The Break In
Summary: You and your friends break into the wrong house and pay the price. Part one of "The Break In" Series
Dark! Steve Rogers x fem! Reader, I imagine an older nomad Steve
Warnings: 18+ DARK FIC READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, non-con
Divider by: @firefly-graphics
“Kev how much further?” Amy whines, her steps heavy and in sync with your own. You would have mocked her lack of endurance if you hadn’t been out of breath yourself.
It seemed the daily runs were paying off for Kevin as he led the group already past the slope of the hill and out of view. Malik relays the message of "just a little more" and you roll your eyes at the lack of huff and puff in his voice and curse the sloped ground as you trip for the third time. “Alright, that’s it! You’re not allowed to pick houses anymore!” Amy yells ahead.
You were never the one to complain but at this point, this “walk up a small hill” Kevin had sold to you guys had turned into a full-on hike and you hated being duped, almost as much as you hated being sweaty. “Seriously Kevin, this house better be golden!” You grumbled, “And I mean it, I want new shoes and at least 2 iPads, ones with the pencil thing.”
“If she gets the iPads then there better be laptops for me.” Amy adds
The house screamed golden. One of those rare almost-too-perfect-to-be-true types of houses that the group scored maybe once every 2 years. Big, but not too big that it would take hours to sift through. Plus, it was reclusive; you couldn’t remember the last house you had seen on the way, and contemporary meaning the owner was loaded and wanted you to know it.
You scan the area for security cameras but come up empty. Even past the house, there seemed to be nothing but open fields of trees and greens. It's puzzling and your concern grows when Kevin plainly opens the door. “Hey, no fair you already went in? That’s rule number... whatever; don’t break in without anyone else.” Amy only remembers the rules when she’s the one not breaking them.
“Rule 5.” Malik's a stickler for the rules.
“I didn’t break in.” There’s a pause, only broken by Amy who starts laughing, repeating no fucking way, no fucking way. Kevin bows comically and swipes his hands through the air gesturing into the house, “Right this way ladies and Malik.”
Amy all but jumps through the door with Malik following quickly behind her. You almost expect alarms to start ringing when they step over the entrance but there’s nothing but Amy’s squeals. Kevin's already working on disarming your worry when you turn to look at him.
"Relax, it's all good."
You’re shaking your head, “We shouldn’t. Who leaves their house unlocked like this? And no security?” It just feels off, “We shouldn’t risk it.”
Kevin’s shoulders drop and he takes your hands in his, it's his way of trying to soothe you. “All we ever do is take risks. It’s probably a vacation house for some rich asshole who was busy on a business call and forgot to lock the door when he left. You know we'll be in and out before anyone even remotely gets close to this place,” He tugs on your hands, "quick before Amy and Malik take all the good stuff."
The worry settles into a pit in your stomach, “You haven’t seen anyone come by?” Kevin gives a curt no. You push the worry down and decide to be a team player.
There is a painting hanging in the living room that catches your interest, it depicts a woman sitting alone staring at a wineglass. She seems mad but that's not the whole story. She's sat hugging herself with one hand and her fingers are eerily too long, desperate to hold more of herself. She is lonely and bitter at the glass for reflecting its emptiness back at her.
“Well, she’s kinda ugly.”
Amy gives the shelf next to you a quick scan but you've already looked at it and know there's nothing valuable. It's all just generic books, a couple of knickknacks, and some memorabilia. She heads to the couch and lands with a soft plop, “This place is a bust. His bedroom is equally as depressing.”
"What, nothing good in the closet?" Amy always made a beeline to closets, clothes were easy to pack up and rich people usually had all the luxury brands that sold for a pretty penny. Malik would be searching for a safe hidden under the bed or in the walls and Kevin always liked snatching jewelry and drugs.
“Nothing and I mean nothing in his closet is a brand name. He dresses like one of those poor-looking rich people in tech.” She kicks her feet out and yells out “Kevin you better be coming down to rub my feet after all that walking for nothing!"
The house was expensive and it looked all grand from the outside but whoever lived here was not materialistic at all, you hadn't found much of worth to take. Not much but...
You rummage through the open pocket of your bag and pull out a small brown leather box. Seeing Amy upset was like seeing a kicked puppy so with little hesitation you open the box and present the ring to her. She immediately sparks up, pulling out the gold-plated diamond ring.
“It's too small for me.”
She kisses you on your cheek and slides the ring on.
His bedroom is not depressing. Yeah, it's a bit plain but it's also quiet and comforting. You’re lying in his bed, your hair wrapped up in your jacket like always. This was your favorite part, to lie on the soft mattresses and allow yourself to imagine what sweet, got-nothing-to-worry-about type of sleep felt like. But you could never fall asleep, only sort of drift in the in-between.
