#daniel brül x reader

[mrsmaxwelllord]

VIPEROUS – true self

Pairing: Dark!Zemo X F!Reader

Sumarry: You arrive home only to find out that you've gotten pregnant by the worst man you can think of.

Words: 1,5K

Warnings: zemo is not so sweet in this one. unplanned pregnancy. loneliness. daydreaming. self-doubt. fear. drink-spiking.

A/N: First of all, i know that unplanned pregnancy isn't everybody favorite plot and I'M SORRY.

But you didn't thought I'd name a fic "viperous" and not write zemo at his fcking worst, did you?

previous chapter

.

You had discovered it pretty early on.

 After parting ways with the boys, you were feeling furious. You didn’t bother saying your goodbyes or listening to theirs, you simply held your bags and walked away from Zemo’s private jet; no turning back, no fake smile. Although, you could pull your pissed expression only for a few minutes, as soon as you turned a corner tears blurred your vision.

 Nonetheless, you went your way. In less than 24 hours you got to your home country and ten hours later you arrived in the dense rainforest you called home. It took you a few days to settle in again, to forget — or better, to ignore — the fateful events and get back to your routine.

 You stayed recluse at your house for a bit more than a month, before you had to come down to the nearest village; your supplies had their days counted and you could no longer postpone a visit to the hospital, the wound in your ribs had healed but the area was still too sore.

 You were expecting a broken rib or two, but the blood test they ran came out with a different outcome. One that you had no idea how to deal with.

 A pregnancy. You were about six weeks pregnant. It was very hard to understand the simple sentence coming out of your Doctor's mouth, it seemed impossible even; but you haven't used any protection the last time you were intimate with someone.

 It was obvious to you who the father was and it terrified you. Zemo was miles away running away from James and Sam after having managed to kill Karli Morgenthau and half the members of the Flag-Smasher. He didn’t know your whereabouts or condition, yet even the idea of him finding out was enough to make you shiver. His actions in the past decade made it clear that he loved his son, yet, you didn’t know how he’d react this time around with a woman he didn’t know nor loved – all while hiding from her own friends.

 You weren't sure if you wanted to keep it, but something was clear in that moment: he could never know, no one could.

 So after getting the exam result and making sure your ribs were okay, you scheduled a prenatal appointment with a discreet Doctor in a distant city and went your way home.

.

 You had a lot to think about. Parenting a child was hard enough with the help of others, but completely alone… Yet, you realised quite fast you wanted to keep it. 

 You also realised that you didn’t know shit about babies. You spend the first trimester of your pregnancy researching and studying everything you could, buying everything the internet said you’d need and having horrible nightmares almost every week.

 Because you were worrying about everything at once, three month went by fast.

 The lovely lady who owned the grocery store you go to regularly became your acquaintance and gave you very good tips. Your most dear tea recipe — the one that could treat the worst of nauseas or anxiety — was given from her and even some sleeping position for when your belly gets too big. You were visiting her more and more, especially because your nightmare was making you kinda paranoid.

 There were two that seemed to never let you in peace. The first one involved the Avengers taking the baby away and was very simple, it was always James or Sam and you were left alone, crying. The second, though, was more stange; you had the baby in your hands, feeding him, and there was always a figure looking at you. Later, you followed their cry to a cradle, but it was empty and you knew exactly who took it.

 Most nights you wake up in a cold sweat. And you end up always thinking of Zemo. You tried your best to let it go, to forget about him but you were feeling really guilty and scared.

 In Madripoor, when you were in his arms, every concern you had seemed to go away and you longed for that feeling on a daily basis. You knew you couldn't have that. You didn't know where the hell he was, or wanted to be with a man who killed a child without any guilt. You agreed with Sam about Karli and really thought a solution could have been made if Zemo hadn't shot her – as you later found out.

 Sure, you wanted to feel the comfort of someone's warmth against you. You wanted to not have to think about the possible outcome of failing as a Mother. You wished you weren't feeling so alone.

 You wanted to have everything Helmut offered you in whispers back in that dirty town.

 However, you knew he could never leave the Raft if he ever gets caught and telling him of the child growing inside you would kill him because he couldn't be present. No matter how much you wished. So you resumed the little life you built for yourself.

 Sunbathing in the morning with a book in hand, eating healthy foods you were learning how to cook and visiting the small village down the hill once a week so you didn't feel so lonely.

 On the bad days, you liked to daydream about being someone's housewife; taking care of the chores got a lot easier when you were waiting for your husband to come back from work. Yet not even your silly little dreams could save you from the solitude late at night, when there was only your pillow with a cologne similar to his to hold on to.

.

 It was raining again — a thunderstorm this time. Lately it has been raining a lot, more than you had been accustomed to; not that you disliked it, you adored watching the lightning and thunder. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows you could see the sky clearly, the trees surrounding your house danced and howled as the thunder approached. 

 It was late in the night and you were terribly tired, but you simply could not let a thunderstorm go unwatched. In your childhood, you were terrified of them, you always ran to hide under your blankets with your teddy bear, but, somewhere in your teen years you became bewitched by the loud noise and the flashing lights.

 You were thinking of Helmut again, but, this time, something felt odd. It was almost like you could feel him thinking of you as well. A silly thought really, that you were connected somehow. You took a deep breath and rested in the chair.

 The idea of having a soulmate pleased you but the rational part of you knew you just wanted someone who you could trust fully and completely. A national terrorist couldn’t be that person. Especially not a dead one.

 Less than a week ago the news of him startled you, he had… died. They didn't specify exactly what happened in the little newspaper article except that the Winter Soldier had found Zemo after his attack on Captain America – well, John Walker – and that ended with his death. What was obviously a lie, James wouldn’t kill him. Would he? You were too afraid of looking deep into it. Perhaps… No. It hurted you to think about it.

 You reached out to grab your mug on the coffee table, but that felt like too much effort. In fact, everything felt overwhelming; you could not get up when you heard the front door keys moving, or when the sound around the house got close. Something was wrong with you, the tea made you way too sleepy. You tried to get up.

 When you turned around leaning on the armchair, your eyes got caught like a deer’s by the fleshlight on a road.

 There, standing at the door, the most frightful ghost of all. The soaking wet Baron stared right into your soul before smiling softly.

 “Liébling, what are you doing awake at this hour? Don’t you know it is bad for the baby?”

 You gasped and reached out for something on the coffee table, but ended up dropping the mug on the ground. The shattering startled you even more, in an attempt to get away you stepped into a piece of broken glass and fell down.

 The ghost of Helmut Zemo tried to approach, but upon seeing you hurt yourself further gave up.

 Now the palm of your hands were bleeding as well and you were hiding half of your body, still transfixed. The need to protect your womb was there, urging you to cover your belly with your hands or tighten the cardigan around you, but you resisted it.

 “I promised you I have no intention of hurting you. Ever” he whispered, taking a hesitant step.

 You couldn’t bring yourself to answer the ghost, shaking your head and raising your bloody hands to your face.

