#baron zemo x you
Helmut Zemo x F!Reader
Summary: you’re cold and Zemo offers you his coat
Word Count: 1k~
Warnings: minor tfatws spoilers ep3 (edit: now this is a series, I will add a warning for eventual smut)
A/N: look I’m confused too 😂 but I’ve found myself a tad obsessed with Zemo the last couple of weeks, and this just kinda happened. I don’t know if there’ll be a big audience for this, but if anyone has any Zemo requests, send them on in and I’d be excited to give them a go! Also, since Sokovian isn’t a real language, I went with a tiny bit of google translated Latvian as a substitute!
Edit: the response to this was pretty big (THANK YOU!), so I’ve turned this into a series! You can find the next part here!
Sam and Bucky had asked you to keep an eye on Zemo while they went back inside to grab some weapons before you guys left for the docks. You were missing the warmth of the party now you were outside. The night air was biting at your skin as you stood outside Sharon’s place. The skimpy dress she’d told you to wear to fit in with the crowd was fine while you were inside, but now you were out in the night, it wasn’t so great.
You tried to muscle through it, but the occasional shiver wracked through your body, prompting you to quietly hiss at the cold.
Evidently, Zemo noticed.
“Would you like my coat?” He offered, starting to shrug the coat off his shoulders
“No, thank you, Zemo.” You shook your head and held a hand up before crossing it over your chest in an attempt to conserve some warmth.
“Please, call me Helmut.” He drawled, and you looked at him in disbelief for a split second before composing yourself.
“I think I’ll stick with Zemo.” You pursed your lips and looked away.
You were having some conflicted feelings about Zemo recently. As far as you were concerned, he was a bit of an asshole. After all, this was the same man who tore your friends apart only a few years back.
But here he was, flying you guys around in a private jet, acting like you’re all best friends. He’d taken a particular liking to you, which concerned but intrigued you at the same time.
You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you were falling for him. Jesus, the awful things he put your friends through should be enough to turn you off him completely. And yet...
For starters, he was an attractive guy. You couldn’t deny that. You’d caught yourself staring at his hair several times. You wanted to run your fingers through it, tug on it... something. And the little bit of scruff he had been sporting too? You’d thought about that a bit too much.
And his accent... it had an effect on you, for sure. He could read a phone directory to you and you’d probably hang onto every number. You especially liked when he spoke Sokovian. You had no idea what he ever said, but you had noticed he’d use the occasional word when talking to you, or referring to you to someone else. You’d have to ask him about those at some point.
And for a dangerous criminal, he sure danced like a dork at Sharon’s place. You watched him from the bar as he was seemingly in a world of his own on the dance floor. At one point he caught your attention and beckoned you to join him, but you simply raised your glass at him and stayed put, smirking as he carried on.
While you were lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice Zemo shuck off his coat, and the next thing you knew, you felt the soft fur of the collar around your neck. You desperately wanted to protest but the coat was so warm, both in itself and because Zemo had been wearing it just moments before. The smell of his cologne lingered in it too, and you tried your best to ignore it.
“...thank you.” You murmur as you slip your arms into the sleeves and wrap the coat around you properly.
“It is my pleasure, mīļā.” He flashes a smile at you and you turn away, hoping he doesn’t catch your shy smile and the blush creeping up your face.
When Sam and Bucky finally return, they both narrow their eyes at Zemo when they see you’re wearing his coat.
“The lady was cold, I did what any gentleman would do.” He smirked as you all started walking down the street.
“Gentleman... sure.” Sam didn’t look convinced, and you chuckled at the look he gave Zemo.
You walked down the street and Sharon pulled up in a car, gesturing for you all to get in. Sam was closest to the passenger door so he just got in the front of the car, leaving you to squeeze in the back with Bucky and Zemo.
You rolled your eyes at the way Zemo’s face brightened up at the prospect of being so close to you in the car, but you found yourself hiding a small smile too. You edged yourself a little closer to Bucky though, and once he realised how close you and Zemo were, he shuffled himself as close to his door as he could, giving you some room to move.
The journey to the docks took a fair while, but it dragged on tortuously with Zemo sat so close to you. You started to get hot in his coat quite quickly, but there was no room to move in the car for you to take it off, so you just had to stay in it. You weren’t complaining too much though, because you were still quite enjoying the comfort of the coat.
When you arrived at the docks, Zemo hopped out of the car quickly, turning around to offer you his hand, and as much as you didn’t want to accept it, you didn’t want to trip over in your heels so you took his hand and let him help you out of the car.
“Thank you, Helmut.” Your eyes widened as his first name escaped your mouth, and he smirked in response. You felt your cheeks heat up, and you were just glad the others seemingly didn’t notice your slip up.
“You’re more than welcome, mana mīlestība.” He shut the car door with one hand, but kept a hold of you with his other hand, and it took you a second to realise and let go.
A deep chuckle rose from his throat and he winked before walking to catch up with the others. You took a deep breath and followed everyone, cursing yourself for letting Hel- Zemo get under your skin.
What was wrong with you? Where did these feelings come from? What were you going to do about them?
You’d have to worry about that later though, because shit hit the fan at the docks very quickly...
mīļā - sweetheart
mana mīlestība - my love
If anybody has any Zemo fic ideas, I’m all ears!
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Is... Is He Wearing Slip-On Vans??? 👀
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Dating!BaronZemo HCs Pt.2
Gimme, gimme, gimme a— sugar daddy!! Part 1 HCs
(Sorry, I meant to post these last night, but life lol)
Wrapping yourself in that stunning jacket— obviously if you’re somewhere and you’re cold, without hesitation, he’ll set it around your shoulders, holding you close with one hand. Other times it’s more so to get his attention or tease him. And walking around in nothing but your underwear/lingerie and his jacket definitely works to get his attention fast!
Similarly, dress shirts— when you wake up and don’t quite feel like getting dressed, you’ll just grab one of his dress shirts, button it up halfway and call it a day. The lingering scent of his cologne and the softness make you feel safe, cozy, and a little bit sexy all day.
↳ you didn’t think it was that big of a deal, until you were making breakfast one day. He walked past the doorway, giving a causal glance your direction and a “good morning, darling,” but stopped after a few steps. Retracing his steps backwards, he leaned back to see if what he thought he saw was actually what he saw. Looking you over he walked towards you, two fingers pressed to his lips; you gave an expression that innocently asked ‘yes?’ / “Is that…mine?” he questions, you look down yourself, but before you can answer, you got a very sudden, deep kiss.
Sweet Tooth— Baron has a sweet tooth, which means you get to try all different kinds of decadent desserts, literally imported from their origin country so they can “taste as they’re meant to, directly from their loving creators.” Whenever he comes home from a different country, you can always expect some kind of local treat. It’s also his best excuse for when he’s gone longer than expected. You cross your arms and put on your best upset face, only to be met with him saying, “but I brought back chocolate.” Trying okie himself, he walks towards you, you try not to smile knowing exactly what he’ll say next. Slipping an arm around your waist, holding the chocolate box to his side, he tilts his head, “want a taste?”
Learning to drive stick shift (if you don’t know)— it’s an absolute mess at first, of course. It was like a stop and go game, but not on purpose! The first time you nearly had a breakdown you were so upset at yourself for not getting it right. Staring at the steering wheel you were moments from crying when he tucked your hair behind your ear and placed a finger under your jaw, turning you to face him, “you’ll get it darling, like all things practice and patience is required
Flowers!!— you get showered with flowers constantly. It’s not just a dozen or a few bouquets it’s literally a room full of arranged flowers with different colours, types, and arrangement patterns. You’ve woken up to a bed covered in rose petals. He also tends to leave a rose on your nightstand when he gets up before you.
↳ he’ll walk into the flowered room casually, morning coffee in one hand. Circling the room, his fingertips stroking petals, “wow, someone must really have a crush,” he says, before looking back to you, as if he had nothing to do with it. He just loves to see you uncontrollably happy and smiling, nuzzling against the soft flowers as you breath the scent in.
Vintage films— vintage and classic films are some of his favourites, they have the perfect combination of class, romance, and charm. You snuggle up, leaning back against him, with a blanket over your legs, his arm around you, and watch. You have to smile to yourself every time he tells you “this is my favourite part,” because it’s precious, plus he says it about three times every movie.
Poetry— he’s actually a great fan of classic poetry, so it’s no surprise that you get it recited to you a lot. It’s sweet and romantic; one of your favourite times to hear it though is when you’ve had a long day and just want to calm your nerves. Wherever he is, you’ll cuddle yourself next to him and ask for some poetry. Stroking your skin, he’ll either grab a book of poetry, or just go off memory, softly, but meaningfully reciting it, as you close your eyes.
Walk in closet— the man has a great taste in fashion, so there’s not a chance you’re going to be left out of his fashion doting. Silk, velvet, lace, vintage, jeans, shoes galore, literally anything and everything! When you come home from shopping, it’s a routine that he gets a glass of alcohol and finds a seat, whilst you show him everything you got. And when you ask his opinion he actually gives it, not just an “oh that’s nice,” but legit fashion opinions. “I think that would go best with,” type suggestions.
↳ occasionally you get a pause, followed by “I think that would look best on the bedroom floor,” from him. To which you say, “okay, good to know, that one turns you on then” with a smile, biting your lip as you twirl your hips.
More cute nicknames— he calls you his “little dove” / “darling dove.” When you come home late, you typically make straight for the bedroom to absolutely just fall face first onto the fluffy duvet cover. Hearing a familiar footstep come down the hallway, you lift your head and wait for his appearance. Glass in one hand, he leans against the doorway, “I thought I heard a little birdie come in,” he smirks, making you smile, as he walks to the edge of the bed, sitting, he reaches his hand to rest on the other side of your body, “how are you, my dove?”
Top of the shoulder kisses— it’s just a habit he has when walking past you. It can be super sweet or super erotic, there is no in between. It’s either a soft press of his lips against your skin, maybe lingering a little, or it’s an intense, nearly love bite, sensation. When it comes as a total surprise, you silently inhale, pushing up onto your tiptoes for a brief moment, but just enough for him to notice.
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put me in a movie.
summary. | He knows you can’t make it on your own, so he’ll put you in his movie.
warnings. | Dubcon (reader doesn’t know what he’s doing but consents to it), smut, drinking, age gap (reader is legal), virginity loss, choking, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, corruption kink, innocence kink, cream pie kink, penetration, teasing, praise, filming, voyeurism, porn (the industry), fluff, yearning, Daddy kink, humiliation, overstimulation, dumbification kink, and more. SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI.
word count. | 6.5k.
pairing. | Grey!Pornstar!Helmut Zemo x Innocent!Reader.
a/n. | please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. inspired by wet, written by the talented @thewritingdoll! do not translate or repost my fics at all.
You don’t like the heat, but you love the summer. The way the days are seldom cold and cloudy, with that occasional breeze that your skin gracefully soaks up in the same way your beach towel soaks up the water on your bathing suit. Popsicles of different flavours dripping down your skin and onto the hot sidewalk. The sticky residue makes you cringe, and you’d use the damp side of your towel to wipe it away. It would work for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, before the feeling returns.
You hate the heat, but you love to see him. Those swim trunks of his sticking to his wet skin. They’re a blue colour that seems easy to describe at first glance, but you’ll soon realize just how many shades of navy blue there are, and suddenly you don't even know what colour they are. Maybe it’s the colour of the jeans the cameramen wear, or perhaps it’s the colour of the night sky at around six in the evening during the summertime.
They lug heavy equipment, and you just wonder if they’re filming a movie. If your friends and family members got word, they’d probably lose their minds before begging you to get them a part. Vying for fame runs through the family tree branches, and even you would want a small part in it as well. You give them empty promises, forgetting their words after a few minutes until the following text message or phone call.
You don’t spend much time at the beach anymore. Heck, you haven’t been there since June. Your friends have left with their boyfriends and girlfriends on a trip to Bali, and all you have are your family members to keep you company. Your white fence, magazine and lawn chair are all you know of now. You spend your days outdoors, knowing each one will be filled with the same things. The sunlight, bees buzzing, and seagulls having unwarranted ferociousness.
Your parents spend their days at work, and you stay home to hold your small fort down. You don’t water the grass or touch the garden because your father does it better than anyone. You don’t touch the paint meant for the walls or the furniture boxes that are strewn across the floors because your mother knows where to put them and how to paint. You just relax, and you don’t mind it at all.
That was until you saw him.
Curiosity is your closest friend other than the blue raspberry flavoured popsicles that take up more space in your freezer than anything else. So when the empty house next door suddenly filled up with around half a dozen people, you just couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing. So you peer over the fence, standing on the small two-step ladder that your dad stole from his previous job.
Women and a few men are laughing, dressed down in both swimsuits and t-shirts. Their bodies are lovely, the pinnacle of beauty that you sometimes envy. Other times, you’d feel as though you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and that’s not far from the truth. They’ve got different brands of alcohol in their hands, White Claw cans littered on the ground, and you cringe at the mess.
They must be mentally younger than you’ll ever be again because no person older than you can act like this. Heavy, black cameras are resting nearby briefcases, and you hope to god that nothing illegal is going on. The last thing you need is the police questioning you at 1 in the morning. Some of the men ogle at the younger ladies, and they bask in the attention. You watch as their eyes rake up and down their shiny, sweaty bodies.
“Oh, please, the least you all can do is wait for me before you start the party,” a man snickers, stepping out of the house. You look over to him, and your breath is taken away. Water drips down his face, cascading down to his neck and onto his slightly hairy chest—a navy bluish-purple robe and those blue swim shorts that peek through underneath the cloth. The colour of the fabric goes oh so well with the blue of his eyes. They all laugh until they’re sighing and already cracking open another bottle of beer.
You admire him from afar, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moves: such grace, such elusiveness. The glass in his hand isn’t cheap beer or tequila; it’s whiskey that looks rich as fuck, and he swigs it back like it’s water. You remember the first time your father and mother brought whiskey home from the local liquor store. Your father didn’t enjoy it, and neither did your mother. It sat in a random cupboard until a year ago when your mother decided to throw it out.
He lets out an exhale as the amber liquid flows down his throat, and you watch in awe as he handles the burn like a champion. God, you can’t even handle beer if you try hard enough. He gently places the glass onto the table, far away from the men’s feet, as he knows that they can be quite clumsy. There must be a proper name for all feelings; you believe. Like that feeling when it dawns on you that you’ll never experience something like this ever again.
Or maybe the feeling that Helmut has right now. Not the excitement of finishing this film, and not the tiredness that is a result of working too hard. No, the feeling that he knows you’re watching him from over the fence. He sans his hand towards you, and you quickly duck down, letting out a whimper. You nearly fall from the small ladder, but it wouldn’t be so graceful if it did happen. “What’s wrong, Baron?” one of his co-stars teasingly asks.
“Nothing... Must’ve been the whiskey…”
You don’t hate the summer; you just don’t like the boredom. Even relaxation is something you can tire of, believe it or not. You’ve got nothing to do. Your friends are still out of town, and your parents are at work. You’ve cleaned the house not once, not twice, but three times. Your closet is as clean as it’ll ever be, and the pantry is now organized by most used to least used. The plants have been properly watered, even though it wasn’t necessary since the forecast said there’d be light rain.
You love the rain, especially during the summertime. The sky makes the surrounding world have an almost orange tone to it. The after smell––an earthy, oceanic scent that is so unique––is something you’ll forever look forward to. You’re excited for the day it’ll rain, but even meteorologists tend to be wrong, and Mother Nature has a thing for keeping her children on their toes. It’s one of the many reasons why you love her. So with your little red dress on, you spin around in the backyard.
You’re sensible. You know what creepy crawlers lie underneath the dirt, between the fluffy grass. So instead of being barefoot (just like in those Sofia Loren movies) and playing around, you grab that little latter once again. You’ve scrubbed the grooves and cleaned them of their plant stains––sloppily, of course. Your oversized slippers belong to your dad, and they struggle to stay on your feet, but it doesn’t matter.
You’re not going to be moving around much, anyway. You move the latter closer to where you last saw the group of men and women. You truly hope you don’t get caught and get into any trouble; the last thing you want is your parents scolding you and embarrassing you. You step up on the ladder carefully, grasping onto the wooden fence for support. The surface is hot to the touch, and you really want to let go, but you really shouldn’t. You whisper affirmations along the lines of ‘I won’t fall…’ over and over again, under your breath.
And you hope to God they work.
Admittedly, you also hope he’s wearing those blue swim shorts of his again. The look (and he) resides in your heart, amongst other tubes and canals that have learned to make room for friends, family and passions. But he’s not a friend, he’s not family, and he’s most certainly not a passion. ...He’s something else, that’s for sure. An enigma, really. He reminds you of that feeling––the one that has a name, temptation. Someone tells you not to do something you weren’t going to do in the first place, and now you want to do it.
Except the case is different. You shouldn’t be perving on strangers like this––sneaking up on them, spying on them––all because you just can’t help it. Your mind tells you to stop, but it’s just giving you all the more reason to continue doing it. So, until you nearly get caught one more time, you’ll continue to watch him. Desperate to figure out who he is and what he’s doing.
The cameras are no longer on the ground; a smart decision, given that there’s a pool that takes up more space than anything. The blue water of pools has always fooled you. You grew up believing that it was the true colour of water, not even knowing that it was, in fact, the tiles and not the water. There’s no mess there either, clean and tidy. Maybe professionally done, because the concrete has but not one dark spot or crease where grass grows out of it.
Laid perfectly, you know your mother and father would admire it for a few minutes. You squint your eyes and gaze at the glass sliding door. Inside is him. You let out one of those dreamy, love-filled sighs that only main characters do in romance movies. You watch him as he pours himself a cup of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar, and a dash of what seems to be almond milk.
You wonder if he likes iced coffees, as they can be so nice during the summertime. He wears those lovely blue swim shorts once again, hair slightly damp (with a pretty curliness to a few strands) and a navy bathrobe. It’s that same outfit as the other time you saw him, and you realize that they’re probably filming a movie. He moves around the counter, putting away certain little ingredients and whatnot.
The most mundane actions ever, ones that even you did just this morning. But god, he just makes it all seem so unique. He cards his fingers through his brown, almost dirty blond hair. There are clumps of strands that stick together, wetness that’ll dry probably as soon as he steps outside. He faces the window, staring out towards the fence that has been freshly painted, and sighs.
His head lulls back, and his neck is exposed. He’s probably both an actor and a model, you think to yourself. His chest hair has grown a bit more, and you can’t find yourself complaining. Tingles run through your body and even down to your pussy. You rub your thighs together, trying to make the feeling go away, while still being careful about holding onto the fence. You hope that he doesn’t know you’re watching him because you’ll never be able to live that down.
And it’s just so unfortunate that Helmut is such a clever man. Heightened senses from when he used to camp a lot when he was younger; he just knows practically everything. He knows you’re watching him, squinting your eyes until they’re nearly shut close. The skin around them wrinkles in the most adorable way, just like the way your nose scrunches up out of instinct. God, he could kiss every crevice of your body, even if you don’t know who he is.
“Hey, Helmut, we have a few re-shoots to do. Do you want to start now?” one of the cameramen asks him, holding a microphone in his hand. “No… I’m tired; we’ll do it all tomorrow,” Helmut says, waving his hand. He’s no longer looking outside and instead at the man who he’s addressing. He nods and walks off before Helmut follows him. Common courtesy is to always escort your guests out, and Helmut was raised with manners. With a hand on the man’s lower back, and a smile on his face, Helmut gently pushes him out the door and locks it.
You watch him as he disappears, seemingly leading someone out of his home, and you think all is fine. That is until that little voice in your mind decides to be obnoxious. The slight possibility that you’ve been caught and he’s mad haunts you, and your breath hitches. Your eyeballs are wide open, as big as the eyes of an owl, and your hands shake a bit out of fear. They dampen up a bit, not enough to the point where you’d be disgusted, but they’re clammy nonetheless.
You make a move to jump off the latter, not caring about the possible risk of falling and scraping your pretty legs. Your hands begin to let go of the fence, but they’re stopped by someone grabbing you by your wrists. You let out a squeal of shock as they hold you tightly from over the barrier, and you’re screwed. “I’m sorry!” you quickly yell, squinting your eyes out of fear. You’re not sure what to expect, whether he would yell at you or threaten to call the cops.
“No, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m not mad. Come back,” Helmut tells you, and you calm down. Yet you’re still nervous, scared that he’s a liar and that you’ll be in deep shit with the law. You step back onto the latter and are wary of looking over the wood. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow thickly. “I’m not mad, okay? I think it’s kind of cute. You’re like a curious little bunny,” he smiles, and you giggle.
“Never been called that before, usually just a curious cat,” you share with him, and he laughs. “Well, that’s not wrong,” he adds. A brief silence intrudes, and you just stare at one another. Helmut’s eyes jump from feature to feature on your face, relishing in that unique gorgeousness of yours. Someone like you will never be found amongst models because you’re an absolute angel. You’re like a pretty rose amongst other flowers; all are beautiful in their own ways, but you always manage to stand out.
You wonder if Helmut is the wolf to your bunny. That dark look in his eyes that compliments his features and overall attitude. He carries himself in such a way that old Hollywood actors wish they were so graceful. He’s the polar opposite of you––seemingly. But from the few words you’ve exchanged with each other, he just might be a bunny friend to yours. “I- I saw that there were cameras and I heard people talking… Are you filming a movie?” you ask him.
“...Yes, we are, bunny. I apologize for being so loud. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions with a smile on his face. You nod your head and bite on your bottom lip, watching as his eyes brighten up a bit. “What’s it about? Can I know? Are you the main protagonist? Or the antagonist? What genre is it?” you interrogate, flooding him with questions. “Shh, one at a time, bunny. It’s very, very special and secretive. I can’t tell you much. But I’m the main protagonist, and it’s a bit of a naughty movie, so I don’t think a little girl like you should know much,” he whispers to you.
You nod your head as you listen to him, so intrigued about the work of art being filmed next door. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie! Especially in one of those old Hollywood ones, they’re so good,” you admit to him shyly, with a coy smirk on your face. “Really? I think you’d be an amazing actress. You’d be even more popular than Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe,” Helmut praises, and you giggle once again.
