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#daniel bruhl x plus size reader
scuttle-buttle · 2 years
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Don't Let Go
Summay: Zemo keeps the holster on.
WC: 2098
Rated: E
Tags: smut, on the rough side, dom!zemo, some dub/con type vibes at certain points (but it is all consensual of course), tall!plus size!reader, body image issues about size, no stated use of protection, uh yeah
A/N: um. Look. Your guess is as good as mine as to where this came from and after me not being able to write for months. I started this in June, got stuck, stopped, forgot i started writing it, randomly was going thru my wips for #nostalgia today, and then this happened. Sad to report no further progress on Heist tho. I’m hoping very soon. Bone app the teeth?
🖤
You remember when you had the conversation. Only a few nights ago on a Friday, barely more than a week since first going on the run with him, you and the Baron drank a few glasses of his expensive scotch at the new safe house, and you had found yourself opening up about fantasies, or lack of.
"Come now, Schatz - there must be something you have been intrigued to."
A simple shrug is what you give. "Maybe a few times…. But it's not something I put much thought into or anything like that." You take a sip, the alcohol rough in its burn.
"Why is that?" he questions without missing a beat.
Meeting his gaze across the couch you see he's been watching you the entire conversation, as though there is nothing that even comes remotely close to being more important than whatever silly ideas you have to share. “I mean I’ve spent my whole life as this bigger, intimidating person. Hell, I’m taller than you, by what an inch and a half? And most people that much, if not more,” you lightly scoff and sip again from your tumbler of scotch. “It wasn't something feasible being bigger I guess-” you gesture to your torso “-so I dropped the ideas before it could really set in as something I wanted. I told you - I'm always on my own and having to do my own thing. Had to get a grip on my life and be an independent woman and all that," you chuckle.
Zemo had been more than thorough in acquainting you with the basics of intimacy the last week; yet he let you take the lead as much as possible. Almost entirely, truly. You weren't at the point of anything wild or experimental, nor were you brave enough to try going rogue. So it was easy, it was standard - not that you had any complaints. But Helmut was adamant that it was you who controlled how he kissed you, how he touched you, how he broke your body and soul piece by piece in the long hours of the night.
You look across the room into the flickering light of the fireplace. Quieter, you add "just once I’d like to feel like the small one in a situation, to have to look up to someone literally and figuratively, to not feel like I’m too big and to just be able to let someone else make the choice for me." Looking back at him and speaking a little more blase, you finish "but I don't know. That's about as far as I got."
“I like looking up at you, Schatz, it’s like looking at an angel,” Helmut whispers. Since you had unofficially gotten together after escaping Riga he was constantly praising and complimenting you. You always expected to feel like he was just flattering you, but he made it such a point to talk about your intelligence, kindness, generosity, humor, and how beautiful he found you in equal parts.
You don't bother fighting back your grin. “I’m sure you do, Baron.” Downing the rest of your drink you tell him you are tired and head off to bed with a kiss.
Helmut had business to attend into the late evening. You made yourself busy reading some old book from the safe house’s upstairs library. The sun set as you read. Oranges and pinks and purples cast the room in a peaceful glow as you engulfed yourself in tales of times gone by. Maybe three hours later you hear him call out for you, breaking you from your page; “Schatz, could you come down here?”
Excitement bubbles within you at his arrival. “Be down in a sec!” You closed the book and placed it on the desk. Wandering around in the darkness you think you hear him in the kitchen. You call out “Helmut are you-” as you reach for the light switch when a shadowy figure backs you into a wall, knocking the breath you had from your lungs. For a second you panic, heart beating wildly out of your chest, until you see a glint of that familiar chocolate in the shadow’s eyes. The white-knuckled grip you have on the fabric of his top relaxes.
Pressed up against the kitchen wall by the man, you can just make out that he's clad in his gear. A thick burgundy turtleneck covers the expanse of his broad chest, the leather straps of a holster secured around his shoulders. Sturdy combat boots brush the sides of your ankles from where he has trapped your legs between his. The shoes give him an extra inch compared to your barefoot state, in addition to the commanding way he carries himself at present. Even as his gaze is eye level with your own like this he looks as if he towers above you.
