#darkcrossoverchallenge

You could feel the tension between the two of them from across the room. If you made your way to your office and closed the door, you could still feel it. One day it would all snap. You just knew it. 

They had first started this staring contest at the bar. You would never forget that day. It was odd to see Bruce Wayne out for a drink by himself. His face was as hard as stone, and his brown eyes narrowed. He drummed his fingers against the blank granite counter. Zemo was on the other end of the bar. You hadn't noticed him until he approached Bruce. Then, as the days went on, they slowly started to sit closer and closer until they took a table together. 

From a glance, it was hard to tell they hated each other. When they talked, they gave each other painted smiles. But you could see the cold stares and hear the low tones of their voices. In fact, you were probably the only one who was aware of their disdain for each other.

Why they came to your restaurant to have these odd quiet stare downs was beyond you. Sometimes they would call you over to settle a minor dispute. It was always something incredibly petty, like if Superman could defeat the Hulk or if red wine was better then white wine. The arguments never ended with a winner; you didn't care enough to agree with either of them. 

That night you really didn't have time to stand there and nod politely. It was hectic, and everything seemed to be falling apart. Maybe if they weren't so busy with their stupid dick-measuring contests, they would have noticed and left you alone. Perhaps they noticed but just didn't care. 

"Mr. Wayne wants to see you," said the waitress you had assigned to their table. You had hired the most gorgeous woman you could find solely to put her at that table. You hoped and prayed that she would be enough that you could catch a break tonight. Looks like they were stupid as well as blind. 

You groaned and ran a hand over your face. You were at the front of the restaurant trying to figure out how to deal with a double booking. 

"I'm so sorry, I know you are busy. But it's Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne. I tried to ask him if there was anything wrong with the service, but he wouldn't tell me. I think I might have poured the wine on the wrong side. I'm so sorry, I'm still trying to figure that out!" The poor girl would not stop playing with her hair and constantly shifted from one leg to the other.

You held a hand to stop her. "It's nothing to do with you. This is just something he does. Don't sweat it. I can take care of it from here. Could you tell Andrew to come deal with this double booking? If he gives you any shit, be sure to let him know that I know he screwed it up."

She gave a stiff nod. Her lips were pursed in a thin line, and her eyes were wide.  

"Thank you, but if it's about the wine..."

"If it is, it's the least of my worries. I will honestly probably forget it two seconds after I hear about it. Now go."

She hurried off, and you gave a deep sigh. You printed off one check for each of them, hoping you might be able to use it to get them to leave. You really needed an open table. You put your pen down slowly, savoring each second you were not at that table. Running a hand over the smooth black table, you reminded yourself you put with this rich people shit to have nice table. You finally had no choice but to make your way over. They were deep in conversation when you arrived. 

"Good evening gentlemen, is there something I can help you with?" When you spoke, their gazes snapped towards you. It was as if they were racing to look at your first. Both of them always gave you unnerving stares. You never got used to it. 

"Ah yes, it seems we have another bet that only you can settle," Zemo said, smirking at you over his wine. 

"Yes, we need to prove to the Baron here that he doesn't understand people half as well as he claims," Bruce's lips pulled into a smile, and he raised his eyebrows. 

"Interesting that you would claim to have a superior knowledge of human behavior," Zemo leaned back in the black cushioned seat. "After all, you spend most of your time in the minds of criminals."

This was the strangest of all of the things Zemo had said about Bruce. You couldn't understand why he would assume Bruce did that. Bruce never spoke about hobbies; you assumed he didn't have time for them. If Zemo was trying to make Bruce look bad in front of you, he was wasting his time. 

Bruce's jaw tensed, and his fake smile fell. His hand gripping his drink tightened. Zemo's dark eyes brightened, and his smirk grew wider. He took his time basking in the tense silence before speaking again.

"Maybe you think so highly of your claim because you think this beautiful lady is a criminal. In which case, you couldn't be farther from the truth. She is much too sweet for such things." Zemo gestured towards you with his glass. His eyes brazenly ran up and down your form. 

"Don't put words in my mouth," Bruce said in a low voice. His tone sent a shiver down your spine. You were scared of him, and his words were not directed at you. "If we apply the same logic to you, do you assume she is a super soldier? Your study of them is obsessive at best."

They were threatening each other, but you weren't sure what they were threatening each other with. The tension was so thick you found it hard to breathe. You found yourself searching for a way to relieve the pressure. 

"Well, maybe I am both a super soldier and a criminal," you said with a nervous laugh. But, if anything, the tension thickened. You could see out of the corner of your eye one of your waiters. He was frantically pacing, waiting for you to end your conversation. "Yes, see, I am both. Now, if that is all... "You moved your arm to set the check down. 

"Apologies, it seems we have gotten off track. Unfortunately, that was not the bet we needed to settle," Zemo said with a sigh. You moved your hand back and groaned inwardly. 

"We have a more pressing question," Bruce said, his shoulders relaxing only slightly. You weren't sure what was more pressing than super soldiers and criminals. 

"How long has it been since you've had someone in your bed, darling?" Zemo asked with a sly smirk. His tone suggested he was asking about something trivial, but his eyes said otherwise.

Your eyes snapped into a glare, and your fingers gripped the check tightly. They had both worn your patience to dust. Their money and prestige seemed to disappear before your eyes. Now you were just dealing with rich and entitled men.

"I would say six months given that you have recently developed this horrible habit of sleeping in your office," Zemo continued. Your eyes narrowed. Either your employees were gossiping, or Zemo had gone out of his way to know that. "Mr. Wayne here is adamant that it's longer."

"Fourteen months," Bruce said, giving a firm nod. You felt your nostrils flare. Bruce was absolutely right, and it unnerved you. Your last relationship had not been something you advertised since your his boss.

"I simply cannot believe it has been that long," Zemo shook his head in mock surprise. "Not for a beautiful woman such as yourself." 

"That's flattering, but that information is not important," you said, shaking your head. 

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Bruce said, but that did not help you feel better. "It's a way of proving who understands you better."

"I don't see how this is at all relevant to my restaurant," you said, folding your arms across your chest. "I work here, and I let my work speak for itself." 

"Such confidence," Zemo held up his glass in mock salute. "Spoken like a woman who has been able to seduce a man in the past six months."

"Sounds more like a woman who has had nothing but work on her mind for fourteen months," Bruce countered. It was as if he couldn't help himself. If he had a chance to prove Zemo wrong, he had to take it. 

You wished they were back to the Hulk vs. Superman argument. At least that had nothing to do with you. It was challenging to find a way to politely tell these two influential customers to shut up. 

"Not all of us have hobbies that take up our evenings," Zemo said as his gaze traveled back to the man across from him. "Most of us can work and indulge in whatever pleases us afterward. This is something you wouldn't understand, which is why your number is wrong."

There it was again, the tensed jaw and steely glare. "Most of us have hobbies that don't involve the takedown of an organization. This would mean one can stay in one place and take time to get to know people. Fourteen is a more realistic number. But it's something you would not be able to understand."

"You're both wrong," you said with such authority you almost believed yourself. You slammed the check on the table. "I've been fucking my head chef in my office for months now." 

It was a complete lie, but you didn't care. It was the only way you felt you could take back control of the situation. You quickly turned and stalked off. The waiter you had seen from before walked with you. 

"Adam is having another breakdown," he whispered, his breath coming out in pants as he tried to keep up with you. "He's threatening to quit again."

Anger boiled inside of you. Not at Adam, your head chef couldn't help himself. It was all directed at those two idiots who took up so much of your time for nothing. 

You stopped at the black counter of the bar. You stared at the beautiful bottles on display behind the counter; the green lights twinkled behind them to make them look even more enticing. Of course, you knew it was all for show, but it made you so badly want a drink.

"I can take care of Adam," you said after taking a deep breath. You turned and looked him dead in the eye. He took a step back as you took a step towards him. He seemed to shrink in your presence. "But I am not to be disturbed by anything else. Not even if we are being robbed. If the restaurant is on fire, I don't want to know until the fire department gets here."

He stared back at you. You took the silence poorly.

"Well? Is that understood?" you snapped. 

He nodded frantically. "P..perfectly. Yes, understood. Sorry!" He stammered out a few more words and scampered away. You immediately regretted your outburst. You tried to treat your staff kindly. Your customers were all upper class, and your team had to deal with their oddities all the time. The two men you had just dealt with were a perfect example. 

You made a mental note to apologize later. But, for now, you had a fire to put out. 

-------

Adam was having a fit about the rosemary. It took way too long to get him to calm down. Then, after he had, only you could go to his apartment and pick the right sprigs. Only you. No one else. Because that was how Adam was. 

You grumbled under your breath the way there and the way back. If Adam weren't such a genius, you would have fired him, but not before making his life miserable. 

As you had feared, all of the issues had piled up when you returned. Even after closing, you couldn't make your way to your office. You were constantly interrupted by employees. They requested time off, complaints about other co-workers, complaints about a customer-it was never-ending. 

They finally let you be when their shifts were over. You found yourself alone for the rest of the night, as usual. It was three in the morning. You would need to go to the market in three hours. Adam would only have the best fish. And if you wanted him to work, it better be the best. 

You used to have other people doing these things. But they had all slowly left. The first one had been your now ex. It had been hard to sit down and find a replacement for him. Now it was impossible to find the time. And training someone to pick good salmon and deal with snootty customers took even more time you didn't have. 

This was why you had started sleeping in your office, only going back to your apartment to shower before lunch. How had Zemo known that? Was it just that obvious? 

You made your way to lock the front door. Tugging on it two times to make sure it was secure. Then you went to the bar to indulge in one of those pretty bottles behind the counter. You mixed a drink with expert ease. You gave a content sigh as you poured it into a glass. 