“T- Thank you so much! ...Can I be in your movie?” you politely request him, but he shakes his head. You frown, your bottom lip jutted out. “You wouldn’t want to be in this movie, bunny. Remember what I said? It’s a naughty movie, and you’re just a little girl,” he reminds you, but you’re still pouting. “Is it a violent movie? One with curse words and lots of scary stuff?” you innocently ask, not sure as to what he means.
Helmut laughs quite loudly. “No,” he stifles a chuckle, “but one day I’ll shoot a movie with you, and I’ll show you how it’s all done.” He promises, and you can just tell he’s honest. You’re elated, hoping that the day he’s talking about will come soon. “What is your name, bunny?” Helmut asks, and you tell him. He nods before repeating it, giving you a smile. He brings both of your hands close to his face. You go on the tip of your toes to properly watch him once more. He presses his lips to the back of your hands, kisses them one by one.
“Go get some rest, bunny, and come by my place tomorrow,” he tells you before letting go of your wrists. He walks off before you do anything else. Sliding the glass door behind him, he disappears somewhere, and you’re left all by yourself. You’re still standing there, sighing dreamily as you replay the moments that will surely turn into a broken record. You hope that he’ll wear those blue swim shorts again, even though he’s already worn them twice.
There’s a skip in your step—nothing new and nothing unusual. Your shoes scratch against the concrete of the sidewalk that connects to Helmut’s front door. The sun only rose an hour and a half ago. The sky is a bright blue, filled with a few clouds that compliment the colour. The sun beats down onto your skin, and you haven’t forgotten to put on sunscreen once you finish twirling around in your little sundress.
You’ve got a miniature backpack that is slung over both of your shoulders. It’s orange, a bright one, in fact. It reminds you of the tangerines you love to peel, and those creamsicle treats that can be quite rare to find at this time of the year. You climb up the two steps that lead to his grey door, and you rap the wood a few times. There’s a doorbell too, one of those high-tech ones that record everything in its view.
Nothing but silence echoes back. No cars driving by, no birds chirping, no insects buzzing. Nothing. You wonder if he’s woken up yet, or if he’s even home. But as the door suddenly swings open––without a squeak, mind you––you’re met with the smiling face that belongs to Helmut. “Good morning, early-bird, is everything alright?” he questions, not one ounce of sleep tainting his look.
“Good morning! Everything is alright… D- Do you remember what you told me yesterday? About coming by?” you ask him, almost thinking to yourself that you’re just insane and that conversation never really happened. “Oh, right! Sorry, I've been a bit forgetful lately. But come in, have you eaten already?” Helmut asks as he moves to the side for you to enter.
Hesitatingly, you step inside his home. You kick off your shoes and look around. It seems sleek and modern at first, quite… different from the familiar feel of your house. Now, there are no wild polygons or geometric shapes that make you feel like you’ve been placed on a spaceship. No, it’s something that even your mind can’t come up with. The walls are a cream colour, engraved with different patterns that make it resemble marble. The chairs and couches have clear plastic legs on them, adding to that newfound era feel.
The floors are a light brown colour; wood in the shape of long, skinny parallelograms fitting against each other perfectly. The lights hang down a bit, high ceilings that you can’t even fathom reaching. You spin around and look up at them as they shine down brightly on you. They stem down from a pretty grey bronze appliqué that is attached to the ceiling. It’s practically art, just like the portraits of half-naked ladies that hang on his walls. There’s a specific piece that is above the fireplace.
It’s a mirror, and your reflection is in it. So is Helmut’s. You’re in front of him, looking at him through the mirror. He’s behind you, staring at your reflection. You both stay like that for a bit before you look away and admire the windows. He has such a lovely view; you can’t help but envy him for it. “Now, bunny, I have to be honest with you. We wrapped the movie up last night, and it was very late. I didn’t call you over because of that, and I’m really sorry about that. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions.
You nod your head eagerly, just sensing that he’ll lead on with some sort of good news. Your parents have done that far too many times for you not to know better. “But, if you want, I’ll put you in a movie. It’ll be just between you and me because it won’t be too professional, okay?” Helmut grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, waiting for your answer. “Oh, yes, please! That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!” you cheer, wrapping your arms around him.
You hug him tightly, and he eventually hugs you back. “Now, I want to finish it as soon as possible. So set your bag right on this couch, and go sit on that one,” Helmut instructs, pointing at the biggest couch in the living room. You nod and do exactly as he tells you. He walks away, possibly to set something up or to get ready, but either way, you still sit on his couch, filled with pure excitement. You cross one leg over the other, your pretty white dress covering the upper half of your thighs.
Lace that is on top of the cotton, both the same colour, and you realize how much you love this dress. Helmut saunters back into the living room, holding a giant tripod in one hand and a small camera in the other. You gasp at the sight, and he chuckles. Setting them up from the other side of the small coffee table, you watch him in awe. “This is going to be… a big girl movie, okay? Just like the one I was in. But I don't think it will be visible to the public eye, might just be between you and I,” Helmut tells you.
You nod in understanding. “Are you fine with that, little bunny?” he asks you just for reassurance. “Mhm, you can do anything you want; I don’t mind!” you reassure him, with a giant smile on your face. He swallows thickly as blood rushes downwards to his cock from your words. You still grin gleefully, such innocence on your features that he almost feels bad for having feelings for you.
He presses the little power button on the camera and waits for a green light to come on. With a smirk, Helmut walks around the table and stands in front of you. You look up at him, waiting for him to do something. He bends down and grabs both sides of your face––gently, of course––and he makes you stand up. He tilts his head and leans forward, slotting his lips against yours.
Now, you’ve kissed someone before. His name started with something along the lines of ‘J’ or ‘L,’ but that doesn’t matter. But that kiss was nothing like Helmut’s kiss. His kiss is soft and passionate, something you struggle to match. His lips stay locked with yours before moving to push his tongue into your mouth. You’re not sure what to do, so you just give up and let him kiss you until you both run out of breath. His tongue runs against the wet skin of your mouth, and you gasp at the feeling.
He eventually pulls away, and he looks at you with his eyes blown out. Helmut sighs and smiles at you. “You gotta trust me, okay?” he tells you once more, and you nod. “Ok…” you trail off, not knowing what to follow up with. “You gotta call me by a nickname, bunny… Hmm, how about Daddy?” he exclaims, his accent becoming more prominent. You love it and how unique it is. “Okay! I like that one a lot, my friend calls her boyfriend that sometimes,” you share with him, and he laughs.
He sits you down on the couch again, and his hand inches up your dress, making you giddy. He smiles at you, and you can see from the corner of your eye how the camera is filming you both. Helmut just knows you’re wet already, but you probably don’t know it. And he’s not wrong. You feel slightly tingly, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your panties slide down your legs, a wet patch on them, and Helmut throws them to the side. He lifts your dress over your head and tosses the fabric away, too.
He takes a step back and admires you. You still have your ankle socks on, but God, you’re so gorgeous he thinks he’s in heaven. “You’re so pretty, bunny. The prettiest bunny I’ve ever seen,” he compliments. You grow shy and smile before whispering a thank you. You smile at the camera, and he begins to undress. The first thing that goes is the robe, and his chest is now exposed.
Helmut hasn’t shaved his chest hair, and you’re glad. It looks nice on him––but to be fair––anything does. All he has on is those swim shorts. God, you love those shorts so much. They’re no longer wet, and yet they still cling to his thighs. He slowly pulls them down––and you feel as though you should look away and give him privacy––but you just can’t. His cock is hard, and it shows through the fabric, but you’re too busy staring at his hands to notice it.
His Adonis belt is slowly exposed, along with his pelvic bone, as he pulls down his boxers as well. There’s a small bush of hair right above his cock, and you find yourself wanting to tangle your fingers between the strands. Helmut’s cock bounces up––hard, red, and leaking––and the tip slaps right below his belly button. You let out a gasp, and he chuckles. His swim shorts lie on the floor, and you’re suddenly being urged to lay back.
Helmut climbs on top of you, caging you beneath his well-built body. Soft abs that are just perfect enough for you, and big hands that hold you so lovingly. He wants to feel his rough palms against your delicate skin, falling into every groove and curve there is. Like an artist admiring their artwork, he runs his hands along your body. From your thighs to your hips, over your stomach, between your breasts, all the way up to your neck. His hard cock is between your legs, nearly touching your sensitive little pussy.
You swallow nervously at the feeling. Helmut’s left hand wraps around your throat, and his right hand moves downwards to your legs. Gripping your calf, he places your right leg on the head of the couch and moves to position your left leg so that it hangs off the edge of the seat. You’re spread wide open for Helmut, not able to hide your naked body or close your legs. Your hands rest above your head, almost as though you’re pathetically shielding your hair from the rain.
Helmut’s hand still rests on your neck, but he doesn’t squeeze your throat or anything like that. You’re not sure if he’s playing the antagonist or not, but you decide to just go along with what he does. “You’re okay, right, bunny? You’re fine, I’m gonna treat you so good,” he promises, and you give him your best superstar smile. You have to admit that you’re nervous, but you trust him completely. Helmut would never do anything wrong to you.
“Has anyone ever touched you down here, bunny? Have you ever touched down here?” he questions you, walking his fingers up to your soaking wet pussy. “Hmm, uh, I touched it once, but I didn’t know what was happening, so I stopped,” you shyly explain to him, and he nods. “That’s okay, bunny. Can I touch you here? I won’t hurt you too badly, I promise,” Helmut assures you, and you nod. His index finger sticks out, and he watches as slick drips from your hole and coats the silky skin around it.
The digit becomes a bit shiny and quite sticky, and he traces your slit lightly. You shiver lightly from his touch, and sensitivity blooms in your core. “Uhm… Daddy?” you call out to him, a bit worried. “What’s wrong, bunny?” he asks, bringing his finger up to your clit. It throbs with want, just like the veins on his cock. “It feels very sensitive, almost too sensitive…” you admit to him, even though he continues to touch your clit.
“That’s okay, bunny, that’s how it’s supposed to feel. But if you want to stop, just tell me,” Helmut urges you. “Okay, Daddy.” He rubs your little nub in small, light circles. The muscles in your legs twitch, and you bite down on your bottom lip. He continues to touch your clit, and you begin to writhe from the overwhelming feeling. You let out a few whines, and Helmut watches as your cunt just gets wetter and wetter.
You try to shift his hands away from you in your weird position. It’s just too much at once, and you’re scared of what will happen next. The pornstar’s finger slips off your cunt, and he lets out a small gasp. The sound is mixed with displeasure, and you look him in the eyes with innocence. “Don’t do that again, bunny,” he warns, squeezing your neck a bit just to add to his threat.
His index finger returns to your clit, and this time, he rubs your little pearl even harder. You see stars, ones that are dark and would be hidden in the blackness of outer space. Your eyes roll back into your skull, and you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. Helmut’s digit touches the most sensitive part of your clit, and you jerk in response. Your legs try to shut close, but his body stops you from doing so.
When you open your eyes, you’re faced with a displeased superstar. Helmut lets out a shaky exhale, trying to compose himself. He knows he shouldn’t get mad at you, but he just doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have his way. His hand leaves your cunt and moves downwards. Suddenly, a harsh slap lands on your ass, making you cry out in pain. The skin stings and prickles, and you can feel slight tears beginning to form in your eyes.
Instead of staring at your pretty little face, Helmut squeezes your neck even tighter and watches as your little hole begins to leak with even more wetness. “Aww, bunny, did you enjoy Daddy hitting you? Hm? I bet you did; that’s you’re so wet,” he chuckles, and you grow shy. He’s not wrong, though. You enjoyed the pain quite a bit, even though you tend to avoid any and all activities that could leave you with a minor injury.
“Such a little slut for pain. But I bet you don’t like it when Daddy gets mean with you, right? Yeah, because you’re just a sensitive little bunny,” he coos, and you smile. You nod to him, and he grins down at you. Helmut’s cock is a furious red, almost purple if you really look closely. Beads of precum run down the sides of his cock, all the way to his thick base. He slaps your ass once more, enjoying the way you flinch and then smile from delight.
“I guess I’ve been a bit mean, just touching your little button without even letting you come…” he sighs before shifting onto his knees. Helmut looks over to the camera, just to make sure it’s still recording. And it is, so he smiles. He towers over you even more now, a few strands on his hair dangling downwards, and you find yourself wanting to play with them. The hand that was on your ass grasps the base of his cock, and he runs the head through your folds.
A quiet squelching sound echoes between the both of you, and you giggle. Your laughter is cut short when he bumps up against your clit, and you let out a moan. The sound is unexpected on your behalf, but Helmut just smirks. Your moans turn into a string of shallow pants, and he curses under his breath at the feeling. Dragging his head away from your clit, he brings himself down to your hole, and you let out an even louder gasp.
“Shh, just let Daddy in, okay? I know it’s your first time, but it’s okay. You’re fine, don’t worry,” Helmut reassures. You nod your head and let out a pained cry as he pushes into you slowly. You feel as though you’re being torn apart, split into two. He grips your throat even tighter, and you wrap your hand around his wrist in a panicked, fleeting moment.
Helmut sheathes himself inside you, with your mouth parted open in a silent scream and his eyebrows knitted together. He eventually bottoms out, and the stretch of his cock goes from a harsh burn to a pleasurable feeling. His swollen balls touch your aching ass, and he bends down to kiss your forehead lightly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he questions. “Y- Yes, it feels really good, Daddy. Just a li’l uncomfortable, but it feels really good,” you tell him.
Your cunt squeezes him in a tight hug, your silky wet walls welcoming him in hesitantly. He wishes to stay inside you his whole life, and he would if he could convince you. Helmut pulls out until his head is the only thing inside you before roughly thrusting back inside. You cry out, and his hand loosens around your throat. “Such a good girl, letting me use your pussy for my pleasure. You like being recorded while I fuck you, right? Say it,” he demands, fucking into you roughly.
Your tits bounce with each and every movement. Helmut’s cock gets closer and closer to your sweet spot, and you moan loudly. “I- I like being recorded while you fuck me, Daddy,” you repeat to him. Helmut groans loudly, and you clench down on his cock tightly. “You feel so good, bunny, better than anyone else,” he compliments, feeling slick sweat beginning to build upon his back. “Uhm, Daddy? S- Something’s happening,” you whisper to him through your desperate cries of pleasure.
Searing heat grows hotter and hotter in your stomach, right above your pussy. You’ve never felt like this before, other than when Helmut was touching your pussy a few moments ago. “Let it happen, bunny, it’s okay, come all over Daddy’s big cock. I know you can do it, squeeze me, bunny,” Helmut urges, and you listen to him. The powerful feeling grows and grows, and so do your moans. And the elastic cord breaks eventually. It always does.
You cry out ‘Daddy’ as you come undone around his cock for the very first time. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, even though you’re gripping him so tightly. You gush all over him, wetness coating his cock, and it makes him fuck you even quicker. The sound of skin on skin and loud moans fill the room, and Helmut hopes to God that the microphone is picking up on it all. The feeling in your body makes you lose all sense of reality, and you’re babbling like a little baby.
“Daddy- It’s too much,” you sob to him, digging your nails into your palms. “Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” he shushes gently, keeping his hand wrapped lazily around your neck. Helmut’s cock slams into your cunt, pounding into you ruthlessly, yet he’s somehow oh so gentle. Your eyes roll into the back of your head again, and you moan gently as you feel another climax being built up. Back to back, and you’re not sure how your body is going to handle it.
He’s close, too. He’s never had this happen before, and he’s not sure what to think of it.
“Awe, you’re going to come again, bunny? That’s okay, shh, Daddy’s here, bunny. We’ll do it together, and it’ll b- be good,” he tells you, and you nod. Helmut bends down and places his shiny forehead against yours. He stares you into your glassy eyes––they’re hazy––and he can tell you’re gone. You’ve gotten all stupid and dumb for his cock, and he loves the idea so much.
You both pant as he sloppily fucks into your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill up your tight little pussy with my cum. Gonna watch it leak out, and I’m just gonna fill you up over and over again. Make you all mine because you belong to me. Right? Say it,” he growls, fucking you even faster. “I’m all yours, Daddy, I’m all yours,” you say to him, and you’re both pushed off the edge after one specific thrust.
“O- Oh my…” you choke out, squeezing your eyes shut. Helmut curses loudly, saying all kinds of sinful things that a nun would faint if she hears him. His cock twitches as he comes inside you, and your pussy squeezes him as you let go. Streaks of cum shoot out his tip and paint your inner walls, and it all begins to leak out already. Your cum mixes with his, and he can’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight of it.
He presses a kiss on your nose before slowly pulling out. Helmut’s cock is still hard, and he just knows the afternoon won’t end until he says so. You wince loudly at the feeling of emptiness and overwhelming sensitivity. “Sorry, bunny,” he frowns, reaching over for the camera. You watch him through droopy eyelids as he focuses it on your cunt, then to your body, and then to your face.
“Did I do good, Daddy?” you ask him excitedly.
“So good, bunny. You’re going to be sweeping up at the awards next year.”
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Synopsis: You really disliked Zemo, but one person you disliked more? John Walker. After bonding over how you disliked him with Zemo, you have the unfortunate situation of running into John. He flirts, insults, and hurts you and Zemo is ready to put him in his place.
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings/Tags: Use of swear words, John Walker being a dick, soft Zemo, protective Zemo
Author’s note: I was not intending this fic to come out as long as it did. This was one of the ones I had been putting off to write other stuff till I finally pulled myself around to writing it and ended up getting really into it. Funny how that happens.
“Would you care for a Turkish delight?”
You bite the inside of your mouth in annoyance, refusing to even look at him. Instead of forcing your eyes to focus on a spot in front of you, not moving them in the slightest. Zemo waited for a few moments before sighing and turning away from you.
“You’ll eventually have to talk to me, y/n” he exclaims as he walks over to the kitchen side of the room. You were sitting in the safe house Zemo had provided. There wasn’t much to do, just sit and wait till the funeral started. Zemo sought to communicate to you to keep you two occupied, but you didn’t want to talk with him, so you didn’t. You just sat on the settee, staring at the sofa opposite you while Zemo walked around looking through the cupboards for food.
You were pissed when Bucky revealed he broke Zemo out of prison.
The avengers had been your family. Whenever you needed them Steve would be there to offer you advice, Tony there to make you laugh. Nat there to beat up whoever required it. Everything was wonderful in your life. For once. And he had ruined it.
He caused the family you loved to split, hate each other, and that left you alone. So alone. Losing both Tony and Steve made you more mad at Zemo. He robbed the last years you could have spent with them, so yeah, no wonder you refused to talk to him.
He loved to annoy you, though. Any moment he got he was beside you, creating sarcastic remarks about what was happening, trying to joke around with you. Trying anything to communicate with you. The worst of it was when he insisted you had to be his date on the mission in Mandripoor. Feeling his arm wrap around you, a kiss to your temple, the smell of his cologne flooding you, drawing you in. It pissed you off knowing how easily you fit into the role of his date. Yet you knew deep down why. Every time he made a snide remark, you had to bite your tongue to stop making one back. Every time he tried to joke with you, it took all your effort not to snort. You hated him and everything he does, yet you could sense a fondness growing for him, just a slight one, in the deepest corner of your heart. Left there to be locked away. Never acknowledged.
“So, the new Captain America, huh? What’s he like?” you hear Zemo ask, leaning on the counter of the kitchen table, his eyes burning into the side of your head.
You feel bile rise to your mouth as he spoke.
John fucking Walker.
If you hated Zemo, you despised John Walker. Just thinking of him brought a scowl to your lips. Steve meant everything to you. He was a father figure to you. He stood for all you believed in. He was your hope, your light in the darkness. And John Walker seemed to tarnish it. You wouldn’t have minded him if he was a different mascot for America. If he became America’s new hope. It was the fact that they called him Captain America. That he had the shield. The title belonged only to Steve. He claimed he wasn’t trying to replace Steve, but that is what he was doing. Him being called Captain America felt like a spit on Steve’s memory. People would forget him, everything he did for the country he loved. They would only focus on John Walker, and you detested that.
You didn’t blame Sam for giving away the shield, unlike Bucky. You could understand why he did it. That shield held such a responsibility, such a legacy it seemed impossible to ever live up to. No, you blamed the people who took the shield away from the museum. Without Sam’s permission. They should have asked Sam. But of course they didn’t care. They didn’t care at all.
“I see by your reaction that your impression of him isn’t a pleasant one,” Zemo says, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to reality.
“Have you met him?” he asks
You try to hold back your opinion, but John Walker made you so frustrated, you knew if you didn’t rant about him you would burst.
“Yes. He’s a dick,” you spit out
Zemo quickly straightens up, surprised you actually answered one of his questions.
“Oh? Are you finally speaking to me.” he inquires, walking around the kitchen counter towards you.
“Don’t push your luck” you mutter, side eyeing him as he sits down opposite you. Sam and Bucky were out leaving you alone with Zemo. At the moment you were all waiting till the funeral. Zemo claimed there were a few hours to kill before everyone had to gather. Sam and Bucky decided to check out the town, make sure they knew it well in case a situation occurred where we had to dash. They had forced you to babysit Zemo.
“No, no, I like to hear you talk. Please, if talking about how this new Captain America is a dick is how I get you to speak to me, then let’s continue.” Zemo says, pouring out a glass of whisky for you and him. He holds the glass out to you, an eyebrow raised. You sigh, grabbing the glass out of his hand and drank, feeling the warmth creep up your throat. Zemo chuckles as he watches you, leaning back on the sofa, his arms resting on top of it.
“My, my. The man must be terrible if just the thought of him is making you talk and accept drinks from me,”
“He’s so infuriating! He thinks because he is Captain America he can stick his nose in other people’s business!”
“Ah, so he is one of those people. Doesn’t understand boundaries. How rude,”
“And get this, he got annoyed at us! Telling us we should stay out of his way when he is the one getting in our bloody way!”
