#helmut zemo x reader
Helmut Zemo x Reader
WARNINGS: suggestive content 18+ • d/s & ddlg/lb themes (not explicitly stated), daddy kink, praise kink, oral fixation, a bit of dumification - Let me know if I missed anything
Helmut notices you hovering at the doorway, your eyes flitting around the room as you fiddle with the hem of the sweatshirt you’re wearing. His sweatshirt.
“What’s wrong Liebling?” You look up at him, shaking your head.
“It’s nothing.” You mumble. But he notices how your fingers flex with the urge to reach out for him. He hums, unconvinced. He rests his elbows against the desk in front of him, before beckoning to you with a finger. You fidget slightly, your eyes lingering on his outstretched finger, until you decide to make your way over to him.
“What is it, love?” He repeats to you, his voice gentle as you settle into his lap. He waits patiently as your mouth attempts to form the words.
“Just,” You sigh. “Just feeling a little needy.” You mumble against his chest. He squeezes you reassuringly, knowing how hard you sometimes find it to admit when you need help, especially during moments like this.
“Is my darling needy? Or my little darling?”
“Little.” You say in a small voice. He hums in understanding, adjusting his hold on you. He watches the tiny smile flicker across your lips when he bounces you on his leg like a child.
“What do you need?” He asks, but the words you need to say avade you. His eyes are drawn to your lips, puckered into a small pout, which are currently being torn at by your teeth. He notices the slight frown of frustration when your lip escapes the hold of your teeth. “Is my little darling teething?” He coos softly. You duck your head, nodding, your face burning at the confession. “Would you like me to get you some toys to chew on?” Your grip on him tightens as you shake your head. “No?” He reaches out to lift your chin up, only to notice how his hand caught your attention. “Ah, I think I know what my little one needs.” Your wide eyes meet his, as he smiles warmly at you. “Just need your daddy’s fingers to suck on, don’t you?” You nod shyly. He extends his two fingers towards your mouth, the end of them lingering against your parted lips. You take his fingers into your mouth with a delighted hum. “Make as much of a mess as you want little one.” He knows you enjoy sucking on his fingers, and in all honesty, he enjoys it too. He wants to see the drool coat your chin and drip down to a puddle in your lap. He wonders whether you’d get that far, or whether the embarrassment would snap you back to reality. You sit with his fingers against your tongue, saliva gathering in the corners of your mouth as you stroke your tongue along his digits. He hums at the sight of you. “This is what you needed wasn’t it, darling? Just needed to sit in your daddy’s lap, drooling over his fingers, with not a thought in that little head of yours, yes?” Your eyes roll back a little at his words. He always knows exactly what you need to hear. He strokes your cheek with his other hand. “Such a pretty little baby.” As he pets your cheek and hair affectionately, he continues to move his finger inside your mouth, drawing all kinds of pretty sounds from your throat. Once your eyes flutter closed he pulls his finger from between your lips. You whimper in quiet protest, but he’s quick to shush you, “You can have it back darling, don’t worry, daddy just wanted to see your pretty work.” He looks down at his wet fingers with a proud smile, before watching as the small smile lingers on your face, and admiring the glossy look in your eyes. To your satisfaction, he soon slides his fingers back into your mouth. “There you go.” He coos as you eagerly take them back. He would usually want to hear you thank him, liking when his baby is well-mannered, but he knows you’ve gone too silly to think straight so he lets you off this once. He does love to spoil you. “So good for me. Such a good little one for daddy.”
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There was a soft scent of mint & cedar throughout the air.. The candles in the large room flickered and reflections bounced off the enchanting stainless glass windows.. you took a long slow sip of whiskey till the sound of flowing water finally stopped.. you placed your glass beside you when the floor creaked and the magestic hardwood doors began to open..
Your Baron appeared, draped in his royal blue bathrobe.. lips pursed, a lock of hair resting over his brow... he had a towel in one hand... bath oil in the other..
There was a darkness to the look in Zemo's eyes, a glint of something mischevious at play.. your mind flashed with risqué thoughts ... your eyes widened & your cheeks began to flush. The Baron took a soft step towards you through the broad doorway.
His eyes narrowed... his voice smooth...
"Your bath awaits my darling.... As do I"
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you are a dancing queen
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𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : your sugar daddy boyfriend is finally out of prison and he brought a few friends to show you off to.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : just over 4k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex, oral m receiving, spitroast; sliiiight dubcon???), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink, ‘daddy’ kink, pussy spanking, one regular spank, orgasm control, overstimulation, creampie, a bit of cockwarming, exhibitionism, possessiveness (kinda? but also not at all lmao it’s hard to explain), a bit of degradation but plenty of praise as well, subtle cuckolding but without the usual power dynamics there, shitty reconstructed “sokovian” (I wrote it in the latin alphabet but the cyrillic and translations are at the end), unexpected and unnecessary fluff, very subtle angst (basically all in a flashback anyways)
You were needlessly anxious as you waited for him to arrive. It had been your own idea to wait in the jet, and yet you spent every other second glancing out the tiny window, desperate for a glance of the man you missed so dearly.
If someone had told you all those years ago, when this arrangement first began, how easily he would have you wrapped around his finger… you couldn’t have believed them. It’s just about the money, you would’ve told them, but you would’ve been impossibly wrong.
For a lot of women in this sort of situation, it really was just about the money; likewise, for a lot of men in his situation, it was just about the sex. But the two of you had something entirely unique, nearly indescribable in fact, that very few could ever understand. In the beginning it became clear to you that he was more in need of a companion than a lover or girlfriend, specifically. He was still grieving his wife, still devoted to her completely, but lonely right to his core… angry, even, at the prospect of a life without his family. You were a shoulder to cry on, first and foremost.
You thought maybe he enjoyed spending money on you because it was his way to protect you, in a way he felt he had failed to protect his family before.
And it was you that fell for him first, for his passion and his kindness before his riches or looks. Just when you feared that he’d only ever see you as a status symbol or dress-up doll, he returned your affections in spite of his guilt at first and the two of you were inseparable ever since.
Except, of course, when you were separated, and he was imprisoned, and you were left on your own again. Not that spending his money wasn’t fun or anything, but his loneliness was more sympathetic with each night you spent in that massive bed by yourself, wanting just to feel the warmth of him beside you again.
So, it should be understandable why you were so on edge in anticipation of his arrival. Your painted fingernails toyed with the hem of the dress you remembered he liked on you most— the silk one that barely covered your legs and was only held up by absurdly thin straps crossing at your back.
The night he bought it for you was clear in your mind like it was only yesterday; his voice in your ear telling you how he couldn’t resist taking such a thoughtful, intelligent woman like yourself and dressing you up like a mindless drolja… or ‘slut’ as it might be said in English. Just remembering the way he said things like that sent a shiver down your spine as strong as really hearing it, your thighs clenching together on top of the plush leather seat.
Just as you thought you might go crazy waiting for him, you saw the car pull up— your Helmut at the wheel and his two associates in tow— and your heart soared.
Longer than all the years apart combined was the minute you spent waiting to descend the jet’s staircase, hoping to meet him on the taxiway at the exact right moment. You made sure the jewelry around your wrists and neck was laying just right before finally making your appearance.
The way he looked up at you as you started to walk down towards him… it wasn’t so different from the way he’d looked at you through the glass for the past few years, really, but it felt different. He certainly looked different to you, without the prisoner’s uniform and looking rather imposing with that massive coat instead.
You were careful to still walk slowly, since you were wearing stilettos and all, even when you wanted more than anything to run to him and jump into his arms. Instead, you came face to face with him, loving that confident smirk which never seemed to leave his expression, and slipped your arms around his fur-adorned neck.
“Dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi,” you hummed, pressing your lips to his and almost letting out a squeal of surprise when he immediately slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you aggressively as his gloved hands gripped you at the waist.
He was rarely so bold, but then again he had been alone in prison for so long with only your words to try to satisfy him. As much as you cherished being in his arms again, you also got the impression that this wasn’t just about making up for lost time— if that were true, he would’ve skipped the kiss entirely and taken you in the back of his car the moment he saw you. No, this was a show of dominance, and not only for your benefit; that was clear when one of the men with him cleared his throat loudly and Helmut still didn’t stop.
But that was very much like him: he was never finished with you until he was satisfied, and not a moment sooner. His power over you was so effortless because you didn’t mind at all being his plaything… so much so that it was you leaning in for more when he pulled back, making him laugh softly.
“Did you miss me, lutka?” he purred, and you nodded as you bit your lip slightly.
“Always, Helmut,” you nodded, finally taking a moment to look away from him and at the visibly uncomfortable men at his side. “I heard you freed him,” you said to the man you knew to be James Barnes, “thank you.”
“I’m still not over that,” the other— Sam, as you’d heard— added with a scoff.
“Come on, darling, let’s board the jet and we can talk there,” Helmut suggested, and you nodded as you turned to let them follow.
Of course, you couldn’t be totally sure, but you were pretty confident you could feel three pairs of eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs. Honestly, with how short the dress was, there was a risk of your thong being exposed as well, exactly the sort of almost-subtle teasing your Baron loved the most.
Once inside, Helmut showed James and Sam to their seats, and took his own as he instantly pulled you into his lap. You caught the other two men glancing to the empty fourth seat, knowing there was plenty of room for you two to stay apart, but could they really blame you after how long you’d been alone?
Throughout the takeoff, one of his strong hands rested comfortably on your crossed legs as the other held his glass of champagne, and Sam’s gaze was attached to the way his thumb gently stroked your thigh while James seemed to be doing his best to look literally anywhere else.
“I noticed you haven’t introduced us to your… friend…” Sam trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh, yes,” Helmut chuckled as if he actually forgot, “this is the woman who has been managing my estate in my unfortunate absence.”
“You’re trying to tell us this is your accountant?” James grumbled.
“She’s also my lover,” Helmut relented.
“Obviously,” Sam replied, unamused.
“She’s beautiful, no?” Helmut prompted as he ran his fingertips higher up your thigh, only glancing at the other men as he focused mainly on nuzzling against your neck.
“Yeah, the finest money can buy,” Sam quipped, earning a cold glare from you and your man.
“Are you with me for my money, draga?” Helmut asked you quietly as he planted a gentle kiss to the spot right where your neck met your shoulder. You smiled and shook your head, staring right at Sam’s nervous expression.
“No, sir,” you answered aloud, and the title clearly made both of the other men uncomfortable… if, perhaps, in different ways.
“Uncross your legs,” he demanded, though his tone was still soft, and you obeyed right away as he started to lightly move his touch between your thighs.
James began adjusting in his seat and never really stopped, tugging at his jeans in an obvious attempt to conceal the growing bulge between his legs, but you only laughed at his clear embarrassment.
“See how respectful she is?” he cooed his praise, addressing the other men but keeping his eyes on you. “I know exactly the words to make her obey to my every whim… James, you and her share that quality.”
The man sneered as you suppressed a giggle, squirming in Helmut’s lap impatiently.
“She’s loyal, too, unendingly dedicated,” he continued. “You know she visited me weekly in Munich, at the very least? Always by my side… like any good pet.”
A whimper escaped your throat at that term, your gut burning with need as he balanced praise and degradation effortlessly. You didn’t find it truly demeaning only because you loved being his plaything so much, and because you knew mutual respect was at the core of your relationship with him. But, still, it was nice to feel small when he was there to keep you safe.
James watched with a small snarl and Helmut slipped his hand into your panties, and Sam licked his lips but shifted his stare to your face instead, just as your eyes started to roll back and your head fell weakly on Helmut’s shoulder.
“And such a precious little pussy as well,” he added darkly, giving you a spank between your legs to make you choke on a squeal. “Sweet, delicate… much like a Turkish delight, but even more addictive.”
“Please, sir,” you whispered under your breath.
“You want more, don’t you? Tako očajno…” he chuckled. You nodded, already starting to soak through the lace and rock your hips. “You want to be fucked, yes?”
“Yes,” you moaned.
“Be polite and take care of our guests first, draga,” he encouraged, kissing your neck one more time before releasing you from his embrace.
Although you were most interested in being with the man you loved, you were happy to obey whatever he wished— and, frankly, sinking to your knees on the jet’s carpeted floor to crawl towards James wasn’t exactly lacking in its own appeal.
James’ eyes narrowed as Sam’s widened, and you sat up between the spread, denim-clad thighs as you blinked up at him and licked your lips.
He tensed up slightly as your hands delicately slid up his legs, his Adam's apple bobbing with a dry swallow when you grabbed his belt buckle and began to open it.
“You… you don’t have to…” he mumbled, apparently too distracted to finish his sentence.
“Yes I do,” you denied. “Because he told me to.”
Sam winced and looked away as you unzipped James’ fly and pulled his jeans and boxers down to expose his cock, already hard and leaking a bit from the tip. You smiled proudly, but chose not to tease him for his eagerness and instead just get right to work; you gripped him at the base and gave a few kitten licks over his shaft, savoring the taste of his precum and looking up at his expression that was equal parts shocked and sultry.
You only spent a moment suckling on the head before skipping right ahead and deepthroating him all the way to base.
“Oh, fuck,” James choked, reaching up grab the seat behind his head as his back arched, making you want to smile though you thankfully kept it down.
“Well-trained, isn’t she?” Helmut interjected proudly.
“Y-yeah,” he answered, his other hand grabbing your shoulder tightly as you began to bob your head.
Occasionally, in your peripheral, you caught Sam looking, and it made you wiggle your hips with the desire to rub your throbbing clit against the floor.
You got a chance to breathe whenever you pulled back to suck the head and stroke the rest with your hand, and in a few minutes you had already found all the little spots that made him moan the loudest, or made his legs quiver a bit by your sides.
“Stop,” Helmut instructed, and you were already starting to pull off when James hissed and grabbed your head to hold you down.
“N-no, please,” he blurted out.
“She’ll come back to you but Sam is looking rather lonely in the corner over there,” Helmut explained, and James hesitated but let you go. You wiped your lips and started to move towards Sam, but he shook his head.
“I don’t roll like that, man,” Sam explained, “I don’t want her doing it just because you said so.”
“Darling, won’t you tell us how badly you want to service your new friends?” Helmut challenged, and you swallowed nervously because you were a bit embarrassed to say too much and potentially anger him. But the sparkle in his eyes didn’t seem like he was leading you into a trap… even if the other two men were confident that was what it meant. “You find them attractive, don’t you?”
“Um, yes, sir,” you answered hesitantly, “I… saw them, and I wanted to know what their cocks looked like. And tasted like.”
Helmut smiled and leaned forward, giving you a spank of approval through your dress (which was riding up to show most of your butt anyways).
You looked at Sam expectantly. “May I please suck your cock, Mr. Wilson?”
His eyes darkened and you knew you were on the right track. “What happened to ‘sir’?” he asked coyly.
“I only call Helmut ‘sir,’” you explained, “but I could call you something else.”
His finger curled to encourage you to come closer and you crawled up to sit between his legs.
“Call me ‘daddy,’” he finally instructed, opening his belt and pants for you.
“Yes, daddy,” you nodded, keeping your mouth slack for him to push his cock into. You hummed as the head slid over your tongue, looking up at him as he bit his lip and thrust back into your throat.
“Shit, that’s good,” he whispered, guiding your head at the speed he wanted. “Who taught you how to suck cock so good, baby?”
Helmut raised his hand and James snorted.
Sam was a bit longer but he was still no challenge to swallow all the way down, and you heard him breathing through his teeth but let your eyes fall shut to focus on your work.
“Is this… how you treat all your guests?” Sam asked tensely between heavy breaths.
“Only those who are at the right place at the right time,” Helmut answered cryptically, but you happened to know this sort of occasion was incredibly rare. Although it might seem counterintuitive to some, this was his way to re-stake his claim over you, and after so much time apart apparently he felt he had a lot to prove. “Keep going, but don’t let him come,” another instruction echoed from behind you.
You pulled back to stroke Sam’s length while you croaked: “yes, sir.”
Helmut had you go back and forth for a while, keeping both men on edge and occasionally allowing you to stroke one while you sucked the other, your own need growing so quickly as you dreamed to have something inside you, anything really.
Obviously, he knew exactly how much having a cock down your throat made you wet and desperate. And he knew that such a taboo act of, in a certain sense, breaking fidelity with a man as he not only watched but commanded you to do it would get you right on the edge in no time.
He had gotten in your head so quickly after meeting you, memorized everything that made you tick, and not once had he forgotten.
“I-I’m close,” James warned as you sucked his head, making you slide the tip of your tongue over his slit before you took a break to suck his swollen balls into your mouth. “Fuck, can I come?”
“Not yet,” Helmut instructed sternly.
You felt him tug you back and into his lap suddenly, and he quickly yanked your dress down to expose your breasts to the men in front of you.
“Her tits are hard, no?” Helmut prompted them, and you watched them both nod as a warm hand reached around from behind you to tweak your hardened nipples. “Yes, she really loves to get on her knees and choke on cock. I’d let her do the same to me but I have greater plans for her…”
As if it weren’t obvious what those plans were, he pulled your skirt up to your waist as well, spreading your legs and pulling your flimsy panties aside.
“Is she wet?” he asked the men and they nodded again.
“Drenched,” Sam chimed in.
Helmut gave another spank to your clit as you shuddered, then rubbing slowly as if to soothe the sting. “I’ll teach you what happens when you get wet for another man, little girl,” Helmut growled against your ear, “not to mention two. And they’re Americans, do you have no shame?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” you whispered.
“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he corrected. “I love seeing you act like a whore all for me.”
You hadn’t even realized he’d taken his cock out of his trousers until you felt the thick tip of him prodding at your entrance. It was already a lot just by itself, but then you had these strangers staring at you and for some reason it only turned you on more.
That ‘some’ reason of course being that you loved your Baron taking ownership over you for anyone to see. Clearly, prison had given him much more creative ideas than just fucking on a balcony or against the glass of a window.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a hushed voice against your skin which seemed to be burning hot all of a sudden.
“Yes, sir,” you whispered.
It took a lot not to cry out as he pulled you down and filled you in one deep stroke, your nails digging into the leather of the chair’s armrests at either side. But more than the sting of pain it felt so perfect, so fundamentally right, and just after your gasp of shock was a sigh of relief.
He sighed along with you and let his forehead fall between your shoulder blades, clearly a bit overwhelmed at being inside you again for the first time in so long. “Draga...” he breathed, “not that I ever doubted… but you must have been faithful to me; you’re so tight, I know no one has touched you since I left.”
“Only you, sir, nobody but you,” you agreed breathlessly, eyes falling shut.
He kissed your back as he started to move your body on top of his, the hands at your waist tightening and tugging on the remaining fabric of your dress. “Tako dobro,” he hissed, “you feel so good, darling, you can’t imagine how long I spent dreaming of being inside you again.”
A tear rolled down your cheek, and it would be impossible to say for sure what caused it— a little bit of everything, really.
Opening your eyes and noticing the way they were staring at you, you leaned forward and took each of the other men’s hard cocks in your hands, stroking in time with the way you bounced your hips on top of Helmut’s.
The both of them had been on the edge for a bit too long, Sam already biting his lip as James thrust himself up into your palm.
“Fuck, please,” James moaned, “I need to come in your mouth.”
“Come closer then,” you breathed, watching him stand up and bring his cock right to your lips which you eagerly gagged on, any pretense long gone as you sloppily sucked and stroked while Helmut thrust up to slam into you.
“Ohh, fuck, that’s it— gonna come,” he grunted as he reached up to press his hand against the ceiling of the jet, and it all must have hit him rather unexpectedly since the moment his musky taste began to coat your tongue, you heard a clanging sound and realized he had pushed up so hard that he bent the steel interior, his other hand tightening into a fist in your hair.
You moaned happily as you swallowed every drop, still sucking even as James’ moans became loud and higher in pitch.
“Fuck, don’t stop, oh god,” he whined, cock throbbing even after he stopped filling your throat with come. You reached between his legs and squeezed his balls a bit and you could tell his knees nearly buckled, causing him to finally pull back and tilt your chin up to stare down at you. “You’re somethin’ else,” he panted, taking a moment to catch his breath before falling back and slumping into his chair.
You looked over at Sam and saw his hand was still lazily guiding yours to stroke over his cock although come already painted his abs and dripped down from his swollen head over your fingers. “Can I clean up your mess, please, daddy?” you asked, voice a bit hoarse though you couldn’t be sure if that was from the deepthroating or just how hard Helmut was fucking you now.
Pulling your hand back, Sam’s eyes followed as you lapped the thick, hot come from your hand, moaning openly at the taste. You sucked your fingers down into your throat, not leaving a drop behind.
He leaned back in his chair and began to catch his breath, both of them now staring at you with that exhausted, glazed-over expression. They looked satisfied, and you considered it your reward for a job well done.
"A belly full of come and a pussy full of my cock, you must be feeling ecstatic," Helmut presumed.
"Yes, sir," you agreed quickly.
All at once he began to fuck you faster, harder, deeper which you hadn't even realized was an option. He growled a string of the filthiest curses in your ear, in Sokovian so the other men wouldn’t understand, with one hand wrapped around your neck as the other pinched your clit almost too roughly. Even in your native language you could barely understand it: how could you when he was so deep inside you?
“Will you come, draga?” he finally asked, voice rough with his own desperation.
“Not until you let me, sir,” you moaned, and he chuckled a bit.
But wow, the way he rubbed your clit was impossible to ignore, like he was trying to make your promise impossible to keep. You tightened your jaw, moaning through your teeth now as you fought to keep your orgasm at bay.
“Please sir, I need to come, please— so close, I’m so close,” you mewled.
“I won’t be much longer, either,” he warned. "Too long without you has taken its toll, I need to finish."
“Inside me, sir, please,” you begged, “come inside me.”
You felt him nod against the back of your neck. “Come for me,” he instructed simply, and as obedient as ever, you felt your walls pulsing as pleasure overtook you. Not even meaning to, you threw your head back, and he had to hold you tightly to keep you from shaking too violently as the waves of sensation washed over you.
The heat of him spilling inside you warmed you from the inside out, making you smile happily through the fog of your high and intentionally tighten your walls around him. He hissed and throbbed within you, his fingers digging into your hips now as he held you down against him.
He gave a few more lazy thrusts until finally slowing to a stop, both of you catching your breath eventually.
"My... accountant will be keeping my cock warm for the remainder of the flight," Helmut informed the other men, "I hope you don't mind?
"No, no, go ahead," James approved as his head fell back against his chair.
It was still quite a ways to your final destination so it wasn't much of a surprise that you ended up falling asleep in the Baron's arms, something you used to do every night that had been only a dream for years. Perhaps this afternoon wasn't the reunion you expected, but it was somehow even more perfect than you could've ever wished for.
dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi = добродошла назад, љубави = “welcome home, love”
lutka = лутка = “doll”
draga = драга = “dear/beloved”
tako očajno = тако очајно = "so desperate"
tako dobro = тако добро = "so good"
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One Last Night In Madripoor (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot)
Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?
Tags: Smut, SoftDom!Zemo, Hook Up, Semi-Public Sex, Drinking, Safe Sex, Explicit Consent, First Meeting, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus
Warnings: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content
Word Count: 4200~
This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!
Madripoor was a place like nothing you had ever seen.
It wasn’t that the sights were anything special. You could find seedy criminal underbellies lined with neon where the streets ran red with blood anywhere if you looked hard enough. Even the ocean view didn’t do much to set it apart from any other place visually. No, Madripoor’s scenery and architecture weren’t what kept your eyes wide with wonder whenever you found yourself wandering through the winding back-alleys without a purpose. It was the people that kept you around.
Thieves, pirates, and miscreants had been taking shelter at the docks since before anyone there could remember. It was a city borne of the underbelly of society, the people nobody sees, but you saw them. You saw them every day when you stood in the main market waiting for an easy bounty. There were faces everywhere; big and small, tall and short, scarred and flawless. No two people in the streets of Madripoor were ever exactly alike. If you needed to remember someone, their unique face was right there waiting in your mind.
After living on the island for almost 6 months, most people were already cataloged neatly in your mind as friend or foe. This man, though, he was new. He was different.
The night was still young. There was some trouble at the Princess Bar that ended with Selby dead and a few murderers loose in the streets with a price on their heads, but you steered clear. Going after the killers meant going up against hundreds if not thousands of trained bounty hunters and assassins and no amount of money was worth dying over now, not while you were so close to freedom. Instead of chasing your doom, you decided to head to your room, get dressed up, and head out to wherever the music was loudest in search of a place to forget about your problems for the night. The thudding sounds of poorly DJ-ed club remixes led you to Leonardo’s Place. That’s where you found him.
You were two drinks in and sticking close to the wall when he stumbled into your line of sight. What initially caught your eye was his dancing. He couldn’t move for shit. What kept your attention, though, was his face.
There was transience to him, like at any moment someone could bump into him and he would disappear without a trace at their touch. Despite that he was gaudy. Everything about his clothing screamed wealth and fine taste from the thread count of his obnoxious purple turtleneck to the shine on his boots. He was strange, a walking contradiction, and one who had never had the pleasure of gracing your presence or screwing you over in the past. In the simplest of terms, he intrigued you. With nothing left to lose you downed the last of your cocktail and made your way to the gap in the crowd where the stranger had staked his claim. It was game time.
“You come here alone?” You asked. Your voice was barely a whisper above the heavy thrumming of the music.
He gave you a long look up and down before answering as if he were trying to size you up. Something about having his gaze linger on your body made your heartbeat soar. “I’m not looking for company,” His accented tone was gruff but left a sliver of room for reconsideration. You took the chance. What could go wrong?
With as much tact and grace as you could muster you let yourself slip a little closer to him. “What, do I look too expensive for you?” you teased, before backing off with a grin, “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not here for that. My job is a little more… dangerous.” As you danced, the hem of your dress rode up your thigh just enough to reveal the knife holster in your garter belt. It pleased you greatly to see this handsome stranger do a double-take; that meant he was looking at your upper thigh in the first place. “I just liked what I saw in you… do you like what you see in me?”
Somehow, your little joke had endeared him to you, however minutely. Instead of brushing you off the man paused his jerky dancing for a moment to really take you in. Then, he caved. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.
You smirked. “Who would I be if I turned down a free drink from a handsome stranger,”
He met you in the middle as he offered you his hand. “I never promised it would be free,”
So, the two of you found yourselves at the bar, bodies leaned into each other and away from the rest of the sweltering crowd as the bartender slid you your order. The stranger was drinking a brandy straight while you opted for a sidecar. It was enough alcohol that you were starting to feel pretty buzzed, but you still felt in full control of yourself. You took a long sip before speaking. “So, what should I call you?”
It took him a moment to respond but once he did, he seemed sure of himself. “You can call me Helmut, but Baron is fine as well,”
You cocked up an eyebrow. “Is that a nickname?”
“More of a title,”
He took a drink as you gawked. “Like royalty?”
“Not like. I am,”
Your cheeks flushed. The rational part of your mind was so stunned by the ease with which Helmut lied that it seemed to short circuit completely, leaving you very puzzled and more than a little intrigued. “Well, pardon me, Mr. Baron. What’s royalty like you doing in a place like this?”
“There are plenty of reasons a man like me would have business here. A woman as beautiful as you, though… not so much,” he waved his hand in loose gestures as he spoke, “Why risk your life and beauty for this? A life living in the underground where you cannot so much as dream of seeing the stars?”
You finished your drink in one large swig. It burned down your throat but you relished in the pain. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born in a place where we can see the stars. Funny enough, though, I’m just about to get out,”
“Is that right?”
“I finally saved up enough money from small jobs to buy my way out from under the Power Broker’s thumb,” Something about the way Helmut smiled at you made you feel safe. It was like you could tell him your worst, darkest secrets and not feel an ounce of fear or guilt. “I’m nothing special here, a small-time bounty hunter, and I kept it that way for a reason. I’m not valuable and I don’t know much. If I just pay my dues and keep the money coming until I can get their claws out of my back, I should be free to leave with a freighter tomorrow morning,”
Helmut was quick to respond. “Ah, travel by freighter. It’s terribly dangerous to be a stowaway, you know? Impossible to predict quite what the seas will be like,”
“Well, that’s just a risk I’ll have to take to get out of here and stop… what was it that you said I was doing? Risking my life and beauty?”
The two of you chuckled as Helmut took one last drink to empty his glass. Then, the conversation stilled. Around you people were alive, gyrating to the music as their pulses thumped to the beat, but it was like they weren’t even there. Instead, your whole being was focused on the strange man in front of you who had stolen away your sensibilities with his cool tone and thick accent. He made you feel alive. No, more than alive. Every color was brighter, every sound was sharper, every sip of your drink was crisper. He was a once-in-a-lifetime man, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime night. Oh, to hell with it!
“I like you, Baron,” you purred, pressing yourself close to him. His breath hitched the moment you touched him. He acted as if it had been a very long time since he was last touched like that. “And I think you like me too. In fact, I think you like me enough that we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private. What do you say?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, his gloved hand made its way around your wrist, and in a moment’s time, he was pulling you across the crowded dance floor towards a small, secluded hallway. You assumed that meant yes.
The instant you made it to the shelter of the shadows Helmut was on you like a man starved. One of his hands was quick to explore the skin just above the hem of your dress as the other pressed against the wall, caging you in and holding you as a more than willing hostage to his affections. He didn’t kiss your face, and you weren’t complaining about that, but he did put his mouth to good use sucking a dark bruise into your collarbone. His ministrations only stopped when a high, keening sound escaped your lips.
“You like that, don’t you, meine kleine schlampe?” he growled through gritted teeth. Something about his tone turned your already weak legs to jelly. The second you went limp in his grip, though, he pulled back. Straightening himself out, he offered you a steadying arm. You took it without hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry to be so rude. I assure you that I am not usually the type of man to hook up with someone on a whim, I’ve simply been… indisposed for many years and haven’t had many opportunities for pleasure, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you,”
His compliment was enough to have you blushing like a schoolgirl. You had killed more people than you could reasonably count, and probably fucked even more, but something about the way Helmut looked and sounded and acted made you feel almost innocent to his advances. He was a drug and you needed to get your fix before he disappeared forever.
“Does that mean you think I’m special?” You asked, all doe eyes with an innocent smile. Helmut ate it right up.
“Yes, schatzi. Very special,”
You hitched a leg up, letting your heel dig into his expensive dress pants and drag him closer to you once again. “First your little slut and now your little treasure? Which one is it, Helmut?”
“And so smart,”
At your insistence, Helmut was on you once again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck as he fiddled with his gloves, yanking them off and shoving them in his back pocket before he continued. “So demanding,” he chided, and yet he continued to lavish you with affection, his hand climbing higher and higher up your thigh. Your back was pressed flush to the wall now, and you were painfully aware of just how warm Helmut was. He smelled like a rich man’s cologne and yet his skin tasted of cheap soap when you leaned in to give him a bruise of his own.
“You love it,” you replied. He let out a husky laugh.
“I suppose I do,” he chuckled, and then his fingers brushed over your core. Your knees buckled. Helmut kept you upright with his body as he continued to taunt you through your underwear, but he seemed more confident now, almost cocky. “My needy schatzi, have you no patience?”
Your response was breathless; a confession.
“Not with you,”
Something about your words lit a fire in Helmut’s eyes. In an instant he had your leg hiked up while he ground his hardened length against your clothed wetness. Your mind went blank. He felt big. A mindless whimper fell from your lips.
“How do you want me?” Helmut asked. As he spoke he ran a light finger down your elevated thigh. You offered up another whimper. “I’ll need you to use your words and tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” His tone had you wet enough that you worried you were dripping.