"How does a naughty little thing like you look so sweet?" A cold, rough voice purred from behind you. 

You jumped, startled. Half of your drink splattered onto the floor. You gave a dejected sigh. It took you a full second before you remembered. No one was supposed to be here.

You spun around to see Zemo sitting on a barstool directly across from you. His fingers were laced together, resting on the counter. He gave you a satisfied smirk as your eyes widened. You hadn't heard him come in or sit down. You gave a hard blink hoping it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But he was still there. Anger and fear rushed through you.

"We're closed," you said, mustering up as much authority as you could. 

"But the bar still seems to be in service," he said with such confidence that you doubted yourself for a split second.

"This is my bar. I can use it as I please," you said, turning away from him again. You took a towel and bent down to clean up your mess. You needed to do something with this nervous energy. 

"Having a drink before driving home, I would say that's very naughty. What would the staff say?" 

You could feel his eyes on your backside. You jerked up to glare at him but missed him in the act. Instead, his eyes met your own. 

"What would the police say when I call them?" you snapped. His thin lips stretched into a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. Every one of your customers probably had Gotham's finest paid off in some way. You should have known better. You sighed and shook your head. "I don't have time for this. Please leave."

"Why don't you pour me a drink, and we can have a pleasant chat?" he countered. 

"No. I only have so many hours before I have to work again," you grumbled, whipping down invisible spots off the counter in front of you. "If you leave now, I will maybe let you back in tomorrow evening for another one of your dates with Mr. Wayne."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his smile fall. His entire face seemed to tense at the mere mention of Bruce. 

"If I could shake off Bruce's vigilant presence, we would have had this conversation much sooner. But, lucky for us, some very dangerous people broke out of Arkham Asylum tonight. So I have you all to myself." 

This time you turned to face him. Your eyebrows raised. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

He gave a lazy shrug. "Let me pour you a proper drink," he said, sliding off the barstool and making his way over to you. 

Your legs were frozen. All you could do was stare in horror as he made his way to your spot behind the counter. He had so easily positioned himself right in front of the only way out. He took one of your most expensive bourbons off the shelf. He looked at the label and slowly poured some in a glass. 

You could only watch his slow, methodical movements. You toyed with the idea of just pushing him out of the way. But you weren't sure you were strong enough for that to do any good. 

He was soon right in front of you. He was so close you could smell the bourbon from the glass and a whiff of his cologne. 

"I haven't seen you try this. It's one of your better choices," Zemo held out the drink expectantly. When you didn't take it right away, he took a sip from it himself. "Here, I'm sure it will be more palatable to you now."

You looked down at the drink. Your stomach was tied up in complicated knots. You were finally beginning to understand what he was here for. You were embarrassed you hadn't realized sooner and terrified that you couldn't get him to stop. 

"Look, Zemo. I'm not interested. Please just leave," you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice. 

He took a small step closer. Your low back was pressed against the lower counter; it began digging painfully into you. But you continued to push against it to get as far back as you physically could.

"You just need something to loosen you up," he said in a low voice. He took your hand and pressed the glass into it. It dug sharply into your palms. "Let me help you relax." He guided the glass to your lips. 

You let the liquid slide down your throat. You kept your eyes wide and your gaze on him. The drink burned your throat. The situation was so odd, you didn't even realize how it tasted. He finally pulled back the glass. 

"Isn't that better?" he asked. He put a hand on your cheek and studied your face with sharp brown eyes. He made you feel small and weak. He looked down at you like he knew so much about you. He probably even knew things you didn't know.

"Look, Zemo I…" he cut you off with a harsh kiss. The glass fell to the floor with a piercing shatter. Your eyes were wide in shock, and your heart dropped. You had not expected him to just kiss you. No one had ever kissed you like this like they owned you. 

His hands wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. You weakly gripped at his suit jacket, desperate for anything to hold onto. You heard him give a sharp exhale through his nose at the simple touch. His hands began to wander lower down your back. His tongue gently pressed against your lips. 

This was all too much for you. You grabbed more of his suit jacket in your hands. Finally, you gave a sharp tug pulling him towards the left, freeing yourself from being trapped against the counter. Then you pushed. 

You heard a large crash, but you didn't stick around to see how much money you had just lost. You just ran. The kitchen was too far away, and you did not have the keys to unlock the front door. So you dashed down the short hallway to your office. Your master plan was to barricade yourself in there and use your desk phone to call for help.

You slammed the door shut and locked it quickly. You let out short, desperate breaths. The office was pitch black. It felt like the darkness was pressing against your shoulders and neck. You took a deep, shaky breath. You were trying to slow your breathing so you could hear noises beyond the door. 

You pressed your ear against the door, your fingers still gripping the lock tightly. It took a moment before your heart stopped beating wildly. You heard nothing beyond the familiar hum of the building. Even so, you were going to push your desk in front of the door and call the police. You may even call Adam, who could be formidable if he was high out of his mind. 

You pulled away from the door and flicked on the light switch. When you turned, you were startled back against the door by a large figure sitting at your desk chair. You let out a strangled yelp, and your hands flew to your mouth. 

Bruce Wayne was sitting at your desk. He leaned back in the chair as if you had invited him to use it. The corner of his mouth twitched into a mischievous smile. But the small smile was far from his cold dark eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you gasped out; all sense of propriety was gone. 

"I could ask you the same question," he said, giving a shrug. "You really should be at your apartment. You closed an hour ago."

You had already played this game with Zemo, and you were not going to do it again. Your eyes snapped into a glare. You charged towards your desk, reaching for the phone. He leaned forward and snatched your wrist. 

He slowly stood and circled the desk. His hand and eyes stayed on you. He was so much stronger and menacing than you had thought. You immediately felt smaller in his presence. 

As soon as he was in range, his other hand flew to your neck. You let out a squeak. He didn't squeeze, but just the feel of his large hand around your throat made you catch your breath. He roughly guided you to the wall and shoved you against it.

You let out a gasp. You used your free hand to try and pry his cold, rough hand off your neck. Your other arm was pinned against the wall. The look in his eyes made your stomach drop. He was imagining what he was going to do to you. You weren't sure what it was, but you didn't want to play out this fantasy with him.

"Let me go," you whimpered, digging your nails in his wrist. 

"I don't see that drug addict chef here. He's at home high as a kite as he always is," his, voice was low, and he tightened his grip on your throat. You let out a strangled cry. "Now, why would you lie about something like that? Are you purposely trying to push my buttons?"

You shook your head as best as you could. Tears were beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. 

"You see when you tell me things like that. It sounds like you are just begging me to come to your office and find out if it's true." His hand released the arm that was pinned against the wall. He let his hand travel down your waist, sending shivers down your spine. You used your free hand to join the desperate attempt to get his hand off your throat. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you choked out. 

"I think you do," he growled. His hand was sliding dangerously close to the area in between your legs. "I can show you just how much you…."

The lock on the door clicked. You and Bruce turned towards the sound at the same time. You had an idea of who it might be. But all the same, you prayed to anything that could hear that it was help.

When Zemo opened the door, Bruce's grip on your throat tightened. You let out a strangled gasp in response. Zemo titled his head. He looked more puzzled than surprised at the scene before him. He let out a sharp breath through his nose.

"This seems a tad aggressive, but I get it she's a delicious little thing," Zemo purred. Then his eyes snapped into a glare. "But if you indulge in this any further, I will let all of Gotham know of your late-night hobbies. And I am not referring to assaulting a certain restaurant owner."

Bruce finally released his hands from your neck. You let out a gasp and began to cough. He barely gave you time to recover before pulling you into a headlock. He pressed your back against his chest and turned to fully face Zemo. You let out a pathetic whimper and grabbed his arm. You were overwhelmed by his scent and the feel of his hard chest pressed against you.

"Is that it? Is that really the only thing you have on me?" Bruce asked. You could hear the beginnings of a smile on his mouth. 

"We can start with telling the world you are Batman, then I can show the rest of what I know if that's what you really want," Zemo said. "Or you can leave without the girl. And your secret's safe with me." He gestured towards the door. 

Your mind was going haywire. You weren't sure if Bruce really was Batman or if Zemo had planted evidence to destroy Bruce's life. It was one of the few times you could have cared less. You just wanted to get out of this in one piece. 

"Interesting, well, if you don't leave this office," Bruce began coldly. "I have a way of letting a certain group know about the research you've been doing. In fact, I could get a hold of the Winter Soldier before you step foot out of this office. What happens to your plan then?"

Zemo's jaw tensed. You hoped that maybe this was too much for both of them. Maybe Bruce would let you go, and they both would walk out, leaving you alone. 

"If both of you leave," you gasped out. "You can keep your secrets. I will not tell anyone what happened or what I heard." There was a tense silence. You could almost hear the gears in their brains spinning. But Bruce made no move to loosen his grip, and Zemo made no move towards the door. 

"My darling, you are correct. It seems we have reached an impasse," Zemo finally said with a sigh.

"It seems we have," Bruce agreed. 

"But you are mistaken to think you have anything to leverage," Zemo held your gaze and slammed the door shut. You jumped in Bruce's grasp at the sound. "There are plenty of things I have beyond your head chef's cocaine habit. I can't even begin to imagine what Batman would have. What he could do to you, to your precious restaurant."

Bruce's silence was more than enough to make your blood run cold. Zemo began to walk towards you. You backed up as much as you could against Bruce's chest. Zemo's kiss still burned your lips. 

"For one night, Bruce, do you think we can agree to play nice?" Zemo asked. He traced a finger down your cheek. "I can hold off planning your demise if you can hold off on planning mine." 

There was a heavy pause. Bruce's grip on your neck loosened, but it wasn't near enough for you to work with. 

"Fine," Bruce answered gruffly. "Just this once. If you touch her after this, I will kill you." 

