This fic is inspired by the Temperance card of the Major Arcana of the Tarot
pairing(s): helmut zemo x fem!reader
summary: Zemo's been having a bit of a crisis where you're concerned; when a mission with the Thunderbolts has you testing his patience, he decides it's time to flip the dynamic.
warnings/tags: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, bondage, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, squirting, clit spanking, dacryphilia, wwe friday night smackdown but in a fun and sexy way, choking (both dubcon and con), back riding(??), biting, cunnilingus, degradation, unprotected sex (no stated use of contraception), creampie, aftercare, possessive and jealous zemo, he's really having a time of it, Earth-616 references, like one teenage mutant ninja turtles reference
additional notes: BEHOLD: the horniest thing i have ever written. i would like to thank @yellenabelovaa for sending me this ask which did in fact inspire me loads for this. i would also like to thank @maximoffwxnda for betaing and @bigtiddythanos for letting me scream about this and for helping me with plot ideas, y'all are the realest 💕
taglist blog: @rosemareblogs
“The entry of Spirit into matter. This is what the Fool must learn on his path to mastery.” -Eden Gray, The Tarot Revealed
Helmut is more than patient. That much is a given, a fact; but some things make his patience wear thin.
Things like seeing you, legs spread and blissfully wanton before a little pissant that obviously knows nothing about how to please a woman. His mouth over your sex as if he can even find your clit with a fucking map, and you can’t be serious with these stupid moans, like he’s really doing anything for you, draga.
Helmut sees from the ajar doorway, just a brief glimpse, but it tells him enough. You need to be fucked, and badly, by someone who knows what they’re doing, who won’t just scratch at your clit and then ask you if you’ve come after thirty seconds. No, you need someone who knows when you have, and who will make you do it again, and again, and again, until you can’t possibly think of anything or anyone else. It’s cute to see you try to urge the poor boy on, but something within Helmut’s heart of hearts wants to burst through the door and show you both how it’s properly done.
Patience. Patience is a virtue… not that Helmut has many of those anymore. Lord help him, he needs to cling to the little bit of it he has left, now that you’ve been shoved into his life. He couldn’t have possibly bargained on you when he agreed to Val’s terms- something he hadn’t wanted to do from the start, but if there’s going to be a new kill squad, he supposes he may as well be there to-
To what, Helmut? You can’t control them. You don’t control this any more than you could control what happened in Sokovia.
He unloads the clip of his gun into the nearest throw pillow.
As feathers fall through the air around his body, vibrating with silent rage, his thoughts are full of you, you, you, like a broken record on that cheap fucking player Yelena drags around that looks like a briefcase and scratches up everything she puts on it.
“Oh, I love Don McLean... Yelena, play that one again for me, will you?”
You’re just so sweet all the time, even when you’re beating the rest of the team into shape. How you got mixed up with Val and her little play on an Anti-Avengers, he has no idea. Is he happy that you’re the commander rather than, heaven forbid, John Walker? Yes. But considering his current red-tinted vision, he supposes your presence is more of a curse than a blessing right now.
He doesn’t know exactly why he’s so ungodly angry about it. He knew what the mission was, of course, and what your task was. Use Hammer’s connections to infiltrate the A-List party, seduce the billionaire, distract him while Starr gets into the safe in his bedroom and steals the microchip that can monitor millions of people’s computers around the globe. General covert affairs, of course. But this led to him pretending to be your personal bodyguard and standing like a Centurion outside the cluttered study you tugged the Stark wannabe into and, well… Helmut has never really liked to see someone else enjoying what he wants.
Perhaps that’s the reason. Perhaps you’re angry because she’s the first person you’ve truly wanted since...
He pumps the trigger in his hand. His clip is empty.
It wouldn’t be so damn bad if he knew that you despised him, and that, given the chance, you would turn him away without a second thought. Spit in his face, even. He can deal with that, he can accept your disdain and chalk everything up to a case of unrequited lust.