 “Liébling. Let me help you.”

 The sleepiness was now worse than before, you could feel yourself slipping away. Then you realise.

 “Helmut, what did you put in my drink?” He took the final steps to you and held you tight. The blood stained his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind a bit, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it chastely.

 “Don’t worry now. I’ll take care of you” he kissed your temple and your cheeks. Before falling unconscious, you remember thinking he still smelled the same.

#zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo smut #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo x reader #zemo x you #daniel brül x reader #daniel brühl x you #baron zemo

[mrsmaxwelllord]

VIPEROUS

Sumarry: Everything was going as planned, until Shelby decided that she didn't believe Zemo's words.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content. Lying. Manipulation. Anxiety. Gunshot Wounds. Non-Graphic Violence. Gun Violence. Coercion. Sexual Coercion. Vaginal Fingering. Unsafe Sex. Slight Cockwarming. Voyeurism. Non-Consensual Voyeurism. Public Sex. Misogyny. Murder. Unplanned Pregnancy. Loneliness. Daydreaming. Self-Doubt. Fear. Drink Spiking. Implied Kidnapping. Dark!Zemo

A/N: I was very creative and decided to write a piece in which Zemo and you are forced to kiss – and something else – in front of everybody.

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#zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo smut #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo x reader #zemo x you #daniel brül x reader #daniel brühl x you #baron zemo

[mrsmaxwelllord]

VIPEROUS – aftermath

Sumarry: It's time to deal with the aftermath of your first night in Madripoor.

Words: 1,5K

Warnings: lying. gunshot wounds. non-graphic violence. murder. misogyny i guess.

A/N: This chapter has no smut, guys, sorry!!

previous chapter . next chapter

.

You woke up alone.

 It was still very early in the morning and you were alone. Helmut couldn’t stay with you, but he did keep the promise to stay with you until you fell asleep. Realistically, you knew that was the only thing he could do without infuriating Sam and James any further.

 You got up and ran to the bathroom to clean and prepare for the day. Soon you’d have to leave. You took a long shower, making sure to apply makeup to cover the signs of Zemo’s ministration; perhaps that would light up the mood. You put on a turtleneck to make sure that the love bites wouldn’t show up.

 There was no one in the kitchen, so you make yourself home and pour a glass of water then put a kettle on the stove to make coffee.

 When you turn around, Sharon is sitting at the table looking at you. You try to not act on your shyness and smile, she only nods. You lean on the Kitchen Island, but she calls you to sit near her.

 The woman didn’t like to play around, once you were settled she told you she knew what happened the night before. You drink from the glass of water to try and give yourself some time to understand what she’s talking about exactly; she knew of what Selby demanded or that you spent the rest of the night with Helmut? She likely knew both, yet you decided to play dumb for the last part.

 “I did what had to be done.” you murmured, looking her in the eyes. You wanted to know what she thought about it, about you. Would she tell Sam and James? They were friends once upon a time, long ago, but you suspected she was more loyal to them than to you, a girl she just met.

 “Smart girl. Selby would’ve killed all of you if you didn’t” she said right back. Something in her tone made you wonder if she was mocking you. “Yet I don't think the boys know this.”

 You rolled your eyes, taking the last gulp of water.

 “I suspected” you offered her a thin smile. “They’re good. They don’t see the world as it is, but how they want it to be.”

 This time she smiled back.

 “Zemo doesn’t” she stated.

 You arch your eyebrows. You know exactly what she is talking about. Zemo knew the risks of coming to Selby for information and he still decided to keep you as an escort of some sort. Not only this but he played the part instead of cutting everything off and just killing her. Why? To make Sam and James angry, most likely.

 You knew he wasn’t above using you to get what he wanted.

 “No, he doesn’t.”

 The kettle began to whistle, indicating that the water was ready for coffee. You got up to turn off the stove.

 “You’re a smart girl” she said behind you, leaving the kitchen. “I'm glad I don’t have to tell you what he’s capable of. 

 Nevertheless, be aware of him.”

.

 Hours late, the five of you left Sharon’s place to find Doctor Wilfred Nagel.

 You and Sharon decided to wait outside the container to cover the boys and watch for possible danger. After Selby’s death, someone put a bound on each of your heads and there was still some adventurous hunter bold enough to look for the two Avengers and Zemo. You were a nobody, not famous at all, just unlucky to know James; so you suspected that you would be less likely to be recognized or you would be the first one they would look for, apparently being the easiest to abduct.

 Sharon suggested to split up and cover more ground and although you didn’t find the idea so attractive, you complied.

 The boys were talking to the Doctor for a good few minutes now and you were about to jump to another container when a voice caught your attention. It was two armed men, both of them carrying handguns and talking. In their cell phone, you could see the faces of Sam and James.

 You reached to your walkie-talkie, yet before you could warn Sharon of the danger going in her directions her voice hissed a notice. Those aren’t the only ones around, she could see at least five of them where she was.

 You held your gun, not yet taking her off the holster and moved to meet Sharon. The boys were still talking to the Doctor, but that would’ve to be hushed.

 You got to the laboratory before Sharon. And when you passed the door, Helmut was the first one you saw, he looked way more concentrated in the talking man than the others did. You only saw the gun in his hand when it was too late, you grabbed his arm to stop him but it was already done.

 The smell of blood was strong and although it usually didn’t bother you, you couldn’t help but cover your mouth and nose with your hand.

 The scene was more dreadful than you expected. The head was open and it left you awfully shocked, the blood was everywhere and you almost vomited when you realised that you were stepping on it.

 For the first time in months, you felt like passing out. The shiver running over your back, the light-headed, the cold feeling on your hands and stomach. The room started to spin around you and you leaned against the closest wall, trying your best to get your shit together.

 Sharon got there when Sam pushed Zemo at the wall, but his eyes burned on you.

 “We have to go,” she said with urgency, holding your arm and pulling you to the door. Then the wall beside you exploded and something hit your head.

.

 On the way to Riga, Latvia, Sam took care of your injuries. He did not seem pleased at all, but you were sure that he prefered to be the one fixing you up; James and him weren’t being subtle in their little task to keep you away from Zemo.

 You were livid. After knowing James for years, you didn't expect them to treat you so poorly. Although James never exactly struck you as a reasonable person, you always considered him fair, but the way he was acting did not resemble the man you thought you knew. Sam's manner was the most shocking; not once had he implied not reviewing you as incapable of taking care of yourself, now he acted as if you had no word on the matter.

 And you felt like there was something they were hiding from you.

 When he put the last bandaid on your temple, he took a step back and looked at you. It was almost funny his pose while he looked down, with his hands on hips and a concentrated expression. You bit it.

 “Alright” you smiled, thinking that perhaps he’d finally talk to you. “What is it?”

 “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I accepted your help.”

 “Excuse me,” you stood. “Accepted my help? James called me, I didn’t offered anything”

 “Yes, but…” he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I never imagined that… When he said you’d help, I didn’t think…”

 Ah.