Searching his eyes as best as you can in the limited light, you attempt “Hel what-”
A calloused palm cups the skin of your cheek, his thumb pressing softly against your mouth and silencing you. He says nothing; you wait, swallowing in anticipation. The digit glides slowly along the seam of your lips before pushing slightly between. You don't mind the intrusion, instead finding the taste of his skin intoxicating as you run the tip of your tongue over him. Pupils flit from your own to where his thumb rests. Zemo sighs. Feeling the fire within your core ignite you decide to take initiative, giving a gentle nip before sucking delicately on the pad of his thumb.
There is no mistaking the way his eyes blacken. The softness in his tone doesn’t match the formidability of his presence as he whispers “My Leibling…”
Zemo’s body presses yours further into the wall with such force it tears a gasp from you; his lips and tongue ravage yours with such a ferocity unlike anything you’ve known. Hands clutch at your jaw like vices. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps his fingertips might leave bruises. Nevertheless, you can’t be damned to stop him, especially not when you feel the beginnings of his hardening cock pushing into your hip, or the wetness seeping between your legs.
Finally, when the burn in your lungs becomes too great he breaks away and instead attaches his mouth to your throat. You have no doubt he can feel the pounding of your heart where he sucks and bites at your flesh. The Baron slides a hand under the edge of your top. His fingers are hot where they dig into your soft side. A feeble attempt to maneuver your hands to remove your shirt results in a tsk from him, his own larger ones moving to rip the fabric of your nightshirt right down the middle and exposing your peaked breasts to the cool air and his hungry stare. “Fuck - Helmut, what’s- ugh-” a particularly hard pinch to your nipple breaks your concentration, “what’s gotten in to you?” The question comes out as a moan.
Instead of an answer he tugs at the waistband of your shorts. With your reassuring nod he pushes them over your wide hips and thick thighs. Not a minute later he’s pulled a leg to wrap around his hip and opens you up to the grind of his still-clothed cock. “Don’t think, Leibling, just feel,” he commands.
The material of his pants rubs a delicious friction; your juices soaking through the fabric. You can feel the inferno growing. Breathy moans fill the near-silent kitchen. “Mein Gott, Draga I can feel how wet you are. Does this excite you? To know that you are enough to drive the great Baron Zemo to such primal need? To such depravity as to not even give you the luxury of a bed, but instead to have you right here and at my mercy?” He punctuates his statement with a harsh roll of his hips.
You whine in need. The pressure between your hips grows, you need him more than you can bear to think. Quickly you move to undo the fastening of his trousers between you. He does not stop you, only slows his movements to make it easier for you to work. When his bared cock finally rubs along your soaked core you manage to whimper a pathetic please. Helmut’s grip on your leg around his hip remains firm. He uses his free arm to place each of your hands on the straps of his holster along his pectorals. You pull on the leather as if to test its strength. There is barely enough room for your wrists between you where your chests are crushed together.
Suddenly Zemo drops as he leans to wrap his free hand underneath the leg that still supports your weight; his brute strength lifts you completely before you realize what he’s doing. “Wait no- Helmut I’m too-”
“No.” Zemo snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.
“Oh my god.” You sound pathetic as you keen at the fullness within you.
Both of his hands support you under the soft curve of your upper thighs. You tighten your legs around the small of his back on instinct. Panic surges through you despite the wonderful feel of him inside you. You aren’t small, you weigh too much, you’ll hurt him.
He jerks his shoulders minutely to bring your attention to where your fingers are wrapped around his holster straps. “Do not let go, Draga. Do you understand?”
“But-”
“Do you understand, Leibling?” he asks again, this time more demanding than you’ve ever heard.
“Yes.”