"I would like to see you try to kill me, but another time perhaps," Zemo's dark eyes were staring into yours. He leaned in and kissed your lips. Bruce finally moved his arm from around your neck, if only to keep his distance from Zemo. Zemo grabbed the sides of your face and pulled you deeper into the kiss.

Your body went rigid. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to plan your next move. The smell of both of their colognes intertwined in your nose and overwhelmed you. If you weren't scared out of your mind, it would have smelled comforting. 

You could feel Bruce watching intently. He finally seemed to snap out of it and let his hands wander. One hand grabbed your ass, and you gasped. Zemo's tongue took advantage and slid into your mouth. 

You let out a pathetic whimper against his lips. Your first thought was to bite down. You wanted so badly to, but Bruce was right behind you. You wondered if he would intervene and punish you, or would he enjoy it? 

Zemo broke the kiss before you could act on that thought. You let out a pathetic gasp for air. His mouth began to travel down your neck, biting and sucking wherever he could. You moved your head to cut off his access to your neck. 

But Bruce roughly grabbed the side of your chin. He pulled your face to the left and leaned over to slam his lips against yours. He was giving Zemo more access to your neck. Zemo took full advantage of it, his lips and teeth only touching the most sensitive parts. 

Bruce grabbed your hip and pressed you more firmly against him. His tongue forced entrance into your mouth. He tasted good, and you hated it. You remembered the feel of his hands against your neck. His hands had been so rough with you over such a trivial thing. 

Zemo's mouth began to travel further down your neck to the area above your chest. He began to unbutton your dress shirt. After the first two, your hands found his. You tried to swat his hands away. What little bare skin was showing made you shiver with cold. Zemo snatched one hand, and Bruce took the other.

Zemo was able to easily unbutton your shirt with one hand. He took his time, feeling every inch of skin that peaked through. You squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn't stand the look on Zemo's face when he held your breasts in his hands. 

Something began to tear near your chest. Your eyes flashed open to see Zemo running a knife along your bra. You tried to move your head away from Bruce to break the kiss, but he only held your face tighter. He gave a low growl in his throat as a warning. But you ignored it. You frantically tugged at their grasps and tried to slam your foot on either of your attackers. Bruce was able to move away with ease. 

"Be careful. We don't want to cut this beautiful skin," Zemo whispered, running a hand up your bare skin. "Not this way."

Bruce finally broke the kiss. You took a deep hungry breath of air. "Put the knife away," he growled. 

"I'm not quite done yet," Zemo pressed, cutting away at what remained of your bra. Bruce pulled you further away from Zemo with a vicious tug of the arm around your throat. Your bra fell to the floor, and your nipples immediately hardened in the cold air. 

"No. No weapons. I don't care if it's the only thing that gets you hard," Bruce's voice was low, and it rattled in your ears. "I wouldn't put it past you to stab me when I'm inside her." 

Zemo gave a defeated sigh and shook his head. "I see the rumors of your open-mindedness in bed were false." He let the knife clatter to the floor, his eyes fixed on your chest. Even with it on the floor, you didn't feel any safer. 

In the blink of an eye were you pinned to the desk. Your breath caught in your chest at the force of which you were slammed against the hardwood. 

The two men loomed over you. Bruce stood next to your legs while Zemo was to your left, his eyes still fixed on your chest. You made a move to sit up once you caught your breath. But Zemo grabbed your arms in one hand and pinned them above you.

Before you could think about kicking, Bruce grabbed your thighs and shoved them apart. He hiked up your skirt, running his hand along a bare thigh. Zemo's free hand was on your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. 

So many hands were on you at once had your head spinning. You were overwhelmed with feelings of dread and the warmth growing in your stomach. 

"Stop, please!" you begged as Zemo gave your nipple a pinch. It was futile, but you hoped that maybe the words would chase away the tight coil of pleasure that was beginning to form.

"You say that," Bruce said with a smirk. "But I can prove otherwise." He pulled your panties aside and slid a finger inside you with ease. An embarrassing, squelching noise filled the room. You gave a sharp cry and arched your back at the intrusion. You tried to move your arms or legs, but both were held in even tighter grips. 

"A beautiful sound," Zemo muttered as he took your nipple in his mouth. You held back a gasp and squeezed your eyes shut. You desperately tried to think of something, anything to distract yourself from these unwelcome feelings.

Bruce pulled your panties off in one smooth motion. Through half-closed eyes, you watched him stuff them in his pants pocket. His hands were back on your thighs again, giving them deceptive gentle caress. 

Zemo pulled your lips into another hungry kiss. You could only feel Bruce's breath against your inner thigh. Your legs tensed as you realized what he was going to do. His tongue gave a gentle flick inside you before he began to devour you. 

You let out a panicked moan that was muffled by Zemo's mouth. You could feel Zemo's lips curl against yours in a smirk. He broke the kiss and, with one hand, began to hurriedly remove his tie. He used it to tie your hands together above your head. Even after he finally let your hands go, it felt like they were still being pressed against the desk. 

You arched your back and gave a gasp as Bruce added a thick finger to his assault on you. Your eyes widened, and you tried to focus on the ceiling to stop yourself from making more noises. But Bruce's skill with his tongue continued to drag them out of you.

Zemo had removed a large hard throbbing cock from his pants. You hadn't noticed since you were so wrapped up in Bruce's administrations. You opened your mouth to protest, but he took it as an invitation. In one fluid motion, it was in your mouth. You let out a strangled gag, immediately tasting precum against your tongue.

"What a wonderful mouth," Zemo said with a shaky breath. He started to thrust slowly. "But if there are any teeth, there will be trouble."

Bruce gave your outer thigh a harsh spank at those words. It took everything inside you not to clamp your jaw over the cock in your mouth. You could feel the disappointment from Bruce when you let out a muffled gasp. He finally removed his tongue and fingers from your pussy. You felt a sense of relief that you only had to focus on one attack on your senses. But the relief was short-lived. 

Your mind reeled when you felt him at your entrance. He had just started, and you already felt him stretching you. You let out a whine in protest. You wanted to push him away or to at least beg him to wear a condom. 

He was slow as he entered you, but it was still too much for you. Every centimeter he pushed, you felt you couldn't take anymore. His eyes were laser-focused on how you took him, and his hands gripped your legs tightly. He bottomed out with a groan. You let out a pathetic whine. There was no way he could move with you so tight around him. You were sure you would break. You couldn't take him like this.

"You're so tight," Bruce breathed, and he began to move at a brutal pace. Zemo gave you no room for comfort. He continued to move in your mouth without mercy and seemed to enjoy the panicked noises that came from your mouth against his cock. 

You were sure you could never sit at this desk again after this. You would never be able to look at its surface without recalling how it felt to move against it with Bruce inside you. You wouldn't be able to look at the painting on the wall without remembering seeing it while Zemo's cock was in your mouth.

The familiar feeling of something tightening in your stomach returned. You almost wanted to push it away, but it was a stronger sensation this time. It made you burn for release. Bruce seemed to realize this and rubbed your clit with skilled fingers. You switched your attention to Zemo's cock, but the fire only burned brighter. You felt yourself burn with pleasure and shame. You knew that you couldn't help it and you just hoped and prayed that they wouldn't notice when you came. 

Pleasure crashed over you in a heavy wave. For a brief moment, all you could think and feel was your sweet release. You clenched around Bruce with a vice grip. Muffled cries came out of your mouth before you could stop them. 

Bruce gave a strangled groan, and for a split second, his pace faltered. But he regained his composure quickly, a sneer on his lips. Zemo tightened his grip on your hair, looking down at you with a triumphant smirk. They didn't need to say anything. They both knew.

Hot ropes of cum filled your mouth without warning. Zemo let out an unsteady breath and sank deeper into your mouth, holding you tightly against him. You swallowed it all without thinking. It was difficult to function under the brutal pace Bruce had set. 

Zemo finally stopped his movements, but he did not pull out of your mouth. You pulled your head back in a desperate attempt to take a deep breath, but he tightened his grip on you in a warning. He was staring down at your ravaged pussy with intense concentration. His cock still rock hard in your mouth. 

Bruce finally came inside you with a strangled groan. He gave a few slow, painful thrusts as he emptied himself into you. You clenched onto him as if you would fall apart if he left you empty. You hated that the pressure was building inside of you again. It took all your strength not to grind your hips against him.

Zemo finally released your head and left your mouth. You let out a gasp as you could finally take full breaths. You closed your eyes tightly in shame as Bruce pulled out of you. The air felt cold and lonely around your lower body. You hoped they had their fill and would leave you alone. 

But you were penetrated again with a quick sharp thrust. You gave a panicked gasp. You opened your eyes to see Zemo already inside of you. 

"No! Wait!" Were the only two words you could say before you moaned pathetically.

"I've already waited for long enough, darling," Zemo growled as he pounded you without mercy. His arms holding your legs in a tight grip.

The fact that another man was inside you so soon after the first made the pressure build even faster. You bit your lip trying to think of something, anything, just not this. Bruce's cum soaked cock was in your line of sight. 

"Clean up the mess you made," Bruce ordered in a low voice. He gave you no time to comply. He slid into your mouth with a rough thrust. You moaned against his throat, and he let out a low groan. The taste of his and your cum filled your mouth.

"I don't think you're going to last long, darling," Zemo said with a wicked glint in his eye. His finger brushed against your clit. "If you would stop fighting it, you would be on your third and not second one now." He gave a disappointed sigh. "But alas, you are too stubborn. Such a shame."

He leaned forward and thrust deeper into you. You let out a pathetic cry against Bruce's cock. Your clenched your bound hands into fists. The muffled words that came out of your mouth were 'Don't stop.' For once, you were grateful they wouldn't leave your mouth alone. 