With a gulp, you managed to fumble out the words. “I’ll blow you first if you promise to fuck me,”
That had him grinning like a wolf. “Perhaps you are my little schlampe, so eager to get down on your knees for me…” And you were. Even on shaky legs, you found yourself happily falling to your knees as the Baron fumbled with his fly. It was only then that you found yourself gazing down the hall towards the cacophony of lights and sounds and people maybe 20 feet away from your hiding place in the shadows. As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut paused. “Are you alright?”
You nodded quickly. “I just forgot we were out in the open for a second,”
“Do you want to stop? If the location is the problem, I would gladly pause so we can find a new hideaway,” he stopped short, looking down and meeting your heavily lidded gaze, “or perhaps the idea of putting on a show excites you?” Your heart jumped out of your chest. Helmut noticed. “Well, if my little schlampe is so keen on putting on a show, she should get a move on,”
That was your cue to get to work. In a swift motion, you finished unzipping his fly and shifted his boxers, letting his lovely cock spring free. It was a pleasant penis and far as they went, average in length but thick with a leaking purple tip at half-mast. Just looking at it made you clamp your legs together.
Slowly, you gave a tentative lick up the underside of his length. He felt heavy on your tongue in the best of ways. Helmut jerked upward, a man possessed. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s been a long time, huh?”
“Less talking, more working little schlam-” you cut Helmut off quickly by taking most of his length into his mouth. That seemed to shut him up. His wolf-like grin had dissolved into a slack-jawed mess the second you started to suck him off. Oh, this was going to be fun.
For the most part, the Baron let you set the pace, bobbing your head and taking as much of his length as you comfortably could, but after a short while his hands were buried in your hair as he fought the urge to buck into your throat, hard. With a particularly rough snap of his hips, Helmut pulled away.
“You are an angel from heaven, schatzi,” he groaned, pulling himself slowly from your mouth as you got your first good deep breath in a while, “but a deal is a deal, and it wouldn’t be quite fair if I got to have all the fun, now would it?” Your breath hitched in your throat. Finally time for the main event.
Helmut was surprisingly gentle with you as he offered you a hand and helped you back up, only pausing to wipe a line of dribble off your chin with his thumb. With anyone else, it would have felt wholly humiliating but with Helmut… well, it did things to you you would rather not admit. You quirked up an eyebrow, though, when he got on his knees in turn, mirroring your past position. “What are you doing, Baron?”
“I simply assumed my sweet schatzi would enjoy a reward for taking my cock so well,” his words had you biting your lip as your cheeks flushed, “now be a good girl and take what I give you. I want to hear those pretty noises you made earlier,” With that, his face disappeared under your skirt. He pulled down your panties and… snickered?
“What now?” you groaned, squirming as his hot breath hit your exposed nub.
“You’re sopping wet,” he replied. Out of habit, you moved to shut your legs but found Helmut’s large hand was holding them open. “I do enjoy being sandwiched between your thighs, but you shouldn’t hide yourself from me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it,” That was when he began his assault on your folds.
You had been with plenty of partners over the years, all with varying proficiencies when it came to giving pleasure, but no one had ever made you feel quite as good as Helmut did while you gripped his hair and rode his face with reckless abandon. He always hit just the right spot, alternating between sucking on your sensitive clit and running his rough tongue in sloppy circles against it. In no time flat your pleasure was building toward’s its peak as your knees trembled.
“Helmut,” you squeaked, “Helmut I’m gonna cuuuUUOH!”
You were suddenly thrown over the edge of pleasure as the Baron worked you open with his fingers, pressing that spot inside of you just right. It was a revelation. Nothing would ever compare to him and you hadn’t even fucked yet. Once you had regained some semblance of stability he emerged from his place between your thighs, face slick with your juices, wearing the expression of a cat that got the cream.
“You make such lovely sounds for me, schatzi,” Helmut groaned, rising from his place at your feet and reaching into his pocket. While he fumbled for a condom you took the time to actually remove your panties, lifting one shaky leg at a time before balling them up and tossing them on the ground. You could grab them later. Or not! In all honesty, your ruined undies were the last thing on your mind as your watched Helmut roll the condom onto his proud cock, pumping himself a few times. “Now, are you sure you want this?”
You had never felt more sober in your whole life despite the drinks you’d downed earlier.
He caged you into his body once again, lining himself up on your slick folds, and then with a pronounced bite against your collarbone, he was entering you. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable, you just felt full, like a missing piece of your body had been completed. For the first few thrusts, you were too blissed out to really take note of anything around you, but once you tuned back into the world of the living you realized Helmut was talking. Well, babbling was more like it. He seemed to simply be speaking his stream of consciousness into your ear as he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. There was a jilted rhythm to it, but the abnormality kept you on your toes.
“I won’t be letting you go any time soon, schatzi, and definitely not on some dank freighter like a rat from the gutters. No, you will travel with me. Once I help my friends and slip away from the front lines I can take you anywhere your little heart desires. Paris, Vienna, Australia… Mein Gott, what a sweet cunt,”
Any sane woman, after hearing his sex-drunken musings, would have run. They would have heard the wild ramblings of a madman and left after their little fling was done to never see him again. It was only rational. He didn’t even know your real name. Sane women didn’t run away with strangers claiming to be barons they hooked up with in a seedy club selling stolen Van Goghs in a hub of the criminal underworld.
The only thing was, though, that you weren’t a sane woman.
You were a killer, a child left in the streets to live or die who had scraped themselves together and dragged themselves towards life. So what if the idea of some rich mysterious benefactor with a good dick coming in to save the day sounded fantastic? It was fantastic. Like your own personal version of Pretty Woman. Even if he wasn’t as rich as he claimed to be, being poor and getting dicked down by him was better than being poor and alone.
For just a moment, and with no regrets, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy and just let go.
It was as if Helmut could sense a difference.
“Are you close, little schlampe?” He gasped, letting his thrusts take on a faster staccato rhythm.
You could do little more than moan and nod as he pounded you into the wall. That seemed to be enough for him to get the message, though.
“What a good girl,” he purred. His mouth was so close to your ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh with each heaving breath he took. As he chased his own climax, he brought a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight, wet circles around your clit. It was already sensitive, your body was only barely recovering from your first orgasm, and yet something about the overstimulation was thrilling, like racing towards an impossible dream. With a shout, you came for the second time, melting into Baron Helmut’s arms as he quickly followed.
The two of you stayed there, slumped against the cool wall and still connected by your dripping sexes, for a few moments, breathing heavy. Surprisingly, you were the first to speak.
“Wow,” you breathed, letting a soft laugh escape your lips.
Helmut returned the sentiment. “You were wonderful,” In a strange moment of intimacy, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, but then he pulled out, tying off the full condom and tossing it to the ground as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly.
“Are you just gonna leave that there?” you made a gesture towards his litter.
“They have janitors,”
A burbling laugh escaped from your lips. “That they do,”
Back in the main room of the party, the crowd had only grown larger as the night progressed. Nobody had seen you, nor had they noticed your cries as they danced and drank and made merry under the neon lights. You were, for all intents and purposes, invisible at Helmut’s side. Within and without. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the only one that truly saw you in a room packed with hundreds. It was like something out of a twisted fairytale.
“So…” you broached the subject gently while you pulled down your dress to protect your modesty, “Did you mean what you said back there about Paris and Vienna, or…”
“Oh, you heard that?”
You snickered. “It was pretty hard not to with you breathing in my ear,”
“I apologize,” he leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, “but yes, I meant what I said. I-”
Suddenly, from down the hall, a booming voice interrupted your moment.
“There you are!”
“Goddamnit, Zemo, I thought we told you to stay low not hire an escort,”
There, at the mouth of the hallway, stood two massive men. They were obviously displeased, and though their faces were obscured by the lights you could tell you weren’t the one they were after.
They called him Zemo… where had you heard that name before?
Helmut stepped away from the wall with a shrug. “At least I didn’t cause a scene by forgetting to put my phone on silent,”
The larger of the two men stayed where he was, while the other walked to meet the Baron in the middle.
“I swear to God, man, you’ve gotten ten times more insufferable since I learned you were rich.
The Baron shrugged. “It comes with the territory,”
“But you don’t have to be such a jackass about it,”
You felt it was a good time to chime in.
“Thank you so much for that, Helmut, but I think I should give you guys some privacy,” you said, straightening out your dress and walking deeper into the hallway. There had to be an exit somewhere…
“Wait!” When you turned, you found Helmut rushing to meet you. The men in the background looked shocked and almost smug. “Save your money. Meet me out at the airstrip tomorrow afternoon if you feel like seeing me again. If not, know that the Power Broker doesn’t let go of assets cheap, and you just slept with a man with a million dollar bounty, so buying your freedom isn’t an option. If you want to go without me, you’ll have to hitch a ride on a cargo ship but not as a stowaway. Working for your keep is the best way to stay under the radar. Nobody can touch you once you’r-”
You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you at your private jet, Baron,”
He smirked. “So you will,” With as much gusto as a man could muster, he returned to his companions but not before offering one last goodbye. “Farewell, schatzi, until tomorrow,”
As you leaned up against the wall once more, you watched them go with a twinkle in your eye.
“Who was that?”
“None of your business, James,”
“Guys, what the hell did I just step on?”
“I believe that was my used rubber,”
a/n: I hope you enjoyed the filth! I haven’t written for Zemo before, even though I’ve loved him for years, but he’s definitely going into my main rotation now. If you have any ideas, send them my way! I’d love to fill the void, because there just aren’t very many Zemo x reader fics out there. If you enjoyed this, maybe reblog or leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!
Please do not post my works to any other sites, thanks! <3
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(Not my Gif.)
Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*
Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)
Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.
Word Count: 4.2K
A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!
Here’s the thing.
You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.
And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.
Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.
It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.
Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”
You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”
“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”
You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.
“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”
The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.
“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”
You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”
He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.
“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”
The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.
“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.
His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”
And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.
The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.
He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.
He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.
“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.
You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”
And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.
So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.
By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.
In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.
“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.
You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”
He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.
“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”
The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.
By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.
He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.
“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”
You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.
“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”
He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.
“For teasing you.”
You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.
“For embarrassing you.”
There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.
“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.
Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.
“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”
You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”
Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.
Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.
“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.
Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.
“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.
A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.
However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.
He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.
After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.
“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”
You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.
It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”
You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.
He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.
As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.
“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”
Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.
“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.
“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”
“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”
He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”
You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.
He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.
One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.
“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”
You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.
“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.
Then a bite.
“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”
And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.
“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.
“I’d let you do anything to me.”
He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.
“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.
The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.
“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.
It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.
You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.
“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”
You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.
His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.
“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”
And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.
As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.
Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.
He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.
His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.
“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”
This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
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NSFW Alphabet • Zemo
List made by @caitlinpotter || whooooo boy
*xFemale!Reader || SFW Alphabet
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Super, super sweet!—he’s lovey dovey the moment you hit your final orgasm, rough kisses turn to gentle, featherlike, kisses across your quivering skin as you work through the final wave of ecstasy. He strokes his fingertips down your tense abdomen, feeling the subtle shake traveling through your body in the final moments of your orgasm.
Afterwards—he hoarsely asks if you’re okay, caressing your cheek, as you lay next to him breathless. There’s a soft smile across his lips, as you close your eyes, swallowing, to gather yourself, before smiling. He presses a kiss to your forehead as you snuggle up against his side, resting your head on his bicep.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Loves your legs and back— you wear anything that significantly reveals either and it’s already on his mind. He loves how the curve of your back fits perfectly against his palm when you arch it, especially when you’re straddling his lap. During foreplay, he always kisses a trail along the inside of your thigh, with his hand either caressing your calf or stroking along the outside of your leg.
Lips— he loves your lips, sometimes when you’re talking or venting, on a roll about something, you’ll find him just staring at your lips. He is notorious for open mouth kisses, out of nowhere just kissing you, sometimes whilst you’re talking, but mostly when you just don’t expect it.
As for himself, he’s probably say his hands, so he can feel you and mouth, cause he could kiss you all day long.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Together— you don’t know how but somehow he knows how to get you both there at the same time. Your breath starts to hitch as you squeeze your legs against him. You hear him whisper a few curses and feel him grip your hips a little rougher, keeping you in place, as you both cum.
On other occasions or positions— seeing it drip down the arch of your back is insanely attractive, as he dips to breathlessly kiss between your shoulder blades.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Loves being cuffed— there’s something about the metal, feel and sound. Plus he loves the challenge of feeling you up whilst in handcuffs, a lot of times he’ll bring his hands to the back of your neck, pulling the cuff links tight against the nape of your neck, bringing you and holding you deep into a kiss.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Obviously, yes, he’s had experience— he absolutely knows what he’s doing, in fact he’s the only one who’s been able to get you on a new level of pleasure via him just knowing what he was doing. When you asked him how he knew where to hit, he lifts an eyebrows and simply replies “I have experience.”
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)
He’s really game for it all— whatever you’re comfortable with, he’s comfortable with. That means if halfway through you want to switch, he’s good with that.
Anything with you beneath him, chest to chest; he really does love absolutely making out while fucking you, so a lot of face to face works best for that— your knees pressing against his sides, your nails slowly scratching across his back, him giving fresh hickeys to your neck, and hands exploring your body while he slips his tongue in your mouth.
Tabletop— could literally be on a table, counter, or just the edge of the bed. Either way, you’re clinging to the surface’s edge, trying to keep yourself positioned at the very edge for him, (in bed, the bed posts can help), his fingertips are leaving bruises against your hips or his hand is wrapped around the ankle you have resting up against his shoulder, he presses kisses against the inside of your ankle as he fucks you.
Doggy style—he loves the beautiful curve of your back so what better than fully seeing it. He presses his thumbs against the small of your back, and typically has a hand stroking up and down your spine.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
It’s definitely more serious, but it’s also always fun and extremely satisfying— his charm allows him to swoon you, keeping it a heated and romantic setting, but he can’t help but chuckle in between kisses to your skin when your jaw drops and your take a breath staggering gasp, clinging onto him, feeling things you’ve never felt before.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Literally perfect— he’s surprisingly good at knowing how you want it based on your actions leading up to the moment. He knows if you want it more rough and kinky, or if you just want to feel adored like a princess, made to feel good.
Accent— you love hearing him say anything in that gorgeous accent and he knows it, thus he sweet talks you, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm.
He checks in on you— the occasional “doing okay, Darling?”, “use your words, tell me, princess,” and “I’ve got you, just ride it out,” make it very personal and sweet amidst it.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Not really a thing with him, if he wants it he’s going to wait, he loooves sexual tension/anticipation, it makes the sex 10x better.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Temperature play—ice. He loves watching your skin shiver as he trails a path across your body with an ice cube. Also, he’ll kiss you and have a sliver of ice in his mouth, sliding it against your bottom lip with his tongue.
Handcuffs— either way (see D), it’s the challenge for him, and the look of them and you that he loves so much. Also loves the feeling of them against him when you’re clinging on to him.
Has a bit of a kink for you being the only one undressed— this is where you just rolling your hips down on him hard, holding close with two fingers behind his belt buckle comes in. Also, thigh riding, he loves to see you get yourself there, only occasionally helping out, loving how desperate you are for his attention, physically.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Bedroom— it’s the atmosphere of the room that’s amazing, it’s intimate, silk sheets, candles, old wooden bed frame posts that have bruised your back from being pushed against. He likes to see your skin glow in the candlelight with a slight shimmer from the sweat you’re breaking together
Cars— those classic cars have had a Titanic moment or two. It’s extremely intimate, and the sound of your breaths, moans, and screams sound great in a tightly contained area.
Shower— warm water cascading down your body, keeping you nice and wet in every way. The shower’s obviously lavish and has plenty of room, plus glass walls.
↳ similarly, bathroom countertop sex— with the room still humid and hot, you’re set atop the cool counter’s surface, back pressing against the mirror as you hang on to the edge or the faucet head for some grounding.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you undress— watching you slip of out a dress, casually pull a sweatshirt over your head, shimmying out of your jeans, etc. he just loves seeing more and more of your skin slowly become exposed. Which makes changing in the morning a longer process than need be.
Kisses— making out with him enough will get him pretty turned on, French kisses, love bite kisses, soft and sweet, really enough of anything and you’ll find you finally have a little control when you pull back and he leans in, not wanting to break the kiss.
You in his clothes— dress shirts, sweatshirts, his jacket, you name it, he likes to see you wearing his things.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Nothing demeaning— he wants to make you feel worshiped, perfect, and on cloud nine, so it’s a no go to the exact opposite
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Giving— for starters he likes to have the leverage in situations and you at the mercy of his mouth counts. He’s phenomenal at completely and totally getting you all the way there with just his mouth. His hands are always either holding your hips down, or stroking along your legs, outside, inside, caressing your calf etc.
↳ when you try to close your legs, he easily pushes the inside of your knee back out again, with a chuckle you can feel vibrating against your clit.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Two types: slow, sensual, and deep & hard, dominant, and passionate
↳ slow, sensual, and deep: it’s extremely romantic and makes you feel adored, he takes time to get every sense awake in your body before giving you what, by that point, you desperately want. And when he does it’s almost instantly met by you softly sighing with a smile, “right there, baby,” as you flutter your eyes closed, lips parting.
↳ hard, dominant, and passionate— he’s fucking you like he hasn’t seen you in years. It’s a little rough, sometimes kinky, very dominant sex. You have some seriously intense, pupils blown with pleasure, screaming orgasms that leave you shaking, not to mention unable to walk straight. Typically includes multiple orgasms for you.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
He’s not opposed to them at all, the amount of time doesn’t determine the quality with him.
For example: you’ve definitely fucked in a club bathroom before (these are nice, fancy clubs)— already making out you pull him into the room and he kicks the door shut, locking it. Setting you on top of the counter roughly, you get at it. Desperately holding onto the edge of the countertop as he fucks you, kissing your neck and holding your hips in place.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Not particularly— if there’s any shake up you want to try or add, you definitely talk about it first, having a comfortable atmosphere during sex is always important to him so you can feel safe and boundaries are set.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
Not including teasing / oral, typically two— and those are two very intense rounds, it’s not a quickie. Proper sex with him lasts a good while, so brace yourself if you make it to a third round.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
A whole lot— it’s exactly that, unfair. With how much he teases you, you’ll be dripping wet before your clothes are even entirely off.
Playing hard to get— oh yes, he plays that game with you, if you’re trying to subtly come on to him, he’ll act like he has no idea what you’re trying to imply, making you more frustrated and him happier seeing you want it so bad but trying to counter his calmness.
Leaving you to think about it— he’ll start the foreplay, but then in the middle tell you that he’s needed elsewhere, leaving you to think about what he had started all day long, this usually results in you wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply the instant he walks back through the door
At events— typically well behaved, unless it’s completely boring. He’s had his hand under the table and up your skirt/dress more than once though, quickly pulling away when you were almost there. This is when sex when you’re barely through the front door happens.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He’s personally relatively quiet— usually it’s because his mouth his preoccupied with bruising and musing your skin, but in between there’s throaty breaths and sweet nothing whispered.
Prefers to hear you— seriously, he loves hearing every whine, moan, whimper, scream, breath, gasp, and giggle you make.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)
Plenty to be satisfied by— above average, but he’s not the guy to talk about it. If you have the pleasure of knowing, then you know full good and well.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
It’s pretty damn high— he just really really knows how to hide it until it’s the exact moment. He has a lot of sexual charisma without even trying, yet he typically remains totally calm about it until you’re the first one to take action, asking or physically.
HOWEVER— there are days where you’re headed out the door, and he catches a glimpse of your cute outfit. As you’re saying goodbye he catches you gently by the wrist and starts walking with you towards the bedroom “Baron,” you giggle, tossing your head back and following his lead, “I’m going to be late.” Catching up with him at the door, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, “you’re not going to be late,” he caressed your cheek, “you’re going to be altogether absent.”
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
You definitely fall asleep first— he likes watching you fall asleep afterwards, his fingertips still ghosting across your skin, as you make sure to keep yourself close to him.
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put me in a movie.
summary. | He knows you can’t make it on your own, so he’ll put you in his movie.
warnings. | Dubcon (reader doesn’t know what he’s doing but consents to it), smut, drinking, age gap (reader is legal), virginity loss, choking, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, corruption kink, innocence kink, cream pie kink, penetration, teasing, praise, filming, voyeurism, porn (the industry), fluff, yearning, Daddy kink, humiliation, overstimulation, dumbification kink, and more. SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI.
word count. | 6.5k.
pairing. | Grey!Pornstar!Helmut Zemo x Innocent!Reader.
a/n. | please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. inspired by wet, written by the talented @thewritingdoll! do not translate or repost my fics at all.
You don’t like the heat, but you love the summer. The way the days are seldom cold and cloudy, with that occasional breeze that your skin gracefully soaks up in the same way your beach towel soaks up the water on your bathing suit. Popsicles of different flavours dripping down your skin and onto the hot sidewalk. The sticky residue makes you cringe, and you’d use the damp side of your towel to wipe it away. It would work for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, before the feeling returns.
You hate the heat, but you love to see him. Those swim trunks of his sticking to his wet skin. They’re a blue colour that seems easy to describe at first glance, but you’ll soon realize just how many shades of navy blue there are, and suddenly you don't even know what colour they are. Maybe it’s the colour of the jeans the cameramen wear, or perhaps it’s the colour of the night sky at around six in the evening during the summertime.
They lug heavy equipment, and you just wonder if they’re filming a movie. If your friends and family members got word, they’d probably lose their minds before begging you to get them a part. Vying for fame runs through the family tree branches, and even you would want a small part in it as well. You give them empty promises, forgetting their words after a few minutes until the following text message or phone call.
You don’t spend much time at the beach anymore. Heck, you haven’t been there since June. Your friends have left with their boyfriends and girlfriends on a trip to Bali, and all you have are your family members to keep you company. Your white fence, magazine and lawn chair are all you know of now. You spend your days outdoors, knowing each one will be filled with the same things. The sunlight, bees buzzing, and seagulls having unwarranted ferociousness.
Your parents spend their days at work, and you stay home to hold your small fort down. You don’t water the grass or touch the garden because your father does it better than anyone. You don’t touch the paint meant for the walls or the furniture boxes that are strewn across the floors because your mother knows where to put them and how to paint. You just relax, and you don’t mind it at all.
That was until you saw him.
Curiosity is your closest friend other than the blue raspberry flavoured popsicles that take up more space in your freezer than anything else. So when the empty house next door suddenly filled up with around half a dozen people, you just couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing. So you peer over the fence, standing on the small two-step ladder that your dad stole from his previous job.
Women and a few men are laughing, dressed down in both swimsuits and t-shirts. Their bodies are lovely, the pinnacle of beauty that you sometimes envy. Other times, you’d feel as though you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and that’s not far from the truth. They’ve got different brands of alcohol in their hands, White Claw cans littered on the ground, and you cringe at the mess.
They must be mentally younger than you’ll ever be again because no person older than you can act like this. Heavy, black cameras are resting nearby briefcases, and you hope to god that nothing illegal is going on. The last thing you need is the police questioning you at 1 in the morning. Some of the men ogle at the younger ladies, and they bask in the attention. You watch as their eyes rake up and down their shiny, sweaty bodies.
“Oh, please, the least you all can do is wait for me before you start the party,” a man snickers, stepping out of the house. You look over to him, and your breath is taken away. Water drips down his face, cascading down to his neck and onto his slightly hairy chest—a navy bluish-purple robe and those blue swim shorts that peek through underneath the cloth. The colour of the fabric goes oh so well with the blue of his eyes. They all laugh until they’re sighing and already cracking open another bottle of beer.
You admire him from afar, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moves: such grace, such elusiveness. The glass in his hand isn’t cheap beer or tequila; it’s whiskey that looks rich as fuck, and he swigs it back like it’s water. You remember the first time your father and mother brought whiskey home from the local liquor store. Your father didn’t enjoy it, and neither did your mother. It sat in a random cupboard until a year ago when your mother decided to throw it out.
He lets out an exhale as the amber liquid flows down his throat, and you watch in awe as he handles the burn like a champion. God, you can’t even handle beer if you try hard enough. He gently places the glass onto the table, far away from the men’s feet, as he knows that they can be quite clumsy. There must be a proper name for all feelings; you believe. Like that feeling when it dawns on you that you’ll never experience something like this ever again.
Or maybe the feeling that Helmut has right now. Not the excitement of finishing this film, and not the tiredness that is a result of working too hard. No, the feeling that he knows you’re watching him from over the fence. He sans his hand towards you, and you quickly duck down, letting out a whimper. You nearly fall from the small ladder, but it wouldn’t be so graceful if it did happen. “What’s wrong, Baron?” one of his co-stars teasingly asks.
“Nothing... Must’ve been the whiskey…”
You don’t hate the summer; you just don’t like the boredom. Even relaxation is something you can tire of, believe it or not. You’ve got nothing to do. Your friends are still out of town, and your parents are at work. You’ve cleaned the house not once, not twice, but three times. Your closet is as clean as it’ll ever be, and the pantry is now organized by most used to least used. The plants have been properly watered, even though it wasn’t necessary since the forecast said there’d be light rain.
You love the rain, especially during the summertime. The sky makes the surrounding world have an almost orange tone to it. The after smell––an earthy, oceanic scent that is so unique––is something you’ll forever look forward to. You’re excited for the day it’ll rain, but even meteorologists tend to be wrong, and Mother Nature has a thing for keeping her children on their toes. It’s one of the many reasons why you love her. So with your little red dress on, you spin around in the backyard.
You’re sensible. You know what creepy crawlers lie underneath the dirt, between the fluffy grass. So instead of being barefoot (just like in those Sofia Loren movies) and playing around, you grab that little latter once again. You’ve scrubbed the grooves and cleaned them of their plant stains––sloppily, of course. Your oversized slippers belong to your dad, and they struggle to stay on your feet, but it doesn’t matter.
You’re not going to be moving around much, anyway. You move the latter closer to where you last saw the group of men and women. You truly hope you don’t get caught and get into any trouble; the last thing you want is your parents scolding you and embarrassing you. You step up on the ladder carefully, grasping onto the wooden fence for support. The surface is hot to the touch, and you really want to let go, but you really shouldn’t. You whisper affirmations along the lines of ‘I won’t fall…’ over and over again, under your breath.
And you hope to God they work.
Admittedly, you also hope he’s wearing those blue swim shorts of his again. The look (and he) resides in your heart, amongst other tubes and canals that have learned to make room for friends, family and passions. But he’s not a friend, he’s not family, and he’s most certainly not a passion. ...He’s something else, that’s for sure. An enigma, really. He reminds you of that feeling––the one that has a name, temptation. Someone tells you not to do something you weren’t going to do in the first place, and now you want to do it.
Except the case is different. You shouldn’t be perving on strangers like this––sneaking up on them, spying on them––all because you just can’t help it. Your mind tells you to stop, but it’s just giving you all the more reason to continue doing it. So, until you nearly get caught one more time, you’ll continue to watch him. Desperate to figure out who he is and what he’s doing.
The cameras are no longer on the ground; a smart decision, given that there’s a pool that takes up more space than anything. The blue water of pools has always fooled you. You grew up believing that it was the true colour of water, not even knowing that it was, in fact, the tiles and not the water. There’s no mess there either, clean and tidy. Maybe professionally done, because the concrete has but not one dark spot or crease where grass grows out of it.
Laid perfectly, you know your mother and father would admire it for a few minutes. You squint your eyes and gaze at the glass sliding door. Inside is him. You let out one of those dreamy, love-filled sighs that only main characters do in romance movies. You watch him as he pours himself a cup of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar, and a dash of what seems to be almond milk.
You wonder if he likes iced coffees, as they can be so nice during the summertime. He wears those lovely blue swim shorts once again, hair slightly damp (with a pretty curliness to a few strands) and a navy bathrobe. It’s that same outfit as the other time you saw him, and you realize that they’re probably filming a movie. He moves around the counter, putting away certain little ingredients and whatnot.
The most mundane actions ever, ones that even you did just this morning. But god, he just makes it all seem so unique. He cards his fingers through his brown, almost dirty blond hair. There are clumps of strands that stick together, wetness that’ll dry probably as soon as he steps outside. He faces the window, staring out towards the fence that has been freshly painted, and sighs.
His head lulls back, and his neck is exposed. He’s probably both an actor and a model, you think to yourself. His chest hair has grown a bit more, and you can’t find yourself complaining. Tingles run through your body and even down to your pussy. You rub your thighs together, trying to make the feeling go away, while still being careful about holding onto the fence. You hope that he doesn’t know you’re watching him because you’ll never be able to live that down.
And it’s just so unfortunate that Helmut is such a clever man. Heightened senses from when he used to camp a lot when he was younger; he just knows practically everything. He knows you’re watching him, squinting your eyes until they’re nearly shut close. The skin around them wrinkles in the most adorable way, just like the way your nose scrunches up out of instinct. God, he could kiss every crevice of your body, even if you don’t know who he is.
“Hey, Helmut, we have a few re-shoots to do. Do you want to start now?” one of the cameramen asks him, holding a microphone in his hand. “No… I’m tired; we’ll do it all tomorrow,” Helmut says, waving his hand. He’s no longer looking outside and instead at the man who he’s addressing. He nods and walks off before Helmut follows him. Common courtesy is to always escort your guests out, and Helmut was raised with manners. With a hand on the man’s lower back, and a smile on his face, Helmut gently pushes him out the door and locks it.
You watch him as he disappears, seemingly leading someone out of his home, and you think all is fine. That is until that little voice in your mind decides to be obnoxious. The slight possibility that you’ve been caught and he’s mad haunts you, and your breath hitches. Your eyeballs are wide open, as big as the eyes of an owl, and your hands shake a bit out of fear. They dampen up a bit, not enough to the point where you’d be disgusted, but they’re clammy nonetheless.
You make a move to jump off the latter, not caring about the possible risk of falling and scraping your pretty legs. Your hands begin to let go of the fence, but they’re stopped by someone grabbing you by your wrists. You let out a squeal of shock as they hold you tightly from over the barrier, and you’re screwed. “I’m sorry!” you quickly yell, squinting your eyes out of fear. You’re not sure what to expect, whether he would yell at you or threaten to call the cops.
“No, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m not mad. Come back,” Helmut tells you, and you calm down. Yet you’re still nervous, scared that he’s a liar and that you’ll be in deep shit with the law. You step back onto the latter and are wary of looking over the wood. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow thickly. “I’m not mad, okay? I think it’s kind of cute. You’re like a curious little bunny,” he smiles, and you giggle.
“Never been called that before, usually just a curious cat,” you share with him, and he laughs. “Well, that’s not wrong,” he adds. A brief silence intrudes, and you just stare at one another. Helmut’s eyes jump from feature to feature on your face, relishing in that unique gorgeousness of yours. Someone like you will never be found amongst models because you’re an absolute angel. You’re like a pretty rose amongst other flowers; all are beautiful in their own ways, but you always manage to stand out.
You wonder if Helmut is the wolf to your bunny. That dark look in his eyes that compliments his features and overall attitude. He carries himself in such a way that old Hollywood actors wish they were so graceful. He’s the polar opposite of you––seemingly. But from the few words you’ve exchanged with each other, he just might be a bunny friend to yours. “I- I saw that there were cameras and I heard people talking… Are you filming a movie?” you ask him.
“...Yes, we are, bunny. I apologize for being so loud. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions with a smile on his face. You nod your head and bite on your bottom lip, watching as his eyes brighten up a bit. “What’s it about? Can I know? Are you the main protagonist? Or the antagonist? What genre is it?” you interrogate, flooding him with questions. “Shh, one at a time, bunny. It’s very, very special and secretive. I can’t tell you much. But I’m the main protagonist, and it’s a bit of a naughty movie, so I don’t think a little girl like you should know much,” he whispers to you.
