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#zemo fanfic
fuddlewuddle · 2 years ago
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My favourite thing about fanfiction is that I can fall in love with the same characters a million times over but each story is different yet still has that familiarity to it- a feeling like coming home.
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rax-writes · 3 months ago
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Fandom:  MCU Pairing:  Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings:  Sexual intercourse with a female-identifying person with a vagina + a bit of sugar daddy Zemo vibes at the end Notes:  Y’all... don’t judge me. I have a power kink, and Marvel did me dirty by randomly deciding that Zemo is fifthly rich royalty. And my girl @henrysmorgan​ did me even dirtier by actively encouraging my attraction to this fucker. So, blame Marvel, and blame her. // This is kind of really fucking long, and I didn’t edit it much, because I wanted to get it posted before episode 4, in case that episode flips the script. So, potentially some editing issues, and slightly rushed writing. Hopefully it’s alright, but please let me know if I screwed up anywhere. // Lots and lots of TFAWS ep. 3 spoilers
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When Bucky texted you to ask that you meet him in some dusty, old, abandoned-looking car garage, you certainly didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that an old friend needed your help, so you intended to be there.
It had been a few months since you’d last seen him, and even longer since you’d participated in any sort of mission, but you suspected that was what you were walking into. Being exposed to the Mind Stone had granted you the power of telepathy, which meant that SHIELD was quite keen on persuading you to work for them. They trained you in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and you went on miscellaneous missions a handful of times. They put in a lot of effort to convince you that it was your moral obligation as an “enhanced individual” to help them with these missions, but you ultimately decided that that simply wasn’t the kind of life you wanted. Instead, after the Blip, you began working a desk job for SHIELD, which is when you crossed paths with Bucky, helping him with paperwork associated with his pardon, and the two of you formed a friendship. But SHIELD kept trying to coerce you to get back into the field, constantly badgering you about it and making it clear that you weren’t wanted if all you were doing was paperwork.
The truth is, you weren’t cut out to be a superhero, and you had no desire to be. It didn’t help that your entire country had been reduced to rubble several years prior, leaving you with a bottomless pit of homelessness in your heart. So, you left SHIELD, and started a life in Berlin, where you were content to live out your days as the owner of a small bakery, residing in the small apartment above your shop.
That is, until Bucky Barnes dragged you into a particularly sticky situation, with a certain Baron Helmut Zemo.
You knew that helping Bucky and Sam would throw a colossal wrench in the life you’d created for yourself in Berlin, but after they explained the situation with the super soldiers, coupled with Bucky’s puppy dog eyes, you found yourself refraining from storming out of the building the second you saw Helmut fucking Zemo.
“We need you to keep an eye on him. You don’t have to tap into his mind 24/7, we just want a heads up if he’s going to screw us over,” Bucky explained.
"Look, we really need him. We’re obviously scraping the bottom of the barrel here, otherwise he'd still be in that cell. And neither of us want to be packing a criminal around like a rich bitch's chihuahua, so we need you here to make sure we're not gonna get bit," Sam explained.
"Fine. But you both owe me," you relented, and they both took sighs of relief. You glanced at Zemo, locking eyes with him for several tense moments. He gave you a polite smile, giving off the impression that he had nothing to hide – which he didn't, as his thoughts showed his intentions were pure at the moment. "We're good for now. He just genuinely wants the opportunity to take down these new super soldiers."
Sam and Bucky nodded, visibly releasing tension from their shoulders as they moved to head out, now reassured that Zemo was truly on their side. Meanwhile, Zemo eyed you with curiosity and awe, murmuring, "Fascinating."
The four of you walked on the landing strip toward a private jet, owned by Zemo.
"So all this time you've been rich?"
"I was a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country," Zemo explained, before glancing at you with a small smile. "But you knew that already."
"Wait, how did she know that?" Sam asked, then turned to you. "How did you know that?"
"I am Sokovian myself. I was certainly not royalty, but I lived there for my entire life, until it was destroyed," you explained, stopping outside the jet as Zemo greeted the elderly butler, Oeznik, in your native language. It made you smile to yourself; it had been years since you'd heard it spoken. Zemo shot you a grin when he noticed, and when you took a peek into his mind, you saw that he understood exactly how you felt.
As the butler handed Zemo a flute of champagne after you all boarded the jet, the Baron smiled politely as Oeznik stated, “Apologies if that's a little warm. The fridge is out, but I will see if there is some good food in the galley.”
Zemo glanced as you sat across from him, then in Sokovian, Zemo told Oeznik, "Another flute for the lady, please. And if the food does not pass the smell test, give it to the gentlemen."
"It's good to have you back, sir!"
As the man retreated to the cockpit, also in Sokovian, you noted, "You are a mischievous man, even more so than in your infamously criminal ways."
"You will find that there is more to me than meets the eye, angel," he responded coolly, the Sokovian language rolling off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond, admittedly enjoying speaking Sokovian, Sam grew tired of everyone speaking a language he couldn't understand.
"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?"
After a tense exchange between Bucky and Zemo, followed by a discussion about Marvin Gaye, Zemo finally got to the point: Madripoor. You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead in your palm in exasperation.
“You couldn’t have invited me on a mission to Cancun? Or Paris? Why must it be Madripoor?” you asked Bucky, who shot you a tight-lipped, pitying smile, silently apologizing for what he was dragging you into.
“What’s up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”
“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s,” Bucky explained.
“And upon seeing it, you would see that times there haven’t changed one bit since then,” you added.
“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone,” Zemo said.
You frowned as you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s thoughts as he went silent. Fear. Anxiety. Disdain. Apprehension. You reached across to rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He shot you a small smile, then looked out the window.
Upon landing in Madripoor, one of Zemo’s contacts met you on the landing strip with a new wardrobe for you, Bucky, and Sam, and Zemo explained that each outfit was per his instruction, carefully chosen to fit the role each of you would be playing in Madripoor. One by one, you took the covered clothes hanger to the bathroom of the jet and changed. Bucky was first, stepping out in some sort of leather number, looking eerily similar to the Winter Soldier you’d seen in photos. Sam was next, donning a three-piece suit of burgundy and gold. He looked sharp, although he was immediately complaining about how ostentatious it was. And finally, you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, unzipping the covering on the hanger and revealing your “carefully chosen” outfit.
“Ich werde dir im Schlaf die Eier abreißen, Zemo!”
Bucky choked on his water and Zemo chuckled under his breath, while Sam looked between the two in confusion.
“I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed,” he observed, eyeing Zemo suspiciously.
“She informed me that she intends to remove my testicles in my sleep.”
“And why is that?”
“Perhaps because he’s chosen to parade me around Madripoor like a cheap whore,” you said angrily, stepping out of the bathroom with your hands on your hips, glaring at Zemo.
“That dress is by Armani Prive, and your shoes are Louboutins – far from ‘cheap.’ And you do not look like a whore, the dress is merely more revealing than what you are used to,” Zemo argued, standing and walking over to survey your outfit. He seemed to be enjoying what he saw, judging from the way his eyes raked up and down your body, but you didn’t dare check his thoughts to confirm or deny it.
If you were honest with yourself, he was right. It was a very nice dress; plum purple, matching the color of Zemo’s turtleneck, with long, fitted sleeves, all of it made of the softest silk you had ever touched. It was fitted at the top but flowy from the hips down, with a low balconette-style neckline, showing more of your chest than you were accustomed to, although you pulled it off quite nicely. It ended just above your knees, which was fine, as you sometimes wore skirts of that length. Overall, the luxury of it and the low-cut neckline ensured that you were out of your comfort zone, but you looked stunning – and expensive, despite your spite-fueled initial claim.
“I thought the color would look nice on you, and I was right. And I knew that the flow of the fabric at the bottom would allow for this,” Zemo said, his hand gingerly trailing from your waist to your thigh, where he pulled up the hem of your dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Glock strapped into your thigh holster. He smirked as his suspicion was confirmed. He knew you’d find a way to arm yourself, regardless of what you wore.
In hindsight, the way Zemo touched your side and lifted your skirt was all far more intimate than you should have allowed, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you, or how his close proximity made your body temperature rise, as he gazed down at you with those intense brown eyes.
Christ, you needed to get laid. Soon. Before you further entertained the idea of jumping the bones of a highly wanted criminal.
“Touch me like that again, and I will kill you where you stand,” you informed him sternly, and Zemo immediately took a step backwards, looking apologetic. From the corner of your eye, you saw both Sam and Bucky visibly relax, tension leaving their shoulders. You had read their thoughts briefly, and they were both wondering why the hell you were so calm about getting cozy with Zemo. The absolute last thing you wanted was for them to know that you were, in fact, inexplicably drawn to being that close to the Baron.
As the four of you walked along a bridge in Madripoor, Sam was quick to resume his complaining.
“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”
“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. 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 grumbled, then looked at the phone Zemo handed him. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”
“And who am I supposed to be?” you inquired, glancing down at your clothing to see if you could guess who you were meant to be portraying. An heiress or socialite, perhaps.
“My fiancée,” Zemo answered simply, the faintest smile on his lips.
You barked out a crude laugh, “Oh, I think not.”
“There is no one involved with Madripoor who looks like you. And it is rare that there are newcomers to the island, especially not in the place we’re going. Pretending you are someone random would raise concerns about the intentions of your presence; you would be perceived as a potential threat, which would jeopardize our mission. It is far easier to simply pretend we are engaged, I assure you.”
You hesitated a moment, before arguing, “No one will believe that we are engaged.”
Zemo pulled something from the inside pocket of his jacket, took your left hand, and slipped it onto your ring finger. It was a solitaire diamond ring; not large enough to be gaudy, but enough to catch anyone’s eye.
“They will if you play your part well,” he told you, then addressed the rest of your party when he added, “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”
The four of you reached a sleek black car, and climbed in, you in the back between Sam and Bucky. The ride to Low Town was tense and silent, as each of you mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When you arrived, Zemo offered you his hand as you exited the car, and the pointed look in his eyes told you that it was time to begin playing your part. You took his hand, and as you began walking into the heart of Low Town, he laced his fingers with yours. As the crowd drew near, Zemo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, gloved fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. After reading his mind, you realized that it was both for the sake of protecting you, and showing possessiveness to make it believable that you were his girl – and because he simply enjoyed having your body close, although you suspected that he’d rather you have not known that.
Despite the fact that you had been on a few missions for SHIELD, you were not exactly incapable of fear; you did not possess nerves of steel. All of the missions you’d been on were low-profile, and you were mostly just there for the sake of gathering information from those reluctant to share it. Sure, you’d been in danger before, you’d had to fight your way out of several sticky situations, but this… this was different. You were in the crime capital of the world, a lawless place filled to the brim with crooks, thieves, and murderers. More than likely, any given person around could slit your throat and never bat an eye or give you a second thought. Swallowing your own pride in the face of fear prompted you to return Zemo’s gesture, wrapping your arm around his waist and sticking close to him, which earned a smile from the man.
When you arrived at your destination, Zemo approached the bar and leaned against it confidently on one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around your shoulders.
“Hello, gentleman,” the bartender greeted, before his eyes fell on you. “Who’s your new lady friend, Baron?”
“My fiancée,” Zemo answered, then turned to you and ran his finger along your jawline, as you looked at him in adoration. “Isn’t she lovely?”
“Very,” the bartender acknowledged, then turned to Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”
“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo responded.
The bartender made ‘Smiling Tiger’ his usual drink, which apparently consisted of… something he cut out of a snake, and dropped in a shot glass with a bit of liquor. You shared a look with Bucky before he turned away to survey the room, and when you read his thoughts, you found that you both desperately wanted to laugh out loud at Sam’s ‘short end of the stick’ situation, but didn’t want to risk everyone’s lives for the sake of a chuckle. You returned your attention to Zemo, opting to sell the whole “fiancée” thing a bit more by turning into him and tracing patterns on his chest as you gazed at him affectionately, while the bartender handed you and Zemo each a shot glass of your own – sans snake organs, thankfully. You both downed yours, while Sam understandably struggled a bit more with his, but still managed it.
A random man approached Zemo then, and as Zemo turned to face him, he protectively moved you behind him a bit.
“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”
“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo countered, gesturing toward Bucky, who looked menacing as he pretended to be the Winter Soldier. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”
After a weary look in Bucky’s direction, the man walked away, and Zemo turned back around to face the bar, this time keeping you in between him in the bar, in case someone were to come up behind him – which they did a few moments later.
“Winter Soldier… attack,” Zemo commanded in Russian, as a different man came up and laid a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. With a pained look in his eye that quickly shifted to cold determination, Bucky grabbed the man’s hand with his vibranium arm, twisting it as he removed it from Zemo’s shoulder. Zemo took a step away from the bar to allow you room to turn and observe as Bucky beat the absolute shit out of various challengers. Zemo wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he noted, “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”
The unmistakable sound of numerous guns cocking drew your attention away from the altercation, and Zemo gently pushed you behind him as he surveyed the room to note all the weapons drawn. Sam grabbed Bucky’s bionic arm to stop him, but Zemo whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”
“Well done, soldier,” Zemo then said to Bucky in Russian, signaling for the ‘Winter Soldier’ to stop.
“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interjected, and Bucky released his grip on the random man’s throat.
“Thank you,” Zemo responded, walking off to find Selby, grabbing your hand to guide you, but not before you spared a sorrowful glance at Bucky as your friends followed closely behind.
As Zemo took a seat on a couch across from Selby, you sat close to him, crossing your legs gracefully as you leaned into him, your arm wrapped around his as he clasped his hands in his lap authoritatively. You watched his exchange with Selby in silence, as did Sam – and Bucky, of course, considering he was pretending to be the Winter Soldier.
“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison,” Selby told Zemo, then smiled as she looked you up and down, before her eyes found the diamond ring. “And not engaged – to a woman far out of your league, I might add.”
“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered calmly, then looked over at you, staring into your eyes with warmth and adoration, and you smiled lovingly at him. “My beautiful fiancée was a guard at the prison. We fell in love over the years, and she helped me escape. Anyway, I’m sure you have already figured out what I’m here for.”
The conversation went relatively smoothly after that, until Sam’s goddamn phone rang and screwed the entire operation. In the blink of an eye, Selby was shot dead, you had shot two of the guards with the gun strapped to your thigh, and Sam and Bucky had each knocked out one, before Zemo suggested sneaking out of the bar as best you could, without any weapons. You secured your gun back in its holster, not missing the way Zemo watched as you hiked your dress up to do so, before making a break for it with the three of them.
Once you were on the streets of Madripoor, bounty hunters began to come out of the woodwork, and when they began shooting at you, Zemo abruptly grabbed your hand and ran down a nearby alleyway. As you were running, the heel of your stiletto caught on a grate, and you’d have fallen flat on your face if Zemo hadn’t caught you.
“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he supported you, before standing you back onto your feet. You nodded, and he glanced over your shoulder as he noticed a few men looking down the alley. “Forgive me.”
You were about to ask what he was talking about, but then Zemo abruptly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, pinned you against the wall behind you, and kissed you.
The men at the end of the alleyway muttered something about “freaks who do it in public,” then their footsteps faded as they walked off, clearly thinking the two of you were some overly horny couple, not two of the people with an insane bounty on their heads. But you were barely paying them any attention, a bit preoccupied with the fact that Zemo was fucking kissing you, and much to your chagrin, you really fucking liked it.
Once there were no more voices and no more footsteps, Zemo broke the kiss and sat you down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before you heard more gunshots, and you broke into a run in the direction Bucky and Sam had gone, desperate to find your friends, and no time to process what the hell just happened.
As soon as you caught up with them, the two bounty hunters nearby were shot dead, and the four of you turned to see Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows.
An hour later, you found yourself in her swanky home in High Town, in a change of clothes, since the brick wall Zemo had held you up against ripped the back of your silk dress. You lied to Sam and Bucky, saying that it happened because you fell while running in your heels, and thankfully, they believed you. Sharon commanded the four of you to lay low and enjoy the party, which Sam and Bucky left her living room to go do, entrusting you with ‘Zemo watch.’
It seemed as though he was merely nursing his brandy in lieu of abandoning it for the party prior to finishing it off, but his eyes were on you most of the time. You didn't necessarily believe he could be plotting to overpower you and run off, but there is always that possibility, so you delved into his mind to check.
Expecting to find thoughts of strategy about how to defeat the super soldiers or travel plans, or even plots to escape you, Bucky, and Sam, you were astounded to find nothing but thoughts of you.
The way it felt to kiss you in that alleyway, and how he had monetarily debated just staying there, having his way with you against the brick wall before Sam and Bucky could locate you. The dress from the bar, and how it rested on your thighs, revealing just enough to have his mouth watering without being revealing to the point of immodesty. The way your necklace currently rested against your bare collarbone, and how desperately he craved to litter the area with love bites. The delicate skin of your throat, thinking of how it would look with his hand wrapped around it, just enough to cut off a bit of air but not enough harm you. How alluring your voice is, and how much he'd like to know what it would sound like to hear you scream his name. The softness and warmness of your skin when he had his arm around you in the bar, and when he held your hand as you fled the scene, and he wondered how soft and warm you were elsewhere.
"Your thoughts are filthy."
He bristled immediately, sitting straighter in his seat and eyes going slightly wide, either forgetting you can read minds or not realizing you'd be doing it right then. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure, before he took one long, last drink of his brandy and set the glass on the table in front of him. He turned his whole body to the side to face you, as you sat on the opposite end of the couch, wearing a small, somewhat mischievous smile.
"I suppose there is no sense in denying it, is there?"
"What game are you playing, Zemo?" you snapped. He was rattling you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was. For the entirety of the time you'd been around him, this wanted criminal had been flustering you, and goddammit it, you wanted to know if it was accidental, or for nefarious purposes. He could be using it as a tactic to throw you off your game, so that he could get away when it was just the two of you – like right now.
"There is no game, Liebling," he stated softly and sincerely, sensing your discomfort. Slowly, he scooted closer to you on the couch, so that the arm he had laid across the back of it was now behind you, as he stared intently into your eyes. "Merely the natural response of a man who has been widowed and then locked in a prison cell, and therefore has not known the touch of a woman in many years, sitting next to a woman of absolute ethereal beauty."
You said nothing, merely stared at him, sizing him up to see if he was toying with you or telling the truth. Zemo sensed your lack of belief in his words.
"If you doubt my true intentions, you are welcome to delve as deep into my mind as you'd like to find the truth."
In all honesty, you'd have done that already if you weren't trying to avoid being even more flustered by his thoughts about you – but you couldn't tell him that. So, you did as he bade you, and searched his mind to find any shred of malevolence towards you, but you came out empty-handed. Zemo genuinely just wanted you, craved you, like a starved man sitting in front of an endless buffet. He watched you carefully as you came to this conclusion, and although you said nothing further, he knew that you had found what you needed to know.
"Just say the word, and I will never approach the topic again, as well as attempt to quiet my thoughts about you. But if there is any part of you... deep inside you," Zemo paused, eyes grazing you up and down purposefully, before continuing, "that has any interest in being with me... I will do anything to bring that to fruition."
The ball was in your court now. You could tell him to get bent and never speak to you like this again… or you could get your rocks off, and maybe even get something more in return.
"Such as?"
"Name it, Schätzchen. Anything you want. A car, a mansion, jewels – say it and it's yours, if you will be mine," Zemo proposed earnestly, licking his lips quickly as he looked at you, visibly thrilled that he was getting somewhere with you.
You weren't the type to accept gifts from men you barely know, but… this was Zemo. A man who had done a great many terrible things, which soothed your guilty conscience. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.
"A car," you blurted out, then explained, "Mine broke down a week ago, and it's beyond repair, so… a car."