The first slam of his cock is fierce. It is precise. It is beyond any sort of pleasure you’ve ever felt, to have this man fucking you within an inch of your life as he all but cradles your body within the palm of his hand like it was your destiny to be there. Through all your sobs and cries of ecstasy he does not let up on the onslaught. Each thrust hits deep within you. His hips angle to brush your bundle of nerves with every movement. The peaks of your breasts tease and graze his sweater; probably an unfair advantage for him to be clothed and yet you at his complete mercy. You can’t fault how the sensation only heightens your euphoria. This time you know for sure his fingertips will paint your thighs with their memory for days to come; will create a masterpiece along the expanse of your skin that no Van Gogh or Picasso or Da Vinci could ever hope to produce.
Your release comes all too quickly at his attentions. Helmut doesn’t let up, nor does he seem to even break a sweat at his herculean task. At one point you swear you feel the leather straps start to give under the chokehold of your fists as he orders you to come again along his shaft, his words leaving no room for you to think otherwise.
Helmut reaches his own peak as your channel tightens around him, the growl of your name against your temple like a bolt of electricity. Hips slowing to a gentle roll, he does not pull himself from you, instead adjusting his hold under you to keep you pinned between his body and the wall. Your forehead comes to rest on his shoulder. The Baron drops sweet kisses to your temple, to your cheek, as you both come down from your high.
“Mmmm…Maybe you should put me down now? My legs are sore,” you mumble into his sweater, flexing your thigh and calf muscles where they still circle his waist.
“And if I do not want to? What then, my Leibling?” At your answering groan he hums in contentment before slowly removing himself from you, moving from the wall, and carrying you to the loveseat in the next room. Oversized boots thump with each step. The loose pants hanging from his knees slow his walk to a shuffle. He sits, situating you in his lap. Zemo looks down to see your fingers still wrapped around the holster. With a smile he says “you may let go now, Schatz. You did so well for me, such a good girl.”
It takes your digits a moment to cooperate as you untangle them from their place. “I’m not sure I can move my hands…?”
Helmut chuckles at your admission, taking your hands in each of his. He brings them to hip lips and places delicate kisses on them. Carefully he begins to massage your fingers and palms; “well, we must see to that, shouldn't we?”
(I'll be honest idk who is on my tag list for zemo since I haven't written for him in like 9 months sorrry)
Tag list: @ay0nha @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @dragon-baron @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @lorna-d-m @hardlyinteresting @marchingicenotes7 @earlgreysandcloudydays
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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Beard Burn
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Baron on the Run series
Pairing: Zemo x Plus Size Fem!Reader
WC: 687
Rated: M
Tags: mentions of sexual situations, bearded zemo 🥵
🧔
A soft hiss escapes you as you roll over in bed, barely conscious of the world in your half awake state. Your hand stretches out to reach for him, your Baron, but meets the cold of the pillow instead. Finally opening your eyes to the harsh sunlight of the bedroom you see the clock reads almost 10. He has undoubtedly been up for hours. As you sit up the blanket falls from you, revealing your bare skin to the empty chill of the room.
Shifting to stand, the chafed skin of your plush thighs rubs uncomfortably. Zemo had been rather zealous in his endeavors last night. His newly grown beard leaves remnants like a brand against you. A flash of memory hits; the rough scratch along your delicate skin as he made you come apart under his lips and tongue. Helmut was beyond generous in his affections for you. It wasn’t something you could have prepared for - just how demanding and yet just how giving he was. You knew he would ruin you. In fact, he already had.
Finding a cotton shirt on the floor, you pull it over your head. Searching through his things you find a pair of clean briefs. They are long enough to offer some protection against the further abuse to your poor skin, but comfortable enough that you don’t mind wearing them. Glancing in the bathroom mirror you notice how the material hugs your curves; god my ass looks fantastic in these. You figure he will appreciate the look of you in his clothes.
You find your way to the living room. Helmut sits on the leather loveseat, newspaper in one hand, tea cup in the other. He glances at you from above the cup. “Good morning, liebling. I was beginning to wonder if you would come join me soon.”
Crossing the room you perch on the arm of his chair. He folds the paper neatly before pressing a chaste kiss to the still exposed part of your thigh. “Did you sleep well?”
You shrug, grabbing the cup out of his fingers to take a swig. “Mostly.” He takes his tea sweeter than you prefer. But that’s the other thing you’ve learned in the month that you and the Baron have been hiding out - that man loves his sweets.