“No” Zemo fake gasps
“Yes!” you exclaim, going into a rant, “I can’t even bear to call him Captain America. He doesn’t deserve to be called that. His actual name is John Walker. He claimed he wasn’t trying to replace Steve, but that is exactly what he is doing! And how he talks to me as well. He’s so condescending, treating me as if I am a kid while trying to compliment me and act like he’s all that in front of me,”
Zemo’s eyes narrow and he places the glass down on the table between you two, “You mean he flirts with you?”
“If you could call that pathetic excuse flirting. I suppose. It pisses me off though,”
“I can imagine. He sounds nothing like what Steve was. Nothing like his legacy,”
It was your turn to narrow your eyes, watching Zemo curiously. “I assumed you hated Steve”
“I never hated him. No. I can admire what he stood for, I just find unrealistic. All superheroes are flawed. Innocents will consistently be collateral damage while superheroes are allowed to exist.”
You stare at Zemo, amazed. Not realising the silence you were making. You had always thought he hated Steve. It always seemed that way. Yet he didn’t? Knowing he didn’t hate the guy you always viewed as a father figure mattered to you. And you don’t know why.
Zemo stared back at you. He was studying your eyes, trying to figure out what you were thinking. He didn’t realise what he thought about Steve would have affected you, but it appears he was wrong.
“Don’t worry y/n we’re back and guess what! We found your fav-” Sam shouts, opening the doors of the room and strutting in but he pauses, noticing you and Zemo staring at each other from the sofa’s. “What’s going on here?”
Zemo is the one to pull out of the eye contact trance, smirking as he looks over at Sam, “We were just discussing John Walker.”
Bucky who had followed Sam in grounded at hearing Zemo utter that name. “Perhaps you two would like a drink and join us in considering how much of a dick he is?” Zemo asks, raising his glass to them.
A few hours later you walked down the street following Zemo to find his associate. You didn’t appreciate how secretive he was being, but you understood it. He had many people who wanted to get him, and the second he wasn’t useful to us. He would be doomed.
“It’s too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit” you hear a whiny voice shout. Peering up, you notice John Walker and his sidekick ‘Battlestar’ or whatever jogging down the steps towards you.
“Ah! How did you find us now” Bucky shouts with his arms raised, striding towards them.
“Come on. You really think three Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention,” his friend responds.
“No more keeping us in the dark,” John mutters angrily
Zemo, who you were walking besides, turns his head to you, “I understand what you mean by infuriating”
You chuckle as John looks angrily between you two, “You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison,”
“He did that himself technically” Bucky replies, and Zemo grins at you, as if bragging about it.
“Aw, this better be an unbelievable explanation-” John Walker exclaims, reaching up to you.
“Hey take it easy before it gets weird,” Sam suggests, interrupting John.
“I know where Karli is,” Zemo reveals to John Walker, his seductive accent sticking out from the rest of them. He tries to walk past John. You, Bucky and Sam follow, but John stops him, placing a hand on his chest.
Zemo glares ahead, disgusted at John for even daring to touch him.
“Well, where” he says, getting into Zemo’s face
“All we know is, it’s a memorial so we are going to intercept her there,” Sam adds, trying to defuse the tension.
Zemo grabs John Walker’s hand and pushes it off him, striding forward again, and you jog to catch up with him.
“See why I call him a dick now,” you whisper
Zemo smirks, looking back at you, “Yes. He’s perfectly exasperating”
“What? No. Wait. No! No! Stop. Hold on. Stop. Okay?” John exclaims running forward and stopping you all in your tracks again after something Sam had said. “I think we are way past reasoning with her”
Zemo just stares ahead, fed up with John while you groan in annoyance. Not being able to even bring yourself to look at the man in front of you.
They argue for a few moments while you and Zemo stand idly to the side, Zemo glances at you rolling his eyes making you giggle. You smack his arm slightly trying to get him to stop making you laugh, but that only makes Zemo chuckle along with you. Eventually they calm John down but he glares over at Zemo, “We will deal with you later.”
“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion” Zemo says, gesturing with his hands. He walks ahead, searching for his associate while John Walker moves beside you. You try to pick up your pace, but he keeps up.
“So working with a criminal now. Not very avengery like. I thought Zemo hated Steve. I wonder what Steve would think of you working with him,” he mutters peering at you.
“Need I remind you-you are also working with him now,”
“Come on, darling, don’t be like that,” John responds grinning, placing his palm on your back.
“Get your hand off me” you growl scowling at him
“Most women would fawn over me” John cockily resorts, still not removing his hand
“She asked you to remove your hand” you hear Zemo state, glancing over you see he had stopped walking forward, turned around and was now glaring at John. “Do I need to remove it for you?” he says angrily.
John frowns at Zemo. Finally, taking his hand off you and striding up to Zemo. Zemo tilts his head, his jaw clenching in fury as he stares at John.
“You are nothing but a dirty criminal. Don’t think for a second you can talk to me like that,”
“I will when you are being rude and disrespectful towards a lady,”
John scoffs, peeking over to you, then back to Zemo. Everyone else was standing to the side, not sure if they should intervene or not.
“What did she suck you off or something?”
Bucky and Sam had to leap forward to stop Zemo from launching onto John while Battlestar had to hold John back. “Too far man, too far” he muttered to John
Zemo was snarling at John, his teeth bared in rage. His hair had fallen loose from their usual position and was hanging down over his forehead, giving him a more wild look. The vein in his neck stood out, twitching. His eyes were raging with fire as he looked at John. He kept trying to push past Bucky and Sam to get to John, but eventually gave up knowing it was futile.
You were standing at the side, shocked that John would have the ego to say something like that and at Zemo’s rage towards John for saying it. John adjusts his head. Not looking you in the eyes, but looking in your direction. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t of said that”
Pulling your senses together, you walk up to John, glaring at him. “Yeah, you damn well shouldn’t have. You’re a dick. Nothing like Steve. You never will be,”
John wrinkles his nose in anger, frowning at your remark. You walk over to Zemo now that Bucky and Sam had let go of him. You give him a nod, showing your appreciation, and he nods back, though still glaring at John.
“Who I choose to associate myself with is none of your business. Who I choose to suck off is none of your business. Perhaps you can go fuck yourself and learn a bit of decency,” you spit at him.
A brilliant thought crosses your brain for another way to twist the dagger of your dislike into John. You reach out and grab onto Zemo’s hand, clasping it.
The action causes everyone to turn wide eyed to you. Including Zemo. He glances down at your hand in his then back to yours, surprise in his gaze but he immediately covers it up turning back to John smirking. He turns to behind himself, then back to the group.
“My associate is up ahead,”
You all turn to look forwards and see a little girl staring at you. Walking forward again, gripping his hand, Zemo nods to the girl as you all approach.
“Hello my friend,”
He holds out some money, a lot by the looking of it, and says to her, “This is for your family”
The girl hastily snatches it, obviously in need of it, and you can’t help but feel your heart warm a bit, seeing how kind Zemo was being to her.
“Can you show us the way?”
She beckons with her hands and walks forward. Zemo looks back at you, nodding to make sure you were okay, then follows her.
“What the hell” John murmurs from behind.
Following the girl, she leads you to a building. She turns, pointing inside a doorway, and runs inside not to be seen again.
“Karli’s in there,” Zemo tells the rest of the group. Sam replies and heads inside to talk to her while John suddenly grabs Zemo’s arm and yanks him against the machine on the wall.
Zemo moans as he is shoved into it, the hard outer piece hitting into his chest roughly.
“Hey. You’ve got ten minutes” John shouts to Sam as he takes out a pair of handcuffs and attaches them to Zemo.
“Really” Zemo mutters as John cuffs him to the machine.
“Then we are doing things my way,” John declares ignoring him
“Aggressive” Zemo jokes, though from his eyes you could still see the anger he harbors towards John.
He twists his head to watch John stride forward, staring at Sam, then back to him. “But I get it”
You wander over to stand by Zemo as you wait for Sam to talk to Karli.
“This day has brought a lot of changes. This morning you refused to say a single thing to me and now just moments ago you were holding my hand,” Zemo speaks quietly to you.
You shoot him a glare, “I did that to agitate John,”
“Sure, that was the only reason” but you knew from his eyes he didn’t believe you. They sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you.
“That cuff must bother you” you mention glancing over at them.
“I don’t mind. I quite enjoy cuffs, in the right setting of course,” he quips.
You turn on your side, looking at him, your lips curling into a smile. If we are going to play that game, you thought.
“Oh, what setting would that be?”
Zemo’s smile deepened, enjoying seeing you play along, “I’m sure you would like to know”
“Do you have to do this here!” John exclaims, glaring at the two of you. You quickly step back from Zemo, forgetting that you two had company. Your eyes snap to Bucky’s with worry, but he wasn’t looking at you. He glared at the ground, not seeming to care what was happening between you and Zemo.
After that Zemo tried to engage you in conversation again but you effectively ignored him, going back to how you were treating him earlier, which you knew was frustrating him.
John was looking down at the shield, then squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, panting. Both you and Zemo glanced up, watching him cautiously. You glanced at Zemo and he stared back, confirming you were both thinking the same thing about Walker.
He got up and started shuffling towards the doorway. Both you and Bucky eyed at each other for the first time with the same recognition in your eyes. You leave Zemo’s side to walk over to where John was.
“No, no, no. This is a bad idea,” John mutters as he paces around. Zemo watches him like a hawk while you and Bucky stand side by side, arms crossed.
“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Sit tight,” Bucky replies.
“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me,” he spits back, pacing around.
“He knows what he is doing,” you reply
There’s silence for just a moment. You watch as John turns towards you and walks fast, hitting his fist against the shield, “I’m going in”
Bucky walks forward and places his hand on John, stopping him from moving further.
He tries to antagonise Bucky, trying to make him guilty for what could happen to Sam. And you could tell his words were influencing him.
“You will not be going in till ten minutes are up,” you state sauntering over to them
“Oh, so the whore has something to say,” John spits out
In the back, Zemo growls, tugging on the cuffs that connected him to the wall. You feel the outrage prick up on you as John’s remark.
“Don’t call her that” Bucky says, glaring at John
“She’s been openly flirting with the terrorist over there, so yeah, I think it’s appropriate to call her that,” John bites back
You rush forward, attempting to punch John in rage, but he was able to sidestep you and brings the shield up, connecting it harshly to the side of your head. Pain soars across your face as you fall down onto the ground. You groan, your eyesight going dark around the sides and black patches covering parts of what you could see.
“BASTARD” you hear someone shout with a beautiful accent. From the floor, you can’t make out much of what is going on. Someone with a metal arm attacking another guy. A man with a shield being attacked by a man in a trench coat. It was all too confusing for you. You just wanted to sleep.
You could feel yourself fading in and out. Your eyes begging to close. You could hear shouting. Someone talking.
Your head was raised. Someone was holding it in their hands. Your vision is blurry but as they get nearer your eyes could focus on them. Beautiful brown eyes, messy brown hair, cute thin lips. It was him.
“Y/n!?” Zemo shouted at you, “Y/n stay with me”
“My head hurts” you mutter to Zemo as he lifts you up, placing you against the wall. Slowly your eyesight came back, and you could see your surroundings. Only you and Zemo were left.
“Zemo, where is everyone?” you ask turning your head, but in doing so it makes you feel incredibly dizzy. You groan as Zemo places a hand on the side of your face to stop you moving.
“They went after the Sam,”
“I need to help them!”
“No, you need to stay here and recover,”
You look over at the wall then back to Zemo, “How did you get out of the cuffs?” you ask
“Ah well…” Zemo says and glances down at his hand, your eyes follow and widen seeing his hand, bruising covering it, his thumb sticking out at an odd angle.
“You broke your hand to get out!?”
“Well, I couldn’t let him get away with saying those things and hurting you,” Zemo mutters, smiling slightly but you could see the pain flickering in his eyes, “I gave him a well-deserved punch in the face”
You chuckle at the thought. Leaning forward, you kiss him lightly on his forehead, a gesture of you wanting to ease his pain. You move back just in time to see him looking at you, surprised, before your vision faded.
Taglist: @multiyfandomgirl40 @ineffablebean @freyjasamael @avgravy @huntheimpossible @checkurwindow @there-goes-thefighter @bunniwritesx @montypythonsholysnail @yallgotkik @wonderwoman292
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I said what I said
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Warmth (Part 2)
Helmut Zemo x F!Reader
Summary: After all the shit that goes down at the docks, you’re considering your feelings for the Baron. Will you act on them?
Word Count: 1.1k~
Warnings: spoilers for fatws (episode 3), brief mention of shooting, some teasing and a tiny bit of spice, but nothing graphic (...yet)
A/N: the response to Part 1 was insane, and the overwhelming reply to it was for a sequel, so here it is!! I guess this is a series now? 🤷🏻♀️ (I skipped the whole docks bit, because I just couldn’t find a way to write something without just rewriting the entire scene from the show)
Find Part 1 here!
Driving back to the jet didn’t take overly long. You could’ve done without the open roof of the car though. You were regretting giving Zemo back his coat when you reached the docks. The breeze as Zemo sped along sent a chill deep in your bones. And Zemo knew it. You kept catching his knowing gaze in the rear view mirror, and it’d make you blush each time.
Back on the jet, Zemo hands you each a plate of food before reclining in the chair opposite you. He offers a place for you to stay in Riga and you all fall into a silence for a while as you eat.
As you slowly pick at the food on your plate, the events of the day catch up with you. You’re stealing the occasional glance at Zemo, and hoping he hasn’t noticed. Were you really attracted to this man? After everything he put your friends though, and after shooting Nagel point blank in front of you all not even an hour ago? Why were you so enticed by him?
And why did he have to be so gentlemanly about you being cold? Why couldn’t he just be the asshole you assumed he’d be. Wanted him to be. And now you’ve caught Zemo staring at you a couple of times, and you remember you’re still in that godforsaken dress.
You promptly put your plate down and stand up, making your way to your bag, where you’d managed to pack a handful of clothes before leaving for Berlin with Sam and Bucky. You don’t care what you pick out, but you grab whatever’s at the top of the bag and walk back past the guys towards the bathroom.
You quickly change into the clothes you’d picked out - gym leggings and a hoodie. You take advantage of the well stocked bathroom and wipe off the makeup you’d worn for the party, sighing as you looked at your tired reflection. You balled up the dress and made your way back to your bag, shoving it in there and grabbing your earphones.
You took your seat again, plugging in your earphones and picking the first playlist that pops up on your phone, only putting one earphone in. Bringing your feet up and settling into your seat, you close your eyes and try your best to catch up on a little sleep, but you can just feel his eyes on you. It should bother you, but it just doesn’t.
You’re almost ashamed that you’re excited that he’s watching you. So it wasn’t just the outfit and environment last night that made him a little flirty. Or the alcohol. It was just you? And damn it, it made you feel like a blushing schoolgirl. It made you feel like a teenager again, with a crush on just about any guy who paid you the slightest bit of attention.
It was pathetic, and you knew it. This man, this criminal... and yet you wanted to touch him, wanted to feel him. Wanted him to touch you, feel you too. And that image plants itself in your brain, just what you needed. You almost feel the ghost of a touch across your body, imagining how he’d caress your skin if you gave him the chance.
You groaned as you shuffled around in your seat, blushing when you opened your eyes and realised you’d caught the attention of all three men.
“You good?” Sam asked, concern in his eyes.
“Yeah, think I just pulled something in my back at the docks.” You lied, grimacing and hoping it was convincing.
“Sitting like that will probably not help, mīļā.” Zemo drawls, and the smirk on his face makes you think he knows you’re lying.
“I don’t like to agree with him, but he’s right.” Sam shrugs and gives you a sympathetic smile.
“There is a bed at the back of the jet if you’d like to lay down?”
“You trying to proposition me, Baron?” You tease him with his title and his eyes widen, darting briefly to Sam and Bucky, who each have an expectant expression, before landing back on you.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” he responds and you laugh, the boys smiling at you.
“Lead the way, then.” You smirk at him and he walks past you towards the rear of the jet. You stand and follow him, muttering a quick “see you in Riga” to the boys.
In the very short walk to the back of the jet, you had about a thousand thoughts rush through your brain, almost all of them completely inappropriate and lewd.
Zemo was holding open the door to the rear section of the jet, waiting for you. He let go of it once you were through and it closed behind you.
You turned to look at the closed door, looking a second too long to be considering anything innocent. When you turned back to Zemo, he had a smirk on his face.
Were you going to do this?
You stalked the few steps between you, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him to you, lips meeting in a searing kiss.
Zemo’s hands immediately found purchase around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. You groaned into the kiss, trailing a hand up and into his hair, receiving a delicious moan from him as you tugged on the strands lightly.
The kiss was frantic and rough and everything you craved, and you pulled away breathless. Zemo’s hands wandered to your ass while you both caught your breath, giving you a firm squeeze, and pulling a sigh from your lips.
You smirked as you tugged on his hair again and a groan escaped the back of his throat. You could feel the effect you were having on him, feeling him harden against your thigh, and you only smiled more.
“You have to go back out there, or they’re going to get suspicious. It only takes so long to show me where a bed is. You spend any longer back here and one of them will come knocking.” Your hands did some roaming of their own as you spoke against his jaw, nipping his ear when you reached it. He growled when you pulled back, leaning to catch your lips again, but you pulled away from him completely.
“Go. We’ll finish this later, Baron.” You winked as you let yourself fall into the bed and he sighed. You were right. You couldn’t do anything now. He straightened his shirt out and opened the door to the main cabin, moving quietly back to his seat, thankfully receiving no curious looks from the boys.
All Zemo could think was that it was going to be a long flight to Riga.
Zemo taglist (please comment or ask if you’d like to be added or removed):
@noavengers @let-me-read-fanfiction-in-peace @zemodaddy @lulu-yuming @ichigomiluku @multiyfandomgirl40 @gwenebear
I’m also tagging anyone who left comments on part 1 (let me know if you’d rather not be tagged in the future, otherwise I’ll likely merge you into the main Zemo taglist):
@moongirl1313 @aisling1985 @lieutenantn @hibiscusgardenia @plantpottt @booklover2929 @angiekurosaki @whatiswrongwithpeople @myeternalsin @writeroutoftime @maldita-insonia
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music to watch you to.
summary. | He likes you a lot, so he’s putting on his music to watch his little girl to.
warnings. | smut, stepdad trope, penetration, masturbation (f/m), choking, voyeurism, perversion, watching porn, come marking, breeding kink, Daddy kink, dirty talk, praise, degradation, humiliation, spitting, fishnet kink, begging, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
word count. | 5.4k
pairings. | Step Father!Helmut Zemo x Reader.
a/n. | happy early birthday @bvckyswildflower!! i love you so much, thank you so much for everything and for being such an amazing friend! you’re so strong, you deserve the world. ilysm, happy early birthday! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know.
A specific buzz runs through your veins. Your head throbs immensely, and you walk with tiredness taking over your body. Your high heels swing in your hands, and your phone dies at the same time too. The ache in your back feels as though with one good stretch, it’ll go away, but that’s far from the truth. Your makeup is messed up, and what’s left of it stains your face. You’re lucky you made it out without a horrible stomach ache. You take your alcohol well but not well enough to leave you unscathed.
You almost feel bad for leaving so early, but you just couldn’t spend a second there any longer. As soon as you stepped foot into your old friend’s house, you knew you’d regret it. And you do. You’re still not sure whether the slight sickness inside you is from the alcohol or the shame. Why you ever agreed to go out just a few days after the breakup is beyond you. Familiar faces of people you haven’t seen in years filled the room, and you dread the questions they’ve asked you.
How was university? Did you and your boyfriend get engaged? What happened to you? Are you staying here? Did you graduate?
Your answers disappoint them, and you could see the faux pity written all over them. They turn away, make a mocking face to their friends, and then turn back to you as if they don’t see you as lower than them. Someone who’ll never get anywhere in life, who’ll be stuck in this city while everyone else moves away. It’s what they’ve been whispering about you. They don’t take your return lightly, and you don’t take their words with a grain of salt.
So that’s why you are strolling throughout your home, dragging your feet behind you. There are small noises in the kitchen, but you’re too out of it to genuinely care. You wish for someone who cares. Someone who could hold you tight throughout the dark times, just like he-who-shall-no-longer-be-named would for a split second. You want reassurance; you want love. But you don’t know who to turn to for it except for yourself.
You’d kill for some comfort from your mother, but she’s already taken her sleeping pills, and you don’t have the energy to walk across the house just for a hug and a ‘toughen up, kiddo’ from her. Your stepfather, on the other hand… He’s much better at comfort. Though he isn’t as in touch with his emotions (ignorance is bliss), he knows how weak minds tend to be. Best with his words, you can’t stand to sit down and have a conversation about how the only thing in life that brings you happiness is something you can’t possibly make a career out of. So you’d instead take his awkward pat on the back and half-hug over his overly-detailed psychoanalysis.
But you don’t want to bother him either, so you suck it up and lock yourself in your room. Your heels are strewn onto the floor, and your phone is slammed onto the bedside table. You’ll charge it later. You throw yourself onto your bed, not caring that you’ve just given yourself an unwanted headache that won’t go away until you take some medicine. The dizziness soon parts ways from your head, and you sigh.
You tend to enjoy a good party every now and then, but you’d much rather have a party all by your lonesome.
You fiddle with your fingers mindlessly. A small habit you’ve developed since you were a kid, and your mother would soon learn that it’s your form of bouncing your leg up and down. You always have your own twist on familiar things, such as coping mechanisms and Pinterest baking recipes. Your nail stops at a piece of broken skin, and you’re not sure why it’s there. Perhaps you cut yourself while cooking, or maybe while trying to look for an appropriate outfit. You’re such a clutz, always getting hurt yet never knowing how your injuries have formed.
You want to pick at it so badly, but you remember that you always regret it when you’d look at your finger just to find some blood. So you leave it alone, and in the same manner; you want all the horrible people who aren’t you to leave you alone—everyone except for him. You stare up at the ceiling and let your hands fall to your sides, and your eyes flutter shut. You have no intent to sleep as your tiredness has left you the moment you stepped foot into your small room.