"Tell me the make and model of your preference and I'll have it delivered to your home within a week's time," Zemo said calmly, then brushed a lock of hair away from your face, before allowing his fingers to trail delicately along your cheek and jawline. "Is that all, Kätzchen?"
"No. One more thing," you replied, then looked at him sternly. "You must agree to never speak of this to Bucky or Sam."
"You have my word," he assured you, smiling in amusement.
"Then I'm yours."
Zemo's smile faded slowly, and he merely stared at you for a split second, before cupping your face in his hands and pulled you into a searing kiss, full of ferocity and sheer desperation. It shouldn't have been this easy, to kiss a man who's done such terrible things – yet here you were, melting into his embrace, allowing him to pull you into his lap and straddle him, your hands resting on his shoulders and gripping the black fabric of his turtleneck. His hands laid flat against your back as he kissed you in this new position, slowly gliding down, down your sides and to your hips. He kissed you in a way that was feverish and fast and hungry, as his fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly against him as if he were fearful that this was all a dream and you'd disappear at any moment. Upon taking a peek into his mind, you realized that was actually exactly what he was thinking. Additionally, he mentally spoke to you directly, somehow knowing you were reading his thoughts at that moment.
"Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, and know that you have absolute freedom to end this at any given moment."
You pulled away slightly to nod in confirmation that you received his message, before resuming the kiss. Mind hazy and instincts taking over, you found yourself tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, earning a low groan from Zemo. One of his hands darted upwards to grab a fistful of your hair, right against your scalp at the base of your neck, and he pulled on it harshly, causing you to let out a wonton moan. He then laid that hand flat against the back of your neck, holding your lips firmly against his as he kissed you with even more fervor, and the other vacated its position on your hip to slide slowly up your torso, until he began palming your beast through your shirt. You moaned softly against his lips, but not as loudly as a moment ago.
Zemo wanted more, needed more; he longed to hear you loud and desperate. So he delved that hand at your neck back into your hair, gripping it tightly once more, and used it to pull your head backwards a bit, so that he could have better access to your neck. The action itself, and the tightness of his grip, earned an embarrassingly loud moan to escape your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin. He moved his hand to the middle of your back, supporting you as you leaned back a bit to grant him better access. As he littered your neck and décolletage with kisses, you felt him pull the neckline of your blouse down a little, then felt the sharp pain of a bite on your chest, above your breast. When you looked at him with narrowed eyes, he wore a cocky little grin.
"You should not be surprised, Liebling. I know you saw that I've been wanting to do that all day when you read my mind," he noted. "Wear a high neckline tomorrow, it will be fine."
Before you could respond, Zemo pulled you flush against his chest with that hand behind your back, and into another heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and without thinking, you ground your hips down on the bulge resting against your core beneath your skirt. He groaned, both hands flying to your hips to push them down again, guiding them as you repeated the action. It only took a minute or two of this before Zemo had enough, abruptly grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the couch beside him. He then loomed over you, one hand propping himself up and the other applying slight pressure to your throat, gazing at you with admiration in those searing eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. You looked right back at him, pupils undoubtedly dilated as well, eyes half-lidded, panting a little, and hair a bit of a mess.
"You are an absolute vision," Zemo praised softly, to which you smiled, then he released his grip on your neck to lean down and kiss you again. That only lasted a moment, before he broke the kiss to pull your blouse up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra joined it shortly after, then he moved to your skirt, fussing with the zipper for a moment, but it seemed to be caught on something, as it wouldn't budge. Before you could interject and state that you'd get the zipper yourself, Zemo ripped the seam apart with his hands, before tearing the article from your body and tossing it like he had with the blouse. A gasp escaped you, but you had no time to think much about his actions, before he was pulling off your panties and bra as well, dropping them somewhere beside the couch.
He was then looming over you again, kissing you breathless as he rested on one elbow while the other hand toyed with your nipple, his knee coming up to rest between your legs as he laid between your body and the back of the couch. You tangled your fingers in Zemo's hair, moaning against his lips as you sought friction against his leg. He smiled softly against your lips, before your hands wandered, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it off of him. You had just managed to get his belt off before his hand left your breast, trailing downwards across your torso as he moved his knee further away from you, before delving between your hips and expertly locating your clit.
No longer capable of focusing on ridding Zemo of his clothes, your hands gripped his shoulders, and he hissed deliciously as your nails dug into his skin when he began rubbing small, methodical circles on your clit. Small moans fell from your lips as he watched the way your mouth hung open slightly, face relaxed and eyes closed as you enjoyed his work. But again, he wanted more, needed more. Still observing you, he delved his middle and ring fingers into your core, causing you to let out a loud gasp that faded into a long, low moan. Zemo smiled to himself. That was the reaction he was dying for.
He kissed you senseless, drinking in your moans and gasps of pleasure like wine, his free hand cradling the back of your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. It didn't take Zemo long to find that sweet spot, deep inside you – as he'd subtly alluded to earlier – that longed for his attention the most.
You couldn't help but moan loudly and cry out, "Fuck! Baron!" Zemo growled low in your ear, clearly a fan of your usage of his title as he picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers with expert precision and speed, sending you hurtling over the edge with a string of curses in both Sokovian and English. By the time he removed his fingers from you and stood, you were seeing stars, breathing heavily as you laid flat against the couch. When your dazed gaze found him, he was naked from the waist down, and was just finishing rolling a condom over his length. You had no idea where he got it from, but you were way beyond giving a shit at this point. Zemo then rejoined you on the couch, roughly spreading your legs apart as he kneeled between them, looking at you with a primal, deep hunger in his eyes.
"You are certain that you want this?"
"Yes, please – fuck," you cut yourself off as he began rubbing your clit again.
"Yes please, what?" His voice was low, teasing, as he continued his work below. "I want to hear you say it again, Kätzchen."
"Yes, please, Baron."
"Good girl."
Zemo took your leg and rested your calf on his shoulder, before easing himself into you, agonizingly slow. You watched through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrowed together, his jaw went slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out. He was silent, but you very much preferred it when he was a bit vocal. So, you flexed your muscles down there, and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.
"Do not do that if you want this to last long," Zemo suggested through clenched teeth. You smiled to yourself, then said the magic word that you knew would get him going.
"Yes, Baron."
He growled again, right in your ear, then sat more upright to begin a harsh, quick pace of thrusting. His hips collided with your body each time, causing a delicious sort of pain, and he leaned down to lock you in a messy, deep kiss.
A few minutes later, Zemo moved your other calf to his shoulder as well, and the new position enabled him to get delectably deep inside you. You raked your nails down his chest, watching as a shudder ran down his spine, all the while releasing small, breathless moans and whimpers. When he opened his eyes again to gaze down at you, he licked his lips before delving both hands under your head and into your hair, and forcefully gripped two fitfuls of it at the base of your skull. The moan that tore its way from your throat was animalistic, as your nails dug into his forearms as you desperately gripped them from their positions on either side of your head. Just then, he hit a spot deep inside of you, and that familiar, tight coil in your lower belly began to form.
"Fuck! Right there, Baron, please, right there!"
"As you wish, Schätzchen."
Zemo began to thrust even faster, careful to maintain the same angle as he released his grip on your hair and leaned up a bit, so that he could resume rubbing your clit. Moans began to fall from your lips practically endlessly, and somehow, you still needed more. More, more, more. You took his free hand and laid it on your neck, and he instinctively wrapped his fingers around your throat, careful to apply pressure on the sides but not the front, as to avoid harming you. When he opened his eyes once again and looked down at you, he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.
"You will be the death of me, mein Engel," Zemo whispered, seemingly more to himself. All you could do was moan in response.
"Baron, I'm going to – fuck – I'm —"
"Yes, come for me, Kätzchen. I want to feel you."
That was all the encouragement it took. Well, that plus how perfectly he was rubbing your bundle of nerves, and how his pace nor angle had faltered once since you had requested exactly that. You came undone again, legs shaking as your nails clawed at his shoulder blades, earning a series of groans from him. As you came down from your high, Zemo's hips began to falter, enthralled by the waterfall you had become, soaking the base of his cock as your walls squeezed around him. His hand at your wet heat abruptly moved to grip your hip, at the same moment his hand around your throat clutched at your hair again, and he met his end with a loud, gruff moan as he spoke a mantra of nonsensical praises and your name.
Zemo rested on his arms on either side of your head, and he let your legs fall to the sides of him, breathing hard against your neck as he occasionally peppered kisses there. He remained inside you for a few moments, savoring the feeling, before you chose to have a bit of extra fun by flexing your lower muscles and squeezing yourself around him again. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled out of you, shooting you a glare.
In Sokovian, he murmured, "You are a naughty little thing."
"You adore it."
"That I do," Zemo conceded, then stood and walked off to the restroom. You heard the tap run, and a few moments later, he returned with a glass of water for you, sitting beside your feet on the couch and resting his heels on the coffee table. He was exceptionally handsome like this; still catching his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest, a content look upon his face. You spent a minute or two admiring him, before he looked over to you, and a smile blossomed on his lips.
"I cannot thank you enough for that. I must admit, I spent countless nights alone in my cell, dreaming about getting to touch a woman like that again. Especially considering the fall of our country, I never could have imagined I would be lucky enough to lay with a stunning, intelligent Sokovian woman."
"In the spirit of confessions, it's been a while for me, too. My last boyfriend was about two years ago. And I'm not the one-night-stand type. So, do with that what you will," you stated, earning a small chuckle from Zemo. You sat up so that you were sitting beside him, instead of laying down, as you continued. "I fantasized about it a lot myself, but I never even dared to think my next time would be as good as this was."
Zemo smiled, a mix of pride and joy, then his smile softened as he leaned toward you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "This doesn't have to be our last time, you know. I would be honored to have you as often as you'd allow me to. And I assure you, I would make it worth your while. I will give you whichever vehicles your heart desires, more jewelry than you know what to do with, take you to the most beautiful places in the world, dine at only the finest restaurants – and above all, treat you like my queen. Take care of me, and I will take care of you, Liebling."
You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, as usual when you feared that someone was lying to you. You searched his mind for any fraction of false pretenses, but there were none. The man simply found you intoxicating, and would do whatever it takes to keep drinking you in.
The arrangement wouldn't exactly be an easy one, nor would it be all that wise – nor morally correct, in all honesty. But he was undeniably sexy, and the danger and reprehensibility of it all made it that much more alluring. And besides all that – the way his power and wealth turned you on, how good he was capable of making you feel – most Sokovians were dead, and you missed home. Getting to speak your native tongue with him, chat about your country – it made you feel at home with him.
But you wouldn't give Zemo the satisfaction of agreeing to him that quickly.
“We'll see.”
—————
Part Two
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fqjth · 3 months ago
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wandering eyes
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pairing: zemo x reader, slight bucky x reader
summary:  y/n, sam, bucky and zemo attend sharon’s party. however, throughout the night, zemo cant seem to take his eyes of the young y/n as she dances with another man. 
author’s note: i’m obsessed with this man at the moment, and i needed to write some dirty shit about him to get it out of my system.
also, this might be a bit shit because i’m super tired so please don’t judge :)
warnings: smut, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk (slight daddy kink)
words: 3245
submission box here :)
◯ ◯ ◯
The room was crowded wall to wall, music blaring through unseen speakers. People danced, laughed and conversed as Y/N watched from afar. She had never been one to socialise in big crowds, hating having to fake niceties with strangers.
"At least try and look like you're enjoying yourself", Bucky spoke from beside her, leaning down so she could hear him over the loud music.
Y/N turned her attention to the man, a slight chuckle leaving her mouth. "I am enjoying myself," she teased with a smile on her face, "don't I look like I'm having fun?"
The two had met back in Berlin when Y/N had chosen sides with Steve after the Avengers became split on the Sokovia Accords' decision. Steve had always been there for Y/N. Being the youngest in the group, Steve had taken her under his wing. He always made sure she was looked after. When he passed, Y/N felt as if she had no one left to count on. She and Bucky bonded over that loss.
They gradually spent more time together, becoming almost inseparable at times. She was the only person Bucky was willing to share some of his secrets with. That is why he invited her along with him and Sam.
They were close. Anyone looking in would be able to see that. However, their relationship's nature always raised eyebrows, including from Sam, who would tease them any chance he got.  Y/N and Bucky would play along with the teasing, flirting with one another to get on Sam's nerves.
"You've been standing here by yourself for the last twenty minutes just watching everyone else," Bucky responded to Y/N's question, a smile of his own painted shown upon his lips. "I know you can have more fun than that" he bumped his shoulder against his, laughing as he did so.
Y/N didn't respond. Instead, she rolled her eyes at his comment and let out another small chuckle.
Bucky moved his position from next to Y/N, now standing face-to-face with her. He extended his hand to the girl. That cocky smile he wore so well tempted her to take it, "Dance with me".  Y/N couldn't resist, almost instinctively taking his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor.  
His hand shifted from hers, moving and finding their place now upon her hips as he pulled her closer. The motion didn't cause any discomfort in Y/N. The two had been closer than this before. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, allowing their bodies to move together with the music. Y/N wondered how a man who grew up on classical and jazz could be such a great dancer.
The two danced for a few songs, both of them began to relax and almost forget the worries of the mission they were on. This moment was the first time they had been able to enjoy themselves, something both had surely missed.
However, this fun wouldn't last much longer. Sam approached the two, pushing his way through the heavy crowd of people before landing beside them. "Sorry to break up whatever this is," he started, waving his hands in a circle directed at his friends. "But I need to discuss some things with Bucky before tomorrow".
Bucky nodded at Sam before letting go of his hold on Y/N. "I'll be back," he said with a smile, promising her his words were true.  Y/N smiled as a response, watching as Bucky and Sam disappeared back into the crowd of people. She wondered what was so critical of a matter that she couldn't be there to listen. Whatever it was, she was sure they would inform her later.
Y/N was now left surrounded by strangers who had begun to press against her small frame, almost as if she had now become invisible to them. With slight panic beginning to rise in her, Y/N pushed herself through the crowd that she swore had gotten bigger in the last half-an-hour. It felt impossible for her to get through, as every time she would make a step closer to a free space, the crowd would push her further in.  She sighed as she kept trying.
“Are you alright?” a familiar voice rang from beside her, she turned around as a hand appeared on her shoulder. Her eyes met Zemo’s. Somehow seeing him made her relax, the panic that had formed in her now beginning to disappear.
“Just a bit crowded” She answered, turning away from his gaze as she spoke.
Zemo loosened his grip on Y/N’s shoulder, trailing his hand down to hers and grabbing it softly. “Follow me” he instructed, his tone soft yet commending. She did as she was told, allowing him to guide her out of the crowd just like Bucky had down the opposite not long ago.
It didn’t take long before the two were now standing alone, Y/N instantly dropping his hand afterwards. “Thank you” she spoke in a soft yet monotone voice, not wanting him to see how much she truly appreciated his actions.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, standing in front of the girl who refused to look at him. His gaze, however, stayed fixated on her. His eyes began to wander as they did when he watched her dance with Bucky moments ago. Something Y/N was unaware of. Zemo couldn’t help but wonder if the two were together. He could tell they were extremely close, and the way they danced suggested it was more than just a friendship.
Maybe, he thought, he was slightly jealous of the way Bucky was allowed to touch her. And he would be lying to himself if he had said he had never inappropriately thought of her, especially in that dress she was wearing that hugged every curve of her body.
The two stood in silence for a moment, Y/N not knowing what to say to the main she was forced to associate herself with. She wasn’t too fond of the fact that Zemo was helping them with the Flag Smashers, hating him for being the reason she lost the only real family she had known. They had hardly shared more than a few sentences since he had broken out of prison, not from any lack of trying on Zemo’s part. It seemed as if every time he tried to speak with her, she would walk away, or Bucky would intervene. “Stay away from her”, he would warn him, yet Zemo wouldn’t listen. Something about her just drew him in. He needed to know her more.
“I get why Bucky is so protective over you,” He spoke up, causing Y/N to look up at him. “I would be too if I had you as my girlfriend” his statement more posed as a question, wanting to know the real relationship between Bucky and the girl before him.
Y/N looked at him with a confused expression before letting out a small laugh. “Oh, Bucky and I aren’t dating”, she spoke, unwillingly answering his question. “We’re close, yes”, she continued, “but not that close”.
“Sorry, I just thought by the way you two were dancing, anyone would guess you two were fucking” Zemo’s comment caused Y/N to choke, catching her off guard.
“What?” Y/N questioned, coughing slightly.
“I didn’t mean to offend you”, He answered, genuinely meaning what he was saying. “I’m just curious, that’s all”.
Y/N began to fluster at the question, not wanting to answer. Her moments with Bucky had never been something she had shared with anyone, not even with Bucky himself. The two would never discuss it outside of the moments as if they were pretending they never happened. Moments when the two felt their most valuable, they would often confide in one another in the only way they knew how. However, those moments they shared in the dark were nothing more than that. Fleeting and forgotten.
“I’m not offended” Y/N finally managed to get out, ignoring the rest of the question in the process.
Zemo could tell from her reaction that something between Y/N and Bucky had happened, maybe even more than once. Yet, he decided to stop prying, seeing as the comment had affected her. “Why don’t we head back upstairs?” he spoke, changing the subject as he did. “I’m sure we’ll need a good rest before tomorrow”.  Y/N agreed before the two began to make their way back towards Sharon’s apartment.
The rest of the night went by slowly, Y/N finding it challenging to fall asleep. This wasn’t uncommon. She hadn’t had a good night sleep in what felt like years, predating the blip and The Avengers split. Sometimes she would be able to have a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before being awoken by a bad dream or a memory that she had wished to suppress. However, tonight she wasn’t able to fall asleep at all.
It had been a few hours of tossing and turning before Y/N pulled herself from the bed, thinking a glass of water would maybe relax her enough to fall asleep at least for an hour or two.
She made her way to the kitchen that was just situated a few steps outside the room Sharon had allowed her to sleep in. The room was dark and the floor cold against her feet. She turned and switched the light on, illuminating the room and showing Zemo, who had been sitting at the kitchen counter. Y/N jumped slightly, not thinking anyone else was awake.
“Sorry,” he spoke, his voice deep and groggy as if he had just woken up. “I hope I didn’t wake you”.
Y/N took a deep breath to steady herself before walking around to the sink. “You didn’t wake me,” she confessed as she grabbed a glass from the cupboard then running it under the tap. “Just can’t sleep”.
Zemo offered a warm smile, “It can be difficult when your mind doesn’t seem to stay quiet”.
“Yeah”, Y/N answered softly, almost whispering her response before taking a sip of water.
The two again sat in silence, similar to the one they had shared previously. However, this time there was no music to fill the awkward tension that had built itself up. Y/N took another sip of water.
“I’m sorry again if I offended you earlier,” Zemo spoke, “It was not my place to pry into your private life”.
“No need to apologise,” Y/N set the now half-empty glass on the counter in front of Zemo, “I understand the suspicion. Bucky and I’s relationship is…complicated”. Her admission had caught her off guard, not knowing why she decided to open up to Zemo of all people.
“Well, if I was him,” Zemo started, “I would do anything in my power to uncomplicate things”. He looked up at the girl before him. She was dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt that seemed to belong to the man they were discussing. “Anyone would be so lucky to have someone as beautiful as you to call their own”.
His soft words made Y/N blush. Her gaze moved towards the floor, not wanting Zemo to see what effect his comment had on her.
“I don’t make you uncomfortable, do I?” Zemo asked, moving slowly from his seating position to next to Y/N. His hand rested on the counter, his body almost brushing against hers as he did so.
Y/N forced herself to look up at him, still trying to hide the red tint that had formed on her face. “No” was all she managed to breathe out, as she met his eyes with her own. It wasn’t as if she was lying. He didn’t make her uncomfortable. She quite enjoyed the looks he gave her when he believed she wasn’t paying attention. And even though she hated the man, or so she thought she did, she found herself thinking of him often. That was why she avoided any conversation with him. She didn’t want to admit the attraction she had for him.