You nod your head as you listen to him, so intrigued about the work of art being filmed next door. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie! Especially in one of those old Hollywood ones, they’re so good,” you admit to him shyly, with a coy smirk on your face. “Really? I think you’d be an amazing actress. You’d be even more popular than Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe,” Helmut praises, and you giggle once again.
“T- Thank you so much! ...Can I be in your movie?” you politely request him, but he shakes his head. You frown, your bottom lip jutted out. “You wouldn’t want to be in this movie, bunny. Remember what I said? It’s a naughty movie, and you’re just a little girl,” he reminds you, but you’re still pouting. “Is it a violent movie? One with curse words and lots of scary stuff?” you innocently ask, not sure as to what he means.
Helmut laughs quite loudly. “No,” he stifles a chuckle, “but one day I’ll shoot a movie with you, and I’ll show you how it’s all done.” He promises, and you can just tell he’s honest. You’re elated, hoping that the day he’s talking about will come soon. “What is your name, bunny?” Helmut asks, and you tell him. He nods before repeating it, giving you a smile. He brings both of your hands close to his face. You go on the tip of your toes to properly watch him once more. He presses his lips to the back of your hands, kisses them one by one.
“Go get some rest, bunny, and come by my place tomorrow,” he tells you before letting go of your wrists. He walks off before you do anything else. Sliding the glass door behind him, he disappears somewhere, and you’re left all by yourself. You’re still standing there, sighing dreamily as you replay the moments that will surely turn into a broken record. You hope that he’ll wear those blue swim shorts again, even though he’s already worn them twice.
There’s a skip in your step—nothing new and nothing unusual. Your shoes scratch against the concrete of the sidewalk that connects to Helmut’s front door. The sun only rose an hour and a half ago. The sky is a bright blue, filled with a few clouds that compliment the colour. The sun beats down onto your skin, and you haven’t forgotten to put on sunscreen once you finish twirling around in your little sundress.
You’ve got a miniature backpack that is slung over both of your shoulders. It’s orange, a bright one, in fact. It reminds you of the tangerines you love to peel, and those creamsicle treats that can be quite rare to find at this time of the year. You climb up the two steps that lead to his grey door, and you rap the wood a few times. There’s a doorbell too, one of those high-tech ones that record everything in its view.
Nothing but silence echoes back. No cars driving by, no birds chirping, no insects buzzing. Nothing. You wonder if he’s woken up yet, or if he’s even home. But as the door suddenly swings open––without a squeak, mind you––you’re met with the smiling face that belongs to Helmut. “Good morning, early-bird, is everything alright?” he questions, not one ounce of sleep tainting his look.
“Good morning! Everything is alright… D- Do you remember what you told me yesterday? About coming by?” you ask him, almost thinking to yourself that you’re just insane and that conversation never really happened. “Oh, right! Sorry, I've been a bit forgetful lately. But come in, have you eaten already?” Helmut asks as he moves to the side for you to enter.
Hesitatingly, you step inside his home. You kick off your shoes and look around. It seems sleek and modern at first, quite… different from the familiar feel of your house. Now, there are no wild polygons or geometric shapes that make you feel like you’ve been placed on a spaceship. No, it’s something that even your mind can’t come up with. The walls are a cream colour, engraved with different patterns that make it resemble marble. The chairs and couches have clear plastic legs on them, adding to that newfound era feel.
The floors are a light brown colour; wood in the shape of long, skinny parallelograms fitting against each other perfectly. The lights hang down a bit, high ceilings that you can’t even fathom reaching. You spin around and look up at them as they shine down brightly on you. They stem down from a pretty grey bronze appliqué that is attached to the ceiling. It’s practically art, just like the portraits of half-naked ladies that hang on his walls. There’s a specific piece that is above the fireplace.
It’s a mirror, and your reflection is in it. So is Helmut’s. You’re in front of him, looking at him through the mirror. He’s behind you, staring at your reflection. You both stay like that for a bit before you look away and admire the windows. He has such a lovely view; you can’t help but envy him for it. “Now, bunny, I have to be honest with you. We wrapped the movie up last night, and it was very late. I didn’t call you over because of that, and I’m really sorry about that. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions.
You nod your head eagerly, just sensing that he’ll lead on with some sort of good news. Your parents have done that far too many times for you not to know better. “But, if you want, I’ll put you in a movie. It’ll be just between you and me because it won’t be too professional, okay?” Helmut grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, waiting for your answer. “Oh, yes, please! That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!” you cheer, wrapping your arms around him.
You hug him tightly, and he eventually hugs you back. “Now, I want to finish it as soon as possible. So set your bag right on this couch, and go sit on that one,” Helmut instructs, pointing at the biggest couch in the living room. You nod and do exactly as he tells you. He walks away, possibly to set something up or to get ready, but either way, you still sit on his couch, filled with pure excitement. You cross one leg over the other, your pretty white dress covering the upper half of your thighs.
Lace that is on top of the cotton, both the same colour, and you realize how much you love this dress. Helmut saunters back into the living room, holding a giant tripod in one hand and a small camera in the other. You gasp at the sight, and he chuckles. Setting them up from the other side of the small coffee table, you watch him in awe. “This is going to be… a big girl movie, okay? Just like the one I was in. But I don't think it will be visible to the public eye, might just be between you and I,” Helmut tells you.
You nod in understanding. “Are you fine with that, little bunny?” he asks you just for reassurance. “Mhm, you can do anything you want; I don’t mind!” you reassure him, with a giant smile on your face. He swallows thickly as blood rushes downwards to his cock from your words. You still grin gleefully, such innocence on your features that he almost feels bad for having feelings for you.
He presses the little power button on the camera and waits for a green light to come on. With a smirk, Helmut walks around the table and stands in front of you. You look up at him, waiting for him to do something. He bends down and grabs both sides of your face––gently, of course––and he makes you stand up. He tilts his head and leans forward, slotting his lips against yours.
Now, you’ve kissed someone before. His name started with something along the lines of ‘J’ or ‘L,’ but that doesn’t matter. But that kiss was nothing like Helmut’s kiss. His kiss is soft and passionate, something you struggle to match. His lips stay locked with yours before moving to push his tongue into your mouth. You’re not sure what to do, so you just give up and let him kiss you until you both run out of breath. His tongue runs against the wet skin of your mouth, and you gasp at the feeling.
He eventually pulls away, and he looks at you with his eyes blown out. Helmut sighs and smiles at you. “You gotta trust me, okay?” he tells you once more, and you nod. “Ok…” you trail off, not knowing what to follow up with. “You gotta call me by a nickname, bunny… Hmm, how about Daddy?” he exclaims, his accent becoming more prominent. You love it and how unique it is. “Okay! I like that one a lot, my friend calls her boyfriend that sometimes,” you share with him, and he laughs.
He sits you down on the couch again, and his hand inches up your dress, making you giddy. He smiles at you, and you can see from the corner of your eye how the camera is filming you both. Helmut just knows you’re wet already, but you probably don’t know it. And he’s not wrong. You feel slightly tingly, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your panties slide down your legs, a wet patch on them, and Helmut throws them to the side. He lifts your dress over your head and tosses the fabric away, too.
He takes a step back and admires you. You still have your ankle socks on, but God, you’re so gorgeous he thinks he’s in heaven. “You’re so pretty, bunny. The prettiest bunny I’ve ever seen,” he compliments. You grow shy and smile before whispering a thank you. You smile at the camera, and he begins to undress. The first thing that goes is the robe, and his chest is now exposed.
Helmut hasn’t shaved his chest hair, and you’re glad. It looks nice on him––but to be fair––anything does. All he has on is those swim shorts. God, you love those shorts so much. They’re no longer wet, and yet they still cling to his thighs. He slowly pulls them down––and you feel as though you should look away and give him privacy––but you just can’t. His cock is hard, and it shows through the fabric, but you’re too busy staring at his hands to notice it.
His Adonis belt is slowly exposed, along with his pelvic bone, as he pulls down his boxers as well. There’s a small bush of hair right above his cock, and you find yourself wanting to tangle your fingers between the strands. Helmut’s cock bounces up––hard, red, and leaking––and the tip slaps right below his belly button. You let out a gasp, and he chuckles. His swim shorts lie on the floor, and you’re suddenly being urged to lay back.
Helmut climbs on top of you, caging you beneath his well-built body. Soft abs that are just perfect enough for you, and big hands that hold you so lovingly. He wants to feel his rough palms against your delicate skin, falling into every groove and curve there is. Like an artist admiring their artwork, he runs his hands along your body. From your thighs to your hips, over your stomach, between your breasts, all the way up to your neck. His hard cock is between your legs, nearly touching your sensitive little pussy.
You swallow nervously at the feeling. Helmut’s left hand wraps around your throat, and his right hand moves downwards to your legs. Gripping your calf, he places your right leg on the head of the couch and moves to position your left leg so that it hangs off the edge of the seat. You’re spread wide open for Helmut, not able to hide your naked body or close your legs. Your hands rest above your head, almost as though you’re pathetically shielding your hair from the rain.
Helmut’s hand still rests on your neck, but he doesn’t squeeze your throat or anything like that. You’re not sure if he’s playing the antagonist or not, but you decide to just go along with what he does. “You’re okay, right, bunny? You’re fine, I’m gonna treat you so good,” he promises, and you give him your best superstar smile. You have to admit that you’re nervous, but you trust him completely. Helmut would never do anything wrong to you.
“Has anyone ever touched you down here, bunny? Have you ever touched down here?” he questions you, walking his fingers up to your soaking wet pussy. “Hmm, uh, I touched it once, but I didn’t know what was happening, so I stopped,” you shyly explain to him, and he nods. “That’s okay, bunny. Can I touch you here? I won’t hurt you too badly, I promise,” Helmut assures you, and you nod. His index finger sticks out, and he watches as slick drips from your hole and coats the silky skin around it.
The digit becomes a bit shiny and quite sticky, and he traces your slit lightly. You shiver lightly from his touch, and sensitivity blooms in your core. “Uhm… Daddy?” you call out to him, a bit worried. “What’s wrong, bunny?” he asks, bringing his finger up to your clit. It throbs with want, just like the veins on his cock. “It feels very sensitive, almost too sensitive…” you admit to him, even though he continues to touch your clit.
“That’s okay, bunny, that’s how it’s supposed to feel. But if you want to stop, just tell me,” Helmut urges you. “Okay, Daddy.” He rubs your little nub in small, light circles. The muscles in your legs twitch, and you bite down on your bottom lip. He continues to touch your clit, and you begin to writhe from the overwhelming feeling. You let out a few whines, and Helmut watches as your cunt just gets wetter and wetter.
You try to shift his hands away from you in your weird position. It’s just too much at once, and you’re scared of what will happen next. The pornstar’s finger slips off your cunt, and he lets out a small gasp. The sound is mixed with displeasure, and you look him in the eyes with innocence. “Don’t do that again, bunny,” he warns, squeezing your neck a bit just to add to his threat.
His index finger returns to your clit, and this time, he rubs your little pearl even harder. You see stars, ones that are dark and would be hidden in the blackness of outer space. Your eyes roll back into your skull, and you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. Helmut’s digit touches the most sensitive part of your clit, and you jerk in response. Your legs try to shut close, but his body stops you from doing so.
When you open your eyes, you’re faced with a displeased superstar. Helmut lets out a shaky exhale, trying to compose himself. He knows he shouldn’t get mad at you, but he just doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have his way. His hand leaves your cunt and moves downwards. Suddenly, a harsh slap lands on your ass, making you cry out in pain. The skin stings and prickles, and you can feel slight tears beginning to form in your eyes.
Instead of staring at your pretty little face, Helmut squeezes your neck even tighter and watches as your little hole begins to leak with even more wetness. “Aww, bunny, did you enjoy Daddy hitting you? Hm? I bet you did; that’s you’re so wet,” he chuckles, and you grow shy. He’s not wrong, though. You enjoyed the pain quite a bit, even though you tend to avoid any and all activities that could leave you with a minor injury.
“Such a little slut for pain. But I bet you don’t like it when Daddy gets mean with you, right? Yeah, because you’re just a sensitive little bunny,” he coos, and you smile. You nod to him, and he grins down at you. Helmut’s cock is a furious red, almost purple if you really look closely. Beads of precum run down the sides of his cock, all the way to his thick base. He slaps your ass once more, enjoying the way you flinch and then smile from delight.
“I guess I’ve been a bit mean, just touching your little button without even letting you come…” he sighs before shifting onto his knees. Helmut looks over to the camera, just to make sure it’s still recording. And it is, so he smiles. He towers over you even more now, a few strands on his hair dangling downwards, and you find yourself wanting to play with them. The hand that was on your ass grasps the base of his cock, and he runs the head through your folds.
A quiet squelching sound echoes between the both of you, and you giggle. Your laughter is cut short when he bumps up against your clit, and you let out a moan. The sound is unexpected on your behalf, but Helmut just smirks. Your moans turn into a string of shallow pants, and he curses under his breath at the feeling. Dragging his head away from your clit, he brings himself down to your hole, and you let out an even louder gasp.
“Shh, just let Daddy in, okay? I know it’s your first time, but it’s okay. You’re fine, don’t worry,” Helmut reassures. You nod your head and let out a pained cry as he pushes into you slowly. You feel as though you’re being torn apart, split into two. He grips your throat even tighter, and you wrap your hand around his wrist in a panicked, fleeting moment.
Helmut sheathes himself inside you, with your mouth parted open in a silent scream and his eyebrows knitted together. He eventually bottoms out, and the stretch of his cock goes from a harsh burn to a pleasurable feeling. His swollen balls touch your aching ass, and he bends down to kiss your forehead lightly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he questions. “Y- Yes, it feels really good, Daddy. Just a li’l uncomfortable, but it feels really good,” you tell him.
Your cunt squeezes him in a tight hug, your silky wet walls welcoming him in hesitantly. He wishes to stay inside you his whole life, and he would if he could convince you. Helmut pulls out until his head is the only thing inside you before roughly thrusting back inside. You cry out, and his hand loosens around your throat. “Such a good girl, letting me use your pussy for my pleasure. You like being recorded while I fuck you, right? Say it,” he demands, fucking into you roughly.
Your tits bounce with each and every movement. Helmut’s cock gets closer and closer to your sweet spot, and you moan loudly. “I- I like being recorded while you fuck me, Daddy,” you repeat to him. Helmut groans loudly, and you clench down on his cock tightly. “You feel so good, bunny, better than anyone else,” he compliments, feeling slick sweat beginning to build upon his back. “Uhm, Daddy? S- Something’s happening,” you whisper to him through your desperate cries of pleasure.
Searing heat grows hotter and hotter in your stomach, right above your pussy. You’ve never felt like this before, other than when Helmut was touching your pussy a few moments ago. “Let it happen, bunny, it’s okay, come all over Daddy’s big cock. I know you can do it, squeeze me, bunny,” Helmut urges, and you listen to him. The powerful feeling grows and grows, and so do your moans. And the elastic cord breaks eventually. It always does.
You cry out ‘Daddy’ as you come undone around his cock for the very first time. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, even though you’re gripping him so tightly. You gush all over him, wetness coating his cock, and it makes him fuck you even quicker. The sound of skin on skin and loud moans fill the room, and Helmut hopes to God that the microphone is picking up on it all. The feeling in your body makes you lose all sense of reality, and you’re babbling like a little baby.
“Daddy- It’s too much,” you sob to him, digging your nails into your palms. “Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” he shushes gently, keeping his hand wrapped lazily around your neck. Helmut’s cock slams into your cunt, pounding into you ruthlessly, yet he’s somehow oh so gentle. Your eyes roll into the back of your head again, and you moan gently as you feel another climax being built up. Back to back, and you’re not sure how your body is going to handle it.
He’s close, too. He’s never had this happen before, and he’s not sure what to think of it.
“Awe, you’re going to come again, bunny? That’s okay, shh, Daddy’s here, bunny. We’ll do it together, and it’ll b- be good,” he tells you, and you nod. Helmut bends down and places his shiny forehead against yours. He stares you into your glassy eyes––they’re hazy––and he can tell you’re gone. You’ve gotten all stupid and dumb for his cock, and he loves the idea so much.
You both pant as he sloppily fucks into your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill up your tight little pussy with my cum. Gonna watch it leak out, and I’m just gonna fill you up over and over again. Make you all mine because you belong to me. Right? Say it,” he growls, fucking you even faster. “I’m all yours, Daddy, I’m all yours,” you say to him, and you’re both pushed off the edge after one specific thrust.
“O- Oh my…” you choke out, squeezing your eyes shut. Helmut curses loudly, saying all kinds of sinful things that a nun would faint if she hears him. His cock twitches as he comes inside you, and your pussy squeezes him as you let go. Streaks of cum shoot out his tip and paint your inner walls, and it all begins to leak out already. Your cum mixes with his, and he can’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight of it.
He presses a kiss on your nose before slowly pulling out. Helmut’s cock is still hard, and he just knows the afternoon won’t end until he says so. You wince loudly at the feeling of emptiness and overwhelming sensitivity. “Sorry, bunny,” he frowns, reaching over for the camera. You watch him through droopy eyelids as he focuses it on your cunt, then to your body, and then to your face.
“Did I do good, Daddy?” you ask him excitedly.
“So good, bunny. You’re going to be sweeping up at the awards next year.”
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Helmut Zemo x F!Reader
Summary: you’re cold and Zemo offers you his coat
Word Count: 1k~
Warnings: minor tfatws spoilers ep3 (edit: now this is a series, I will add a warning for eventual smut)
A/N: look I’m confused too 😂 but I’ve found myself a tad obsessed with Zemo the last couple of weeks, and this just kinda happened. I don’t know if there’ll be a big audience for this, but if anyone has any Zemo requests, send them on in and I’d be excited to give them a go! Also, since Sokovian isn’t a real language, I went with a tiny bit of google translated Latvian as a substitute!
Edit: the response to this was pretty big (THANK YOU!), so I’ve turned this into a series! You can find the next part here!
Sam and Bucky had asked you to keep an eye on Zemo while they went back inside to grab some weapons before you guys left for the docks. You were missing the warmth of the party now you were outside. The night air was biting at your skin as you stood outside Sharon’s place. The skimpy dress she’d told you to wear to fit in with the crowd was fine while you were inside, but now you were out in the night, it wasn’t so great.
You tried to muscle through it, but the occasional shiver wracked through your body, prompting you to quietly hiss at the cold.
Evidently, Zemo noticed.
“Would you like my coat?” He offered, starting to shrug the coat off his shoulders
“No, thank you, Zemo.” You shook your head and held a hand up before crossing it over your chest in an attempt to conserve some warmth.
“Please, call me Helmut.” He drawled, and you looked at him in disbelief for a split second before composing yourself.
“I think I’ll stick with Zemo.” You pursed your lips and looked away.
You were having some conflicted feelings about Zemo recently. As far as you were concerned, he was a bit of an asshole. After all, this was the same man who tore your friends apart only a few years back.
But here he was, flying you guys around in a private jet, acting like you’re all best friends. He’d taken a particular liking to you, which concerned but intrigued you at the same time.
You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you were falling for him. Jesus, the awful things he put your friends through should be enough to turn you off him completely. And yet...
For starters, he was an attractive guy. You couldn’t deny that. You’d caught yourself staring at his hair several times. You wanted to run your fingers through it, tug on it... something. And the little bit of scruff he had been sporting too? You’d thought about that a bit too much.
And his accent... it had an effect on you, for sure. He could read a phone directory to you and you’d probably hang onto every number. You especially liked when he spoke Sokovian. You had no idea what he ever said, but you had noticed he’d use the occasional word when talking to you, or referring to you to someone else. You’d have to ask him about those at some point.
And for a dangerous criminal, he sure danced like a dork at Sharon’s place. You watched him from the bar as he was seemingly in a world of his own on the dance floor. At one point he caught your attention and beckoned you to join him, but you simply raised your glass at him and stayed put, smirking as he carried on.
While you were lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice Zemo shuck off his coat, and the next thing you knew, you felt the soft fur of the collar around your neck. You desperately wanted to protest but the coat was so warm, both in itself and because Zemo had been wearing it just moments before. The smell of his cologne lingered in it too, and you tried your best to ignore it.
“...thank you.” You murmur as you slip your arms into the sleeves and wrap the coat around you properly.
“It is my pleasure, mīļā.” He flashes a smile at you and you turn away, hoping he doesn’t catch your shy smile and the blush creeping up your face.
When Sam and Bucky finally return, they both narrow their eyes at Zemo when they see you’re wearing his coat.
“The lady was cold, I did what any gentleman would do.” He smirked as you all started walking down the street.
“Gentleman... sure.” Sam didn’t look convinced, and you chuckled at the look he gave Zemo.
You walked down the street and Sharon pulled up in a car, gesturing for you all to get in. Sam was closest to the passenger door so he just got in the front of the car, leaving you to squeeze in the back with Bucky and Zemo.
You rolled your eyes at the way Zemo’s face brightened up at the prospect of being so close to you in the car, but you found yourself hiding a small smile too. You edged yourself a little closer to Bucky though, and once he realised how close you and Zemo were, he shuffled himself as close to his door as he could, giving you some room to move.
The journey to the docks took a fair while, but it dragged on tortuously with Zemo sat so close to you. You started to get hot in his coat quite quickly, but there was no room to move in the car for you to take it off, so you just had to stay in it. You weren’t complaining too much though, because you were still quite enjoying the comfort of the coat.
When you arrived at the docks, Zemo hopped out of the car quickly, turning around to offer you his hand, and as much as you didn’t want to accept it, you didn’t want to trip over in your heels so you took his hand and let him help you out of the car.
“Thank you, Helmut.” Your eyes widened as his first name escaped your mouth, and he smirked in response. You felt your cheeks heat up, and you were just glad the others seemingly didn’t notice your slip up.
“You’re more than welcome, mana mīlestība.” He shut the car door with one hand, but kept a hold of you with his other hand, and it took you a second to realise and let go.
A deep chuckle rose from his throat and he winked before walking to catch up with the others. You took a deep breath and followed everyone, cursing yourself for letting Hel- Zemo get under your skin.
What was wrong with you? Where did these feelings come from? What were you going to do about them?
You’d have to worry about that later though, because shit hit the fan at the docks very quickly...
mīļā - sweetheart
mana mīlestība - my love
If anybody has any Zemo fic ideas, I’m all ears!
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Kiss Me More - Zemo/Reader
Masterlist | Part Two
Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song.
Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.
A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!
“I’m going for a walk.”
Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him.
Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.
“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up.
Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite.
“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.
“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.
Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch.
Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.
Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.
“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command.
“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly.
“I have to celebrate.”
Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.
“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.
Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.
He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”
They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good.
“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.
“What?” he asked, turning to face her.
“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said.
“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin.
A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years.
They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long.
“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”
She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”
“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest.
“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”
His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”
“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”
Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”
Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them.
“Would it be so bad if I was?”
Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted.
“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway.
“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.
Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.
The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.
“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”
Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.
Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control.
Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest.
Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far.
As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt.
Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away.
Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.
He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.
Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.
He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion.
She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”
As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always.
“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch.
Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?”
“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
“You just seem a little jumpy.”
“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”
Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked.
“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”
She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes.
“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.
The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks.
“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her.
“We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.
PART II out now!
If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!
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Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving
AN: Okay I’ve given in and become a Zemo simp but Bucky is still my number one don't worry.
Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...
Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, very slight Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2,326
Warnings: Some small spoilers for Ep3, lots of sexual tension
“I still can’t believe I agreed to do this.” You grumbled as you climbed the stairs, falling behind at the fear the men could see straight up the skirt of the dress Zemo had chosen for you.
“I, for one, think you have the easiest job of us all. James must be someone he detests, Sam must be a notorious criminal he doesn’t know and you must sit and look pretty.” Zemo spoke under his breath as you came to the entrance of Selby’s HQ.
You glared at the man but he didn’t care. He was too busy worrying about Selby.
The door was opened for you by one of Selby’s men. Zemo nodded curtly at the guard before entering.
You went ahead of Bucky and Sam to stay close to Zemo, following your role as his current inamorata.
It was a short walk into Selby’s office but with every step you could feel the fear rising in your chest. You weren’t convinced that you’d get away with this; Sam wasn't exactly the most kosher criminal and Zemo’s story didn’t quite add up on just how he managed to have the Winter Soldier in his mitts again.
“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby spoke as she came into view. She was an expensively dressed woman with a short white pixie cut.
Zemo sat down opposite her but you remained next to Sam.
“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo waved his finger as he spoke. It was a small yet dominant motion directed towards you. You tried not to clench your jaw as you walked towards him.
“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby’s eyes followed your every move as you made your way over to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”
“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo held out his hand to you, guiding you to stand behind him. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”
“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby cocked her head towards Sam.
Sam’s only response was a quick nod of his head. Selby purred at Sam, a wolfish smile on her face.
“What’s the offer?” Selby turned back to Zemo. Her eyes flickered up to you before landing back on Zemo’s face. You weren’t stupid you knew what her gaze meant.
“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo pushed himself out of his chair. You watched him cross behind Bucky, placing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”
Selby grinned widely as Zemo wobbled Bucky’s chin with his forefinger and thumb, showing just how under control the ‘Winter Soldier’ was.
“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” Selby seemed to be convinced. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right.”
Zemo returned to his seat before Selby continued.
“The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but... things didn’t go as planned.”
“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asked.
“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her chair, finding a place beside Sam as she very openly let her eyes roll down your body now that you were in her full view.
“What else do you desire?” Zemo questioned. He had clocked onto Selby’s behaviour and didn’t really need to ask to know what the answer was going to be.
“Her.” Selby pointed you out. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she awaited Zemo’s response.
“No, no, no.” Zemo tutted, holding out his hand for you to take. “This little bird only sings for me.” Zemo guided you round the side of his chair and pulled you gently onto his lap. You crossed your legs as you tried not to seem uncomfortable. The scent of the Baron’s cologne, mixed with his strong grip on your waist was making your heart race. You had never been this close to Zemo before and now you were sat on his knee with his arm around you.
“Well, you’ll make her sing for me or you won’t be getting what you want now, Baron, will ya?” Selby wasn’t playing games. She folded her arms across her chest, cocking her eyebrows at Zemo.
Zemo titled his head as he thought.
You felt yourself tense up when he placed a cool leather clad hand on your thigh. His fingers started to draw circles on your skin, edging your skirt higher, drawing Selby’s eyes down to your legs.
“She is very dear to me.” Zemo stated. He retracted his hand from your thigh to brush your hair from your shoulder, his finger traced a line from your jaw down your neck to your collarbone. Zemo, being so close, could see the goosebumps that covered your skin at his touch.
“Unless you have something better to offer other than your two play things, Baron, I suggest you hand them over to me... unless you don’t want the whereabouts of Dr Nagel.” Selby let her smile drop.
“I will––” Zemo was cut short by Sam’s phone going off.
“Answer it.” Selby suddenly lost all interest in the deal and only desired to prove the authenticity of the Smiling Tiger. “On speaker.”
That’s where things went wrong.
For the rest of the trip in Madripoor, you didn’t get the time to confront yourself and Zemo on what happened back there.
You were so confused to why you reacted the way you did. You had never been attracted to Zemo before but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smelt, the way his breath tickled against your arm, the way the heat radiated out from under his thick coat.
You knew he was thinking about it too.
Every time you let yourself glance over at him, he was watching you and not in the same way as he usually would. You knew too well that Zemo often studied his surroundings like a hawk. He was silent and observant; he always knew where he would go next and he often watched you, Sam and Bucky as if he were calculating your next moves.
It wasn’t until you arrived in Latvia that you were confronted by your feelings again.
You were sat at the island in the kitchen as you ran your hands over your face and hair. You were tired.
“You should rest.” Zemo’s voice suddenly snuck up on you.
He had been so quiet walking into the kitchen that you hadn't even noticed he was there.
“I should but insomnia kinda comes with the job.” You sat up, trying not to act any different from how you usually would.
“Ah. My time in a cell has acquainted me with such the dilemma.” Zemo confessed as he moved towards the cupboards on the back wall.
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t help but watch his hands as they reached for the coffee pot, his fingers gripping it lightly. You could still recall the feeling of the cool leather on your thigh, his touch climbing higher as he pushed your skirt up...
“Coffee?” Zemo offered, interrupting your thoughts as he raised a mug and an eyebrow at you.
“Please.” You folded your hands together as you leant on the island.
There was a brief comfortable silence as Zemo fixed up some coffee for you both. He could feel your eyes on him but he didn’t say anything. He just let the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk as he poured you a cup. He let the smirk drop when he turned to face you.
He slid the cup along the countertop and you thanked him quietly. He pushed a thin smile onto his face for a second before returning to his usual stoic expression.
“There was something I wished to discuss with you actually.” Zemo announced as he picked up his own cup.
You almost choked on your drink at the words but you hid behind your mug, hoping he didn’t notice. He did.
“About what?” You asked.
“I wanted to apologise for Madripoor.” Zemo surprised you with that.
“Apologise?” You were confused to what he was talking about.
“I am aware that it was merely a role, that we were undercover, but I touched you without your consent. I wanted to apologise for when we were with Selby.”
You were completely shocked. You didn’t not expect this from Zemo at all.
“It’s okay. We all have to do stuff we don't want to do on missions like these.” You tried to brush it off. After all, Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier and Sam had to drink a cobra’s heart back in Madripoor. There was definitely worse things that could’ve happened.
“I never said I didn’t want to do it. I am simply apologising for not asking for permission first.” Zemo’s eyes were glued to your face as he sipped his coffee. He was watching for a reaction.
You felt your mouth go dry, you tried to swallow as you began to rise from your seat.
“Uh, t-thanks for the coffee, Zemo but...” You tried grabbing your mug but you only knocked it to the floor by accident.
“Shit!” You hissed as you bent down, picking up the broken bits. You felt your heart racing from the look Zemo had just given you.
Zemo rushed around the island with a rag, he placed it over the split coffee before taking hold of your wrist to stop you from picking up the pieces.
Electricity shot up your arm and your head snapped up to meet his eyes.
“No use crying over spilt coffee.” Zemo muttered, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth.
“––Is there a particular reason you are so jumpy tonight?” Zemo inquired.
You rose back to standing; Zemo let your wrist go as you did but followed your action.
The air was thick between you as you withheld your answer.
There was no way you could admit you were worried of being close to him because of the undeniable pull he had on you since that night.
“I think...” Zemo stepped over the soaked rag which only made you take a step back. “...You enjoyed being touched and now you are confused to why.”
Your chest began to rise and fall heavily as Zemo continued to walk towards you until your back hit the wall behind you.
“But forgive me if I am wrong.” Zemo held his hands up with a smile, taking his final few steps until he was close enough for his cologne to engulf the air around you.
“You are.” You whispered but your voice had failed you in sounding convincing.
“Is that right, little bird?” Zemo used the pet name he had given you in Selby's office. He lifted his hand to brush your hair from your cheek behind your ear. “Because I believe you haven’t stop thinking about it. Just as I haven't.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You only just breathed out your words. If Zemo hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard them.
“Don’t you?” Zemo titled his head at you. “Because I am at liberty to remind you that I once worked for Sokivian intelligence. It was my job for a long time to study people, learn them, read them.” Zemo let his eyes drop down to your body before coming back to meet your eyes. “I can tell how a person is feeling just from observing their body. The way they move. The way they are breathing.” Zemo placed his hand in the centre of your chest where your silver necklace sat. The metal burned against your skin underneath Zemo’s warm flesh.