Your bed sheets feel lovely against your skin. You want to lay there forever and ever and never let go of the feeling. It’s rare to have this feeling when in bed, especially during the summer. It’s like finding money on the ground or getting a good grade on an assignment you were worried about. You turn on your stomach with a heavy sigh, worried that you’ll stain the fabric beneath you with your makeup. So you simply just rest your head against your arms. You gaze off to the side, and you think about him. It’s so wrong, and you really shouldn’t.
But you do it anyway.
The first time you met him was a year ago. You weren’t overly ecstatic about having a stepfather, but you warmed up to the idea just for the sake of your mother. She was never that happy since before your father passed away. Your house was so dull, except for the times when your relatives would visit, or your friends would come over. But even they would grow distant from you, and you’d eventually have to stick to seeing your them only at school and birthday parties.
It took you a while to get used to him. Your interactions were always either because of your mother or by accident. Like the one time, your mother forced you to hug him, and you felt his hard cock pressed against your body. Or the other time, when he bumped into you and accidentally spilled water all over both of your white shirts. He got a nice view of your tits, and you got a pleasant sight of his body.
A softly toned stomach along with a bit of chest hair that you’d love to tangle your fingers between, with numerous freckles that remind you of stars in the night sky. An Adonis line runs down to his groin, and God, you really shouldn’t be thinking of your stepfather this way. You can’t help it, though, especially not when he looks like a real-life reincarnation of a Greek God.
You don’t realize the hands that trail along your body until you feel goosebumps beginning to rise. Your red painted nails dance along your skin, and a lovely chill runs down your spine. You let out a shaky breath as your core pools with wetness, soaking your leggings. Now, the cloth doesn’t have anything special to it. It’s cheap and old, from when you just turned eighteen. And it’s the pair that you’ve always managed to soak while thinking about him.
You still wear that cheap dress of yours. You’ve stitched it up, God knows how many times, and yet it never is perfect. It’s silk, cheap silk. You easily could buy another one, heck, even a much better one. But you choose not to because there’s just something about it that makes you want to keep it. ...Oh, right. It’s Helmut’s favourite.
It’s like the conversation happened a few minutes ago when really it was three years ago, a year after they had gotten married.
You're waiting for your mother to finish getting ready for a family dinner, so you lounge around the living room. He comes sauntering in, his tie loose and his hair a mess. You try to avoid jumping to conclusions, but you know exactly what happened. Small talk is never your thing, and it isn’t for him either, but you go with it just to ease the awkwardness.
“Nice dress, you look amazing in it,” he tells you as he ties the black cloth around his neck. “T- Thank you,” you smile at him before looking back down to your phone. Your photos app and settings app aren’t as excellent as he is, but they’ll make do just to keep you occupied. “You should wear it more often.”
Your finger trails along your top lip gently, a feather-light touch that you’ve learned to master years ago. You’re like a light breeze in the hot summer rain against your skin. More wetness drools out of you, and you just wonder how he manages to have this effect on you even though you’ve both barely ever spoken to one another. From your lips, you trail your fingers down to your neck.
Your other hand grips the cloth of the dress right below your decolletage and right above your breasts. Your toes curl, and you spread your legs apart slightly. Your fingers trail to your shoulders, and you push down the thin straps of your dress. You sit up on your knees and slowly pull the dress over your head, letting the rose gold fabric softly brush over your skin and fall next to you.
You push it off the bed and let it find a temporary home on the ground beside the bed. You’re left in a strapless bra and your fishnet leggings. They’re your absolute favourite, and you always get excited whenever the occasion to pull them out comes up. Once again, there’s nothing too special about it. It’s just that the hole-filled accessory never fails to make you feel beautiful.
You unclasp your bra slowly and drag your nails along your back as you do so. Your head involuntarily rolls backwards at the feeling. “Fuck,” you whisper under your breath. The bra lands on your dress, and your hands slowly crawl down to the waist of the leggings. They move over your soft thighs, and your breathing hitches. You get closer and closer to your sticky inner thighs, right to where your sopping pussy is.
Your eyes flutter shut once again, but you quickly open them up when you remember that your laptop is fully charged. Though the gadget was bought explicitly for essential uses, you just can’t help loading up a specific site that never fails to make you drop your panties. The little devil on your shoulder outshines the angel, and you find yourself grabbing the device and placing it in front of you. It powers up quicker than ever, and you’re smiling with glee and mischief.
You type the first letter of the website into your search bar, and it immediately pops up, making you giggle. You drag your bottom lips between your teeth, biting down on it lightly, and you search for your favourite video. The one that you always watch whenever you think about him. The one that never fails to turn you on beyond belief.
Stepdad fucks his stepdaughter after catching her masturbating.
The title itself makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. A few frames from the video tease you with what’s coming, and excitement runs through your veins. Your drunken haze from the few shots of vodka you took down the hatch no longer exists, and now you’re drunk on arousal. You press play and sit back against the numerous mismatched pillows you own.
It’s your makeshift throne, and you’ll do anything you desire in it. You place your hands on the back of your thighs gently, splaying them against the skin and muscle as you always do. Your wetness makes your pussy glisten like the shiny clandestine jewel it is. The juxtaposing classical music in the introduction reminds you that you aren’t home alone and that someone can hear you.
And by someone, you immediately think of Helmut.
Your heart clamours at the thought of him learning as to what you’re watching. Would he yell? Would he leave? Would he kick you out? ...Would he help you out? Each scenario has you shivering, and yet you decide to open up another tab. The grey, white and red screen of YouTube pops up, and you click the first song shown in your recommendation.
The soft, melodious voice of Lana Del Rey echoes from your computer, and you double-click the music video, putting it on loop. The song blares throughout your room, and you switch back to your intended tab. The video has already gotten to the best part. The woman is wearing nothing except for a sly smirk as the older man––her ‘stepfather’––slowly undresses.
Now, he looks nothing like Helmut, and you know that nobody can compare. But you can’t help but close your eyes and picture him. The stubble beard of his that you’d love to feel between your thighs. Those big, veiny hands that would look so lovely gripping your hips. A lightly sculpted body that would perfectly hover over yours as he plows into you. God, you have it bad for him.
The video’s dialogue doesn’t matter to you because you’ve already got your own script written. You trail your dominant hand to your pussy, while your other hand remains at your thigh. Your inner thighs are sticky with your wetness, and you can just imagine what Helmut would think. “Such a desperate little girl, you’re so wet. Is it all because of me?”
It’s almost as if you can hear him.
Coffee is like a drug, which is why Helmut has stopped drinking it. Tea, on the other hand, is much more soothing. The way the hot liquid tastes on Helmut’s tongue reminds him of the days in college where he would catch a slight fever. He’d call his father for overnight remedies, and he’d always have to instruct him how to make the tea over the phone.
Through his obliviousness, he never knew that black tea has as much caffeine as your average cup of coffee. So that’s why he’s mindlessly exploring his home at half-past-ten. Helmut has wandered around in the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms and even the bathrooms. He’d take one or two of his wife’s sleeping pills, but they’re prescribed, and she’ll get mad. He doesn’t like it when anyone gets mad at him.
Boredom is always a good cure for restlessness. And nothing bores Helmut more than a textbook. Long hours of studying flash into his mind, and he would hate to be a student in this day and age. Gosh, he sounds so old. He knows you have some textbooks still lying in your room, ones that you promised to donate but have kept on your desk since. He’s tried to be understanding in your dropping out, but you’re hard to read.
So he walks up the carpeted stairs that he has nearly fallen down on one too many times. With a sharp exhale, he slowly approaches your room. He recognizes that music all too well. When you’re in the shower, you tend to belt out Lana’s songs while scrubbing that beautiful body of yours. He wants to deny it, and he knows that if he were to be put on the stand, he wouldn’t be able to lie about it.
He’s watched you do so many intimate things in your room. The memories can never leave his mind, and he feels so guilty about it, but he just can’t help but fantasize about you. Sitting on that bed, your hands between your thighs, begging him to come fuck you. Blood rushes down his cock, and he shakes his head in disappointment. “I’m such a fucking pervert, God,” he mumbles under his breath, rounding the corner.
The music gets louder, and though he usually isn’t into the songs you play, he can’t stop the slight skip in his steps. He hums along to the words, and Helmut notices the way your door is a bit ajar. He wonders if you’ve passed out and forgotten to turn off your lights and the computer, only because he knows how much you hate having your door open even by the slightest crease.
He peaks in, and you shock him.
Your back arches off the pillows a bit. The hand against your thigh now grips one of your tits, and your legs are spread out wide. Your heart clamours in your chest as you slowly rub your swollen clit, watching the video attentively. The petite pornstar is plowed into by her co-star, and you can just imagine how nice it would be to have Helmut throw you around like you’re nothing.
“Oh, Helmut…” you moan, pressing down a bit harder on your nub. Helmut’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull, and he just can’t believe his ears. He watches your hips buck against your fingers, and a bead of sweat runs down the side of your neck. You pant like a bitch in heat, and blood rushes both to his face as well as his cock. You touch yourself over your leggings, and Helmut wants nothing more than to fuck you silly while you wear them.
He slowly and gently opens up your door a bit farther, peeping his head inside just to get a better view of you. There is not one voice in his mind calling out to him, saying that he shouldn’t be doing this and should just go to his room. So he just has to assume that everything is okay. “Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.
You speed up the ministrations on your clit, and you watch the screen as the stepdaughter matches your expression of euphoria. Her eyes roll back into her skull, and yours do the same. As her jaw falls slack, your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape that resembles hers. The man fucks her even harder, urging her to come all over his cock, and you want Helmut to do the same to you. Pressure shoots through your abdomen, and you’re so tempted to let out a loud moan.
But the hand that clamps down on your mouth stops you. You let out a squeal out of shock, only to look up and find Helmut staring at you with a dark look in his eyes. A pure, almost childlike terror claims your face, but you soon relax into him. The blue of his orbs are blown out with lust, and you want death right here, right now. “Shh, don’t stop, little girl, let me see you come undone,” he husks, and you nod your head.
“Go on, show Daddy how much of a whore you can be,” he urges, and your eyes fall to his crotch. You can see the outline of his thick cock through his thin shorts. You imagine it stretching you out, dragging against your sensitive walls while his pelvis grinds against your clit. Soaking him in your juices while telling you how much of a slut you are as if you don’t already know.
You rub your little nub even faster now, and you watch Helmut as he pushes his hand inside his drawers. He wraps his hand around his cock, desperate for some sort of release. His other hand moves from your mouth, and he uses it to push down his shorts and boxers. You don’t even have the energy to look at him and his pretty cock, because you’re too focused on coming for him.
He stands right next to your laptop, and you can feel his eyes on you as he switches between watching your pretty face and staring at your dripping pussy. Your legs twitch, and your chest rises and falls as you begin to feel that fire in your core ignite. Precum drips from Helmut’s slit, beads of it rolling down the side of his cock and staining his hand. His fist pumps furiously over his cock––from base to tip––over and over again.
He lets out low, deep grunts and moans as he feels himself nearing the edge already. “God, you’re such a fucking slut; wanting to get fucked by your Stepfather. I bet those young boys don’t know how to fuck you good, right? Yeah, I bet while they were fucking you, you were thinking of me filling up that pussy with my cum,” he growls, and you nod your head.
Every single word of his is absolutely true, and you wonder if it’s been written all over your face for those years you’ve known him.
“Oh, are you gonna come, baby? So quickly? You really are desperate, aren’t you? Већ постајеш глуп? Боже, само сачекај док те не натакнем на пенис,” he growls, quickening his movements on his cock. You have no idea what he’s saying, but his tone of voice is enough to push you over the edge. The dam breaks, and in comes the flood. With a loud moan, you come undone as the girl in the video hits her climax as well. You moan loudly, but the music covers your loud sounds up.
Your back arches off the bed, and wetness drools out of you. Your chest rises and falls as tingles fill your entire body from pleasure. You continue to rub your clit––softly, though. Your legs twitch, and you just can’t handle anything more, even though you’re still needy and desperate to get off again and again. Your digits move downwards, and they pick up some of your slick. You stare him dead in the eyes as you bring said fingers all the way up to your lips.
You push them past your oh-so kissable lips, and the slightly bitter yet sweet taste of yourself fills your mouth. Your tongue swirls around your fingers, lapping and licking up every bit of yourself. And you do it all while Helmut watches you. You smile around them, trying your best to hide the brattiness beneath your exterior. But he sees straight through it. Blood rushing down to his cock again, and he can’t believe how much of a whore you are.
“Fuck, you taste good, don’t you, baby? Вероватно слатко попут слаткиша,” he moans, fucking his hand even faster now. He usually has better stamina, but there’s just something about you that’s changing it all. “I’m gonna come all over you, coat you with my seed so that you’ll remember that you belong to me. Nobody else’s slut, only mine,” Helmut snarls.
“Please, Daddy? Please give me your cum; I want it all over me. Please? I need it so badly, please give me your cum,” you beg him sweetly, and that just does it for him. He’s a goner. His balls tighten up, and he aims his cock towards your pussy. Groaning, he hits his climax. White streaks of hot cum spurt out from his raging tip, landing onto your cunt, and you gasp loudly. You let out soft whimpers, and Helmut lets out soft groans.
His cum mixes with the mess that is your pussy, and you open your legs even wider for him. Ropes of his seed hit your clit, your inner thigh, right near your hole––practically everywhere. “Fuck,” he moans, admiring the painted masterpiece between your legs. It’s so debauched, so wrong to do, but you both love it so much. “Your pussy is even prettier now, baby,” he smirks, dropping his hand that was on his cock to his sides. You stare up at him with a mischievous smirk on your face.
“You still aren’t satisfied, are you? You’re such a whore. I bet if it were possible, you’d get fucked every second of the day. You just can’t get enough of being treated like a slut, I know you can’t, мала беба,” Helmut growls, and you whimper. The idea is simply wonderful, and you realize that he’s not wrong at all. He swiftly pulls his shirt over his head, and you ogle his body. You never really did fancy those overly ripped men growing up.
Maybe it was just the content you consumed when you were younger. His stomach is soft, and you’d love to have your nose against it while his cock is in your throat. His chest is just perfect for you to dig your nails in when you ride his cock. He’s perfect. Helmut smirks down at you––all morals out the window––and he climbs on top of your body. He rests his hands on your waist, right where the band of your leggings is.
At first, you think he’s truly the gentleman he is. You think he’s going to pull your fishnets down, and you think he’s going to be gentle with you. But you’re wrong. His broad hands move to the centre of your core, and he slots his fingers between the spaces of the tights. Suddenly, he rips them apart loudly, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. The sound is quite loud, but your music is louder. You’re sure the video has finished playing, but you don’t care about that.
You only care about him.
He continues to tear the cheap fabric away from your skin, leaving you with nothing on. You admire the tiny bit of strength he puts into the action, almost as if stripping you bare doesn’t matter much to him. Helmut throws the two pieces of what was once your favourite pair of leggings behind him, somewhere near the laptop. He grips your thighs and drags you closer to him until his cock is touching your messy pussy.
You watch him through his every movement. “Such a pretty pussy. I can’t wait to ruin it, baby,” he smiles at you, bringing his index finger to your sensitive folds. You’re so wet, soaking the bed sheets beneath you, and there’s no doubt you’ll do the same to his cock. “I want you to fuck me, Daddy. Please fuck me, I’ll be so good for you!” you plead to him, hooking your arms under your knees.
“Боже мој…” Helmut breathlessly mutters, looking at the way your eyes have been glazed over. He pulls his hand away from your pussy, unsure as to whether or not he wants to fuck you into oblivion right here, right now, or to tease you until you’re sobbing and writhing. “Please, please, please, Daddy! Please fuck me, I need your cock so badly, please-” you continue to beg until a hand around your throat shuts you up.
Helmut leans over your body even more now, squeezing the sides of your neck until dark stars taint your vision. “That’s all you know how to do; beg for cock and be desperate. Right? Пошто сте тако лепо питали, ваљда ћу се појебати ти. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. I’ll only stop when I think I should stop,” he smirks, and you moan softly. Nodding your head excitedly, you go to beg once more just for added measure.
As soon as you open your mouth, you’re taken aback. Helmut’s face hovers over yours, and his lips are puckered up. Suddenly, he spits into your slack jaw, and it lands directly on your tongue. “Swallow it, now,” he orders, and you do exactly that. His blown-out eyes stare into yours for a few seconds, and your heart is beating out of your chest. More wetness drools out of your hole, and Helmut’s cock is still hard.
You then feel the blunt tip of his big cock poking at your tight entrance. Your breathing hitches as he slowly pushes his, sheathing his entire length inside of you. The stretch is so painful as he splits you into two. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good for Daddy,” he tells you, his accent becoming more prominent than you’ve ever noticed. He eventually bottoms out, and you’re fighting so hard to not let out a loud moan that even Lana Del Rey can’t save you from.
“Проклетство, твоја маца је тако уска, just gripping me so tight I can barely move,” Helmut groans. His balls sit against your ass, and you slowly get used to the painful stretch. It turns pleasurable, and you find yourself wanting him to move already. You clench down on him, urging him to start fucking you. But he just shakes his head, not giving in to your Bambi eyes and pathetic pleas. “Feel how deep I’m inside of you, baby? Yeah, isn’t that what you wanted?” he questions, and you nod your head.
The song starts up again for the nth time that night. “Тако добро ћу те јебати, душо. Gonna let your stepdad fuck you, baby?” he questions once more, waiting for your answer. “Mhm, fuck me, Daddy. Please fuck me,” you tell him, and he lets out a soft chuckle. Slowly, he drags his cock out of your wet pussy. He watches where you’re both connected, staring at the way you have him shining and glistening. You moan softly as he leaves just the tip of his cock inside you before thrusting back into you harshly.
Helmut fucks you roughly and quickly, desperate to bring you both to your climaxes. His hand grips your throat roughly, and his other hand grabs your waist tightly. “Fuck, Daddy,” you choke out, not expecting him to be so aggressive. “Принцезо, you look so pretty with my cock inside you. I love how stupid you look,” he groans. “Harder, daddy, please, I wanna come for you,” you plead to him. “Such a brat, am I not fucking you hard enough? God, you’re such a whore. You’re gonna be sorry you asked me that,” Helmut warns.
He slows down his pace, but he fucks you even harder. Each thrust sends butterflies throughout your body, and every now and then, he hits your sweet spot. You sing sweet sounds like a hummingbird, all for him. His balls slap against your ass, and his groin rubs against your swollen clit a few times. “Daddy, you feel so good inside me. I love your cock so much…” you whisper to him, gripping the sheets next to you. They’re not soaked, but they may rip by the time he’s done with you.
“I know you do, slut; I know you love my cock. That’s why you’re taking it so well, just like the good girl you are,” Helmut tells you after one particularly harsh thrust. You begin to feel that coil inside you tighten up, ready to snap any moment now. But this time, it’s stronger, and you need to come so badly. “Daddy… I’m gonna come,” you warm him, squeezing your eyes shut as pressure starts to build. “Јебати, yeah, I can feel it, baby. I’m gonna come to, I’m gonna fill you up with my cum,” he moans softly.
You whimper at his words, wanting him to come inside you so badly. “Make you all swollen with my kid, never gonna let you go empty- Fuck.” You both begin to moan louder and louder, and you’re the first to let go. Dizziness sways you as your back arches off your bed. Your eyes roll back, and you moan to him. “Daddy!” you cry out, your heart clamouring in your chest. Your pussy clamps down on Helmut’s cock tightly as you come around him. Wetness coats his cock, and you can barely catch your breath.
“Daddy…” you moan once more, and he just can’t hold back anymore. His thrusts become sloppy, and his balls tighten up as he comes. Ribbons of cum painting your inner walls, and he fills you up to the brim, just like he promised. The hands that are on you loosen up a bit, and you moan at the feeling of his cum inside of you. “Јебени пакао,” he groans above you. You look at him carefully. He’s slick with sweat and slightly red, and you giggle. “What?” he asks, more confused than ever. “Nothing, Daddy,” you whisper.
“Nice music, by the way,” Helmut compliments, leaning over you. In perfect timing, your computer falls asleep. Lana Del Rey’s voice no longer fills the room; and instead, it’s your shallow pants. He slowly pulls out of you, and you both whimper. Your poor pussy has been abused beyond belief. Cum leaks out of you and mixes with the other fluids that cover you. He leans backwards and presses the space bar, and the song starts up again. “How about you put on a show for me now, моја мала девојчица?” he proposes.
He likes you a lot, so he’s putting on his music to watch his little girl to.
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Summary: You’ve always been the unseen and the unmovable. All that is tested when Zemo finds you as intriguing as you find him. When an opportunity arises, he takes the chance to show you just how much he has enjoyed your presence.
Warnings: 18+ / Daddy!Zemo / Unprotected Sex / Spanking / Praise Kink / Punishment
Word Count: 2022 K
Requested by Anon: “Mcu request if you’re interested: something where upset or flustered fem!reader accidentally calls zemo daddy and it leads to smut”
Please comment and reblog if you enjoy. It really helps when you do. Thank you!
Covertly collecting intel has always been your forte. At a young age, you had come to understand that your talents lay in that of observation and critical thinking. No special powers needed. You are adaptable to any situation, able to blend in, see beyond the mundaneness of one’s actions, and piece it all together. This is what makes you an invaluable asset.
With more work, came the opportunity to analyze situations from various angles, sometimes as the double agent, the quiet arm candy of a high-level gangster, or the even-tempered agent. Each time, you’ve found that there is a strange similarity between your globe-trotting missions and the game of chess. There are the pieces: world governments, presidents and prime ministers, renegades and rebels, diplomats and citizens. The strategic actions taken: the blockade of supply channels, the bombing of government facilities, the uprising of the disenchanted.
The push and pull as two sides war; all moving until that final checkmate.
The current operation is no different. More than ready to lend your services when called upon by Sam, you joined his ragtag group wishing to make real change and restore peace. The Flag Smashers are chaotically organized in achieving their goals. Understandably, it would be difficult for the untrained eye to see, but that is why you were brought in. There’s a pattern, a meaning to the madness and you’ll find it.