So it is about that after all.

 Much like Sam, you didn’t exactly like the idea of talking about what happened in Madripoor. Yet you were relieved he was talking to you again. You wouldn't get anywhere ignoring wha happened.

 Zemo seemed to not be bothered by it, but you wondered how much of it was a lie. A man who hadn’t been with someone in more than five years certainly couldn’t be unaffected after touching and being touched in such an intimate way. Could he? You knew he wasn't lying at Sharon's, his actions held an undeniable truth.

 “It wasn’t what I had planned,” he said, very unsure of himself. “You should not have passed through it, it wasn’t right of us to ask that of you.”

 “You didn't ask that. Selby demanded it."

 “That doesn't matter" he murmured looking away, to where James and Zemo were. He took a deep breath and then faced you, for the first time since the mission started you could see truth in his eyes.

 "Yes, it does. You're acting like it was someone's fault when it wasn't."

 "You're not being reasonable."

 "Yeah, I'm the one pretending it didn't happen" you tsk.

 "Look…"

 "No. That's the first time you acknowledge it and you don't even ask how I am feeling, Sam. It happened to me, if someone knows how to deal with it it's me!"

 "You are not gonna like it, but... Bucky agrees with me."

  You crossed your arms in search for comfort, being careful not to touch the wound on your right flank. "What are you getting at?"

 "Look, me and Bucky talked about it and we think it's for the best that when we land in Riga, you return to your house."

A/N: I'm sorry I made Sam and James do and say these things, guys!! 😭😭

#zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo smut #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo x reader #zemo x you #daniel brül x reader #daniel brühl x you #baron zemo

[mrsmaxwelllord]

a zemo fiction

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: no actual sex, but... explicit (18+ MINORS DNI)

A/N: 7 days in entebbe is daniel's hottest look and i cannot stop thinking about it.

...

 Because you knew the thing you wished could happen wouldn't have a happy ending, you didn’t like what you saw in Zemo’s eyes every time he looked in your direction — and you looked back at him.

 When you first met him in that damn garage in Germany, you only felt curious. It wasn’t always you got the chance to meet The Man that Broke the Avengers apart in person. Then you were too cautious to speak to him, it was only in Madripoor that you actually got to see the real Baron Zemo.

 While playing Smiling Tiger’s eye candy, you had enough time to observe Zemo. Unfortunately, you were forced to conclude, quite fast, that his mannerism was undesirably attractive.

 His confidence and boldness was captivating. And that damned beard of his. You thought he would shave it once he got hands in a razor, but he only trimmed it, leaving a kinda dishevelled look to it.

 One could easily say you were mesmerised by his charm. You thanked God that Sam and Bucky were worried about the mission enough to not notice the looks you gave Zemo.

 But you could tell that he observed you as well.

 You just didn’t know if he was aware of the influence he had over you.

 The day you arrived in Latvia, after Bucky decided to go for a walk, Sam left you in charge of Zemo and went to his room. You knew he was exhausted and you could tell he was going to drop unconscious the moment he hit bed, you were tired too but there was something you wished to do before sleeping. But contrary to what Sam planned, you had no plan of being someone’s babysitter.

 As soon as you heard Sam locking his door, you went to the bathroom for a very deserving bath and Alone Time. You knew Zemo wasn’t an idiot, he probably had realised already you have been followed. You guess it was the Wakadans, but you had no clue how many people he made unhappy in his life. If he was interested in his well being, he would stay in the house.

 So he did.

 When you walked away from the bathroom, steam all around you, feeling the most relaxed you had been in weeks, he offered you cherry blossom tea. Who would have thought?

 You accepted it and he poured you an expensive-looking cup. You turned in your seat to watch him. His coat you like so much was set in the chair beside yours, and he was only in a cashmere sweater.

 You took your time with the tea, eyes never leaving the baron. 

 “Did you like it?” he asked, still not setting down or facing you.

 You shrugged.

 “It is okay” was your answer, just as suggestively as his question.

 “Well. At least you trust I won’t run away”

 You made sure to put the teacup down and turn around before properly answering him. “You know that I don’t. I just know you're not stupid enough to leave the security of your two guardian angels’ wings without a good reason.”

 That made him face you. A displeased expression.

 “James and Sam would soon shoot each other before willingly protecting me, draga.”

 You gigled.

 “That is not the point, is it?”

 “It is not” he murmured, calmer. Then, after a moment of thought, he stretched out his hand to place it on your face.

 You gulped. Then allowed him to do as he pleased.

 However, the Baron didn’t do anything else. He held your face with both hands, caressing your cheekbones and jaw. Running his finger on the skin of your neck. Grabbing the hair in the back of your head. Touching your parted lips with his fingertips, his own mouth agape, humming a wantonly moan.

 “My eyes haven't left you since I first saw you” he whispered, then he looked away from your mouth to your eyes. “I’ve been dying to kiss you.”

 This was enough to make you melt under his cares, you had to hold back a cry. Instead, you parted your legs, making room for him, and he immediately took the place against you. You grabbed his wrist and the soft material of the sweater above his heart, urging him to keep going.

 “Helmut” you called, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. But you were not able to formulate a sentence, so  you simply pulled him to you.

 When his mouth first met yours, it wast with a sigh. You were desperate for it and you could tell he was as well, but he didn’t rush anything: he was calm, testing. His kiss was slowly taking you in, tasting you and savouring the moment.

 He flexed the hand on your hair, managing to arch your neck so he could deepen the kiss. You could only whimper against him. Helmut used the opportunity to use his tongue on you.

 His hand ran down your neck, pulling away the collar of the robe, exposing your shoulder. You were slowly losing your mind to the emotions. Wherever he touched goosebumps erupted, guiding your focus to where he wanted.

 Helmut interrupted the kiss for a fraction of seconds, just so he could take a good look at your discomposed face — hair out of place, glassy dreamy eyes and slightly open, flushed and wet mouth — and resumed kissing you with a new intensity to it. Neither of you could hold back the moans.

 Especially not when he reached to your thin pajama top and groped your breast. You managed to arch your back even more and accidentally break the kiss with a whimper, when he found your niple and meanly squeezed it.

 “Hulmut, please” you cried, begging for him to… stop it, keep going? You couldn’t tell what you were asking for. 

 He chuckled darkly and began a trail of kisses from your cheek to your neck. Then, grabbed your hips tightly and pulled you flush against him and his hardening dick.

 The feel of his teeth against the soft skin of your neck was driving you insane with lust, you could only hold onto him for dear life. You weren't even remembering Sam in a room somewhere or the explanation you’d have to give the boys for the lovebites on your neck and shoulders. You could only feel Helmut’s lips and the way they made you pulse with desire. You never felt so vulnerable under one's ministration before, so eager to receive whatever one gives you; you usually are more… active.

 Helmut lips were on the cleavage of our top, so close yet so distant to where you desperately wanted and needed him, aware of your needs and thoroughly teasing you. Your back was just as arched as it could be, your eyes rolling, and you just grasped his hair to guide his lips where you wanted them.