But he doesn’t know that. He only knows what your behavior towards him speaks of, and that’s respect. On a good day, he may even chance to say it speaks of friendship. A gentle ribbing about his attire (“What, did you stop at Valentino on your way out of the Raft? Will you be okay with getting blood on that pretty collar, Baron?”), a wink in his direction after singing his praises to General Ross (“Zemo is the most competent member of the team. Listen- he did what a literal demigod and an entire army of robots couldn’t do. That’s pretty damn impressive in my book.”).
A moment when sparring, alone in the training room, your thighs pressed firmly on either side of his head, cutting off his air. The scent of you, sweet and a bit musky all at once, assaulting his senses. His hands grasping at your legs as you brought him to his knees, sat on his shoulders. A dark chuckle falling from your lips as you finally released his head, letting him breathe once he was on all fours. “I know you can hold your breath a lot longer than that, Baron. Just keeping you on your toes.”
God, he loved watching you walk away.
He loved it a lot more than watching you walk into view now, out of the study, your hair a bit of a mess, but that clingy dress you’re wearing pulled back to position like he didn’t just see it bunched up around your waist. His cock stirs below his belt as if there’s anything he can do about it now, and your eyebrow quirks in such a way that he knows you know, a smirk on your lips like this was what you were hoping for the entire time, you little brat.
The pissant appears in the doorway behind you, looking a bit dazed and confused. You’ve done a number on him, in the time that Helmut has been contemplating his internal crisis. He could kiss you now, in front of the billionaire- Silva is his name- but he doesn’t. He knows better than to do that. He knows you’d probably knock him into next week if he even tried.
Instead, you smile. “Everything all right out here, Müller?” you ask, ‘Müller’ being Helmut’s alias tonight, of course. And him being surrounded by feathers, as if it isn’t obvious he’s just shot the shit out of a throw pillow on the antique couch in the hallway with his muffled pistol.
His eye twitches, almost imperceptibly, but you see it all the same. “There was a pest.”
Justin Hammer’s so-called “crash pad” is a 1920s beach house next to a Radisson and across the street from Olive Garden. Helmut doesn’t know if he’s an idiot or just stupid, but Hammer insists on going to get food as soon as he gets out of his tux. Walker and Belova agree, but Starr stays, along with you. Helmut is trying hard not to think about it.
Helmut steps from his shower, grinding a towel against his head like it will erase the thought of you from his mind. He can practically smell you, almost as if you marked him with your scent the day you held him between your thighs. No one knows about that, only the two of you- that’s why it feels so intimate, he guesses. He can still feel your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking on it each time he tries to tug your legs open. What he wouldn’t give to be in that position again.
He emerges from the bathroom clouded in steam, and he’s entirely shocked to find you on his bed.
You’re holding a glass of wine and you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt that says ‘New York’ in gaudy neon block letters, but not much else. Your legs are folded on the sheets, but you pause mid-drink like you hadn’t expected him to come out of the bathroom at all tonight.
“Nice to see so much of you, Baron,” you muse, swirling your cabernet as if this is your room and he’s the one intruding. Your eyes rake up and down his naked body, a smirk growing on your lips, and the vainest part of him hopes that you like what you see, despite the number of years he has on you. “Figured you’d have a big dick to go with that enormous ego.”
He squints at you, one hand clutching the door frame. “I think your bed is down the hall, Schatz.”
“Is that so?” You don’t even spare a glance in the direction he points as you knock back a good portion of your wine. “I have a sofa cushion that says otherwise.”
He growls deep within his chest, like something hard and dangerous has wedged itself down in his lungs. He wants to correct you and tell you that it was a pillow, a fucking pillow, but that would be admitting defeat. Helmut Zemo is not a man to be defeated.
“I mean, I did before someone took a gun to it. I wonder if the General’s insurance covers petty jealousies, or-”
You aren’t quite able to finish that sentence before his hand swipes the wine glass from yours and flings it across the room, where it hits the wood paneled wall and shatters. Red wine trickles down the pinewood, looking eerily similar to blood. You suck your bottom lip between your teeth with a displeased pout.
“I wasn’t finished with that.”
Helmut’s palm eclipses your throat. A gasp cuts from your windpipe, his dark eyes finding yours fiery and almost too excited.