The table had been set with all the pieces in their rightful places. On the opposing side, the Flag Smashers, the Power Broker, world calamity, anarchy, and fear. Countering them is Sam, Bucky, the GRC, world governments, the new Captain America, and his battle-hardened partner Lemar Hoskins.
Each piece has been set, standing tall, and ready to fall.
But unlike the checkered board, the reality is that those lines are blurred. Enemies become one-time allies, friends bicker, and individuals find themselves delving into immorality for the sake of righteousness. With every turn taken, you watch and analyze, picking up on the subtleties and anticipating the next move.
And then, there is Baron Zemo. He is a much harder piece to place. Your eyes wander along his form, scrutinizing every detail as he paces the kitchen before settling for a drink of dark liquor. He’s quite the character. Former foe now offering you all shelter under his roof. A rook? The stronghold, well-kept walls blockading the enemy’s path. No, that's not him.
Perhaps a knight? Protective and standing in defense. He had insisted that you stay close and keep up appearances as your group entered Madripoor. The warmth of his palm on your hip as he drew you close to him is still etched on your skin. Each time you think back on it, your core pulses with need. Even when he ordered Bucky to take down bar patrons, he had tucked your face into the soft fur-lined lapels of his jacket. They smelled so strong of his cologne and gunpowder, calming you until the chaos ended. You recall the strength of his grip and how securely his fingers laced with yours as he tugged you away from the hail of bullets ricocheting off metal beams and fluorescent signs after the bounty had been set. In fleeting moments, he may raise a shield.
The bishop? Educated in both the ways of high class and the streets, Zemo proves that influence comes in many forms. With each new individual, he finds what they want, what they need, and provides it. You often find yourself seemingly intoxicated by the way he works a room. The web of lies he spins to have people do his bidding is intricate. There is a beauty to it. And all the while, at the very center, there is a single thread of truth laced between the falsehoods. Influence is his power, but not only one.
A king, then? Maybe, but never a pawn. That is for certain.
“Are you okay?”
“W—What?” Blinking rapidly, you try to hide the surprise that has washed over you. With your head downcast, you mumble out an apology.
The corners of his mouth pull into a frown before quickly inching upward into his signature smirk, “You have been burning a hole into my skull for the past ten minutes. Is there any particular reason?” Zemo rests his elbows on the countertop, propping his chin upon his hands. He leans across the island, “I know I am dashingly handsome. If you’d like a closer look, all you had to do was ask. I know you have a fascination with watching.”
You sputter at his assertion, nearly toppling yourself over as you slip off the barstool and slink across the room. The man puts you on edge. Though you are meant to be the observer, you feel very much like a specimen under the microscope. Your attempts to quell your rapid heartbeat are in vain. Every quick-witted quip and shift of his body propel you deeper into a pool of desire. And you’re quite convinced you may drown at some point.
But still, you have this gnawing sense that you have missed a very important moment. A pass has been made but you can not figure out where. Working through every encounter, every glance, every touch, you search for the missing link. His actions after his Bucky-assisted escape had been suspicious. It was unlikely that they would be seen as anything else, being that he was an enemy to so many. You picked up on his mannerisms: the way his head tilted to the right when the unsuspecting were providing him with leverage, how his fingers caressed the lines of his well-worn mask and the hidden meaning behind his soul-bearing conversations of morality.
There’s more than that one game at work here. He has been moving key players across the board but for what purpose, you do not know. With newfound curiosity, you decide to gather more intel. There must be more hidden within the safe house that will provide insight into his agenda.
There are two rooms at the end of the hall. Tall oak doors stand with secrets hidden behind them. The bedroom yielded no clues but the small office, secure and secluded, was a treasure trove of information. Though not related to the current mission, you discovered neatly written notes, codes, passwords, and bank account numbers amongst the stacks of organized papers.
Hunched over the desk, you hastily record to memory numbers and names. You can do more research later, but time is a precious commodity that you fear you may be running short on.
“846. 72. 84672. 21...” Your low mumbles drift through the room on a continuous repeat.
“What do we have here?”
You jerk away from the desk, sending papers cascading to the floor. All your muscles feel like loaded springs, ready for action but your only escape route is cut off by a rather intimidating figure. Zemo stands in the doorway, head slanted and hands clasped behind his back,” This is a rather surprising turn of events.”
“I’m sorry. I was just—“
“You were just...” His hand waves through the air, silently informing you to fill in the blanks. He tuts when you don’t continue. Obviously, you have no excuse at the ready. You hadn’t expected to get caught.
“I’ve noticed your stares. An inquisitive little one, aren’t you?” He circles once, twice, and then halts behind you. No longer on the prowl, he’s found his next meal. Closing the distance, his chest barely brushes against your back but the rumble of his words still travels along your spine and sets light to the embers smoldering in your belly, “What shall I do with you now?”
“It’s okay. I understand. I’ve become captivated by you as well.”
You want to ask him what he means. You want to ask what is so intriguing about yourself that has caught his attention. But his lips land just below your ear, leaving a kiss before he speaks again, “And what shall we do for your punishment?”
“Punish...” Your eyes slip shut as his kisses dance along the length of your neck, “ment?”
His lips stop suckling at your pulse point, “Yes. You want to apologize for snooping in my things, do you not?”
You have barely responded with a breathless ‘yes’ before his hand is between your shoulder blades and pressing you forward to bend over the desk. Dizzy with lust, you can just recognize that your sweatpants are being pulled further down your legs. It isn’t until his gentle touch smooths over the slope of your ass that you squirm and whimper.
“Do you wish to continue?”
“Good. Very good.”
His touch isn’t light. There’s no rest between smacks. It’s one after the next, after the next. Your ass is seared with pain, but your pussy betrays you, leaking the juices of your excitement. You lost count of how many he has given you. It's just one stream of aching pleasure.
“You’ve been such a good girl taking your punishment, haven’t you?”
“Yes, daddy.” Your entire body tenses and shame washes over you. Try as you might, Zemo does not let you up and so tears begin to puddle in your lower lids. There is silence. And then his body is smothering you, lips press against your ear, and a gruff command implores you to say it again. When you don’t comply, he urges you again, “Say it. I want to hear you call me that again.”
As if to make you believe him, he grinds his solid erection against you. The front of his slacks become stained with your essence, but he doesn’t stop, “Say it again, little one.”
“Please, d-daddy. I need more.”
“Anything you want, you’ll get.”
You whine when his weight lifts from you but he shushes you, “Patience. Have patience. I’ll give you what you want.”
The sound of his belt buckle clanging is music to your ears. Your skin prickles with anticipation and your core clenches around nothing. Zemo’s fingers slip through your folds, swirling around your entrance, and collecting your juices. Glancing back, you watch as he smears it over his cock, mixing it the precum weeping from his tip.
His eyes meet your as he presses himself against your entrance. Even as he begins to sink into you, he never breaks eye contact. Intense and intimate, the moment is suffocating. Your pussy clenches as he spears into you. Never have you felt so full, so complete. When he finally bottoms out, his cock lifts and twitches inside you, appreciating the way your core envelops him with warmth.
Out. The slow drag of his cock along your walls is excruciating. And in. Zemo’s hip rock forward and you move instinctively to meet him. The intentional pause as he meets the spongy spot that makes your toes curl. Skillful fingers slip between your legs, seeking out the small bundle of nerves that adds to your collective pleasure. In return for the attention, he lavishes on your pearl, your pussy flutters around his cock.
“You feel amazing, little one. Tight little pussy, just for me.”
“Only for you, daddy.”
Your proclamation spurs him on. His thrusts become more pointed, rougher. Items are sent scattering across the desk by sheer force. His once methodical pace is lost and now he ruts into you with reckless ferocity. Again and again, he hits upon that deep spot of pleasure. Once. Twice. On the third stroke, cries of ecstasy come from you both. He continues pushing you past your limit and prolonging your orgasm as you continue to milk his cock.
It’s only when he finally stills that you feel you can breathe again. The air, once pushed from your lungs by his pounding, rushes back into your tired lungs, “Zemo…”
“Shhh,” Zemo plants a kiss on your temple before taking in your wrecked and wanton form. His fingers, still sticky with your juices, dip into your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes, “We’ll protect each other from now on. You and me.”
And for the first time, you are no longer invisible.
Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!
A/N: I did waaay too much chess research for this fic. A castling is a special strategic early move where the king and rook move creating a safer position for the king and a more active position at the center of the board for the rook. Basically it’s to protect the king. Can you guess who is who is this fic??? Apologies if anything is incorrect. I knew almost nothing about chess before starting my research journey.
Tagging the Lovelies: @your-pixels-are-showing @boop-le-snoot @newmidnightmayor @mssbridgerton
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Kiss Me More (Part II) - Zemo/Reader
Masterlist || Part One
Summary: Part two, read part one if you haven’t already! Sam & Bucky put reader in charge of looking after Zemo....again. Series loosely inspired by this song.
Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, mentions of sex, minor TFATWS spoilers.
A/N: Wow! I was so shocked on the feedback I got on the first part of this story. It has nearly 800 notes. I’m not used to my writing getting that kind of attention so I really appreciate the love. I decided to make this into at least a 3-4 part series and there will be eventual smut, but I feel like there’s something sweet between these two that goes beyond an obvious physical attraction, so I do want to build that a bit before we get there. This weekend I rewatched TFATWS & Civil War because I’m officially obsessed with Zemo lol. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :)
“Keep an eye on him.”
Y/N watched Bucky and Sam split off again. That was now at least the third time she’d heard that phrase since she arrived in Riga. Little did they know, she was probably the worst person to be put in charge of Zemo. Truthfully, it was starting to be a little insulting.
It was unclear why she’d been brought along on this mission, when half the time Sam and Bucky were talking in hushed tones just out of her earshot. There was always more to the story than they told her, but this time, it felt like she was more out of the loop than ever.
She adjusted the neckline of the sweater she wore out of an abundance of caution, checking subconsciously to make sure it hadn’t exposed the mark Zemo had left on her from the day before. It was a discovery she’d made that morning, and persisted despite her efforts to cover it up with makeup.
“According to those two, I must be the best at babysitting you,” she muttered under her breath. It was petty, so she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to hear. But he did.
“Babysitting?” Zemo lifted an eyebrow.
“You know, a nanny, a governess….whatever a Baron’s equivalent is,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time that day, which was a mistake. He looked so handsome in that long, fur-lined coat, tall and refined, hair styled perfectly. There had to be warrants out for his arrest since escaping prison, and in his current getup, he was hard to miss.
It wasn’t easy to ignore the stifling tension between them. The Baron hadn’t left her thoughts since she’d closed the door on him the evening before. Now they were alone again. She couldn’t decide if that was thrilling or terrifying, so she decided on both.
“It’s nice of them to give us some alone time,” Zemo stepped close to her, one gloved hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Despite the cool temperature outside, it was the first thing today that had her shivering.
“Walk with me,” he commanded sternly. She saw no opportunity to refuse as they started in the direction opposite of where Bucky and Sam had disappeared.
“Helmut,” he corrected her. “But go on…”
“We have to focus on figuring out where Donya’s funeral will be,” she said, feeling his hand slide down to settle on the small of her back, trying to inch away, but he just pulled her closer. “We can’t waste time.”
“I know Riga inside and out, that won’t be as difficult as you and your friends think,” he murmured. His proximity was already suffocating. Or maybe comforting. It was hard to tell. “Tell me, what is your business with them? You aren’t an Avenger. This was my first time hearing your name.”
She snorted, finally finding the strength to pull away, and he dropped his hand. That was one thing that had confounded her. He was confident, took liberties with what others would allow, but knew when to stop pushing. There was something alluring to his nature.
“I’m not,” she responded, wondering how much she was willing to share. When she stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes, his head was lowered, leaning in, listening intently for her response. She wondered if he really cared, or if he was good at pretending. It was easy to believe that he did.
“Bucky and I aren’t that different,” she continued. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m not a super soldier, but I was taught how to fight, how to kill. I followed orders for too long without questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. And at least now, I think I am.”
“You think,” he repeated, and corrected her again like he had the day before. As much as she wanted some kind of clever or quick quip back, she wore her heart on her sleeve for the moment and shrugged. There was nothing to defend when she still wasn’t sure what responsibilities she had in this world.
Zemo halted, and she paused too, turning back to look at him. “So you were an assassin,” he murmured, reaching out. Nodding slightly, she lowered her eyes when his gloved thumb brushed across her face. The buttery, overpowering smell of leather took her over as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would’ve never guessed. Du bist so süß.”
Her knowledge of German was limited, but she could see a flash of what looked like affection in his eyes. He couldn’t be lying, could he? She wondered. She wanted to trust that he wasn’t, wanted to identify every good part of him she could, so she could justify the overwhelming attraction she felt towards him. Something in her just kept pulling forward against her will, like a magnet.
“You’d be surprised,” she answered, but didn’t pull away. The intensity of his gaze made her feel weak, but there was something strangely reassuring in his eyes. It was just the two of them, standing on a crowded sidewalk.
She rose her hand to clasp around his, frowning when she felt the hard loop of a ring on one of his gloved fingers. It had gone unnoticed by her, until now. He still wore a wedding band.
It would have been easy to vocalize the observation, gauge his reaction, try to regain some upper hand and remind him who exactly he was dealing with. But, it would’ve been pointlessly cruel, as she knew what that felt like to answer that question. Those days were behind her, now.
As if the universe was scolding her, a loud car horn broke through the perceived silence. His hand dropped from her face, and they began to walk again.
“I had lots of time to think in prison,” he said after a heady pause in conversation. “About the things I’d done. Whatever intentions you have, to someone, you’re always the enemy. What I thought was important, trying to serve the greater good, it isn’t always worth the trouble. I was trying to protect what I had already lost, the places and people I’d taken for granted.”
Deciphering his words, she took a moment before responding. “That’s actually...very insightful,” she said, partly surprised by what he’d shared, appreciating that he felt her vulnerability, and matched it in his response.
“I know you’re stunned I’m not a brute,” he answered, increasing his pace to a determined strut rather than a lazy stroll. She was forced to keep up with him. “You’ve been told what to think about me by Sam and Bucky.”
She scoffed. “Not just them. The entire world. All the people you’ve hur-”
He halted and turned to face her so quickly, she collided with his chest and her breath caught in her throat.
“I’m not that man anymore,” his voice was nearly a growl, disgust laced in his features as he looked down at her.
But as soon as she recognized it, he became expressionless again, backing away. Falling back into step beside him, they continued to walk, a bit faster than they had been before. She followed him, at this point convinced that she might get lost without his guidance, but a little startled by his sudden change in behavior.
“What do you think of Riga?” he asked her as they cut through an alleyway. His voice held none of the venom that it had a few moments ago, so she wondered if she’d just hit a sore nerve.
“It’s beautiful,” she answered, admiring the old brick buildings and fine architecture. “But I think I haven’t had much of a chance to appreciate it.”
“Have you been thinking about me?”
They ducked under an alcove, and she realized he’d carefully led her off the crowded streets. It was much quieter here. She suddenly didn’t feel as protected as she had been with him in the open. The temperature in the shaded space was much lower than expected. And he was standing over her, waiting for some response she didn’t know if she could give.
“I haven’t forgotten about last night, liebling,” he continued.
Of course she had been thinking of him. Nearly nonstop. What they’d shared, what it meant. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she relieved herself, fingers rubbing her clit and delving into her warmth, whimpering his name when she finally came. Still, it had done little to quell the ache inside her.
It was a horrible thing, she’d decided. Objectively horrible, and unprofessional. There was the consideration of accessibility. What did he see in her beyond a means to an end? Was she really going to throw everything she’d worked for away to a man who was going to use her to scratch an itch?
Too much was at stake, Sam and Bucky’s trust, her reputation, her job, and she couldn’t allow it to go on.
But oh, how much she wanted it to.
“Yesterday was nice,” she straightened up, holding her own. “I won’t lie to you.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly in a self-satisfied smirk.
“But I’m not foolish,” she continued. “Coming on to the first woman you see after you get out of jail? Seems pretty convenient.”
At first, the Baron tilted his head to the side, his brows pulled together at her words. But after a moment, the smile returned, and he chuckled. “Is that what you think this is about?”
“Don’t insult me, Helmut,” she said sternly, trying her best not to feel embarrassed. She was only being honest.
“Are you always so severe to yourself?” he asked, tutting lightly.
It would have been better to say nothing. Why give him anything at all?
She didn’t answer his question, just backed away from him and began walking in no particular direction, wanting only to increase the space between them and regain her common sense. That was impossible however, as she was jolted backwards before she even knew what was happening, a firm hand on her upper arm, and she was chest to chest with Zemo once more.
“We were in Madripoor together. I could’ve had my way with many women there if I wanted. But I didn’t.”
“Please-” she rolled her eyes.
“If all I wanted to do was fuck someone, I could have done it by now,” he stalked forward, the air pressure around them dropping, weighed by the tension hanging thick between them. “But that’s not what I want. I want you.”
His words, spoken in a soft, low purr rattled away every bit of resolve she had left in her. Some last ditch effort found her stepping backwards, but her body met the brick wall behind them and she realized he had her cornered.
In more ways than one, she thought.
Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up at his eyes, clouded with lust. “I know you want me,” he said, not a shred of doubt in his voice. But why should there have been? He was right.
Her eyes darted around, like someone or something around them was going to jump out and save her from herself. It didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s no need to be scared, liebling. I feel it, too.”
With that, he closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet, like the candies he’d been eating back at his flat. Turkish delight. She was drowning in him again, his scent, his touch, everything about him enveloped and beguiled her. Her shirt had bunched up slightly somewhere along their walk and his gloved hands explored the exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
She surrendered, letting him tease open her mouth and claim her wholly. It was still bad, she knew. But there wasn’t any last bit of self-control left in her.
The layers of clothing between them didn’t allow for the same proximity she’d had to him the evening before. Groaning in delight and frustration, she reached up to tangle and rake her fingers through his hair, as his fingers curled around the top of her sweater, revealing the sensitive skin of her neck.
“Don’t hide this,” his lips left hers as his eyes focused on the stamp of affection he’d left behind the day before. “Let them see.”
“You know I can’t,” she responded, sheepishly pulling it back into place. Studying her with amiable consideration, his hand rose to brush tenderly across her cheekbone.
“I thought you’d come to me last night,” she confessed, drawing away slightly, shocked by her own admission. But right now, she didn’t feel the need to put up as much of a facade. He looked positively virile; panting, his cheeks flushed and hair mussed, pupils blown out as he focused on her. To know she was the cause of his current state of disarray gave her an immense amount of satisfaction. A buried, salacious part of her wondered what else she could do to make him look even more unkempt.
“I considered it,” he said, sounding almost timid. “But I want to do this right.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “In private, so no one can disturb us,” he continued, lips moving down her neck. “We can take our time, you can be as loud as you’d like.”
The mental image he was currently painting for her was doing very little to strengthen her convictions, whatever those had been. The thought of her legs wrapped around his torso, naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of electricity through the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards. She wanted his lips on every inch of her skin. Aching at the possibility, the present tease of his teeth nibbling on her collarbone wasn’t helping.
“You know we can’t,” she didn’t try to stop the thought as it came out of her mouth.
“What is there to lose?”
Everything, she thought, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t really, as his gloved hand was trailing slowly under her jacket and sweater, against her bare skin, and cupping her breast through her bra. Whimpering, she couldn’t control the way her body arched against his.
Hooking her knee on his hip, she let him press forward, feeling the warmth of his excitement through his trousers and her jeans. He ground against her once, teasingly, and she moaned softly into his mouth.
He was the one to pull away, and she was thankful he did. “Think about it, liebling,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “Du hast die Kontrolle.”
“We can’t,” she answered again, but even she didn’t believe herself. Raking her hands through her hair and adjusting her rumpled sweater, she straightened up. “We have a job to do.”
Brushing past him out of the alcove, each step she took away from him gave her the self control she desperately needed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reluctantly trudging behind. At this point, she wasn’t foolish. There were only two ways this could end.
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«You want some cherry blossom tea?»
Helmut Zemo wallpapers
The Falcon and The Winter Soldier episode 4
like/reblog if you save ❤️
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Error of Your Ways
Summary: Zemo is bewildered at your unusual act of selfishness when you ask Sharon to help with a “mistake”. It’s no mistake though, not to Zemo and he plans to correct your error.
Warnings: 18+ / dub-con / emotional manipulation / implicit verbal manipulation / breeding kink / obsessive thoughts / oral sex (female receiving) / fingering / creampie / hyperspermia / slight inflation / (dark!Zemo)
Requested by Anon: “This is a very specific prompt but maybe something where zemo is upset over reader asking Sharon for plan b and manipulates her into more unprotected sex featuring breeding kink?”
Avengers Masterlist | Zemo Masterlist
Word Count: 1,847k
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING
A cauldron of molten lava, stirred and stoked by the conversation he had overheard, had boiled and bubbled in the pit of Zemo’s stomach. The embers of his passion are never truly extinguished. Constantly wavering in strength, they are usually only fanned by the need to rectify the world’s injustices. But now for the first time, those glowing cinders have been fanned by the sting of your betrayal.
“Sharon, I need your help. Had an accident. Can you get me the pill?”
One unceremonious question was put forth and upended his even-tempered mind, spinning a dark web of his thoughts. Had you not thought of what could have been? Of the future? He has only ever known you to be like the vibrant lotus blossom growing amongst the muck and mud of the world’s bleak obsidian waters. You possess the righteousness others lack and a moral compass that keeps you pointed north and truth to the better ways of humanity. He has since come to realize though, that just like all the others you have your vices too, your moments of selfishness.
He doesn’t fault you for it. If anyone has witnessed how easily humans fall, it is him. If anyone knows of the foolish beliefs individuals take on in the name of false virtue, he does. It’s all a farce. And though some repent, turn a new leaf, most are beyond saving. But not you, not his one true love. You can be forgiven. He will show you the error of your ways and offer you reconciliation.