 You were almost succeeding in your task. Almost. When the main door was opened by Bucky.

 In record time you and Helmut walked away, each to the opposite side. You managed to lock the door of your room in time to hear Bucky ask about Sam and tell Helmut about the Dora Milaje.

#helmut zemo smut #baron zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo x you #daniel brühl x you #daniel brül x reader

[mrsmaxwelllord]

DELÍRIO

Pairing: Dark!Baron Zemo x reader.

Summary: Your tenant, Baron Zemo, have always been benevolent and kind to you. That is, until the day you denied something he wanted.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI) shit husband. owing/borrowing money. mother issue. parental manipulation and disdain. delusional thoughts and acts. lying. coercion. gambling. anxiety. unprotected sex. domestic violence and passive aggression. misogyny. stalking. DUBCON.

A/N: Ok, so. The last part of this fic is heavily inspired by that one scene of The Zookeeper's Wife when Antonina goes to Lutz asking for help to find her husband. Anyone who watched the movie knows what almost happens — here they go way further than what was portrayed in the movie.

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!

and let me know if there's something i should have included.

Helmut Zemo had always considered himself a patient man.

It wasn't easy to make him really angry and he made sure to never act on these feelings without considering his options first. He wouldn’t still be alive if he wasn't thoughtful, systematic. A Baron, simply the person he was raised to be.

This changed when he first laid eyes on you.

The moment his eyes met yours he knew what he had to do. All it took was a glance across the room.

He was talking with his tenant, your husband, about rent. Well, that’s what he was supposed to be doing, yet all your dear Mr Bernotas was talking about was nonsense, made up excuses. Zemo didn’t like him; perhaps it was the lack of rationality... or the fact that he didn’t try to hide his insufferable vices: it was no secret that Mr Bernotas was a lying bastard who liked to spend his wife’s money on casinos.

Which usually meant that the rent was going to be late.

Zemo himself wasn’t sure why he allowed any of this: if it was some kind of twisted charity because he pitied the rich wife that lost her lifestyle by marrying an idiot or if it was because he never really had any time left to properly deal with this bulshit — what wasn’t the case anymore. After months out of the country, dealing with bigger problems than one bad tenant, Baron Helmut was back to business.

The casino where Mr Bernotas liked to spend his money was also where he always insisted on meeting: a breathtaking high maintenance hotel Zemo knew all too well — a very poor idea. Pretty stupid place to try to kill the landlord to whom you owe an immeasurable amount of money, was Zemo opinion.

Although knowing the intention of the meeting, Baron Zemo was, above all, fair and the sole purpose of turning a blind eye was to test him.

It is, until he saw you.

Sitting by the bar stool, idly chatting with a friend.

Ravishing, bewitching you, on formal attire and an undoubtedly family heirloom, looking just as gracious as Grace Kelly herself. When he learned who you were, he made his decision.

He would make sure you were forever safe. And he would make sure you were his. But first he’d have to gain your trust and kill your incompetent husband.

And what better way to gain someone's trust if not being properly introduced? Before following Mr Bernota to his office, where he suggested that was a better place to deal with big money, he insisted on meeting the lovely wife. Zemo made sure to be extra polite, bowing and kissing your hand, but with your husband hushing to get Zemo alone it didn’t last long.

His first impression of you was that you were very sweet. Smiling and calling him either by his last name or baron (which swept Zemo off his feet) despite the fact that he asked you to call him Helmut. He couldn’t know for sure if it was because he was a total stranger to you, yet he had a gut feeling it wasn’t that. He acted on this feeling by kissing your cheek in goodbye.

You didn’t seem to mind it a bit. Your husband only made a face and urged Zemo to have the meeting in the other room.

Zemo followed.

However, they didn’t guide him to a more private room; instead, they ended up at the very back of the Hotel, where all was dark and had a pungent smell - to put the cherry on top of it, the room also led to a dead-end street.

Oh, right. The intention of the visit was to find out the true nature of his tenant.

...

You only met again ​two weeks later at your birthday party.

Well, it wasn’t a party per say, you had gathered a few friends for dinner at the little excuse of a house where you lived with your husband. Zemo wasn’t invited, by all means he was not supposed to know of it, he just came in to hand business-related documents to your Mr.

The truth was that he didn’t need to deliver the paper himself, he could very well send someone to do it instead, but he needed reasons to give you the pearl earrings he had bought thinking of you.

And he wished to see you again.

Properly see you.

Sure, he has been following you around the past week — just in case anything happened to you, he told himself — yet he wished to be seen as well, he realised the night at the casino that being perceived by you was strangely pleasant. Something he wasn’t used to and even the mere minutes he got with you in the penthouse was enough to give him butterflies in the stomach for the days following.

His scheme followed exactly as he had anticipated: he gave you a sincere smile and promised to present you, even if delayed. Zemo held your hand and kissed you goodbye again, just to be delighted with you laughing and your comment on how gallant he was.

He noted the soft spicy scent of your perfume — he made sure to memorize all the notes he could identify to create a fragrance for himself, if he didn't find the exact cologne you wore.

The very first thing he did the morning after was turn in the present wrapped in an expensive looking box.

...

You were no fool.

Baron Zemo was known worldwide and had a bad reputation. You weren't aware, however, that your husband had anything in comum with him besides living in one of his buildings. You saw yourself having to do a little research on the Baron to understand how his visit could affect you. It wasn’t pleasant.

Mr Bernota had it pretty bad. You knew Zemo had been a pretty benevolent landlord, forgiving the unpaid rent and allowing you to live in the house while your husband tried to gain money, yet it was clear that it wouldn’t go on forever. Not with the Baron back in the city.

Your husband was a liar and an idiot, but he enjoyed his lifestyle too much to risk getting murdered for owing money to the wrong people, he wasn’t this stupid. He probably was in charge of some task the Baron wanted to get done with in exchange for the rent.

However, your darling had changed from water to wine in the last weeks — he was way too sober and barely had gone to the casino, something he did daily for as long as you could remember since marrying you. It was clear that this unexpected change wasn’t good news, still you couldn’t quite place it.

You couldn’t say if the matter was purely financial. The lack of money was old news, if he was ever bothered with it he never showed it, always looking for the next thousand to waste.

Perhaps he cheated in the game or deceived someone he shouldn’t have? He certainly wasn’t above that.

The unanswered question bugged you more than you liked to admit, so you did your best and schemed a plan to resolve it.

Getting Bernota to give you the Baron’s number was tiring, he couldn’t fathom the reason why you’d need it for. He could thank the man for the earrings himself the next time they met, he assured you; it wasn’t enough, so you stole it and invited the Baron to a breakfast.

Eight in the morning sharp you met at the Grand Hotel.

Just him and you. Zemo was delighted to see you with the shining gift and the matching pearl necklace.

...

Your husband was an excellent actor. You knew this intimately.