“You think, because you have command over this unit, you can presume to make accusations toward me?” His words are a snarl behind his teeth, his thumb feeling how your heartbeat pulses in your veins.
“Show me different, Baron.” You allow him a moment to release his hold on your neck, analyzing how his eyes soften, but not much else. Despite his sturdy grip on your throat and how much it makes you want him to ruin you, your voice drops to a delicate whisper, a touch of vulnerability that you don’t quite like lacing your words. “I know you were watching. It’s the only way I could go through with it, thinking of you on the other side of the door.”
Helmut grits his teeth, something in the back of his mind screaming, Patience!! Patience!! But another, calmer voice on his shoulder whispering that this is his last chance… tomorrow, he goes back to the Raft. Back to his cell, back behind bulletproof glass and steel bars, another indefinite period of solitude before Val needs him again. And something within Helmut’s mind snaps.
You need him. But he needs you, evermore.
His thumb traces the line of your jaw to your chin. “Is this truly what you want?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to be a good guy now, Zemo.” You scoff, unfolding your legs as you do so. Helmut discovers you haven’t even deigned to put any underwear on. Little kitten knows how to play.
“You want me to be your villain, draga?” Darkness encompasses his gaze as he tilts his head, and he sees you squirm, but only just. “I can be that.”
You give him a little nod before whispering, “For tonight.”
He doesn’t care to imagine what you want any other night.
His hands find your hips, soft and plush beneath his fingers. You’re so warm, warmer than he could even recall in his wildest dreams, and part of him feels sad about it… of course, until he knocks that part into the back of his mind. Because you’re here, and he bends forward and you’re against his lips, nearly devouring him, and hell if he didn’t miss this. There is something about having you cradle your face to his that is so incredibly perfect, that nothing can compare. Not vengeance, not brutality, not-
Your legs wrap around his waist, and Helmut forgets how to think.
Patience! Helmut curses that voice as he relaxes his fingers and tugs your shirt upwards; he knows, as you allow him to peel your clothes from your body and reveal yourself to him, that the voice is right, that he has all night, he can take his time with you. He can worry about everything else later, after he’s fucked you nearly to oblivion and you’ve fallen asleep on his chest.
But right now, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Your fingers are scrambling down his chest toward his groin, and although he’s hard and far too willing to have your hands on him, that is not the way this is going to happen. Not this time.
He catches your wrists and pins your hands to the mattress, shaking his head and tutting at you so condescendingly that he can see the anger flare in your eyes.
“So eager,” he chuckles before he makes the mistake of releasing your hand, and has to catch it again when you immediately reach for him. “I see. I think you’re much too used to getting what you want, when you want it.”
He draws away from you, leaving you naked and sprawled upon the bed in the overflow of light from the bathroom. You let out an indignant sigh, and Helmut forces himself to look away for just a moment at the corner of the quilt that he’s turning up. He should have known how radiant you would be like this- he’s seen you in athletic wear, in stealth suits, in clingy dresses and, at one particular point on this mission, in a swimsuit. But none of this had truly prepared him for the beauty of having you nude before him.
He’s thankful that the Egyptian Cotton top sheet on Justin’s guest bed is on the cheaper side, as he rips a long strip from the end of it with one quick swipe of his arm. He pulls the strip of fabric taut before you, and he almost expects you to opt out, but you surprise him by holding out your two hands in a prayer formation. “You’ve done this before.”
You don’t give him an affirmative answer, simply, “Safe word is Raphael.”
He pauses in his movements, giving you an incredulous look. “And what happens if your partner is named Raphael?”
“Then it’s Donatello, obviously.”
Helmut presses his tongue flat against the roof of his mouth as a smile curls at the edges of his lips. Funny. He should have figured you would be; your dry wit is one of the first things he found endearing about you. He finishes tying your wrists together and lifts the knot with two fingers to press a kiss to your joined hands, and finds you gazing up at him through your lashes. “You are truly exquisite.”
You grunt, flexing your fingers enough to chuck him under the chin. “You gonna fuck me about it, or just stand there all night?”