Your slow deep breaths lifted Zemo’s hand up and down as you stared back at him.
“I can feel your heart racing.” Zemo uttered. “Are you afraid?”
“No.” You shook your head as your eyes flickered to the man’s lip for just a second.
“Good.” Zemo smirked.
Suddenly Zemo was ripped away from you.
Bucky had teared Zemo back and pushed him across the room. Zemo staggered backwards before standing and adjusting his sweater from how Bucky had grabbed him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bucky growled at Zemo with a look in his eye that could kill.
“I was merely having a conversation with (Y/n).” Zemo shrugged, acting as if everything was perfectly innocent.
“Oh yeah it looked like a real polite conversation with (Y/n) backed up in a corner and your hands on her!” Sam was stood behind Bucky. The both of them were squaring up in front of Zemo to protect you.
“I didn’t need your help.” You stepped forward, trying to intervene.
“You put your hands on her again; I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll turn you into a new coat.” Bucky warned Zemo as he ignored you.
“I apologise.” Zemo lifted his hands up in defence.
“No.” Sam pointed back to you. “Apologise to her.”
Zemo turned his head to you. When your eyes met, he smirked just ever so slightly, you knew the boys didn’t notice at least.
“I apologise, (Y/n).” The way your name sounded in Zemo’s mouth made your stomach flip.
“It’s fine.” You said before pushing past Bucky and Sam. You hated it when they played protective big brothers and you didn’t even need saving... You think...
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Your entire being aches for Zemo, your only moment of reprieve is his elegant coat..
You close your eyes and slide into it once more.. The smooth satin interior of the coat is like a familiar warm embrace.. The soft fur collar brushing your cheek bones as you nuzzle up against it .. soaking into it.. as if it was the Baron himself..
Deeply breathing in the fading scent of Zemo's cologne mixed with hints of smoke & leather. Your desire for him is unmatched..
As you wrap the coat around you firmly the memories of him invade your every thought. His searing touch, the sadness in his eyes.. his intense longing for you.. .sudden flashes of bare skin, gentle caresses and dirty deeds..
Your senses are torturing you.. You would 'give' anything.. you would 'do' anything to feel.. to feel, just one more touch...just one more breath from his lips upon yours..
As you lay engulfed in the broken pieces of your soul.. you wrap your lovers coat tighter.. closer.. You swear you won't rest till he is in your arms once again..
For now, you must survive within a memory .. you must live wrapped in a yearning dream..
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Zemo: I actually have a black belt
Sam: In what? Karate?
Zemo: No, from Gucci
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Good for a Weekend (Helmut Zemo)
Summary: You were retired, a disgraced Avenger content living the rest of their life out in solitude. But Sam and Bucky's shenanigans dragged you back into the hero life and you found yourself face to face with the man who'd got you into this mess in the first place. The question is, however, is he really who you thought he was? Or are you just as crazy as him?
Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader
Warnings: TFAWS Episode 3 Spoilers, Zemo (he's a warning), swearing, mentions of torture and experimenting (past), drinking, Zemo being semi-protective, I think that's it??
Word Count: 3.41k
Author's Note: Biting the bullet and writing this BEFORE Marvel does something to get us to hate him again. Also, ZEMO AND BLANK SPACE WORK SO WELL TOGETHER OMG.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” You murmured, looking at the message from Sam flashing across your phone. Although you had stopped dead in your tracks, the chaos of the bustling streets of London continued around you. You pushed your sunglasses further up your nose, them having fallen down as you were peering at the screen of your burner cell.
‘Need your help in Madripoor ASAP,’ the text read. You weren’t daft, you knew exactly what kind of lawless entropy happened on that Indonesian island and if Sam was asking for your help, that meant he was in some deep shit.
‘I’m retired,’ you replied, glancing over your shoulder out of habit. Although you’d been pardoned after the Berlin incident by the government, you were still a disgraced Avenger in the eyes of the world. All you wanted was to live the rest of your life out in peace, a future without the world-saving you began when you left HYDRA with the Maximoff twins.
You hadn’t chosen to become a human lab rat, tortured and exposed to the mind stone until you could suddenly hear the thoughts of others in your head. Telepathy and telekinesis were not necessarily the kind of special skills that employers wanted to see on a resume, but alas, here you were. Thankfully, however, you'd learned to block them out until necessary to violate people's privacy. Fighting aliens and other superpowered entities, including the people you’d once considered to be your family, were in the past.
‘Please. It’s Bucky,’ Sam messaged again. Those three words were enough to make your blood run cold and your heart stop. Bucky was the reason you were in this mess in the first place, and you would be damned if the ex-assassin was going to fall back into the clutches of evil.
With a sigh, you typed back ‘fine’ and began the trek towards your apartment. Your phone was vibrating again immediately, Sam explaining that they would be picking you up at a small airstrip on the edge of the city.
Three hours later, you were walking along a long, concrete runway, the harsh England wind attacking your body as you pulled your leather jacket tighter around you. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of a civilian jet rather than the military-esque vessels you’d become accustomed to. The steps were awaiting your ascent with an older man stood adjacent to the entrance.
“Ms.(Y/L/N),” he greeted. A thick accent laced his tone, one you couldn’t quite determine from the crackling of age in his voice. German or Russian, most likely, you deduced. Attempting to be polite despite your skepticism, you gave him a tight-lipped smile and handshake before the elder man gestured towards the stairs for you. Entering the jet, you turned right to be met with the familiar faces of Sam and Bucky.
“(Y/N)!” Bucky exclaimed, rising from his seat and embracing you in a hug. He held you tightly against his body, almost as if he wasn’t sure you were really there. The super soldier had taken a liking to you when the two of you stayed in Wakanda during your exile, both of you having a certain understanding of the other due to your shared experiences with HYDRA. The sergeant had become somewhat of a brother to you in your time away together. “What are you doing here?”
“Sam messaged me.” You replied, Barnes’ arms immediately releasing you as he whipped around to face Sam.
“You tattled on me to (Y/N)?” He scoffed. If looks could kill, Sam would have dropped dead from the darkness in Bucky’s orbs.
“Wait, if he’s okay then what am I here for?” You said, shifting your gaze to Sam as you raised a brow.
“You’re here to make sure that he stays in line.” Sam snapped, crossing his arms over his chest as Bucky let out an exasperated ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath.
“Bucky’s fine, Sam.” You replied, rubbing your face with your hand in annoyance as you glanced at the super-soldier.
“He’s not talking about James.” A new voice sounded from behind you, one both vaguely familiar but also strange. Whipping around, you were met with a face you’d only ever seen through a screen. Zemo.
“What the fuck is he doing out of prison?!” You exclaimed, looking between Sam and Bucky in utter disbelief.
“Bucky broke him out of jail!” Sam exclaimed, pointing a finger towards the super-soldier.
“Sam’s the one who pulled me into this mess!” Bucky pointed back.
“You two morons have reached a whole new level of dumbassery!” You exclaimed, keeping a cautious gaze on Zemo in the corner of your eye. “You broke out the man who ripped apart the Avengers out of jail and you let him do it?! The same man who killed King T’Chaka! Do neither of you remember what T’Challa and the people of Wakanda just did for us after we became enemies of the state?! I cannot believe that you would betray their trust and help this monster to escape!”
You paused for a moment, breathing heavily as you looked at the ashamed faces of Bucky and Sam in front of you.
“I’m sorry to-” You heard Zemo begin, you turned to face him with utter rage shining in your eyes.
“No! The grown-ups are talking, you can wait your turn.” You scolded him, almost as you would a child but just a tad harsher. Grown-ups may have also not have been the best choice of words to describe Wilson and Barnes.
“I don’t want any part of this suicide mission!” You snapped at the duo, moving to leave.
Thirty minutes later, however, you were still on the jet, glaring into a pair of brown eyes as the four of you flew through the air. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you were still there, but Sam and Bucky knew you too well and pushed just the right buttons to convince you to stay. Sam needed you to tap into Zemo’s mind if need be to figure out if he was planning on betraying them, and you didn’t want two of the last people you trust getting themselves killed if you could prevent it.
Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum were sitting across from each other, meaning that you got stuck sitting across from the Baron in silence. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, the darkness in your (Y/E/C) orbs not sitting well with the man.
“So, you read minds.” He began, rubbing his hands together anxiously. You noted the nervous tick and couldn’t help but feel amused at his discomfort, but your expression never faltered.
“You don’t need to make small talk.” You bit, your icy tone growing colder in every syllable.
“I’m genuinely curious, is all.” He began, pausing his fiddling to brush his hair back only to resume it once more. “It just seems like for someone with your abilities, you’re often an overlooked member of the team. You’re the most powerful, even more so than Maximoff or Banner, perhaps, yet you were never truly an Avenger, were you?”
“It doesn’t matter, I’m retired.” You muttered, ending your glaring to gaze out the window. The way Zemo spoke about you was unsettling, especially considering how he felt about the Avengers. He seemed not to think that you were part of the team, similarly to Bucky, and that brought you a feeling of unease.
“And why is that?” Zemo pushed, your avoidance evidence that he’d struck a chord.
“Why do you care?” You scoffed, looking back at the Sokovian man, both annoyance and exhaustion present in your tone.
“Because I think you’re like me.” He answered, his tone becoming quieter. Zemo didn’t look at you with the same rage you’d seen in footage from 2016, nor with the amusement that he gazed at Bucky and Sam with. No, it was something different, softer and analytical, perhaps. You wanted to peer into his mind for something, anything to figure out what he was thinking, but he would likely feel your prodding into his consciousness. As of now, he didn’t seem to have any plans to betray you guys, and you wouldn’t be the one to give him a reason.
“That’s enough from you.” Bucky interrupted, rising from his seat to switch places with you, his brotherly possessiveness clear as day.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, and Zemo provided the three of you with costumes for the roles you were to play in Madripoor. Yours seemed to have been designed specifically to be horribly uncomfortable, both in feel and the amount of skin that was exposed in the cool evening air. The three of you were making your way towards the glowing city shining in the distance, the nerves in your stomach rising with each step.
“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp.” Zemo explained in response to Sam’s protests over his own outfit. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”
“He even has a bad nickname.” Sam said, looking at the picture of Conrad on the phone Zemo had just handed him. “Hell, he does look like me though.”
“And who am I supposed to be playing, exactly?” You questioned, still unsure as to what role you would be playing in this scheme.
“My partner,” Zemo said simply, an amused smile working his way onto his lips.
“What?! No! Nu-uh, I’m not doing that!” You protested, Sam chuckling at your denial of what was probably inevitable.
“Would you rather the alternative of all of us getting slaughtered the second we step foot into the city?” Zemo retorted, still humored by your resistance.
“Fine, but if you try anything I’m going to break your nose.” You gave in.
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
Soon, the four of you were making your way into a bar, Helmut’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist since the second you exited the car in a mock possessiveness. It was all part of the charade, you had to remind yourself, as the Baron kept your side pressed against his snugly.
Making your way up to the counter, the bartender didn’t look impressed to see the group of you there as he made his way over to you.
“Hello,” He began. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”
“His plans changed. We have a business to do, with Selby.” Zemo interjected before Sam could respond.
“The usual?” The bartender ignored Zemo and turned his attention back to Sam, who simply gave a curt nod in response. The bartender turned, grabbing a snake from a jar and slicing it down the underside with a blade. A part of you wanted to cackle, especially seeing Sam stiffen beside you, and you didn’t doubt that Bucky was having to restrain himself as well. Zemo didn’t seem surprised as the bartender pulled who knows what out from the snake and placed it into a glass.
“Smiling Tiger, your favorite.” The Baron commented, the bartender sliding Sam his beverage only to pour two glasses of a different liquor for Zemo and yourself.
“I love these,” Sam said, raising to clink glasses with yourself and the Sokovian man whose arm was still draped around you.
“Cheers, Conrad,” Zemo replied, smiling back at poor Sam. The three of you downed your burning liquor, Sam struggling the most out of the three of you, clearly appalled by the organ at the bottom of his shot. You could see Bucky give a little nod in the corner of your eye, knowing he must be finding this as amusing as you were.
A man soon approached Helmut from behind, tapping him on the shoulder before he turned to face the stranger, shifting you with him. When Zemo felt the little nudge, he immediately pulled you closer to him. You were even tighter against him now, so much so that you had to wrap an arm around him as well to stabilize yourself. It was almost as if he was trying to shield you from the man despite him knowing full well that you can hold your own.
“I got word from on high; you ain’t welcome here.” He spat, getting too close to the two of you for either of your likings. But Zemo kept his air of indifference while you instinctually moved closer into his side. It’s all an act, remember? You have to play the part of the clingy partner who would get frightened at such a rough man threatening you two. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.
“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo began, trailing off as he gestured to Bucky.
“New haircut?” The strange man asked Bucky, who merely glowered in response.
“Or bring Selby for a chat.” Zemo finished, this time him being the one to get into the man’s face. Thankfully that was enough to send him away, most likely to Selby or this Power Broker who seems to be Madripoor’s own version of Big Brother.
You could feel Zemo let out a breath that you don’t think he even knew he was holding, giving a quick glance down at you before placing a peck on your temple. For the facade, of course. But what wasn’t fake were the butterflies rise in your stomach, something that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Were you… Flustered?
No, you reminded yourself internally. This was a very bad man holding you close, the same one who killed the former King of Wakanda and ripped your team to shreds. Not only that, but he hated all the Avengers, so why did he seem to like you? It doesn’t matter whether or not he likes you, he’s Zemo. But the more time you spent with him, the more intoxicated you became. He was starting to look more and more like your next mistake, and love is certainly not a game you wanted to be playing with him. Right?
The next thirty or so minutes were a blur. Bucky having to fake being the Winter Soldier to kick a bunch of men’s asses to finally meeting up with Selby, only for Sam to break your cover through a phone call and Selby quickly being shot. The four of you promptly exited the bar, attempting to remain inconspicuous until bounty hunters from all around started shooting at you. Bucky and Sam jumped forward, meanwhile, Zemo darted to the right, dragging you with him as he moved his hand from your waist to interlock your fingers.
You cut through alleyway after alleyway, hiding in the shadows as gunfire echoed around you. Eventually, you managed to catch up with Bucky and Sam, approaching the pair with your hand still in his.
“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice interrupted your mini-reunion, Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows as she ripped down her hood, gun fixated on Zemo.
“Drop it Zemo,” She started, Zemo raising his gun-holding hand before lowering the weapon to the ground. “You cost me everything.”
“Sharon, wait.” You reasoned, raising your hand as you slowly backed up.
“What, are you his lover now? His sugar baby or some shit?” She badgered you, causing your eyes to widen as you only just remembered that you were still holding his hand. You quickly dropped it, raising it to match your other arm as Zemo sent you a look that you couldn’t decipher. Oh, how desperately you wanted to look into his mind, but the little bit of sanity left in you told you to leave it be.
“Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead,” Sam explained.
“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.” Sharon replied, gun still pointed at your group.
“So what are you doing here?” Bucky questioned the blonde.
“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass so that you could save his ass from his ass and became a criminal with their ass.” She explained, pointing the gun at each mention of whoever's ass it was that turn. “Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up, so, I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”
“Hey, don’t blow that smoke. I was on the run, too.” Sam rebutted Sharon’s complaints.
“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore - I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.”
“Listen…” You began. “Sharon, we need your help, the former agent only laughing in response. “Please.”
“This isn’t over.” She conceded, shaking her head at you. “I have a place in High Town, you should be safe there for a while.”
Sharon’s place was definitely nicer than yours is now, and you’re not even on the run anymore. She, thankfully, had a change of clothes for you to slip into, the soft material much a welcome relief from the tortuous item Zemo had you wearing.
While you were waiting for Sharon’s guests to begin arriving for whatever event would soon be taking place downstairs, everybody slowly filtered out of the room until it was only Zemo and yourself remaining.
“Can I ask you a question?” You spoke up, breaking the silence from your spot on the sofa as you glanced towards the Baron seated across the room.
“Ask away.” He smiled, taking a sip from the amber liquid in his glass.
“What did you mean earlier, when you said we were the same.” Your voice was quiet now, so much so that you weren’t sure if he’d even heard you. That is until he got up from his seat and slowly walked towards you.
“I never wanted to tear the Avengers apart, not until they killed my family. Destroyed my city… Sure, I didn’t like them, but I didn’t want to destroy them. It was all about vengeance.” He began, sitting beside you on the yellow fabric. “For you, it was HYDRA who ruined your life. You joined the Avengers because it was where the last people you had left were going and it was the easiest way for you to ensure the organization was destroyed. You never wanted the idolization that came with being a hero, and it was clear when your work was done that you had no desire to keep going. Everything that came after the Sokovia Accords was out of survival.”
“I’m not saying you're right,” you began, “but what would that make me, then? Insane? Cause that seems to be the running theory.”
“You’re not crazy, despite how rumors fly. Neither am I, really.” He began, eliciting a small smile from you at the last bit he added. “You’re a fighter, someone doing whatever it takes to get their agenda done. Whether that means breaking the law or joining the Avengers, nothing will stop you once you put your mind to it - it’s one of the things I admire about you.”
You pursed your lips as you focused on the amber fluid floating in its crystalline home, him taking another sip of the burning liquid. Your gaze shifted back to his face, and oh god, look at that face. Maybe it was the liquor in your system already or maybe your last bit of sanity was finally escaping your mind, but suddenly his past didn’t seem to matter anymore. You had plenty of red on your ledger as well, and the more he spoke the more you began to sympathize with him.
“So you admire me?” You smirked, crossing your arms as you tilted your head slightly to the right playfully.
“Why don’t you look into my mind and tell me?” He replied. Reaching out, you gently placed your fingers against his temple as you gazed into his consciousness. Flashes of magic and madness, ideas of a love that could be forever or go down in flames. You didn’t go searching deeper, because your own mind was racing. Would pursuing this be worth all the pain that could very well follow? No, not could, would. You’d be betraying your former teammates, but what did that matter much anymore.
Rather than pulling your hand away, you placed your lips gently on his, tentatively, even. He tasted of expensive liquor and a hint of peppermint, and you found yourself intoxicated. The kiss ended far too soon for your liking, him pulling away so his brown orbs could gaze into your own.
“So… What do you say?” He asked, cupping your cheek in his hand, you place your own over top of his.
“Why not?” You smiled back, reconnecting your lips to his.
“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.”
@fanfictionedagain @lam-ila @b0nnyzz @haydieenzzibug @cyanide-mustard @duchess-of-new-shire @the-chocoholic-writer @milenadixon @real-fbi @golddenlioness
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𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader
(this is a sequel to 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞, I recommend reading that first although it’s not 100% necessary... it would make this make a lot more sense though)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : it was just a matter of time before he upped the ante, all four of you knew that, but taking you all on a vacation specifically for this was a bit over-the-top.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 7.9k (hoo boy)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex + a scene that’s just zemo/reader, cockwarming, d/s dynamics, brief oral f receiving, a touch of dubcon/cnc but it’s very subtle and the reader is 100% consenting), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink (with zemo), ‘daddy’ kink (with sam), orgasm control/denial, overstimulation, creampie, praise with light degradation, possessiveness (but also sharing, lol), exhibitionism/voyeurism, choking, brief anal mention, once again technically cuckolding but not in the typical sense, slight corruption kink?, too many robes, latin sokovian (or as I like to call it, serbukromanian), also assume that whenever the reader and zemo are alone they are speaking sokovian even though I write the convos in english for the sake of simplicity
thank you for being my beta @nsfwsebbie !!
When your Baron told you he wanted to take you on a vacation, you immediately assumed it would be to the mountains or some European city full of history and culture. Instead, you were a bit surprised to hear he was interested in a beach resort, a private villa he had purchased in French Polynesia.
And then you found out he wanted to bring Sam and Bucky along too… and you were simultaneously more and less surprised. More, because who brings tentative coworkers one barely gets along with on a romantic vacation? Less, because of course he would do this. Of course he had plans to dress you up in the tiniest bikinis he could find and show you off to the men who had already become pawns in his perverted game of social chess.
Not that you minded; you were the Queen of the board and it didn’t bother you if it was what the King wanted.
You spent the first night in the villa alone with him, which you appreciated. It had been a while since you two had some real quality time together, and you were craving him more than ever, in every way.
After a beautiful day spent swimming in the crystal blue ocean and enjoying the sights your new temporary home had to offer, you took a shower and tried not to get too excited about how you might be spending the evening with him. But, of course, you were only a few minutes into washing the saltwater off your body when you began to imagine his tongue on you, god that man could use his tongue to destroy you any way he wanted: with his words, with his kisses, or perhaps best of all with it tasting every inch of your cunt. It was amazing how he could get on his knees for you and still have all the power. He liked to make you keep eye contact with him while he did it, make you beg him to let you come, whatever it took to remind you that you were thoroughly and properly owned.
And you loved every second of it, you loved being helpless to him. He made you feel so safe that being vulnerable with him by now felt like no risk at all. You could remember early on when your fears and insecurities made you more hesitant to submit to him, and it was only with gentle patience that he coaxed you into it, never pressure or anger. You weren’t a virgin when you met him but, sometimes it felt like you might as well have been since you were so inexperienced and undersexed then. In fact, he was the first man, the first person other than yourself to make you come… and he made you come more ways than you had known possible.
Okay, so maybe the plan to not get your hopes up wasn’t going so well… you were already struggling to keep your hands from between your legs. Frankly, you would’ve already done it if you didn’t know that touching yourself was against the rules.
You’d gotten so used to taking care of yourself while he was in prison, at which point he obviously suspended that rule, and it was a hard habit to break at times.
You emerged from the bathroom in the fluffy robe you found on the door, smiling when you saw him lounging on the bed in a matching one, reading Анна Каренина (known by the West as Anna Karenina). He looked contemplative, as always, and you always thought he looked especially sexy in his reading glasses. You slipped into the bed beside him, resting your head on his chest as he found a position where he could read comfortably with his arm around your shoulders.
“You must’ve already read that book a thousand times, Helmut,” you sighed.
“And it gets better every time,” he mumbled back, turning the page.
You pouted slightly, nuzzling into his shoulder, and he chuckled. “Is my little lutka in need of some attention?”
You nodded, and he kissed the top of your head softly.
“Why don’t you keep me warm while I finish this chapter, hm?” he offered, and you involuntarily clenched your thighs together at his words. He phrased it like a question, but it felt more like a gentle demand, and you were happy to agree either way.
“Yes, sir,” you hummed as you sat up and straddled his legs, undoing your robe and opening his to wrap your hand around his half-hard cock.
He reached his full potential with only a few slow strokes, and you found yourself absent-mindedly licking your lips as you saw the way your fingers just barely met with your thumb and imagined how your body would be pushed to its limits to take him. Good thing you were already dripping wet even though you’d just been in the shower.
You indulged in rubbing your pussy over his shaft for a moment, enough to coat him in your wetness, before you lined up his tip to your entrance and sunk down onto him with a sigh, feeling like you could never tire of being stretched open by his thick cock.
When your hips met his, and the tip of his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you, you had to bite your lip to suppress a whimper. After so long apart, you were still readjusting to taking him and being on top didn’t make it much easier.
Honestly, you really weren’t trying to move; you just found your hips rocking slightly, seemingly of their own accord. You moaned under your breath as your clit rubbed against his body, but you were pulled from your trance with a whine as he slapped your thigh.
“No moving, draga, I think I made myself clear,” he reminded you sternly.
“Yes, sir,” you breathed.
You were pretty sure that at some point, you were a patient person. But you couldn’t imagine that now, not when all you could think about was how amazing it would be to just ride him right there, memories running through your mind and making your inner walls ripple unintentionally. He either couldn’t feel it or didn’t care, stoically continuing to read even as you were struggling to stay still.
Your plan was to be good for a while and then hope that you could convince him later… but you know what they say about best-laid plans, so you ended up cutting straight to the convincing pretty fast.
“Can I move yet, sir?”
“It’s hardly been a minute,” he frowned.
“Please,” you sighed, just barely moving your hips without even meaning to.
“Not yet,” he asserted, sounding a bit annoyed, but you needed this more than anything.
"Please let me move, please; I just wanna ride you so bad,” you begged.
He sighed, clearly irritated, and just when you thought you’d made a grave error, he finally put his book aside and looked up at you with a grin. "If I had known you would be so whiny, I would have had you keep me warm with your mouth.”
You opened your mouth to respond but let out only whimpery moans when he ran his hands up your body, toying briefly with your nipples before wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you down into a rough kiss. Moaning into it, you couldn’t hold back any longer and started to rock your body atop his, savoring that perfect drag of his length along your walls that you’d missed so much.
Before you got a chance to really set your pace, he grabbed you tight and rolled the both of you over, pinning you under his weight as he fucked you in that way that was somehow rough and slow at the same time, moving his kiss to your neck and holding you down by your wrists.
“Fuck, th-thank you, sir,” you sighed, your cheeks warming when he chuckled against your skin.
“You really are too sweet, draga,” he whispered.
Your arms wrapped around his neck while your legs did the same to his hips, keeping him deep inside you while his lips and tongue teased your collarbones, his fingers interlacing with yours.
He spent the entire night somewhere between making love to you and fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come more times than you could count, only taking breaks from fucking you to eat you out like a starving man (and one time for a quick drink sometime around 3 a.m.). It was no wonder, then, that you passed out just a few moments after he finally came inside you, sleeping soundly in his arms until well into the morning, nearly noon in fact, when the sun was streaming in through the massive window.
After a relaxed breakfast of champagne and fruit (the native pamplemousse was unlike anything you’d ever eaten before), Helmut encouraged you to shower again and meet him at the pool, which was a bit surprising since he normally liked to have you keep his come in you as long as possible. “Our guests should be here this afternoon,” was his only explanation, and you had a few ideas about what that meant, all of which made your gut sink in an oddly pleasurable way as you were filled with anticipation.
“Wear that bathing suit I bought for you, the new one,” he added finally as he stepped out onto the back patio.
It might seem silly to have a pool on a property right by the beach, but on days like today, where the ocean water was just a bit too chilly, you were thankful to have the heated pool to take a dip in. Honestly, you were a little surprised that Helmut didn’t make you swim in the ocean to see your nipples get hard through the tight black bikini, but then again, they were already getting there just from sharing a pool chair with him.
He was lying against the cushioned chair; your body sat between his spread legs as the back of your head rested on his chest. And, this is entirely unrelated, but you really liked how he looked in the round sunglasses he had on.
You hummed contentedly as you reached up behind you to touch him, rubbing his shoulders and pecs. You wiggled a bit, slowly, and imagined how it would feel if he got hard right against the small of your back.
"Mm, what's gotten into you, lutka?" he purred, rubbing your arms.
You rolled your eyes playfully. "You know the effect you have on me, don't act surprised."
Just before anything exciting could happen, Sam and James entered through the fence, apparently already having changed into their swimsuits; you wished you had thought to wear sunglasses so they couldn’t catch you ogling their muscular bodies, but instead, you just tried to keep your cool as you waved hello.
“Welcome!” Helmut called out, both of you getting up to greet them properly. “I hope your flight was alright…?”
“Yeah, it was great,” Sam nodded, “thanks.”
“You really own this whole place?” James added, glancing around.
“Yes, would you like to have a swim? I hear it should be warm enough tomorrow for the ocean, but until then…” Helmut trailed off.
Sam went right ahead, diving in and smiling wide when he popped back up. That man had such an infectious smile, you thought he should charge people to see it or something because you felt spoiled seeing it for free.
James jumped in behind him but seemed a little surprised when he returned to the surface to see you back in your chair with Helmut. “Care to join us?” he asked you.
“Um, no, I already swam a bit this morning,” you remembered, suddenly shy, “I think I’ll stay by the pool a while longer.”
“Aw, I was looking forward to getting to know you better,” he pouted, and everyone else raised an eyebrow at that statement. “Um, verbally, I mean,” he added, cheeks flushing slightly.
“What would you want to know?” you asked, sighing as you relaxed against Helmut’s chest.
“Well, what’s your story?” he shrugged, swimming up the edge of the pool to hang his arms over the edge.
“I… suppose it’s a rather short story,” you realized, “I was born in Sokovia, but my parents were immigrants. I was a bit of an ugly duckling as a child, I think.”
“You look like quite the swan now,” James winked, and you hoped Helmut wouldn’t notice how much that affected you.
“Oh, thank you,” you mumbled.
“Which reminds me, that’s a cute bikini you have on,” he complimented.
“Do you like it?” you hummed coyly. “Helmut picked it out.”
“Why don’t you give them a better look, darling?” Helmut prompted, and Sam swam up to hang over the edge too as you stood up and fought the urge to cover yourself with your arms. The Baron motioned his finger in a circle, silently instructing you to twirl so they could see the back, and you did though you felt a bit self-conscious about it. Finally, once you were sure they’d had an eyeful, he let you sit back down in his lap.
“Cute, isn’t it?” he cooed as his fingers travelled slowly up your sides. “It’s Chanel.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Sam dismissed, unlatching himself from the edge of the pool and falling into a backstroke. “This is weird. I just wanna swim.”
“You didn’t think this was seriously a free vacation, no strings attached, did you?” James shot back, getting up out of the pool and shaking some of the water off of himself before sitting down in the chair beside you two and letting his eyes wander over you. “So, Chanel, huh?” he prompted, and you nodded.
“Helmut says I should only wear the nicest things,” you explained, sitting up slightly.
“Why does it matter? You’d look beautiful in anything,” James cooed, and you felt a little dirty for how much you liked his attention. Good thing you liked feeling dirty.
“And a rare wagyu steak would taste just as good served any way, but you wouldn’t put it on a paper plate, now would you?” Helmut countered. “Well, maybe you would…”
James rolled his eyes but brushed off Helmut’s insult, returning his attention to you. “I guess I’m just… hungry enough that it doesn’t make much of a difference.”
You reached up to trace your fingertip over the silver chain dangling off of his neck, biting your lip as you hooked your finger around it and pulled him closer. “Are you hungry enough that you don’t mind that it’s another man’s meal?”
His blue eyes went wide for a moment before glancing down to your lips and back up to your unwavering gaze, your brow raised as if a challenge while his furrowed as if he were considering accepting it.
“If he’s willing to share…” James whispered back.
“Then kiss me,” you requested softly, pulling him closer by his dog tags one more time until your lips met.
The way James kissed you was… difficult to describe. Gentle, but with this edge of intensity— like he was restraining himself, like there was so much more passion teeming beneath the surface. You wanted to bring that out if you could; you wanted to see how far you could push him until he lost it.
As James carefully ventured his tongue into your mouth, only to pull back and nip your bottom lip with his teeth, Helmut kissed you too— on the back of your neck, that spot that always made you wet and desperate right away. You moaned, and you couldn’t be sure exactly who it was for, but James sure decided to respond to it either way, tilting his head more to let his kiss explore you deeper.
Helmut’s teeth dug into your shoulder right as James nipped at your bottom lip like they had somehow explicitly coordinated to make you desperate; your right hand reached up to weave into James’ hair, your left squeezing Helmut’s wrist at your side.
The kiss ended just a moment too soon, and there was a delay before you blinked your eyes open to look back at James, who seemed quite proud of himself.
“Touch me,” you pleaded in a whimper.
“Where?” he asked, somewhat innocently.
“Y-you know where…” you mumbled.
He grinned wide, all trance of innocence gone. “I know, but I want you to say it.”
“My cunt,” you whispered, and he snarled just a bit at the word. “Please?”
“Of course, which one do you want?” James prompted with a grin, showing you his hands as your eyes instantly gravitated to the metal one.