“Good,” Zemo responded, taking another step closer as he spoke. “I would hate to make you uncomfortable” his voice was low, his accent seeming more evident than before.
Their eyes became fixated on one another, neither daring to look away. Y/N felt her breath become caught in her throat as she tried to speak, unable to as she swallowed the lump that had formed.
“Let me know if I go too far”, Zemo whispered, placing his hand on her waist before pulling her body close to his.  Y/N began to close her eyes, waiting for him to close the gap fully between them. However, his lips just lightly brushed against hers, teasing her. “I need you to agree that you will”, he whispered again. Y/N nodded, the small action giving Zemo the answer he wanted.
His lips smashed into hers, kissing her as if he had been craving her all his life. His hands grabbed at her waist more aggressively, lifting her shirt and leaving her thighs exposed to the cold. He lifted her from the ground, now placing her on top of the counter. Goosebumps formed on her skin under his touch.
He slowly began to break away from her lips. He left a trail of kisses down her neck and along her collarbones. Y/N let out a small moan at the feeling. She could feel herself craving more. “Zemo, I-“she moaned out softly, yet was shut up by Zemo placing another kiss upon her lips. He pulled away almost as quickly as he had attached himself.
“Tell me what you want, princess”, he whispered, the pet name causing the feeling that had formed in-between her legs to intensify. He began to run his fingers softly against her thigh, almost as if he knew what she was going to say.
“I want you to touch me”, she managed to speak, too nervous to look at him in the eyes. His fingers threatened to move closer to her core, dancing along the side of her panties.
“Where, princess?” he asked, placing a small kiss on her neck. “Use your words”.
“Please, Zemo”, she moaned. Y/N had never been teased like this, never having to say what she wanted explicitly. The action caused her to blush, too embarrassed to tell him what he wanted to hear. “Please just touch me” was all she managed to get herself to say.
Zemo could tell she wasn’t able to say anything more. He didn’t want to force her to do something she wasn’t comfortable saying; he wanted her to know she was safe with him. He leant up and kissed her again, this time soft instead of rough. His fingers began to play with her underwear, rubbing her core through the thin piece of fabric. Her wetness able to be felt through the material. Zemo hummed into the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he teased her more.
Y/N squirmed under his touch, begging him to stop teasing. Zemo listened, pulling the fabric down to the ground without breaking their kiss. She was now bare from the waist down, exposing herself to him as he began to run his fingers down her folds. She moaned into their kiss as he slipped a single digit into her. “So wet for me, princess”, he whispered against her lips, slipping another finger in slowly.
His pumps began slow, his thumb gently rubbing circles against her clit as he did so. He watched as Y/N threw her head into his shoulder, biting down on his shirt to muffle her moans. The action causing Zemo to pump fasters, himself getting hard at his motions.
Y/N could feel herself getting closer to her climax. She threw her head back as she tried her best to stay quiet. Suddenly, however, she could feel herself become empty as Zemo pulled his fingers from her. Y/N looked up at him with a puzzled and tired expression.
“Not yet, princess”, he spoke as he began to take his pants off, “I want to fuck you before you cum’. His harsh words made her squirm, somehow making her more wet than earlier. Zemo chuckled at the sight, loving the fact he has his effect on her. His pants were now too on the floor, bundled up next to Y/N panties and his shirt that he had also managed to get off in the process. She was now more covered than he was, still wearing Bucky’s shirt she had been wearing to sleep in. However, Zemo did not undress her.
Instead, he leant down and kissed her once more, just as rough as he did the first time. Their lips collide as Zemo positioned himself at her entrance, giving her no warning before thrusting his hips into hers. The motion causing a mixture of pain and pleasure to exploded within Y/N. She let out a loud moan, breaking away from their kiss. Zemo placed his hand over her mouth as he continued to fuck her, keeping the same harsh pace as he entered with.
“Be quiet”, he snapped, “Don’t want anyone to know what a good little slut you are for me”.
Y/N nodded against her hand, her eyes shut in ecstasy. The feeling of his cock deep inside her was something she had never felt before, she had never been fucked this rough before, and it was driving her crazy. Her head landed forward, again biting at Zemo’s shoulder to keep herself quiet.
Zemo pushed her forward, allowing enough room for him to take her shirt off. Throwing it on the floor in one swift motion, leaving her chest bare to him. Something about discarding the shirt that belonged to the man who had also had the pleasure of fucking her caused Zemo to want to fuck her more, harsher and rougher. His hand that rested on her thigh was now wrapped around her throat, his other hand grabbing her face.
“Such a good little slut for me,” he moaned, his eyes staring into hers. “Don’t you love me fucking you like this?”.
Y/N nodded, feeling herself becoming closer to her climax once more. “I love your cock inside me” the words that escaped her mouth sounded as if they belonged to someone else. “I’m your good little slut, daddy”.
The nickname, catching both of them off guard, caused Zemo to somehow pick up as he pace. He moved the hand that was holding her face, now resting his fingers of clit. He began to rub against it, beckoning her to cum against his cock.
His hand still rested against her neck, tightening its grip as he felt her walls clench around him. She tried her best to stiffen her moans as she rode her high, collapsing against his chest as she did. He wasn’t far behind. He slowed his pace as he felt release, pulling himself out to finish on her bare stomach.
The two panted as they came down from their highs, Zemo holding himself up by gripping Y/N’s waist. He looked up at her, pushing a stray hair that had fallen upon her face behind her ear. “You are very beautiful”, he whispered before pressing a small, gentle kiss on her lips. Y/N blushed at the compliment as Zemo helped her down off the counter, catching her in his arms when she lost balance.
“It’s best if we don’t tell Sam or Bucky about this,” she smiled, putting her clothes back as did Zemo.
“Of course,” he answered with a smirk, “wouldn’t want to complicate things”.
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clints-lucky-arrow · 2 months ago
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Little Hours (Baron Helmut Zemo x F!Reader)
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Summary: Every night, you wake to find the other side of the bed cold. There’s only one other girl that Helmut would rather spend the night with, and you can’t begrudge her that at all.
Fluff. Parents. F!Reader
Warnings: Mentions of Child Loss (Zemo’s son)
Based around the below request as part of ✨Mack’s Triple 1000 Celebration✨
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Requested by @phoenixofthevalley​ (hope that you like it, darling!)
Word Count: 758
A/N: I was never going to be the same after this concept.
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A realisation pulls you from your slumber. You’re not sure what it is at first. Sleep still clings to your mind, and so it takes a second to readjust to the waking world. A groggy peek at the clock shows that it is shortly after three in the morning. As soon as you catch sight of the time, you just know.
Your hand reaches as you turn, sliding along the mattress. Sure enough, the other side of the bed is cold. The duvet thrown slightly back, revealing the bare space underneath. Helmut is gone. 
Cold air wraps around you as you slip out of bed. It brings a shiver that you hope to subdue by quickly sliding on your robe. Your feet settle inside the thick fur of your slippers, protected from the chilled marble floor below. Lifting one hand to your mouth to stifle a yawn, you rub a hand tiredly over your bleary eyes before setting off.
The castle is dark and quiet. All of the staff are in bed, as you should be too. As he should be also, but isn’t. Not that you could ever begrudge him for it. Your footsteps whisper as you stride down the shadowed hall, towards the line of golden light spilling from a slightly cracked door.
His voice reaches your ears as you grow closer, quietened into a low murmur. Humming another lullaby, undoubtedly. The thought makes your heart swell and lurch at the same time, beating in a mixture of gentle, appreciative love and deep pity. Your hand falls on the wood of the frame, and you slowly push the door open.
Helmut is seated in the rocking chair. Those deep brown eyes are heavily lidded, mostly closed over as his lips purse while murmuring his gentle tune. Upon his chest, your daughter rests. Her little face - so like your own in features - is turned towards you. She has his eyes, though. Her father’s eyes. Not that you can see them when she’s sleeping.
Your approach is near silent. Helmut doesn’t leap when your fingers gently brush your shoulder, but stirs in a small start. Your eyes swiftly flit down to the infant. Mina does not wake at the intrusion. Her small fist is curled in the collar of her father’s t-shirt, tightly clinging to him. It’s hard not to smile when you see how she is cuddled into his chest, her body covered by the fabric of his own robe to protect her from the night’s chill. 
No. You need to be somewhat disapproving for both of their sakes. Tutting softly, your head shakes at your husband. 
Your voice is barely more than a whisper. “She’ll never learn to sleep through the night if you keep coming in. Was she even crying?”
He pauses, still blinking away sleep, before answering. “I thought that she was.” 
There’s a trace of guilt in his tone. He doesn’t like lying to you, and doesn’t usually do so. It’s different when it comes to her. He needs these moments, even if he doesn’t like to admit it. Knowing what happened to his son, you cannot bring yourself to truly scold him. Not as the memory of the day she was born - a mere ten months ago - crosses your mind. 
It all flits past. How manic he had been during the labour, to the extent where you’d almost shrieked at the nurse to stab him with some kind of sedative. The way that he had frozen as she came screaming into the world, as if the mere sound of her tiny cries turned him to stone. That wild, torn expression that had adorned his face as she was placed into his arms for the first time. 
You had seen his fear then, and somehow understood it. While he had never voiced it aloud, it was clear in that moment that he was utterly terrified to have another child. Another piece of himself to risk losing. 
And so, when he sneaks out of your bed every night to rock her until dawn, you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed or upset. 
All that you can do is sigh softly, and gesture for him to readjust your child. To give enough space for you to lower yourself into his lap also. His lips draw into a soft smile as you do, bronzed eyes alight with gentle affection. Your head nestles in the crook of his neck, forehead pressing against his cheek as you curl up with them both, and quietly drift back to sleep again. 
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A/N: If you enjoyed the piece, I’d ask that you consider reblogging this story. It is the best way to support your content creators, and we will be truly grateful!
Please note that requests are now closed.
Check out more Zemo stories on my main masterlist and join my taglists!
Zemo Character Taglist: @221b-skywalker @sharksausages @missedregrets @devilswaldorf @the-royal-kiki @multiyfandomgirl40 @moonstuffsteve @spade-like-david @killsandthrills @rebelledjester @the-lil-spud @the-wayward-daughter @ithinkidrink @goingtoraisins @ringofsecrets @ajeff855 @amelialistree @cable-kenobi @livingoutload @yourpalyourbuddyyourbuckyblogs @ashamed23 @harami-mami @bychrissi @starstruckforyou @startrekkingaroundasgard @victias @zemosugarbaby @theclonesdeservedbetter @casualcursing @allhailkingboba @fandomess-x2 @trinsghost @baronesszemo ​ @a-djarin @swimmingsloths
(I may be missing a lot of you as I had trouble accessing the taglist tonight. This list is pulled from a previous fic. I'll be adding everyone else tomorrow! ♥️)
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cazzyimagines · 3 months ago
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Perfectly Exasperating - Part 2
Synopsis: After John Walker knocked you out with his shield you wake up in a strange bedroom with a man you were not too happy to see
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: Nothing just kinda Zemo fluff
Author’s note: Usually I like to stick to canon, I enjoy keeping my fics as accurate as possible, but I had to go off canon for this one. I hope you all enjoy this sequel to ‘Perfectly Exasperating’ the writing style differs from the last one but it adds a lot more detail in my opinion
Master list
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
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Your eyes crack open as the redness of dawn light flows over your eyelids, drawing your mind out of a deep sleep that encompasses you. Closing them again, you groaned in irritation at being pulled out of your slumber.
“You’re awake at last,”
Your eyes snap open.
You shot up so fast, making your head lurch, a dizzying effect taking over it, and your eyesight goes black for a moment. “Are you okay?” a worried voice asked, moving over to you.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine” you mutter, putting your hands down, feeling the softness of a duvet underneath you, grounding you. The bottom of it dipped as Zemo sat down at the end, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you.
Purple and brown bursing littered the side of his head enough to make you wince at the pain he endured to gain them. His right hand was wrapped up in bandages, a reminder of what he did for you.
“Zemo… why uh, why are we in the same bedroom,”
Zemo tilts his head, looking away as he thinks, then recognition flashed in his eyes and he grins, glancing back over to you.
“I assume you remember little?”
You try your hardest to think back to what could have happened, but everything felt hazy. Your last clear memory was when John Walker had hit you with your shield and Zemo had broken out of his cuffs to attack him. Anything after that was blurred, like a fading dream. It was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't quite reach it.
“Nothing after John hit me...you came in here to see how I was doing, right? Just that,”
“Perhaps,”
“You didn’t spend the night in here with me,”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that,”
“Zemo!”
He laughs at your horrified expression, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Just tell me what happened!” you whined, but he shook his head with a cocky smirk, “I don’t think I will,”
You groan and let yourself fall back onto the soft pillows which cradled your aching head.
“I’ve made you a drink, it's to help with your headache,” Zemo says, getting off from the bed, grabbing a drink from a tray, bringing it over to you. You kindly accept it, though your gaze flickers to his hand.
“How’s your hand?” you asked
“Is this some concern coming from you y/n?” Zemo asks, raising an eyebrow at you as he pulls a seat out beside you.
“Fine, if that’s how you act I won’t ask you anything in the future,” you grumble, trying to shift your body so your back was turned to him but all efforts resulted in your head hurting more till having to look at Zemo was better than the pain it inflicted on you.
He holds his hands up in surrender chuckling, “I’m sorry y/n, it’s just the other day you were refusing to even talk to me-”
“And today I’ve woken up to find you in a bedroom. It seems we have skipped a few steps in our relationship,”
He looks away, smiling slightly as if sad, “Yes, I suppose we have. My hand is okay, sore but it will be fine in a few days,” he looks back at you, his eyes burning into yours with sincerity, “Thank you for asking, y/n”
Suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the way Zemo was looking at you. Your eyes focus on the glass in your hand, gazing at it in the hope Zemo will grow bored and look away from you, but Zemo seems content observing you.
“So uh, where’s Sam and Bucky?” you ask,
“They’re gone,”
“... I’m sorry what?”
“They went back home. I’m afraid you’ve been knocked out for a while. During that time John Walker killed one of the flag smashers, in front of many people with a lot of cameras. You’ll be happy to hear that he is no longer Captain America,”
Zemo pauses for a second to see your reaction, but to his surprise, you didn’t show any. You sit there emotionless, your eyes glazed over in thought.
Swallowing, he continues, “The flag smashers ran so Sam and Bucky went their own way till they appeared again,”
You look at him confused, “And left us?”
“Well, at first they weren’t sure what to do with you. You weren’t waking up, and we were worried. James had another plan for me. I was supposed to go to the Raft but James let me escape last minute,”
“Why did he do that?”
“I said I would look after you,”
You snort, “And he believed that,”
Zemo’s lips curled into a slight smile, “No, they didn’t want to leave you with me but there weren’t many choices left. We weren’t sure when you would wake up and out of all of us I had the most resources to look after you,”
“It still makes little sense,” you mutter
Zemo reaches forward to grasp your hand in reassurance, “There isn’t a lot in the world at the moment that is making sense.”
When Zemo’s hand touches yours, it makes yours feel tingly, like it was foreign from you and the feeling slowly crept up your arm, making you shiver. You look up to Zemo, not speaking. He perplexed you. Yesterday you hated him and you had every reason to, yet he had been nothing but kind to you, trying his best to be friendly, to help you. Even stepping up to John Walker for you, hurting himself for you, and now he offered to look after you? You just didn’t get him.
You make a move to stand up but Zemo mutters ‘no, no, no’ and gently pushes on your shoulders to lie you back down.
“I’m afraid you are going to stay in bed for a little while just in case you are still concussed,”
“Seriously?”
“I said I would look after you and I plan to do that to the best of my capacity,”
You struck your hands on the bed in frustration, “Great, what the hell am I supposed to do then while I am stuck,”
Zemo’s eyes glance away from yours then back a cat-like smile gracing his lips, “We could find ways to stay entertained,”
You glare at him, not even wanting to dignify him with a verbal response.
“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Zemo says, jokingly putting his hands in the air. He turns away from his seat and walks towards one of the many bookshelves in his room. “Is there something you would like to read?” he asks
You pause for a moment thinking, “Just pick something for me,”
Hovering his fingers over a few books he finally settles on one, pulling it out from its place, and then he backs over to the chair, offering the book out to you but you shake your head.
“Could you perhaps... Perhaps read it out to me”
He tilts his head surprised then smiles, genuinely.
He opens the book, flicking through till he finds the page that he wants, “This one has always been a favourite of mine to read,”
You nod, settling into the comfortable cushions on the bed.
He reads out the title to you, “The nightingale and the rose,” it sounds familiar to you, in a long distant dream type of way.
Zemo spent the next few minutes reading. It was a short story, but impactful. The way he read it stirred emotions in you, his voice gave the story life. His voice felt like he could speak the very words he said into reality. As if rather than telling a story he was simply narrating what he saw before him. It captured you and pulled you into the imagery of the story.
“'What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.' So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.”
Zemo reads to the last sentence then slowly closes the book as if he was shutting out a long life. Ready to let it end, but sad nonetheless.
You close your eyes, engraving the story into your mind. You can hear Zemo sigh before you, the silence of wanting to speak but not knowing what to say stretches out before you till he gathers his sense to speak.
“Do you think love is foolish like the student?”
It’s an earnest question, of innocent curiosity, but hidden underneath was a harder question. He was hiding it under a more easy-to-answer question so as not to startle you.
You swallow, collecting your thoughts together to answer. You have to pick out your words carefully, as if walking on eggshells you couldn’t make one wrong move.
“No. In the right place, at the right time, it isn’t but people give love too much power over their lives, like the nightingale. Love becomes foolish when you trade it over your sense for survival,”
“You speak as if you know from experience,”
Your eyes flicker to his, fearing he could sense the inner emotional intensity inside you, but as you look into his warm eyes, you could see the same emotions reflected in his.
You nod in understanding, “You can feel yourself relate to the nightingale, can’t you? After all, you did to the avengers because you lost your family,”
“I relate to both sides of the story. Love, after all, is a complicated thing,”
The next hours of your life tick away as if seconds on a clock. You and Zemo discuss the book in great detail and read over more that rested in the room. In these moments it was as if you were talking to an old friend with whom you shared fond memories of your youth, not a war criminal. Zemo was peculiar in how he made you feel that way.
Your discussion was interrupted though when his phone let out a loud chime.
“If you would excuse me y/n,” says softly, reaching his hand out to yours, squeezing it gently as he gets up and leaves you alone in your thoughts.
As he walks out of the room, he looks down at the phone and smirks,
“Sam: Once we have found out where you have kidnapped y/n you will never see the outside of the raft again,”
He places the phone back into his pocket, leaving Sam on seen and struts down the desolate hall of his secret mansion.
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romanofforgana · 2 months ago
Text
the loyalty complexity {zemo x reader/steve rogers x reader}
summary: you were once loyal to captain america, but it never worked out in your favour -- after his actions regarding the sokovia accords sent you on the run, you found yourself in an unlikely pairing with a former enemy. when rogers requires both your assistance, he's forced to face the truth: you're no longer his. you're no longer anyone's, in fact, but baron zemo comes close.
warnings: swearing, angst,
this is some weird au that totally disregards canon -- there are no falcon & winter soldier spoilers in this. hope you enjoy!
- jazz xx
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You'd loved Steve Rogers once - and what good had it done you?
Fuck all. Absolutely fuck all.