He gives a long exhale through his nose before using his same two fingers to push at your collarbone, watching you flop backward onto the mattress with a loud gasp.
“I think,” he says slowly as he looms over you, appreciating the way your chest rises and falls with your heaving breaths, your breasts pushed together by your bound arms, “you need to be taught a little bit of patience, hm? And then, if you’re a good girl for me, I might just untie you before I fuck you.”
Helmut tries not to grin too unabashedly at the shudder that shakes through your body. You eye him sharply, as you, yourself, try not to squirm at the throbbing heat culminating between your thighs from his patronizing stare. “Good luck with that, Baron.”
He hums as he dips his head to take your nipple into his mouth.
Of course, he knows you to be possibly the most patient person on earth. You have to be, in order to play parent to the mess that is this tactical squad. When it’s not Hammer and Belova measuring their dicks, it’s Walker being two sides of an asshole. Helmut doesn’t know how you do it, but you always manage to quell the fire before it can really take on heat. Maybe you have some powers of persuasion that you’re hiding in that gorgeous head.
Mark that for later investigation.
He loves seeing you so unhinged like this. Who knew you’d be such a damned brat once he got you alone? But here you are, arching your back like you want more of his mouth on you- not possible- moaning and squirming and flexing your arms against your restraints. He plants a little kiss to your hands, right below where the white cotton presses into the joint of your wrists.
“Bet you think you’re real fucking cute for that, huh?” you spit out around a whimper you tried your best to quiet.
“Cute is not the word I would use.” He glances down at your cunt, already glistening and wet for him, and he tries to stave off the rush of saliva to his mouth. Be the villain, Helmut. Be the villain. “Come now, I thought you wanted this. Spread your legs for me.”
He hears you scoff, but you follow his directions nonetheless. The muscles of your thighs flex with the movement, and his eyes flick from your face to your core and back, his mind reeling back through the memory of those thighs closed around his head, grinding his nose and mouth against your pelvis until he can’t breathe.
He watches you tremble this time, your legs parting further at his command until you whine from the stretch.
“There you go,” he purrs at you, and delights in the sight of the goosebumps raised on your soft skin. His hand strokes over them, and your muscle tenses at the sudden touch of his skin to yours. “Very good. Keep these open for me now, Schatz. We don’t want a replay of the last time I was between your legs.”
We wouldn’t mind it, actually, but that’s not the point.
His tongue draws a hot line through your folds and, somehow, the sound of your startled cry is sweeter than the taste of you. And you’re so sweet; he feels a violent bolt of jealousy rip through him, to know that he is the second man to do this to you tonight. He intends to do it better. He intends to savor you until he can’t quite forget the taste of you on his tongue.
“Zemo-” Your fingers scratch across his scalp to tangle into his hair. He snickers with his lips around your clit, and when you let out a moan and quiver against him, he knows. He knows how worked up you’ve been all night, and he wonders if you had been planning for this to happen even before entering the room with Silva. That motherfucker.
He lets you rut yourself against his tongue a few times, and then ultimately grasps your hips to pin you strongly down to the mattress. Your fingers tug on his hair while you give an annoyed growl, just to let him know that you’re displeased about it.
He pulls back with a tilt of his head, his eyes skimming over your bound hands, your heaving chest, your lust-darkened eyes. “Now you know what it’s like to have someone test your patience.”
You flick his nose.
He blinks, staring at you stoically for a few moments while you visibly refrain from laughing, biting your lip as your body shakes with the effort of it. Perhaps he should have tied your hands behind your back… but then, there would be no way for him to feel your fingers tug on his hair, and he doesn’t think he could do without the thrill each tug sends down his spine. There’s a mirthful glint in your eye that he honestly likes, a lot more than seeing you at your wits end with orders, orders, orders, and trying to balance your sanity with the insanity of the people around you. He can’t let you know that, though. Not right now.
So he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he lowers his mouth to you again, and tries not to smile too much when you cut off your own laughter with a loud and gutteral, “Oh fuck,” that he’s sure Ava could probably hear from across the house.