Mr. Bernota was an expert when it came to allure crowds and make people love him, he knew exactly what to do and how to read people. First, because he simply loved all the attention people gave him when he got that handsome smile on his face; second, because the lying made an adrenaline rush run through his veins - but it was fated to end, he had no quality other than deceiving and people lose interest fast.

You thought it was very ironic that he couldn't find out how to use this ability of his to win card games.

The shine of his eyes was the first thing that got your attention, his smooth voice and the sweet tone he liked to fake was ridiculously easy to fall for. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to pay any attention to his words, unlike the people around you. You could only focus on his calloused hand in your waist lovingly holding you close.

Unfortunately, you were very different from your husband: acting was something you worked hard to master. It took a while, yes. But you learned how to do it just as well.

Controlling your breath to not gasp for air had become so natural that you did it with perfection, no single eye on you suspected a thing. You could hide even the incessant need to fiddle with your wedding ring.

Yet, you weren't a natural and you could only pretend for so long. The champagne wasn't working anymore, you desperately needed a moment alone.

Mr Bernota kept his monologue, the guests happily listening to what he had to say. You looked at his face and observed his lips move, yet the noise didn't make any sense to you in your dizziness.

You were used to it, of course. But that didn't make anything less awkward. Not when someone had to repeat your name louder to get your attention back to reality, not when your sweet husband joked about it and made everyone laugh. Not at you, dear, don't be silly, laugh at the situation.

Although the situation made you feel humiliated, after answering the question you finally were allowed to excuse yourself and walk away.

You usually ran to the nearest restroom whenever the situation felt too much to bear and that was exactly what you intended to do, but a strong hand got a hold of your wrist before you could open the door.

“Are you alright, Mrs?” the pleasant voice asked.

You turned around with a smile on your face.

Baron Zemo was surprisingly good news.

In the last weeks he made sure to make acquaintances with your husband and you, always meeting with your husband and inviting you to dinner at his house. At first the simpaties felt like a plan to make you more pliable to negotiate rent, since it was you the one supposed to live with a comfortable inheritance, however, time made it clear he was just a sweet man willing to make friends.

Helmut, as he insisted to be called, was always very polite with you, a true gentleman: opening doors, standing whenever you walked into a room, paying your bill the morning you had breakfast together. Exactly the type of men you were used to before moving out of your parents house. Yet, deep down, you felt something was up; you couldn’t place what exactly was wrong and it infuriated you, but there was a little voice telling you to be careful around him. The fact was that you had no reason to mistrust him other than the late rent you owed him, and not even once had he brought this subject up.

A part of you suspected that it was just the years of abuse telling you lies. You decided to ignore it for the time being.

“Baron! I wasn't sure if you would come!”

“Sorry, dear” without looking away, he kissed your hand. “I should have told you.”

“Oh, it's no bother. I’m happy you came after all.”

He smiled. The smile you realised he reserved for when you were alone. With an intensity you could feel in your gut, he looked at you passionately enough to make you shiver. It wasn’t by any means proper to allow a man to look at you like that, it was even more inappropriate to enjoy the thrilling feeling. But it has been so long since the last time you felt truly wanted and cherished… You welcome Baron’s light flirting with open arms, you just hoped to not lead him anywhere. You have no intention of going any further with it.

It almost made you forget about the nausea you felt. Almost.

“You must be looking for my husband” you assumed, turning around to point the way. “He is by the barstool.”

“Not at all. I'm actually worried about you, Dear.”

“Oh?”

You faced him, curious as of why. He had his usual expression on again, with shining eyes and mischievous smirk. “If you allow me to say, you don’t look very well.”

You felt your cheeks and neck burn under his gaze, looking away sheepishly.

“Sharp eyes, Baron” you forced yourself to look back at him, fiddling with your hand behind your back. “I feel a little dizzy.”

“Allow me to help you.” It wasn’t clear if he was making a request or demand.

“Oh, no need to wor…'' before you could finish the sentence, he guided you inside the restroom with a hand on your back.

...

You didn’t know he smoked.

And you didn’t exactly approve of it.

The smell of it made you think of your mother’s disapproving expression, always finding something to complain about, which led you to think of her fury whenever someone dared to disagree with her or do something she didn’t approve of. It also made you think of your husband, dear Mr Bernota, only a few meters away, unaware of this indecency, and his own smoking habits.

But with Helmut it was different. There was no guilt, no shame. Only a peaceful feeling spreading in your chest. The only worry was at the very back of your head.

At first, when he led you there and pushed you to sit on the sink, you didn’t like his persistence. You refused to stay put until he took his suit off and lit up the cigarette, the eroticism of his motion made you feel way too pliable for your liking.

Despite that, you kept the uneasiness to yourself. And when he settled beside you and offered the already lit cigarette, you accepted it.

For a long time, you shared it in silence.

His slow breathing was easy to mimic and very calming. Although, you did your best to not glance at him, focusing instead on the light noise of the party outside the restroom and the smoke burning your lungs and throat.

Because Helmut had locked the door, rationally you knew no one could get inside and see you in such a compromising situation — smoking with a man that wasn’t your husband, alone — however, a small part of you still worried. Again, that part of you was fogged at the back of your head.

The cigarette was working marvelously well: you felt relaxed after only a few minutes. It was natural for you to lean back and rest your shoulders and head in the mirror, closing your eyes.

Yet, you could feel Helmut’s eyes on you and the questions coming up.

“How do you feel now, darling?” the concern in his voice was clear, you wished he had any right to feel this way. “Any better?”

You smiled before answering him, then reached out to hand the cigarette back. He held your hands between his own, kissing your knuckles gently, but it had the complete opposite reaction he expected. You yanked your hand from his, suddenly startled.

“Darling?” he asked you, the confusion plain on his face.

“Don’t call me that!”

You jumped out of the sink, running away to the door. Helmut was faster than you imagined and reached you before you could touch the handle, he turned you so you could face him and held your chin high.

You tried to fight and push him, doing your best to get rid of his grip and it worked to a point: his hold on your chin had to move so he could hold both of your wrists and use his body strength to secure you against the door, preventing you from moving.

He said your name with such a ferocity you felt scared and stopped for a moment.

“What was that about?” he questioned you when your anger attack seemed to finally cease. You were out of breath and he used it in his favor and rested his forehead against yours.

It wasn’t clear what had possessed you, not to him, but you knew it for what it was. A sense of wrongness took over you the moment you realised you had taken it a few steps too further, the things with Helmut wasn’t only innocent flirting anymore and you felt incredibly remorseful for doing it to your husband.

That such a caring, vulnerable moment was shared with someone that wasn't your spouse. How could you do it with a complete stranger and never with Mr. Bernota?

“Tell me what it is so I can help you, my love” in your moment of stupor, you haven’t realised that tears started running down your face or that Helmut was kissing them away.

You said his name in such a broken whisper that made him whimper, but you weren’t sure if it was to get him closer or away, and grabbed his shirt with all the strength you had left.