"So close," Zemo whispered. "Just let go." 

You hated that you listened, but you could not help yourself. You let go and came again with a more intense wave of pleasure. Zemo leaned back with a smirk and continued his thrusts as you came. Your eyes widened, but all you could see was white. All you could feel was the two cocks thrusting into you. 

You lay still in the aftermath of your orgasm in confusion and shame. The pleasure was still building. You loved it and wanted it to stop all at once. Zemo finally finished inside you with a growl. Bruce followed soon after, commanding you in a sharp voice to swallow. 

Night was falling fast in the deepening winter sky. Your breath puffed out in a white cloud of vapor as you held your rifle at high ready, alert and on guard. These were his woods, and you knew he was near.

You’d spent a lot of time pouring over the stories about The Boogyman, the ghost story that haunted this forest. But you had your suspicions that the one behind the stories had a little more substance than just that of a specter.

There were a few victims over the years that had supposedly escaped. After all, how else does a ghost story spread if not for initial eyewitness accounts? And the stories did nothing but fuel your drive further.

Twigs and branches cracked under your heavy booted foot as you continued forward. You paused; something wasn’t right.

A shadow moved out of the corner of your eye and with all the swiftness of the skilled hunter you were, you spun on the spot and trained your rifle onto the shadow.

“Dude, what the fuck?” The shadow swore loudly.

You clicked on the flashlight mounted to your rifle and its yellow beam illuminated the face of a man. He blinked and tried to shield his eyes from the flashlight’s beam.

You were momentarily stunned. He was tall with a thick muscular frame and light brown hair. Stubble dotted his sharp jawline, and his green eyes radiated a raw power and made your core clench.

His deep raspy voice brought you sharply back to reality, “Can you get that damn thing out of my eyes?” he deadpanned.

You didn’t do as he said, you only walked closer, keeping your rifle and flashlight aimed at his face. Before you realized what was happening, he’d grabbed the barrel of your rifle, made a motion to jerk it out of your hands, only to send the stock sailing back into your face and colliding with your nose.

You yelled out as you felt a wet warmth trickle from your nose and over your lips. The rifle fell to the ground and you charged forward to the man. He threw a right hook, but you dodged it with ease and came at him with a swift upper cut to the jaw.

It connected and sent him to his knees. You grabbed him from behind and put him in a choke hold, wrapping your legs tight around his middle.

In the close proximity of this position, your face was buried in the crook of his neck from behind and he smelled good. Like sweet sweat, leather, and gunpowder. You felt his facial hair stubble against the side of your face.

Was he actually turning his face into yours?

It was a tiny movement, but you felt him nuzzle against your face. Then he spoke, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a beautiful woman’s legs wrapped around me, Sweetheart.”

You tightened your grip on his neck, “Well then I guess it’s your lucky night, you arrogant son of a bitch.”

He coughed and spluttered at your tightened grip on his neck.

You spoke into his ear allowing your lips to brush against it, “Who are you and what are you doing in The Boogyman’s woods?”

You instantly noticed the goosebumps pebble his skin at the contact of your lips on his ear and a thrill shot through you at the power you held over the man in your arms.

But that didn’t last long. It appeared that you were only “holding him down” for as long as he allowed, because with a burst of strength, he broke the grip you had on him and spun around, pinning you to the ground with his entire body weight.

“I could ask you the same question,” he said, staring down into your face. He paused, then smirked, “I’m Dean, by the way, Dean Winchester.”

The smugness in his voice for besting you in your grappling match made you smirk back at him and the hardness in his jeans didn’t go unnoticed by you. You wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug little smile off his face, so you did your worst.

You crossed your ankles behind his hips and pulled his ever-hardening cock against you so that there was no doubt in his mind that you’d felt it.

You smiled at him, “What’s the matter Dean? Never seen a pretty girl before? Can’t control yourself?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. He was at a loss for words.

You laughed out loud at his expression and you felt him relax, so that he wasn’t forcefully holding you down anymore. “I’m y/n,” introduced yourself, “And now that I know your name, I know you’re definitely not who I’m looking for.”

Dean rolled off of you and stood. He offered you a hand to pull you to your feet and you took it.

He peered at you thoughtfully, “Y/n? Y/n y/l/n?” He asked.

You nodded your head.

“I’ve heard of you,” He said with amazement in his voice, “Your name’s pretty renowned in the Hunter world.”

“So’s yours, I hear,” You said back to him, “Now that I know who you are, I’m assuming you’re out here for the same reason as me.”

Dean nodded, “To find that creepy ass Boogyman legend. Yeah.”

You scoffed at him, “He’s not a legend, he’s real.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay, we’ll see about that. I’m only out here because I’m duty bound to check out any leads I find. But I really don’t think this is a real one.”

You held his gaze before letting your eyes trail very conspicuously down his body to the front of his jeans then back up to his eyes, “Wanna tag along, lover boy?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you’d once again left him wordless, “Uh,” he stammered, “Well, if anything, you’d be tagging along with me.”

You took a few steps in the direction you’d been walking before the two of you scuffled and slung your rifle over your shoulder by its strap. You looked back at Dean, “Yeah, okay.” You said sarcastically and kept walking.

You heard hurried footsteps behind you, “Wait okay, yeah, I’ll come with.”

The two of you walked in silence for a while, listening for anything. It was now almost completely dark and your path was illuminated by the flashlight on your rifle.

“Let’s go this way,” Dean said, pointing to a gap in the trees to your left.

“Why?” You questioned him.

He shrugged, “Just a feeling.”

You conceded and the two of you continued through the trees for only a short way longer when you came up on an old abandoned cabin. You paused, stunned at your good fortune. It was the first structure you’d seen in these woods since you’d started searching them. Maybe bringing Dean along was a good idea after all.

A four foot stone wall surrounded the cabin. You paused looking up and down for an entrance, “How do we get through?”

“Oh look, there’s the gate.” Dean said pointing to a place on the wall just outside of the illumination of your flashlight.

“How the hell did you see that?” You asked, looking at him.

“The flashlight lit it up,” he said nonchalantly pointing to the light on your rifle.

“The flashlight’s not that good,” You retorted back.

“Do you wanna get inside or not?” He whispered as he pushed the gate open.

You followed behind him and the gate opened to a small yard with the front door of the cabin immediately visible.

The two of you entered the cabin with stealth. You walked ahead of Dean and panned your light over the dark single room cabin.

“It’s empty,” you said.

Just as you went to turn back around to Dean, the door slammed shut and you heard the unmistakable sound of a large metal lock sliding into place. Your stomach swam with anticipation as a light switch flicked on, illuminating the room.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” Dean said, “His orders are strict. I bring him the people searching for him in order to keep his location hidden, and he keeps me supplied with serum that keeps my mark at bay.” Dean pulled up his shirt sleeve to show you a scar that looked like a number seven with dots to the side.

The floorboard creaked behind you and you spun around. You were chest to chest with none other than the very one you were looking for—The Boogyman aka The Winter Soldier.

He was even more magnificent than you could have guessed. The reports didn’t do him justice. They didn’t understand him, they were scared of him. They were weak.

Half his face was covered with a black mask that looked muzzle-like. As if he were a wild animal that needed to be broken. His left arm glinted in the overhead light and whirred as he flexed his fingers. Over six feet tall with tousled dark hair that hung to his chin, his cold blue eyes watched you in an intrigued, calculating way. Like a predator, waiting to see if his prey will run or submit to their fate.

You felt your breath catch in your chest as your eyes locked. You weren’t scared of him. You were intrigued by him. It was why you came looking for him after all.

You lifted a hand to unclip his mask and he wrapped the fingers of his flesh hand tightly around your wrist.

“The mask stays on,” He growled.

His deep voice made wetness pool in your underwear and you clinched around nothing. You licked your lips nervously and nodded in agreement with him.

Something sparkled in his eye and he reached out a hand. Cold metal trailed down from your chin, down your neck, and across your chest right where the neckline of your shirt ended.

The Soldat sighed heavily and teased your nipple through your shirt then cupped your breast with his full palm, “I can fucking smell you, you’re already wet for me.”

The way he said it almost sounded like a question instead of a statement, like he couldn’t understand why he’d have that effect on someone.

You reached up and placed your hand over his hand that was on your chest, “Is it so hard to believe that I’d want you?”

For the briefest of moments, the tiniest split of a second, you could have sworn you saw sadness pass over those impossibly blue eyes, before they darkened with rage. The Soldat grabbed you by the neck and slammed you up against the nearest wall, knocking the breath out of you.

He pressed his body against you pinning you to the wall, “Is this what you want?” He asked gruffly, grinding his hard cock into you and your back pressed uncomfortably against the stone wall of the cabin. “You know you’re in trouble, right?” He said in a low growl.

You managed to pull your knife from the inside of your jacket and held it under his chin, “Trouble is exactly what I want.”

He slackened his grip on you, you could tell that you’d startled and impressed him. The Soldat’s eye’s narrowed, if he weren’t wearing the mask, you’d guess that he was probably smirking under it.

With a lightning speed and skill that only the super soldier serum could bring, he disarmed you, flipped the knife over in his hands and slit open your shirt in one movement. The knife sliced through your shirt, undershirt, and bra in one clean swipe, spilling your breasts free. They perked in the cold air and you heard the Soldat inhale sharply.

While he was distracted, you made fast work of the buckles and zippers on his tactical suit. When his naked body was revealed, you blinked sadly at the scars marring his body, and especially the deep scars surrounding where the metal arm was attached.

You reached up and trailed your finger down the line where flesh met metal and he shivered. He seemed to like your touch. So, you tried your luck again and reached up for the mask. He didn’t stop you this time.