He senses you nearing your peak when you nearly close your legs around his head at the barest brush against your clit, which is exactly why he pulls back, and returns to prodding his tongue into your sensitive opening. A whine that sounds a lot like a sob comes from your chest, and Helmut chuckles. Of course, you couldn’t have expected him to let you off easily after that performance, could you?
He repeats that three more times for good measure, bringing you just to the edge of rapture and then pulling back, until you’re struggling to keep still, every little whimper falling from your lips as sweet as honey.
And eventually, when he passes his tongue over your clit for the last time and you tighten your fingers in his hair enough to make him question his own willpower, he lifts his head to rest his chin on your pelvis with a cheeky smile. “Would you like some wine?”
“I- what?” You furrow your eyebrows at him, watching as he winks and draws himself up from between your thighs. “Zemo, don’t you fucking dare-”
He smirks as he snatches his towel from just beyond the bathroom door and begins tying it around his waist. “Don’t move.”
“The hell I won’t!”
He honestly didn’t expect you to be so nimble, after however many times being denied your orgasm and with your wrists bound tightly together, but you throw yourself at him like a pouncing tiger. Your knees come up on either side of his hips, your arms looping over his head to use the tie as a lever to choke him. The towel drops to the floor again as he reaches up to grab your forearm before it can really tighten against his neck.
Yeah, he probably should have reconsidered teasing a trained mercenary.
“You’re being… a very bad… girl-” he snarls against your chokehold, staggering to fall backwards atop you on the mattress.
Your legs lock around his waist, and he shudders a bit when you catch his ear between your teeth. “I warned you that I would be. Doesn’t look like you mind it too much, though.” You tilt your head to find his cock hard and weeping, and a prideful smirk grows on your lips to know you’ve done this to him. “Is that just from tasting my pussy, or do you like it when I strangle you?”
Helmut sighs, glaring up at the ceiling while his hands wrench at your forearms. “Haven’t decided yet.”
You chuckle, the sound soft and devilish, reminding him of a siren’s song. “Yes you have.”
In an attempt to break your hold on his neck, he flings himself to the side and rolls onto his stomach- which indeed works to break the chokehold, at the very least. But now you’re straddling his back, and your hand clutches the back of his neck to shove his head down into the mattress.
“I should have just tied you to the bed.” His angry growl is muffled by the quilt, but he can hear your impish giggle with shocking clarity, and can feel you slide forward enough to let your wet cunt grind against his spine. “Are you doing what I think you are?”
“What was that, Baron?” you ask, and bend forward a little more to let your clit make contact with his hot skin as you rock your hips. You moan quietly before you continue, “I couldn’t hear you, I’m too busy doing your fucking job for you.”
Helmut’s head reels for a second, a bit lost in the feeling of you using him for your own pleasure, the wet drag of your skin against his sending chills up his spine to where your fingers lace through the short hairs at the back of his neck. He almost thinks he could be content to let you finish like this- as he tries desperately not to grind his own hips into the mattress beneath you- but the part of him that’s still so fucking irritated isn’t going to let that happen this time.
Ironic that, when he worms his arms beneath him and manages to push himself up and knock you off, you’ve just been denied another orgasm.
“You fucking bastard,” you gasp when your back hits the mattress, using your bound hands to try to take a swing at him.
“You’d really rather come by rubbing against me like a bitch in heat?” Helmut catches you around the waist when you try to drive your shoulder into his abdomen, using your momentum to pull your back to his chest as he falls to rest against the headboard. “If that was what you wanted, why go to all this trouble?”
“I just want to come, Baron,” you bite back, struggling within his grip. “I don’t care how.”
“Oh, if that’s all...” Helmut grins as he hooks his legs over yours to pull them apart. His smile only deepens when his hand dips between your spread legs to find you practically dripping, slick coating his fingers as he rocks them through your folds. He hums into your ear when your head rolls back against his shoulder, a lovely little moan issuing from your lips.
And when he draws his hand away and cracks it sharply back down onto your clit, that moan turns into a shattered cry. Electricity sizzles along your nerves, burning where his hand makes contact with your core.