Rewind 5 years; it was you and him against the world. He was America's golden boy -- blue eyes and soft, blonde hair, and arms that held you tight when everything got a little too much. Months and months of naive love, making plans for a future that your jobs made sure was never guaranteed. Reality was lost on you, completely thrown to the wind every-time he held your gaze and declared his love and promised to protect you. And he did, he did protect you. In battle and from your own emotions, from the night terrors and sleepless nights that plagued the ragged edges of your mind every time you shut your eyes. An aureate reality tinged by the darkness of the world you were trying so hard to protect - but Steve Rogers, if anything, was a shining light upon it. An optimist who perhaps foolishly believed that the glass was half full.
Truthfully, the glass wasn't even half empty. It was smashed, on the floor into a thousand little pieces; knocked off the surface by the heavy thump of the Secretary of State slapping the Sokovia Accords onto the table.
It had seemed okay, at first. A lot of late nights and deep talks with Steve, before he took your hand and promised that no matter what, you would stay together. Maybe not the Avengers, but certainly you and him. The fact it made you a criminal, and the fact it stripped you of your freedom, hadn't mattered. You would have taken a life on the run over your liberty if it meant being with the man you loved. Your reputation and autonomy was a small price to pay if it meant staying by his side.
You could only laugh now.
The pressure had killed your relationship in cold blood. Steve had been nice enough to help you escape from the Raft, but after that, you were on your own. He never said it directly to your face, but his promises no longer held conviction. The forces you'd reckoned with in an attempt to stay together had been the very thing that tore you apart.
Exactly nine days after breaking free, you snuck out in the middle o the night. The last image you had of Steve was him passed out under a thin sheet, the dull glow of the moonlight illuminating his faintly pearl skin as he quietly slept. There had been no note left in your path, or even an explanation - he didn't need one. Part of him just knew, just expected, that one day he would find you gone. He'd probably mentally prepared for it for a while.
(He did look hot with a beard, but that wasn't sufficient reason to stay).
Things had worked out fine for him. By some miracle, he'd managed to redeem himself - perhaps it hadn't been a miracle at all, actually. For someone like him, someone who had several notches in their I saved the world! belt, it probably hadn't been hard to convince the government to let him be a free man again. You hadn't been so lucky to have that sort of leverage.
Europe, you found, had been the easiest to navigate. The amount of land-locked borders and rural fields made it easy to slip through -- most of the rustic cities you found yourselves in didn't have the luxury of social media or live news. Nobody knew who were you in the deep, twisting depths of Italian vineyards, or the mountainous French villages. It was easy to slip from country to country; as long as you kept your head low and ensured that your contacts could provide you with money and shelter, you'd be fine. It wasn't the life you wanted, but it was the one you'd ended up with. You couldn't dodge the punches that life through at you; you could only roll with them.
It was through those contacts that, two years after you'd originally gone on the run, you crossed paths with a familiar face. One of your old buddies from SHIELD, a man with too much money and several murder charges, had set you up with a little farm a few hours away from Amalfi. It was almost picturesque, with it's white cobble walls and terracotta roof. What you found to be slightly less romantic, was the sight of Baron Zemo lounging outside with a lemonade in one hand and a copy of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy in the other. You were less surprised to see him, and more shocked by his choice of reading material - he always seemed a little more an Orwell kind of guy.
"Last time I saw you," he spoke without looking up from his book, "you were trying to kill me."
"You hardly come out that story sounding like a rose." You shot back. Dumping your bags down, you took a seat on the patio chair opposite him. "What are you doing here?"
"Didn't you hear?" He peered up from his book, before placing it on the table beside him. "I'm a criminal now."
You grimaced. "I mean...what are you doing here? I don't believe for a second that you've given up your vengeance mission to sit in the sun and drink lemonade."
"I'm merely taking a break," Zemo explained. "I can't go anywhere until the Italian military scale down their search for me. After that, my mission will continue."
"Right," you murmured. "Who's your target now? Still the Avengers?"
He thinned his eyes at you. "No."
"So what is it?"
"What's yours?"
"My mission is making it through the fucking day," you said.
Hiding out in the little farm wasn't the worst. It was spacious, and it had running water and electricity - that was better than a lot of the off-the-grid hidey-holes you'd found yourself seeking shelter in. The first few days, you'd stayed out of Zemo's way completely. After all, you had been an Avenger, and you had been one of the people he'd blamed for the loss of his family - but as you'd come to learn, that was in the past tense as much for him as it was for you. Whatever vendetta he had out for you was no longer there. He'd moved onto bigger targets; more meaningful targets.
Zemo cooked sometimes; mostly whatever he could salvage from the tangled gardens of the farm's acreage. You'd tried to look after yourself for those tense, first weeks, but he soon found himself cringing at your watery soups and...well, he wasn't sure what else the slop on your plate was. As a resolution, he would make an extra dish and quietly leave it out on the side for you. You'd wait until he'd eaten out on the patio and vacated, and then you'd sit out there alone, watching the sunset.
It was on one of those evenings that Zemo properly spoke to you for the first time - like a human being, and not a hero he wanted to see fall.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Uh, yeah," you pulled out a chair for him with your foot. "As in yes, please join and not yes I mind and please fuck off."
He smiled at your statement. "I don't recall you being this quiet a few years ago."
"With all due respect, you were trying to kill me," you reminded him. "Staying out your way seemed like the smartest option."
"The past is the past," he replied. "I've changed my mission. You've changed your loyalties."
"I didn't have a choice," you solemnly recalled. "I wasn't going to stay loyal to people who weren't loyal to me."
"Captain Rogers, I assume?" he asked. "Things seemed to have turned out fine just for him."
"What about the rest of us?" you asked. "Wanda is still out there somewhere, on her own. Clint and Scott got separated from their families. Bucky and Sam are AWOL. And I'm here on a farm in rural Italy with you, and I have no idea where I'm headed or what I'm doing."
"At least the food is good," Zemo tried to offer you a smile. "But look, if you're truly that desperate to find a purpose, I have a mission too."
"Which is?"
"There are still some names on my list -- not any of your friends, but common enemies."
"Who?" you thinned your eyes at him.
"The men on the other side of the fight," he explained. "Those who supplied the materials for Ultron."
"I'm going to need more than that," you pushed.
"That's all I know as of now," Zemo replied. "You can join, or you can stay here, but I've seen your cooking skills, and I would advise you to join me."
He had a point; you probably would have died out here on your own. Furthermore, the idea of having a set mission again, and having purpose, didn't seem so bad. Instead of aimlessly wondering through Europe, you could at least do so with a goal in mind - and it wasn't that far away from what you would have been doing if you'd stayed with Steve and cleared your name. Part of you wondered what your life would be like if that had been the case -- would you live together? Would you be married? What a weird alternative.
You and Zemo set out a week later, suitcases in hand and with a dodgy Fiat as your main form of transportation. The ice between you was beginning to fade, and you were starting to see the man behind the thinly-veiled contempt you'd once held. It quickly became clear that your differences had never been personal; you fought for different causes, and whether it was through fate or some fucked-up luck, that was no longer the case. He'd destroyed the Avengers, and now he wanted to take down the other side of the fight -- the same side you had wanted to take down. You were on the same side now, and with little else left to lose, holding on to any former conflicts or grudges seem a little excessive.
Mysterious exterior aside, Zemo had a sense of humour. Not in an assuming way, but rather with his deadpan approach to everything around him. It made life on the run more interesting - but you didn't trust him yet. You weren't that stupid. The only thing you did trust is that he had no reason to lie to you -- what good would it do him? He'd already gotten what he wanted by ruining the Avengers. There was nothing else to take from you. You'd lost everything you loved, in the same way he had.
It was never meant to become anything...more. Zemo was your enemy, and you were his - or had been, at one point. He'd tried to hurt your family - even though they had hurt you - and your entire world had come down because of him. Then you looked at it from his point of view, and realised he must have seen you in the same light. Your original impressions of one another had been so one-dimensional, that coming to learn things about him, and about you, felt almost strange. Putting a personality to the cause you'd once fought against humanised things. And humans, as proven by Steve Rogers, had a tendency to do some dumb stuff.
The first time you kissed had been in the cold, icy plains of Russia. After slipping through Moscow, you'd come dangerously close to falling into the hands of the authorities, and the only hiding place was a small cabin a few hours out from the capital. There was very little heating, and you were both wearing thin jackets -- the only logical choice was to pull a blanket over yourself and press your bodies together on the battered sofa. The room was almost pitch black, save for the glow of the orange fire and the blue night sky leaking through the windows.
"Are you sure you're warm enough?" Zemo asked quietly.
"Yeah, getting there," you murmured. "I won't be inconveniently dying on you if that's what you're worried about."
"That's not what I'm worried about," he replied.
"What is it then?" You peered up at him.
"I suppose I've come to find your presence comforting," he admitted. "It would be a shame if you were to freeze to death on me. I might get quite lonely."
"Oh, I'm sure you'd find company quickly," you joked. "Natasha Romanoff is out there somewhere, but she might not be as forgiving as me."
"Do you miss her?"
"Yeah, all the time," you admitted. "I know the Avengers weren't deserving of much in your eyes, but she was like my sister."
"And Steve?"
"Since when do you ask so many questions?" you asked.
"Since when do you avoid questions?"
You huffed, pausing for a moment to think.
"Yeah, I miss him," you quietly said. "He let me down but I guess, of all things, I've realised he's a human, who made mistakes. If I can forgive you for blowing apart everything I've ever loved, I think I can forgive him for letting his priorities slip."
That last line had been a joke, and not the first time that you had tried to make light of your previous differences with humour. Normally, Zemo would have laughed and thrown a bone right back at you -- this time, it just made his chest hurt a little bit. Now that he knew you for who you truly were, and not just as an Avenger, it was making him realise what he'd taken away from you.
"Do you really forgive me?" he asked. "Wholly and completely?"
"Forgiveness is a thing of the past," you replied. "Do you forgive me for what I unintentionally did to your family? Or have you just learnt to forget about it because you've realised that maybe, just maybe, I don't suck all that much? And that I'm just a human who was fighting for my cause in the same way you fought for yours?"
There was no verbal response - just the soft brush of his lips against yours, as if to say yes, I understand.
That was the start of a slippery slope for your both; one thing lead to another, and before you knew it, you were slipping-and-sliding into a situation neither of you could prevent. Zemo found himself pressing kisses to your temple in passing, and little ones to your lips before he went to sleep. Moving from place to place and finding that there was only one bed was no longer a problem, because you now willingly shared. What had started with slow days in Italy turned into three years of hopping between Europe and Africa and Australia, hand-in-hand and only each other and your mission on your mind.
Whether it was just two people seeking physical comfort in a difficult situation, or whether you actually felt for one another, you didn't know. Neither of you stopped to think about it -- you just wanted to enjoy it, because your jobs were dangerous and things could have been blown apart at a minute's notice.
That was the reality, and it was one that quickly caught up with you in a hotel in Romania - you'd fallen asleep in your safehouse (courtesy of a Miss S. Carter), limbs tangled together and your head buried in Zemo's chest. He held one hand on the back of your neck, as he always did, and you'd let the sweet escape of sleep take over fairly quickly. The sheets were softer than what you were used to, and the gentle sounds of the city outside acted as a lullaby of an equally-loud place that had once been your home.
You were woken by Zemo moving from beneath you - he was muttering something in German, and you were too tired to make it out. Escaping? Moving quickly - and by the time your brain had worked it out, it was too late. The doors to your hotel room had burst open, and you were both forced off the bed with your hands in the air,
"Freeze! SHIELD! You're under arrest!"
Reality sucked. What sucked even more was that you'd let yourself slip away from it. You'd got so caught up in the idealistic little world that you and Zemo had lost yourselves in, that the threat of everything catching up with you had been lost, in the same way it had when you and Steve Rogers had previously spoken about the idea of forever.
Zemo tried to hold onto you as you were wrestled out of the room, but the SHIELD agents were intent on keeping you separate. The next fews hours were a blur of vans and planes, and crossing time-zone after time-zone, until you finally touched down again in New York City. The downtown SHIELD headquarters were practically unchanged, save for the fact that you were now on the other side of the holding cell.
It had been years - five exactly - since you'd last been in the city. That day was still fresh in your mind as though it had been yesterday; you'd woken with Steve beside you. He'd kissed you on the lips, and you'd wished him luck at Peggy's funeral, promising to catch the next flight out to London to meet him as soon as you could. How naive had you been?
Seeing the super-soldier again after half a decade apart felt like witnessing a sick ghost from your past. The smell of his aftershave had hit your senses almost the minute he stepped inside the interrogation room. He'd lost the beard, but his hair was a little longer, if not sporting a few more greys. He was decked out in his Captain America suit, the stars and stripes as bright and as fresh as they had been before he'd been a criminal too. What a clever bastard he'd been to pull an Uno reverse card on his bad luck.
"Steve." You coldly greeted him.
"Steve is for my friends and family - you're a criminal," he replied, voice equally full of contempt.
"For you," You shot back. "I became a criminal for you and yet, you're on the other side of this table. How's that fair?"
"I worked out a plea deal that got me my freedom back," he replied. "You went on the run with the man who ripped apart the Avengers in the first place-"
"- you left us." You cut him off. "Where's Natasha, Steve? Where's Sam, and Bucky? And Wanda? When did Clint and Scott last see their families, and their kids-"
"- that's enough." Steve grunted. "I - we didn't arrest you entirely because of your crimes."
"Oh?"
"You and Zemo have a hit-list of men who helped build Ultron," he said. "Most of them have committed multiple crimes and are some of the most wanted people in the world."
"Oh, so that's where I know them from."
Steve rolled his eyes. "This could be your chance to redeem yourself."
"I don't want to redeem myself."
"If the two of you help us, you'll look at reduced sentences," he continued. "Nicer prisons with more privileges."
You sighed - if the gig was up, what were you meant to do? Refuse to help Steve because he'd hurt you, and let it fuck up the rest of your life? At least if you did accept his offer, the consequences wouldn't be so bad. There wasn't really an out now.
"I..." you trailed off. "For both of us, right? Not just me, but Zemo too."
"You seem to be quite fond of him," Steve observed. "Word has it that you two were in bed together when the team stormed the hotel."
"God, you sound so fucking judgemental," you snorted. "What I do in my personal life is none of your bloody business."
"I never said it was," he replied. "I just..it's like looking at a stranger."
"Likewise," you nodded.
"Sorry it has to be this way," Steve murmured.
You shrugged. "I'm not."
"Right," his blue eyes fell to the floor, letting go of your gaze. "SHIELD wants to put you both up in a hotel down the road for the night. Four stars, but it's heavily guarded and you'll be kept apart from one another."
"You're spoiling us," you tried to joke, but your heart ached a little at the fact you wouldn't be seeing Zemo. "Guess you gotta cuff me up again?"
"It's protocol," Steve replied.
"Remember when we used to do this in a kinky way?"
The hotel wasn't too far away -- you tried to get a few desperate glimpses as your lost lover as you were dragged through the SHIELD corridors, but Zemo was no-where to be seen. The same went for the hotel; as soon as you got there, you were thrown inside, and the door was locked and slammed behind you. The fact it had a king-size bed and en-suite didn't hurt. It certainly wasn't salt in the wound, but it didn't exactly take it out either.
You hadn't expected to feel anything for Steve other than contempt, but there was...something. What exactly, you didn't know. Convincing yourself that everything you'd ever felt for him had gone away was easy when you didn't have to see him, but being in his presence had simply acted as a reminder that a body buried was not a body gone. Ignoring feelings wasn't the same as forgetting them.
He was a glimpse into your past life; a reminder of what used to be. When things were simple, when the only stuff that mattered was making sure you brought the right bread and made it to work on time. When the only angst in your life came from arguing with Steve about staying in bed longer, and when his arms around you had felt like shields away from all the bad in the world. Now, you'd become that bad, and every time you fell into Zemo's arms, you weren't protected from it - you were surrounded by it. You were it. Misery loved company, after all.
You fell back onto the bed, letting the pillows surround you. Guilt had been a stranger to you for a long time, but not it was seeping in through the cracks and consuming you whole. Had Steve been right? What if you had made an effort to stay by his side, and managed to redeem yourself in the eyes of the law too? He was just doing what he thought was best, in the same you had. Differences aside, he'd always wanted nothing but the best for you; wanted nothing but to protect you from the evil you'd come to fall in love with. Maybe if you'd been a little more patient, and stayed around a little while longer. Maybe if you'd just put your pride aside, and stuck around for the man you once loved.
Maybes were useless, though. The could have beens and would have beens meant nothing. The only thing that was certain was reality, and all the shitty things it was filled with.
Sometime after it got dark, there was a knock on your door.
"Who is it?" you called. "Is it room service? Because I'm fucking hungry!"
"It's Steve."
"Oh," you murmured. "I would say it's open, but we both know that's a lie."
There was the sound of the door unlocking, and a moment later, he stepped through the door. The stealth suit was gone, and in its place was a pair of blue jeans and a tight-fitted plaid shirt. How very sexy of him.
"I wanted to talk with you," Steve said. "If you'll let me."
"Well, it's not like I can escape," you huffed. "Might as well make the most of a bad situation."
"Right," he nodded. You motioned for him to sit on the bed opposite you -- the movement was a little awkward, but he obliged.
"What's up?" You asked.
"I don't have anything particular in mind," Steve admitted. "I just missed you, even if you were completely out of line earlier."
You couldn't help but smile, however sadly. "I think I miss you too."
"It's not too late for you," he continued. "You're not made of the same stuff as the other people we've arrested. There's good in you still."
"Padme Amidala said the same thing about Darth Vader," you quipped.
"And he turned back to the light side, didn't he?"
"Hmm, not before building two Death Stars and blowing up a few planets," you shot back. "Look, Steve, I appreciate it but you can't run from the truth - I've done bad things. Illegal things."
"So did I, and they let me back-"
"- you're Captain America," you reminded him. "And besides, even if I could come back, what makes you think I'd want to?"
"Because we could be together again," Steve gently said.
"There's no possible way for me to get absolute and complete freedom, and if I could, do you really think that running back to you is the first thing I'd do?"
Steve was quiet. Too quiet. You didn't like that, because it always meant one thing - that was he keeping things from you. That's why he'd been dead silent in the days leading up to the breakdown of your relationship.
"What?" You thinned your eyes. "What do you know, Steve?"
"I spoke to the Supreme Court," he murmured. "They said you'll be granted immunity, on one condition."
You sat up straight. "What is it?"
"Zemo is more...wanted than you. He's committed more crimes and there's higher stakes - if you give him up, give statements and witness accounts for the last three years, and you walk free." Steve explained.
Your heart broke all over again - you couldn't. Not in a million years. Zemo was the sole reason you'd made it through the last five years; Steve Rogers would not have been able to lay eyes on you again, or foolishly let himself dream of a future with you, if Zemo hadn't been around to make sure you were okay. You owed him your life now.
"No," you firmly said. "I can't. He's helped me."
"There's no such thing as honour amongst thieves," Steve said. "But is it an honour thing, or do you love him?"
"I..." you trailed off. "You lost me, Steve. The minute things got tough, you completely let go of our relationship and then ditched any hope of saving me or the other people who helped you. I don't owe you time or energy, let alone an explanation!"
"Maybe you're right," he replied. "I did wrong, I know - but didn't Zemo? He was the one who caused this whole thing in the first place. If you can forgive him, can't you forgive me?"
He was logical. How fucking annoying.
"You have no idea what's gone on the last five years," You said. "You don't get to tell me how to feel."
"I'm not," Steve replied. "I'm just asking you to think about it. Think about what we had-"
"- you mean what you ruined?"
"You left, remember?"
"Because you pushed me away!" You snapped.
It still hurt. You hated that, because it meant you still cared. You still cared that Steve had disregarded you, and you still cared that he saw hope in the ashes of what had previously been a great relationship. As always, he had a weird form of naive hope. He was clinging onto the past, trying to breath life back into it.