“I don’t… I don’t know…” I don’t know if this is right.

However, Helmut didn’t allow you to finish the sentence, instead he held you by the neck and pulled you into a kiss.

It was intense. His lips were demanding, forcing you to whine and slightly turn your head so he could have a better access to your open mouth. You followed his lead with hesitation, but kissing him back just as eager, even if a bit unsure.

He pulled you to himself and leaned against the door — you could feel all his curves though the layers of clothing. It was suffocating. Yet you couldn’t stop the kiss, you didn’t have the strength to. Not when he was such a good kisser. Not with his iron grip on your waist keeping you close.

You sneaked your arms around his neck and, to your surprise, when you tugged it with your nails he stopped the kiss with a low moan.

Helmut kissed you with a kind of longing that you could understand too well. Starving for a feeling you had been deprived of for a very long time; denied of it, really.

And you wanted to grab it and take it yourself like he was doing. You really did. But it felt like you couldn’t really let go of it just yet. Helmut sensed something was wrong.

However, he did not stop the kiss.

...

Your husband was annoyed.

Even though he was a reserved man and didn’t really like to share his thoughts with you or anyone else, you have been married to him for some years now and it was very clear when he was in a bad mood.

He shut you completely off the minute the eyes on you two wandered away and it was exactly that what he did when the car’s door closed, but that wasn’t what gave it away. It was only when his leg began to rock you realised something was off. Mr. Bernota was above all a calm man, he wasn’t anxious or unsure of himself; you knew this very well because it was the first thing that pulled you into him and he rarely had any vice other than gambling. He didn’t fidget, he didn’t stutter.

The little fiddling could go unnoticed by someone less attentive, but no small detail could escape your eyes. Especially not when it came to your husband — not anymore, at least.

The rocking of his leg endured the whole ride to your shared house. However, not once he voiced his complaint, he kept looking through the glass the entire route.

When Zemo’s driver stopped at a traffic light that seemed to shine red for an eternity you thought he was about to break, but the green light came first and the ride went its way without so much as a word from him.

You were used to his silence, but it didn’t feel like it usually did. The vibe was tense with his discontent and you dread coming home, but it didn’t last long and soon enough you were passing through the gates to your little vegetable garden.

Mr. Bernota shut the front door with a loud noise that made you immediately worry about waking up your neighbours. You turned around to face him and ask what’s going on, yet before you could open your mouth he marched in your direction prompting you to walk back.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“What’s wrong with me…?” he mimics, cornering you at the dinner table. “Where did you go? You disappeared. Then came back with none other than Baron Zemo himself!”

You realised what it was about then.

“Is that what it is about?” you decide to play dumb, praying to the moon for this to work “I was taking a break.”

He huffs, walking to the mini bar at the very corner of the room.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You may like being the center of everybody's attention, but I don’t. I need some time off”

“I’M NOT AN IDIOT” he throws a glass at the wall near you. You try to turn away to protect yourself, but some shrapnel still scrape your arm and get on your hair.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?”

In a moment of fury he chases you around the table. You do your best, but running away in high heels isn’t easy. He gets a hold of your arm and pushes you against the wall.

"Don't play dumb, my dear. It doesn’t suit you.”

You try to get away from him but, just like Zemo’s hold, his doesn't loosen with your attempts. “Let go of me.”

“No” He shoves you harder. “Listen to me: HE. IS. DANGEROUS.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s threatening me. He…” he tries to reason, looking for words to explain what happened at the casino the night he came back.

“Oh, it is no wonder. How many months late are we, husband?”

“You’re not understanding!” he lets go of you to run his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath in. He’s out of shape, you realise, with dark bags under his eyes and fair skin.

“What’s to not understand?” you ask, following him when he walks back to the mini bar. “You lying to me? You going to that damn casino almost every fucking night? You throwing my money away? Leaving me without a single penny left?”

“It ain't my fault we don’t have any money left. Your dear mother doesn’t give you anything anymore! That is not what I was promised!” he turned around, a new glass with hard liquor in hand.

“AND WHO’S FAULT IS THAT?”

“SHE IS RICH! SHE DOES NOT NEED ALL THAT MONEY TO HERSELF!”

“SHE DON’T GIVE ME ANY MORE MONEY BECAUSE SHE KNOWS THAT I’M MARRIED TO A BASTARD WHO WILL SPEND IT ALL WITH THE FIRST PRETTY FACE HE SEES INSTEAD OF BEING HOME WITH HIS FUCKING WIFE!”

He hits you.

Hard.

With the back of his hand.

Then you gasp for air. But it is too late because he once again pushes you to the wall, this time his hold is at your throat. You claw his fists but he doesn't let you go.

“I’m going to say this only once more: Zemo is dangerous. He isn’t our friend and he doesn’t want our well being. He’s been following us. He won’t stop untill he have his fucking money.”

When he drops your neck, your knees give in and you fall. Finally realizing the depth of reality.

...

You’re fidgeting again.

It is hard to let go of old habits, you wanted to say. But I’m getting over it, I rarely want to these days.

Instead, you nodded and remained silent. Indeed it’s hard to let go of old habits.

When your mother left the room to ask for tea, you couldn't help but wonder about the short interaction. How it always seemed she had something to complain about, even if you didn’t visit in weeks, and how she always ended up as the one simply trying to help.

She was right, of course, your hand couldn’t stop playing with the rem of your clothes, but the endless effort to get you to be the best version of yourself she put you under was a burden you never truly learned how to deal with. It was simply too heavy to carry and, even now, it made you much more aware of the imperfection than you normally would.

When you were younger you dreamed of it stopping once you married.

However, you didn’t have time to weigh it for long, she came back smiling and sat at the end of the table. The maids followed her with trays of food and tea.

“So, darling” she started, adjusting her dress, but waited for the maids to go back to finally ask: “What were you grumbling about?” The usual.

Well, the pleasantries lasted longer than expected.

You took a deep breath.

“I was telling you about my landlord, Baron Zemo…”

“Oh, yes, yes…” She didn’t even bother to pretend giving you her total attention, looking for a perfect biscuit to eat. “Excellent family. I visited Sokovia when I was pregnant with you, then he was just a boy, not much older than 10… Lovely. Very polite.”

“That’s not… the point” you murmured, taking a sip of your tea.

She faced you, clearly unhappy with a frown. “What’s that, dear? You know better than to whisper. That is not proper and nobody can understand you this way.”

“I’m sorry” you apologised, letting go of the teacup and looking down.

“Hm” she drank her tea, not facing away. You could almost feel her eyes burning you, looking for a flaw to fix, but you didn’t have the strength to confirm it — you tried to fix your posture or lift your face, in case that's the reason she didn't look away.

It didn’t work. It never did.

You were feeling unease, unsure if you should just keep drinking or do something when she finally said something.

“Go on. The Zemo family.”

“Ah!” you breathed. “Of course. It’s just the new Baron now, I’m afraid. He…”

“He…. what?” he asked, impatient.