“The mask comes off,” you said as you unclipped it and removed it. He was beautiful. Pain and suffering were shadowed across his old fashionedly handsome face, and he looked vulnerable without it.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, “When I say I want something, I mean it,” and crashed your lips down on his.

You weren’t sure at what point you lost your pants but when you felt his finger dip into your wetness, you cooed in pleasure. The two of you were on the floor at this point and he’d unbuckled his pants, freeing his painfully hard erection. You ached to slide down onto it as you kneeled over him, but he held you up, rubbing your clit, determined to make you come before he sunk into you.

The Soldat bit and nipped at your neck as he brought you closer to your orgasm and you looked up over his shoulder. Dean was still standing next to the door. A hunger danced in his eyes and you didn’t miss the hard cock in his pants. You winked at him and bit your lip. He took that as permission to grab himself as he watched you come undone.

You were a goner. Your orgasm hit you harder than a freight train and you yelled out. Soldat caught your lips in his and you felt him lower you down. He felt amazing as he stretched you out. His strong, powerful arms lifted you up and down as your legs became jelly when another orgasm washed over you.

The Soldat worshiped your body with his mouth as he plunged in and out of you filling the room with the lewd sound of slapping skin. He was close. You looked over his shoulder again to see Dean working himself as he watched you. You made a show of playing with your breasts to tease him.

The Soldat wrapped his arms around you and whinned as he came. You relished in the feel of him coming deep inside you. As he caught his breath you whispered something in his ear and he smirked and nodded.

You looked back up at Dean, “You gonna come join, or just stand there with your dick in your hand?”

Dean all but sprinted across the room, shedding his clothes as he went. He knelt down beside the Soldat who kissed you one more time before dipping down to your nipples with his mouth. While the Soldat sucked on you, you caught dean’s lips and felt his tongue swipe inside your mouth.

You felt yourself clinch, The Soldat still inside you. Dean broke the kiss and knelt behind you. He lifted you off the Soldat and you felt Dean sink into you with ease. You sighed, savoring the feeling of being so full and stretched.

You arched your back on your hands and knees as Dean drilled into you roughly. All that pent up steam from watching the show you’d just put on with the Soldat.

The Soldat sat beside the two of you watching with a smirk on his face. He bit his lip and reached down for his cock. As Dean fucked you mercilessly from behind. Another orgasm hit you hard and when you opened your eyes you saw that the Soldat was hard again. Thanks super soldier serum.

Soldat kissed you as Dean fucked you from behind. He then whispered in your ear, “turn around and face him.”

You nodded and did as you were told. Dean then locked his lips with yours when you were chest to chest. You pulled on his short hair and he moaned. You could tell he was getting close too.

As Dean’s kisses moved to your neck, you felt the Soldat’s finger trailing through your combined slick up to your other hole. He eased a finger inside and you moaned in pleasure at the sensation. His finger was quickly replaced by the head of his cock.

You felt him ease in inch by inch. Dean slowed to allow him to enter and for you to adjust to the sensation. Your eyes felt like they were about to roll back in your head, the two of them filled you up so well.

You saw the soldat nod his head over your shoulder and then Dean picked up the pace again, followed by the Soldat. The two men pumped into you, sandwiching you between their bodies and it felt amazing.

You felt Dean’s hips stutter followed by a warmth shooting into you. The Soldat followed quickly too.

The two men pulled out of you and you felt empty without them. The Soldat scooped you up and brought you over to a makeshift pallet bed made of quilts he’d stretched out on the floor. He covered you up and kissed your hot skin.

You’d never expect to be betrayed by a familiar stranger. Let alone three. The men who would eventually own you: mind, body, heart, and soul...

When Clark Kent --known as Superman from his own universe-- was trapped on Earth-616, he never expected that he could form bonds similar to the ones he had previously known. He had been a hero at the top of the pecking order back home. He had parents that loved him, a woman that was going to marry him, and friends who understood all the nuances of living a double life. Clark had everything he ever wanted until Lex Luthor’s vendetta against Superman finally won.

All of that comfort and security was lost, most likely forever, when he had taken a chance on throwing a nuclear weapon into a nearby black hole. Clark had known the risks of getting caught up in a mission of that magnitude, but he had never imagined that he could get transported to an entirely different universe with its own set of superheroes. 

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes filled the spaces in Clark’s heart that Bruce Wayne and Arthur Curry had once occupied. Steve was amiable, patient, and a man of principle, not so far off from Clark, even when it came to being America’s Golden Son. 

Bucky was the moon to Steve’s shining sun, brooding and serious yet also had his own morals that made him a perfect companion to both him and Steve. The three of them had bonded over their simple upbringings and the cataclysmic circumstances that had landed them where they were. Clark, Steve, and Bucky were the perpetual odd men out. Out of place and out of time, but not to each other.

And yet, they all found that there was one thing that they could not stand to be without anymore. A woman. They had decided they needed a woman to complete the dynamic. They were all commanding men with needs, needs that blossomed when one particular woman was around.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had come into their sphere when you had put yourself in danger as a freelance investigative journalist trying to capture the essential scoop of a hidden HYDRA cell at a warehouse in New York. You had bravely snuck in and began livestreaming the shipment of alien tech that the HYDRA terrorists were smuggling into the city.

“This is Y/N, reporting at the scene of one of the last known HYDRA bases after the fall of SHIELD a few years ago. What you’re witnessing on this livestream is the fruit born of several weeks of information being collected by my anonymous sources. These terrorists have been smuggling alien weaponry through the shipping ports for the last few weeks. I’m going in for a closer look to see what their plans are for a possible takeover of Manhattan,” You whispered into your cell phone’s mic as you crept along the edges of shipping containers within a massive warehouse. You kept your eyes and your phone’s camera lens on the men in modern HYDRA uniforms who were unloading boxes of unmarked cargo into six ordinary white vans.

 “Depending on the size of the alien weaponry, we’re talking about a possible massive strike against the people of New York.” At this point you didn’t know who was watching your livestream, but you knew that the massive following you had on all your social media platforms would eventually get the word out. You had calculated the possible risks of getting caught, but it was the truth of the dangers that still lurked in places like New York that you wanted people to see.  

 And, indeed, there were lots of people tuning into your livestream, namely the Avengers and their newest ally, Superman. The minute that HYDRA was mentioned, Steve and Bucky were on alert. Clark knew what it meant to them to get rid of all traces of HYDRA once and for all.

“According to Y/N’s livestream, we have at least 50 HYDRA members in that warehouse,” Steve briefed quickly as Bucky and him gathered their gear and prepared to hitch a ride with Clark over to the docks.

“And apparently, we need to worry about Y/N who’s gotten herself in the middle of all this mess,” Clark amended.

“Yeah, a little minx who should have called us before pulling a stunt like this...But we won’t let her get stuck trying to get herself hurt or killed again, will we?” Bucky’s admiring grin spoke volumes to Steve and Clark.

“Look who’s here! Bucky Casanova, back from the dead.” Steve patted Bucky on the back and they finally made it out to the heli-port for Clark’s takeoff.

 “Bucky Casanova has been MIA, Steve, never dead.” Clark offered his arms for Steve and Bucky to grip onto as he flew them towards the HYDRA warehouse. “And once we get our intrepid reporter out of the jaws of danger, he’ll be around to stay.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, you had gotten yourself into more than a little bit of trouble. Between avoiding the single man patrols sweeping around the perimeter in and out of the warehouse and possible cameras or booby traps, you had to squeeze into a safe tight space between shipping containers with a good enough view of the action. It was only a matter of time before you were discovered by deadly HYDRA agents.

“Hey! Get out of there!” At first you didn’t believe anyone had spotted you and in the next few moments you were yanked into view by a particularly brutal HYDRA agent. Dragged towards the congregation of the other HYDRA agents, you couldn’t avoid the crash of glass and debris when the roof of the warehouse gained a giant hole. Superman, Captain America, and Bucky Barnes came into the fray with guns, shields, and heat vision blazing.

You managed to scurry away from your HYDRA captor but not before Bucky scooped you up over his shoulder and started to run towards one of the unmarked vans that HYDRA had been using. “Our cute little package has been secured, gents. I’ll see you back at base. She’ll be all cleaned up and ready for us by the time you’re done here.”

Bucky threw you in the back of a van, pushing up the sleeve of your jacket and producing a syringe from his belt. “This won’t hurt a bit, sweetheart. Take a nice little nap and when you wake up, we’ll explain how the rest of your story is going to go.” 

Before you could say anything, he emptied the syringe in your arm and you began to get lightheaded. “Wha– the hell—?” was the last thing you could utter.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You gave her the rest of her medicine and a bath?” a masculine voice came from the other room, but you were too out of it to fully comprehend what was going on. Your body wasn’t entirely under your control anymore. Not with whatever Bucky had given you on board.

After getting to whatever location served as their base, Bucky unloaded you into a well-appointed and overly large suite complete with a giant bathroom and an exquisitely luxurious tub. He had taken his time undressing you, inspecting you for wounds, and bathing you for whatever twisted things he and his teammates had in store for you.

“Everything’s set, Cap. She’s feeling really good after having her medicine on board and a bath under her belt. She didn’t get busted up or anything in her escapades, so that’s good.” Bucky was looking down at your barely conscious form as Steve Rogers and Clark Kent joined him in admiring your naked body on their bed.

 “You feel it, huh? The room’s spinning, you’re confused, you can’t even move.” Clark’s voice was strangely menacing for the sweet man you had come to know through the news media interviews. His big hands massaged your naked form, eventually one hand came to hold you up from falling to the ground like a limp doll.

Bucky brought his metal hand up to your throat, gripping in such a way that his unspoken warning rattled through your spine to the rest of your bones. “This is what it’s like to be between all three of us. Three men who want you. Three men who want to use you.”