You'd yearned for the familiar during the hard times you'd experienced - the familiar being him, and your home, and your family. Normality, and freedom, and not being on the run. Had turning to Zemo just been a response to missing someone's touch? Had he merely been a substitute for Steve?
Maybe, just maybe, you loved him in his own right. Not because he gave you what Steve had, but because he'd given you something else entirely - stability, during what was otherwise the craziest, hardest period of your life. He'd protected you from the things you'd been running away from, and he'd gone out his way to look after you. Everything that was lost when you'd left Steve, had come back when you'd found Zemo.
"I've never stopped loving you," Steve reached out for your hands, enveloping them in his. "Everything I've done in the last five years, I've done for you-"
"- don't lie to me, Steve." You cut him off. "That's a lie, and you know it."
"It's not," he gently continued. "When I turned myself in, I was allowed a plea deal. Half the charges they wanted to give to you, I took instead so that if they ever did find you, that you would have a chance at being free again. That we would have a chance of being free again."
"If you took half my charges, how come you walked free?"
"I didn't walk completely free. There are terms I have to stick to," he explained. "Just...just think about it, please?"
You stared straight ahead, and Steve gently stood up. He pressed a kiss to your temples, letting go of your hands and slowly backing away towards the door. You were truly in the shit now.
"We have til tomorrow to give the courts an answer," He said. With that, he exited, and shut the door behind him. You barely acknowledged the sound of it locking.
Once again, you were posed with the price of freedom: giving up the man you might love, for the other man you might also love. You'd have complete freedom with Steve, but the only time you'd ever felt free was with Zemo.
Fuck.
a/n: ok real talk -- who would u choose? i'm curious
link to part 2 :)
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handmaiden-of-mischief · a month ago
Text
Cupid’s Arrow
Hi everyone! So this is the first smut I've written for Zemo. I hope you like it! - Love, Kiki 🖤
Requested by: anon
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Pairing: Helmut Zemo x female!reader (but else there are no descriptions of the reader given)
Word count: 7.7k
Summary: You're on a mission with Zemo to seek out Dr. Nagel in Madripoor - and somethings goes horribly wrong.
Warnings: filthy, filthy SMUT (so 18+ only!). The trope usually is dub-con but I wrote it so that the two idiots have been lusting and pining after each other before so it's fully consentual and they only think it's non-consentual for the other because it's ride or die (bad pun intended). Which brings me to my next warning of angst, but that's only brief 😂
Check out my Masterlist 🥰
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“We should split up for this”, Sam contemplated, stroking his chin as his brain was shifting into military tactics mode. He’d begun pacing through Sharon’s living room and it was starting to make you nervous.
Having just returned from your visit at Selby’s club, the five of you – Sam, Bucky, Sharon, Zemo and you – had settled down in Sharon’s loft after the events of the night, discussing your options on the hunt for Dr. Nagel. Selby, Zemo’s contact, had given you the name – and a bounty of one billion dollars on your heads to go with it – and one of Sharon’s own contacts had provided three possible addresses where the doctor could be hiding a laboratory.
Sam stopped pacing and turned to face the rest of you, his gaze flitting first to Bucky and you, who’d plopped down on the couch, and pointedly ignored Zemo at the bar counter before it came to rest on Sharon. “There’s five of us and three possible hideouts for this Dr. Nagel.”
Sharon nodded. “The one in the cellar of the Pixie Dust Nightclub, one somewhere at the harbour and a third one in his own apartment downtown”, she listed while counting her fingers.
“I have a feeling that the Pixie Dust Club doesn’t really sell actual pixie dust”, Bucky mused, earning a stern look from the blonde ex-agent.
“They’re a strip club. Known for spiking drinks, so be careful with that”, she warned with a suggestive wink, and Sam shuddered. “I promise, after tonight I’ll probably never again have a drink.”
“And I have a feeling that an evil genius would be clever enough not to hide his top-secret laboratory in his own apartment, don’t you think?”, you deadpanned, “So, technically we should focus on the nightclub and the harbour. That would make two addresses.”
Zemo chimed in from behind you, “Maybe that’s exactly what he wants people to assume. Hiding something out in the open isn’t the worst tactic. People often tend to overlook the obvious.”
You turned around to glare at him. He was seated at Sharon’s bar counter, a drink in his hand and the usual smug smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head and caught your gaze.  
“I hate to say it, but I agree with Zemo on this. Splitting up it is, then”, Sam shrugged, “So Bucky, you’ll come with me. I really want to see this infamous Pixie Dust Nightclub and I’m still dressed fancy enough to blend right in with the crowds”, he added with a little shimmy in his colourful suit.
Sharon gave him a curt nod. “I’ll go on my own. I know this city better than any of you, and I’m picking Nagel’s apartment.”
Sam threw you a sympathetic glance as he said, “That leaves Y/N and Zemo for the harbour.”
You groaned. “Can’t we switch partners?”
“It’s a mission, not a swinger club”, Bucky jested with a wide grin.
“How do you even know about swinger clubs, old man?”, you retorted with a playful shove at his metal arm, and Bucky grinned.
“Do you think we didn’t have those in the forties?”
“Can we focus back on the matter at hands?”, Sharon interrupted with an exasperated sigh.
“Fine”, you grumbled, “I’ll go with Zemo. But I get to ride shotgun for the next fifty years for this. And I need to get out of this damn dress first if I’m to be of any use.” You waved at the slinky glittering dress hugging your form tightly.
“Don’t you think a slinky dress will be a better disguise than a combat suit? We should keep the strategy of blending into the crowd.”
“Bucky’s right, you are kind of horrible now”, you grumbled at Sharon, who just shrugged.
“She’s correct, though”, Zemo interjected and, his eyes finding yours again, he added, “Despite, the dress looks rather ravishing.”  
“Hey. Take a step back, Romeo”, Bucky warned, and the look he gave Zemo would’ve been enough to make your own stomach sink with fear, but the Baron was unfazed. Zemo theatrically raised his hands as if in defeat, but the wicked smile still tugged at his lips – he knew exactly about the effect he had on you, and he enjoyed it.
“I suppose she’s quite capable of fending for herself, James. I don’t think she’s in need of a guardian.”
***
“I can’t believe this evening got even worse”, you muttered as you made your way through the streets of Madripoor again, Sam and Zemo flanking you with Bucky and Sharon trailing behind, both of them looking equally gloomy. Bucky had replaced the jacket with the missing sleeve for another one made of leather, which fully covered his vibranium arm.
“So far, I’ve been insulted by a criminal called Selby and, for the grand finale, I’ve been shot at because Sam forgot to mute his phone and I’m still wearing the stupid dress. Also, I’m pretty sure my feet are bleeding in these heels.”
“I still look like a pimp, and I think the innards of the snake I was forced to drink are still wiggling about in my belly”, Sam grumbled beside you.
“You forgot the one-billion-dollar bounty on our heads”, Zemo added in with his smooth little smile, his eyes flashing with a devilish spark of mischief, making your heartbeat stumble briefly. He was probably having the time of his life.
“And the bad luck of having to go on this little mission with Zemo”, Bucky added with a malicious wink in your direction as he appeared beside you.
Sharon stopped in the middle of a small crossroads, neon lights painting blotches of red and pink and blue across her features, the crowd of people around you ignoring the little group standing in the way. Nobody had recognised you – yet. You knew how fast that could change, but Sharon had been right; the glittering short dress made you blend right in with the throng of partygoers around you. She looked at you and pointed down the street to your right, which was less crowded. “Follow that street and you’ll be at the docks in a few minutes. Bucky, Sam, you can follow me. The club isn’t far from Nagel’s apartment. We’ll meet up back at my apartment as soon as we’re done”
“Great”, Sam said and tugged at the collar of his suit jacket, “So, see you all for breakfast in a few hours. Try not to get shot. And try not to shoot each other.”  
With these parting words, the three of them made their way back into the belly of the beast that was downtown Madripoor, while Zemo and you started your trek through the small alleyway towards the docks. It couldn’t be far; the smell of salt and sea already wafted through the air the further you went.
“I’m starting to think that it was your plan to get us shot in this hellhole of a city so you could take your fancy little jet and your fancy coat and fly off into freedom,” you said, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you, shooting a sideways glance at Zemo, who only pouted as if he was actually contemplating the idea.
“It wouldn’t have been my worst plan”, he mused, “But then I would’ve missed the enchantment of your company. My life would be terribly empty without your repeated death threats.”
His calm tone made it difficult for you to discern if he was mocking you or if Zemo was actually flirting with you. You opted to ignore him.
Still, you just couldn’t keep your gaze from straying towards the Baron, as if he radiated a gravity that pulled you towards him. He was striding beside you as if the rain-soaked asphalt of the dark alley were a catwalk, his fur-lined coat billowing slightly in the warm, salty breeze. He was handsome, there was no denying it. There was also no denying that you were falling for him. Had already fallen for him, despite everything he was and everything he’d done, and you hated yourself fiercely for it.
“So, you think my coat is fancy”, he finally teased, tearing him from your thoughts, and you realized he must have caught you staring. You quickly averted your gaze, focusing on the graffiti decorating the walls of the buildings you passed by.
“It wasn’t a compliment”, you retorted.
“It certainly sounded like one.”
“Fancy does not inherently mean something positive.”
He smirked. “But still, you keep observing me.”
You bit your lip and made a mental note to stop ogling the enemy. The alley opened up to the harbour. Heaps of containers were filling the space like a horde of sleeping giants.
“Stop it, whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll not be manipulated by you, and I’m certainly not your friend.”
You knew he was playing with you, just as he kept playing with Bucky to provoke him, to draw out that last violent streak the Winter Soldier had left on the poor man’s soul. Because if people lost control, Zemo would gain more of it.
“Ah, but you don’t hate me, either” he assessed, “You hate that you’re trying so hard to despise me and still fail to.”
With that, your intentions to stay calm went overboard. With a flourish movement, the knife strapped to your thigh was in your hands and you’d slammed the Baron into the wall of the container behind him with a dull metallic clank, the sharp blade catching a silver streak of moonlight as you pressed the tip against the man’s throat. His eyes were glittering back at you with a dark intensity that made your breath hitch in your own throat, and you were so close – pressing him against the wall with your own weight – that you could feel hist chest rise and fall against your own while his breath ghosted across your cheeks.
You hated him for being right, for having read you so easily despite having known you only for a few days. You despised him for the intoxicating spell he held over you with a mere glance, for the grip he had on the strings of your heart, making it dance to his own twisted tunes. And most of all, you despised yourself for everything you felt for him, that even now he made you want to kiss him, for making you want and feel things you weren’t allowed to feel for the enemy. He’s the man who tore your family apart, the voice of reason yelled in your mind, but the fluttering of your own traitorous heart drowned it out.
“The only reason you didn’t already find yourself with this knife lodged between your ribs in the last few days is that you’re our best hope to stop Nagel from running around creating more super soldiers”, you hissed, “So make no mistake. I will not hesitate to throw you back into the cozy little prison cell Bucky dragged you out of as soon as this is over. And I certainly won’t hesitate to throw you under the bus if necessary, because I –“
You never got to finish your sentence before a single bullet whirred past between the two of you and hit the container’s wall, leaving a bullet hole only inches beside Zemo’s head.
It took the Baron only a fraction of a second to react, his reflexes still exceedingly swift after years of training as commander of the Sokovian EKO Scorpion. He grabbed your arm that held the knife while he whirled you around to put himself between you and the bullets that began hailing down on the two of you from multiple directions. It took your brain a few heartbeats for the haze of the first shock to dissipate and the realization to hit that Zemo was protecting you, shielding you with his own body while he raised his hands, aiming his gun – how did he get the gun out so fast? How did he even get that gun? – and unleashed a hailstorm of bullets on the three dark figures on the roof of the adjoining containers. Two went down like puppets with their strings cut, and the third one followed suit, the hilt of your knife winking in the light of the moon as the blade lodged itself deep in his chest. But there were more bounty hunters sprinting towards you on the ground, their silhouettes outlined by the moonlight.
A string of curses escaped your lips as you tried to fumble for your own gun you’d managed to squeeze in at your thigh beneath the dress’s silky fabric.
“Are you going to join in soon?”, Zemo barked at you over his shoulder as the two of you sprinted through the labyrinth of containers and were met with four more bounty hunters coming your way.
With a yelp of frustration, you stopped the desperate fumbling for your gun and instead slipped out of your heels, flinging the first one at one of your attackers who’d been sprinting towards Zemo and you. The heel lodged itself in the man’s left eye socket with stunning precision, and he stumbled to the ground with a strangled cry. The other three were felled by Zemo’s bullets. The night went calm again, the eerie silence only broken by the lapping of the waves against the docks and the ships lying at anchor in the murky depths of the harbour. You slipped out of the remaining high heel and threw it at the corpses in front of you, sighing as your aching bare feet met the cool asphalt.
“Who would’ve thought these shoes would actually be lifesavers”, you deadpanned.
“I think the lifesaver was my gun”, Zemo said, breathless.
“Yes, by the way, how did you get the gun? I thought Sam had checked you for weapons.”
“I can’t spill all my secrets, can I?”
You sighed and finally yanked your own gun out of its holster on your thigh. “Sharon said it was the only container without a business logo. Let’s go search for it.”
To your surprise, it didn’t take you long to locate the container – it was the only one without a giant company logo on its side, just like Sharon had told you. Zemo found the hidden door inside, and it swung open without a noise, revealing a small laboratory. Loud 40s music wafted around you as the two of you carefully stepped inside, guns raised and gazes on the man sitting in an office chair with his back to you. He was obliviously humming along with the tune as he moved something around on the table in front of him.
“I told you he would not be hiding in his apartment”, you hissed triumphantly.
The determined gleam that had sparked in Zemo’s eyes made you stop in your tracks, and as quietly as possible, you pushed him against the nearby metal shelve. The handcuffs were closed around his left wrist before he could even blink, and with a final click, the second cuff was securely locked to the shelf.
“Where did you pull these out?”, he smirked.
You winked at him, quoting, “Can’t spill all of my secrets now, can I? Also, I won’t take the chance of you shooting him, so hand me your gun.”
“What will you do if I don’t?”, he purred. Watching him, you grabbed the gun from his hands. He didn’t even try to hold on to it, which – in hindsight – should’ve left you more than suspicious.
“We’ll get to the threats. Let’s just talk to him first”, you conceded and cleared your throat.
“Hello, Dr. Nagel”, you called out, and the man whirled around in his chair to face you. His eyes widened as he took in the gun in your hand aimed at his head.
“We’re just here to talk.”
“She is. I, personally, am here to shoot you”, Zemo clarified with a little tilt of his head, and the cuff locking him to the shelf rattled as he shifted a little to let his gaze wander across the vials of blue liquid stacked on another table in the middle of the room.
It happened faster than you could react. Beside you, Zemo pulled a second gun out of the inside of his coat and aimed it at Nagel, but neither of you had noticed the small gun taped to the underside of the doctor’s chair until he had grabbed it.
“NO!”, you screamed but it was too late. Nagel’s bullet hadn’t missed its target, and Zemo slumped against the side of the shelf you’d chained him to. With a haze of panic clouding your mind, silencing the voice screaming at you not to leave the doctor out of your sight, you knelt beside Zemo’s cowering form, to check where Nagel’s bullet had hit him. Frantically, you pushed aside the fur-lined collar of his coat, your hands feeling for the sticky wetness of blood pooling out of a gunshot wound. Curiously, there was none.
“Good luck with that”, Nagel huffed as he passed the two of you on his way towards the exit. “If I were you, I’d run as well now, girl.”
You barely heard him over the pounding of your heartbeat in your own ears. Your hand met something cold and metallic, and Zemo hissed in pain as you grabbed the thing and pulled it off.
Aside from the needle at the tip, it looked like a small dart. You stared in horror at the last remnants of a green liquid which dribbled out of the needle at its tip and onto the ground. Good luck with that. If I were you, I’d run as well now, girl.
“Oh God”, you breathed, just as Zemo suddenly doubled over with an agonized groan.
“Does it hurt?”, you asked dumbly.
“What do you think?”, he shot back with another gasp.
“Poison”, he hissed through gritted teeth, and when his eyes found yours, you could see a gleam of panic there for the first time. It was this expression which finally pulled you out of your own horrified racing mind.
“Where there’s poison, there’s an antidote”, you said, but the tremor in your voice wouldn’t fool Zemo, you knew. You left him huddled on the floor, his hand dangling limply in the cuff still tying him to the rack, and rushed towards the desk and the papers strewn across it. It was chaos. Nagel had taken the serum and his laptop on his flight, so the stacks of paper, the folders strewn across the surface, were all you had to work with. A strangled gasp from Zemo told you that time was running low until…until what? You didn’t want to find out.
“Is it getting worse?”, you asked, pushing aside file after file of experimental records and handwritten numbers. “This Dr. Nagel is the very definition of a mad scientist”, you added muttering under your breath.
“It’s…changing. You should go.” The pained strain in his voice made bile rose in your throat.
“What?” You didn’t stop your frantic search, your eyes scanning paper after paper, folder after folder. Reports, experiments on rats, then on humans, equations. Numbers whispering secrets you couldn’t decipher. If the antidote was hidden somewhere in these numbers, the Baron was lost.
“Nagel…said…go.”
“And leave you? No. No, I’ll find something, I just need more time –“
“I’d understand. Besides…you made it very clear how ready you were to throw me under the bus.”
“I found something!”, you screeched, and your eyes scanned the text, your trembling hands clutching the paper so tight that it tore at the edges. But reading the report, you could feel the last flickers of hope die in your chest, smothered like the soft flame of a candle in a storm. Tribulus Terrestris Serum, Codename Cupid’s Arrow. Phase 2, Trial run #1: Seizures after ten minutes. Subjects suffered from extreme sexual arousal. Fits of pain. Cardiac Arrest after twenty minutes. No survivors. Trial run #4: Seizures. Cardiac arrest. Two of the participants engaged in intercourse and survived. No survivors in those who tried self-stimulation. Project terminated. Bile rose in your throat as you read the horrible things which had taken place in order to recreate the super soldier serum. Of course, there would’ve been trial runs for the serum. A testing phase. Of course, people had died for Nagel’s ambition. And it seemed as if he’d kept some doses of the deadly first version of his super soldier serum.
Zemo sharp intake of breath as another wave of pain rolled over him made your heart bleed, and you were sure that in this moment, you were ready to sell your own soul to make his agony stop.
“You’re…awfully quiet”, he noticed. How could he still sound so calm? Didn’t it matter to him if he lived or died?
Slowly, you turned around and walked a few steps towards his cowering form, the piece of paper still clutched firmly in your hands. No survivors.
“What Nagel injected you with was the first version of his serum”, you explained quietly, and his head shot up, your gazes meeting with unspoken horror.
“I’ll be a super soldier”, he groaned, before his features contorted in another fit of pain. No survivors. You dropped the piece of paper. It sailed through the air like a feather and landed on the ground beside him with a soft flutter. In the few minutes it had taken you to scour through the paperwork in search for an antidote, Zemo had become awfully pale and when his searching gaze met yours again, the hazel of his eyes had nearly been eclipsed wholly by the blackness of his blown pupils, giving him the look of a frightened, rabid animal. How much time would be left by now? Twenty minutes?
With the rattling sound of the handcuff clasped around his wrist clanging against the metal of the rack, he pushed himself back onto his feet, and his body slumped against the shelf to support his weight. He was trembling so hard that you thought the whole shelf would topple over and crush him.