“Then apologize,” he growls into your ear, punctuating his words with another spank to your pussy. You jolt with the impact, whining and bucking your hips as if that will somehow help you get further away from his assault on your sensitive clit.
Your quiet mumble isn’t at all believable, and so he makes you jump with yet another, harder spank. “You can do better than that.”
“Fuck, Zemo, I’m sorry,” you repeat, louder.
Another spank. “For what?”
“For trying to fight you.” Another spank. “Ah!- And for not following your directions.”
This time when he spanks you, your broken cry comes with a tear falling from the corner of your eye. The hand tightly holding you to his chest rises, and finds its place at your throat, making your cunt pulse quite suddenly. “And for using me to try to make yourself come?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry- please.”
The hand against your throat lifts to brush the tear from your cheek as he whispers, “I know you are. Now, what is it that you want?”
“I want to come,” you answer swiftly, your voice thick with desperation as you try to buck your hips against his hand, cupping your sex and not moving otherwise. “Please. Please, let me come.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He graduates to rubbing slow circles over your clit, and by the way your legs strain against his, he can tell your climax is rapidly approaching. He turns your face toward his, capturing you in a kiss to quiet your whimpers as you tremble from his touch. “Sweet little kitten, you are so pretty when you beg for me.”
And just like that, your orgasm hits. Helmut can taste on your open lips how much of a relief it is; your soft cries vibrate from your throat into his, and your hips rock insistently against the pads of his fingers, now soaked with your own arousal. He allows you this, as he swallows your sighs and cradles your jaw gently in the hand that had just been gripping your throat. But, he doesn’t quite let you come down before he’s pushing two fingers into you, twisting within your hot channel as your walls continue to pulse. He gives you four sweet strokes before he introduces a third digit, stretching you open.
“Oh- oh my god, Zemo,” you whine as he begins to pump a steady pace. “That’s- oh fuck- that’s so much.”
“Really?” He tuts as he swirls his thumb against your swollen clit, and you mewl pathetically. “Then how did you ever think you could handle my cock, Schatz?”
“I- hnnh,” your head rolls back again, exposing your neck for him to latch his mouth onto. “I thought you might need somewhere to unload your aggressions other than a couch. Wanna see if I’m right?”
He growls against your skin just before he sinks his teeth into it. The cry you make rings around the room, and Helmut’s dark eyes catch your hands flexing, clawing at the air above your lap like you’re trying to clutch at something there, to no avail.
“Not just yet, sweet one,” he says as he presses a kiss to the mark he’s made in the crook of your neck. “You wanted to come, so you will. One for every time you didn’t get to. That was number one.” Your walls clench around his fingers, and he chuckles as his eyes flicker down to where he strokes within and without you. “Here comes number two. Count them for me.”
He feels your release around his fingers with the gush of arousal, and hears it in your voice when you whimper a shaky, “Two.”
“Good girl.” Helmut’s praises sing through your body, making you suddenly twitch at his ministrations. “I knew you would be, with time.”
He flexes his legs to release the lock he’s had on yours, holding them apart for him. He has no doubts that you’ll keep them open, now that you’re finished fighting him. You give a short noise of protest when he withdraws his fingers from your core to slide out from behind you, and he shushes you as he gently lays you back against the pillows. “None of that. You know that I’m not done with you yet.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, huh?” Your voice is breathy and hints at a bit of weakness in your temperament.
“I simply have a point to make.” Helmut smiles as he lowers himself between your legs once again. “Who else could break you like this?”
To lend credence to his statement, he sinks his three fingers back into you, this time in the company of his tongue swirling against your clit. With a shriek your back arches, thighs shaking at either side of his head, and he thinks it takes all of twenty seconds before you whisper a frail, “Three.”
“There she goes, there’s my good girl,” he murmurs before he licks a broad path through your folds to collect your slick on his tongue. “Two more, draga, I know you can do it for me.”
“Not two. Three more.” You gasp when his fingers curl against the spot within you singing with nerves. “I didn’t, with Silva- I couldn’t.”