You were more scared of them now as you were even a few precious minutes ago. They were like crazed animals, cornering a particularly tasty morsel. There was no hope of rescue and not hope of survival. 

Steve was the last to approach, having to secure the room from your further escape attempts and to prepare some for what they were about to do to you. His soft, confident voice was the nail on your proverbial coffin. “Three men who want to fuck you into oblivion. You’re never gonna want to leave, precious. Hell, after we’re done with you, you might be barely able to breathe, let alone escape.” 

“Your freedom might be taken away permanently, little one, but you’ll be the most protected woman on the planet from here on out.” Clark’s breath was on the back of your neck, a stark contrast to the icy feeling of Bucky’s metal hand and Steve’s warm ones as they took turns around your body. 

A sharp and delicious pinch to your nipple, a wet bite to your shoulder, and a determined set of fingers tracing your pussy. You were overwhelmed not only by the drugs, but by the way the men sought to unravel you to your core just by sensation alone.

 “I can smell it on you, you know… all that wetness your mind is playing off as an autonomic reaction to your fear. It’s sexual arousal, sweetness. Don’t deny what your body is already accepting.” Clark’s voice, while quiet, roared in your ears because of the conflicting need you felt to either flee or surrender to them. Ultimately, it was your fear that anchored you to the moment and their threatening seduction.

In a final burst of will before you knew that they would conquer you entirely, you screamed. “Get the fuck away from me! You’re all sick!”

 “Only sick and tired of seeing you try to get yourself killed all for some news that no one ends up caring about for long. Your time could be better spent spreading your legs for us.” Steve’s legs kicked yours open and the fingers you felt on your sex before coated themselves in your arousal and delved into your pussy. Your startled gasp was enough for Steve to capture your mouth in a quick and filthy kiss.

Bucky’s non-metal hand pulled your hip into contact with his crotch, his bare arousal hard on your skin: “In fact, precious, we’ve decided what your next career path will be… call it a form of working from home. Our home. And from our bed.”

After the three heroes had their self-serving chuckle, they took you back towards the bed. It was going to be near impossible to break away from them now. What could you do to fight off two super-soldiers and a Kryptonian? Very little, if anything at all.

“No more getting yourself into scrapes to try and catch the next big story. No more making more enemies than friends. And no more trying to play hero when you’re more cut out to be sitting on the sidelines, as fragile as you are. Little Miss Snoop is facing her permanent retirement. You're ours now. Now and forever.” Clark wrenched your face from Bucky’s grasp and traced his lips along your cheekbone before attaching his lips to yours in a painful kiss.

“Fuck you! Get your goddamn filthy hands off me! I’ll never be yours!” It was all you had left in you. Some curse words and a set of sharp screams as they began to consume you. Steve’s cock speared you painfully in your sex, Bucky was having the time of his life with your mouth and breasts, and Clark had done the bare minimum to prepare your ass for his invasion.

Your mind had to find escape. The drugs they had given you were enough to subdue your consciousness enough to find escape in a mental wonderland away from all the feelings you were experiencing with your physical body. 

Eventually, they stopped their assault on your body to assess your unresponsive form, wide eyed, limp, and grief stricken. Bucky was the first to run his hands over your copious tears, collect them, and suck them off of his fingers.  “Aww, look at her. Our little toy, waiting to be broken apart and patched back together every time we touch you.”

 “No, you don’t get to cry this much yet, precious. We’ve barely even touched you. Just wait and see what we really want to do to you.” Clark’s dark laughter mingled with Steve and Bucky’s in a way that chilled you to the depths of your soul and killed all hope you had at waking up from this nightmare.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, you’d do nicely for all of them. 

Clark could see your future now, all blissed out of your mind and eventually full of their babies. Steve, Bucky, and him had already come up with some great scheduling plans for co-parenting and making sure that you’d be having a child born from each of them in turn. 

Clark couldn’t help secretly hoping you’d have his child first. The first kryptonian child born in this universe. What a proud father he would make. 

All those plans he had made in his home universe had been blown to hell, but this universe was shaping up to be even better. 

His words sounded in your mind several times, the same times he had repeated them to you, yet you had ignored them, even though he had not gone after you. Maybe if you had listened to him, they would have made love again and you wouldn't be in trouble, you bit your lip.

"I told you to get on the bed, don't make me take you outside", was what he had told you, maybe something had happened to him, but you would take care of it later.

You tried to clean your hands, you needed to clear your head to be able to think, to devise a plan that would justify what happened. You looked up when you noticed the shadows surrounding you, no, they weren’t shadows, they were the neighbours, you opened your mouth trying to say something, but you closed it when no word came out, you could not think of anything to justify what happened.

“Y/N, my dear, what happened, are you okay?” Bree asked.

“I... I... “ You couldn't think clearly.

"What happened?" Lynette questioned.

"This shouldn't have happened, this is wrong.”

"Y/N, Y/N, we'll help you, but we need to know what happened," Susan said.

Steve showed up, but none of you noticed until he spoke. “Y/N I told you that if you didn't go back to bed, I was going to...” he didn’t finish the sentence because when he lowered his gaze, he noticed that you were about to pass out. “Y/N...what happened?”

You didn't know how to explain it, no one else was supposed to know (apart from your superiors) that you were there, or about the mission, you didn't understand how you had been found, nothing was right.

"We will help them, we know what to do," Gabrielle said, helping you get up.

The next thing that happened was confusing, as you explained to Steve what happened or at least tried. The only thing that made you feel bad was that now those women were innocent and now they were involved.

The first day you arrived, they hadn't even finished getting the boxes off the moving truck when a red-haired woman arrived, she gave the impression of being too straight and correct, she left them a basket with homemade muffins.

"Is that woman human?" She acts like a robot," Steve said in confusion as he loaded a box and stuffed it into the house.

"She's not a robot, but she hides several things,” you replied.

That same afternoon you met Gabrielle, you immediately recognized her, once your mom took you to a fashion show and there you saw her on the catwalk.

The next morning, they were awakened by Lynette's screams, for a moment you thought you had been discovered and were being under attack, but when you looked out the window it was only the woman who was scolding her children.

"Wow, I think that woman must go to an anger control class," you blustered, however, you immediately closed the curtains, you were afraid she had listened to you.

“Did they find us? “Steve questioned.

“No, it's the neighbour who...” You were interrupted by the doorbell, it was Lynette.

You met Susan at noon when she appeared in front of your door with some cookies that she bought at the supermarket fell on you, she immediately apologized, although Steve ended up with a face full of cake.

"It's worse than when there are recruits and you have to train them," you said after she left.

Steve Rogers was the shining, prestigious golden boy, untouchable and loved. Bucky, on the other hand, had always struggled to hold down a job, his injury limiting him from physical work and the self-doubt slowly eating away at his mind to the point where even getting out of bed had been hard. Steve didn’t mind of course — Bucky had always taken care of him when they were young, he certainly didn’t mind returning the favor now.

“Bucky, are you home?” Steve hollers out as he drops his keys in the bowl on their sideboard. The lights were out, which wasn’t unusual, and the house was silent, save for his own footsteps. He jogs up the stairs, slowly unbuttoning his suit from the day. “Buck?”

Being inside was actually quite a relief as the day was hot and his suit was fitted tightly around him. He was looking forward to simply stripping it all off, along with his façade, and slipping into just Steve Rogers when he was at home. Bucky’s door is closed so he knocks lightly. “Buck, are you in there?”

“Yeah, come in,” a lazy drawl responds.

Steve opens the door to find Bucky lounging across his bed, his headphones slightly askew and the TV on at a low volume. It was typical for Bucky to be in nothing but a pair of sweats. He wasn't one for the warm weather, after all, but it still took Steve’s breath away.

“So, good win for Captain Justice, huh?”

Steve couldn’t help but smirk at Bucky’s silly nickname for him, ignoring how his heart bloomed at the pride in Bucky’s voice. “I did Buck, I'm turning enough heads that they want me on that new Rumlow case. Do you wanna get dinner with me to celebrate?”

“I can think of other ways to celebrate,” Bucky purrs as he gives Steve a dangerous grin.

It’s moments like this, when Steve’s shoulders are all bunched and knotted together, when Bucky is looking so inviting and warm with his soft shining eyes and outstretched arm that Steve can feel the world blur around him.

Steve goes to him easily, dropping his jacket on a nearby chair and unbuttoning his shirt along the way. Bucky straightens himself up to lean against the headboard, biting his bottom lip as he watches.

“C’mere Stevie,” he says huskily, before pulling Steve’s belt through the loops so fast it cracks through the air like a whip. They both tug at the slacks, down Steve’s legs and Bucky grins up at him while he shucks his socks off and climbs into Bucky‘s lap.

Steve’s shirt flaps open, all the buttons undone, letting Bucky's hands travel up Steve’s chest as they kiss hungrily. Bucky digs his fingers into the meat of Steve’s thighs while the blonde grinds down heavily.

“Congratulations, Mr. Prosecutor,” Bucky teases cheekily, before pulling himself out of his pants and Steve’s groan fills the room.

—-

The Rumlow case is the biggest news in town, to nobody’s surprise. Most of Steve’s cases are pretty open and shut, small crimes like breaking and entering, theft, aggravated battery or assault. The embezzlement case had been the most exciting thing to have happened in a while. But, in a smaller town like this, a murder is a rarity — something that happens maybe once a century. Unfortunately for Steve, the size of the town also means that everybody knows everybody and news can travel faster than the speed of light. The moment he steps out of his car to approach the district attorney’s office, he’s stopped by Carol from a few doors down.

“I heard you took over the Rumlow case, that’s a big deal,” she greets.

“Just got assigned,” he replies, trying to keep it brief.