Something like realization sparked in his eyes as he watched you still trying to grasp the right words. He understood, anyway. Of course he did; it was happening to his own body right now. You swallowed as your gaze wandered down to his crotch, the hardened bulge clearly visible beneath the fabric of his pants. When Zemo spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “You should leave now. I can…take care of it. Just…don’t tell anyone. Got a bad reputation to maintain.” You could tell how hard it was for him to speak, how much agony every single movement caused him. Sweat beaded on the pale skin of his forehead.
You shook your head, blinking back the tears which were welling up in your eyes at seeing him like this. The blackness of his pupils had swallowed the beautiful hazel colour of his eyes, and the amused gleam, the cunning attentiveness usually glittering in these depths had been eclipsed by a mix of fear and distress and…a dark kind of desire. It sent icy shards of compassion through you – for him, for what the poison in his veins was doing to him against his will. In this moment, you finally allowed yourself to acknowledge what you’d tried so desperately to smother in the last few days, like the embers of a bonfire. You cared for Helmut Zemo. You’d fallen for his bantering, his humour, his wicked smirk, the beautiful mischievous spark in his eyes whenever he tilted his head in contemplation. You were falling for him, had been since the moment you’d first met him when Bucky had helped him escape from prison.
“Zemo, the only survivors in the trial runs were…” You caught your breath, stumbling over the words, “Those who tried to relieve themselves manually…died.”
“No”, he rasped, vigorously shaking his head. “No. Go. Get out of here. Just leave me.”
You didn’t. You couldn’t. You ignored his plea and instead crossed the distance until you were standing right in front of him, and slowly, as if trying to soothe a scared animal, lifted your hands.
“I’m going to remove the handcuffs”, you said tentatively, but Zemo shrunk away from your touch.
“I don’t know what I’ll do”, he rasped, darkness laced in his voice. “You need to get away from me.”
You ignored him and unlocked the handcuffs. With a clatter, they fell to the ground, and Zemo pushed you away from him, turning so his back was to you and his hands were grabbing the metal of the shelf like a lifeline, the knuckles turning white as he tried to restrain himself.
“GO!”
“You’ll die.” This time, it was you who was pleading, begging him to listen and see reason. “Fifteen minutes, maybe less”, you continued, swallowing against the lump in your throat. Another strangled cry escaped him, and you could see how his whole body shook with the next seizure of pain. You couldn’t imagine how agonizing it must be for him – and still, he didn’t want to hurt you even if it would cost his own damn life.
With laboured breaths, he turned, finally facing you, and you took a step closer, reaching out your hand for him to take. “It’s my decision to allow it. I don’t need a guardian, remember?”
Obviously, he did remeber – a pair of strong hands grabbed your arms as Zemo whirled you around and slammed your back against the nearest wall, cornering you, pinning you to the cold metal with his own weight. You let out a surprised gasp. His laboured breaths were strangled, and you could see the pain in his lust-blown eyes, fighting the wildfire of want that was burning through his blood as he took you in, his gaze boring into your own eyes before it travelled down to your lips.
“I didn’t want it to be like this”, he rasped. How he wished now that Nagel had injected him with the real serum instead of this. But before you could inquire what he’d meant with these words, his weight pressed into you, and the touch of his hardened length against your thigh pulled a moan from his lips which seemed to reverberate through your own bones, igniting a fire in your core. You’d imagined this, yes – the taste of his kisses, the sensation of his skin against yours, the feeling of his fingers threating through your hair – and the dream had come true, twisted into a horrible nightmare. You wanted this, you wanted Helmut Zemo so desperately, but not like this. Not in a cold laboratory, his eyes wild and dark with pain and warped desire leaving him no other choice but to obey the whim of the poison running through his bloodstream, his muscles trembling as another lightning bolt of anguish shot through his body. And still, he held back. His hands rested on the wall on both sides of your head, fingers curling into the cold metallic wall in laborious self-restraint.
“Use me. It’s okay”, you whispered, and his eyes fluttered close with the sensation of your warm breath fanning across his cheeks, still hesitating, barely holding back. How you wished this reaction to your closeness was real instead of forced upon him by a chemical.
“What if I told you that you were right earlier?”, you breathed, “What if I told you that I can’t stop thinking about you? How you look at me? You’re making me crazy with –“
His lips crashed into yours with a feverish despair that left you breathless and his hands slid down the curve of your waist as he bucked his hips to meet yours, pressing you harder against the cold wall. Another strangled moan left his mouth, and the sound was so sinful that you could feel your own arousal pool between your legs. His lips moved feverishly against yours, tongue flicking across your lower lip to beg entrance, and you complied with a soft groan.
The sound of fabric being shredded filled the laboratory as Zemo ripped the slinky dress away from your skin, not tearing the kiss, leaving you slightly shivering in only your bra and panties.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he gasped and took a step back to give you the chance to pull away, but it only left you craving the feeling of his lips moving against yours, his body pressing against your own.
“Just hurry”, you commanded, pushed yourself away from the wall and walked over to where he was standing now; hair tousled as if he’d run through a hurricane and his chest heaving with laboured breaths. He obeyed with a low growl and cupped your face to deepen the kiss, tasting you with his tongue while he walked you backwards until your lower back hit the edge of the desk.
Zemo’s strong hands snaked across your sides before he grabbed your butt to lift you up against him, his erection pressing against your own throbbing core, and the choked gasp he gave at the contact made your head spin. Your legs hooked around him on instinct, and gently – so incredibly gentle despite this agonizing mix of craving and pain that set his nerve endings ablaze – he placed you on the desk so you sat in front of him, the papers strewn across the surface rustling under your weight. The grip of his hands on your waist was firm but restrained, and you could feel him trembling through the leather of his gloves.
But instead of continuing the kiss, Zemo pulled back. With a fluid motion, he shrugged off his coat and placed it around your shoulders to keep the cold air of the lab from touching your exposed skin. The fabric was soft against your naked skin, and the hairs of the fur-lined-collar tickled your cheeks while his scent wrapped around you like a second coat, an intoxicating mix of his expensive soap and sweat, and you breathed him in deeply. Despite the hell of pain he was currently walking through, Zemo had noticed your shiver, your discomfort in the coldness of the lab. Only for a few heartbeats as he resumed to his hungry kisses, you allowed yourself to imagine what it could be like to be with him – really be with him, not just this once, in a lab, when he was forced to take you, but to actually make love to him. Him wanting you for you, not for the poison coursing through his bloodstream. It was a dream destined to break your heart, you knew – but then why did it feel so real? The gentleness with which he treated you, when it cost him so much strength to restrain himself not to ravage you and make the agony seizing his body finally stop, even if you’d already given him your permission?
He was standing between your legs now, and the sight of you wearing nothing but a bra and his coat seemed to spur him on, turned his kisses bruising against your lips before his tongue delved into your mouth again. He tasted so heavenly delicious – of the bourbon he’d drank back at Sharon’s apartment, and of chocolate. A shudder of pleasure rang through your muscles when he ground into you in a desperate attempt to create some friction, a ravenous growl escaping his throat as you rolled your hips to meet his erection with your own clothed core, arousal pooling between your legs and soaking your panties. His hands momentarily strayed from your waist to pull off his leather gloves with his teeth, discarding them on the floor at his feet without breaking eye contact, and the action made the knot of desire in you lower belly clench even tighter.
“I want to feel you”, Zemo rasped an explanation against your lips before he resumed his hungry kisses. Your own hands had strayed over the firm muscles of his chest beneath his sweatshirt, feeling his abs ripple beneath your palms as he rocked against you, and your hands slipped deeper to unbutton his fly and free him of his pants.
The wanton moan that tore from Zemo’s throat as you grabbed his hardened length and started pumping him nearly brought you to your own climax right then and there, and your free hand grabbed the strands of hair at the back of his head, raking through these soft curls like you’d imagined doing so many times in the last few days, pulling him even closer. His now bare hands grazed the skin of your thighs, wandering upwards, and his nails scratching the soft skin were leaving goosebumps in their wake. You so desperately needed him to touch you, to fill you and stoke the flames licking at your throbbing core.
When his fingers finally brushed against the fabric of your panties, he hooked his thumb in the waistband and stilled – a last, silent request for your permission. You lifted your hips to grant it and he ripped away the panties in a flourish, the thin lace tearing with a snap, the shreds of fabric falling away to leave you completely naked.
“So wet for me”, he growled while his fingers trailed to the apex of your thighs, brushing over the hardened bud of your clit, and you whimpered with delight. It felt like you might burst with pleasure as he snickered darkly and continued to circle your clit with the tips of his fingers, sending you into ecstasy. The heat was searing in your core, fire licking at your nerves. All control over your muscles was gone as you sank further into Zemo’s arms, eliciting another growl from him when you started stroking him again. You rolled your hips to meet his fingers, in synch with the waves of pleasure the movement of his fingertips over your slick folds was causing. Achingly slowly, he pushed two digits inside of you and you whimpered at the burning sensation it sent through you as he began to fuck you with his fingers.
“God, this…this is so good”, you breathed. You desperately rutted your hips against his fingers, but it wasn’t enough, and a frustrated growl escaped your throat – you needed him. You let your head roll to the side to grant him more access to the point on your neck, the sensitive skin covering your hammering pulse. He didn’t hesitate; his teeth grazed that sweet spot and the feeling of his fingers slowly curling inside you, his mouth sucking the sensitive skin on your neck, were nearly enough to make you forget why you were doing this in the first place. But the cold reality hit you when his knees buckled, and his free hand fell from your waist to grab the tabletop for support to hold himself upright.
Gently, you nudged his hand away from you so you could align him with your entrance, and when his tip grazed the slickness of your folds, the wood of the tabletop began to crunch and splitter in the tightness of his grip while he restrained himself with a hiss.
“You’re not ready”, he rasped, the dark rumble of his voice making your walls throb with need.
“Ready enough”, you whispered, “Time’s running out. Please.”
“Please what?”, he teased, his hot breath ghosting over your exposed skin like a caress. Tell me it’s okay.
“Please make me feel good.” I give you permission. Make me yours. Don’t hold back.
You pulled him closer, and with Zemo’s forehead resting against yours, his gaze – darkened with an all-consuming desire – locked on yours as he slowly pushed into you, filling you inch by glorious inch until he was buried inside you, and his eyes fluttered close with the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped around him. The muffled groan that tumbled from his lips at the feeling made your walls clench around him and your own ache for him became unbearable. You were clutching the fabric at his shoulders like a lifeline, and when he started moving inside you, his hips snapping against yours as he started thrusting into with a quickening pace, you felt as you might burst with ecstasy. With each languid thrust, he was hitting this sweet, aching spot inside of you so perfectly, and moaning, you arched your back. His left hand caught you before you could fall backwards and hit your head on the desk, steadying you as you kept languidly rolling your hips in time with his movements, while his right hand snaked beneath the fabric of his coat around you to stroke the soft skin on your waist with every push. It felt as if every contact of his fingers on your skin would leave burn marks. The pleasure building in your core, so searing hot, made your muscles clench, begging for more, and the beautiful breathy sounds tearing from his own lips to mingle with yours filled the cool air of the lab around you. It felt delirious, and you craved more of this beautiful agony he was giving you. Zemo’s pacing quickened and with it the feeling of his pulsing length hitting that sweet, throbbing spot inside of you, over and over again, the knot of fire in your belly was building until you thought you couldn’t take it any longer. You’d never felt something else comparing to the feelings Helmut Zemo was stirring in you with his touches.
“Helmut, I’m –“ close, you’d wanted to say, but your climax crashed over you like a wildfire and turned your words into a cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched around him in the throes of your orgasm and his name tumbling from your lips like the most beautiful prayer were enough to topple him over the precipice of his own high, dragging him under with you. Zemo’s muscles clenched and his grip around you tightened as he rode out both your climaxes, his head nuzzled in the crook of your neck and his breathing ragged against your bare skin.
For a few breathless, panting moments, you stayed like this, waiting for your breath to catch and your racing heartbeats to slow in the aftermath of what you’d just done.
When Zemo pulled away from you to pull up his pants and dress himself, you suddenly felt cold and empty as the realization hit you that he was probably ashamed of what had just happened, of what he’d had to do. There were no clothes for you to redress in, so you pulled the soft fabric of his coat tighter around your body to cover yourself.
When neither of you said something and the silence became unbearable, you began, “Helmut, I –“
“It’s gone. I’m fine now”, he interrupted, and his gaze was calm and indifferent as he regarded you. “We should go back and tell them that we lost Nagel. And the serum.”
Without a glance over his shoulder to see if you were following suit, he left the lab, leaving you behind with only the memory of his kisses. That’s all it would be. You had allowed him to use you, and he’d done it to save his own life, and that was it. That knowledge, though, wasn’t enough to stop the pain seizing your heart like a vise, the tears spilling down your cheeks and onto the soft white fur of the coat’s collar. There was an ache in your chest that had nothing to do with physical sensation but was embedded within your soul, and the places where his hands had touched you still tingled. It felt as if his fingertips would forever be tattooed into your skin, a reminder of everything you wanted but could never have.
***
When you stepped out of the lab and into the stuffy hot night air, you saw that Zemo had been waiting for you in front of the container’s entrance, features stoic. If he saw the streaks of tears shimmering on your cheeks, he didn’t comment. He just turned and walked back into the glittering belly of Madripoor and towards Sharon’s flat, you alongside him, and the silence weighed heavy in the air around you. As soon as you returned to the apartment you found that the others were still gone, probably waiting for Nagel’s appearance at their respective addresses – it wasn’t unlikely that he’d try to find shelter there after Zemo’s and your uncovering of his lab.
Neither of you said a word as you parted ways to disappear into your bedrooms, both doors clicking shut to leave an ocean of silence and unspoken things remaining between the two of you.
You shuffled out of his coat and left it on the floor before stepping into the bathroom adjoining your guestroom to take a shower, imagining how the rivulets of warm water pelting down on you like rain would wash away Zemo’s scent, cleanse his fingerprints from your skin, mingling with the salty tears running down your cheeks to be swallowed by the drain. It didn’t help. What had happened between the two of you in the lab had opened a floodgate of feelings for him you’d so well repressed over the last few days. If somebody had told you that it was possible to fall in love with someone over only a short span of days, you would’ve laughed at that person, called them naïve. But you had fallen for Helmut Zemo, hard and fast, and the snippet of what could have been if he’d reciprocated these feelings left you aching with sorrow and heartbreak, tiny shards of eyes pinpricking your veins.
After you’d cried in the shower, you dried with a fuzzy towel, combed through the strands of wet hair, put on your pyjamas and went to continue the self-pitying sobbing on the bed, but your eyes fell on the fur-collared coat you’d discarded on the floor. You should probably give it back tomorrow, place it in front of his door to avoid having to see him – as if that were possible, penned up together on a mission that could well stretch over the next few weeks – but you hesitated, and finally grabbed it from the floor with a tentative movement. It still smelled like him. Like soap and probably the most expensive aftershave in the world and just him, and you pressed the fur against your nose, taking a deep inhale, when a quiet knock sounded on your door.
Were the others already back? You were glad to have been spared the horrid moment of embarrassment to explain why you’d been wearing Zemo’s coat – and only that. But you didn’t trust yourself to not burst into a new round of tears if any of them asked you to recapitulate the events of the evening. But the knock sounded again, and you threw the heavy coat onto your bed before you went to open the door.
You blinked. There he was, standing in front of you, clad in a blue bathrobe. Droplets of water were still clinging to his dark hair.
“You want your coat back”, you said, and your voice sounded strangely hollow in your own ears. You were about to turn, when his hand shot out to grasp your wrist – but he pulled back as soon as his fingertips touched you, as if the contact had burned him.
“I don’t care about the coat. I need to talk to you”, he said silently. “I offer you my sincerest apologies about –“
“You don’t need to”, you interrupted him, surprised at the hoarseness of your own voice. You cleared your throat before you continued, “You did what was necessary to stay alive and I agreed to it. It was consenting. That’s it.”
“That wasn’t exactly what my apology was about. And it’s not it – at least not for me.”
The lump in your throat at how gentle his voice had become threatened to choke you.
When you didn’t answer, Helmut went on, “I am truly sorry – not for what happened, but for how it happened.”
Your head snapped up at his words, and your eyes found his. There was a warmth in his hazel eyes with which he’d never regarded you before, and your traitorous, hopeful heart clenched with all you felt for him as if it was a little bird about to break out of the confines of its cage to flutter into his palms. Despite how wrong it was, despite what he’d done to the Avengers.
“What – what do you want to say?”, you inquired timidly.
“You deserve to be worshipped. Not to be used in a cold lab because it’s the only way to save myself. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want you in my bed, but I don’t only want you in my bed, I want you in my life and by my side. Because I find myself to have…fallen for you. In love”, he added, his usual eloquence leaving him like snow melting under the first rays of the spring sun as he took you in, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place.
“Now would be the time for you to either slam that door in my face or say something”, he teased, tilting his head to the side.
You did neither of these things – the smile blooming on your lips, lighting up your features at his confession, was enough to tell him what you felt for him.
And this time, when his eyes fluttered close and he captured your lips with his, it was sweet and tender and full of promises. His hands came up to gently settle on the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks as he pulled you closer into him. It stole the breath from your lungs in all the best ways and made you feel as if your heart would spill over with glowing happiness.
“I want to do this right”, he whispered between kisses, and you hummed happily in response. “I want to learn about your favourite books, your favourite food, your favourite music. If you prefer flowers or jewellery –“
“Both”, you teased with a grin, “And I want to keep the coat.”
“Greedy little minx”, he snickered. “Keep the coat. It…does something to me when you wear it.”
“I know. I noticed. I could wear it again for you if you’d like.” You gave him a sultry smile.
“I’ll hold you to that offer”, he smirked maliciously, placing another soft kiss onto the corner of your mouth before he pulled away to look at you – he was breathless and flushed, his eyes returned to their usual stunning hue of brown instead of the eerie black from the serum.
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clints-lucky-arrow · 3 months ago
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Call It A Hunch
(Baron Helmut Zemo x F!Reader)
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Summary: A questionable phone call from Bucky leads you to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Berlin. Upon arriving, you discover that your friends have gotten up to a little more mischief than expected in your seven week absence.
Prequel to Call It A Night.
First Encounters. Mildly Suggestive Zemo. Non-Powered F!Reader.
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
ALSO ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN
Word Count: 10.1k
A/N: This was much harder than expected.
Honestly. The great thing about ‘Call It A Night’ was that because it was pretty much meant to be smut piece, I didn’t have to build a background around the Reader character. And then with the prequel that all changed. 
It can be a bit jarring to try and structure something that still relates to events of CIA-Night - almost like you’re trying to work backwards in time - but I hope that you enjoy all the same! There’s no smut in this one, and is just created to focus on the relationships between the characters.
P.S. I know it seems like everyone in the MCU adores this Reader-Insert character, but I’ll assure you that it’s not the case. She just has close bonds with Team Cap from being on the run with them for so long. 
Plus, she’s adorable. I know that you guys don’t know her like I do right now, but there are some sweet moments planned where she’s an actual angel. I love her.
Any and all kind comments are appreciated. It’s been a fucking awful day.
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Your unsure call echos questioningly through the derelict building. “Bucky?”
An audible hint of concern laces your tone. Ever since his name had flashed across the screen of your phone an hour ago - tense voice asking you to meet him in an unused warehouse outside of Berlin - the feeling that something was wrong refused to stop relentlessly prickling your nerves. Call it a hunch, but you were absolutely certain that something was afoot. Especially when he mentioned that Sam was there too.
There was no discernible reason for either to be in Berlin. Or Germany at all. The only exception would have been if they were visiting you, a situation which was almost certainly not the case. Having only spoken to Sam the other day, it had been clear then that Bucky was ignoring his messages. 