The four of you had banded together in your first and last year of college; Malik and you were in the same group for scholarship kids and had snuck away during a tour of the campus where the tour guide really put the emphasis on just "how lucky you were all to be here". Kevin, you met in an econ class when you had to wake him up to take the attendance sheet, and sweet little Amy shared a dorm floor with you and you let her bunk with you after her roommate locked her out for being too chatty and yours hadn't shown up yet.
The first house you robbed was Kevin's. No one ever believed Kevin when he said his parents were loaded--he dressed like a bum and was always mooching off someone's plate--but during the ending weeks of summer break he invited everyone back to his place; it was the first mansion you've ever been in. Kevin's family wasn't just rich they were ridiculously wealthy like old money, probably tied to war crimes kind of rich.
Then Kevin revealed why he had brought you all over. He wasn't going to return to school because his daddy cut him off for wanting to change his major so in retaliation, Kevin was going to rob them blind, and like the good friend he was, he decided we could take anything we could carry out the house. Amy turned out to be really good at upselling, Malik was in love with the thrill and you knew you were going to burn out trying to keep up with the good grades and the stealing was just so easy.
The rest in the in-between doesn't last long as you're pulled out of it by a loud thud from downstairs. You're up on your feet at another thud but this time it's followed by the smash of glass and a scream.
Your heart beats in your ears and it's hard to hear anything else, the deafening silence brings the worry bubbling out of your stomach and almost weights you down to the ground. You should move, you really should but your mind is trying to rationalize the noises, "probably just pranking me." It all happened too fast, there wasn't a real struggle. There couldn't have been.
The door swings open just as you were about to grab the doorknob, the seal breaks, and the screams are back until they're cut off with a sickening crunch. Malik grabs you by the shoulders, his mouth is moving but you can't focus on anything but the kitchen knife stuck in his shoulder. Blood is soaking his shirt,
God, his blood
Malik shakes you and you realize how lightheaded you've gotten,
"What,"
"Malik, you're bleeding."
"Where's Amy? Kevin?"
Malik is quick with his movements, opening the bedroom window, pushing you towards it, helping you up until you're sitting on the window stool looking back at him.
"What happened, Malik?"
"They're dead."
The bedroom door opens right as Malik pushes you out the window. The fall isn't bad, nothing feels broken but you land on your back and get the wind knocked out of you. You can still see Malik peering down at you yelling to go, to run.
But you can't, you're just lying there, trying to convince yourself that you're not going to die just like kids do when they fall like this. But this time death is seeming like a very possible end.
You let out sallow grunts as you try to breathe properly, and the spasming turns into crawling. You don't hear Malik anymore but you're too scared to turn around. You don't get very far before a hand is tangled in your hair, the pull is harsh and has your whole body turning around. The sun blinds your eyes, and you can only make out the figure of a man before your face meets the blunt end of his axe.
Your eyes slowly open to unveil a clear night sky, the rhythmic sound of metal meeting dirt and gentle plops of dirt falling fill your ears. The world spins as you slowly regain your senses.
You're laying on the cool grass and your skin goosebumps in the cold night air. The left side of your forehead is swollen to the touch and when you pull back your hand there are flakes of dried blood on your fingers. You don't know what to do, your head's pounding, and it's frustratingly difficult to move. Crawling didn't help you last time so you decide to ignore the pain pulsing through your body and push yourself up and run; the backyard is pretty empty besides a tall apple tree and it isn't fenced off so you can run around to the front and down the hill.
But when you manage to stand you're quickly bought back down to your knees at the gruesome sight before you. Bloody bodies clumped together, a leg cracked hanging together by what you can only assume as muscles instead of bone, blood dripping down hanging limbs, on top spread open like a Christmas tree topper is Malik's body, and stuck upright in the dirt staring up at you is his decapitated head.
You reach out to close Malik's eyes, it's the least and only thing you can do, but a grip on your ankle pulls you away. You kick out in retaliation but the man doesn't budge, he lets go only to grab a fistful of your hair. The pain in your head doubles and you're screaming as he pulls you up to your feet.
He towers over you, his sweat-drenched shirt sticks to his chest, and parts of his blond hair fall over his face but you can still make out his aggravated scowl. His build, the grip he has on you, and the remains of your friends are all evidence of his deadly strength but as he stares you down, you can't help but be reminded of the painting that hangs in his living room.
He sets you down like a child and you stumble trying to find your balance.
He kicks forward a shovel "Dig."
Your eyes glance from the shove to the man to the remains of your friends and back down to the one hole he's already dug.
He doesn't take well to your hesitation and he doesn't really seem like a man you say no to so before he takes another step towards you, you grab the shovel. The handle's still warm from his touch. Once you have it in a position that feels comfortable you look up at him for some kind of confirmation. He gives a single nod and you start to dig a grave for your friends.