“I think you know which I’m going to choose,” you mumbled shyly, and he smirked as he reached forward with the vibranium arm to brush his fingertips over your stomach, moving down to the top hemline of your bikini bottom.
You just barely gasped when the metal digits swiped over your clit and began to rub gentle circles, almost too slow as if he wanted to tease you… which, of course, he did.
"Do you like the way he touches you, draga?" Helmut whispered. His voice in your ear was like honey on your tongue, like honey everywhere.
"Yes, sir," you nodded, looking down at James' hand buried into your bikini.
"Hey, tell me you like it, too," James protested, "I'm the one doing it after all."
"I like it, James," you repeated, looking up at him. "I… don't have a title for you. Should I call you something when you touch me like this?"
"You can just call me Bucky from now on, okay? I think we're well past close enough now for that."
"Okay, Bucky," you sighed, watching the way his jaw clenched when you called him by name, "please put your fingers inside me."
"Yes, please," you breathed.
"But my fingers are thick, they're hard metal, and you're so small and delicate…"
"I want them to stretch me out, just please—"
A loud moan of shock jumped out of your mouth when he pushed the fingers in all at once, and though it reawakened some of the soreness from when Helmut had fucked you the night before, it felt wonderful enough to make your back arch up from the strong body behind you, his erection now digging into your hip.
It was certainly loud enough to get Sam's attention, who suddenly appeared beside the chair while he towelled off his chiselled chest.
"Damn, what are y'all doing to her over here?" he wondered aloud as if he were concerned for your health.
"Just playing with Zemo's little doll," Bucky answered. "She's really fucking tight, can barely fit two fingers."
"Wait, move over, let me see," Sam insisted, making Bucky pull his fingers out and Helmut holding you more firmly as Sam slipped his hand into your bikini as well, poking his fingers at your entrance before pushing them in.
His fingers were even thicker and longer than Bucky's, just by a slight margin yet enough to make you mewl and arch your back as your eyes fluttered shut.
"Fuck, yeah, you were right," Sam breathed, and you felt more hands running over your body but you couldn't even tell anymore whose they were; you knew one that reached to pull up your bikini top and expose your breasts was Helmut's, because only he would be so bold, but the fingers teasing your nipples, the rough palm running up your legs… they could've belonged to anyone, and that realization made your clit throb.
"Okay, okay, that's enough. I was here first," Bucky mumbled as you felt Sam's fingers slip out and the metal ones push back in— not to mention the thumb reaching up to circle your clit slowly.
He wasn't just exploring you this time; you could tell he had a mission. The way he instantly curled into your spot, the way he moved quickly yet deliberately, all made your thighs begin to quiver.
Helmut kissed your ear, gently tilting your head to access your neck better where he began to suck hard enough to leave a mark, mumbling something in Sokovian about how good you were being for him and his guests.
You loved being good, and the praise made your hips lift a little so you could rock yourself onto Bucky's fingers; the three men chuckled proudly.
"Feels that good?" Bucky pressed, and you nodded quickly.
He fingered you even faster, harder, and you cried out.
"Ohhh fuck, Bucky!" you gasped. "Bucky, I'm gonna come!"
"Oh no, you're not," Helmut groaned, giving you a quick spank on the inner thigh as you whined and jolted. "James, take your fingers out."
"Do I have to?"
"You do if you want a chance to fill her with more than just your fingers…"
That worked right away, Bucky pulling back as you pouted at being empty again.
“Let’s take her inside, and we can continue this there,” Helmut suggested, and Bucky lifted you up into his arms as the Baron led the group back to the master suite.
The convenient thing about bathing suits is that it takes so little time to get naked, which is why the second the patio door was shut, Bucky and Sam were stripping as their hard cocks bobbed up against their stomachs. As if that weren’t overwhelming enough, Helmut stepped away for a moment (which left you feeling more alone than usual) just as the men began to help you strip; Sam untied the back of your bikini while Bucky knelt and pulled down the bottoms, leaving you feeling exposed as you were totally bare before them. Bucky smiled up at you and kissed along your thighs while Sam grabbed a handful of your ass and growled a bit under his breath.
When you looked over at Helmut, you saw he had actually dressed in his robe rather than stripping, nearly making you whine with disappointment. But you couldn’t focus on that long as hands moved all over your skin, both of them still just slightly wet from the pool, and you shivered for both of those reasons.
You gasped when Bucky suddenly licked a thick stripe right over your folds, and if it weren’t for Sam’s arms holding you up, you might not have been able to stay standing.
Looking down at where Bucky was devouring you, he looked back up at you with a lot less dominating intensity in his eyes than you were used to seeing. Not that you minded; after all, no one could do what Helmut did as well as he could, but maybe Bucky could do something different, and it would be just as enjoyable. His tongue lapping at your clit was certainly wonderful so far.
Sam guided one of your hands back behind you to stroke his cock, your mouth falling slack, which he took advantage of by turning your face and capturing you in an open-mouthed kiss. You heard your moans stifle against his tongue, felt his cock flex a bit as you smeared the precum you found at his tip.
“I think that’s enough for now,” Helmut interrupted, and everyone turned to look at him. “Darling, come here,” he instructed with a curled finger that pointed to the bed, “hands and knees.”
You nodded and pushed the other men away, taking your place on the bed and looking up at him as he held your jaw gently.
"How long has it been since you had another man inside you, lutka?" he asked lowly.
"I can't even remember,” you admitted, “it's been so long…"
“Are you willing to try it?” he asked gently, no hint of domination or pressure in his tone, and you found yourself searching his eyes for the right answer.
“What do you want?” you asked him instead of answering.
“Draga, I’m asking what you want,” he reminded you, but you were afraid he would be hurt if you showed interest in the other men. Sure, previous evidence indicated that wasn’t an issue for him, but your gut instinct was to deny your attraction. So, you compromised.
“All I want is you,” you answered first, “but…”
“But is it awful if… if I want them to fuck me, too?”
He smiled, kissing your forehead. “No, I don’t think so. Only as awful as it is that I want to watch them fuck you.”
You looked up at him and smiled back, brimming with gratitude that he was so gentle with you. It was fascinating how he wielded complete control over you and yet never used it against you.
“I have one rule, draga,” he added firmly, “you cannot come for them. You only come for me. Do you understand?”
“And stay on your hands and knees, so I can always get a good look at you, yes?”
He kissed you one more time before pulling away and sitting back in the chair in the corner with his ankle over his knee, looking at Sam and Bucky expectantly. Every chair he sat in seemed to look like a throne as soon as he was in it.
“Well, get on with it, then,” he instructed, motioning to you. The men looked at you and looked at each other before some kind of silent agreement took place and Bucky stepped up first. Sam sat down to watch you as you felt Bucky stand near the bed behind you, flesh and metal fingers running over your back until you shivered.
Then he pressed his cock against you, coating himself in your wetness, and that made you shiver, too.
You braced yourself as he lined himself up, whimpering slightly as he pushed his cock into you as well as hearing him moan lowly. The hand at your waist tightened as he hissed in a breath through his teeth.
"Fuck," he breathed, holding you still so he could fill you completely. “S’tight…” he slurred.
“How does it feel for you?” Helmut asked you, raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, your mouth fallen slack, yet your brow furrowed.
“It feels… different,” you stammered your answer. You gasped loudly as Bucky started to move, and yes, this was very different. His cock was curved differently and though it didn’t exactly reach any new parts of you (you were sure Helmut had already touched every part of you physically accessible), it did stroke them in new ways.
He gained speed rather quickly, clearly too on edge himself to stay patient, and you didn’t blame him although it sent you moving faster toward the edge than you would’ve liked. At first you wondered if it would even be a challenge to keep from coming like Helmut had demanded… you chided yourself internally for ever being so hubristic.
His legs pushed yours apart, spreading them wider, and he began to really fuck you in earnest, fast and needy and each slam of his hips against your ass harder than ever. “O-oh fuck,” you choked, forcing your eyes shut and scrunching up your nose for a second when he slammed the tip of his cock right into the deepest spots inside you. This position left you with nowhere to go, put your whole body on display for him along with giving you no escape from his onslaught of pleasure. Worst of all was that you were pretty sure he wasn’t even trying that hard to make you feel good, and yet feeling used like that only turned you on more.
"Bucky, please, slow down," you whimpered.
"Absolutely do not do that," Helmut interjected sternly. "Don't let her tell you what to do."
And, possibly just to spite you, he actually fucked you faster. You sobbed and bit down on your lip, fighting everything building up inside you.
“You’d better not come,” Helmut warned through his teeth, “you’d better not fucking come. You know how bad it would be for you if you came for another man.”
“Y-yes, sir,” you nodded.
But Bucky was slamming right into your spot, and he knew it, too. He knew how desperate you were becoming, and apparently, he didn’t mind at all that you’d be punished for it. He leaned down to growl against your ear, “I know how close you are. Don’t you think it’d feel so good to just let go and come on my cock?”
You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as the force it took to hold back your orgasm became painful. “No, it would only feel good to come for Helmut…”
“C’mon baby, just stop fighting it and come for me,” Bucky taunted, “squeeze me tight with that sweet little pussy; I know you need to so bad.”
He wasn’t wrong, but you blinked with teary eyes up at Helmut and wanted nothing more than to please him and make him proud of you. “Please, m-make him stop,” you begged, “I won’t be able to hold back anymore…”
“He’s not going to stop until he comes, lutka, and you need to stay strong,” he explained, his voice soothing you slightly. “You need to be my good girl. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” you whispered.
Bucky held your hips tight as he pulled your body back onto his cock, and you forced your eyes shut to try to focus on not coming. No other man had made you come in your life but Helmut, and you had no intentions of breaking that streak.
“Think you can make me come before I make you come?” Bucky challenged.
“I have to,” you answered breathlessly. “And I want you to come… I wanna make you come so bad, Bucky, please…”
“Mhmm?” he encouraged.
“Please, I want it, please come for me,” you whimpered.
“Fuck, I will,” he promised darkly, fucking you even harder.
Helmut interjected a brief instruction: “Pull out.”
Bucky nodded a little, breathing heavily as you felt his cock throb slightly, especially at the base where each movement stretched you out even more. It was so beautifully erotic and you were tensing every muscle inside you to try not to come, which helped speed him up quite a bit since you were gripping him so tight.
“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, “fuck!”
He pulled out and instantly painted your back with a roar, sliding his cock over your ass as he pumped stream after stream of come onto you. You sighed happily, satisfied that you had managed to stave off orgasm with perhaps only a few seconds to spare— you’d never been so happy to make someone come before because this time it brought relief that you had done well for your Baron.
Then again, you always felt that way when you made the man himself come, but this was different because you had been moments away from failing him.
Speaking of the Baron, he stared down at you proudly the whole time, kneeling down slightly to swipe his finger through the cooling spend on your back and bring it to your open lips. “Mm, you really are my perfect little girl,” he mumbled as you sucked his finger diligently. But he turned his attention away from you to call out across the room, “Sam! It’s your turn.”
Your eyes went wide. “W-wait, Helmut, I’ll come!”
“No, you won’t,” he hissed, eyes darkening again, “because I told you not to.”
And Sam was already behind you, taking Bucky’s place who had already cleaned himself up a bit and returned to his seat, letting the Baron pour him a drink which he gulped down in one go.
When Sam pushed into the end of you, your natural instinct was to arch your back up to try to keep him from going too deep, but he growled and pushed your back down again with a strong hand that made you feel so small for a moment. “No, baby, no running away… you’re gonna take it all.”
“Yes, daddy,” you breathed, yelping a little when he roughly shoved in that last inch.
From then on, he went much harder on you than Bucky had, spanking you and gripping your ass while he fucked you, and the most embarrassing part was how much harder it made it to keep from coming. It was clear that he realized making you come would give him power over everyone else in the room for different reasons, and he was determined to gain that power.
“Does he fuck you this good, huh?” he groaned.
“He fucks me better,” you shot back right away, making Helmut chuckle slightly.
“If your plan is to make her switch allegiances, you’ll have to do better than that,” Helmut taunted, and Sam doubled his efforts as one hand pinched your clit and the other groped your breast. You almost lost it right there but managed to pull yourself together, your whole body shaking with the effort to keep the pleasure at bay.
“Well, if he can fuck you better then why doesn’t he?” Sam continued his leading questions, even though you could barely keep up a conversation at this point. “Why does he keep pimping you out to us if he’s fucking you right all on his own?”
“Don’t you understand?” you breathed, your head falling down onto the bed as you were almost able to look back enough to see his face. “This is my punishment. He knows I don’t want anyone else; that’s why you’re here.”
Sam smiled, perhaps in pity, and yet you honestly had to close your eyes because his smile was so lovely that it could’ve brought an end to your restraint. “Poor thing, he’s really got you whipped. I… still can’t believe I’m doing this, but you feel too good to stop now.”
He yanked your head back by your hair for emphasis, making you yelp as he fucked you brutally. Your toes curled and your fingers dug into the sheets, and you had to close your eyes because the way Helmut was staring at you made this all much too difficult. Maybe it was just that he didn’t seem jealous at all, or angry; but he didn’t seem like he was getting any excess pleasure out of this, either. It was… almost neutral, but something burned behind his eyes brighter than maybe you’d ever seen it, his legs crossed and his fingers interlaced as he waited for you to either hold or break.
With the top half of your body fallen limply onto the bed, you reached out above your head and felt Helmut’s hand grab yours, squeezing slightly, and it helped keep you grounded as you held his fingers.
“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” Sam groaned out his warning, “gonna cover this pretty ass in my come, you want that?”
“Yes, please,” you shuddered.
“Keep begging for it,” he demanded, rushing his words as you felt his cock start to throb against your walls with his impending orgasm.
“Please come, please come, please come on me, Sam, please,” you chanted, over and over, struggling not to come and hoping that if you could speed him up, then you could make it.
He grunted through his teeth as hot ropes of seed covered your ass; though your body was left wanting, dangling on the edge so close to your release, your mind was satisfied that you had managed to follow your Baron’s rules.
Sam stepped back to admire his work, finding another spare robe to cover himself with as he rejoined the other men across the room.
“Would you like a drink as well?” Helmut offered to Sam, unfortunately letting go of your hand in the process. Sam was still catching his breath, running his hands over his short hair as if he was processing everything.
“No, but are those cigars up for grabs?” Sam replied, pointing to the ornate box propped open, and Helmut nodded.
“Of course; what’s mine is yours,” he answered, presenting the box and lighter to him.
“Yeah, you can say that again,” Sam added flatly, the three of them all looking at where you were sitting, covered in come and waiting patiently for your next command.
Just as you feared they’d all have their cigars and whiskey and ignore you completely, your Baron knelt down to look at you face-to-face, smiling proudly.
“You did so good for me, darling,” he cooed, and your insides clenched as if you could come just from hearing that. “You don't think I'm horribly cruel, do you?"
"No, sir," you smiled weakly.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised with a kiss to the tip of your nose as he stepped away to the master bathroom.
You glanced at the other men— Bucky with his crystal glass of whiskey, Sam puffing at the cigar stoically— and wondered what, if anything, you could possibly say.
“So, how’s your weekend been so far?” Sam asked you plainly, breaking the silence.
“It’s only Friday night,” you realized, sighing as you tried not to imagine how much debauchery the Baron had in store for you. Right now you were so exhausted that it sounded like too much work; and you were so desperate only for Helmut that the idea of anybody else being involved intimidated you.
Helmut returned quickly with a washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed and placing it gently on your back.
“As pretty as you look covered in come, I’d rather not make too much of a mess,” Helmut explained as he wiped you down with the damp cloth, your skin tingling and your body crying out for more of his touch.
“Will you fuck me, sir?” you mumbled, somewhere between an honest question and a desperate plea.
“Yes, I will,” he answered, making you hum happily, “and I’m finally going to let you come.”
You bit down on your lip, trying not to moan just from hearing that.
“But I’m not going to let you stop.”
The lump in your throat was impossible to swallow, but you tried anyway as he tossed the rag away and circled the bed, standing behind where you were laying limply. He grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you down to where he needed you, covering your body with his as he kissed the back of your neck slowly.
“I bet you’ll come the moment I’m inside you, draga,” he whispered. You nodded in agreement, gasping a bit as you felt his cock teasing your swollen, sore pussy. Just the tip bumping into your clit was enough to make you think you could come right there, you’d been on the edge so long.
But then he pushed into you in one stroke, not rough yet enough to reignite the soreness of being filled by two men already, and your walls started to pulse around him. A million words swirled in your mind, words about how perfect he felt and how you’d missed him so much and how no one could fuck you like he could, but none of them made it to your mouth where you could only moan loudly.
He wrapped his arms around you, he kissed everywhere he could reach, and waves of pleasure washed over you until tears filled your eyes. You lost count immediately, coming on his cock over and over as you became a limp, whimpering mess right away.
“You two really did miss out,” Helmut taunted the other men between his own moans, “it feels so fucking amazing to be inside her when she comes. She gets tighter every time… blyat, so tight I can hardly control myself.”
It was already hot to hear him speak to you like that in these moments, but for him to speak to someone else, to keep you from forgetting that you weren’t alone and that these men had just fucked you and were watching you come right now? You hadn’t even imagined before what that would be like.
“Please, please, sir, please,” you chanted, your voice breaking until you could barely whisper.
“What is it that you want, lutka? Do you even know what you’re begging for anymore?”
“I want whatever you want, sir, please,” you cried. He reached around your body to rub your throbbing clit, and you all but screamed.
“I know you do, beautiful, I know,” he breathed, kissing your back and shoulder tenderly to calm you. “I love you so much, draga, you know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I love you too, Helmut,” you whispered, “more than anything. I love being yours.”
“Aw,” you heard Bucky briefly sigh.
“Dude, shut up,” Sam corrected him harshly.
“It’s sweet!” Bucky defended.
“It’s weird; this is all so weird,” Sam frowned.
“You didn’t seem to mind before…” Bucky trailed off.
Two of Helmut’s fingers swiped over your open lips and you immediately sucked them into your mouth with a satisfied hum, the taste of his skin always comforting you. When he rolled you onto your side, it was so much easier for him to touch you wherever he wanted and it only did more to keep you overwhelmed with pleasure until you worried you couldn’t take much more. But you kept sucking his fingers, tears still falling which he occasionally kissed away, until he took his hand away to wrap around your neck instead. You nodded a little to let him know it was okay to choke you, and your loud moans fell to sudden silence when he tightened his grip.
It made your eyes roll back, it made your walls flutter and your toes start to go numb, it made you wonder if you were going to pass out whether or not he let you breathe again because your body was already ready to give in.
You sucked in a gasp when he let go, sobbing his name as a particularly deep thrust knocked you right into your peak again. He kept one hand on your neck as the other reached between your legs to play with your abused pussy as he fucked it harder than ever.
“I can’t come anymore,” you assured, shaking your head and trying to push his hand away from your sore clit. “I— I can’t…”
“Yes, you can, draga, I know you can. Just relax and let me keep making you feel good,” he instructed, somehow both gentle and demanding all at once.
“I… I can’t…” you breathed, nearly incomprehensible between thick sobs, but you were already coming again in spite of your words, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body from the inside out. He choked you out into silence again, praising you all the way through it.
“There you go, shh, it’s all right,” he soothed, “you’re so beautiful, darling, so good for me, just keep going…”
You reached back to lace your fingers into his hair and tug, which did nothing to deter him from kissing your neck just beneath where his thumb gripped it, same as your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist didn’t stop him from quickly rubbing your clit.
Breath filled your lungs when he let go, and you were so desperate for relief that you felt like you weren’t even in control of your words anymore.
"Please come inside me," you begged mindlessly, "please, I need you so bad, please…"
“Is that what you need?” he groaned. “You need to be full of my seed?”
“Yes, please, want it deep in me— fuck, Helmut, please!”
He growled and bit your ear lightly, mumbling his promise to fill you up in Sokovian— sometimes you thought he spoke Sokovian when he was about to come because he was so distracted that he forgot English, but you didn’t think that at the moment because you were currently too cockdrunk to think about anything.
His low moan echoed right through your body as you felt his cock flex and throb with each pump of come, just as deep as you’d wanted, and you sighed happily at the familiar feeling, finally relaxing into the mattress.
But perhaps you relaxed a little too soon because he made you come one more time after he’d filled you, whispering something about he wanted to use your pussy to milk every drop from his cock, but after that finally he pulled out, and you collapsed face-down onto the bed, ready to pass out even though the sun was only just beginning to set and you’d slept until noon earlier.
“Well, I think we sufficiently knocked her out,” Sam chuckled.
“‘We’?” Helmut repeated, sounding a bit offended yet bemused as he redressed.
“Okay fine, you did most of the heavy lifting, but only cause you wouldn’t let her come for us,” Sam relented with a frown.
“I swear, I was this close to getting her to break,” Bucky interjected, sighing before taking another slow sip of his (third) drink.
“Yeah, what would’ve happened if one of us made her come, anyway?” Sam wondered aloud. “She seemed pretty worried about whatever punishment you had in store for her.”
“Nothing too terrible,” Helmut shrugged, “I just would’ve fucked her in the ass.”
Bucky choked on his whiskey as Sam tried and failed to suppress a smirk.
“She lets you do that?!” Bucky blurted out between fits of coughing.
“She lets me do whatever I want,” Helmut replied, “I’m surprised that hasn’t become abundantly clear to you by now.”
“I guess we’re still adjusting to it, that’s all,” Sam explained. “I don’t know about you,” he looked at Bucky, “but this is new for me.”
“I was born in 1917; everything is new for me,” Bucky frowned.
“Well, this is new for us too,” Helmut assured, “especially her, she was so inexperienced when she met me…”
He paused for a moment to reminisce before glancing at you lying prone on the bed and looked totally fucked-out.
“But look at her now!” he finished. “She takes it all in stride.”
“Yeah, she’s a trooper alright,” Sam agreed. “Be careful with her, Zemo, ‘cause I think if you hurt her too bad, Bucky here is gonna be waiting in the wings to steal her.”
“I— what?!” Bucky snorted defensively.
“Don’t think we can’t see you giving her googly eyes, not that I blame you or anything… getting deepthroated for the first time will definitely make you catch feelings,” Sam smirked before taking a puff of the cigar again.
“It’s not like that, I’m just… listen, I guess I’m just a bit more conventional than you perverts,” he frowned. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, I just can’t imagine having a girl like that all to myself and letting anybody else lay a finger on her.”
“Not everyone is as insecure as you, James,” Helmut shrugged. “Women can’t be stolen. They can only go where they want to. And she wants to be with me.”
He turned back to ask you if you agreed, but you were already fast asleep. Smiling slightly, he grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and unfolded it to drape over you; you instinctively cuddled up under it without waking up, letting out a quiet sigh.
“Goodnight, draga,” he whispered with a kiss to your forehead. “Rest well, you’ll need it for the morning.”
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Smile for me | Helmut Zemo
Zemo couldn't stop looking at you. Earlier on Bucky had said something that had you and Sam in stiches, and since then he hadn't been able to stop looking at you. The smile that had been on your face was so pure and full of joy. Your laughter rang like music to his ears. He could still hear it now.
You hadn't laughed or smiled since. You had been all serious game since that moment, and Zemo just couldn't let it go.
How long had it been since he was able to make someone laugh or smile like that? Would he even be able to get you to smile, despite how you perceived him?
He would love to find out.
You were sitting on your own at the moment. Sam had excused himself with his laptop to try and find more information on where the Flag Smashers might be. Bucky had gone for a walk, but you weren't convinced that was all it was.
Zemo was the only other person in the room.
You had a book open in your lap, your thumb brushing along the edge of the page slowly as you absorbed the words. This was the most relaxed you had been since you agreed to come along with Sam and Bucky.
Helmut poured some tea for two and approached you. He put the tray down on the table and took a seat next to you.
"You made me tea?"
You had looked up from the pages of your book to the cup in front of you.
"Yes, is that alright?" Zemo asked, amused by the confusion etched on your face.
"Yes, thank you..."
Zemo watched as you closed the book and put it to one side. You reached out and took the cup he had made for you, letting the tea warm up your hands. You sat back and brought it to your lips.
Zemo smiles. You had yet to smile at him, but he would keep trying. Grabbing his own cup, he made himself comfortable next to you. You seemed content enough to sit next to him.
Once your cup was empty, you put it back down and picked up the book again. Despite the lack of a bookmark, you managed to find where you had left off. Zemo let his gaze rest on you as you lost yourself back within the pages.
You had managed to make him smile just by being you.
You only put the book down again after reaching the end of the chapter. This time around you turn so you're facing him. Zemo hadn't moved since he sat down and you felt bad for ignoring him. That was something you expected to feel considering who he is.
"It's a shame we didn't come to Riga under different circumstances." You sigh.
"Oh? What circumstances would you rather be here under?" Zemo's heart leaped at the fact you were even giving him the time of day. He wouldn't confess that though.
"Well, we need to lay low, which means we can't tour the town."
"You want to go outside?"
"I'd like to see more, not that your safe house isn't lovely, it is."
Zemo grinned. His eyes seemed to light up. "Is that so?"
You nodded your head gently, looking into those deep dark brown eyes of his. Why did his warm gaze make you feel so safe? That's the exact opposite of how you should be feeling either him.
"There is a square just further up the road. I could take you that far." He gave a little shrug.
He saw the way you perked up, sitting more upright, your eyes glistening with interest. He's got you.
"Do you want to go?"
You turn your head in the direction of where Sam had gone.
"I will tell him we are going out, I won't keep you long. If I don't have you back in 15-20 minutes, he can do whatever he wants with me." Zemo raises his hands a bit to show he was serious.
"I won't let him do anything to you, but I would very much like to go out."
Zemo smiles as he gets up and goes to seek out Sam. You wait eagerly. When he returns, Sam in tow, he grabs his coat and slides it on. Sam comes over to you, looking like a big brother about to give a lecture.
"If he tries anything, call me. Bucky is still out, so you let me know. I don't trust him, but I know I trust you. If Zemo so much as makes you think he's up to something, call." Sam glares at Zemo.
You get up from your seat and nod, turning to Zemo and gesturing for him to lead the way.
When you step outside, you stand and let the sun hit you, feeling its warmth. The slight breeze that cuts through the street felt fresh against your skin.
Zemo comes up behind you, placing a hand on your back as he gazes at you.
You nod and let him walk with you up the street. There are very few about and it's nice. These buildings around you looked old, yet stunning. You could get used to walking these streets. Maybe you should retire from the whole saving the world thing and live in the backstreet of Europe.
You could dream.
The square opens up just ahead. Still few people were wandering about. Zemo led you to the centre and let you look around. You spun around slowly, taking in the few stalls that were set up, the buildings towering over you, the children playing in one corner. It was so peaceful.
"Do you like what you see?" Zemo asked.
You stop and look at him. You nod. Then, thought it's slight and barely there, you smile.
Zemo swears his heart stops for a moment.
"I do. Thank you."
Helmut takes a step closer to you, his hands down by his side. Those deep dark eyes of his are focused on you.
"That's the first time you have smiled because of something I did." He speaks quietly, as if this was a secret only for your ears.
"Oh? I think this is the most we have spoken to each other. I've kind of been ignoring you, haven't I?"
"Perhaps, but I'm not offended," he chuckles. "I'm honoured you have shared with me something so beautiful."
You stare at him.
"Are you blushing?" He laughs, the sound makes your heart skip a beat.
He raises a hand, a gloved finger lightly brushes your cheek. It was so soft and quick, you're not entirely sure you felt it, but it happened. You step back just a little, turning your head to the side slightly, biting back a bigger smile.
"Is that another smile I see?"
"Nope." You shake your head a little vigorously.
"You wound me."
You glance up to see he has a hand over his heart as he leans back, sort of as if he had been shot with an arrow.
With that cheeky grin on his face, and the way he's messing about and teasing you, you can't stop the laughter from spilling out. It's the exact sound he had hoped to hear again.
You place your hands on his shoulders and push him lightly, trying to get him to stop messing around, but he just grabs your hands gently and brings them to his chest, pulling you closer to him.
"I made you laugh! Such an achievement." He grins some more.
"Is that what you wanted?" You ask, happy enough to stand this close with him. His gloved hands were warm on yours.
You don't even bother trying to hide the next smile. This man has made you feel so comfortable in his presence, all while standing in unfamiliar territory.
"I should probably get you back now, but if you ever find yourself here in Riga again, I shall give you a list of places to go and things to see."
He goes to remove his hands from yours, but you are quickly to hold onto one of them with both of yours as you look him in the eye. You shake your head, causing him to furrow his brow at you.
"What's the point if I don't have my tour guide to show me everything?"
"Your tour guide?"
"Well, aren't you?" You tilt your head to the side. Your melting his heart with every little thing you do.
"I suppose I am, but I doubt we'll ever be back here together. I am a criminal, remember?"
"Yeah I remember. Still, I refuse to come back if my favourite tour guide isn't going to be with me." You squeeze his hand.
"I'm your favourite?"
"Well, technically, you're my only tour guide." You give him your best cheeky grin.
"I see." He steps a little closer. "Do I get anything for showing you the square today?"
"Oh, you want payment?" You roll your eyes.
"Perhaps just a little something?"
You smile softly as you brush your nose with his. The fact you're even considering it makes you think you've gone mad, but there's something irresistible about this man in front of you.
Before you even get the chance to kiss him, a cold metal hand grabs Zemo by the shoulder and pulls him back. You step back and look at Bucky, who is glaring at the man you were so close to kissing.
"What are you two doing?"
"Zemo was giving me a tour. Sam knows we're here. I wanted to see Riga." You look down, embarrassed.
Bucky let's go of Zemo and places an arm around you, guiding you back toward the safe house. Zemo straightened his clothes before following after you, annoyed that a perfect moment was disturbed.
When you get back, Bucky gives Zemo a warning before he goes off to brood in the next room. Sam follows after him to find out what happened.
Zemo goes to pour himself a drink, but you slide up beside him and take his hand back in yours.
"I'd like to pay now."
Zemo chuckles softly. "I was only teasing you."
"I know, but still."
Zemo sits there as you lean in place a delicate kiss to his cheek. You pull away and drop his hand.
"If you want anything more, you have to take me on a proper tour."
Zemo smiles softly.
"Is that a promise?" He asks, whispering to you.
"Then I shall have to do everything in my power to make sure I give you that tour."
You give him the brightest smile you can manage and step away before the boys come back.
Zemo gives a subtle wink.
Now there is NO WAY he is going back to prison. Not unless he disappoints someone so special.
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Burden of Proof (18+)
[Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot]
Synopsis: You are the odd man out between Sam and Bucky. After attempting to prove yourself following the incident in Madripoor, you find yourself in a sticky situation. Who better to assist you than Baron Helmut Zemo himself?
Warnings: 18+, smut/sexual content, semi-public sex, choking, thigh riding, fingering, Zemo’s use of pet names. No use of (Y/N).
A/N: I was so desperate to write a Zemo fic. So here y’all go.
The deafening silence harbored itself upon the Baron’s private jet, cutting through the night sky. Between Sam’s frustration and Bucky’s stoic silence, it left you feeling a bit awkward. Normally, if Steve were present, you would say something to lighten the mood — but he wasn’t here, and he wouldn’t be. You were getting adjusted to Bucky’s behavior, Sam’s demeanor was something you were used to, but Bucky? Not so much.
A former soldier — the Winter Soldier, to be exact. You were struggling to find yourself on friendly terms with him, but perhaps that would develop with time. It was difficult, with Steve being more of a brother to you. Bucky shared the same sentiments and perhaps more, which left you feeling like it was a contest at times. Steve protected you through thick and thin, through times where you were afraid to be yourself.