“Oh? Perhaps a complaint is in order?”
“Just one.”
“And what might that be, schatzi?” His tone is patronizing, but in jest. The way he peers at you from beneath his lashes is playful.
Instead of speaking, you reply by pulling up the inside of the shorts you wear, revealing the raw, reddened skin to his wandering gaze.
He smirks. “Ah. My apologies.” He’s not sorry.
You hum in response. Bringing the hand without his cup up, you scratch your nails through the coarse hair that lines his face. The beard is full and lush, not too long but just long enough to add a sort of rugged quality to him. It is so incredibly masculine that the sweet nothings he often whispers to you should feel out of place. “The things this does to me…” you mutter wistfully. Helmut practically purrs against your touch. “How long are you planning on keeping it?” You don’t admit it, but you hope he does.
“That depends on how long we are in hiding. But I rather think you enjoy it too much, schatz, so perhaps longer,” he teases. He leans towards the tea you hold. Carefully, you tip the cup between his waiting lips. A stray drop is caught in the edge of his beard. With a considerate swipe of your thumb you collect the beaded drop from his chin.
The air surrounding you is riddled with heat. Before either of you could make the final move to jump the other’s bones your stomach growls angrily. The tension is broken by the sound.
Helmut chuckles. “Seems I should make you breakfast before I receive another complaint.”
He stands and walks off to the kitchen, not before dropping a soft kiss to your forehead. Downing what’s left of his tea you chase behind him. “Crepes please!”
Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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Young Folks
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Baron on the Run series
Summary: Zemo takes you shopping and you decide it’s time to have a little fun with your Baron.        
Pairing: zemo x plus size fem reader
Word count: ~1.3k
Rating: Mature, mildly suggestive and depictions of lingerie but no actual smut
Tags: fem!reader, plus size reader, fupa (is that a tag?), cuteness, slight age difference, sugar daddy zemo, suggestive language, domestic, self confidence, tik tok trash, bad german
____________________________________________________________________
You should've known you'd end up in this position at some point. Seven weeks since leaving Riga and you had worn everything in your bag more than probably socially acceptable. Even the Baron resorted to wearing the classic jacket-and-ballcap look to be less conspicuous at times, only at your insistence. The fitting room you currently occupied was looking more like a tornado had blown through it than a person. Helmut insisted that you pick out a variety. Dresses, blouses, sweaters, and pants lined the walls and bench within the room. You glanced in the mirror. The jeans you had on fit like a second skin. They should for the price of them, you thought. Helmut did say he wanted to treat you - "for you, anything mein liebe."
The two of you had been in the shop for nearly an hour now. The staff followed the Baron likpuppies, placing all the items you chose into the fitting room for you. Helmut insisted you try on anything and everything that struck your eye. By now you were on outfit 14. 15 maybe? You lost count. “I really think we should have some sort of fashion show montage music playing. Really set the mood.”
Opening the door to show Zemo, you couldn't help but notice how his gaze slid up the length of your legs before settling on the curve of your ass. He only broke away when you spoke. "I really like these high waisted ones much better than the lower cut. Gotta contain the ‘fupa’ - keep that bad boy in," you laughed. You turned, wiggling your hips as you showed off the jeans.
Blinking once, Helmut cocked his head to the side, "contain the…. What?"
“The ‘fupa’.” The clueless look remained on his face, eyebrows scrunched. Oh he’s so adorable when he’s confused. Putting him out of his misery you gesture to the lower pouch of your stomach. “That’s what all the kids are calling it these days,” you explain, trying to sound cultured.
“I see…. It appears I am quite behind on what is considered young and ‘hip’ now.”
“Years in a maximum security prison will do that to you. Don’t worry - I’ll catch you up, old man,” you wink before closing the dressing room door.
Shimmying out of the jeans you pick the next item to try on. Leggings and a purple knit sweater; simple and comfy. You ready yourself to show Helmut, but when you open the door he’s no longer seated on the chair he previously occupied. Shrugging, you admire yourself in the 3-faced mirror along the wall. The sweater emphasizes the curves you like while hiding those you don’t.
