WHY ISN'T THERE MORE OF THIS!!!! (so good!!!)
Interesting (ii)
interesting (i)
Baron/Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader | 1.5k | Smut, you’re warned — not promising it’s the best, but I’m rusty with smut.
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You should leave the room.
Cheeks warm, thighs pressing together. All signs you shouldn’t have even replied. Should have kept your mouth shut.
But you’ve already gone too far.
You could argue you did that when you kissed him to appease Selby. Not needing to sell it as well as you did, not needing to slide your tongue into his mouth or let his hands wander, scorching your skin.
The same way his eyes are right now. Them burning into you, making your throat dry, desperately needing to slide your thighs together because… you want him.
You want him to rip your clothes from you, to leave marks on your skin. You want him to pull on your hair and throw you over his shoulder and take you to his room.
Thoughts you shouldn’t have about the man you helped break out of prison. Thoughts that shouldn’t be summoned about a man who was dangerous.
And yet, you didn’t fear him. Not even a little bit.
You wonder if he expects you to leave, to shout at him.
A better version of you would.
An even better version wouldn’t have said anything, to begin with. You’d have taken the drink and then excused yourself.
Not give into your lust. Because that’s all this was. Lust.
He’s a criminal—a man who was able to impersonate your friend, who blew up a building. Whether spurred by loss and grief or not, he still did it.
It’s why you should leave the room.
Bury your face into your pillow and get yourself off. Not hope he’ll do it for you. Because you shouldn’t let him touch you.
“It’s not too late to run from me,” he says, wringing his hands in front of you.
Somehow, it just makes you want him more.
The challenge. The confidence. The fact it’s frowned upon.
Not helped by the fact he keeps staring at you. Likely undressing you, his words running through your mind.
It’s then you stand up.
Mustering some confidence. He doesn’t move when you stand up. Not even when you stop in front of him. He doesn’t reach for you, giving you a land chance to bow out, to walk away.
You don’t take it.
Instead sliding the hem of your skirt up with your fingers, sliding a thigh either side of his. Watching his eyes flash, him not taking them from your face as his lips twitch.
The warmth of his palm against your thighs almost makes you rock your hips. His aftershave, musky, and wooden, hits your nose as a strand of hair falls over his forehead hearing him clear his throat.
“It’s not too late to ask me to leave…” you tease, tracing your bottom lip with your teeth. “If you don’t think this will be interesting…”
He smirks, ever so slightly as his finger slides up to your hip.
“I was interested the moment my eyes landed on you.”
Your lips curl, eyes flicking from his lips to his eyes, watching him do the same as your body moves closer.
“Such a charmer,” you whisper.
Your hand finding the back of his head, nails digging into his hair as your mouth latches onto his.
He tastes like a mix of sugar and whisky, a muffled vibration as he groans fuck against your lips. You don’t fight it when he pulls you closer by your hip, desperately wishing his other hand slid further north on your thigh.
Your stomach knotting, warmth and need spreading through you. Suddenly desperate for friction.
Even more so as your body inches closer to him until there’s no space between the two of you.
The fur of his coat tickling your skin.
Practically feeling his heart thundering against yours as you lose yourself in him.
You welcome the way his mouth nips at the skin under your jaw, sliding his tongue up to the spot under your ear as you roll your hips.
For someone who has been locked up, and as someone who didn’t know you, he knew you. Letting you rock ever so slightly, his hand urging you to as you feel the outline of his arousal through his slacks.
And you let a whimper escape, just as both his hands snap to your hips, halting your movements. A stern look meeting yours, one you were prepared to protest.
Until he moves you.
Flipping you so your spine is against the sofa, hovering over you. For a second, you’re disorientated. Feeling your own lips remain parted, eyes staring up at him, frozen. Rendered useless as his eyes darken as he drinks you in.
“I should say,” he says in a low growl, “If there’s a likeliness that you’ll regret this, I implore you to tell me to stop now, Liebling.”
Watching his eyes trace your face, his finger sliding over your cheek, dragging it until it’s tugging on the bottom of your lip.
Your tongue peeks out, circling the tip of it.
Hoping it’s enough of a sign. A silent plea for him not to stop as he inhales, before clearing his throat.
“You’ve peaked my interest, Zemo. I need to know if you’re all talk.”
He laughs.
Low. Dark. One which makes you wet as he stares at you hungrily. As if he’s been hiding his thoughts from you until now.
“I assure you I’m not.”
You arch your brow, ready to speak. But, he slides two fingers in your mouth, pinning your tongue down.
“Shh,” he whispers darkly, “You’ll need your voice, Liebling. To beg me. To moan my name.”
Your cocky response falls from your mind. Mouth parting in surprise.
“Because I’m not going to stop until you’re calling me Helmut… and I suspect,” he continues in the same tone, pulling his fingers back, “It’ll take me making you come at least three times before you’ll even consider calling me anything other than the enemy.”