You were a superpowered individual, alone in the world, without Steve and without protection of the Avengers. It was a dangerous thing, people who were like yourself. Some would brand it as silly to let those with powers roam amongst the world, but you did whatever you could to keep it all hidden. You were young — younger than Sam and Bucky, inexperienced and naive, but desperate to prove yourself, prove that you were everything Steve wanted you to be.
Trying to live up to the expectations of others was difficult, a misplaced legacy. Sam was in the process of learning that the hard way. You could see the frustration upon his face — exhaustion coupled with the burden he carried. Bucky’s was more subdued; it all rested beneath the surface, often displayed with disproving or mile-long stares. It was something to get accustomed to.
The ally you’d aligned yourself with was a man you were familiar with, a man who’d disassembled the Avengers. Helmut Zemo was both dangerous and fascinating, and granted, you’d come along after the splintering and fractures had already occurred. He was akin to a hawk — watchful, observant, but whatever he was thinking, you could never really tell.
He watched you closely, though. Sometimes, you would feel his stare burn into the back of your skull, as if he were dissecting every memory and every thought with the precision of a scientist. You didn’t like that — it was almost like he knew your secrets, knew what you were already. Zemo had expressed his dislike and resentment toward superheroes, toward symbols. You were afraid to even think about your powers around him.
Even then, he was a gracious host with an odd amount of hospitality. He’d offered plates of food to both Bucky and Sam, who reluctantly accepted. Sam looked far more skeptical about the meal than Bucky did, which struck you as strange, given what Zemo had supposedly done to Bucky years back.
You sat rigidly within one of the cushioned, leather seats, nestled more into a corner toward the back of the jet. One hand was carefully tucked underneath the seam of your sweatshirt, palm matted with both fresh and dried blood. Taking a bullet during the chaos that ensued in Madripoor left you weaker, but you were concealing your injury well enough. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to worry.
Outside, the jet was soaring toward your next destination. Your mind wandered, hearing Sam and Bucky exchange quips and retorts about Steve’s shield, about their regrets. The throbbing pain that seared against your ribcage was the only thing keeping you present, your eyes glued on the outside to try and distract yourself.
Something prodded at your knee. With a strangled gasp, your head snapped up, eyes finding Zemo’s. Your hand clamped down upon your wound, your posture far from relaxed — you knew he could tell that something was amiss. He held a wistful, thin-lipped smile, extending a plate down to you.
“Eat.” Zemo insisted, appraising you with a slight furrow of his brow. The awkward, uncomfortable way in which you struggled to sit upright made him click his tongue, but he didn’t address your injury. Instead, he gently swung the seat’s side-table toward you, placing the plate upon it instead.
Settling into the seat horizontal to you, you opted to distract yourself with the food placed before you. It was of higher quality — he was a Baron, after all. Shoveling a spoonful of potatoes into your mouth, you ravenously consumed the contents of the plate, listening to Sam and Bucky — partially, of course.
Truthfully, you found yourself stuck inside of your own head more often than not. Everything was amiss — the world wasn’t what it used to be, and you contemplated if this path was the right one for you. Steve never left with some lengthy, heartfelt goodbye — you only remembered what he’d last told you before he went back in time. Your mile-long stare nearly rivaled Bucky’s at that point in time, your mind scattered and adrift.
It was Zemo’s words that brought you back into the fray. Your eyes darted away from the distance and away from the empty, clean plate of food. Your other hand was viscous and sticky with your own blood, chest becoming tight. Hopefully, excusing yourself to the bathroom would give you some moment to properly assess the wound.
“Riga is a settlement along the Baltic Sea,” With one hand tucked underneath his chin, he would give a nod of affirmation. “I have somewhere that we could go.” The Baron called for a change in direction of the jet, offering a nod to both Sam and Bucky. He was helpful — you wondered if this would cost you all something down the line. A man like him didn’t just assist freely. You didn’t want to think ill of him, but Sam had told you all sorts of things about Zemo the moment Bucky had let him loose.
Sam turned momentarily, eyeing you with concern. “You alright?” He’d ask, drawing some of Bucky’s attention in the process. Both men watched you, but certainly not in the wolfish, pointed way that Zemo did. It was a bit of a relief from what you’d experienced so far. “You look pale.”
“I’m alright,” You mumbled, hastily fumbling for an excuse. “Just really hungry, tired. I’m sure I’ll be perfect once we reach Riga.” It was enough of an answer to satisfy Sam and Bucky. “You two should get some rest.” You insisted, wincing whenever they weren’t looking.
“We’ll see.” Bucky uttered, turning away within his seat. Sam tried to do the same, both men likely needing the momentary break from the job. Both Sam and Bucky weren’t exactly friends either, so that left you as the involuntary “third musketeer”, more or less. There was a silence filled the jet this time around, and it left you alone for the time being.
In a flurry, you stumbled toward the washroom, and with one fist, you shoved the door open, pushing back upon it to slam it behind you. Your mind felt hazy, body weak and limbs heavy. Sluggishly, you pried and picked at the bloodstained fabric, peeling away your sweatshirt. The garment was ruined, as was the undershirt you wore. The bullet must’ve gone clean through, but it was agitated. Flesh an angry red, inflamed, blood seeping.
With a trembling hand, you reached for the faucet, slouched against the sink. Gaining the surge of strength needed, you forcefully pushed upward, breaking the handle off in the process. It couldn’t have gotten any worse, and you tried your hardest not to cry in the middle of the jet’s tiny washroom. The stress and intensity of your wound was finally catching up with you all at once, like a tidal wave slamming haphazardly onto shore.
Rubbing your forehead, crimson smeared against it, making matters worse. You stood there in the washroom for what felt like an eternity, stumbling over yourself and feeling worse than you had before. You became frustrated, that is, until a soft knock sounded against the door. “I’ll be out in just a moment, I promise.” You croaked pitifully, letting out a huff,
“It wouldn’t be prudent of me to let you fall unconscious in my bathroom.” Zemo stated, his tone withholding any amusement for the time being. It was a statement, and he’d nudge open the door. With a brief inspection of your current state, his arm wrapped underneath your shoulders, supporting your weight with ease. He carried you back past a small curtain, into the plane’s hull. After easing you down onto a bunk, he stepped back toward the curtain. “Don’t move.”
You obeyed without question, wide-eyed and riddled with anxiousness. Part of you was afraid he’d tell Sam or Bucky, and the last thing you wanted was any sort of confrontation so late at night. Slumped back against the wall, you clutched to your wound, still clad in that ruined undershirt. This was embarrassing — it all wouldn’t have happened if you would’ve paid more attention, let yourself focus and concentrate.
As you began to close your eyes for just a moment, it lasted a mere handful of seconds as Zemo smoothly trotted past the curtain. There was a medicinal kit within his hands, along with whatever linens and gauze he’d need, and a basin of water. Whenever those hawkish eyes fluttered toward you, your head whipped away, brows drawn together. You decided to look at anything but him, biting hard upon your lower lip.
Zemo pushed a chair up to sit in front of you, but the distance was still present. With a forceful yank of your leg, he tugged you closer, thinking nothing of the gesture. “I am not going to hurt you,” He uttered, his expression drawn up into one of scrutiny. “You must allow me to work.” He’d motion toward the hand you’d still clasped over your wound.
With a deep breath, you finally surrendered. “R-Right,” You stammered, feeling a smaller towel being shoved into your bloodied hand. Muttering your thanks, you did your best to look away as the Baron cut through the lower half of your undershirt. He must’ve carefully blocked out the awkwardness of all of this — your cheeks were flushed with a rosy-pink pallor.
He didn’t speak — not initially. As a single digit prodded around your angered wound, you let out a strangled whimper and pained groan. “Apologies.” Zemo uttered, receding in order to prepare a swab, warm water and antiseptics. “This is going to be painful.” He offered you a bit of forewarning.
You nodded, struggling to look away. Zemo was courteous and cautious, thankfully — for a sliver of a moment, you thought he would be harsh. In fact, it was certainly the opposite. As the swab graced your flesh, it was the same burning sensation all over again. The more pressure he applied, the more it made you writhe. Your hand snapped toward his knee, squeezing onto it like a vice.
“You should’ve said something,” Zemo scolded, leaning down with a honed intensity. He cleaned the wound with a certain experience and expertise — he must’ve done this several times before. Fortunately, the bleeding had stopped, which was a good sign. “Foolish to not tell your friends.” He uttered, spreading a thin layer of medicine around the wound.
“Didn’t want to burden anybody,” You replied, gulping thickly. The hand that gripped his knee loosened immediately, recoiling back to your side. You already felt better — strange to feel safe when you were with Zemo, of all people. “Sorry,” You sighed, still embarrassed that he had to bother with you and your ignorance.
“No,” The Baron gave you that hawkish look again, effectively silencing you. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He murmured, placing a dry patch of gauze over the wound. Standing to his feet, he moved toward one of the furnished, mahogany drawers, withdrawing something from inside. From a short distance, you could tell that they were pills of some sort. He returned, offering you two of whatever medicine he’d had, along with a glass of water. “To help with the pain.”
“T-Thanks,” You murmured, placing the pills into your mouth, followed by a greedy gulp of water. Everything seemed to settle, calm down — you were thankful for Zemo’s hospitality and swift action. In fact, you were grateful. If it weren’t for him, you might’ve not been conscious. “I’m, uh … I’m gonna change.” You nodded, standing upright on wobbly legs.
“I’ll be waiting.” Zemo replied, smooth and suave as he cleaned his hands off, setting down into the chair next to the bunk. His expectant nature made you blush, and you’d scuttled out of there with his gaze boring into the back of your head.
Taking a deep breath once you were past the curtain, you silently crept along past Sam and Bucky, who were both fast asleep. Seizing your backpack, you removed a clean shirt from inside, heading toward the washroom again for a quick switch. You washed your hands three, four times to get rid of all of the blood, washing the skin around your wound to rid yourself of crimson. It was a process, but once you were back to a cleaner state, you headed toward the back of the jet.
The walk felt like miles long, even if it was only a few feet. Weren’t you supposed to be scared of Zemo? All of the things Bucky had told you, the warnings given by Sam … They were all supposed to amount to something, but truthfully, you were more keen on the Baron than most. Perhaps he detested superheroes, but what were you, really?
Sheepishly, your hand gently parted the curtains as you shuffled back inside. He was still sitting in the same place, having cleaned up the mess you’d left behind from your wound. Without a word, you moved to sit back down on the bunk, hands folded within your lap. “Thank you for doing all of that,” You spoke softly, grateful for his assistance. More than grateful, truthfully.
“Why did you conceal the wound?” Zemo questioned, facing you within his seat. Your weak, half-hearted answer from before must’ve not satisfied him enough. “Sam and James are your friends, are they not?” He inquired, folding his hands together.
Twisting your fingers together, you gave a weak shrug of your shoulders. “Steve and I were very close,” You explained, failing to meet Zemo’s inquisitive gaze. “He was like a brother to me, and I suppose Sam feels some responsibility for me now that he’s gone. I wanted to help them, help both of them after I saw the new Cap.” You sighed, picking at the frayed ends of your shirt. “Trying to prove myself.”
“Proving yourself is not concealing a wound.” Zemo chided, though he did listen to the rest of what you said with curiosity. “Ah, the good soldier. I am sorry for what you’ve lost. I understand how it feels to lose what is most precious to you.” He sympathized, poised upon the edge of his seat. “I am sure your friends have filled your mind with perceptions of me?” It was very much a pointed question.
“Not really. I’m able to form my own view.” You replied, rubbing at your arm. The shirt you wore was a size too large, but it was better than the maimed, ruined garment you’d had on moments prior. “You’re just different from how they described you, painted you out to be some horrible mastermind.” Even if he was, it didn’t change the fact that he willingly saved you, and not just once, he’d taken down someone coming after you in Madripoor, too.
“Hm.” Zemo’s lips briefly twitched into a faint smirk, one leg folded over the other. His posture was regal, dignified — he held himself with this air of superiority. Not toward you, though; it was more of a general disposition with him. Leaning toward the nightstand beside the bunk, he briefly dipped one of the smaller towels into the basin of water. “Come,” He’d motion for you to come closer.
“What?” The word fell from your agape mouth without thought, and you remained poised on the bunk. “Sorry, I mean … What for?” You corrected yourself with a thick gulp, ogling the towel with a bit of skepticism. Your eyes darted to his visage, which was alight with amusement. He clearly wasn’t expecting your jarred, wide-eyed reaction.
“The blood on your face.” Zemo was patient, waiting for you to move as he’d instructed. You finally remembered the smear of crimson on your forehead, and that was when you’d made the connection. Sluggishly, you scooted yourself forward, enough to where your legs were between his. It was an awkward position, enough to make you blush with a vibrant, rosy shade. There was a certain warmth that crept along your form with his newfound closeness.
If Sam or Bucky would’ve seen the flustered, smitten way you’d behaved around the Baron, they would’ve quickly expressed their disappointment, and then some. Truthfully, you couldn’t help it. Zemo was alluring, more of an enigma, but his kindness and consideration towards you was something you found attractive. Suddenly, you were thankful that both of them were asleep — you were being spared from their banter and commentary of finding the ‘prisoner’ painfully handsome.
Nonetheless, the cold towel gingerly swept across your forehead, surprisingly gentle. You had a difficult time looking him in the eye — you preferred to stare anywhere else except for him. He noticed, and you knew that he picked up on it. Zemo was one of the most observant, most patient men you’d ever encountered. It was almost surreal, but you pushed it from your head for the time being.
“Shy, aren’t you?”
Zemo’s utterance consumed your attention, and it was shocking enough for you to finally look him in the eye. There was a thin-lipped, bemused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he knew it would ensnare you if he said it. Your mouth hung slightly agape, surprised beyond anything else. With a brief clearing of your throat, you felt that rush of warmth explode underneath the surface of your skin.
You didn’t know what to say, not initially. The hesitance you were experiencing was somewhat entertaining to him, and once you finally gained your voice, you spoke up. “Sometimes, I …” Trailing off, you gathered your composure again. “It’s usually not this terrible.” You admitted, peering at Zemo through your eyelashes. Clearly, your demeanor had gone to sheepish again — the way he spoke to you was so incredibly alluring. Everything pulled you in.
“I wonder why,” As he finished cleaning the dried, smeared blood from your visage, one hand came to press against your cheek, the contact leaving you quivering. His thumb traced against your lower lip, as if he were testing the waters. Zemo’s hawkish, appraising gaze fell upon you again, and this time, you weren’t as willing to shy away as you’d done since you met him.
Speechless was an understatement. Inside of your mind, you were flabbergasted and scrambling to try and decipher why this was happening to you, of all people. Your breath audibly hitched within your throat, heart hammering like a drum against your chest. Delirious and shocked, you sat there like a rock, frozen in place. Your reaction was noted by the Baron, who slipped his hand underneath your chin.
“You will have to be quiet, liebling, if this is what you want.” Zemo uttered, thumb caressing along the curve of your jaw, against your supple lower lip again. Once more, he was patient, awaiting your answer. If you were to decline, he was more than willing to step away and pretend as if nothing had happened. However, everything seemed to be on you at this point.
Excitement and curiosity clouded your mind like a thick haze, coupled with the present stirring between your legs. Being propositioned by the Baron, of all people, while your teammates sat sleeping a few feet away behind the shroud of a thick curtain. Truthfully, you weren’t too terribly experienced — twice, it’d happened, and neither experiences were as thrilling as this. That thumb caressing and kneading your bottom lip almost tossed you into a daze.
Without a second thought, your mouth crashed haphazardly against his, lips tangling together and practically melding into one another. He tasted expensive, like the cabaret he drank and the sharp spice of something unfamiliar. Your hand had a mind of its own as you maneuvered it into his hair, fingers gliding through dark tresses. Your heartbeat was pounding within your ears, intermingled with the pleasurable shudders rolling down your spine.
A strong hand clasped against your hips, guiding and collecting you to sit against his right leg, straddling his thigh. Zemo kissed you as if you meant something to him, which aroused you to no end. The Baron kissed you again with a fervent passion, head canted to deepen the entanglement, one hand holding your hips in place and the other pinned at the nape of your neck.
“So schön,” His accent was thick as Zemo crooned to you in his native tongue, that hand on your hips rolling you down against his thigh, the friction spiking and jolting between your legs. It was a near-perfect position that he had you in, bouncing his leg a bit as his thigh ground against your cunt with a bit of enthusiasm. The Baron was smirking at you, even if you weren’t looking him in the eye, his hand gracing the hem of your shirt.
As you clamored to assist in the removal of your shirt, you sheepishly rolled your hips into his thigh, moaning at the sensation. Zemo pressed a finger to your lips, motioning toward the curtain — and the two men who were just outside. You hastily nodded, knowing how hard and how challenging this would be. His mouth graced your collarbone, still rocking you onto his thigh in the process.
“Z-Ze—“ You started a breathy whimper, but he silenced you again this time.
“Baron,” He corrected you with a bemused smirk, his face hovering just enough for him to have a proper look at you. “Look at me,” Zemo instructed, commanding your attention as that wandering hand gently tilted your face toward his. A pleasant hum escaped him as he moved you against his thigh again, watching your face contort into utter bliss. “Perfection.”
Your expectations of him were likely warped by what Sam and Bucky had told you upon your first meeting. You expected Zemo to be harsh, rough, and a bit callous, but here, it was the opposite. The Baron was attentive, a very passionate man, and it seemed he cared for your own enjoyment as much as his own. It was making it all so worthwhile, despite the risk looming so close.
Familiar, hawkish eyes fell upon you again as he carefully rocked you against his thigh again, his hand tangling at the center of your back. Fingers deftly wound themselves against the clasp of your brassiere, and with a tug, the garment was sliding from your chest. Zemo discarded it against the bunk with a flick of his wrist, letting his hand return to your chest, kneading against your breasts.
A soft, strangled moan fell from your mouth as you struggled to keep your volume to a hushed minimum. With another thrust of his leg, he effectively shifted you into his lap this time, fingers skimming against the waistband of your pants. It was effortless for Zemo — he hadn’t taken off a single article of clothing, and you were trembling at the sight of him. One palm toyed with your breast, the other intent on feeling just how aroused he’d gotten you.
The hand at your chest promptly fell away to splay out against the small of your back, fingers caressing against your skin. Those nimble digits made quick work of any buttons and zippers, loosening up the garment enough for him to find the cleft between your thighs. Fingers swept themselves against your slit, having passed the barrier of clothing. His smirk was magnetic as he pressed a kiss against your collarbone, feeling the slick heat that pooled at your cunt.
Zemo didn’t say anything — his expression seemed to give it all away. Those fingers began to caress along your slit, causing you to rock against his hand, bucking down into his fingers with a pleasured expression. Any noise that wanted to escape you seemed caught within the back of your throat, which was definitely a good thing, save for the occasional whimper or mewl.
Desire seemed to cloud your judgment, along with any logical thought you might’ve had. Everything was a daze, a pleasant daze at that — pleasure was overriding it all in that moment. Your eyelashes fluttered, flustered gaze momentarily meeting Zemo’s. Without hesitation, you kissed him again, moaning into his mouth as his fingers rubbed along your slit, one digit circling into your clit. Your legs trembled a bit, skin flushed and ablaze.
“Such a good girl,” The Baron crooned near your ear, bringing you down against his hand, caressing along your spine. Every part of you was aching, yearning for him as he slipped two digits inside of you. This action was met with a wanton, breathy moan, but it was swallowed and smothered by his searing kiss to keep you from becoming too noisy. Those fingers curled and moved inside of you, thrusting inside of your cunt with a relative ease.
Your kisses became increasingly sloppier, desperate and tense between the two of you as his fingers plunged and caressed, making you to be at his mercy. Zemo kissed you again and again, passionate yet dominating, every bit of him allowing you to surrender control. Warmth pooled between your legs, stomach churning and feeling like mush. He was bringing you closer and closer, that hand pressing you flush against him.
The lack of skin against skin was somewhat upsetting to you, but your quick, wandering hands wanted their fill. As you gained some confidence, your fingers curled against the hem of his turtleneck, adjusting the fabric enough to where you could feel him. That elicited a groan from the Baron, hot and heavy into your mouth as your lips kept themselves entangled. With another thrust of his fingers, he brought you into your pinnacle, letting you cum without edging or denying you anything.
Flushed and panting, Zemo slipped his hand from you, clasping them on either side of your hips as he pushed you from the chair and into the bunk in one swift movement. There was the audible noise of buckles and zippers flying to become unfastened, followed by hands wrestling your pants off. You were still recuperating, but certainly excited enough for what came next. You watched as he hunched over you, locking an arm around your back — fully clothed, much to your dismay.
“The next time won’t be so hasty,” Zemo murmured, dragging his free hand up your leg, calloused palm grasping at the flesh of your thigh, where it curved and smoothed into your rump. Your lack of clothes didn’t phase you, but the Baron’s mention of ‘next time’ set your nerves ablaze. The arm that locked around you held you up more, the other steadying you against the edge of the bunk. “Let me see you, kleiner Luder.” He purred, watching as you shyly allowed your legs to fully part.
“Baron,” You sighed with passion, hands gripping against his chest. His cock harshly pressed up against your inner thigh, and he’d responded to your little appraisal with a greedy kiss. Clinging onto him, your hips bucked and rolled forward the longer he teased you, strangled whimpers making their way past your gritted teeth. He nipped at your lower lip, mouth suckling against your neck.
In a swift snap of his hips, he pushed himself inside of you, a pleasured groan intermingling with your haughty, excitable whimpers. Zemo’s mouth kept busy, aiming to give you a hickey or two as a reminder of your little exchange, and the hand that had massaged and kneaded against your ass had snapped up. Warm fingers closed around your throat, applying a generous pressure just underneath your jaw.
Zemo began to move faster, developing a passionate, enthusiastic pace as his cock pumped in and out of you, leaving you awestruck and seeing stars. The hand that clutched underneath your jaw left you absolutely breathless, your gaze pleasantly half-lidded and mouth agape. One of your legs secured itself around his hips, a squeak leaving you as his teeth skimmed across the sensitive flesh around your jugular. Lips clashed again, swallowing up any noises as his cock buried itself inside of you.
It was hot, searing between the two of you, bodies nearly snug together. Your hands clamored to wrap around his neck, fingers perusing through his hair, kissing him hard this time. You whimpered, gasped when he slammed himself into you. What started as sluggish had devolved into shameless fucking so very quickly, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Zemo groaned your name in between kisses, and for a moment, you’d made eye contact.
As intimidating as you found it to be, you swore that his lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile. Instead, it became more of a smirk, but you didn’t care. “Keep going,” You breathed, relishing that calloused hand that kept pressing against your throat. You felt close to bursting, warm and flushed, heat pooling between your legs. His thrusts began to slow a bit, less erratic and more focused, concentrated.
Your back arched slightly, Zemo’s mouth assaulting your neck and collarbone again. A small sliver of you was terrified that Sam or Bucky would wake up, but you were attempting to keep tabs beyond the curtain. With another perfect roll of his hips, his length drove into you again and again, slow yet buried completely. Muffling and suppressing noise was the hardest thing for you, toes curling in delight.
“Mein perfekter Luder,” The Baron was panting, yet those words were so deliciously clear, a low purr near your face, his visage contorting into one of complete and utter bliss. You were clinging tightly to him like a drowning woman, unable to ignore the throbbing and pulsating between your legs, the wet feeling as he gave another thrust for good measure.
Seeing stars, you became loose, body twitching and shuddering as you came. Zemo happened to follow suit, the grip upon your throat loosening enough, your faces pressed closely together. A thin layer of perspiration had developed upon you, even if you were cold from being naked. Coming down from the intensity of your orgasm, the Baron pulled out of you with a lewd pop, hastily collecting himself and his appearance.
Zemo was kind enough to provide you with clean clothing, likely his own, but that wasn’t enough to deter you. He watched you hawkishly as you got dressed, unbothered by the wound. Your mind was filled with something else entirely, visage a bright red. The rest of your body was a rosy pallor, collarbone and neck littered in flourishing marks, from the nick of teeth to full hickeys. You noticed this briefly in a mirror, hastily thinking of something to tell Sam and Bucky if they asked.
“You are very beautiful.” Zemo spoke at last, appraising you with the slightest hint of a smile. “I would consider myself lucky.” He stepped closer, slipping a hand underneath your chin to appraise the damage he’d done. Instead of saying something else, he pressed a very warm, passionate kiss to your lips, and then against your brow. The Baron noticed your dazed, smitten expression accompanied with exhaustion. “You should sleep.” He insisted.
“Lucky?” You sounded dumbfounded, thoughts silenced by Zemo’s lips, to which you nearly melted into. Your hands toyed with the waistband of his pants, a smile gracing your features this time. “I guess I should.” Your eyes fell toward the curtain with a bit of dismay.
“Do not look so disappointed, luder.” Zemo teased, loosely wrapping an arm around you. “Plenty of places in Riga,” He uttered, low enough to make your heart hammer within your chest. With a vulgar squeeze against your backside, he nudged you in the direction of the curtain.
You blushed, nibbling upon your lower lip as you hastily got a move-on. Thankfully, Sam and Bucky were asleep, and you settled into one of the seats closer up toward the pilot. Getting comfortable within the white leather, Zemo briefly pressed a kiss against your forehead, sweeping your chin with his thumb as he disappeared into the cockpit. It was much easier to sleep after that.
By the time you’d woken up as the jet flew over Riga, you were carefully tucked inside of the Baron’s fashionable trench coat, snug and warm. Truthfully, it was the best you’d slept in awhile. As your eyes adjusted to daylight, there were two pairs of eyes on you and your newfound ‘blanket’.
“Something you wanna tell us?”
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Sex with Baron Zemo · NSFW HCs
*xFemale!Reader || I’m a simple girl, I see a sugar daddy, I write about them
Sleeping in Silk Sheets Naked— it’s literally the absolute best. You feel like royalty when you wake up to the feeling of his fingertips ghosting along your bare skin in a stroking pattern, featherlike kisses being trailed up the side of your neck, and silk slipping across every other inch of you. The slight chill of the sheets sends a shiver throughout you, awakening you with erotic sensations, only to be met with “Goodmorning, princess,” in that gorgeous accent.
↳ hence, morning sex is one hundred percent a frequent occurrence. Beginning with your lips, he’ll trail soft kisses down your entire body, until he reaches your hips, kissing a line across your waist, you feel him hook his arms under your thighs and pull you just a little further down the bed, slipping easily along the silk, you giggle, before gasping at the sensation of his mouth against your inner thigh, moving closer and closer to your already wet heat.
Nicknames—he always calls you princess, you’ve come to call him by his title or his last name in bed, but as most people know him by his last name, you lean towards his title more often than not. When you’re teasing him you’ll call him your Sugar Daddy, which only makes him respond by hooking a finger under your jaw, tilting your head up and stating: “whatever you want, I make sure you get.”
Foreplay— he is fantastic at it and it’s frustratingly attractive. He will tease you through and through, all the while remaining completely collected himself. You can literally straddle his lap and he’ll just look at you with a “yes? Can I help you?” expression, but yet the moment he touches you, you’re ready to take it all right then and there. You’ve found you get turned on almost embarrassingly fast around him and it’s worse when he knows it. He loves seeing you sexually frustrated (more on that later).
Kinks— he has had experience after all, but honestly whatever you’re into he’s into. You were a little bit shy about bringing up some things, but shocked with how easily he said okay. Such as when you asked how he felt about being the one blindfolded or cuffed, he quirked an eyebrow, smiled, and said, “I don’t mind a challenge.” To name a few of his: helping/seeing you undress, thigh riding, temperature play (ice), and hickeys.
Slow, Sensual, and Deep— there’s certainly no rush when it comes to sex with him; he will have you aware of every sensation and have you feeling every second of pleasure that spreads across every part of your body. You’re either clinging on to the nearest object, typically him, or taking fistfuls of the sheets underneath you when your orgasm finally hits, because it’s not just there and gone. Oh no, it comes in heavy hard waves as he continues to fuck you through it.
↳ he always kisses the base of your neck when you reach your orgasm, occasionally pressing his tongue against your quivering throat. He also has a habit of lacing his fingers with yours, softly pinning you underneath him, he smiles against your skin feeling your nails dig into his knuckles as you scream his name.
Romantic Flare— sex by candlelight happens a lot more often than you ever imagined. With silk sheets, wine, and candles lighting the room you feel like you’re in a regency romance novel, and he makes sure you know you’re the leading lady. Caressing every inch of your body as he takes off your lingerie with compliments in between kisses the entire time.
Bruises— by the end of the night you’ll have bruises from where he dug his fingertips against you roughly, typically along your hips and thighs. Likewise, he’ll have crescent shaped bruises from your nails, as well as a few deep scratches down his back and bicep thanks to you.
Catching Him Off Guard— it’s a hard thing to do, he has a lot of patience and can keep his cool surprisingly well. Something that worked is when you got back from some big art auction, you finally made it to your hotel room. He went to pour a drink, and you immediately slipped your dress off leaving you naked with only a string of pearls or diamonds on you, which is one of his favourites. When you said his name he hardly expected you to have undressed so quickly, making him nearly choke on his vodka when he turned around and saw you.
Makeup sex— you two don’t fight often, but when you have had some time apart, makeup sex is a big part of the apology. You’ll come back ready to give your full apology, but before you can get the first few sentences out he’s kissing you on your open mouth, hot and heavily, leaving you breathless. Caressing your cheek, he rests his forehead against yours softly saying “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be at odds with you. Please, forgive me?” It’s some of the hottest sex you’ve ever had.
Dress On— there have been times when you’ve come back home and barely made it through the front door. For starters your back was already being pressed against the door and your arms were around his neck, keeping him locked in a deep kiss as he found the key to the door, from there it only escalated once you were inside. It’s happened right there in the foyer hallway, he set you on top of the entry table, you gathered up your dress, and had at it
Location—with a car collection like his you had to try it at least once, or twice… turns out those vintage cars have plenty of space! You’ve also joined the mile high club, it’s a private jet after all. Also, whilst he’s driving, he typically has a hand on your thigh, occasionally inching it up higher and higher, you get the picture
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music to watch you to.
summary. | He likes you a lot, so he’s putting on his music to watch his little girl to.
warnings. | smut, stepdad trope, penetration, masturbation (f/m), choking, voyeurism, perversion, watching porn, come marking, breeding kink, Daddy kink, dirty talk, praise, degradation, humiliation, spitting, fishnet kink, begging, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
word count. | 5.4k
pairings. | Step Father!Helmut Zemo x Reader.
a/n. | happy early birthday @bvckyswildflower!! i love you so much, thank you so much for everything and for being such an amazing friend! you’re so strong, you deserve the world. ilysm, happy early birthday! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know.
A specific buzz runs through your veins. Your head throbs immensely, and you walk with tiredness taking over your body. Your high heels swing in your hands, and your phone dies at the same time too. The ache in your back feels as though with one good stretch, it’ll go away, but that’s far from the truth. Your makeup is messed up, and what’s left of it stains your face. You’re lucky you made it out without a horrible stomach ache. You take your alcohol well but not well enough to leave you unscathed.
You almost feel bad for leaving so early, but you just couldn’t spend a second there any longer. As soon as you stepped foot into your old friend’s house, you knew you’d regret it. And you do. You’re still not sure whether the slight sickness inside you is from the alcohol or the shame. Why you ever agreed to go out just a few days after the breakup is beyond you. Familiar faces of people you haven’t seen in years filled the room, and you dread the questions they’ve asked you.