Two outfits later and still no Helmut; you begin to worry that something is wrong. Opening the door once more you clutch at your chest in shock. He’s leaning on the doorframe, a sly smile on his face. “Jesus, Helmut - you nearly gave me a heart attack! Where’ve you been I was getting worried?” You glance down at the movement of his arm.
“I was on a mission,” he shrugged, his smirk never fading. Holding out the pieces of material, you see exactly what kept him from you. Sets of lace, ribbons, and straps were placed in your hands. Lingerie. “I have kept your preference for the high waisted, as you said you are more fond of it. Although, I would love you in anything…. Or nothing.” Your face heats under his stare. Turning to close the door, Helmut called out a “don’t be long now, liebling.”
Looking through the options you decided on the simple off-white babydoll and panty set first. Although quite transparent, you admired how delicate you felt. White was not always the most flattering color for someone trying to hide the softness of their body, but if Helmut picked it out there must be a reason. You certainly did look angelic. “Meine engel,” you could imagine him saying.
Next you grab a navy blue teddy. The mesh is covered in small polka dots of the same blue, featuring a sweetheart neckline, cinched waist, and cheeky backside. The cut felt vintage; add red lip and you could be a real pinup girl. As much as you wanted to show Helmut you didn’t think the shop owner would appreciate you traipsing around half-nude.
The last set you reach for is a deep purple. The same color as his mask, of course, you think. Three pieces make it up. Taking a minute to ensure each strap is correctly in place, you nearly gasp when you see yourself in the mirror. A balconette bustier presses your ample breasts up and inward in an obscene manner. Garter belt, sans stockings, clasped around your middle accentuates the narrowest part of your thick waist. The thong sits high on your wide hips, the globes of your backside on full display. You should feel entirely exposed. Instead you feel like an absolute goddess draped in his color. His goddess.
“I hope there is good reason for you to keep me waiting, schatz.” Zemo calls from the chair outside.
“Ye-yeah, I’ll be done in a minute,” you call out, not yet ready to leave the bubble you’ve found yourself in. Deciding that you don’t want to leave it, you find the next best solution. Ripping the price tag off the set you have on, you redress in the clothes you wore to the shop, all while leaving the lingerie underneath. You stuff your boring undergarments in your oversized purse and grab the items you are purchasing.
“I trust you found something you liked?” Helmut inquired, a hand on your back as he led you to the register.
“I did,” came your flippant reply.
Reaching the register you placed your items down before handing the removed price tag directly to the cashier with a smile. The Baron’s brow raised at the action for a moment before connecting the dots. A huff left his nose at the realization of which piece was missing from the pile, and thus where that set currently was. You ignored the way his heated stare bore holes into you.
Finishing the transaction, Helmut grabbed the bags before leading you out of the shop. Leaning in you placed a sweet kiss to his cheek, a whispered “thank you daddy,” in his ear.
“We should return home.” Helmut stood rigid, his pupils blown as he regarded you. The faint pressure of a growing hardness pressed into your hip. It was easy to guess what was on his mind.
Uh uh. That won’t do. You wanted to see him suffer. As much as he teased you the last few weeks with everything he did you wanted a taste of the action. To make him have to think about what you have underneath your clothes. About your body wrapped in his color. About all the things he wants to do to you but can’t. You decide to pretend not to notice his current predicament. Innocently as possible, you whine “already? I’m not done yet, I really wanted to visit the little bookstore up the block. And then I figured we could go get a cup of tea - I can catch you up on what us young folk are up to these days! Someone needs to educate you, so we might as well get to it!”
“Oh I’ll show you what is up, schatz,” Helmut growls.
You give him your best puppy dog look before he sighs. Pulling away from you to compose himself, you begin your journey to the bookstore, biting your lip in satisfaction. “Come on, boomer!” you yell. Zemo trails behind.
“I am in trouble…” he mumbles to himself.
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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WC: 496
Rated: G
Tags: this is so dumb and I'm not even sorry, domestic, small reference to turkish delights and his son
👞
“Helmut!”
“Yes, liebling?” he calls back from the kitchen as he cooked dinner.