Helmut tilts his head, a smile stretching across his face. “Oh, did my poor little kitten not get to finish? Not even when she knew I was watching?”
“He wasn’t you.”
Helmut’s face flushes, a crazed spark taking light in his eyes at your confession- but you don’t get to see it in its full capacity, because he dips his head to you again and doubles down, sucking on your clit with such a fevered intensity that your back nearly leaves the mattress. You cry out sharply, your head spinning as pins and needles seem to stab at your limbs, and a violent wave of arousal overtakes your senses.
You sob, tears fully streaming down your face now as you mindlessly rut against his face despite the words you’re babbling. “Oh- oh fuck, Zemo, I can’t take it, I’m gonna-”
“Yes you can, sweet girl. Just let go.” He gives your clit a sweet kiss before he sucks it between his lips again.
You dig your heels hard against his shoulder blades just before you feel a shocking release, white-hot and searing, a gush of wetness coating your thighs and his face in turn. Gasping for air, your back settles against the mattress as Helmut draws his hand away, and presses a kiss to your thigh just before swiping his tongue along the wetness there.
“Count,” he orders, and although your eyes are seemingly locked shut, you can feel his scorch you from his spot between your legs.
“F-four.” Your skin burns as Helmut shifts to his knees, his palms stroking along the inside of your thighs as he simply admires you, giving you a moment to collect yourself.
“Two more, now.” He smiles at the heavy shake of your head, his own vulgar sense of pride welling in his chest. He shushes you as a sob rattles your chest, gathering your limp form into his arms to wipe the tears away from each of your cheeks while he croons, “Oh, I know you’re strong enough. Where’s that fight from before? Don’t tell me I’ve fucked it all out of you already.”
You don’t dignify that question with an answer, as you let your head fall limply against his shoulder a moment. “You gonna untie me like you said?”
“I told you that I might, if you behaved. But you didn’t behave, did you, draga?” Helmut feels you quiver in his arms, and he presses an ironically gentle kiss to your temple. “Put your arms around my neck, pretty one.”
You give a little squeak as you lift your arms; just when you think you might not be able to do it, Helmut’s hand comes up to guide your bound wrists over his head, and strokes soothingly up and down your bicep as you manage to lift your head and gaze at him. You finally discover that crazed glint in his dark eyes, and it sends hot electricity shooting through your limbs and down your spine.
“Zemo,” you say slowly, your voice a bit harder and darker than before, as you begin to gather your wits. “You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?”
“I plan to.” He gives you a wolfish grin as he tugs you by the hips, and the head of his cock brushes your entrance enough to make you whine. “Oh, so sensitive. Do you think you can handle me?”
“I don’t care,” you reply through gritted teeth, surprising him with your sudden resolve. “Just- just give it to me, Baron, I want you to-” You choke out your own words with a brutal cry, because Helmut doesn’t wait for you to finish before he tugs your hips forward against his, and he slides all the way into you with startling ease.
“Fuck,” he growls against your skin, vaguely aware that his nails are digging into your back as he’s knocked suddenly off kilter by the feeling of you shivering against him, your walls pulsing around him, drawing him further in.
You turn your head to let your lips graze his neck, shaking with little sobs as you whimper, “Five.”
“I know… I know, such a good girl for me.” He keeps himself still to let you come down, less for his benefit and more because he won’t last if he moves while you’re still clenching around him, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep his word to you. “You feel-” like home “-so warm.”
“I could hold you just like this, Baron,” you murmur into his neck, your arms trying to draw him closer to you. “Whenever you want. If you want.”
“I believe you.” The words feel thick in his throat, like they’re trying to grow into something else before he can say them. “My sweet girl. You’re mine now, aren’t you?” He feels you nod against him, just as he grips your waist in his hands. He draws his hips slowly away from yours, the feeling of your wet heat sliding around him the most heavenly thing he’s known in years, just before he drives himself all the way back in, hitting the end of you without warning. You squeal, tossing your head back to expose the divine column of your throat to him, and he hums as he presses a gentle kiss just below your chin. “Say it to me.”