Fuck.
Almost choking on your own breath as his lips slide into a smirk.
And you guess he thinks he’s won. All set to reconnect his lips back to yours.
But, you smirk, before adding, “I hope you fuck as much as you talk.”
He smirks, but less cocky.
And then he snaps—his mouth against yours, groaning as he pulls your hips towards him. The two of you kissing with an intensity you imagine both of you have been running from, so much so, you groan against this lips.
Your nails claw through his hair, his hand snaking in between the two of you, making your mouth fall open as he slides his mouth down your neck. The feel of his touch in two places making you whimper.
Because you’re pinned, his body keeping you in place. Not able to move, or shift, to gain the upper hand.
And then he slides his fingers over your underwear, silently meeting your eyes, checking for permission—one you quickly give.
Your hand finds his shoulder as he slides his fingers inside your damp, silk underwear. His lips sliding into a devious smirk, ghosting his touch over you until you’re about to plead—to beg. Before he slides his fingers inside of you, filling and stretching you as your head falls back to the cushion.
And everything else around the two of you is forgotten.
Your brain forgetting you should hate him.
Just needing him, desperately craving more that he quickly gives you. Focusing on not moaning his name as he curls his fingers inside of you. His thumb swiping over your clit as you whimper.
You try to pull him down, needing to bury your moans against his lips. But he just watches. Eyes glinting, shimmering as he does so.
Occasionally teasing you by ghosting his lips over yours as you whimper more, and more.
“Sweet, sweet, Liebling. How long have you been craving someone to do this?” he whispers, darkly. His nose tracing your cheek as he inserts another finger. “A while I guess. I can tell. You’re so wet. So responsive. Look at me.”
And you do.
You meet his burning eyes with all you have. Not able to tear them away from him, unsure how you’ve let him command such power over you already.
“Is this enough? Or do you want more?”
Your mouth contorts, shapes and words want to blossom. Your mind rendering useless as you near your release.
Only able to mumble a mmm, wanting to say more.
Wanting to beg for his cock, wanting him to turn you over and fuck you until you forget your name.
And from the expression on his face, he can tell.
Zemo touching you with more precision, as though he has an end goal in mind, knowing he’s doing this to you.
You knowing no one else can do this to you. Hasn’t done so, as he said, in a while.
“For now, this is all you’ll have. Even if I want to fuck you on this sofa, on this floor. Even if I want you,” he continues, his free hand cupping your chin. “The wait is half the fun. Isn’t it?”
Your gasping, so close and he must know it from the sounds falling from your lips.
“I want those three, Liebling…”
Because even if you want it, even if you need it, you’re fighting him.
“So you need to let go now, before they’re back—your friends,” he adds, his eyes burning into you as you fight how good it feels. “Unless you want them to see you like this. Being a whore for me.”
“Fuck,” you groan. Swallowing his name. “Plea–please.”
Not wanting to think it, never mind mumble it. His name so close to the tip of your tongue.
His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing small circles as you clench your eyes shut. Your back arching, fingers digging into his side as he twists his fingers inside of you, hitting that spot you’ve been internally pleading for him to touch.
“You should give me the first one now, Liebling.”
And you do.
Your eyes shutting, your head swirling with pleasure. Your back arching into him, your moan filling the room as he continues his ministrations until your hand tries to push him away.
But, he only stops when your hand unclenches from his side, and then his hand falls from between your thighs. Pressing a pleased, chaste kiss to your lips as your eyes slowly blink open as you watch him stand, shaking his coat from his shoulders before folding it slowly.
Your eyes falling to his bulge, before studying his movements as he places the coat down. Adjusting himself as he licks his lips.
And then he pulls you up, catching you as you almost fall on shaky legs. Barely recovered from what he’s just done to you.
“Two to go, Liebling.” Your chest rises and falls, heat blossoming across your cheeks. His knuckles brushing your cheeks. “Now, go to my room, and strip.”
Clearing your throat, you suddenly find your voice again. Brain coming back to you. “And if I don’t?”
Helmut slowly retracts his hand, before pulling you flush against him by your hips, nose against your ear.
Feeling how hard he is. How much he wants you.
Ignoring the little quake in your legs even with him holding you.
He pushes your hair from your cheek, smiling as if he hadn’t of just made you see stars. “I’ll strip you here myself, and let your friends fine you cock-drunk and spent on this expensive, but dusty floor.”
His hand retracting, burning his brown eyes into you as he smirks.
“You’ve got until the count of th—“
You move.
Your fingers are undoing your zip, hearing him chuckle—hearing his footsteps. Knowing he’s following close behind—heart in your throat, excitement bubbling in your stomach.
Opening his door, stepping through as you pull clothes from your body until cool air meets your skin. Turning to face him, eyes drinking you in.
And you’ve never felt hotter, never felt more attractive.
And then he slams the door shut behind him, his hands on you once again.
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