Zemo has waited all week, biding his time to approach the situation with calculated caution rather than the heated fury he first felt. That frustration had raged in his chest for days. The animal within him had roared and rampaged, beating against his ribcage to be let out. It paced and salivated at the idea of pounding into the deepest reaches of your pussy, planting his seed there, and correcting the mistake you had made. But then he had remembered who he was to you, the cunning and calculated baron. The man of refined taste with a wicked quick intellect and skillful physicality.
On this night of penance, he finds you padding across the bedroom, preparing for bed. Clothes slip from your body to the floor creating trailing pools behind you. Head to toe, you are a portrait meant only for him to peruse at his own leisure. His eyes linger on the shape of your bare body, viewing your form through the lens of what could have been. Your face rounded, glowing with an ethereal aura, the outline of your breasts fuller, weighted by the nourishment of their supply, and the curve of your hips widening in acceptance of your new role. That is how he sees you, the goddess, the mother, the soon-to-be.
“Helmut, what’s wrong?” Your words lure him back from the lust-induced mirage that has distorted his mind. Eyebrows furrowed and mouth sinking into a frown, you search for any outward signs of the subject under his inner contemplation but as always, his heart and thoughts are safely tucked away. He has always been so guarded. Though he has no problem with expression, he holds most information under secret and waits for the opportune time to use it to his advantage.
Zemo stalks towards you, steps swift and straight, “My dove, do I satisfy you?”
“Of course. You shouldn’t have to ask that.”
His hands grip your hips, tugging you close to him. The fabric of his robe brushes against your exposed chest, causing your nipples to harden beneath the silky friction. You stifle a moan when he presses himself against you. The throb of his cock can not be contained by the thin material of his covering. He is certain you can feel the heat of his desire just as he can feel the way you lay your trembling fingers on his biceps in hopes of hiding your excited anticipation.
“Do I love you?”
“I would hope so.” Your chuckle dies off quickly at the fierceness shrouded in his eyes, “Yes. You love me, just as I love you.”
“And I would do anything for you, correct?” His voice is low and accent thick with desire. Honey dipped words coax you into state acquiescence. You nod, head tilting when his line of questioning abruptly ends. A sharp exhale is pulled from your lungs as his fingers press into the back of your neck and draw your face closer to his own. Noses touching and lips temptingly close, Zemo stares into your eyes.
“I would...” His kiss tastes of sweet wine, intoxicating and numbing your brain. His lips work along your jaw but it’s only when he nibbles on your ear that you release a sigh of contentment. His next words come out as a whisper, breathed against your ear, “...get on my knees for you. Bend and bow to your every whim, yes?”
His body slips away from yours, sinking to the floor before you in a physical declaration of sinful reverence. Never had he been a man of worship but since basking in your garden of Eden, he finds a reason to pray, if only to get one more taste of the forbidden fruit before he leaves this earth.
Zemo guides your left leg over his shoulder. His breath fans against the inside of your thigh as he waits for you to steady yourself. Your right knee nearly buckles at the first swipe of his tongue through your glistening folds but he bears the weight of your pleasure. Your hips buck forward, grinding your cunt against his face with urgent need but his ministrations take on no urgency. He takes his time feasting upon your offering, lapping at your pussy with a languid pace. Zemo’s tongue swirls around your entrance before his index and middle fingers slip into you. They pet along your walls, curling into the spongy center that makes your spine curl with sharp electricity. Your juices flow steadily, moistening his pink lips and dribbling over his chin.
“Yeeesss.” Neither of you is sure whether your cry is made out of ecstasy or regarding his previous question. Perhaps it’s both. He can certainly feel the way your core quivers around his fingers. His cock stiffens further, almost to the point of pain as your walls unsuccessfully milk at his fingers. Your body knows, even if you consciously don’t, that you crave what only he can supply. Shakily, your fingers tangle in his tousled hair, “Helmut! I’m going to— Oh!” The words are swallowed back down and instead, a lewd and elongated howl floats through the air.
He’s slow to remove his digits, still pumping them into you as you recover from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Though he’s the one kneeling before you, adoration flickers in your orbs. It’s twisted along your ecstasy-blown pupils and it looks perfect. With a soft smile gracing your face, giggling with lust-drunk happiness, and mewling for him to fill you, you are perfection personified. He can already envision how immaculate you’ll look stuffed with cum and how well you’ll grow into your new role as the next few months go by.
Like a newborn fawn, you stumble backward as he walks you to the bed. You both fall amongst the plush blankets and become a tangled mess of limbs. His mouth attaches to your nipple, suckling and flicking his tongue over the perky bud.
“You’re too good to me, my love.” Your words send his heart fluttering but also make his gut twist in knots. It’s just like you not to know, not to understand that you deserve the world and more. He’ll give that to you: a better world. Tonight would be the first step in that process. The beginning of new life; the perfect life to help usher in a better more just society.
His hands go in opposite directions. One palms your unattended breast, giving it the attention it deserves while his right-hand strokes his thick member. Your back arches off the bed as the tip of his cock slips through your folds, circling your clit, and then down again to prod at your hole. Though you had taken his fingers earlier and cum on his tongue, you are still so tight. Your velvet walls still squeeze him in a vice grip, eagerly welcoming the intrusion of his cock and unwilling to relinquish your hold on him.
Zemo’s lips release your nipple with a satisfying pop, “Would you do anything for me?”
His thrusts are still slow and measured. The push and pull of his hips still smash into your own as he bottoms out each time. His cock leaves your moist cavern fully and you whine pitifully as you provide him an answer.
The reentry of his cock is sharp and stinging, spearing into the depths of your core.
Out again. “Would you kill for me?”
In. And Out. “Would you die for me?”
In and then out.
“Would you give a life for me?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes! I would do it all for you. Anything and everything.”
That’s all he needs. His thrusts, once sluggish, now torpedo into you. His hands anchor on the back of your thighs, resting in the crook of your bent knees. He presses forward, pinning your legs against your chest, nearly folding you in half as he chases after the sensation of his cockhead hitting your cervix.
You cry out as tears pool along your lower lids and spill over. Your nails bite into the skin of his shoulders. No doubt there will be crescent-shaped reminders of this blissful night left on him. While the marks on him will fade in the days to come, the one he plans to pump into you will last for the remainder of your lives. The perfect union that will be his legacy.
Balls lifting and cock twitching, he gives you everything. Thick hot ribbons of his essence spurt into your defiled hole. It seems endless and a satisfying pressure expands along your abdomen. Even as he is finishing, the last strings of him coating your walls white, he continues his rutting, pushing and nudging the milky mix against the doorway of your womb.
The combined releases leave you shuddering and gasping. Your pussy pulsates around his rod, wanting more of him, needing more of him.
The joints of your knees and hips ache fully as he moves you into a new position to not only ensure your comfort but to achieve his goal as well. His cock stays firmly planted within your canal even as some of his cum leaks past your plugged hole. Zemo swallows thickly, burrowing his face in your neck as his hand comes to caress the slight bulge of your tummy. Words of love and endearment are murmured in his native tongue, lulling you into slumber.
Now that he has sunk his seed into the source of life, his dream, his vision, and hope for the future are closer than ever.
Please comment & reblog if you enjoyed and feel comfortable doing so. It really helps when you do.
Feedback in any form is very much appreciated! Thank you.
Avengers Masterlist | Zemo Masterlist
A/N: I won’t be tagging anyone since this is a dark fic and I don’t want to assume anyone would want to be tagged on it.
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NSFW Alphabet • Zemo
List made by @caitlinpotter || whooooo boy
*xFemale!Reader || SFW Alphabet
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Super, super sweet!—he’s lovey dovey the moment you hit your final orgasm, rough kisses turn to gentle, featherlike, kisses across your quivering skin as you work through the final wave of ecstasy. He strokes his fingertips down your tense abdomen, feeling the subtle shake traveling through your body in the final moments of your orgasm.
Afterwards—he hoarsely asks if you’re okay, caressing your cheek, as you lay next to him breathless. There’s a soft smile across his lips, as you close your eyes, swallowing, to gather yourself, before smiling. He presses a kiss to your forehead as you snuggle up against his side, resting your head on his bicep.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Loves your legs and back— you wear anything that significantly reveals either and it’s already on his mind. He loves how the curve of your back fits perfectly against his palm when you arch it, especially when you’re straddling his lap. During foreplay, he always kisses a trail along the inside of your thigh, with his hand either caressing your calf or stroking along the outside of your leg.
Lips— he loves your lips, sometimes when you’re talking or venting, on a roll about something, you’ll find him just staring at your lips. He is notorious for open mouth kisses, out of nowhere just kissing you, sometimes whilst you’re talking, but mostly when you just don’t expect it.
As for himself, he’s probably say his hands, so he can feel you and mouth, cause he could kiss you all day long.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Together— you don’t know how but somehow he knows how to get you both there at the same time. Your breath starts to hitch as you squeeze your legs against him. You hear him whisper a few curses and feel him grip your hips a little rougher, keeping you in place, as you both cum.
On other occasions or positions— seeing it drip down the arch of your back is insanely attractive, as he dips to breathlessly kiss between your shoulder blades.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Loves being cuffed— there’s something about the metal, feel and sound. Plus he loves the challenge of feeling you up whilst in handcuffs, a lot of times he’ll bring his hands to the back of your neck, pulling the cuff links tight against the nape of your neck, bringing you and holding you deep into a kiss.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Obviously, yes, he’s had experience— he absolutely knows what he’s doing, in fact he’s the only one who’s been able to get you on a new level of pleasure via him just knowing what he was doing. When you asked him how he knew where to hit, he lifts an eyebrows and simply replies “I have experience.”
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)
He’s really game for it all— whatever you’re comfortable with, he’s comfortable with. That means if halfway through you want to switch, he’s good with that.
Anything with you beneath him, chest to chest; he really does love absolutely making out while fucking you, so a lot of face to face works best for that— your knees pressing against his sides, your nails slowly scratching across his back, him giving fresh hickeys to your neck, and hands exploring your body while he slips his tongue in your mouth.
Tabletop— could literally be on a table, counter, or just the edge of the bed. Either way, you’re clinging to the surface’s edge, trying to keep yourself positioned at the very edge for him, (in bed, the bed posts can help), his fingertips are leaving bruises against your hips or his hand is wrapped around the ankle you have resting up against his shoulder, he presses kisses against the inside of your ankle as he fucks you.
Doggy style—he loves the beautiful curve of your back so what better than fully seeing it. He presses his thumbs against the small of your back, and typically has a hand stroking up and down your spine.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
It’s definitely more serious, but it’s also always fun and extremely satisfying— his charm allows him to swoon you, keeping it a heated and romantic setting, but he can’t help but chuckle in between kisses to your skin when your jaw drops and your take a breath staggering gasp, clinging onto him, feeling things you’ve never felt before.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Literally perfect— he’s surprisingly good at knowing how you want it based on your actions leading up to the moment. He knows if you want it more rough and kinky, or if you just want to feel adored like a princess, made to feel good.
Accent— you love hearing him say anything in that gorgeous accent and he knows it, thus he sweet talks you, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm.
He checks in on you— the occasional “doing okay, Darling?”, “use your words, tell me, princess,” and “I’ve got you, just ride it out,” make it very personal and sweet amidst it.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Not really a thing with him, if he wants it he’s going to wait, he loooves sexual tension/anticipation, it makes the sex 10x better.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Temperature play—ice. He loves watching your skin shiver as he trails a path across your body with an ice cube. Also, he’ll kiss you and have a sliver of ice in his mouth, sliding it against your bottom lip with his tongue.
Handcuffs— either way (see D), it’s the challenge for him, and the look of them and you that he loves so much. Also loves the feeling of them against him when you’re clinging on to him.
Has a bit of a kink for you being the only one undressed— this is where you just rolling your hips down on him hard, holding close with two fingers behind his belt buckle comes in. Also, thigh riding, he loves to see you get yourself there, only occasionally helping out, loving how desperate you are for his attention, physically.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Bedroom— it’s the atmosphere of the room that’s amazing, it’s intimate, silk sheets, candles, old wooden bed frame posts that have bruised your back from being pushed against. He likes to see your skin glow in the candlelight with a slight shimmer from the sweat you’re breaking together
Cars— those classic cars have had a Titanic moment or two. It’s extremely intimate, and the sound of your breaths, moans, and screams sound great in a tightly contained area.
Shower— warm water cascading down your body, keeping you nice and wet in every way. The shower’s obviously lavish and has plenty of room, plus glass walls.
↳ similarly, bathroom countertop sex— with the room still humid and hot, you’re set atop the cool counter’s surface, back pressing against the mirror as you hang on to the edge or the faucet head for some grounding.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you undress— watching you slip of out a dress, casually pull a sweatshirt over your head, shimmying out of your jeans, etc. he just loves seeing more and more of your skin slowly become exposed. Which makes changing in the morning a longer process than need be.
Kisses— making out with him enough will get him pretty turned on, French kisses, love bite kisses, soft and sweet, really enough of anything and you’ll find you finally have a little control when you pull back and he leans in, not wanting to break the kiss.
You in his clothes— dress shirts, sweatshirts, his jacket, you name it, he likes to see you wearing his things.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Nothing demeaning— he wants to make you feel worshiped, perfect, and on cloud nine, so it’s a no go to the exact opposite
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Giving— for starters he likes to have the leverage in situations and you at the mercy of his mouth counts. He’s phenomenal at completely and totally getting you all the way there with just his mouth. His hands are always either holding your hips down, or stroking along your legs, outside, inside, caressing your calf etc.
↳ when you try to close your legs, he easily pushes the inside of your knee back out again, with a chuckle you can feel vibrating against your clit.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Two types: slow, sensual, and deep & hard, dominant, and passionate
↳ slow, sensual, and deep: it’s extremely romantic and makes you feel adored, he takes time to get every sense awake in your body before giving you what, by that point, you desperately want. And when he does it’s almost instantly met by you softly sighing with a smile, “right there, baby,” as you flutter your eyes closed, lips parting.
↳ hard, dominant, and passionate— he’s fucking you like he hasn’t seen you in years. It’s a little rough, sometimes kinky, very dominant sex. You have some seriously intense, pupils blown with pleasure, screaming orgasms that leave you shaking, not to mention unable to walk straight. Typically includes multiple orgasms for you.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
He’s not opposed to them at all, the amount of time doesn’t determine the quality with him.
For example: you’ve definitely fucked in a club bathroom before (these are nice, fancy clubs)— already making out you pull him into the room and he kicks the door shut, locking it. Setting you on top of the counter roughly, you get at it. Desperately holding onto the edge of the countertop as he fucks you, kissing your neck and holding your hips in place.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Not particularly— if there’s any shake up you want to try or add, you definitely talk about it first, having a comfortable atmosphere during sex is always important to him so you can feel safe and boundaries are set.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
Not including teasing / oral, typically two— and those are two very intense rounds, it’s not a quickie. Proper sex with him lasts a good while, so brace yourself if you make it to a third round.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
A whole lot— it’s exactly that, unfair. With how much he teases you, you’ll be dripping wet before your clothes are even entirely off.
Playing hard to get— oh yes, he plays that game with you, if you’re trying to subtly come on to him, he’ll act like he has no idea what you’re trying to imply, making you more frustrated and him happier seeing you want it so bad but trying to counter his calmness.
Leaving you to think about it— he’ll start the foreplay, but then in the middle tell you that he’s needed elsewhere, leaving you to think about what he had started all day long, this usually results in you wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply the instant he walks back through the door
At events— typically well behaved, unless it’s completely boring. He’s had his hand under the table and up your skirt/dress more than once though, quickly pulling away when you were almost there. This is when sex when you’re barely through the front door happens.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He’s personally relatively quiet— usually it’s because his mouth his preoccupied with bruising and musing your skin, but in between there’s throaty breaths and sweet nothing whispered.
Prefers to hear you— seriously, he loves hearing every whine, moan, whimper, scream, breath, gasp, and giggle you make.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)
Plenty to be satisfied by— above average, but he’s not the guy to talk about it. If you have the pleasure of knowing, then you know full good and well.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
It’s pretty damn high— he just really really knows how to hide it until it’s the exact moment. He has a lot of sexual charisma without even trying, yet he typically remains totally calm about it until you’re the first one to take action, asking or physically.
HOWEVER— there are days where you’re headed out the door, and he catches a glimpse of your cute outfit. As you’re saying goodbye he catches you gently by the wrist and starts walking with you towards the bedroom “Baron,” you giggle, tossing your head back and following his lead, “I’m going to be late.” Catching up with him at the door, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, “you’re not going to be late,” he caressed your cheek, “you’re going to be altogether absent.”
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
You definitely fall asleep first— he likes watching you fall asleep afterwards, his fingertips still ghosting across your skin, as you make sure to keep yourself close to him.
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Of course they ruin my life, they’re such amazing men! (Daniel Brühl included) 😍🥰♥️♥️♥️
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Call It A Night - Chapter Two
Choice: Baron Helmut Zemo (x F!Reader)
Summary: After a night of drinking and partying in Madripoor, your small group returns to Sharon’s apartment. Caught between the attentions of three vastly different men, a choice has to be made. Which one do you want?
In this choice chapter, the answer is the illusive Baron Helmut Zemo.
Alternate Endings. Smut. Alcohol. Jealousy. Explicit Language.
WARNINGS: Explicit Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Blowjobs. Vaginal Sex. Biting. Zemo’s Coat. Unprotected Sex. Use of the word ‘cunt.’
✨Previous Chapter (1)✨
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
READ ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
A/N: We’re all going to jail for thirsting after this criminal.
**If you are new to ‘Call It A Night,’ this is a fic with alternate storylines. This chapter is Baron Helmut Zemo’s smut chapter. The Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson smut chapters are also completed. To follow the layout of the story, you can visit the masterlist here, and see what else is upcoming in the series.
It also couldn’t have been written without Lana Del Rey’s ‘Lolita’ playing on repeat.
Without further ado...
Your knuckles rap neatly against the hard wood of the door. A nervous heat warms your palms, and it’s hard to ignore the unsettled flutter in your stomach. Remembering Sam’s face as you left, a small beat of guilt churns within. You’re not even sure why you’re here. Why - out of all the company that you could have chosen from tonight - you are seeking out Helmut Zemo.
And it’s not to check out if he’s making a damn escape rope. Sharon has the windows to this particular room barred against intruders. No way in or out.
Sam knows that, which was why his expression had fallen slightly at your words. No judgement was voiced aloud, but you can’t help but feel a little ashamed. This is Zemo, after all, and yet here you are, knocking at his bedroom door at three in the morning because you’re completely unable to get him out of your mind.
That voice - lilted in a smooth Sokovian accent - rings out from within and recalls your attention to the present. “Enter.”
After a short inhale for reassurance, you do. Cold air immediately prickles your skin. The large room is dim, only lit by a single small lamp on the nightstand. It resides on the nearest side of an enormous, four poster bed. Your eyes cast apprehensively around the rest of the space, squinting in the dim light of the weak bulb. The only other shimmer comes from the faint streetlamp outside of the large rectangular window. It’s at the opposite side of the room to where you stand awkwardly by the door. Against the frail illumination, shadows roam freely.
A single shape stands before that window, silhouetted against the weak glow shining in. Zemo’s head inclines ever so slightly to the side at the sound of your arrival, but he does not turn around. A silence lingers. Nervous on your part, and expectant on his. Your eyes flicker helplessly down his body as your mind flounders for what to say. It’s made harder by the sight of his straight posture. How perfectly rigid those broad shoulders are.
He doesn’t have the coat on. Just his maroon sweater, although it looks nearly black in the dim room. All the same, it fits his skin like the gloves still upon his hands. Not for the first time, you try to ignore the unfathomable, niggling attraction that you feel towards him.
He’s the bad guy. You shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome and articulate, and filled with the cold charm of old world manners. He’s a murderer. The man who tore the Avengers apart. One who used Bucky as a pawn, and left a rift between Steve and Tony Stark that never quite healed. The fact that you would find him attractive should have you asking Bucky for the number of his therapist, but despite it all, that attraction gnaws. Thick and firm, tugging you towards to him.
You think about making up an excuse to leave. That you got the wrong room or something. The words refuse to come. Whatever connection you feel has pulled taut at his proximity. Your body simply will not heed what your mind is urging.
Eventually, as if realising that a greeting is still not soon to make its way from your lips, he speaks. His voice is filled with a smug satisfaction that you cannot quite translate at this moment. “Your guardian is not with you.”
You bristle, indignation helping you to finally locate your voice. “I don’t need Bucky hovering over me.”
Zemo’s chuckle drifts into the air. The sound is accompanied by a soft shake of his head. It twists slightly, and those dark eyes finally fall playfully upon your face as he answers. “I am aware of that. Even if the Winter Soldier is not.”
“Don’t call him that,” you retort harshly, arms crossing over your chest. “His name is Bucky.”
The Baron inclines his head, almost apologetically. “I meant no offense. Please. Come in.”
You try to fight the lure of his smooth tone, instead drawing yourself up to your full height and declining as firmly as you can. “I’m alright here.”
His reply is patient, nearly kind. “I understand the apprehension, dragă. Truly, I do. But you have nothing to fear from me.”
A scoff escapes your lips. “I’m not so sure about that.”
He remains completely pleasant, that tone even and patient. “And it is perfectly logical that you aren’t. But come. I want to show you something.”
That piques your curiosity. Slowly, you put one foot before the other and warily cross the room. It’s hard not to be apprehensive as you approach. The Baron fixes you with a thin smile. Something about it is oddly reassuring. There’s a hint of encouragement in his eyes. He takes a step to the side, clearing your view as his hand sweeps to gesture out of the window.
Your reflection stares back at you from within the transluscent reflection of the pane. Her gaze is almost accusatory. As if wondering why you are just standing there, allowing Zemo come so near. Just watching as his hand slides across the small of your back, coming to rest upon your opposite hip. The sensation of the contact draws a shudder from within, one that you try to ignore. One that speaks of a longing and desire that you should not voice. Will not voice.
Within the window, the other Zemo watches you with the sly beginnings of a grin curving his lips. It’s a look that you’ve seen him wear often enough. One of confidence and satisfaction that he is the smartest person in the room, and knows what move you will next make. Or rather, what move you will not make.