“I’m yours.” Your forehead rests against his as he sets a slow and heavy pace. “Only yours.”
“We do the last one together,” he whispers, and presses a ghost of a kiss to your open mouth.
The noisy impact of skin on skin and the salacious wet drag of his cock hollowing out and driving back into the deepest parts of you is almost enough to overpower the obnoxious cries falling from your lips. If you could open your eyes for even a moment, you would find him staring at you with open adoration and reverence, a lock of hair falling across his furrowed brow.
“Aren’t you so beautiful like this... You should see yourself as I do, princeza.” He dips his head to suck a deep bruise to your neck, where he knows anyone who might look at you with hungry eyes will see it. “I’m going to fill this gorgeous cunt so deep that you won’t be able to shake me. No one will ever fuck you like I have.”
“Oh god.” Your pussy clenches around him, the heat simmering in your belly reaching a breaking point as he hits the end of you yet again, and a new set of tears spill over. “Please, I don’t know how much more I can take.”
He chuckles darkly, moving to kiss the tears from your cheeks and quiet your whimpering with gentle shushes. “You’ll take what I give you. You’re mine, remember?”
“Fuck, Helmut-” Your eyes snap open to stare him in the face as your orgasm crashes in, every nerve in your body seeming to catch fire as molten lava spills over in your belly.
His glittering eyes remain fixed on yours as he takes a sharp breath in, jerking your hips forward onto his with a loud groan that vibrates from his chest into yours. Beyond the pulsing and the twitching of your limbs you can feel his release, hot and deep in your core, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of the open mouthed kiss he gives you as he straightens his legs, and lays you down against the covers before he parks his hips resolutely against your own.
He breaks the kiss after a moment, his breath mingling with yours in the damp air between you. He grinds his pelvis down against your clit just enough to make you lock your legs around his waist, a tight noise of protest issuing from your lips.
“So I’m Helmut to you, now?” he says, his accent coming out a bit deeper and thicker than usual. His open mouth quirks up at the corners as he nuzzles his nose to yours. “That is very good to know.”
“You’d better be, after that.” You take a few deep breaths as your aftershocks begin to dissipate. “Is it too late to say ‘Raphael?’”
Helmut hums a satisfied note. “No need, draga. I think we have done enough, for now. But let me untie you.”
You nod, bringing your arms up and over his head so that he can sit up. He slips from you, leaving an emptiness in his wake that you weren’t quite ready for, and the ache in your core has you whimpering as his deft fingers undo the knot in the strip of fabric around your wrists.
“Oh, my sweet girl. You did so well for me,” he muses as he presses gentle kisses to the pulse point of each of your wrists. His eyes fall to your spent pussy, leaking white tendrils of his come onto the bed, and he breathes a shaky sigh. “What a pretty picture you make.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Will you stay with me?”
“Well, it is my room.” He listens to your quiet giggle with a touch of affection, and he tosses the strip of cotton aside as he moves to tuck you under the covers. “I have imagined nothing else for weeks, my dear.”
“I had no idea you were such a romantic, Baron.”
Beneath the covers, as he reaches for the light with you pulled to his chest, Helmut feels more than hears you grunt against his skin. “Justin’s gonna be pissed.”
He grumbles a bit under his breath, and you think you catch a few curse words in there somewhere. “Justin probably bought these sheets from Sears.”
“Fair enough.” A beat. “We’re gonna do this again, aren’t we?”
“Whenever you want, princeza.” He lays a kiss to the top of your head. “If you want.”
You give a content little sigh that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. “So we’re in agreement.”
It takes only a matter of minutes for your breathing to become regular, and even then, Helmut spends some time staring across the room at the splatter of wine on the wall, so long that it begins to look like the outline of a rabbit chasing a shark. His finger trails up and down your arm, feeling the rise and fall of your back against his arm, hearing the soft breaths that fall from your lips.
Yes, there will be times after this. But not quite like this.
Beyond the bay windows on the far wall, Helmut can hear the rush of ocean surf down the stretch of Justin Hammer’s private beach. Why didn’t he ever buy himself a fucking beach?
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