You ask “what’s your shoe size?”
A pause; “what are you up to, schatzi?”
“Nothing, just tell me.” He does, reluctantly.
Your Baron had given you his credit card after you’d offhandedly mentioned that you wanted some new shoes. He said to buy yourself something nice. What he didn’t know was that by shoes you meant a new pair of crocs. You had to leave your favorite pair back in your old apartment when you first went on the run.
After picking out a pair for each of you, you entered his bank information and hit ‘confirm order’. The mental image of the Baron in a pair of crocs made you laugh to yourself. Oh this is going to be good…
Almost two weeks later Zemo came home from some errand, a large package in his arms. You squealed, snatched the box from him with a kiss to his cheek, and bounded to the bedroom. The door slammed behind you. Helmut stood blinking before shaking his head and moving to the home office.
Ten minutes later he heard a squeaking-squishing sound. Looking up you stood in the door, a smirk on your face.
“You like?” you modeled a pair of deep purple rubber clogs that were covered in little charms.
“They are… comfortable looking?” Helmut said without conviction, unsure what the hell it was you purchased.
“Oh totally, AND I got you a pair!” You pulled a matching pair from behind your back. A hand gestured underneath and you “oo’ed” as you showed them off. Zemo’s brows furrowed.
“Look at them, they are so you!” On the offending footwear were little plastic charms. “You have a champagne glass, a crown ‘cause you’re royalty, there’s a Lightning Mcqueen because you have a lot of cars - and I thought it was cute, and a book to remind you of me,” you explain pointing to each charm. “And they’re in your color.” You smile.
He couldn’t help but think they were the most ridiculous and hideous pair of shoes he had ever seen. His face must have mirrored his thoughts. You sigh. “Okay I know they aren’t really your style, but at least try wearing them around the house for me? Just give them a shot?” You give your best puppy dog look as you ask.
“The things I would do for you, schatz…” he mumbles, holding out a hand for the shoes.
A week had gone by since the crocs had come in, and Helmut had done exactly as he had promised. In fact, he refused to openly admit it, but the crocs were some of the comfiest shoes he had ever worn, even if they were the most obnoxious. He wore them in the house like slippers. You yourself wouldn’t brag but you knew he loved them.
Another two weeks pass when you notice a little candy-shaped charm has been added to the bunch.
Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze @loliissmut
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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It is 3pm, I have a charcuterie board, some turkish delight, and a bottle of champagne and I'm ready to write for our boy Zemo
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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WC: 582
Rated: G
Tags: brief mention of faked death/violence, mentions of drinking, domestic life
A/N: yes, i do love to watch QVC’s Christmas in July program while drinking; no, they don’t pay me to promote but they should
🍝
Eighteen months had gone by since your great escape in Riga. You and Helmut didn't quite have to hide like you once did - not after the unfortunate events in Moscow in which the two of you had an absolutely awful run in with the mafia, to which your bodies were later publicly identified in the Moskva River. New identities in tow, not that you asked how he did it, you were free to live your lives. You maintained your own nationality under a new name; Helmut took on the role of your ‘loving German husband’.
You had grown out your hair, even adding new shades to your locks to help change your look. The Baron kept the beard and let his own hair grow a bit longer than he used to. He never complained when you ran your fingers through it constantly; in fact, it drove him nuts when you'd tug on the strands.
Now you sat on the most luxurious couch in a penthouse flat in New York City. Zemo had some things to take care of in his office so you were catching up on American television. You sipped a cup of tea as you watched. Occasionally you would pull out your phone to text Helmut.
You: Juniors mini cheesecake holiday assortment (1:42pm)
You: 24” plug in nostalgic light up tree - green (2:16pm)
You: Retro bluetooth speaker - blue (2:57pm)
Baron 💜: ? (3:02pm)
You: Lladro crystal candle holder set (3:39pm)
You: Philosophy shower gel - Bubbly & Cinnamon Bun (4:03pm)
Zemo’s curiosity had peaked. Wrapping up his work and closing his laptop he went to find you. You sat in the living room, brows furrowed in concentration, as you watched some sort of infomercial. “What is all this nonsense you’ve been texting me, schatz?” He sat down and flipped the fallen hair out of his eyes. “And what are you watching?”