"It 's just… He’s back in town now, you must have heard.”

“I did. Mary, bring us more biscuits.”

The maid left, leaving the two of you alone.

That is it. You wouldn’t have a better opportunity than this for a private meeting and you needed it to be discreet.

“He is our landlord, Mother. And now that he’s in the city… I was wondering if you could…” you cleared your throat. “If you could lend me money to pay the rent.”

Your mother put the teacup loudly into the table, then the room fell silent. You faced her and her icy eyes.

It wasn’t like you expected an understanding reaction — you've been through this exact same situation before and her reaction has always been the same — cold, displeased, angry. Even the first time you didn’t find any kindness in her eyes.

She was, after all, right not to, although. Time after time you asked for money and time after time you didn’t pay her back. How could you? You didn’t have any income and your husband's salary, the petty weekly allowance he gave you, had to go all to the grocery or else you’d starve.

You felt humiliated. But what else could you do? The situation, the almost poverty you find yourself in, didn't leave any space for pride. You couldn’t afford it anymore.

The repetition never made it any better, but you were indeed used to it. Because, before begging for her money, you used to beg for affection.

Some would think that after repeating the same situation for so long it could make you feel famility in it, but it was the complete appost — each time it got worse, like a nightmare repeating itself, but you never wake up from this one.

“I knew it,” she said, getting up and walking to the door.

You followed her up to the living room, then upstairs.

“Mama, wait for me.”

“I knew it from the beginning” you could tell she wasn’t running from you only because she took great satisfaction from appointing your past mistakes. That didn’t prevent you from feeling sick. Losing your breath.

“What are you talking about?”

She didn’t turn around, she didn’t feel the need to look into your eyes or to acknowledge you at all.

“You’re just like your father, incapable of taking care of yourself!”

With that, you stopped. You couldn’t move.

Yet, she kept walking down the corridor, to her room.

Your eyes were burning with tears, but you forced yourself to swallow it. After years and years of practice it wasn’t so hard. Instead of crying and showing her how much it hurted, you walked to the balcony and waited for her.

She would come for you. After all, she never left you with just one insult.

As you expected, it didn’t take much for her to come back. You managed to cry only a few tears and clean your face before she faced you.

When you looked up, you saw the thick manilla envelope she was carrying .

“There it is,” she threw it. “I don’t know exactly how you owe him, but I think that’s enough.”

“Mom…” you tried to reason.

“Don’t” she put her disheveled hair in place behind her ear. “I don’t know what I expected from you, but I’m still disappointed.”

“This will be the last time…”

“The last time?” She laughed. “You have been telling me that since you married. Don’t waste your time lying to me.”

“I…”

“You what?” She scoffed.

“But I will tell you this: this money will be the last thing I’ll ever give you.”

You accept it, a lump in your throat, because you don’t know what else to do. The envelope is heavy on your hand and you can’t look away, like it’ll fire if you don’t pay the right attention to it.

“Your husband and you are ruining the family name. If you don’t fix it, don’t bother coming back” she says before turning around to leave. However, she changes her mind and stop to face you.

"One last advice from a mother that cares: let your husband be the one that pays the debt and never again contact him.

Rumor has it that the Baron is accepting something else as rent from you."

...

You look deep into the reflection of your eyes in the elevator mirror. You feel exhausted and you still kinda look like it even though the hours you spend in the bathroom this morning getting ready.

But it’s no wonder. You didn’t sleep well last night, or any night prior — you couldn’t. Not with your husband missing. Not knowing you’re walking to the lion’s nest. However, you have no other choice.

You have no other choice.

The only solace you have is that this whole mess is finally about to end — part of it anyway, you still have to find a solution for the problem that is your spouse.

So you do your best to put things in place and look respectable in the short minutes the elevator takes to lift you to the penthouse. You take a deep breath in — you have to make him listen to you.

Thee doors open sooner than expected.

The hall is quiet and you have to force yourself to walk. You tighten the coat around yourself, looking for the little comfort you can have before facing him. The walk, though, is short and you see yourself at his door.

You pull your shoulders back, fixing your posture, and lift your chin.

You take a deep breath again and, before you can knock, the door open. Zemo’s figure looms behind the door and sweetly smile, tall and inviting as always, but now all you can feel is threat. Yet, because you decided to play his game, you pretend to not fear him, smiling back.

The less he knows you know the better. You need an advantage. Any.

He asks you to come in and you follow him throughout the living room, to his office. All the furniture is in place, clean of his decoration, you realise.

“I’m sorry,” he started, putting some papers on the table. “The room is a mess.”

The room is filled with luggage, most of them already closed and set near the door. Hope fires in your chest. It can’t be, can it?

You dust the seat near the window, looking for a moving truck on the street. You wonder what are the chances of this really happening, this is the last floor and your eyes are not that good anymore.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind” you look back at him. “But I must ask: why do you have so many bags here?”

He’s already fitting you, the smile he reserves for you in his lips.

“I’m moving back to Sokovia.”

“Oh,” you have to look away to not display the bliss that suddenly filled you. However, Zemo reads your tears wrong, taking your joy for hurt, and comes to you, kneeling in the ground — you don’t try to correct him.

“No, Darling. There’s no reason to cry” he says, caressing your hand. You feel disgusted, but let him comfort you anyway. The more pliable he is, the best.

You use the hand he isn’t holding to clean the tears and look down at him.

"It's just… I enjoy your company so much” it is not a lie, though. You really used to love his company.

“I know, darling. Believe me, I know” he’s smiling again, squeezing your hand. There’s something in his eyes you can’t quite understand: it’s like he’s hoping for something. But what could he possibly want from you, besides the money?

“Now, let’s not cry,” he says, getting up and gathering the papers and a book to fit into a suitcase. “To what I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Actually... I came here to pay off my debt” you say with a firm tone. Zemo is taken aback, turning around with a furrowed brow. You look him dead in the eyes, flexing your hand before reaching inside your coat. “And to... to... look for my husband”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Instead of properly answering him, you put the manila envelope on his desk. And it almost feels like a weight is lifted from your shoulders, like you can breathe again. Zemo, however, doesn't look so satisfied anymore.

The frown gets darker when he counts the money and it has the exact amount you owe him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, reaching for a cigarrete in his pocket,

“My husband” you simply say, choosing to ignore him light the damn cigarrete. "Have you seen him? He was supposed to come here and pay for his debts as well... But he didn't come back..."

It's been a week since you've seen your husband to be exact, a week since he was sent to pay what was due and nobody knew of him, not even his friends from the damn casino.

“You cannot expect me to believe that you're actually worried about him” he comes in your direction, but, when you flinch, he stops. Runs his fingers through his hair and exhales the smoke through his nose. “And I’ll not accept your money either.”

You get up.

“Why not?”

“That’s not right” he uses the same tone as you did before, like it explained everything. He turns to put the cigar in the ashtray, you follow him. “I don’t need your money.”