“Who would do such a thing!” She carries on, shaking her head in disbelief. “Well I wish you the best of luck. I know you’re the best of the best, go get ‘em, tiger.” She gives him a brilliant smile and continues to walk down the street.

Steve greets the receptionist, then walks through the metal detectors and before he even gets to the second floor, two more people have congratulated him on being assigned to what they are calling “the biggest case Westview has ever seen”.

Rumlow had been a bit of a recluse, but nonetheless, an average hard-working man. He had no children of his own, but left behind an elderly father who had once been mayor of the town. That garnered a lot of sympathy within the community. Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins had owned an auto body shop in town, so most of the residents knew him and spoke with him quite frequently. Bucky worked there on and off, when they had an overflow of work and needed an extra hand.

Unfortunately for Steve, Brock's usual route from his home on the edge of town to the shop was not even remotely close to the busier areas. It meant that there were no witnesses the day he was brutally murdered.

It also meant that Brock’s body had not been found until much later on, and by then, the scene had been disturbed by wildlife. At his desk, the case files sat. Among the photographs, there were reports on any and all evidence found at the scene which was not a lot. They had a partial fingerprint on a tag at the back of Brock’s shirt and various opinions on what the murder weapon was even though one was not found at the scene. A switchblade, they seemed to think, with a serrated edge. Something any hunter might have.

The photos don’t tell him much, nothing he didn’t already know simply from the office whispers. Rumlow had been found face down in his usual black T-shirt as a pile of blood had seeped into the earth around him. It was almost impossible to see unless you were close.

For the first time in Steve’s career, it seemed that answers were simply evading him, and the questions kept piling up. He had already interviewed everyone down at the auto shop, had spoken to Romano‘s dad, Alexander, and checked through the evidence at least three times by now. The case just simply wasn’t going anywhere.

Another downfall of living in such a small town was that your successes and failures were no longer just your own. Each passing day, more people questioned if there was any progress at all, if he was doing anything else to try and crack the case.

It was in the unspoken looks and furtive glances he received that told him he was losing the faith of his hometown. What they would never understand was how much faith he had already lost in himself. Doubt had crept in — what if he couldn’t solve the case after all? But it was soon replaced by anger when he heard the latest churn of the gossip mill.

I bet it was that friend of his - he’s an ex-convict you know. How a prosecutor could be friends with such a lowlife is beyond me!

He has always seemed a little strange hasn’t he? All that black and messy hair. He certainly looks the part.

Oh, don’t you know? He was in the army for a short while, I’m sure he knows how to handle a knife effectively.

“Come on Stevie, stop thinking so hard.” Bucky’s voice is low and sinful, soothing in a way that Steve’s days never are anymore and he melts into Bucky's arms. “That’s good, baby, just like that.”

Steve can’t help but sigh once Bucky's fully seated in him and they build up a languid comforting pace, where Bucky is just shy of grazing over his prostate and Steve is just reveling in feeling full and grounded.

“Just so hard to breathe sometimes,” Steve complains softly, not wanting Bucky to know what was being said about him.

“I’ll make it hard to breathe,” Bucky chuckles before he sits back on his haunches and grips the underside of Steve's thighs, folding them toward Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t get another word in as Bucky makes good on his promise and fucks into Steve so hard that the air is literally pushed out of his lungs. Steve can hardly manage to tell Bucky that he’s coming, until he already is, untouched and with a sob of relief. Steve feels the hot ropes of cum splatter across his chest and whines in protest as he gets stretched further when Bucky leans down. Bucky grins as he licks some off of Steve’s pec, his tongue swirling around Steve’s nipple as he does so.

“You’re so beautiful like this Stevie, when you come apart like this and I’m the only one who gets to see it. I love watching you come for me.”

“You’re the - only one,” Steve manages to huff out as he regains his breath. Bucky is the only one that makes him feel loose like this, floating in the clouds.

“You’ll catch them, baby. I know you will.” Bucky drops a gentle kiss on his nose.

Bucky is also the only one that never loses faith in him.

—-

It's one of those evenings where Bucky disappears. Steve is less worried about it now than he used to be, of course. He remembers the panic the first time Bucky had vanished, his phone going straight to voicemail. But it became a regular thing, and he eventually began to understand the need for Bucky to clear his head, away from their shared home.

If the war that took his arm wasn’t enough, the incident that had taken his whole family in one fell swoop, would have been. Even years of therapy hadn’t been able to straighten all the twists and turns in his mind. The war, the therapy, the house fire, the aftermath - Steve had been there to see it all. He watched Bucky fall apart and never quite piece himself whole again. If Bucky’s late-night strolls for fresh air are any consolation, Steve is happy to encourage it.

So, Steve makes dinner, confident that Bucky is safe, staying out of trouble and will be walking in the door at any moment.

Then he gets one phone call that changes all that.

“Rogers.”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah. Look, you should get to the station as soon as you can.”

“What, why? Is it the Rumlow case?”

“Somethin’ like that. Look - just get down here. Bucky’s in custody.”

Steve drops his phone in the salad bowl with a clang, his whole world spinning.

---

The interrogation room is the same as it’s always been, just a plain, grey, cold box with a table and two chairs. Steve’s always found it calm, a place where there’s nothing to distract you from your job. But now, with Bucky cuffed to the table, leg bouncing nervously, Steve is acutely aware of the two-way glass, imagining just how many people were on the other side.

“What the hell, Buck?” He keeps his voice as low as possible, hoping the surveillance doesn’t pick up on his whispers.

“I was jus’ walkin’, Stevie,” Bucky replies, his eyes wide and innocent, a little glassy like he’d been drinking or crying - or both. Steve’s not blind to Bucky’s coping mechanisms.

“But why there,” he hisses. He wants to strangle his friend for being so careless, walking right into the jaws of the police with a gift.

“I didn’t know,” Bucky sighs lamely. “I mean, look, I know where but I wasn’t paying attention to where I was goin’. I don’t know how I ended up there, I was jus’ walkin’ around, I swear. Too in my head, and then the next thing I know, I’m here.”

Steve takes a deep breath. It’s not entirely far-fetched that Bucky really didn’t know where he was going. Bucky on a good day wasn’t entirely in his right mind, but adding alcohol to the mix was likely to guarantee that Bucky did space out at some point or another. He’d let that part go, except -

“Then why’d you take a swing at Sam, Buck?” Bucky looks away, his chiseled jaw clenched in shame and misery.

“I got spooked, that’s all. You know how I get, Stevie. I - I knew it was a bad idea to leave the house.”

With that, Steve’s heart breaks a little bit. For all the progress that Bucky might’ve had, he’s still afraid of being in the world and afraid of an attack at any moment. They’d never caught the intruders that murdered most of the Barnes family, after all. The injustice was what had pushed Steve into the legal field to begin with.

“Look, I’ll go talk to the guys and see if we can go home. You didn’t technically hit anyone and you backed off when you saw it was Sam, that’s worth something. But it’s best you keep your little walks inside for now, okay? You’re gonna worry me.”

Bucky just nods sullenly. Thankfully, Steve has enough friends on the force and Sam is not a man to hold grudges.

“I know a spooked man when I see one, we all got demons,” was all he said to Steve when he was finally able to get Bucky’s cuffs undone to go home.

---

But Bucky doesn’t stay inside - he ends up at the trail again, except thankfully it was only Carol who saw and not the police. Then, he ends up at Rumlow’s garage, and Steve almost loses it.

“Are you even thinking straight? Stop putting yourself in the middle of this thing!”

“Why’s it matter, huh?” Bucky argues with a glare. “I work there for fuck’s sake, I figure Jack might want an extra set of hands considering…”

“I know,” Steve concedes. “I know, okay? But it’s not about whether or not you had a logical reason, it’s about how it looks. You know that, you’ve watched enough Criminal Minds, come on.”

“What, do people think I’m a fucking suspect or somethin’?” He scoffs. Steve waits a beat too long, and suddenly Bucky’s face morphs. “Seriously?”

“No, Buck. You’re not a suspect. Nobody is, that’s the problem. And everyone’s looking for someone to blame.”

“… Makes sense,” Bucky shrugs, though his eyes are downcast. Steve can’t stand it.

“No! If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me, because I can’t figure out - anything!” He throws his hands in the air in frustration.

“You will, baby,” Bucky’s voice softens as he reaches out to cup Steve’s face in his hands. The prosthetic is cold against Steve’s cheek, making him shiver. “You will.”

Steve always seems to forget what he was last thinking of, anytime he gets Bucky’s mouth on him.

---

Steve thinks it’s all good and done until one day, he wonders if he knows his best friend at all. He’s finished the laundry, on a beautiful, pleasant Sunday afternoon and goes to knock on Bucky’s door, unaware Bucky had slipped out that morning already.

“Buck, I think I got a bunch of your socks in here,” Steve announces as he turns the doorknob. Bucky’s bed is made pristinely, army habits not quite dying out. Books are stacked neatly, his guitar sits in the corner. Most surprisingly, Bucky’s prosthetic lies on his desk, and Steve rarely sees Bucky without it since the only time he takes it off is to do a thorough, deep clean. The flesh tone of the plastic was always a shade too pink to match Bucky’s skin, it used to make Steve think of Bucky after he’d sat in the sun a smidge too long. Now, looking at it, it’s hard to imagine Bucky without it. Before he can ponder too much, he opens Bucky’s sock drawer to dump the handful of pairs that had ended up in his basket.

That’s when he sees the switchblade. It makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat, a dizzy spell threatening to overtake him.

When Bucky comes home, Steve wants to ask, he really does. But Bucky holds up a grocery bag with a big smile and says “I got the ingredients to make that roast you were talking about!”