Your fingers are cramping, almost pulsating from the non-stop friction from the shovel. All of your bones are begging for you to just lay down right there but you have another grave to dig, you consider the length you'll need to dig and shuffle a bit away from the first one you've dug but just as you're about to push in the shovel with your foot, he rips it out of your hands and throws it to the side.
He leaves you in confusion and makes his way over to the bodies, lugging Malik over his left shoulder, Kevin on his right, and he drags Amy by the arm, with his hands full he resorts to kicking Malik's head straight into the grave he's dug. You flinched at the sounds of his head tumbling around.
"There are only 2 graves." Your obvious clarification goes ignored.
He carries their bodies like sacks of potatoes and throws them into the grave the same way you'd throw trash down a garbage shoot.
With his hands empty, he makes his way over to you and you want to blame your lack of movement on how exhausted your legs are but you can't help but feel caged as he walks over to you. He grabs you by the upper arm and drags you over to the edge of the grave you've dug. "This one," his grainy voice tickles your ears with dread, "this one is yours."
A shove sends you falling in, the dust from your fall has you coughing, and more fills the air as he lands in front of you.
Tears form in your eyes at the implication as you imagine your body decaying in the ground, no one would know, no one would grieve you. The family you once had; you had disappointed, and you can't help but feel the same about the friends you let be obliterated by the man standing in front of you.
The grave you dug is uneven and narrow and he's close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of him. When he takes a step forward you hear yourself plea.
"Please,"
It's easy to grovel when you're already on your knees, "please don't... Please I don't want to die."
It's the truth, the threat of death shakes you to your core, and kneeling down in a grave that you've dug, apparently for yourself, has fear creeping in from all angles. There hadn't been a clear moment to think ever since Malik pushed you out that window. But here caged in between a wall and a murderer the only thing you could think of was not dying.
Your plea surprises him, you can see the hesitation in his eyes as he takes a moment to look over you, and you hope it will save you. His hand comes down to wipe the tears away from your eyes, a little too late as some are already streaking down your cheeks.
His touch is soft and you find yourself leaning in as his hand lingers under your face. "Please, you don't have to kill me."
He shakes his head, "I won't." His expression doesn't soften like his hand but you find yourself trusting him, with blind hope, it's all you have at this point.
But it's snuffed out when he twists your body around leaving you facing a wall of dirt.
"You want to stay alive?" He taunts and you feel the need to nod.
Yes, you want to stay alive.
His weight behind you pushes you forward and your hands aren't fast enough to save you from a face full of dirt. He uses this advantage to kick your feet apart as if you weren't weak enough to be malleable to begin with. He wraps one arm around your waist and the other starts to tug at your pants.
His movements are too quick for you to keep up with but when you realize your fate you fidget in his arm, struggling with no real result. "Wait... What..." But he ignores you. You feel your pants tear and drop around your feet. You would have been humiliated if fear hadn't been the main emotion encapsulating you.
"You want to live right?" His gruff voice has you shuttering in tears but still, you nod, "Well, this is how you live."
A whimper of a plea escapes your throat and he pushes you into the wall once more, and with dirt blocking your eyes and underneath your fingernails, you stay willing, his free hand crawls up your body. Groping your breasts and squeezing the tender skin of your waist, his chest rumbles in pleasure. "I had forgotten how soft-" His words die as he leans into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath at first then placing a kiss, and finally a small bite of the skin by your shoulder blade.
"I had forgotten how soft flesh felt, The hand by your waist dips into your folds, "so soft." you hold in a sob. His fingers part you and play around a bit before he digs into you, harder than the words that leave his mouth. Your new tears are absorbed by the dirt in front of you, "Don't... Don't do this please."
In response, he shoves a finger in you and then another. Shamefully you shift your legs to tolerate his intrusion. He curls another fingers in you, his other hand finding its place at your clit in a way to make up for the pain and he keeps going until you've become slick. You hear the sound of his pants unbuckling and you prepare the next plea of yours but as if he expected it, he pulls your head back by your hair and shoves your face forward, deep enough to have you inhaling dirt and at the same time he finally buries his dick into you.
While you're crying out, inhaling dirt, and using your hands to push back his thighs but he doesn't mind it as he pumps into you. The roll of his hips start to become familiar, his grunts start to fall into a rhythm and your tears subside. You start to choke on the moist dirt as you scratch at his hand entangled in your hair, begging for release. He complies and you cough out the dirt but his free hands grip your shoulders and pull you back onto his cock with a force so strong you let out moans with the new air in your lungs.
As his thrusts become erratic your knees buckle as the build-up of pleasure ripples through you but it's not enough to distract you from your initial fear. You still think death is on the table when he pulls out of you, his hand comes down to catch his seed dripping out of you. He clears his throat and rubs the liquid into your back, almost as if to soothe you. You prepare yourself for a swift death now but it never comes, "You want to live, yes?"
Even after all that has happened you still fear death, so you nod and your voice cracks upon answer.
"Yes."