How was university? Did you and your boyfriend get engaged? What happened to you? Are you staying here? Did you graduate?
Your answers disappoint them, and you could see the faux pity written all over them. They turn away, make a mocking face to their friends, and then turn back to you as if they don’t see you as lower than them. Someone who’ll never get anywhere in life, who’ll be stuck in this city while everyone else moves away. It’s what they’ve been whispering about you. They don’t take your return lightly, and you don’t take their words with a grain of salt.
So that’s why you are strolling throughout your home, dragging your feet behind you. There are small noises in the kitchen, but you’re too out of it to genuinely care. You wish for someone who cares. Someone who could hold you tight throughout the dark times, just like he-who-shall-no-longer-be-named would for a split second. You want reassurance; you want love. But you don’t know who to turn to for it except for yourself.
You’d kill for some comfort from your mother, but she’s already taken her sleeping pills, and you don’t have the energy to walk across the house just for a hug and a ‘toughen up, kiddo’ from her. Your stepfather, on the other hand… He’s much better at comfort. Though he isn’t as in touch with his emotions (ignorance is bliss), he knows how weak minds tend to be. Best with his words, you can’t stand to sit down and have a conversation about how the only thing in life that brings you happiness is something you can’t possibly make a career out of. So you’d instead take his awkward pat on the back and half-hug over his overly-detailed psychoanalysis.
But you don’t want to bother him either, so you suck it up and lock yourself in your room. Your heels are strewn onto the floor, and your phone is slammed onto the bedside table. You’ll charge it later. You throw yourself onto your bed, not caring that you’ve just given yourself an unwanted headache that won’t go away until you take some medicine. The dizziness soon parts ways from your head, and you sigh.
You tend to enjoy a good party every now and then, but you’d much rather have a party all by your lonesome.
You fiddle with your fingers mindlessly. A small habit you’ve developed since you were a kid, and your mother would soon learn that it’s your form of bouncing your leg up and down. You always have your own twist on familiar things, such as coping mechanisms and Pinterest baking recipes. Your nail stops at a piece of broken skin, and you’re not sure why it’s there. Perhaps you cut yourself while cooking, or maybe while trying to look for an appropriate outfit. You’re such a clutz, always getting hurt yet never knowing how your injuries have formed.
You want to pick at it so badly, but you remember that you always regret it when you’d look at your finger just to find some blood. So you leave it alone, and in the same manner; you want all the horrible people who aren’t you to leave you alone—everyone except for him. You stare up at the ceiling and let your hands fall to your sides, and your eyes flutter shut. You have no intent to sleep as your tiredness has left you the moment you stepped foot into your small room.
Your bed sheets feel lovely against your skin. You want to lay there forever and ever and never let go of the feeling. It’s rare to have this feeling when in bed, especially during the summer. It’s like finding money on the ground or getting a good grade on an assignment you were worried about. You turn on your stomach with a heavy sigh, worried that you’ll stain the fabric beneath you with your makeup. So you simply just rest your head against your arms. You gaze off to the side, and you think about him. It’s so wrong, and you really shouldn’t.
But you do it anyway.
The first time you met him was a year ago. You weren’t overly ecstatic about having a stepfather, but you warmed up to the idea just for the sake of your mother. She was never that happy since before your father passed away. Your house was so dull, except for the times when your relatives would visit, or your friends would come over. But even they would grow distant from you, and you’d eventually have to stick to seeing your them only at school and birthday parties.
It took you a while to get used to him. Your interactions were always either because of your mother or by accident. Like the one time, your mother forced you to hug him, and you felt his hard cock pressed against your body. Or the other time, when he bumped into you and accidentally spilled water all over both of your white shirts. He got a nice view of your tits, and you got a pleasant sight of his body.
A softly toned stomach along with a bit of chest hair that you’d love to tangle your fingers between, with numerous freckles that remind you of stars in the night sky. An Adonis line runs down to his groin, and God, you really shouldn’t be thinking of your stepfather this way. You can’t help it, though, especially not when he looks like a real-life reincarnation of a Greek God.
You don’t realize the hands that trail along your body until you feel goosebumps beginning to rise. Your red painted nails dance along your skin, and a lovely chill runs down your spine. You let out a shaky breath as your core pools with wetness, soaking your leggings. Now, the cloth doesn’t have anything special to it. It’s cheap and old, from when you just turned eighteen. And it’s the pair that you’ve always managed to soak while thinking about him.
You still wear that cheap dress of yours. You’ve stitched it up, God knows how many times, and yet it never is perfect. It’s silk, cheap silk. You easily could buy another one, heck, even a much better one. But you choose not to because there’s just something about it that makes you want to keep it. ...Oh, right. It’s Helmut’s favourite.
It’s like the conversation happened a few minutes ago when really it was three years ago, a year after they had gotten married.
You're waiting for your mother to finish getting ready for a family dinner, so you lounge around the living room. He comes sauntering in, his tie loose and his hair a mess. You try to avoid jumping to conclusions, but you know exactly what happened. Small talk is never your thing, and it isn’t for him either, but you go with it just to ease the awkwardness.
“Nice dress, you look amazing in it,” he tells you as he ties the black cloth around his neck. “T- Thank you,” you smile at him before looking back down to your phone. Your photos app and settings app aren’t as excellent as he is, but they’ll make do just to keep you occupied. “You should wear it more often.”
Your finger trails along your top lip gently, a feather-light touch that you’ve learned to master years ago. You’re like a light breeze in the hot summer rain against your skin. More wetness drools out of you, and you just wonder how he manages to have this effect on you even though you’ve both barely ever spoken to one another. From your lips, you trail your fingers down to your neck.
Your other hand grips the cloth of the dress right below your decolletage and right above your breasts. Your toes curl, and you spread your legs apart slightly. Your fingers trail to your shoulders, and you push down the thin straps of your dress. You sit up on your knees and slowly pull the dress over your head, letting the rose gold fabric softly brush over your skin and fall next to you.
You push it off the bed and let it find a temporary home on the ground beside the bed. You’re left in a strapless bra and your fishnet leggings. They’re your absolute favourite, and you always get excited whenever the occasion to pull them out comes up. Once again, there’s nothing too special about it. It’s just that the hole-filled accessory never fails to make you feel beautiful.
You unclasp your bra slowly and drag your nails along your back as you do so. Your head involuntarily rolls backwards at the feeling. “Fuck,” you whisper under your breath. The bra lands on your dress, and your hands slowly crawl down to the waist of the leggings. They move over your soft thighs, and your breathing hitches. You get closer and closer to your sticky inner thighs, right to where your sopping pussy is.
Your eyes flutter shut once again, but you quickly open them up when you remember that your laptop is fully charged. Though the gadget was bought explicitly for essential uses, you just can’t help loading up a specific site that never fails to make you drop your panties. The little devil on your shoulder outshines the angel, and you find yourself grabbing the device and placing it in front of you. It powers up quicker than ever, and you’re smiling with glee and mischief.
You type the first letter of the website into your search bar, and it immediately pops up, making you giggle. You drag your bottom lips between your teeth, biting down on it lightly, and you search for your favourite video. The one that you always watch whenever you think about him. The one that never fails to turn you on beyond belief.
Stepdad fucks his stepdaughter after catching her masturbating.
The title itself makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. A few frames from the video tease you with what’s coming, and excitement runs through your veins. Your drunken haze from the few shots of vodka you took down the hatch no longer exists, and now you’re drunk on arousal. You press play and sit back against the numerous mismatched pillows you own.
It’s your makeshift throne, and you’ll do anything you desire in it. You place your hands on the back of your thighs gently, splaying them against the skin and muscle as you always do. Your wetness makes your pussy glisten like the shiny clandestine jewel it is. The juxtaposing classical music in the introduction reminds you that you aren’t home alone and that someone can hear you.
And by someone, you immediately think of Helmut.
Your heart clamours at the thought of him learning as to what you’re watching. Would he yell? Would he leave? Would he kick you out? ...Would he help you out? Each scenario has you shivering, and yet you decide to open up another tab. The grey, white and red screen of YouTube pops up, and you click the first song shown in your recommendation.
The soft, melodious voice of Lana Del Rey echoes from your computer, and you double-click the music video, putting it on loop. The song blares throughout your room, and you switch back to your intended tab. The video has already gotten to the best part. The woman is wearing nothing except for a sly smirk as the older man––her ‘stepfather’––slowly undresses.
Now, he looks nothing like Helmut, and you know that nobody can compare. But you can’t help but close your eyes and picture him. The stubble beard of his that you’d love to feel between your thighs. Those big, veiny hands that would look so lovely gripping your hips. A lightly sculpted body that would perfectly hover over yours as he plows into you. God, you have it bad for him.
The video’s dialogue doesn’t matter to you because you’ve already got your own script written. You trail your dominant hand to your pussy, while your other hand remains at your thigh. Your inner thighs are sticky with your wetness, and you can just imagine what Helmut would think. “Such a desperate little girl, you’re so wet. Is it all because of me?”
It’s almost as if you can hear him.
Coffee is like a drug, which is why Helmut has stopped drinking it. Tea, on the other hand, is much more soothing. The way the hot liquid tastes on Helmut’s tongue reminds him of the days in college where he would catch a slight fever. He’d call his father for overnight remedies, and he’d always have to instruct him how to make the tea over the phone.
Through his obliviousness, he never knew that black tea has as much caffeine as your average cup of coffee. So that’s why he’s mindlessly exploring his home at half-past-ten. Helmut has wandered around in the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms and even the bathrooms. He’d take one or two of his wife’s sleeping pills, but they’re prescribed, and she’ll get mad. He doesn’t like it when anyone gets mad at him.
Boredom is always a good cure for restlessness. And nothing bores Helmut more than a textbook. Long hours of studying flash into his mind, and he would hate to be a student in this day and age. Gosh, he sounds so old. He knows you have some textbooks still lying in your room, ones that you promised to donate but have kept on your desk since. He’s tried to be understanding in your dropping out, but you’re hard to read.
So he walks up the carpeted stairs that he has nearly fallen down on one too many times. With a sharp exhale, he slowly approaches your room. He recognizes that music all too well. When you’re in the shower, you tend to belt out Lana’s songs while scrubbing that beautiful body of yours. He wants to deny it, and he knows that if he were to be put on the stand, he wouldn’t be able to lie about it.
He’s watched you do so many intimate things in your room. The memories can never leave his mind, and he feels so guilty about it, but he just can’t help but fantasize about you. Sitting on that bed, your hands between your thighs, begging him to come fuck you. Blood rushes down his cock, and he shakes his head in disappointment. “I’m such a fucking pervert, God,” he mumbles under his breath, rounding the corner.
The music gets louder, and though he usually isn’t into the songs you play, he can’t stop the slight skip in his steps. He hums along to the words, and Helmut notices the way your door is a bit ajar. He wonders if you’ve passed out and forgotten to turn off your lights and the computer, only because he knows how much you hate having your door open even by the slightest crease.
He peaks in, and you shock him.
Your back arches off the pillows a bit. The hand against your thigh now grips one of your tits, and your legs are spread out wide. Your heart clamours in your chest as you slowly rub your swollen clit, watching the video attentively. The petite pornstar is plowed into by her co-star, and you can just imagine how nice it would be to have Helmut throw you around like you’re nothing.
“Oh, Helmut…” you moan, pressing down a bit harder on your nub. Helmut’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull, and he just can’t believe his ears. He watches your hips buck against your fingers, and a bead of sweat runs down the side of your neck. You pant like a bitch in heat, and blood rushes both to his face as well as his cock. You touch yourself over your leggings, and Helmut wants nothing more than to fuck you silly while you wear them.
He slowly and gently opens up your door a bit farther, peeping his head inside just to get a better view of you. There is not one voice in his mind calling out to him, saying that he shouldn’t be doing this and should just go to his room. So he just has to assume that everything is okay. “Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.
You speed up the ministrations on your clit, and you watch the screen as the stepdaughter matches your expression of euphoria. Her eyes roll back into her skull, and yours do the same. As her jaw falls slack, your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape that resembles hers. The man fucks her even harder, urging her to come all over his cock, and you want Helmut to do the same to you. Pressure shoots through your abdomen, and you’re so tempted to let out a loud moan.
But the hand that clamps down on your mouth stops you. You let out a squeal out of shock, only to look up and find Helmut staring at you with a dark look in his eyes. A pure, almost childlike terror claims your face, but you soon relax into him. The blue of his orbs are blown out with lust, and you want death right here, right now. “Shh, don’t stop, little girl, let me see you come undone,” he husks, and you nod your head.
“Go on, show Daddy how much of a whore you can be,” he urges, and your eyes fall to his crotch. You can see the outline of his thick cock through his thin shorts. You imagine it stretching you out, dragging against your sensitive walls while his pelvis grinds against your clit. Soaking him in your juices while telling you how much of a slut you are as if you don’t already know.
You rub your little nub even faster now, and you watch Helmut as he pushes his hand inside his drawers. He wraps his hand around his cock, desperate for some sort of release. His other hand moves from your mouth, and he uses it to push down his shorts and boxers. You don’t even have the energy to look at him and his pretty cock, because you’re too focused on coming for him.
He stands right next to your laptop, and you can feel his eyes on you as he switches between watching your pretty face and staring at your dripping pussy. Your legs twitch, and your chest rises and falls as you begin to feel that fire in your core ignite. Precum drips from Helmut’s slit, beads of it rolling down the side of his cock and staining his hand. His fist pumps furiously over his cock––from base to tip––over and over again.
He lets out low, deep grunts and moans as he feels himself nearing the edge already. “God, you’re such a fucking slut; wanting to get fucked by your Stepfather. I bet those young boys don’t know how to fuck you good, right? Yeah, I bet while they were fucking you, you were thinking of me filling up that pussy with my cum,” he growls, and you nod your head.
Every single word of his is absolutely true, and you wonder if it’s been written all over your face for those years you’ve known him.
“Oh, are you gonna come, baby? So quickly? You really are desperate, aren’t you? Већ постајеш глуп? Боже, само сачекај док те не натакнем на пенис,” he growls, quickening his movements on his cock. You have no idea what he’s saying, but his tone of voice is enough to push you over the edge. The dam breaks, and in comes the flood. With a loud moan, you come undone as the girl in the video hits her climax as well. You moan loudly, but the music covers your loud sounds up.
Your back arches off the bed, and wetness drools out of you. Your chest rises and falls as tingles fill your entire body from pleasure. You continue to rub your clit––softly, though. Your legs twitch, and you just can’t handle anything more, even though you’re still needy and desperate to get off again and again. Your digits move downwards, and they pick up some of your slick. You stare him dead in the eyes as you bring said fingers all the way up to your lips.
You push them past your oh-so kissable lips, and the slightly bitter yet sweet taste of yourself fills your mouth. Your tongue swirls around your fingers, lapping and licking up every bit of yourself. And you do it all while Helmut watches you. You smile around them, trying your best to hide the brattiness beneath your exterior. But he sees straight through it. Blood rushing down to his cock again, and he can’t believe how much of a whore you are.
“Fuck, you taste good, don’t you, baby? Вероватно слатко попут слаткиша,” he moans, fucking his hand even faster now. He usually has better stamina, but there’s just something about you that’s changing it all. “I’m gonna come all over you, coat you with my seed so that you’ll remember that you belong to me. Nobody else’s slut, only mine,” Helmut snarls.
“Please, Daddy? Please give me your cum; I want it all over me. Please? I need it so badly, please give me your cum,” you beg him sweetly, and that just does it for him. He’s a goner. His balls tighten up, and he aims his cock towards your pussy. Groaning, he hits his climax. White streaks of hot cum spurt out from his raging tip, landing onto your cunt, and you gasp loudly. You let out soft whimpers, and Helmut lets out soft groans.
His cum mixes with the mess that is your pussy, and you open your legs even wider for him. Ropes of his seed hit your clit, your inner thigh, right near your hole––practically everywhere. “Fuck,” he moans, admiring the painted masterpiece between your legs. It’s so debauched, so wrong to do, but you both love it so much. “Your pussy is even prettier now, baby,” he smirks, dropping his hand that was on his cock to his sides. You stare up at him with a mischievous smirk on your face.
“You still aren’t satisfied, are you? You’re such a whore. I bet if it were possible, you’d get fucked every second of the day. You just can’t get enough of being treated like a slut, I know you can’t, мала беба,” Helmut growls, and you whimper. The idea is simply wonderful, and you realize that he’s not wrong at all. He swiftly pulls his shirt over his head, and you ogle his body. You never really did fancy those overly ripped men growing up.
Maybe it was just the content you consumed when you were younger. His stomach is soft, and you’d love to have your nose against it while his cock is in your throat. His chest is just perfect for you to dig your nails in when you ride his cock. He’s perfect. Helmut smirks down at you––all morals out the window––and he climbs on top of your body. He rests his hands on your waist, right where the band of your leggings is.
At first, you think he’s truly the gentleman he is. You think he’s going to pull your fishnets down, and you think he’s going to be gentle with you. But you’re wrong. His broad hands move to the centre of your core, and he slots his fingers between the spaces of the tights. Suddenly, he rips them apart loudly, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. The sound is quite loud, but your music is louder. You’re sure the video has finished playing, but you don’t care about that.
You only care about him.
He continues to tear the cheap fabric away from your skin, leaving you with nothing on. You admire the tiny bit of strength he puts into the action, almost as if stripping you bare doesn’t matter much to him. Helmut throws the two pieces of what was once your favourite pair of leggings behind him, somewhere near the laptop. He grips your thighs and drags you closer to him until his cock is touching your messy pussy.
You watch him through his every movement. “Such a pretty pussy. I can’t wait to ruin it, baby,” he smiles at you, bringing his index finger to your sensitive folds. You’re so wet, soaking the bed sheets beneath you, and there’s no doubt you’ll do the same to his cock. “I want you to fuck me, Daddy. Please fuck me, I’ll be so good for you!” you plead to him, hooking your arms under your knees.
“Боже мој…” Helmut breathlessly mutters, looking at the way your eyes have been glazed over. He pulls his hand away from your pussy, unsure as to whether or not he wants to fuck you into oblivion right here, right now, or to tease you until you’re sobbing and writhing. “Please, please, please, Daddy! Please fuck me, I need your cock so badly, please-” you continue to beg until a hand around your throat shuts you up.
Helmut leans over your body even more now, squeezing the sides of your neck until dark stars taint your vision. “That’s all you know how to do; beg for cock and be desperate. Right? Пошто сте тако лепо питали, ваљда ћу се појебати ти. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. I’ll only stop when I think I should stop,” he smirks, and you moan softly. Nodding your head excitedly, you go to beg once more just for added measure.
As soon as you open your mouth, you’re taken aback. Helmut’s face hovers over yours, and his lips are puckered up. Suddenly, he spits into your slack jaw, and it lands directly on your tongue. “Swallow it, now,” he orders, and you do exactly that. His blown-out eyes stare into yours for a few seconds, and your heart is beating out of your chest. More wetness drools out of your hole, and Helmut’s cock is still hard.
You then feel the blunt tip of his big cock poking at your tight entrance. Your breathing hitches as he slowly pushes his, sheathing his entire length inside of you. The stretch is so painful as he splits you into two. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good for Daddy,” he tells you, his accent becoming more prominent than you’ve ever noticed. He eventually bottoms out, and you’re fighting so hard to not let out a loud moan that even Lana Del Rey can’t save you from.
“Проклетство, твоја маца је тако уска, just gripping me so tight I can barely move,” Helmut groans. His balls sit against your ass, and you slowly get used to the painful stretch. It turns pleasurable, and you find yourself wanting him to move already. You clench down on him, urging him to start fucking you. But he just shakes his head, not giving in to your Bambi eyes and pathetic pleas. “Feel how deep I’m inside of you, baby? Yeah, isn’t that what you wanted?” he questions, and you nod your head.
The song starts up again for the nth time that night. “Тако добро ћу те јебати, душо. Gonna let your stepdad fuck you, baby?” he questions once more, waiting for your answer. “Mhm, fuck me, Daddy. Please fuck me,” you tell him, and he lets out a soft chuckle. Slowly, he drags his cock out of your wet pussy. He watches where you’re both connected, staring at the way you have him shining and glistening. You moan softly as he leaves just the tip of his cock inside you before thrusting back into you harshly.
Helmut fucks you roughly and quickly, desperate to bring you both to your climaxes. His hand grips your throat roughly, and his other hand grabs your waist tightly. “Fuck, Daddy,” you choke out, not expecting him to be so aggressive. “Принцезо, you look so pretty with my cock inside you. I love how stupid you look,” he groans. “Harder, daddy, please, I wanna come for you,” you plead to him. “Such a brat, am I not fucking you hard enough? God, you’re such a whore. You’re gonna be sorry you asked me that,” Helmut warns.
He slows down his pace, but he fucks you even harder. Each thrust sends butterflies throughout your body, and every now and then, he hits your sweet spot. You sing sweet sounds like a hummingbird, all for him. His balls slap against your ass, and his groin rubs against your swollen clit a few times. “Daddy, you feel so good inside me. I love your cock so much…” you whisper to him, gripping the sheets next to you. They’re not soaked, but they may rip by the time he’s done with you.
“I know you do, slut; I know you love my cock. That’s why you’re taking it so well, just like the good girl you are,” Helmut tells you after one particularly harsh thrust. You begin to feel that coil inside you tighten up, ready to snap any moment now. But this time, it’s stronger, and you need to come so badly. “Daddy… I’m gonna come,” you warm him, squeezing your eyes shut as pressure starts to build. “Јебати, yeah, I can feel it, baby. I’m gonna come to, I’m gonna fill you up with my cum,” he moans softly.
You whimper at his words, wanting him to come inside you so badly. “Make you all swollen with my kid, never gonna let you go empty- Fuck.” You both begin to moan louder and louder, and you’re the first to let go. Dizziness sways you as your back arches off your bed. Your eyes roll back, and you moan to him. “Daddy!” you cry out, your heart clamouring in your chest. Your pussy clamps down on Helmut’s cock tightly as you come around him. Wetness coats his cock, and you can barely catch your breath.
“Daddy…” you moan once more, and he just can’t hold back anymore. His thrusts become sloppy, and his balls tighten up as he comes. Ribbons of cum painting your inner walls, and he fills you up to the brim, just like he promised. The hands that are on you loosen up a bit, and you moan at the feeling of his cum inside of you. “Јебени пакао,” he groans above you. You look at him carefully. He’s slick with sweat and slightly red, and you giggle. “What?” he asks, more confused than ever. “Nothing, Daddy,” you whisper.
“Nice music, by the way,” Helmut compliments, leaning over you. In perfect timing, your computer falls asleep. Lana Del Rey’s voice no longer fills the room; and instead, it’s your shallow pants. He slowly pulls out of you, and you both whimper. Your poor pussy has been abused beyond belief. Cum leaks out of you and mixes with the other fluids that cover you. He leans backwards and presses the space bar, and the song starts up again. “How about you put on a show for me now, моја мала девојчица?” he proposes.
He likes you a lot, so he’s putting on his music to watch his little girl to.
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Call It A Night - Chapter Two
Choice: Baron Helmut Zemo (x F!Reader)
Summary: After a night of drinking and partying in Madripoor, your small group returns to Sharon’s apartment. Caught between the attentions of three vastly different men, a choice has to be made. Which one do you want?
In this choice chapter, the answer is the illusive Baron Helmut Zemo.
Alternate Endings. Smut. Alcohol. Jealousy. Explicit Language.
WARNINGS: Explicit Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Blowjobs. Vaginal Sex. Biting. Zemo’s Coat. Unprotected Sex. Use of the word ‘cunt.’
✨Previous Chapter (1)✨
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
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A/N: We’re all going to jail for thirsting after this criminal.
**If you are new to ‘Call It A Night,’ this is a fic with alternate storylines. This chapter is Baron Helmut Zemo’s smut chapter. The Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson smut chapters are also completed. To follow the layout of the story, you can visit the masterlist here, and see what else is upcoming in the series.
It also couldn’t have been written without Lana Del Rey’s ‘Lolita’ playing on repeat.
Without further ado...
Your knuckles rap neatly against the hard wood of the door. A nervous heat warms your palms, and it’s hard to ignore the unsettled flutter in your stomach. Remembering Sam’s face as you left, a small beat of guilt churns within. You’re not even sure why you’re here. Why - out of all the company that you could have chosen from tonight - you are seeking out Helmut Zemo.
And it’s not to check out if he’s making a damn escape rope. Sharon has the windows to this particular room barred against intruders. No way in or out.
Sam knows that, which was why his expression had fallen slightly at your words. No judgement was voiced aloud, but you can’t help but feel a little ashamed. This is Zemo, after all, and yet here you are, knocking at his bedroom door at three in the morning because you’re completely unable to get him out of your mind.
That voice - lilted in a smooth Sokovian accent - rings out from within and recalls your attention to the present. “Enter.”
After a short inhale for reassurance, you do. Cold air immediately prickles your skin. The large room is dim, only lit by a single small lamp on the nightstand. It resides on the nearest side of an enormous, four poster bed. Your eyes cast apprehensively around the rest of the space, squinting in the dim light of the weak bulb. The only other shimmer comes from the faint streetlamp outside of the large rectangular window. It’s at the opposite side of the room to where you stand awkwardly by the door. Against the frail illumination, shadows roam freely.
A single shape stands before that window, silhouetted against the weak glow shining in. Zemo’s head inclines ever so slightly to the side at the sound of your arrival, but he does not turn around. A silence lingers. Nervous on your part, and expectant on his. Your eyes flicker helplessly down his body as your mind flounders for what to say. It’s made harder by the sight of his straight posture. How perfectly rigid those broad shoulders are.
He doesn’t have the coat on. Just his maroon sweater, although it looks nearly black in the dim room. All the same, it fits his skin like the gloves still upon his hands. Not for the first time, you try to ignore the unfathomable, niggling attraction that you feel towards him.
He’s the bad guy. You shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome and articulate, and filled with the cold charm of old world manners. He’s a murderer. The man who tore the Avengers apart. One who used Bucky as a pawn, and left a rift between Steve and Tony Stark that never quite healed. The fact that you would find him attractive should have you asking Bucky for the number of his therapist, but despite it all, that attraction gnaws. Thick and firm, tugging you towards to him.
You think about making up an excuse to leave. That you got the wrong room or something. The words refuse to come. Whatever connection you feel has pulled taut at his proximity. Your body simply will not heed what your mind is urging.
Eventually, as if realising that a greeting is still not soon to make its way from your lips, he speaks. His voice is filled with a smug satisfaction that you cannot quite translate at this moment. “Your guardian is not with you.”
You bristle, indignation helping you to finally locate your voice. “I don’t need Bucky hovering over me.”
Zemo’s chuckle drifts into the air. The sound is accompanied by a soft shake of his head. It twists slightly, and those dark eyes finally fall playfully upon your face as he answers. “I am aware of that. Even if the Winter Soldier is not.”
“Don’t call him that,” you retort harshly, arms crossing over your chest. “His name is Bucky.”
The Baron inclines his head, almost apologetically. “I meant no offense. Please. Come in.”
You try to fight the lure of his smooth tone, instead drawing yourself up to your full height and declining as firmly as you can. “I’m alright here.”
His reply is patient, nearly kind. “I understand the apprehension, dragă. Truly, I do. But you have nothing to fear from me.”
A scoff escapes your lips. “I’m not so sure about that.”
He remains completely pleasant, that tone even and patient. “And it is perfectly logical that you aren’t. But come. I want to show you something.”
That piques your curiosity. Slowly, you put one foot before the other and warily cross the room. It’s hard not to be apprehensive as you approach. The Baron fixes you with a thin smile. Something about it is oddly reassuring. There’s a hint of encouragement in his eyes. He takes a step to the side, clearing your view as his hand sweeps to gesture out of the window.
Your reflection stares back at you from within the transluscent reflection of the pane. Her gaze is almost accusatory. As if wondering why you are just standing there, allowing Zemo come so near. Just watching as his hand slides across the small of your back, coming to rest upon your opposite hip. The sensation of the contact draws a shudder from within, one that you try to ignore. One that speaks of a longing and desire that you should not voice. Will not voice.
Within the window, the other Zemo watches you with the sly beginnings of a grin curving his lips. It’s a look that you’ve seen him wear often enough. One of confidence and satisfaction that he is the smartest person in the room, and knows what move you will next make. Or rather, what move you will not make.
You force the words to sound impatient, unwilling to melt so easily against his touch. “What did you want to show me?”
He takes another half-step closer, reflection looming as he comes to stand behind you. That firm chest lightly brushes your back. Your skin prickles in response, reacting to the heat of his body and that delicious scent of his cologne. It had almost made your mouth water in the hallway. A thick swallow echoes within the confines of your throat.
Zemo hears it, that slight laugh spilling from his lips. One gloved hand raises, skimming along your shoulder, pointing to something out the window. Your eyes follow, straining as you peer up into the sky. Inky darkness fills your vision, broken only by the soft twinkle of stars. A beat of expectant quiet passes, before you speak. “What am I meant to be looking at?”
There’s a hint of excitement to the smooth timbre of his voice as he answers. “Ophiuchus is out tonight.”
Confusion furrows your brow, reflected on the face of your double within the windowpane. “Am I meant to know what that is?”
Zemo’s responding smile is playful. His brown eyes flit down, coming to rest on the side of your face. That gaze sends another tinge down your spine. One that you try not to think about.
It’s as if everytime those dark irises fall to caress you, your mind just hurls itself into the gutter. His scent clouds your senses, deep and rich, with the barest hint of spice. Warmth simmers between your legs, stroked into life by the assured touch of his hand against your hip, and the way that firm torso brushes your back. His smooth Sokovian accent doesn’t help.
“It’s a constellation, dragă, and a rare one at that.”
Oh. You say the only thing that you can think of. “I never would have guessed that you were into stars.”
A wry chuckle rumbles his chest. “You learn to truly appreciate the beauty of things after years confined within the same blank walls of a prison cell.”
Of course. But you can’t quite bring yourself to feel sorry for him. Flawed as they may be, your morals have not gone completely out the window. A scrap of common sense still remains. However, you decide not to broach the subject. Your views on his actions will never change, and neither will his conflicting ideals to what you have to say. Besides, a debate on morality is not what you came to his room for.
With the practised tack that comes from often being the one to diffuse Bucky’s precarious temper, you casually divert the subject. “What does ‘dragă’ mean? Is it Sokovian?”
Amusement draws across the reflection of the Baron. You are all too aware of those elegant fingers lightly playing against the curve of your waist. They remain at their respectable height, but it’s impossible to ignore the connotation of the knowing touch. How casually he performs the action.
And his reply send another wave of longing through your already-heated body. “Indeed. ‘Dragă’ means darling.”
You try to scoff, ignoring the twist to your insides that those words bring. "I'm not your darling."
"Are you quite sure about that?" The response is teasing, nearly a little husky. Aware that you’re lying, and deeply smug about it.
All the same, you can’t cave quite that easily. "Why wouldn't I be?"
“Because I know why you came here.”
He shifts even closer behind, until his chest is pressed up against your back. You stiffen, but do not move away. It’s a mixture between not wanting to show weakness, and just not wanting to. Warmth radiates from his body, simmering through the fabric of his tight sweater like a furnace. Fuck. You swallow again, trying to keep your face composed into a semblance of calm. To project that you are not affected by his proximity. A lie.