You force the words to sound impatient, unwilling to melt so easily against his touch. “What did you want to show me?”
He takes another half-step closer, reflection looming as he comes to stand behind you. That firm chest lightly brushes your back. Your skin prickles in response, reacting to the heat of his body and that delicious scent of his cologne. It had almost made your mouth water in the hallway. A thick swallow echoes within the confines of your throat.
Zemo hears it, that slight laugh spilling from his lips. One gloved hand raises, skimming along your shoulder, pointing to something out the window. Your eyes follow, straining as you peer up into the sky. Inky darkness fills your vision, broken only by the soft twinkle of stars. A beat of expectant quiet passes, before you speak. “What am I meant to be looking at?”
There’s a hint of excitement to the smooth timbre of his voice as he answers. “Ophiuchus is out tonight.”
Confusion furrows your brow, reflected on the face of your double within the windowpane. “Am I meant to know what that is?”
Zemo’s responding smile is playful. His brown eyes flit down, coming to rest on the side of your face. That gaze sends another tinge down your spine. One that you try not to think about.
It’s as if everytime those dark irises fall to caress you, your mind just hurls itself into the gutter. His scent clouds your senses, deep and rich, with the barest hint of spice. Warmth simmers between your legs, stroked into life by the assured touch of his hand against your hip, and the way that firm torso brushes your back. His smooth Sokovian accent doesn’t help.
“It’s a constellation, dragă, and a rare one at that.”
Oh. You say the only thing that you can think of. “I never would have guessed that you were into stars.”
A wry chuckle rumbles his chest. “You learn to truly appreciate the beauty of things after years confined within the same blank walls of a prison cell.”
Of course. But you can’t quite bring yourself to feel sorry for him. Flawed as they may be, your morals have not gone completely out the window. A scrap of common sense still remains. However, you decide not to broach the subject. Your views on his actions will never change, and neither will his conflicting ideals to what you have to say. Besides, a debate on morality is not what you came to his room for.
With the practised tack that comes from often being the one to diffuse Bucky’s precarious temper, you casually divert the subject. “What does ‘dragă’ mean? Is it Sokovian?”
Amusement draws across the reflection of the Baron. You are all too aware of those elegant fingers lightly playing against the curve of your waist. They remain at their respectable height, but it’s impossible to ignore the connotation of the knowing touch. How casually he performs the action.
And his reply send another wave of longing through your already-heated body. “Indeed. ‘Dragă’ means darling.”
You try to scoff, ignoring the twist to your insides that those words bring. "I'm not your darling."
"Are you quite sure about that?" The response is teasing, nearly a little husky. Aware that you’re lying, and deeply smug about it.
All the same, you can’t cave quite that easily. "Why wouldn't I be?"
“Because I know why you came here.”
He shifts even closer behind, until his chest is pressed up against your back. You stiffen, but do not move away. It’s a mixture between not wanting to show weakness, and just not wanting to. Warmth radiates from his body, simmering through the fabric of his tight sweater like a furnace. Fuck. You swallow again, trying to keep your face composed into a semblance of calm. To project that you are not affected by his proximity. A lie.
Zemo knows it too. It’s clear in the smirk of his reflection. Tangible in the honeyed tension spreading across the room. Those dark eyes fix on yours in the window, before slowly dragging down to run across your body. The brush of his gaze is like a physical caress. It all but burns against you. As you watch, the fingers of the hand upon your hip flex experimentally, squeezing.
The gesture is relaxed. Dominant. A sign of a man utterly confident in his motions. You try to stop your mind from desperately fixing on the contact. His grip is light yet firm, and his fingers play teasingly against your curve. The touch only makes you want to feel that hand wrapping underneath your thigh to hoist your leg around his waist. And it’s growing harder to ignore the inviting shape of the hulking bed.
Eyes fluttering shut, a deep inhale inflates your chest. An attempt to centre yourself. It marginally works. That is, until a breeze from the tiny opened pane at the top of the huge window stirs the wispy curtain before you. The laced hem lifts, brushing teasingly over the bare skin of your thighs. Another reminder of how short this damn dress is. While it is undeniably pretty, it is not a piece that you are accustomed to wearing.
Not that this had exactly been your choice. Well… That’s not completely true. You did have a say in one thing.
Your designated disguise for the evening had been that of Zemo’s arm-candy, and so you had needed to look the part. He had almost taken a little too much pleasure in handing you your outfit, that sly grin curving his lips as he did. Both Sam and Bucky had seen the expression, and the latter had visibly bristled. Thankfully, neither had noticed the lingerie that the Baron had also had placed into the dress bag. A set that you - for some unfathomable reason - had put on after only a slight hesitation.
His voice whispers against your ear in a low murmur. “Are you wearing what I chose?”
“All of it?”
That seems to please him immensely. His eyes meet yours in the window’s reflection, that shrew smile drawing across his chiseled face once again. You can’t bring yourself to return it, but also can’t look away. His other hand - the one not resting on your hip - rises, tracing slowly along the curve of your arm. Goosebumps erupt in its wake. He leans in, so close that his lips brush teasingly against your earlobe. “Good.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
Zemo pauses, as if caught on a sudden thought. His eyes lift once again to meet yours in the window’s reflection. A vibration runs through the broad torso pressed against your back as his throat clears softly.
His familiar low murmur washes across you. “I want to be clear about something. You can leave this room at any time. If you are uncomfortable, you can stop me whenever. I will not protest or act against your wishes. But if you do decide to stay… I can promise that you will not regret it.”
Those eyes hold yours in a sheer deadlock. Weighing so heavy that you cannot divert your gaze. Your mind churns as you watch him. Do you maintain the high-ground and leave, or stay and relish in everything that comes next? You know the answer. Despite all of your turmoil, there was only one clear choice. It was made as soon as you decided to cross the room to stand at his side.
And while you can back out, you won’t.
The decision blazes in your eyes, mirrored in your reflection’s curt nod. A victorious smile curves Zemo’s smug mouth as that dark gaze smolders with heated satisfaction. His fingers tighten on your hip - that leather glove crinkling - and then he tugs you back even further into his muscular body. The delicious scent of his cologne coninues to haze your thoughts.
All the same, the tiniest shred of integrity still remains. Although, admittedly, you’re not quite sure if it will persist.
“I’m not kissing you,” you tell him in a voice that is hoarse yet purposefully firm.
Another amused laugh rumbles from within his frame. “Very well, my dear. However, I doubt that resolve will last.”
With another sly smile, his gloved hand lifts to your mouth in an unspoken command. The words don’t matter. Somehow, you know what he wants. Obediently leaning forward, your teeth close around the tip of the leather covering his index finger. He tugs backward, and the glove slips free, held in your mouth as his bare hand slides out unencumbered. The fabric leaves a sour taste in your mouth. It billows to the floor after you let it slide free.
He uses that freed hand to carefully sweep the strands of hair off your shoulder, guiding them to fall down the length of your back, and smoothly caressing the curve of your ear as he does. The other still remains on your hip, a constant reminder of his control. Your eyes flicker back up to the window. He is still watching you there, face glinting in an expression that is roguishly playful. A dangerous glint lights his eyes. It sends a chill of excitement down your spine. Making sure that you are witnessing every move, he leans in to gently press his lips against the side of your neck.
The contact is blissful. Your head falls to the side, allowing him greater access to the curve. His mouth whispers across your skin. Nipping. Sucking. Licking. All of the motions slow and teasing, and utterly confident in their effect. His bare hand travels slowly forward once again, running along your chest to grope and squeeze.
The fingers of the other gloved hand leaves your hip, sliding up to wrap around your wrist, restraining it against your side as his mouth whispers against that sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Being touched right there always sets your nerves alight. A small moan escapes you as his teeth catch on the delicate skin in a playful bite, leaving a delicious sting in its wake.
The hand fondling your breast shifts, slipping inside the low neckline of your dress. It’s a cautious movement, allowing ample opportunity for you to stop him if you wish. You don’t, and can nearly feel his subsequent smile against your skin. That warm touch lightly skirts over the rise of your chest, making its way inside of your bra. Your heart has picked up speed, pounding throughout your body. Another small whine leaves you pathetically as his fingers circle your hardened nipple, before tweaking the raised bud experimentally. It draws another weak cry, one that Zemo seems to relish in creating.
His dark laugh washes over your skin. The sound only increases the growing heat between your legs. Your thighs press together, trying to generate some sort of friction to soothe your throbbing cunt as his fingers continue to tease your nipple and his mouth continues its tortuous journey against your neck. Everything in you is begging for him to lower his hands and touch you in the spot that you truly desire. And so, you wordlessly command him to.
Your hand closes over the back of his, clawing it away from your breast and dragging it down the length of your body. His palm is pressed against the soft fabric of your dress. The material flattens against you as it skirts down past your navel. That sly chuckle sounds in your ear again. The sound is nearly as heavenly as the scent of him. Both only serve to make you more dizzy as he lifts his head to nuzzle against your ear.
“Growing impatient, are we?”
That hand has stopped at the bottom of your stomach. You push, trying to urge it down more, but he will not budge. An irritated whine comes from your clenched jaw, narrowed eyes lifting to glare at him through the mirror. He takes in the expression with amusement. Those long fingers unfurl from your wrist, sliding to wrap across your waist as he tugs you even closer, head lowering to rest on your shoulder in feigned innocence. “Is something the matter, dragă?”
You remain stubbornly silent. Unwilling to give the satisfaction of saying the words that he is so clearly angling for. To have you beg for his fingers to continue that descent.
He maintains his entertained stare for a few more moments, before finally breaking to press another lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His tongue flickers against the skin. All you can think about is what it would feel like against your own. Or between your legs. Another thick swallow comes at that thought.
Zemo’s eyes quickly catch the motion. Something about the heat in your determined expression prompts him to move again. That hand slips further down your body. His other arm tightens further around your waist as he leans over slightly, adjusting himself so that his hand can slide between your legs with ease. Another little moan spills out as his fingers rub experimentally over your panties, feeling the wet lace covering your core. Your mind is lost in the sensation as he strokes the spot, and murmurs quietly. “Do you want me to touch you?”
Your answer comes in a pleading whine. “Yes.”
Those nimble fingers slip underneath those expensive lingerie before you even have the chance to catch a breath. A ragged gasp tears from your throat as they brush teasingly over your clit, passing it momentarily before turning to circle around the sensitive bud. Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he delves carefully between your wet cunt. Spreading the gathering slick. Teasing it around so that you can really feel just how wet you are growing. That delicious heat starts to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It only increases as his index finger experimentally dips between your folds, pumping gently in and out.
The angle however - how far he has to bend to reach around your body - proves to be a little too awkward for him to keep them playing inside of you, and so they slip out to focus on your clit again. Both of your hands have risen to grip the forearm circling your front, nails all but biting into his skin. He offers no sign of pain, and continues to caress and massage your clit knowingly. Your body responds by eliciting soft gasps and moans, as warmth rises upon your chest. Zemo’s lips brush against your ear again, murmuring soft reassurances in a mixture of Sokovian and English.
All the while, his erection digs into your side. You reach back clumsily, fingers sliding across the hard protrusion of his trouser. Trying to return at least a shred of the wonders that he is performing on you. Zemo only tuts, his hand leaving your underwear to reach back and push your grasping fingers aside. The admonishment that leaves his lips is gentle, but firm. “As pleasurable as it feels to have you pawing at me, not just yet. You will only distract me, and I have no desire to leave my work unfinished.”
Before you can reply, his hand returns to slip between through your underwear and brush once more against your clit. You moan. And it’s his name, which would be mortifying if you were in the right mind to care. It only seems to turn him on more. His touch becomes more insistent, stroking and rubbing against your aching clit, feeling how you grow even more soaked at the contact. That heat is spreading through your body, radiating from your core, signalling that it won’t be long. His filthy whispers fill your ear, but you can only half-focus on what he is saying, the words stuttered by the grating of his hips as his erection strains into your back.
Your image swims in the faint reflection before you, barely conceivably through half-lidded eyes. His strong arm around you, holding tightly against him as the other delves between your trembling legs. Strands of dark brown hair falling across his brow as his face hovers just above the crook of your shoulder. How his mouth is open in small, breathing increased as those murmurs of arousal continue to spill from his lips. Your hands are clawing into his arm for support, to anchor yourself against the wave of pleasure that each of his heavenly stroking against your clit is creating.
It’s as if he’s held you before, knows exactly how to touch you.
Tongues of bliss lick against your skin as you approach the peak. Your heated face turns. Panted gasps are bursting from your lips as the euphoric simmering in the pit of your stomach threatens to boil over. Zemo notices the reaction, and strains forward, that dark gaze falls on your bare face for the first time since you joined him before the window. A strand of hair hangs over his eye, and unabated lust gleams from it.
Something about it - how reverentially he is looking at you, how hard he is working to bring you pleasure - cracks that earlier resolve. The orgasm rises to a boiling climax, flooding through your body as you lean forward to press your lips desperately against his, breathing small cries into his mouth as the tremors of pleasure shake your frame, weakening your legs. His hold across your midriff tightens, keeping you both upright and in place as he harshly kisses you back, the bitter taste of whiskey still on his tongue. It is searing. His finger continues to massage your clit, drawing lingering jolts of ecstasy that leave you writhing uncontrollably, the remanents of your release still jerking your frame in small, elated spasms at the touch.
You have to break away from the kiss after a few moments, weakly lowering your head to catch your breath in the pit of his collarbone. It proves a struggle to regain total composure. Zemo doesn’t release you. Not right away. Instead, he holds on, allowing you to gather back your strength first, before obediently letting go as you slowly - and a little embarrassedly - disentangle yourself from his grip and distance yourself with a single step.
Your clothes are in disarray, your face is flustered, and you can feel the slick coating your thighs. In the aftermath of release, you should be feeling satisfied. Common sense should have returned. It hasn’t, and you can only find your throat drying at the realisation that it’s not enough. That it’s only made you want him even more.
Zemo adjusts his ruffled sweater. His gloved hand lifts to sweep his hair back into place. Content that he is somewhat adequately poised once more, that dark gaze lifts to your face again. Those eyes are hungry. Yearning. He’s not finished either, but will play the part of gentleman and politely wait until you are ready to proceed. All the same, impatience and agitation are visible in the tense line of his shoulders.
Despite his attempts to put his appearance back in order, that erection still visibly strains against his trousers, begging to be freed. Your eyes lift to his, and his smooth brows arches in a silent challenge.
Will you or won’t you?
How much further will you allow this to continue?
Swallowing thickly, your slightly breathless voice stirs the night. “Take off your shirt.”
His lips part in response, eyes widening as the command washes across him. Slowly, the Baron obeys. That sweater rides up his body, slipping free. Smooth porcelain skin lies underneath. He’s been inside that prison cell so long, deprived of the sun, that he is almost startlingly pale. It only helps define the lean muscle of his chest. Your eyes drink him in appreciatively, as his burning stare bores into your face.
His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, before he continues. “Now you. I want to see what I chose.”
The words send a cold prickle across your skin. Your swollen clit throbs once again in pure arousal. Hips swaying purposefully, you retake that step back, until you are brushing teasingly against his bared chest, before turning to once again present him with your back. “Then you need to help me out of this dress.”
His hand rises, skating up your back. You expect it to halt around the rise of the zipper. It does not, but instead seizes a harsh hold of your hair, yanking it back to breathe another filthy kiss against your mouth. The action sends an electrified surge of desire clean through you. It makes you want to drop your panties and let him take right there. Before you can propose such a thing, he lets go, pushing your head forward as his hands tear down the zipper. The dress starts to peel away from your skin.
The heated brush of Zemo’s hands sends a jolt through your entire body as he pushes the straps off your shoulders, allowing them to hang loosely against your forearms. With a soft thump, the dress slips from your body and onto the floor, leaving you in nothing but the lacey black lingerie that the Baron had selected. This moment - the heat of his gaze warring with the chill of the air - nearly sends you into a mindless spiral of arousal once again. Not that you are far from one at the moment.
Standing there underneath his worshipping eyes, armoured in matching set of sexy, expensive underwear, you can’t help but feel powerful. Invincible. That if you told him to drop to his knees, he would without question. Noticing how you posture straightens confidently, the Baron’s lips curve into a deep smile.
Had he known what was going to happen?
Dull footsteps creak across the floor as he circles you slowly, drinking in the attire as one hand traces across your stomach. You allow the thrill of the touch to surge across your skin, prickling with intensity as your cunt throbs again.
Coming to a stop before you, Zemo’s fingers rise until they curl underneath your chin, angling it gently upwards. Lusty satisfaction is evident in his shining eyes. He likes it. More than likes it. Another low growl rumbles from his chest, expressing more desire than words ever could. That carnal drive becomes even more apparent as his other hand settles firmly upon your buttock, kneading into the flesh harshly as he pulls you stumbling closer.
His hard mouth lowers, pressing against yours. You nearly melt at the contact, hands sliding up his chest as your core tingles with yearning once more. His tongue slips between your lips, cajoling yours assuredly, and you respond to him with unbridled enthusiasm.
Zemo was right. That earlier resolve - that promise that you would not kiss him - did not last. And deep down, you had known that it wouldn't. Even as the words had escaped your lips. Crossing that room was the first sign of a surrender that would consume you whole. And here, in the moment, you can’t bring yourself to regret a single second of it. No. You only solely and completely long for more. From him to take you in whatever manner he wanted.
Your head spins. Nothing resonates in your thoughts except for Helmut Zemo. The firm surface of his hard torso against your fingertips. The dizzying scent of his delicious cologne. The harsh brush of his recently shaved chin against yours as that kiss threatens to consume you whole. How his mouth moves against yours, tongue insistent as it plays in ways that make your knees tremble.
Those confident hands slid up down your legs, and in one smooth motion they are wrapping around your thighs and lifting you into the air. Your legs tighten around his waist, hands tangling wildly in his perfectly styled hair. His own slide down to cup your ass. You can feel the leather glove still coating one, cold compared to the heat of his other bared palm. Both grips are insistent, keeping your body pressed suspended, pressed firmly against his as he starts to move in the direction of the bed. The almost desperate exploration of his mouth against yours does not pause or end.
Jammed against his front, the damp lace of your underwear presses against you. The fabric is soaked through, an undeniable sign of the devastating effect that his attentions are having on your body. Viewing him as a tornado, as you had previously thought, seemed utterly accurate now. You had lost yourself in him almost effortlessly, pieces of rationality and logic snatched and torn away until you were lost in the blissful eye of the storm, feeling it consume you on all sides.
The Baron tears his lips from yours without warning. There’s no time to react or question, just the abrupt sensation of falling as his arms bunch, lifting as they fling you onto the bed. Hard. The mattress bounces underneath at the sudden collision. Some of the breath knocks from your lungs, in a mixture of both the impact and the surprise. All the more aroused, you scramble to push yourself up on your elbows, rising up in time to watch him take the final few strides to the bed.
Zemo's confident step is smooth, nearly a swagger. Your eyes flit down his form, drinking in the magnificent sight of him. Dark eyes, chiseled features, and that roguish smile that makes your chest seize. His pale, flat chest and the hardened protrusion of his cock bulging at the front of his trousers. Halting, one of his arms raises to teasingly brace upon one of the bed’s shining wood posters, leaning against it as he looms over you assuredly, and speaks once again in that lucious rasp.
"I hope that you're ready, dragă. It has been a... long time since I've felt such an urge. I will do my best to hold back. To make this pleasurable for both of us."
Your voice holds nothing but roughened lust. “Get down here.”
He laughs, and then those firm hands are skating up your thighs, seizing the rim of your panties and ripping them from your legs in one harsh motion. They are tossed aside, discarded carelessly to the darkness. You surge upright before he can climb atop your body, legs dangling off the side of the bed as your fingers fumble determindely against the buckle of his belt. He lets out a low sound of approval, hands drifting aside to allow you easier access.
The mound of his erection radiates heat. It’s hard to think of anything else but what it will feel like pressing up inside you. All that you have to do first is get his damn fly open.
His cock spills free when you finally do, bouncing out as you tug down the waistband of his boxers. The purplish tip is gorgeously swollen. Precum already slightly leaks from the glistening peak. It’s sticky against yours fingers as your hand wraps around his dick, giving it a swift pump, running your gaze down the perfect form of his member. Zemo’s hiss comes through gritted teeth, hand reaching out to seize the solid poster again. Even in the dim light, you can see his knuckles turn white from the strength of his grip.
He is certainly above average length, but the thing that makes your heart pound with unabated desire is how thick he is. You can already imagine that sensation of him stretching you out. How deliciously this cock can fill you. The urge to lie down and let him take you rises once again, but you push against it. He has certainly treated you well tonight, so it is only fair that you return the favour. After so long unattended, the ache must be near unbearable.
You lean forward, wrapping your lips around him. A grunt bursts from Zemo’s lips. The wooden pillar creaks under his tightening hands. His hips begin to gently thrust, gently working himself into your mouth. You can tell that he is holding back, even as one of his hands falls to slip around the back of your head, holding it in place as you take him further into the back of your throat.
The lingering precum is salty and bitter, but you do not stop. Zemo’s muted gasps softly fill the air. The sound is music to your ears, singing to your aching cunt and filling you with the desire to have him fold beneath you. Your pace increases, feeling how his legs are tembling as your hand rises to join your mouth, carefully pumping in unison as your tongue swirls over his tip.
And then it happens. Completely unexpected. The Baron breathes your name, and seems unaware that he does. Your eyes flicker up to land on his face, but your mouth continues to bob obediently against his cock without faltering. A faint shimmer of sweat has started to grow on his brow, and air whistles from his clenched teeth. The struggle is plain on his face.
A particular flicker of your devilish tongue against his top has a strangled cry spilling from his lips. One of his hands shoots to your shoulder, quickly easing you back.
“Not all the way, dragă. I want to feel you.”