It’s a bit of an abrupt shift to go from not speaking to one another to heading on a joint international trip to visit a mutual friend. Too much of an unrealistic stretch. And that wouldn’t even begin to explain why they asked you to meet them in this cobweb-infested hovel rather than your bright and airy penthouse apartment. All of the possible scenarios play through your head, but leave a single answer.
This is superhero business. Avengers business. And fuck, you had been warned to not get involved anymore, but there isn't any world in which you would have said no when they needed you. Especially not when Steve’s voice, growing louder with each passing day, is playing on a relentless loop in the back of your mind. “Look after them.”
It seems that the responsibility is something that you cannot escape. No matter how enticing the draw to do so feels at times, or whether you’re a continent away. You will always come running when either of them call. After all, they are pretty much all that you have left. 
Sam is your closest remaining friend in the world. There is nothing that you would not do for him, and that it starting to grow just as true for the traumatised super-soldier who seems to have developed a particular reliance upon you. At the thought of Bucky, another pang of guilt beats within your mind. 
You shouldn’t have left. And you should have come back the moment that his therapist had called to say that he was spiralling. 
The rattle of shifting plastic rings out behind. Given the atmosphere, you immediately half-leap in shock, hands immediately fumbling downward to where your gun should be. Except, there is no weapon. Not even a holster. The rules were very clear. You’re no longer allowed to carry. Not in Germany, or the States, or anywhere else at the moment. 
You’d managed to avoid the aiding, abetting, and obstruction charges that the US government had initially levelled against you for your suspected help in the escape of the Anti-Accords group. They’d been eventually dropped due to lack of evidence, and it had been a stroke of luck on your part that you’d managed to wipe everything clean before they took you in. All the same, you knew that they were undoubtedly keeping tabs.
Luckily, the weapon isn’t needed after all. Bucky straightens, having just ducked through the clear strips that adorn the shadowy doorway. His arms are raised, almost apologetic, but there’s a light in his deep blue eyes when he looks at you. Sometimes, you wish that he wouldn’t watch you that way. It would make it all so much easier for the both of you.
“Sorry,” he states, as one of your hands lifts to your chest while you suck in a relieved breath. The smallest of smiles lifts the corner of his mouth. Despite the tension radiating from his shoulders - the slight distracted apprehension in his face - it is clear that he’s pleased to see you. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Could have fooled me,” you answered, shaking your head. The lights above flicker as you do. Your head lifts once again, gaze flitting over the hovel that you’ve found yourself in. The confusion is palpable in your voice as you cut to the chase. “Bucky, what the hell am I doing here? And why did I have a missed call from a US police station just a few hours ago to say that you were in custody?”
He shifts, as if a little uncomfortable. “I had you down as my emergency contact. Haven’t updated it since you left.”
Well. If that doesn’t make you feel like absolute shit. Almost hurriedly, as if urgently trying to convey that you weren’t actually abandoning him like everyone else, you continue “It was only meant to be for a month, Buck.”
He nods, but that cobalt gaze averts slightly. “At the start. Seven weeks now.”
Before you can begin to cultivate a response, another echoing voice rings out from within the room which he just emerged from. “Who’s there, Bucky?”
Oh. Sam has no idea that you’re here. That’s a great sign for sure. Not.
Bucky’s face twists in an expression akin to a wince. Almost as if he is anticipating your forthcoming annoyance. In response to such a look, you can only furrow your brow, teeth rolling your lower lip nervously as you hurriedly stride forward to batter through the plastic-covered threshold and out the other side.
The fact that Sam sounds so pissed is certainly not a good sign. And yes, while he and Bucky usually tend to jar with one another, this sounds different, somehow. Worried. Signalling that something more is afoot than the lofty super-soldier getting on his nerves. 
He follows right behind as you step into the other room. It’s a bit better lit, and slightly less derelict in appearance than the former. Messy shelves line the space. Each hosts different kind of hardware, strewn messily atop one another. In the centre of the space, Sam stands. His hands are in his pockets, and a deep frown furrows his brow.
Those soft, dark eyes fix on your face. The reaction is instant. Sam all but freezes in place. His hands clamp at his side, tightening into tense fists. Yup. Suspicion confirmed. Something’s going on.
That gaze - usually full of soft warmth - turns cold as it lifts to the man hovering behind you. Your friend’s jaw is set in agitation, and his words come as a near growl. A more than slightly unusual tone for him. 
“I thought that we agreed to leave her out of this.”
“And we will,” Bucky replies. “She’ll be here for twenty minutes at most. Do you really think that I’d want her coming to Madripoor?”
Something about the way he says it - as if the idea is so utterly abhorrent to him - causes a rise of indignation to surge within. You round on him, brow raising irately. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“It’s not-” Bucky’s head shakes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… You don’t need to be anywhere around him.” 
One gloved hand raises, gesturing off to the side. To a figure in some type of grey uniform, standing against the wide shelving unit at the other side of the room. A person who you had been too distracted to previously notice.
It takes a second for it to sink in. That face. 
Keen, vigilant intelligence shines from dusky brown eyes. Ones that are narrowed slightly in a show of amusement as he watches your jaw threaten to drop upon catching sight of him. A smattering of stubble runs across his cheeks, the colour matching sightly tousled brunette hair atop his head. It’s a style that should undoubtedly look so messy after many years kept in an isolated cell, but instead only serves to distinguish those already handsome features. His lips are curved into a thin smile. The expression appears almost sly, as if entertained by the thoughts running through his mind as he regards at you. It nearly causes a shiver to run down your spine.
A few beats of uncomfortable silence pass.
Eventually, you speak, in a voice that is both quiet and eerily calm. “Please tell me that this is not who I think it is.”
Motion flickers in the corner of your vision as Sam and Bucky exchange a quick glance. You can’t twist your head to translate the meaning of it. 
Revelling in the silence, the smug man standing against the shelving unit on the far side of the room speaks up. His voice is smooth, though lilted in a slight rasp. 
“Helmut Zemo. A pleasure, I’m sure.”
That Sokovian accent is unmistakable.
Fuck.
Your throat constricts as you swallow thickly. Was this the kind of thing that Steve thought you’d be able to handle? If so, he was wrong. You did not have the slightest clue what to do about this. 
The tense stillness picks up again, until you break it once more, growling a command through gritted teeth. “Explain.”
Sam’s answers from over your left shoulder. “Ask Bucky. He’s the one who broke him out of jail.”
Words won’t even form in your mind. The urge to shake him - to shake both of them - is nearly overwhelming. Desperately attempting to keep yourself in some semblance of calm, you round on them both, though your angry gaze primarily directs to the super soldier. “Do you realise that if you’re caught here with him both of your pardons will be immediately negated? They will throw you in prison, Sam, and I don’t even know where to begin with Bucky. They’ll think that he’s regressing. He will never get out of a cell again.”
It’s hard to battle away the panic. The idea of either of them being taken away is almost too much to bear. And the mere thought that you could even lose both of them… No. That’s not something that you’re equipped to deal with. Not after Steve and Nat. Not when Wanda has stopped answering your calls. 
You need to know that at least these two are safe. 
It takes a moment to realise that you’ve surged forward, and now your hands are on Bucky’s chest, gripping the collar of his jacket. That sharp jawline swims only inches from your alarmed gaze. His hands rise up, leather crinkling as his gloved fingers curl around yours. 
Although a little strained, his tone at least attempts to be marginally soothing. “We needed him. There are other super-soldiers out there. Zemo can help us find out more, but we have to get him out of here first.”
Noticing that your attention has slowly begun to fall back upon him, the escaped convict tilts his head slightly to the side. Examining you. There is an appreciation to the look as it runs lightly down your body. An unexpected appreciation. Maybe a result of all of the time in prison. 
Scowling, you release Bucky to irrtatedly tug the sides of your blazer a little more firmly around your shoulders. The business casual suit that you wear now is a far cry from your  kelvar outfits in the past. A sign of your new life as a non-agent. Not one that you are willing to give up just yet. However… There’s no choice. 
“Look after them.” 
God. You needed a drink. A strong one at that.
You take another step back, lifting a hand to run agitatedly through your hair. Deal with the same way as any another issue. As if it’s a computer problem, something that you can fix with ease. Where do you start when it all begins to go wrong? 
There are some steps that always need to be taken. 
Breathe. Focus. Asses the problem. Implement a solution. Move on. 
It takes a second to remember them. To get from the first step to the third. When you finally do, your tone is clipped. Businesslike. Settling into something akin to strained calm.
“You called me here because you want something. What is it?”
Sam shakes his head in mute disapproval. Bucky only sighs. The regret is clearly written in the downward twist of his full lips. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to involve you in this. However, the situation had called for it, and he was unable to resist. Something greater is at play here than his protective instinct towards you, and has taken priority in his mind for now. 
“We need to get to Madripoor,” he tells you, nearly bitterly. “Zemo says that he has a plane that can take us. It’s at an airfield about an hour away, off the autobahn. We need your help ensuring that we’re not caught getting there.”
Immediately, you know exactly what he wants. 
Your tone remains curt as you ask all the same. “How, exactly?” 
“Just some tech support.” He winces a little upon uttering the words, knowing what it means. “All of the police in this country will be on a coordinated manhunt once they realise that he’s gone, and that won’t take much longer.”
Your hand lifts, fingers massaging against your temple in a wordless display of agitation. “Hold on. You’re asking me to stop police and military frequencies? That is the exact thing that I’m not meant to be doing anymore. You know how hard they’re watching me. Watching all of us. You’ve risked my neck by even calling me here right now.”
“I know. And I wouldn’t have called if this wasn’t our best option.” 
Those blue eyes bore into your face pleadingly. Frustration is plainly written across every inch of his body. It’s clear how much uttering this request agonises him. He’s always been so protective. The fact that he is willing to put you at risk signals just how important this is. To the world. To him.
And you were never quite going to be able to say no.
“Fine. Just... fine.” Your despondent sigh drifts through the still air of the warehouse. “Bucky, go and get my laptop from the car. It’s in the satchel on the floor of the passenger seat.”
He does not pause. Not to argue, or to ask why you can’t do it yourself. That 1940s gentlemanly manner still simmers under everything. He obediently trots off without uttering another word, shooting you a small, grateful smile as he does. That look only serves to make him even more handsome, and that’s not something that you should be thinking about right now. You’re a little too annoyed to entertain your attraction to him.
That confused mix of emotions within your chest only shifts further when your attention turns to Sam. All the same, you manage to push it aside, and your tone remains purposefully formal. Calm. As if your hands aren’t slightly shaking down by your side. “How is he?”
Your friend shifts uncomfortably. It’s clear from the smooth depression of his mouth that he doesn’t really want to tell you. Not that you’e going to give him any choice in the matter. Arms crossing over your chest, your stare bores unrelentingly into his face until he finally surrenders with a sigh. “He’s angry. All the time, it seems.”
A harsh twist pulsates within your gut at the words, and a pained reply spills almost bitterly from your lips. “I shouldn’t have left."
“It’s not your fault,” Sam immediately answers, voice low and soothing. “You needed time, just like the rest of us.”
Despite his kind assurance, part of you can’t help but feel like it is. It had only been a few weeks, and yet you were already failing Steve. Everything in you yearns to be able to speak with him again. To ask him what to do next, or how to deal with this situation.
But that’s not possible. He’s gone.
It’s only then that you remember that Zemo is still present. That he’s likely heard all of this conversation. The knowledge fills you with an abject dread. It only intensifies when you glance back over your shoulder. He is still standing across the room, hands clasped before him, posture relaxed to the point where he almost appears patient. 
A shiver runs down your spine upon noticing that those rusted dark eyes are locked upon you. His head is tilted to the side in another careful examination. Upon realising that he has your attention, that tight smile lifts the corner of his mouth once more. It’s hard to admit, but Zemo is undeniably handsome, and may almost look friendly if you were unaware of who he was. Of what he’s done. 
The rattle of plastic distracts you once more. 
Bucky ducks back through the plastic sheeting. The laptop bag is gripped carefully in his gloved hand. One of your own extends readily as you reach to take it, but he veers away to where a dust-covered table lays off to the side. His dark sleeve swipes down the surface until it is clean - well, more clean than beforehand, anyhow - and then sets the bag carefully atop it.
You brush past him, and he steps away to allow you the space. Straps clip open underneath the touch of your familiar fingers. The laptop itself is dark, slim, and small enough to carry with ease. Perfectly structured to suit yourself and your lifestyle, with almsot everything thing that you needed encased within. It’s a powerhouse in and of itself. 
Still, things would be easier if you had all of your equipment. 
“How long will it take?” Sam asks reluctantly. 
“Thirty minutes or so. It’s hard to tell.” 
Your head lifts, eyes searching around the space nearby for something to rest upon while you work. There’s nothing nearby. Just as you go to turn back to the computer, another voice interjects. One that you did not expect.
“Please, take this seat.” It’s Zemo. On his feet, one hand politely clasped to his chest while the other gestures towards the item in question. His face is sincere. Or at least, it appears to be. It’s hard to be certain with him, given his reputation as both suvertive criminal and master manipulator.
Maybe it is truly kindness. Maybe it’s a ploy for trust. Maybe it’s even a little bit of both. 
Regardless, you are hesitant to accept. “I’m alright.”
His head shakes, mouth flattening into a grimace as if to signal that this is a matter that he simply cannot let go of. “I insist. There are things that I must discuss with your companions anyhow.”
Your gaze flits uncertainty to Sam and Bucky. The latter is visibly apprehensive. Jaw set, hands tightened into fists down by his sides. It seems that every little thing Zemo does only serves to further piss him off. The former is also hesitant, but meets your eyes just long enough to give hesitant nod. 
Turning back to the escaped criminal, you silently repeat the affirmative gesture.
That grin grows wider - more dangerously pleased. A little roguish in nature, like you’re sharing some wry llittle secret. It’s how he always looks. Caught between impish charm and assessing scrutiny. All in all, it’s an intimidating combination.
Bucky tenses as Zemo lifts the chair smoothly into his arms. His steps are confident and unhurried as he crosses the room to place it before you. Even under the cold stares of your companions, the convict does not seem the least bit daunted. 
It’s then that you remember that he was a soldier. And not just an ordinary one. Leader of a Sokovian Death Squad. His easy front makes sense. He’s accustomed to pressure. To dealing with potential hostiles. It’s just another thing to keep in mind within his company. 
Those playful eyes linger on yours as he straightens once again.
Another slight pause passes before you can summon a response. “Thank you.”
That seems to please him, or it could just be your imagination. Whatever it is, his back straightens, chest lifting. Becoming even more confident in appearance, if that was even possible. 
"You’re most welcome, my dear. Now. Sam. James. May we proceed? I have some items to retireve and there are matters to be discussed.”
Footsteps echo as they depart. Not far, just into another room somewhere in this enormous warehouse. The distance sounds of their voices still lift through the air, but it is easily ignored as you set about your work. 
It’s a fresh challenge. Something more exciting than days spent in boardroom presentations, lecturing United Nations officials on how to improve their security systems. Most were hesitant to follow your words. After all, while it could not be proven, it was largely suspected that you were the reason that Captain America’s Anti-Accords group were able to avoid detection over the years in hiding. While they were indeed right, that delay to trust shows in their systems. 
However, you do have to hand it to them. The security for the German defence forces is better than most. Still, after fending off the probes of Stark’s AIs for multiple years, this is nothing. Twenty-five minutes work. It would have been less if you had all of your equipment, but the bulk of that had been seized in the investigation. They hadn’t been able to pull anything incriminating for it - nothing that had keep those charges from being dropped - but they had yet to return it all the same.
Part of you wonders what would happen if they stormed the warehouse now. Burst in to find you elbow deep in military databases, and the escaped Helmut Zemo only a large room or two over. It’s nerve-wracking to think about, but whatever that result would be, Sam and Bucky would have it worse. 
Especially Bucky.
And something about that realisation won’t leave you alone. It lingers, refusing to fade. Not even as your index finger indents on the final key to crash their entire network. Those words echo through your mind like a song that will not leave, but the painful memory is more nightmare than lullaby. 
The timbre Steve’s voice was frayed with age, but firm in conviction. ‘Look after them.’ And then, the response that you had choked back. ‘I will, Steve. I promise.’
They were the last words that you had ever spoken to him. You still had no idea why he thought that you could. Why he would place so much trust in you of all people, but you could not let him down. Not again. And so there’s only one thing that you can do.
‘Look after them.’
Chair legs scrape loudly across the ground - nearly grating in volume - as you push yourself back and up onto your feet. It’s easy to track the sound of the others through the echoing building. Upon stepping through the door to a vast, open room, your eyes immediately dance between the three men dotting the space. They are all standing separately amidst a sea of oddly-shaped objects draped in white cloth. 
The cover of one is slightly thrown back, revealing that the items that lie underneath are cars. The model underneath is vintage. Old. It’s the same as ever one of the others that you can clearly glean. 
The part of you that appreciates aesthetic can admire that they are indeed beautiful vehicles. However, the other more practical part of you - the deep-rooted techie within - can’t help but consider them impractical in today’s world.
“Admiring the collection?” that smooth rasp enquires from off to the side.
Helmut Zemo is metres away. A duffel bag is held aloft in one hand, while the other rests on the bonnet of the car he leans gracefully against. That assessing tinge is back to colour his intense gaze. It prickles over your skin, and you can’t help but feel like it shouldn’t. Not in the way that it does.
In an attempt to rebuff whatever tension is slowly starting to well between the two of you, your head shakes. “Give me a good modern sports car any day.”
His lip curls in a show of distaste as his head shakes. "Brute designs. No real class to them. I’m disappointed."
However, his response feels feigned, somehow. An inexplicable part of you whispers that he is not truly annoyed. When those eyes settle on you once again. amusement glints in their depths. He’s enjoying the little display of banter.
Sam’s voice calls you away. “All done?”
“Yes.”
Your friend’s smile is both bright and brilliant. Despite your agitation at the events of today, it’s undeniably reassuring. Something about Sam never failts to make you feel better. Safer. It’s part of why you’re so drawn to him.
Taking a step closer, his voice drops slightly as one hand lifts to brush your cheek in an affectionate manner. “Thank you. We know the risk that you’ve taken in helping us. Now go on, get out of here.”
Your fingers rise, lacing with his. A wry expression grows on your face. It’s slightly cynical, projected inwards. While you don’t really want to have to do this, you know that you have to. They are all that you have left in the world.
“Sorry to break it to Wilson, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”
The others shift around you. Bucky stiffens, gaze growing colder. More searing in nature as it bores into the side of your face. Across the room, Zemo’s head inclines a little further in a display of curious scrutiny. Neither of them had expected you to make such a remark.
Sam stills a little also, and that hold on your fingers tightens simultaneously. “What do you mean?”
“I’m coming with you.”
Immediately, the protests start. Just as you had known they would. Sam and Bucky almost begin to talk over one another in their haste. The only silent, solitary figure is Zemo. He simply watches it all take place. While no Sokovian-accented commentary drifts through the air, those glinting bronze eyes host amusement. As if he finds their objections unfathomably entertaining.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea-” Bucky begins.
Your hands shoots up to cut him off.
“Breaking Zemo out of jail wouldn’t be classed as a ‘good idea’ either, but it happened. You guys will need me. Even if it’s just for background support.” Hands settle pointedly on your hips as you finish, the gesture intent on finalising the impact the last remark of your speech.
This is not a topic that you will relent on. Steve had said to look after them. While you were still not quite sure in what way he meant, it would easier to do that from by their sides. You could be rather stubborn when you wished. This was one of those times.
“But you could-” Sam continues.
“I’ll fade out when you tell me to,” you interject determinedly, “and I’ll keep clear of fighting any super-soldiers, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I’m not negotiating with either of you. You wanted my help. Now you’ve got it.”