Zemo knows it too. It’s clear in the smirk of his reflection. Tangible in the honeyed tension spreading across the room. Those dark eyes fix on yours in the window, before slowly dragging down to run across your body. The brush of his gaze is like a physical caress. It all but burns against you. As you watch, the fingers of the hand upon your hip flex experimentally, squeezing.
The gesture is relaxed. Dominant. A sign of a man utterly confident in his motions. You try to stop your mind from desperately fixing on the contact. His grip is light yet firm, and his fingers play teasingly against your curve. The touch only makes you want to feel that hand wrapping underneath your thigh to hoist your leg around his waist. And it’s growing harder to ignore the inviting shape of the hulking bed.
Eyes fluttering shut, a deep inhale inflates your chest. An attempt to centre yourself. It marginally works. That is, until a breeze from the tiny opened pane at the top of the huge window stirs the wispy curtain before you. The laced hem lifts, brushing teasingly over the bare skin of your thighs. Another reminder of how short this damn dress is. While it is undeniably pretty, it is not a piece that you are accustomed to wearing.
Not that this had exactly been your choice. Well… That’s not completely true. You did have a say in one thing.
Your designated disguise for the evening had been that of Zemo’s arm-candy, and so you had needed to look the part. He had almost taken a little too much pleasure in handing you your outfit, that sly grin curving his lips as he did. Both Sam and Bucky had seen the expression, and the latter had visibly bristled. Thankfully, neither had noticed the lingerie that the Baron had also had placed into the dress bag. A set that you - for some unfathomable reason - had put on after only a slight hesitation.
His voice whispers against your ear in a low murmur. “Are you wearing what I chose?”
“All of it?”
That seems to please him immensely. His eyes meet yours in the window’s reflection, that shrew smile drawing across his chiseled face once again. You can’t bring yourself to return it, but also can’t look away. His other hand - the one not resting on your hip - rises, tracing slowly along the curve of your arm. Goosebumps erupt in its wake. He leans in, so close that his lips brush teasingly against your earlobe. “Good.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
Zemo pauses, as if caught on a sudden thought. His eyes lift once again to meet yours in the window’s reflection. A vibration runs through the broad torso pressed against your back as his throat clears softly.
His familiar low murmur washes across you. “I want to be clear about something. You can leave this room at any time. If you are uncomfortable, you can stop me whenever. I will not protest or act against your wishes. But if you do decide to stay… I can promise that you will not regret it.”
Those eyes hold yours in a sheer deadlock. Weighing so heavy that you cannot divert your gaze. Your mind churns as you watch him. Do you maintain the high-ground and leave, or stay and relish in everything that comes next? You know the answer. Despite all of your turmoil, there was only one clear choice. It was made as soon as you decided to cross the room to stand at his side.
And while you can back out, you won’t.
The decision blazes in your eyes, mirrored in your reflection’s curt nod. A victorious smile curves Zemo’s smug mouth as that dark gaze smolders with heated satisfaction. His fingers tighten on your hip - that leather glove crinkling - and then he tugs you back even further into his muscular body. The delicious scent of his cologne coninues to haze your thoughts.
All the same, the tiniest shred of integrity still remains. Although, admittedly, you’re not quite sure if it will persist.
“I’m not kissing you,” you tell him in a voice that is hoarse yet purposefully firm.
Another amused laugh rumbles from within his frame. “Very well, my dear. However, I doubt that resolve will last.”
With another sly smile, his gloved hand lifts to your mouth in an unspoken command. The words don’t matter. Somehow, you know what he wants. Obediently leaning forward, your teeth close around the tip of the leather covering his index finger. He tugs backward, and the glove slips free, held in your mouth as his bare hand slides out unencumbered. The fabric leaves a sour taste in your mouth. It billows to the floor after you let it slide free.
He uses that freed hand to carefully sweep the strands of hair off your shoulder, guiding them to fall down the length of your back, and smoothly caressing the curve of your ear as he does. The other still remains on your hip, a constant reminder of his control. Your eyes flicker back up to the window. He is still watching you there, face glinting in an expression that is roguishly playful. A dangerous glint lights his eyes. It sends a chill of excitement down your spine. Making sure that you are witnessing every move, he leans in to gently press his lips against the side of your neck.
The contact is blissful. Your head falls to the side, allowing him greater access to the curve. His mouth whispers across your skin. Nipping. Sucking. Licking. All of the motions slow and teasing, and utterly confident in their effect. His bare hand travels slowly forward once again, running along your chest to grope and squeeze.
The fingers of the other gloved hand leaves your hip, sliding up to wrap around your wrist, restraining it against your side as his mouth whispers against that sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Being touched right there always sets your nerves alight. A small moan escapes you as his teeth catch on the delicate skin in a playful bite, leaving a delicious sting in its wake.
The hand fondling your breast shifts, slipping inside the low neckline of your dress. It’s a cautious movement, allowing ample opportunity for you to stop him if you wish. You don’t, and can nearly feel his subsequent smile against your skin. That warm touch lightly skirts over the rise of your chest, making its way inside of your bra. Your heart has picked up speed, pounding throughout your body. Another small whine leaves you pathetically as his fingers circle your hardened nipple, before tweaking the raised bud experimentally. It draws another weak cry, one that Zemo seems to relish in creating.
His dark laugh washes over your skin. The sound only increases the growing heat between your legs. Your thighs press together, trying to generate some sort of friction to soothe your throbbing cunt as his fingers continue to tease your nipple and his mouth continues its tortuous journey against your neck. Everything in you is begging for him to lower his hands and touch you in the spot that you truly desire. And so, you wordlessly command him to.
Your hand closes over the back of his, clawing it away from your breast and dragging it down the length of your body. His palm is pressed against the soft fabric of your dress. The material flattens against you as it skirts down past your navel. That sly chuckle sounds in your ear again. The sound is nearly as heavenly as the scent of him. Both only serve to make you more dizzy as he lifts his head to nuzzle against your ear.
“Growing impatient, are we?”
That hand has stopped at the bottom of your stomach. You push, trying to urge it down more, but he will not budge. An irritated whine comes from your clenched jaw, narrowed eyes lifting to glare at him through the mirror. He takes in the expression with amusement. Those long fingers unfurl from your wrist, sliding to wrap across your waist as he tugs you even closer, head lowering to rest on your shoulder in feigned innocence. “Is something the matter, dragă?”
You remain stubbornly silent. Unwilling to give the satisfaction of saying the words that he is so clearly angling for. To have you beg for his fingers to continue that descent.
He maintains his entertained stare for a few more moments, before finally breaking to press another lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His tongue flickers against the skin. All you can think about is what it would feel like against your own. Or between your legs. Another thick swallow comes at that thought.
Zemo’s eyes quickly catch the motion. Something about the heat in your determined expression prompts him to move again. That hand slips further down your body. His other arm tightens further around your waist as he leans over slightly, adjusting himself so that his hand can slide between your legs with ease. Another little moan spills out as his fingers rub experimentally over your panties, feeling the wet lace covering your core. Your mind is lost in the sensation as he strokes the spot, and murmurs quietly. “Do you want me to touch you?”
Your answer comes in a pleading whine. “Yes.”
Those nimble fingers slip underneath those expensive lingerie before you even have the chance to catch a breath. A ragged gasp tears from your throat as they brush teasingly over your clit, passing it momentarily before turning to circle around the sensitive bud. Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he delves carefully between your wet cunt. Spreading the gathering slick. Teasing it around so that you can really feel just how wet you are growing. That delicious heat starts to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It only increases as his index finger experimentally dips between your folds, pumping gently in and out.
The angle however - how far he has to bend to reach around your body - proves to be a little too awkward for him to keep them playing inside of you, and so they slip out to focus on your clit again. Both of your hands have risen to grip the forearm circling your front, nails all but biting into his skin. He offers no sign of pain, and continues to caress and massage your clit knowingly. Your body responds by eliciting soft gasps and moans, as warmth rises upon your chest. Zemo’s lips brush against your ear again, murmuring soft reassurances in a mixture of Sokovian and English.
All the while, his erection digs into your side. You reach back clumsily, fingers sliding across the hard protrusion of his trouser. Trying to return at least a shred of the wonders that he is performing on you. Zemo only tuts, his hand leaving your underwear to reach back and push your grasping fingers aside. The admonishment that leaves his lips is gentle, but firm. “As pleasurable as it feels to have you pawing at me, not just yet. You will only distract me, and I have no desire to leave my work unfinished.”
Before you can reply, his hand returns to slip between through your underwear and brush once more against your clit. You moan. And it’s his name, which would be mortifying if you were in the right mind to care. It only seems to turn him on more. His touch becomes more insistent, stroking and rubbing against your aching clit, feeling how you grow even more soaked at the contact. That heat is spreading through your body, radiating from your core, signalling that it won’t be long. His filthy whispers fill your ear, but you can only half-focus on what he is saying, the words stuttered by the grating of his hips as his erection strains into your back.
Your image swims in the faint reflection before you, barely conceivably through half-lidded eyes. His strong arm around you, holding tightly against him as the other delves between your trembling legs. Strands of dark brown hair falling across his brow as his face hovers just above the crook of your shoulder. How his mouth is open in small, breathing increased as those murmurs of arousal continue to spill from his lips. Your hands are clawing into his arm for support, to anchor yourself against the wave of pleasure that each of his heavenly stroking against your clit is creating.
It’s as if he’s held you before, knows exactly how to touch you.
Tongues of bliss lick against your skin as you approach the peak. Your heated face turns. Panted gasps are bursting from your lips as the euphoric simmering in the pit of your stomach threatens to boil over. Zemo notices the reaction, and strains forward, that dark gaze falls on your bare face for the first time since you joined him before the window. A strand of hair hangs over his eye, and unabated lust gleams from it.
Something about it - how reverentially he is looking at you, how hard he is working to bring you pleasure - cracks that earlier resolve. The orgasm rises to a boiling climax, flooding through your body as you lean forward to press your lips desperately against his, breathing small cries into his mouth as the tremors of pleasure shake your frame, weakening your legs. His hold across your midriff tightens, keeping you both upright and in place as he harshly kisses you back, the bitter taste of whiskey still on his tongue. It is searing. His finger continues to massage your clit, drawing lingering jolts of ecstasy that leave you writhing uncontrollably, the remanents of your release still jerking your frame in small, elated spasms at the touch.
You have to break away from the kiss after a few moments, weakly lowering your head to catch your breath in the pit of his collarbone. It proves a struggle to regain total composure. Zemo doesn’t release you. Not right away. Instead, he holds on, allowing you to gather back your strength first, before obediently letting go as you slowly - and a little embarrassedly - disentangle yourself from his grip and distance yourself with a single step.
Your clothes are in disarray, your face is flustered, and you can feel the slick coating your thighs. In the aftermath of release, you should be feeling satisfied. Common sense should have returned. It hasn’t, and you can only find your throat drying at the realisation that it’s not enough. That it’s only made you want him even more.
Zemo adjusts his ruffled sweater. His gloved hand lifts to sweep his hair back into place. Content that he is somewhat adequately poised once more, that dark gaze lifts to your face again. Those eyes are hungry. Yearning. He’s not finished either, but will play the part of gentleman and politely wait until you are ready to proceed. All the same, impatience and agitation are visible in the tense line of his shoulders.
Despite his attempts to put his appearance back in order, that erection still visibly strains against his trousers, begging to be freed. Your eyes lift to his, and his smooth brows arches in a silent challenge.
Will you or won’t you?
How much further will you allow this to continue?
Swallowing thickly, your slightly breathless voice stirs the night. “Take off your shirt.”
His lips part in response, eyes widening as the command washes across him. Slowly, the Baron obeys. That sweater rides up his body, slipping free. Smooth porcelain skin lies underneath. He’s been inside that prison cell so long, deprived of the sun, that he is almost startlingly pale. It only helps define the lean muscle of his chest. Your eyes drink him in appreciatively, as his burning stare bores into your face.
His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, before he continues. “Now you. I want to see what I chose.”
The words send a cold prickle across your skin. Your swollen clit throbs once again in pure arousal. Hips swaying purposefully, you retake that step back, until you are brushing teasingly against his bared chest, before turning to once again present him with your back. “Then you need to help me out of this dress.”
His hand rises, skating up your back. You expect it to halt around the rise of the zipper. It does not, but instead seizes a harsh hold of your hair, yanking it back to breathe another filthy kiss against your mouth. The action sends an electrified surge of desire clean through you. It makes you want to drop your panties and let him take right there. Before you can propose such a thing, he lets go, pushing your head forward as his hands tear down the zipper. The dress starts to peel away from your skin.
The heated brush of Zemo’s hands sends a jolt through your entire body as he pushes the straps off your shoulders, allowing them to hang loosely against your forearms. With a soft thump, the dress slips from your body and onto the floor, leaving you in nothing but the lacey black lingerie that the Baron had selected. This moment - the heat of his gaze warring with the chill of the air - nearly sends you into a mindless spiral of arousal once again. Not that you are far from one at the moment.
Standing there underneath his worshipping eyes, armoured in matching set of sexy, expensive underwear, you can’t help but feel powerful. Invincible. That if you told him to drop to his knees, he would without question. Noticing how you posture straightens confidently, the Baron’s lips curve into a deep smile.
Had he known what was going to happen?
Dull footsteps creak across the floor as he circles you slowly, drinking in the attire as one hand traces across your stomach. You allow the thrill of the touch to surge across your skin, prickling with intensity as your cunt throbs again.
Coming to a stop before you, Zemo’s fingers rise until they curl underneath your chin, angling it gently upwards. Lusty satisfaction is evident in his shining eyes. He likes it. More than likes it. Another low growl rumbles from his chest, expressing more desire than words ever could. That carnal drive becomes even more apparent as his other hand settles firmly upon your buttock, kneading into the flesh harshly as he pulls you stumbling closer.
His hard mouth lowers, pressing against yours. You nearly melt at the contact, hands sliding up his chest as your core tingles with yearning once more. His tongue slips between your lips, cajoling yours assuredly, and you respond to him with unbridled enthusiasm.
Zemo was right. That earlier resolve - that promise that you would not kiss him - did not last. And deep down, you had known that it wouldn't. Even as the words had escaped your lips. Crossing that room was the first sign of a surrender that would consume you whole. And here, in the moment, you can’t bring yourself to regret a single second of it. No. You only solely and completely long for more. From him to take you in whatever manner he wanted.
Your head spins. Nothing resonates in your thoughts except for Helmut Zemo. The firm surface of his hard torso against your fingertips. The dizzying scent of his delicious cologne. The harsh brush of his recently shaved chin against yours as that kiss threatens to consume you whole. How his mouth moves against yours, tongue insistent as it plays in ways that make your knees tremble.
Those confident hands slid up down your legs, and in one smooth motion they are wrapping around your thighs and lifting you into the air. Your legs tighten around his waist, hands tangling wildly in his perfectly styled hair. His own slide down to cup your ass. You can feel the leather glove still coating one, cold compared to the heat of his other bared palm. Both grips are insistent, keeping your body pressed suspended, pressed firmly against his as he starts to move in the direction of the bed. The almost desperate exploration of his mouth against yours does not pause or end.
Jammed against his front, the damp lace of your underwear presses against you. The fabric is soaked through, an undeniable sign of the devastating effect that his attentions are having on your body. Viewing him as a tornado, as you had previously thought, seemed utterly accurate now. You had lost yourself in him almost effortlessly, pieces of rationality and logic snatched and torn away until you were lost in the blissful eye of the storm, feeling it consume you on all sides.
The Baron tears his lips from yours without warning. There’s no time to react or question, just the abrupt sensation of falling as his arms bunch, lifting as they fling you onto the bed. Hard. The mattress bounces underneath at the sudden collision. Some of the breath knocks from your lungs, in a mixture of both the impact and the surprise. All the more aroused, you scramble to push yourself up on your elbows, rising up in time to watch him take the final few strides to the bed.
Zemo's confident step is smooth, nearly a swagger. Your eyes flit down his form, drinking in the magnificent sight of him. Dark eyes, chiseled features, and that roguish smile that makes your chest seize. His pale, flat chest and the hardened protrusion of his cock bulging at the front of his trousers. Halting, one of his arms raises to teasingly brace upon one of the bed’s shining wood posters, leaning against it as he looms over you assuredly, and speaks once again in that lucious rasp.
"I hope that you're ready, dragă. It has been a... long time since I've felt such an urge. I will do my best to hold back. To make this pleasurable for both of us."
Your voice holds nothing but roughened lust. “Get down here.”
He laughs, and then those firm hands are skating up your thighs, seizing the rim of your panties and ripping them from your legs in one harsh motion. They are tossed aside, discarded carelessly to the darkness. You surge upright before he can climb atop your body, legs dangling off the side of the bed as your fingers fumble determindely against the buckle of his belt. He lets out a low sound of approval, hands drifting aside to allow you easier access.
The mound of his erection radiates heat. It’s hard to think of anything else but what it will feel like pressing up inside you. All that you have to do first is get his damn fly open.
His cock spills free when you finally do, bouncing out as you tug down the waistband of his boxers. The purplish tip is gorgeously swollen. Precum already slightly leaks from the glistening peak. It’s sticky against yours fingers as your hand wraps around his dick, giving it a swift pump, running your gaze down the perfect form of his member. Zemo’s hiss comes through gritted teeth, hand reaching out to seize the solid poster again. Even in the dim light, you can see his knuckles turn white from the strength of his grip.
He is certainly above average length, but the thing that makes your heart pound with unabated desire is how thick he is. You can already imagine that sensation of him stretching you out. How deliciously this cock can fill you. The urge to lie down and let him take you rises once again, but you push against it. He has certainly treated you well tonight, so it is only fair that you return the favour. After so long unattended, the ache must be near unbearable.
You lean forward, wrapping your lips around him. A grunt bursts from Zemo’s lips. The wooden pillar creaks under his tightening hands. His hips begin to gently thrust, gently working himself into your mouth. You can tell that he is holding back, even as one of his hands falls to slip around the back of your head, holding it in place as you take him further into the back of your throat.
The lingering precum is salty and bitter, but you do not stop. Zemo’s muted gasps softly fill the air. The sound is music to your ears, singing to your aching cunt and filling you with the desire to have him fold beneath you. Your pace increases, feeling how his legs are tembling as your hand rises to join your mouth, carefully pumping in unison as your tongue swirls over his tip.
And then it happens. Completely unexpected. The Baron breathes your name, and seems unaware that he does. Your eyes flicker up to land on his face, but your mouth continues to bob obediently against his cock without faltering. A faint shimmer of sweat has started to grow on his brow, and air whistles from his clenched teeth. The struggle is plain on his face.
A particular flicker of your devilish tongue against his top has a strangled cry spilling from his lips. One of his hands shoots to your shoulder, quickly easing you back.
“Not all the way, dragă. I want to feel you.”
The words sent another tortuous ache down your body. You can only nod, hand reaching up to swiftly brush away the remnants of saliva that coat your chin. It’s only then that you notice something underneath that feels a little different from regular soft bedsheets. His long coat lies atop the end of the bed, and you are sitting towards the hem of it. Fabric rustles as you go to to shift, planning to tug it free and move it aside.
The Baron’s words stop you. “Don’t.”
One look at his heated gaze sets the meaning clear. He wants to fuck you on that coat. And you will gladly oblige. His hand - the one still covered by the smooth leather glove - lands on the centre of your chest, pushing you firmly down atop the mattress. The coat crinkles underneath you, furred collar almost perfectly level with your neck. Zemo’s fingers recall your attention as he clambers atop the bed, having ridded himself of his trousers and boxers. The other glove is gone from his hand too, so now the contact is just sheer bare skin.
His hands slip behind you, and you arch your back as he unbuckles your bra. It slides free of your chest, leaving your breasts exposed. The Baron is immediately hovering on all fours over you, mouthing against your chest. Teasing your nipple with his tongue, as one hand slowly trails up the inside of your leg, until those teasing fingers slide inside of your soaked folds again. Payback for the delicious torture that you just put him through. They pump inside of your cunt, leaving you writhing on the bed. One hand grips the sheets for an anchor as the other rises to tangle in his hair, only mussing it further.
That heat looms inside of you again. There’s no way it couldn’t. Not with his two fingers working so dexterously. But Zemo pulls out just before that point is reached, when you halfway there and locked in the throes of helpless lust, and settles back upon his heels. Instead, his hands tighten around your calves, pulling them upward to each rest against a shoulder. A needy keen tears from your lips as he brushes your clit again with an evil smile. The coat underneath you stirs as his throaty chuckle caresses the air, that knowing gaze lifting to meet yours. His hair is completely mussed, formed in messy peaks at the behest of your earlier hands.
His fingers leave your clit, and instead travel down, gripping his cock. He shifts closer, the heat of his body washes across yours. You can feel the strain in the back of your legs as he looms overheard, moving to position the tip of himself at your entrance. You can feel it pressing against the lips of your folds, slowly teasing them apart. The contact is absolute torture, as it the burning need to have him just slam inside of you and finally take you whole.
Pausing for just a moment, his head tilts in contemplation as another thought overtakes him. Your chest rises and falls as you wait for him to speak. It's hard to think of anything than the throbbing heat of his erection, of how close it is to giving you exactly what you want. But you manage. Just barely.
Helmut speaks, and those soft words hesitantly broach the night air. “If I may make one more thing clear… Our encounter tonight is separate from everything that goes on during the day. This moment is you and I alone. It is born of desire, and no greater scheme than that. Regardless of anything that happens in the future, never doubt that this moment was sincere.”
His words make you nervous. The stutter of your heart only picks up when he leans down, hands sliding along the crumpled duvet, forcing your legs higher as he presses his mouth hungrily against yours again. The kiss is deep. Searching. As if he is trying to convey some unspoken meaning, one that you do not grasp quite yet. His teeth tug harshly against your lower lip, drawing a small sting of pain. The weight of his heated body presses you down, further nestling against the soft interior of that coat.
One hand slides up to seize a firm hold of your throat, fingers wrapping around either side of your neck to hold your head in place as he ruthlessly demands all of your lip’s attention. You can feel his tongue dominating the inside of your mouth, tasting the lingering salt of his precum from your tongue. The grip of his fingers tighten ever so slightly, elicting a heated moan from your lips. Zemo drinks it in, laughing knowingly against your mouth. Electrified vibrations running through his body to where he touches yours, an almost unbearable reaction to his agonizing proximity.
His throbbing cock inches further into the entrance of your cunt, skating further between the folds. The sensation is almost too much to bear. Those elegant fingers release their hold on your throat, moving back to brace against the sheets at the side of your body, trapping you underneath him.
But escape is not even on your mind. To be taken away from this now... It wouldn’t be escape. It would be torture.
Every inch of you is screaming with need for him, one fire with the sensation of his cock being so close to drilling inside of you. Your hands skate down to dig into his thighs, urging him closer.
“Are you sure?” Zemo whispers, face dipping to bury in the point where your neck meets your shoulder.
Your response comes as a hoarse murmur. “Yes.”
That raw desire filling your tone is all the encouragement that he needs. Zemo’s hips snap forward, pushing inside in one, delicious motion. A gasp bursts from your lips as he buries himself fully, a growl tearing from between his teeth. This was what you needed.
His thick ridges stretching the walls of your cunt in a way that makes your toes curl. A way that you knew it would. It had only taken one look at his gorgeous cock to know that it would be the death of you. The sensation of him within you - claiming you with that one single thrust - leaves your mind spinning with nothing but the thought of him, and the heavenly ripples that run through your body as he starts to rut in smooth, confident strokes.
Your hands fist into the bedsheets, tangling amidst them for some kind of hold as he starts by fucking you passionately. Slowly. Letting you feel every inch of his cock, and savouring the feeling of you trembling underneath him. Your cunt is throbbing with relentless need as he drives smoothly into you, taking it slow at first to get you used to the feeling of being impaled on his thick member. Eyes nearly rolling in pleasure, your lidded gaze falls on him. Those broad shoulders framed between your legs as his hands slip down to tightly grip your hips, pumping his need into your core. The harsh pressure of his hands is strong enough to bruise, but the pain brings pleasure, and you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.
At your whispered encouragements, his pace begins to pick up. The coat crinkles underneath you, bunching as the jolt of his hips becomes stronger, those sharp snaps slamming you higher up into the mattress. Underneath the harsh drive, the bed begins to shake. Thudding against the wall with each of his rhythmic thrusts in an unmistakable manner. Too lost in the all consuming bliss, you can’t even bring yourself to care.
A filthy moan spills from your lips as the head of his cock brushes that spot. Realising the significance of the sound, the Baron repeats the motion, burying himself inside of you as he does. Those white teeth are bared as he hovers above you, face twisted into a snarl of concentration. Now, lost in a moment of carnal savagery, he suddenly looks a bit more like the villain you know him to be. Have been. You’re not quite sure. Regardless, he is not one that you are afraid of in any way. Not as his hands slide down the space between your bodies to start playing with your clit again.
The sensation is almost too much. The combination of his tip stroking that pulsating spot within your core, and the touch of his fingers against that small bud of nerves outside, guides you back toward the edge of release. One that he had taken you from earlier, to ensure that he could be inside of you when it came again. Little cries begin to spill from your lips, body writhing as he hits that mark again and again with dizzing accuracy. That delicious swell begins to simmer in your stomach once more, filling your veins with a familiar prickling heat. Helpless, your hands scrabble for a hold, fisting wildly in the sheets as you climax with a loud cry, feeling your release wash through your body, clamping your walls around his member.
Zemo groans loudly, his arousal at your orgasm plain on his face. Leaning down, his mouth presses desperately against yours once more, shifting your legs to slide down his shoulders so that it allows him closer, and the snap of his hips continues to fill you achingly. Straining upward, though still somewhat trapped by the position, you return his kiss heatedly, no longer caring in any way possible at what it means... That you are as helpless under his touch as he is under yours. Utterly unable to resist.
The heated pleasure begins to build again, coaxed by the skilled strokes of his cock between your folds. He breaks away, drawing back to refocus his attention on how his body drives yours. A grunt spills from his lips, the breathless huff billowing against your cheek. Those fingers tighten around your thighs as his motions become insistent, demanding that you climax again before his own need to orgasm seizes him in a relentless hold. The way that his eyes remain fixed on your face - swallowing the sight of your passionate throes like a man possessed - pushes you closer towards yet another release, aided by the glorious pace of his cock.
It’s growing harder as he approaches his own orgasm. The fight to control it is visible on his furrowed brow as his teeth grit in concentration. His dick strokes against that throbbing spot inside of your cunt, building to an unbearable warmth. You can feel his dick hardening even further, swelling as his body prepares to release an urge that has been contained for so long. It’s throbbing inside you, and something about that heavenly tremor hits that spot inside exactly right.
A jagged, wordless cry rips from your lips as the climax erupts through your body a final time. The force is utterly intense. Zemo’s face twists in ecstasy, a low gasp tearing from him as he follows immediately, hips faltering in a violent stutter. Pulsating with one final surge, his cock spurts inside of you, spilling his cum into your hot cunt. A moan escapes his lips as his head ducks down to your neck, and then you feel his teeth clamp against your skin as he bites hard. Locked in the endorphin high, the harsh sensation is nearly blissful.
Your legs slip free of his frame, sliding down to rest against his hips. They are weak and trembling, muscles aching after being held aloft for so long.
A quiet spreads over the room as you both softly collect yourselves. Your eyes are on the ceiling, but one arm hoists up to exhaustedly sling around Zemo’s shoulders. The spent Baron rests atop your chest, nearly slumped after the force of his ejaculation. His mouth nuzzles upwards to press his lips gently against the side of your temple in a gesture that appears almost apologetic. Probably in response to the unexpected nip.
Zemo’s head rests against the swell of your breasts. Strands of mussed, wet hair prickle your bare skin. Sweat is apparent upon him, but you do not mind. Yours is equally damp, a distinctive result of the three hard orgasms. However, it was all more than worth it.
That place between your legs is singing with satisfaction, the lust finally quenched. For now, at least.
His weight against you starts to grow a little much to bear. Hands rising, you gently push at his shoulders, Shifting off you, Helmut obediently rolls away, coming to a swift halt on his back, just against your side. The night air is cool against your still-tingling skin. Goosebumps prickle as the chill sets in, prompted by the absence of his heated form hovering above.
Neither of you speaks at first. The silence is not uncomfortable, however. It is warm. Maybe a little unsure, but soft and reassuring.
Your whole body feels delicious light. Perfectly satisfied. However, through the residual elation of the climax, a slight stinging is finally starting to register. A frown tugs down your face, one hand lifting to press against your neck. The spot throbs at the contact, and no longer in a good way. Your fingers slid along the skin, feeling the small grooves in the flesh.
Mouth twisting in indignation, you turn your head to arch a brow at Zemo. “Did you really have to bite so hard?”
A hint of embarrassment flickers across his face. “Apologies. I got… carried away.”
“I can tell,” you murmur in response.
Your whole neck is sore. A combination of all of the sucking and nipping earlier when his fingers were inside you by the window, mixed with that one harsh clamp of his teeth on the side of your throat at the end. The skin is not broken, but if you can feel the bitemark with your fingers, it is probably all too visible.
With an uncharacteristic hesitance, the Baron offers a husky further explanation. “I became lost in the desire. The urge was too strong. I… I needed to leave a mark. A reminder that this truly happened. One that I can look at in the light of day, as a sign that this moment truly came to pass. That it is not just an illusion conjured by my own longing, or a fevered dream.”
You’re not quite sure to reply to that. Silence spreads as your mind churns, trying to cultivate a response. Zemo waits for your answer rigidly. His body is stiff as he lies beside you, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Finally, you shift, tongue nervously brushing across your lips as you do. His head falls towards you, and those dark eyes lack their usual sly glint as they come to rest on your face.
Quiet words spill from your lips, the only ones that come to mind. “You are oddly poetic at times, you know that?”
It appears to be the right thing to say. The compliment has some comfort wash over his handsome face. Those lips purse back into their roguish smile. He twists, rolling atop of you once again, but bracing his weight on the flats of his forearms. One of his hands reaches down, tugging your leg around his waist. Not to begin again, but to keep you close to him.
Hovering just above you, that grin is directed gently down onto your face. “I had an expensive education.”
Your laugh rings in the darkness. “I’d bet.”
The smile adorning your lips fades quickly after the words fade from the air. Noting the sudden melancholy that replaces it, Helmut’s head tilts in wordless curiosity. Frowning, your fingers play against his chest as your eyes fasten sadly on his face, running over his features. Drinking in the sight of him like this, and your happiness in the moment. It takes a few seconds for him to understand, but he figures out the meaning of your morose expression himself.
“You can’t stay.” It’s not a question.
Head shaking, you mutedly agree. “No. I can’t. They shouldn’t find me here. Us here. In this position.”
“Ah yes. I think the Win-Bucky would happily kill me for taking such a liberty with his beloved companion.” A wry chuckle accompanies his words, but you can hear the slight strain in his tone.
It’s comforting, being able to tell that he does not want you to leave. However, it does little to change the fact that tomorrow will bring a new day, a new danger, and likely only make things harder between the two of you. After all, you’re not stupid, and know sooner rather than later the illusive Baron will make a ploy for escape. And you’re not quite certain exactly what you will do when he does.
His index finger trails slowly down the side of your face, touch filled with a gentle affection that is uncharacteristic in his daily demeanour. Now, with just yourself and him and those boundaries considerably lowered, he is softer.
“Will you remain just a little longer?”
You can’t quite bring yourself to say anything else. “Yes. Just a little while.”
A/N: Disclaimer: I’m not actually a fan of the word ‘cunt’ but writing ‘pussy’ made me feel like a pimp, and writing ‘vagina’ made me think of a gynocologist. Sometimes we have to compromise!
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