The words sent another tortuous ache down your body. You can only nod, hand reaching up to swiftly brush away the remnants of saliva that coat your chin. It’s only then that you notice something underneath that feels a little different from regular soft bedsheets. His long coat lies atop the end of the bed, and you are sitting towards the hem of it. Fabric rustles as you go to to shift, planning to tug it free and move it aside.
The Baron’s words stop you. “Don’t.”
One look at his heated gaze sets the meaning clear. He wants to fuck you on that coat. And you will gladly oblige. His hand - the one still covered by the smooth leather glove - lands on the centre of your chest, pushing you firmly down atop the mattress. The coat crinkles underneath you, furred collar almost perfectly level with your neck. Zemo’s fingers recall your attention as he clambers atop the bed, having ridded himself of his trousers and boxers. The other glove is gone from his hand too, so now the contact is just sheer bare skin.
His hands slip behind you, and you arch your back as he unbuckles your bra. It slides free of your chest, leaving your breasts exposed. The Baron is immediately hovering on all fours over you, mouthing against your chest. Teasing your nipple with his tongue, as one hand slowly trails up the inside of your leg, until those teasing fingers slide inside of your soaked folds again. Payback for the delicious torture that you just put him through. They pump inside of your cunt, leaving you writhing on the bed. One hand grips the sheets for an anchor as the other rises to tangle in his hair, only mussing it further.
That heat looms inside of you again. There’s no way it couldn’t. Not with his two fingers working so dexterously. But Zemo pulls out just before that point is reached, when you halfway there and locked in the throes of helpless lust, and settles back upon his heels. Instead, his hands tighten around your calves, pulling them upward to each rest against a shoulder. A needy keen tears from your lips as he brushes your clit again with an evil smile. The coat underneath you stirs as his throaty chuckle caresses the air, that knowing gaze lifting to meet yours. His hair is completely mussed, formed in messy peaks at the behest of your earlier hands.
His fingers leave your clit, and instead travel down, gripping his cock. He shifts closer, the heat of his body washes across yours. You can feel the strain in the back of your legs as he looms overheard, moving to position the tip of himself at your entrance. You can feel it pressing against the lips of your folds, slowly teasing them apart. The contact is absolute torture, as it the burning need to have him just slam inside of you and finally take you whole.
Pausing for just a moment, his head tilts in contemplation as another thought overtakes him. Your chest rises and falls as you wait for him to speak. It's hard to think of anything than the throbbing heat of his erection, of how close it is to giving you exactly what you want. But you manage. Just barely.
Helmut speaks, and those soft words hesitantly broach the night air. “If I may make one more thing clear… Our encounter tonight is separate from everything that goes on during the day. This moment is you and I alone. It is born of desire, and no greater scheme than that. Regardless of anything that happens in the future, never doubt that this moment was sincere.”
His words make you nervous. The stutter of your heart only picks up when he leans down, hands sliding along the crumpled duvet, forcing your legs higher as he presses his mouth hungrily against yours again. The kiss is deep. Searching. As if he is trying to convey some unspoken meaning, one that you do not grasp quite yet. His teeth tug harshly against your lower lip, drawing a small sting of pain. The weight of his heated body presses you down, further nestling against the soft interior of that coat.
One hand slides up to seize a firm hold of your throat, fingers wrapping around either side of your neck to hold your head in place as he ruthlessly demands all of your lip’s attention. You can feel his tongue dominating the inside of your mouth, tasting the lingering salt of his precum from your tongue. The grip of his fingers tighten ever so slightly, elicting a heated moan from your lips. Zemo drinks it in, laughing knowingly against your mouth. Electrified vibrations running through his body to where he touches yours, an almost unbearable reaction to his agonizing proximity.
His throbbing cock inches further into the entrance of your cunt, skating further between the folds. The sensation is almost too much to bear. Those elegant fingers release their hold on your throat, moving back to brace against the sheets at the side of your body, trapping you underneath him.
But escape is not even on your mind. To be taken away from this now... It wouldn’t be escape. It would be torture.
Every inch of you is screaming with need for him, one fire with the sensation of his cock being so close to drilling inside of you. Your hands skate down to dig into his thighs, urging him closer.
“Are you sure?” Zemo whispers, face dipping to bury in the point where your neck meets your shoulder.
Your response comes as a hoarse murmur. “Yes.”
That raw desire filling your tone is all the encouragement that he needs. Zemo’s hips snap forward, pushing inside in one, delicious motion. A gasp bursts from your lips as he buries himself fully, a growl tearing from between his teeth. This was what you needed.
His thick ridges stretching the walls of your cunt in a way that makes your toes curl. A way that you knew it would. It had only taken one look at his gorgeous cock to know that it would be the death of you. The sensation of him within you - claiming you with that one single thrust - leaves your mind spinning with nothing but the thought of him, and the heavenly ripples that run through your body as he starts to rut in smooth, confident strokes.
Your hands fist into the bedsheets, tangling amidst them for some kind of hold as he starts by fucking you passionately. Slowly. Letting you feel every inch of his cock, and savouring the feeling of you trembling underneath him. Your cunt is throbbing with relentless need as he drives smoothly into you, taking it slow at first to get you used to the feeling of being impaled on his thick member. Eyes nearly rolling in pleasure, your lidded gaze falls on him. Those broad shoulders framed between your legs as his hands slip down to tightly grip your hips, pumping his need into your core. The harsh pressure of his hands is strong enough to bruise, but the pain brings pleasure, and you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.
At your whispered encouragements, his pace begins to pick up. The coat crinkles underneath you, bunching as the jolt of his hips becomes stronger, those sharp snaps slamming you higher up into the mattress. Underneath the harsh drive, the bed begins to shake. Thudding against the wall with each of his rhythmic thrusts in an unmistakable manner. Too lost in the all consuming bliss, you can’t even bring yourself to care.
A filthy moan spills from your lips as the head of his cock brushes that spot. Realising the significance of the sound, the Baron repeats the motion, burying himself inside of you as he does. Those white teeth are bared as he hovers above you, face twisted into a snarl of concentration. Now, lost in a moment of carnal savagery, he suddenly looks a bit more like the villain you know him to be. Have been. You’re not quite sure. Regardless, he is not one that you are afraid of in any way. Not as his hands slide down the space between your bodies to start playing with your clit again.
The sensation is almost too much. The combination of his tip stroking that pulsating spot within your core, and the touch of his fingers against that small bud of nerves outside, guides you back toward the edge of release. One that he had taken you from earlier, to ensure that he could be inside of you when it came again. Little cries begin to spill from your lips, body writhing as he hits that mark again and again with dizzing accuracy. That delicious swell begins to simmer in your stomach once more, filling your veins with a familiar prickling heat. Helpless, your hands scrabble for a hold, fisting wildly in the sheets as you climax with a loud cry, feeling your release wash through your body, clamping your walls around his member.
Zemo groans loudly, his arousal at your orgasm plain on his face. Leaning down, his mouth presses desperately against yours once more, shifting your legs to slide down his shoulders so that it allows him closer, and the snap of his hips continues to fill you achingly. Straining upward, though still somewhat trapped by the position, you return his kiss heatedly, no longer caring in any way possible at what it means... That you are as helpless under his touch as he is under yours. Utterly unable to resist.
The heated pleasure begins to build again, coaxed by the skilled strokes of his cock between your folds. He breaks away, drawing back to refocus his attention on how his body drives yours. A grunt spills from his lips, the breathless huff billowing against your cheek. Those fingers tighten around your thighs as his motions become insistent, demanding that you climax again before his own need to orgasm seizes him in a relentless hold. The way that his eyes remain fixed on your face - swallowing the sight of your passionate throes like a man possessed - pushes you closer towards yet another release, aided by the glorious pace of his cock.
It’s growing harder as he approaches his own orgasm. The fight to control it is visible on his furrowed brow as his teeth grit in concentration. His dick strokes against that throbbing spot inside of your cunt, building to an unbearable warmth. You can feel his dick hardening even further, swelling as his body prepares to release an urge that has been contained for so long. It’s throbbing inside you, and something about that heavenly tremor hits that spot inside exactly right.
A jagged, wordless cry rips from your lips as the climax erupts through your body a final time. The force is utterly intense. Zemo’s face twists in ecstasy, a low gasp tearing from him as he follows immediately, hips faltering in a violent stutter. Pulsating with one final surge, his cock spurts inside of you, spilling his cum into your hot cunt. A moan escapes his lips as his head ducks down to your neck, and then you feel his teeth clamp against your skin as he bites hard. Locked in the endorphin high, the harsh sensation is nearly blissful.
Your legs slip free of his frame, sliding down to rest against his hips. They are weak and trembling, muscles aching after being held aloft for so long.
A quiet spreads over the room as you both softly collect yourselves. Your eyes are on the ceiling, but one arm hoists up to exhaustedly sling around Zemo’s shoulders. The spent Baron rests atop your chest, nearly slumped after the force of his ejaculation. His mouth nuzzles upwards to press his lips gently against the side of your temple in a gesture that appears almost apologetic. Probably in response to the unexpected nip.
Zemo’s head rests against the swell of your breasts. Strands of mussed, wet hair prickle your bare skin. Sweat is apparent upon him, but you do not mind. Yours is equally damp, a distinctive result of the three hard orgasms. However, it was all more than worth it.
That place between your legs is singing with satisfaction, the lust finally quenched. For now, at least.
His weight against you starts to grow a little much to bear. Hands rising, you gently push at his shoulders, Shifting off you, Helmut obediently rolls away, coming to a swift halt on his back, just against your side. The night air is cool against your still-tingling skin. Goosebumps prickle as the chill sets in, prompted by the absence of his heated form hovering above.
Neither of you speaks at first. The silence is not uncomfortable, however. It is warm. Maybe a little unsure, but soft and reassuring.
Your whole body feels delicious light. Perfectly satisfied. However, through the residual elation of the climax, a slight stinging is finally starting to register. A frown tugs down your face, one hand lifting to press against your neck. The spot throbs at the contact, and no longer in a good way. Your fingers slid along the skin, feeling the small grooves in the flesh.
Mouth twisting in indignation, you turn your head to arch a brow at Zemo. “Did you really have to bite so hard?”
A hint of embarrassment flickers across his face. “Apologies. I got… carried away.”
“I can tell,” you murmur in response.
Your whole neck is sore. A combination of all of the sucking and nipping earlier when his fingers were inside you by the window, mixed with that one harsh clamp of his teeth on the side of your throat at the end. The skin is not broken, but if you can feel the bitemark with your fingers, it is probably all too visible.
With an uncharacteristic hesitance, the Baron offers a husky further explanation. “I became lost in the desire. The urge was too strong. I… I needed to leave a mark. A reminder that this truly happened. One that I can look at in the light of day, as a sign that this moment truly came to pass. That it is not just an illusion conjured by my own longing, or a fevered dream.”
You’re not quite sure to reply to that. Silence spreads as your mind churns, trying to cultivate a response. Zemo waits for your answer rigidly. His body is stiff as he lies beside you, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Finally, you shift, tongue nervously brushing across your lips as you do. His head falls towards you, and those dark eyes lack their usual sly glint as they come to rest on your face.
Quiet words spill from your lips, the only ones that come to mind. “You are oddly poetic at times, you know that?”
It appears to be the right thing to say. The compliment has some comfort wash over his handsome face. Those lips purse back into their roguish smile. He twists, rolling atop of you once again, but bracing his weight on the flats of his forearms. One of his hands reaches down, tugging your leg around his waist. Not to begin again, but to keep you close to him.
Hovering just above you, that grin is directed gently down onto your face. “I had an expensive education.”
Your laugh rings in the darkness. “I’d bet.”
The smile adorning your lips fades quickly after the words fade from the air. Noting the sudden melancholy that replaces it, Helmut’s head tilts in wordless curiosity. Frowning, your fingers play against his chest as your eyes fasten sadly on his face, running over his features. Drinking in the sight of him like this, and your happiness in the moment. It takes a few seconds for him to understand, but he figures out the meaning of your morose expression himself.
“You can’t stay.” It’s not a question.
Head shaking, you mutedly agree. “No. I can’t. They shouldn’t find me here. Us here. In this position.”
“Ah yes. I think the Win-Bucky would happily kill me for taking such a liberty with his beloved companion.” A wry chuckle accompanies his words, but you can hear the slight strain in his tone.
It’s comforting, being able to tell that he does not want you to leave. However, it does little to change the fact that tomorrow will bring a new day, a new danger, and likely only make things harder between the two of you. After all, you’re not stupid, and know sooner rather than later the illusive Baron will make a ploy for escape. And you’re not quite certain exactly what you will do when he does.
His index finger trails slowly down the side of your face, touch filled with a gentle affection that is uncharacteristic in his daily demeanour. Now, with just yourself and him and those boundaries considerably lowered, he is softer.
“Will you remain just a little longer?”
You can’t quite bring yourself to say anything else. “Yes. Just a little while.”
A/N: Disclaimer: I’m not actually a fan of the word ‘cunt’ but writing ‘pussy’ made me feel like a pimp, and writing ‘vagina’ made me think of a gynocologist. Sometimes we have to compromise!
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✨Next Chapter (5)✨
✨ALTERNATE CHAPTER: BUCKY BARNES
✨ALTERNATE CHAPTER: SAM WILSON
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you are a dancing queen
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Sex with Baron Zemo · NSFW HCs
*xFemale!Reader || I’m a simple girl, I see a sugar daddy, I write about them
Sleeping in Silk Sheets Naked— it’s literally the absolute best. You feel like royalty when you wake up to the feeling of his fingertips ghosting along your bare skin in a stroking pattern, featherlike kisses being trailed up the side of your neck, and silk slipping across every other inch of you. The slight chill of the sheets sends a shiver throughout you, awakening you with erotic sensations, only to be met with “Goodmorning, princess,” in that gorgeous accent.
↳ hence, morning sex is one hundred percent a frequent occurrence. Beginning with your lips, he’ll trail soft kisses down your entire body, until he reaches your hips, kissing a line across your waist, you feel him hook his arms under your thighs and pull you just a little further down the bed, slipping easily along the silk, you giggle, before gasping at the sensation of his mouth against your inner thigh, moving closer and closer to your already wet heat.
Nicknames—he always calls you princess, you’ve come to call him by his title or his last name in bed, but as most people know him by his last name, you lean towards his title more often than not. When you’re teasing him you’ll call him your Sugar Daddy, which only makes him respond by hooking a finger under your jaw, tilting your head up and stating: “whatever you want, I make sure you get.”
Foreplay— he is fantastic at it and it’s frustratingly attractive. He will tease you through and through, all the while remaining completely collected himself. You can literally straddle his lap and he’ll just look at you with a “yes? Can I help you?” expression, but yet the moment he touches you, you’re ready to take it all right then and there. You’ve found you get turned on almost embarrassingly fast around him and it’s worse when he knows it. He loves seeing you sexually frustrated (more on that later).
Kinks— he has had experience after all, but honestly whatever you’re into he’s into. You were a little bit shy about bringing up some things, but shocked with how easily he said okay. Such as when you asked how he felt about being the one blindfolded or cuffed, he quirked an eyebrow, smiled, and said, “I don’t mind a challenge.” To name a few of his: helping/seeing you undress, thigh riding, temperature play (ice), and hickeys.
Slow, Sensual, and Deep— there’s certainly no rush when it comes to sex with him; he will have you aware of every sensation and have you feeling every second of pleasure that spreads across every part of your body. You’re either clinging on to the nearest object, typically him, or taking fistfuls of the sheets underneath you when your orgasm finally hits, because it’s not just there and gone. Oh no, it comes in heavy hard waves as he continues to fuck you through it.
↳ he always kisses the base of your neck when you reach your orgasm, occasionally pressing his tongue against your quivering throat. He also has a habit of lacing his fingers with yours, softly pinning you underneath him, he smiles against your skin feeling your nails dig into his knuckles as you scream his name.
Romantic Flare— sex by candlelight happens a lot more often than you ever imagined. With silk sheets, wine, and candles lighting the room you feel like you’re in a regency romance novel, and he makes sure you know you’re the leading lady. Caressing every inch of your body as he takes off your lingerie with compliments in between kisses the entire time.
Bruises— by the end of the night you’ll have bruises from where he dug his fingertips against you roughly, typically along your hips and thighs. Likewise, he’ll have crescent shaped bruises from your nails, as well as a few deep scratches down his back and bicep thanks to you.
Catching Him Off Guard— it’s a hard thing to do, he has a lot of patience and can keep his cool surprisingly well. Something that worked is when you got back from some big art auction, you finally made it to your hotel room. He went to pour a drink, and you immediately slipped your dress off leaving you naked with only a string of pearls or diamonds on you, which is one of his favourites. When you said his name he hardly expected you to have undressed so quickly, making him nearly choke on his vodka when he turned around and saw you.
Makeup sex— you two don’t fight often, but when you have had some time apart, makeup sex is a big part of the apology. You’ll come back ready to give your full apology, but before you can get the first few sentences out he’s kissing you on your open mouth, hot and heavily, leaving you breathless. Caressing your cheek, he rests his forehead against yours softly saying “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be at odds with you. Please, forgive me?” It’s some of the hottest sex you’ve ever had.
Dress On— there have been times when you’ve come back home and barely made it through the front door. For starters your back was already being pressed against the door and your arms were around his neck, keeping him locked in a deep kiss as he found the key to the door, from there it only escalated once you were inside. It’s happened right there in the foyer hallway, he set you on top of the entry table, you gathered up your dress, and had at it
Location—with a car collection like his you had to try it at least once, or twice… turns out those vintage cars have plenty of space! You’ve also joined the mile high club, it’s a private jet after all. Also, whilst he’s driving, he typically has a hand on your thigh, occasionally inching it up higher and higher, you get the picture
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summary: On a mission to collect more information about hydra, Zemo books the honeymoon suite for him and (Y/n). There is a small problem.
request: THERES ONLY ONE BED reader x Zemo ~ anon
pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader
warnings: no spice because fluff is my comfort zone, ONE BED!?
a/n: can someone please tell me to stop overthinking everything and above all being insecure about whatever the hell I do? pleeeaseee
MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES
“Baron and Baroness Zemo. Welcome! Here is your key card for the honeymoon suite. Your luggage awaits you upstairs“, the hotelier greets the couple with a friendly smile and hands Zemo the key card. (Y/n) tenses at the mention of her fake name but Zemo only presses her tighter against his side.
“Have a nice time!“, the hotelier winks at (Y/n) and watches the couple walk towards the private elevator. Before the doors close he sees the Baron pressing a loving kiss to the Baroness‘ temple.
The second the doors close and the two of them are finally alone, (Y/n) pushes Zemo against the wall with a hand around his neck. Without a word she glares angrily at him and Zemo immediately understands.
“Only playing my part as your husband, darling“, Zemo states and looks down at (Y/n). There is a cocky smile on his lips when the woman takes a step back and sighs annoyed.
“Did you really have to book the honeymoon suite?“, (Y/n) asks as she crosses her arms before her chest and stares at the red numbers, hoping for this elevator run to end.
“Yes“, Zemo answers without a real explanation. He is a Baron. He is rich. Of course he booked the honeymoon suite.
Finally the doors open and Zemo takes (Y/n)s hand to drag her inside their apartment for the next week. That is if they can convince the hydra supporter that they are actually married and he tells them everything they need to know.
The two enter the honeymoon suite and while Zemo is used to such an environment, (Y/n)s eyes widen in overstimulation. Everything is so pretty and expensive.
The first room is a living room with the softest couch (Y/n) ever laid eyes on as well as a huge television. (Y/n) walks through the other rooms and stops in the bedroom. Her heart stops beating for a second. There is only one bed.
“Why is there only one bed?“, (Y/n) asks breathless and turns around the moment Zemo enters the bedroom. He has two glasses of champagne in his hands.
“It‘s the honeymoon suite, darling“, Zemo returns and gives (Y/n) one of the glasses. He raises his own glass but (Y/n) already drinks her champagne in one go.
“Then you will be the one to sleep on the couch“, (Y/n) says and leaves the room without even waiting for Zemos comment. She knows arguing with him will lead to nothing. He will only call her darling again and make her feel uncomfortable as well as comfortable at the same time.
After (Y/n) rediscovered her luggage, she takes some fresh clothes and enters the bathroom to shower. She does her best to ignore Zemo watching her every move.
Because of the long flight and hot shower (Y/n) is quite tired when she exits the bathroom again. She can‘t find Zemo in the living room. Maybe he is doing something useful for their mission. But actually he is sitting in the huge bed reading a book.
“What the hell?“, (Y/n) exclaims shocked as she lays eyes on the shirtless Zemo sitting on the bed. He lowers his book and smiles innocently at the woman.
“This bed is big enough for the two of us“, Zemo states and pats the free space beside him, even pulling back the blanket for (Y/n) to get comfortable. She is too tired to argue with the arrogant man so (Y/n) sits down with a sigh. But she also places a few pillows between herself and Zemo.
“If you touch me, I will throw you out of the window“, (Y/n) warns her companion and switches off the lights. Zemo is forced to place his book aside and lays down next to (Y/n).
The first seconds are quite awkward. No one dares to move but eventually the two of them fall asleep.
Because of their tossing and turning Zemo and (Y/n) destroy the pillow wall. And when (Y/n) turns to place her head on one of these pillows, she actually lays her head on Zemos chest. In his sleeping and dreaming state Zemo wraps an arm around the woman.
In the morning (Y/n) is the first one to wake up. She hides her face in the pillow under her until a very familiar and expensive scent fills her nostrils. At first (Y/n) believes it‘s the bedroom but then she feels the warmth and moving of Zemo breathing under her body.
Quickly (Y/n) sits up and brings as much distance as possible between her and the Baron. Heat reaches her cheeks and she stares at Zemo with wide eyes. Her breathing is unsteady, almost erratic.
“I would have never thought you were touch starved“, Zemo says with a rough voice and opens his eyes. He smiles amused at (Y/n) who frowns at him.
“I‘m not ... touch starved“, (Y/n) growls and grabs the next people she can reach and throws it straight at Zemos pretty grinning face. With a laugh he sits up and turns to leave the bed.
“Would you like your breakfast in bed?“
“Breakfast in the ... bed?“
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