It’s a day where Bucky smiles without reservation and his eyes aren’t always flitting about like he wants to bolt. Steve cherishes them when they come, so he keeps his mouth shut. Steve reminds himself that this is Bucky. His childhood best friend, sweet and caring to the core, the one that would always defend the little guy.

It’s all perfect - the roast, the way they move together in the kitchen, more gracefully than any two men their size should, the cuddling after. It’s so euphoric that Steve hardly pays attention to the way Bucky digs his fingers in harder, pushes himself in deeper, bites down more than usual.

In the end, he’s marked up and bruised, sore to the point of unmoving, and yet it’s perfect because it’s Bucky.

---

He doesn’t mention the switchblade to Bucky. In fact, he does his best to avoid Bucky altogether, claiming he needs to work hard on the case, making up lies about new evidence coming forward just to see what Bucky would do.

His friend doesn’t react whatsoever. It’s supposed to calm Steve and reassure him, but it instead makes a shiver run down his spine. Still, it’s nothing compared to the chilling looks he receives from his colleagues when he gets to work that morning.

“Uh, what’s going on?” He asks, turning to the nearest person - an up and coming prosecutor, Joaquin Torres. The young man just shakes his head, because before he can say anything, a sharp rap on wood interrupts him.

“Rogers? My office.” Natasha’s brows are furrowed and Steve has a bad feeling about this.

“Nat, what the hell is going on?” He can see everyone on the other side of her glass office peeking with curiosity. The nerves burn under his skin, making it impossible for him to sit like she’s just asked him to do.

“There’s no easy way to say it, so I’m gonna say it straight. And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

“Okay?” His mind already runs through any scenario that would warrant this reaction, and he has a sinking feeling he knows what - or who - it pertains to.

“I have to take you off the Rumlow case.” She speaks bluntly, making direct eye contact. “We have reason to believe that James Barnes is involved with the murder. The fingerprint on the back of Rumlow’s shirt came back a match for him. I’m sorry, Steve.”

She doesn’t mess around, it’s one of the things that Steve admires most about the district attorney, but he can’t accept what she’s saying.

“That’s - he works - worked with Rumlow, on and off, I mean - they’re not strangers, Nat. That print could’ve gotten there a hundred different ways.”

“I’m aware, Steve,” she replies coolly. “And we’ll go through all of them, but it just can’t be you.”

He knows. Rules. Regulations. Conflict of interest.

In the end, he leaves without a fight, saving his energy into proving Bucky’s innocence. When he gets home, Bucky is laid out across the couch, TV playing some old film that he’s not paying attention to as he scrolls along on this phone.

Steve can’t take it anymore - he has to know.

“Buck, I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, right?”

That gets the brunette’s attention. He sits upright and gives Steve a confused look.

“I love you too, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice is so soft - it’s so gentle, there’s just no way. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve says too quickly. Bucky just sighs, and signals for Steve to come over, tugging him onto his lap.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you can tell me.” The sweetheart gets Steve every time.

“You - you didn’t have anything to do with… you know,” Steve swallows thickly as Bucky looks up at him with crystal blue eyes.

“What, Stevie?”

“With you know,” Steve huffs a frustrated breath. “With Rumlow. I know you two didn’t always see eye to eye.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, Steve. Of course I didn’t.” Bucky rolls his eyes, and pushes Steve off, hard enough he almost lands on the floor.

Yeah, he deserved it. He’s made an ass of himself, and Bucky doesn’t even look at Steve when they go to bed that night, locking the door to his bedroom. His therapist had said it would be good to keep a private space, even if he spent most nights in Steve’s bed. Well, he supposes she was right on this one. He apologizes through the door, not entirely sure Bucky can hear him over the guitar that’s coming from inside.

---

Bucky always knows how to play Steve like a fiddle, every noise craftily pulled at Bucky’s whim. He’s always been at Bucky’s mercy.

Like now, when Bucky’s tied his hands to the headboard and has him bent in half, plowing into him with no mercy. Steve’s screaming at the top of his lungs, yet doesn't flinch when a searing pain blooms in his belly - he’s had orgasms ripped from him more forcefully than anyone could ever imagine, after all.

When he finally opens his eyes at the seeping warmth across his abdomen, he startles. Lodged in his stomach is the switchblade from Bucky’s desks, blood leaking from the wound.

He goes to ask Bucky what he was doing, but his lover ignores him in favour of fucking him harder. Bucky’s hands roam, smearing bloody prints across Steve’s milky white thighs and the smile on his face is wider than it has been in years.

Steve should be in more pain - he should be yelling for help, or kicking Bucky off, or, hell, dying from blood loss. But he can’t make a move when he looks at Bucky’s face.

Those baby blue eyes are consumed by the black of his pupils as he licks his lips hungrily. His brutal pace is harsh until he suddenly stops as his body tenses and shudders, his eyes slipping close and mouth falling open. A pornographic moan falls from his lips as he looks down at Steve once more.

Abruptly, he yanks the knife out of Steve’s stomach and pulls his dick out at the same time. With a deranged smile, he tilts his head, watching the bright red blood run down Steve’s abs and onto the white sheets beneath him.

“You still feel it, don’t you? Even when I’m not inside of you.”

---

When Steve wakes that morning, it’s in a cold sweat and dry throat from his cry. He looks down, realizing it was just a nightmare, but patting a hand over this abdomen as if trying to convince himself. His hairs stand on end as he hurriedly rushes down the hall to Bucky’s room.

Without so much as a warning, he bursts into Bucky’s room. The man in question isn’t there, but Steve looks curiously at the papers strewn across Bucky’s desk. His journals are plentiful, logging his life, his dreams, goals he’s set and lyrics for songs he never finishes writing.

I've got a secret.

It's on the tip of my tongue.

It's on the back of my lungs.

And I'm gonna keep it.

I know something you don't know.

It sits in silence.

Eats away at me.

It feeds like cancer.

This guilt could fill a fucking sea.

Pulling teeth, wolves at my door.

Now falling and failing is all I know.

This disease is getting worse.

I counted my blessings, now I'll count this curse.

The only thing I really know

I can't sleep at night.

I am buried and breathing in regret

The only thing I really know

I can't sleep at night.

I am buried and breathing in regret.

The words rake under Steve’s skin, like the claws of a hundred demons wanting to tear him apart, same as the fear and guilt inside of him. He goes and opens Bucky’s drawer, every instinct telling him that this was wrong. But the switchblade is gone, just like Bucky is.

See also: [overall masterlist]

Las palabras de él resonaban en tu mente varias veces, las mismas que él te las había repetido, sin embargo, las habías ignorado, aunque él no había ido tras de ti. Tal vez si le hubieras hecho caso, hubieran hecho el amor de nuevo y no estarías metida en el problema, te mordiste el labio.

“Te dije que te fueras a la cama, no me hagas llevarte afuera”, era lo que él te había dicho, tal vez algo le había pasado, pero te encargarías de eso después.

Trataste de limpiar tus manos, necesitabas despejar tu cabeza para poder pensar, idear un plan que justificara lo sucedido. Alzaste la vista cuando notaste las sombras rodeándote, no, no eran sombras, eran las vecinas, abriste la boca intentando decir algo, pero la cerraste cuando ninguna palabra salió, no se te ocurría nada para justificar lo que pasó.

—T/N, querida, ¿qué pasó?, ¿estás bien? —preguntó Bree.

—Yo…yo…— no podías pensar con claridad.

—¿Qué es lo que pasó? —cuestionó Lynette.

—Esto no debió haber pasado, esto está mal

—T/N, T/N, nosotras te ayudaremos, pero necesitamos saber que es lo que pasó —dijo Susan.

Steve apareció, pero ninguna de ustedes se dio cuenta hasta que habló. —T/N te dije que, si no regresabas a la cama, te iba a…—no terminó la frase porque al bajar la mirada notó lo que estaba causando tu consternación—. T/N…¿qué es lo que pasó?

Definitivamente no sabias como explicarlo, se suponía que nadie más sabía (aparte de sus superiores) que estaban ahí, ni de la misión, no comprendías como los habían encontrado, nada estaba bien.

—Nosotras les ayudaremos, sabemos que hacer —aseguró Gabrielle ayudándote a levantar.

Lo siguiente que sucedió fue confuso, mientras le explicabas a Steve lo sucedido o al menos lo intentabas. Lo único que te hacía sentir mal era que ahora esas mujeres eran inocentes y ahora estaban involucradas.

El primer día que llegaron, ni siquiera habían terminado de bajar las cajas del camión de mudanzas cuando una mujer pelirroja llegó, daba la impresión de ser demasiado recta y correcta, les dejó una canasta con panquecillos hechos caseramente.

—¿Esa mujer es humana? Actúa como si fuera un robot —comentó Steve confundido mientras cargaba una caja y la metía a la casa.

—Ella no es un robot, pero oculta varias cosas —respondiste.

Esa misma tarde conocieron a Gabrielle, enseguida la reconociste, alguna vez tu mamá te llevó a un desfile de modas y ahí la viste en la pasarela.

A la mañana siguiente los despertaron los gritos de Lynette, por un momento creyeron que los habían descubierto y los estaban atacando, pero cuando se asomaron por la ventana únicamente era la mujer que estaba regañando a sus hijos.

—Guau, creo que esa mujer debe de ir a una clase de control de ira —farfullaste, sin embargo, de inmediato cerraste las cortinas, temías que ella te hubiese escuchado.

—¿No nos encontraron? —cuestionó Steve.

—No, es la vecina que…

Fuiste interrumpida por el timbre, era Lynette.

A Susan la conocieron a medio día cuando una lluvia de galletas compradas en el supermercado te cayó encima, ella enseguida se disculpó, aunque Steve terminó con la cara llena de pastel.

—Es peor que cuando hay nuevos reclutas y hay que entrenarlos —comentaste después de que ella se fue.