye doin'?"

"Thought I 'eard somethin'."

Johnny hums, distracted. His palm slides down the swell of Simon's stomach, fingers dipping just slightly under his waist band. "Well, when yer done bein' all paranoid, we should stop wastin' this wa'er."

Simon scoffs but follows easily enough after a final sweep of the street below. The two move together with distracting ease, the sight of their thickly muscled bodies sliding together as they finish undressing getting your breathing labored for a whole new reason, though you know better than to lose too much focus. You wait until they tuck themselves into the shower, the curtain bulging in places as it tries to keep them both hidden away.

The door creaks a bit as you slink out, but a well timed gasped from the Scot covers it and you suppress a relieved sigh, darting down the hallway on silent feet after a quick check reveals a clear path. At the top of the stairs, you stop and listen for movement below, barreling on before you can hesitate too much when you hear voices ringing from the kitchen and know you have a real shot of slipping out the front.

You've trained for moments like this, tiptoeing up and down your own stairs at home, balance beam precise, steps perfectly placed on the center support to avoid creaks. You've never had to use your skill before, always so careful to slip in and out when no one's home. It was a matter of time, you knew, but you can't believe your luck that it's paid off now of all times, in a house full of four extremely large men, all likely some sort of military as you're rapidly inferring.

The landing on the first floor is ill-guarded. You duck behind the dining table as quickly as possible and cast around for a better hiding place, thanking whatever god might be listening to thieves like you for older model homes. An open floor layout would see you dead right now, probably.

It goes against every instinct in your body to take a moment and collect your bearings but you force yourself into stillness, taking stock of your position before moving forward. On the other side of the wall to your right, the front door holds the key to your freedom. Before you, the hallway stretches toward the downstairs bath and the master bedroom, both of which have a window which will do in a pinch. But on the left, with a doorway which overlooks the corner you would need to pass to get to either, the kitchen houses the two remaining men - John and Kyle - who are currently talking animatedly about the mission they'd just been on. One of them, voice whiskey dark and gravel thick, recounts the frightened look on some poor sod's face right before he'd blown it clean off and the other hoots with laughter, diving into a tale of his own.

You don't listen much after that, ears ringing with panic. It makes it hard to gauge how much noise you make as you shift forward, peering through the rungs of the seat backs into the kitchen to check the angle of their view. They keep talking so you slink forward more, and more, until you're sure you have a shot.

But when you step forward into the open corner, your foot catches on the leg of a chair and the men fall silent as if drags across the floor.

Eyes locked on the kitchen, you don't take note of the direction which you're backing toward and suppress a curse when your hands find the wall of the hallway. You debate diving forward into the living room for all of two seconds before, in the kitchen, stools drag across the floor in an eerie echo of your own blunder, and you shuffle down the hall, thankful for the carpeting muffling your clumsy steps.

You're aiming for the bathroom, but you open the first door your hand falls on.

Cold, damp air greets you as you duck through the door, shutting it as quietly as you can manage, even forcing yourself to stay put as you slowly rotate the knob back into place to avoid the latch clunking into the strike plate. Straining your ears over the general hum of the basement appliances below, you hear the men grumbling in the dining room, pacing back and forth as they try to figure out the source of the noise. You slink back as they draw closer, walking sideways down the stairs with your eyes locked on the door above. The light's on, blessedly, dim bulb painting the cobwebs overhead yellow and amber. It's strange how proper fear reprioritizes such silly things as arachnophobia.

One of the the men - the same gruff voice from before - tells the other to check on the lovers and you sag in relief, assuming they'll head upstairs to see how the two men in the shower are doing -

But then the doorknob is turning again, and you're casting about for a place to hide when you finally take in your surroundings properly, your eyes falling on the cage and the two girls within as your breath stutters out and you truly start to hyperventilate. They watch you with owlish eyes, holding their fingers over their mouths in an attempt to keep you quiet. There's no need for that, but you watch raptly as they point to one of those narrow, high basement windows on the far wall. You nod, stumbling down the remaining steps, only to draw short when the door opens and a soft gasp tells you you've been spotted.

"The fuck -?" Kyle hisses and you panic, lunging behind a storage shelf and rifling around for a weapon as he thunders down the stairs. You settle on an old broom handle, wood dry and coarse in your palm. Kyle laughs when you spin around the shelf to meet him, but it's not him you aim at, arm arching high to smash the bulb. One of the girls shrieks, Kyle grunts when you jab at him, the end of your handle landing hard in his gut, unprotected in his blindness. He yanks it from you, splinters catching in your palm but you don't stop to acknowledge the pain. Eyes adjusting to the dark, you set your sights beyond him to the stairs and slink around him.

You know he hears you when you pass but he doesn't follow. You're confused until what little light you had goes out and you look back behind you to find the window covered, the basement now nothing but an inky darkness you can't navigate.

Overhead, the basement door creaks open again and the other man - John, you now figure - grunts in confusion before flicking the light switch a few times. "Alright down there, sergeant?" He calls, and Kyle's voice is much closer than you'd anticipated when he responds

"Cap, bring the goggs. Got a fun game for us."

#asks #i can reimagine the boys as horror villains all day 💛#gouge horror #poly!141 x reader

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