“My wishlist - it’s the Christmas in July sale on QVC. I used to get drunk on cheap liquor and watch it with my friend when we were in undergrad,” you explain.
“Ah, so you are one of those people.”
“Says the man that routinely drops hundreds of dollars on bottles of wine, and had no idea what this even was.” You point to the screen. “This is what us non-royals do for fun, Baron.” He hums through his smirk.
“Oh my god look at those, ugh,” you moan. The most delicious looking mozzarella stuffed meatballs were being displayed now. “Please…” Helmut looked at you from the corner of your eye. He watches as you pull out your phone, type something, then toss it back into your lap. A second later his own phone dings -
Schatz: Mama Mancini’s stuffed meatballs (4:21pm)
He chuckles. “I am sitting right next to you? You don’t need to text me.”
“But I don’t want to forget about it later. I mean look at those things! God, they’re man sized meatballs! With cheese!” you gesture to the man showing off the sauced Italian dish.
“You know they make these things look better than they actually are to entice you to buy them, yes? I could literally buy you anything your heart desires, but you want television meatballs?”
“So?” you defend.
“Schatzi, they are probably terrible.” Your Baron is openly laughing at your antics now.
“Let me live my life, Zemo!” you quip with an exaggerated finger wiggle.
-
Two weeks later you open the fridge to a case of those stuffed meatballs.
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This is kinda the vibe but a little bit shorter beard (just the look, this specific character made some choices)
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Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze @loliissmut
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
Note
It’s @i-am-dead-inside-666
Ok ok so I have two but like
How would Zemo act if you were sad and needed comforting cause I know this man is like the best at cuddles ok and he would 100% wrap you up in a big fuzzy blanket and put something dumb on tv and hold you until you felt better
Also- so like how adorable would it be if Zemo felt really self conscious about his scars cause you know he was a soldier and the leader of a kill squad and all- HOW ADORABLE WOULD IT BE TO COMFORT HIM ABOUT HOW PERFECT HE IS??
THESE ARE VERY COMFORT CENTRIC BECAUSE YOU NEED IT OK- I WANT TO JUST WRAP YOU UP IN A BLANKET AND HIDE YOU FROM THE EVIL IN THE WORLD!! 🥺🥺🥺 hope you’re feeling better?
1. Zemo would literally do anything for you. Dinner at your favorite restaurant (whether it be fancy or McDonald's) or make you a home cooked meal? Done. Tea, wine, chocolate, ice cream for dessert? You name it. Want to lay in bed and cuddle, maybe while watching your favorite film? He's on that. Bubble bath with the fancy jets and bath oils or salts? Didn't even have to ask. He would be the epitome of soft for you, and if course money is no object for him when it comes to you.
2. I think this would be kind of an interesting dynamic in the sense that i also have a lot of body issues and scars and stuff. Because his scars would be from battles with others. My scars are from my battle with myself as a plus sized woman. He might be nervous to show what he looks like without like his shirt, but honestly so am I. And Helmut would just repeat so much about how he loves every soft inch of me, every single stretch mark and acne scar and regular scar. All the squish and extra padding I've got around my middle and thighs and arms. So when he says he's self conscious about his I would throw his words right back at him. We might not love our own bodies, and that's okay and that's normal - but we love each other's, and that's where it counts.
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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When i was in undergrad I'd get really overwhelmed when writing papers (which was all the time as a history major) so I'd listen to Tchaikovsky on repeat. I essentially have all of the nutcracker memorized.
Here I am today using my man's Tchai to help me write zemo smut 😊
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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I'm having thoughts about a sequel to my zemo x plus size reader fic No One But Me but I'm afraid that after being in such a niki lauda simp zone I'm not doing to be able to write it correctly
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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Not me starting another fic instead of working.... I don't want to use my work laptop so I'm looking suspish on my phone
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scuttle-buttle · 3 years
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If I can gather my scheisse within the next hour I'll post my zemo sequel
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