“‘That’s not right’? What do you mean..?” you hold his arm to try to get his attention or make him turn back — it doesn't work, instead, he pours whisky for himself. “I live in one of your buildings. You’re my landlord and I’m your tenant. It is right.”

“You know that isn’t what I’m talking about”

“Helmut, please” you try. “For the friendship we once had, if that too wasn’t pretend, please.”

It makes him stare at you.

“What do you mean? What did he told you about me?”

You try to hold the tear, but that’s futile, they already run down your face. Your grip on his waistcoat tightens.

"Does that... does that mean what he said is true? Do you pretend to leave?"

“He...? So he was here...? Did he pay you?”

Zemo grabs your shoulders and corners you into his desk, letting go of the glass. His eyes lit up with pure hatred and rancor, his hands were unforgiving, hurting you.

“With what lies did your husband fill your mind with? Why would you want to leave me?”

You sobbed.

“Please...don't kill me” he immediately sobered up. His eyes widened, he shook his head.

“What?” he asks and even in your panic you can tell he sounds startled for the second time tonight. “What are you saying, dummy?”

You try to get away from his arms, but he managed to get a better grip of yourself, bringing you closer. He uses an arm to hold your back and the other in your cheeks to try to face him.

“No. No…”

“Darling, don’t you see?” he asks, chuckling. “To hurt you is the last thing I want.”

Zemo kisses your lips. When you don’t respond to his advances, he kisses down your neck. Biting and licking your sensitive skin with a ferocity of a hungry beast, he moans when you whimper — your reaction only fuels the fire inside him. He wants you. He wants you.

And now, with your husband away, he can finally have you properly. But you're not kissing him back.

"Can't you see that I only want the very best for you?"

His kisses are hot against your skin, making you burn deliriously. He seems to know exactly where to kiss and suck to make you melt, but with the unrequired pleasure comes the fear. And you try your best to push him; it works against you, like he gets eager each time.

"You don't need to resist me anymore."

Zemo lifts and lays you on his desk, forcing your legs to part.

“You’re so warm, so warm” he spits in his left hand fingers and sneaks them in your pants, shamelessly moaning when the fingertips find your underwear. “Oh, Darling."

Zemo plays and pinches with your folds for good minutes before focusing on your clit, circling it with his middle and ring finger. You try to resist it, but he touch you just in the right places. He tries to kiss you again, but you turn around, pressing your head into the wood surface and away from him; so he kisses your collarbone instead. When your blouse gets in the way, he tears it apart and resumes his kisses on your breasts.

He left you with awaking love bites and hickeys.

His breath loses rhythm when he finally forces his finger inside you and you clench.

“Helmut” you try to reason. “Helmut, please” but he can only focus on the way your voice sweetly sings his name.

So he opened his flies. You’re too weak to even realise that before he takes off your pants and feels his bulge against your sensitive core, by then you don’t even have strength to try to fight it. You just let it happen.

"I know you desired it too, since the beginning. Why won't you let go even now, when you're clearly enjoying yourself?"

When he rut on your folds to gather wetness, you only voice a faint whimper. You feel so overwhelmed. His touch is the only thing keeping you awake.

“Oh, look at you. So sensitive” he whispers, his voice a tone deeper and rougher. “So wet. If I only knew you'd react so well and pliant, I’d get on it before. In the restroom, remember?”

Your eyes feel so heavy, you don’t have any force left to keep them open. However, Zemo has other plans.

“No, no, no, no. Keep them open, I want you to look at me when I enter you” He holds your face, forcing it to turn his way. You comply.

When he does push inside, Zemo takes his time. It is slow, savoring each second of it. His eyes only leave yours to look down where he fucks you open and, when he sets fully inside you, he moans loudly.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had sex with your husband, or with anyone else, and the stretch feels foreign. Zemos isn’t by any means average and, despite being still inside of you, you suppose it'll be hard to get used to it, it still burns.

He lies all his weight on you and bites your neck, humming something. Savoring the moment.

Then he moves. Deep, hard thrust that makes you see white with each push. You can’t help but moan, scratching the skin of his shoulder and neck — looking for leverage. Zemo wasn’t going fast, but you couldn’t catch your breath.

“You’re so tight,” he breathes on your face, looking for your lips. “How long did you wait for me, my love?”

“You’re delusional.”

“What?” he thrust especially hard and you whimpered. “Is that the sound of an unsatisfied woman? I don’t think so.”

He resumes his rhythm.

When he tries to kiss you again, you comply. Unlike the way he fucks you, his kiss is messy: it's sloopy, with teeth and tongue and he moans as soon as you kiss him back. Using his grip on your neck to force you to move together.

It doesn’t take long for Zemo to lose his composure once he is near his orgasm, you realise it when he breaks the kiss to gasp for air. He force your leg around his hips and tighten his grip on your waist, pulling you to find each of his thrusts midway. He bites your pulsepoint to hold the moans.

“Zemo” you call for him.

“HMM” is the only answer you get.

“Please” you beg, pulling his hair. He has to listen to you. “Please! Don’t come inside me.”

He chuckled and faced you.

“Where else would I come?”

“Anywhere else!” you whine. “Just, please. Not inside…”

“There’s no need to be afraid” he interrupts you, not stopping or losing rhythm of his movement. “Your husband isn’t going to be in our way. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

“What?”

“Shh, shh” he silences you, moving back to your neck. His moans get louder and thrust deeper, you can feel yourself getting closer with his ministrations. You clench around him, but you refuse to let go.

He knows exactly where to suck and kiss. And you bite your lips to hide your pleasure, yet your eyes roll and your legs tremble.

“Zemo!” you shout when he bites down hard and releases. He groans between his teeth and thrust a few more weak times before keeping still.

He doesn’t move for a good pair of minutes, getting comfortable above you. Hugging you.

When he does move, he gets up on his elbow to have a good look at you. A big smile on his face. He doesn't say a thing and you just look back at him, incapable of muttering anything as well. Feeling mortified. Weak to your knees.

Zemo lifts you with the holds on the back of your neck so he can kiss you. This one is sweet. Chaste. And it ends quickly.

However, he hasn’t had enough of you yet. He gets up, then takes you in his arms and walks to his suite.

You wonder what your future holds for you when he lays you on his mattress.

“Here” he whispers. “Let me help you.”

He takes what was left of your cloth off, covers you with a golden yellow blanket and joins you.

Zemos holds you close, running his fingertips on your back.

“Everything will be fine now, darling,” he says. “Soon, your husband will have a funeral and we’ll be able to move to Sokovia.”

You gasp for air, looking up at him.

“Yes,” he goes on with a smile. “You didn’t think I’d forget anything, did you? Once we settle there, we will get married in the same cathedral my parents did.”

“We will finally be happy” he concludes.

...

"But I want it. It's a crime that she's not around most of the time. (...) Open hand or closed fist would be fine. Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine." cherry wine, hozier.

#dark!zemo #baron zemo fanfiction #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #zemo x you #daniel brühl x you #daniel brül x reader #dark fic