It takes an age for one to finally reply.
“Fine.” Sam. Of course. He’s the only one who could utter the words. The other just looks like his head is going to explode at the mere idea of you accompanying them. “As long as you promise to fall back when we tell you to.”
“I do.” Scout’s honour. Neither seem completely satisfied, but there’s no time to delay longer. Your teeth grit slightly as you throw another glance at Zemo from over your shoulder. “Now, let’s move on to worrying about getting our friend here out of the country.”
“He’s offered one of the cars already,” Sam says. “It’ll be an intense drive, but we’ll make it.”
Your head shakes in grim resolution. “It’s too risky. I’ve done what I can, but they’ll be setting up checkpoints soon.” At that moment, another realisation starts to set in. One that you are not entirely too keen on, but one that makes sense all the same. “Neither of you can be caught with him. You’re too high-priority. Too recognisable. No. I’ll take him to the airfield. It’s the logical choice.”
Immediately, another wave of heated disagreements begin to spill from Bucky’s lips. His eyes are flashing in indignation, his complete unwillingness to allow this written in each angry spark of his eyes. It’s a little much, especially since he asked you here in the first place.
“I’ll be fine,” you continue heatedly. “I’m not an Avenger. I wasn’t the Winter Soldier.” That part is said with a small, sorrowful glance at Bucky. A silent apology for uttering such a reminder. But it is one that needs to be said. “I’m just the tech support that Steve took along for the ride. I don’t have a pardon to be revoked. There are no existing charges against me. And if something does happen... I’ll trust the two of you to make a good case for bailing me out.”
“No,” Bucky replies staunchly. “I don’t like this. You can’t.”
As he continues to refuse, your temper starts to sour further. Sometimes, he’s just a little too overprotective. The rant persists, his tone growing more agitated with each passing second. Eventually, it becomes too much to bear.
“Do you forget that I was a SHIELD agent, Bucky? Sure, I mostly ran the ops, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t handle myself. And Sam… You’ve been caught up in enough problems with me to know that.”
Unlike Bucky, Sam is quiet. Reserved. A little apprehensive, but his eyes are focused on the far wall as he thinks rather than speaks. Blocking out Bucky’s worded agitation, you choose to focus on him, to search for the signs of a forthcoming decision in his eyes. Nothing gleams back, strengthening the twisting agitation growing within the pit of your stomach. 
They’re taking too long to make up their minds. Every minute spent in this derelict building brings the police closer to eventually finding you, to having their technicians fix their systems to coordinate their efforts once more. As you wait impatiently, foot tapping on the ground, neither man speaks.
A throat clears from behind, followed by that smooth Sokovian rasp. “May I interject?”
“Just sit there and stay quiet!” Bucky bellows. A snarl twists his handsome jaw as he whirls to round upon the other man. “How many times do we have to tell you?!”
Zemo lifts his hands in a soothing gesture. His face holds a conciliary patience, as if knowing not to push things too far. “I was simply going to say that I am happy to go with your friend. You are providing my escape, and have nothing to fear from my actions towards her. She is not an Avenger, and I bear her no ill-regard.”
His assurances does little to change their minds. Not that you’d expected it to. Both remain visibly reluctant to agree. A slight annoyance starts to rise in your chest as their hesitation prolongs just a little too much. And then, there comes a point where you can no longer handle it. It’s time to break out the one weapon in your arsenal that they will surely listen to.
“Steve would have trusted me to do it.”
Both freeze abruptly at the words. 
An entertained chuckle huffs from off to the side. Something about the sound grates on your nerves. The whole situation is not funny in the slightest. 
Fuck. 
You need a drink. Likely more than one. As soon as this present danger has passed, you’re getting drunk at the very first opportunity. Alcohol has always made you a little more subdued, which is something that you can’t help but long for in this moment.
Mouth pursing, your head snaps back over your shoulder, expressionless eyes falling upon Zemo in a mixture of stern calm. Trying to appear unbothered, a curt brow arches in his direction. “Is something funny?”
His head shakes. That thin smile is perched upon his lips, projected disarmingly right into your face. It does little to combat the unease. Not when you know who he is and what he’s capable of. Another curious scan of his frame imprints itself across your mind. 
All in all, it’s hard to deny that he’s attractive. The fact that you find him in any way appealing throws your head for a spin. He’s the bad guy. But yet… There’s a lure around him, wrapped like gravity, that threatens to pull you in. And if you fall to it, you’re not entirely sure that you’d be able to get back out. That low, melodic growl of voice surely doesn’t help.
“No,” Zemo replies contritely, hands still remaining folded before him in a polite gesture. “I just find your skills in emotional manipulation rather impressive.”
“I’m not manipulating them,” you retort heatedly.
“You are using their emotions to get what you want. That, my dear, is manipulation.”
Part of you wants to respond that being stuck in a car alone with him for a solid hour is certainly not what you want. The words restrain themselves. It’s not wise to make him agitated in advance of the situation. Besides, you can’t help but somehow know that he’d have another quick retort prepared to combat anything else that could leave your lips. 
The man is undeniably intimidating, even without trying to be.
You turn back to the other two, shaking your head as a tired sigh brushes from your lips. “Come on. I’m not discussing this anymore. I’ll take him in the Porsche. It’s faster than any of the relics lying around here.”
“I take offense to that. These are much-”
“No one cares,” Sam cuts Zemo off sternly, before shifting back to you. 
Some more conversation persists. Slight arguments still stem from Bucky. At times, he is just unable to let things go. Your hero comes in the form of someone unexpected. Zemo, once again.
"Forgive me, but if we are meeting Selby, there are appearances to uphold. I cannot arrive in such state. May I go to refresh?"
Sam and Bucky exchange a pointed look. The former shrugs, shaking his head. "You busted him out. He's your problem, man."
You have to bite back a slight chuckle. There's nothing that Bucky can say to combat that. With a disgruntled lash of his hand, the resident super-soldier waves the convict onward, agreeing silently. That thin smirk only widens in response. Zemo strides off, with Bucky following doggedly at his heels. Deep blue eyes repeatedly cast back towards your face, glancing between you and Sam.
Unspoken words reflect in the taut set of his jaw. 'Talk her out of this.'
You turn back to Sam, preparing to continue this argument. It's a little surprising when he does not continue to protest. Despite that, the tired expression of his face seems much more pronounced than usual. You can't help but feel that urge rise up again. To embrace him and provide comfort, no matter how frustrated he has made you today. And so you do, just a little. In that quiet way that the two of you had always shared. One hand extending, fingers brushing together, entwining loosely. 
Your eyes fall on his, a little softer than before, but unwavering earnest. “I’m doing this, Sam.”
“What happens if you get caught?” 
The slight grin that you give shows the faintest trace of sardonic amusement. “I’ll just tell them that he abducted me, trying to use me to get back at the remaining Avengers. It’s... plausible.”
There’s a moment of contemplative quiet before Sam replies. “Because they know that Bucky would do anything to keep you safe. That I would.”
You can’t bring yourself to answer. Something has drawn in the air. Like a weight about to drop. The answer to that a question that no one has yet voiced aloud, but that lingers in the air whenever the three of you are together. 
Which one will you choose?
It’s not something that you can decide right now. Not with so many bigger things at play. And honestly? You’re still not quite sure. They are very different men, and you have yet to figure you exactly what it is that you want. Whether it is the warm safety and security that Sam's reassuring presence offers, or the precarious, tingling excitement that stirs around Bucky. 
Or maybe even neither. 
You say the only thing that you can. “I’ll be alright.”
Those rich umber eyes flutter closed for a moment. His deep inhale can be felt through the touch of your hands. It whispers reluctance, but also surrender. The act of having to travel with Zemo aside, being found with him carries less weight for you than the others. Besides, you’ve always been extremely good at not getting caught. Nat always liked to joke that it was your superpower.
Another pang ripples through your mind at the thought of her. 
The sharp click of a door closing echoes through the desolate space. A towel folded underneath his arm, Zemo emerges back into the main room. Bucky trails behind, suspicious gaze locked on the escaped convict’s back. It swiftly flickers up to you - checking your expression - before dropping to where your fingers are laced with Sam’s. Quickly, you drop your hands and take a step back. There’s no need to stir up any more conflict between those two than already exists. 
Firmly shoving the duo from your throughts, your attention returns to Zemo.
The absence of the stubble makes him look different. More put-together, even despite the furthered impact of the fitted clothes. A long leather trench coat falls from his shoulders. It does a perfect job of framing them. Of highlighting just how broad they are, which is something that you should definitely not be noticing. However, once you have, it’s hard to stop yourself from seeing all those other little things. Something stirs within, and you react with a violent - nearly disgusted - flinch. 
Those bronzed eyes run over you, holding a newer, more thoughtful kind of scrutiny. It prickles against your skin. Almost as if you are responding to a physical touch. The rational part of your brain rebels at the sensation, screaming that no matter how physically attractive this man is, he is a criminal. And that’s something that you should not forget.
“I have made a phonecall,” he announces, breaking his gaze away to sweep over Sam too. “The plane will be ready and waiting, with all of the items needed for our trip. I took the liberty of placing a few... purchases.” That final word is filled with a roguish insinuation seemingly directed at you. 
Whatever it is that he thinks of with that rogue grin, it does not take a fortune-teller to predict that the others will not approve. That only makes you more inquisitive. Especially when one mischievious eye catches yours, and drops in a conspiratory wink. 
Bucky’s rising urge to punch him is palpable. You can’t help but be a little proud when he manages to restrain it. Progress. Slowly, but surely. However, you know not to allow the situation to build too far. So does Sam.
“We’ve discussed it,” he speaks up firmly from beside you, answering the unspoken lift of Buclky’s eyebrows. “She’ll take Zemo. We’ll be right behind her, and intercept if anything goes wrong.”
A muscle leaps within that pale, chiseled jaw. Your arms cross firmly over your chest, waiting for another argument to begin. He surprises you further by not doing so. With Sam’s agreement, he is outnumbered. But that doesn’t mean he likes it.
One of his hands falls into his jacket pocket, fishing around for something. There is the dim clink of metal, and then a set of glinting handcuffs are pulled free. Bucky’s leans forward to seize a rough hold of Zemo’s arm, bringing him to an abrupt halt before snapping the cuffs on his wrists. The criminal watches with a mixture of disdain and amusement.
“Are these truly necessary?” he asks, lip curled ever so slightly as he gives the restraints an experimental tug.
Bucky’s growl all but vibrates through the room. “They are when you’re travelling with her.”
Despite the surge of attraction that his words bring o the pit of your stomach, your brain can’t help but focus on something else. “Do you just... walk around with handcuffs?”
A bark of laughter leaves Sam’s lips as Bucky’s cheeks grow tinged with red in response to your flabbergasted question. Looking at him, it’s plain to see that he’s not the same cool, sauve man that Steve had told you tales of. He’s different now. More cautious. More emotional. More prone to react to judgement. You can’t help but feel guilty. The question had been born of an honest bemusement, and it hadn’t been your intention to embarrass him. The situation is only made worse when Zemo’s low chuckle also floats into the air. 
He is the last person that Bucky would want laughing at him.
The reply that eventually comes is tight with undeniable strain. “I took them when in the prison. Figured that they could be useful.” 
Ah. That makes more sense.
Thankfully, Sam shifts the conversation away. He has always had a keen emotional intelligence, and can sense that your friend is simmering up to his breaking point. The attention turns to the situation at hand. On the exact details of getting to the airstrip.
It’s simple, really. Has to be. There’s no fancy way to get out of this. All that you have to do is drive down the autobahn and not get caught. The other will be behind, and deal with any trouble if it comes to it. Getting to Madripoor is the priority.
Finally reaching a semblence of agreement, yourself and the three men finally trudge out of the warehouse. The fresh sunlight outside is nearly blinding. Squinting slightly, your hand raises in a leading gesture towards your car. Zemo lets out a small shudder upon seeing it, something which has your lips purse defensively.
Sure, it’s not the most subtle of vehicles. A canary yellow Porsche was never going to be, but it is your baby regardless, and you don’t take kindy to any criticism sent her way. Especially not by a man who refuses to update his own collection in accordance to the time. And they would stick out even more.
It’s hard to ignore the tension mounting in your veins as the vehicle looms closer. Reality has started to sink in. The realisation that soon enough, you will be alone with a master manipulator, and there will be nothing whatsoever to distract his attentions from you. The thought fills you with nervous trepidation.
It only increases when Zemo slides forward. Cuffed hands close around the driver’s seat doorhandle. It opens in one smooth tug, pulling wild and clear. Those dark eyes flit to yours, hosting their now familiar playful glint.
That gentle, Sokovian murmur brushes into the clear sky. “Please. Ladies first.”
Your brows threaten to shoot off your forehead. Beside you, Sam shifts uncomfortably. The stony silence radiating from Bucky is tangible. He sulks behind, looming as a tense shadow over the encounter. Sharing a quick, uncertain look with Sam once more, you turn slowly back to Zemo, and quietly respond. “Thanks.”
It’s hard to keep the suspicious note out of your voice.
He shows no indication of moving aside, and you cannot linger. To do so would be a visible sign of weakness. One that would not be wise to project at this moment. And so, you draw yorself up to your full height and approach with as confident a step as possible. He waits patiently - head marginally tilted - as you slide into the seat. As soon as you are visibly settled, the door closes with a smart click.
On the other side of the glass, two sets of apprehensive gazes bore into your face. Both grow visibly darker as Zemo crosses to the passenger side and slips carefully in to join you. His joint hands rise to brush a strand of hair back over his forehead, before setting about attempting to clip his seatbelt into place. Compared to his otherwise graceful motions, this is clumsier. Less elegant. 
The struggle grows more prounced as he shifts, trying to get the angle to work. You are all too aware of the changing digit that flickers on the dashboard’s screen before you. It changes from 11:57 to 11:58 in the blink of an eye. Time is passing, and it’s only so long before the defense forces get back on track in their manhunt. 
He needs to hurry up. 
“Just… Just stop. Let me.” Your hands knock his bound ones out of the way, seizing the thin clasp and plucking it from his grip. That sly smile curves the corners of his lips upward as his cuffed hands sink to wait within his lap. Atop his wrist, the cuffs glint in the light pouring through the windshield. Some of your hair falls across your eyes as you lean in. At this proximity, you can get a hint of the natural, clean-smelling musk rising from the pit of his throat. It’s mere inches from your face, that pale skin exposed. 
Zemo just waits with that usual display of endless patience, head inclined as that sly grin graces his lips. The caress of his gaze is all too present against your face. You can feel your cheeks starting to heat in a mixture of nerves and agitation. He has no right to be looking at you the way that he is now. 
Yet, there’s no stopping him from doing so.
The seatbelt clip fumbles within your hands, movements thrown off by the careful tracking of his weighty gaze. Upon finally getting the buckle inserted into the clasp, you recoil a little too abruptly for it to appear natural. Another knowing chuckle leaves Zemo’s lips. Your hands settle on the wheel, grasping the reassuring rubber tightly, trying to push aside the nervousness at his continuing attention.
Those eyes sweep down your body as you pointedly ignore him, preoccupying yourself with twisting the key into the ignition. Underneath, the Porsche growls to life. A tremor fills the space as vibrations run through the floor underneath, electricity purring through the wiring. It’s a fast car, and should get you through the autobahn swiftly. Just don’t get pulled over, and it will all be fine.
Outside the window, Sam and Bucky watch with still-present visible apprehension. Your mouth closes into a tight smile, a vain attempt to appear reassuring. Neither of them are happy with this, but it makes the most sense. You’ve played get-away driver many times before. If Steve trusted you enough to do it, so can they. 
‘Look after them.’
That smooth voice washes over you again, suddenly a little too loud in the enclosed space. “Would it be possible to drive with the roof down?” A hint of longing graces Zemo’s tone, as if this means something unspoken to him.
Your head shakes firmly, and a colourful amount of sarcasm laces your agitated response. “Sounds like a great idea. Let me just put down the roof and lower the tinted windows. Maybe turn up the speakers to draw more attention. Give everyone on the autobahn a great view of Europe’s most wanted criminal in my passenger seat.”
He pauses, and then sounds slightly perturbed as he answers. “I was simply enquiring. There’s no need to be rude.”
A sigh billows from your chest. It’s going to be a long drive.
Bucky waits while Sam disappears back into the warehouse’s interior. As soon as the bonnet of another car -  a purpled-hued vintage Alfa Romeo - emerges from the lifting door of the warehouse’s loading dock, you start to pull away. The others follow close behind, and your eyes continually flicker up to the rear-view mirror, seeking the reassurance of their familiar forms. Zemo just hums, and leans forward to fiddle awkwardly with the radio knob as you turn off the dirt-covered path leading to the warehouse.
The stereo flickers and jumps between stations. Given the tension of the situation, the sound is jarring. Your heated palms tighten on the wheel as you fight to resist the urge to smack his hands back down into his lap. It’s hard not to still be rather nervous around him. That smooth confidence that he radiates doesn’t help. 
Trying to block him out of your thoughts, your focus shifts to the winding backroad. At least concentrating on the turns provides some distraction. 
The autobahn is the most nerve-wracking of all. You can’t help but feel the struggle to get the balance right. Drive fast enough to get through it quickly, but slow enough that your haste is not overly suspicious. The fact that you’re in a sports car helps with that ever so slightly. Anyone who took one look at the Porsche wouldn’t be surprised to see you flying down the roads at maximum speed. It is why people got these types of cars, after all.
Behind, the Alfa Romeo gets lost between a sea of other cars. Nervousness dictates that you do not delay to try and let them catch up. Keep moving forward, and they’ll get back to you soon enough. Fingers aching with tense strain, you keep on driving, trying not to openly worry at your bottom lip. 
In the passenger seat, Zemo notes the anxious action with a slightly raised brow. His throat clears, and then his voice fills the small space between you once more. The timbre is a little softer than expected. More soothing than it was before.
“I want to be clear that I harbour no ill-intentions towards you. I know who you are, and what you did for my country. The softwares that you created helped coordinate the humanitarian relief effort greatly.”
His words hold an odd, almost conciliary note. One that hints he is unaccustomed to being so cordial as of late, and not quite sure how you’ll respond to it. Your tongue brushes nervously over your lip, wetting the agitated skin as you brian works to come up with an eloquent but disengaged response. In the end, you say the only thing that you can think of. 
“I’m glad.”
It’s not some cutting barb. It does nothing to shrug off his attempt at conversation. All the same, it’s true. You are glad that it helped. And his acknowledgement is... nice.
That thin smile curves further in satisfaction as he leans back into his chair, head still turned as that dark gaze trickles thoughtfully over your face. His next words are murmured in a manner that appears unhurried. As if seeking out confirmation of an answer that he already suspects to know. 
“Such a complicated system. I failed to understand it myself. Yet, it rolled out within barely a week of the event.”
“I worked on it most days,” you confess, trying to keep your attention on the road in-front. Refusing to cave into that expectant gaze and meet his vivid brown eyes. “And nights. With the help of a lot of coffee.”
He chuckles again, head shaking slightly. “That is both impressive and exceedingly kind of you. You must be talented. No wonder Barnes asked for your help... Despite his obvious reluctance due to his affections.” A knowing tone lingers at the end of the sentence.
Oh no. You are certainly not having this conversation with Zemo.
Adjusting your hands on the wheel, it turns in preparation to overtake a slower moving vehicle. In a manner that is entirely too polite, the criminal glances at the traffic behind before confirming that it’s all clear. Desperately, your mind searches for something to latch onto. A reason to stop yourself from feeling the faintest trace of a give in the mound of your distrust for him. It’s not hard to find a reason.
“You don’t have to maintain the fake niceties,” you tell him stiffly. “I know that you’re going to betray us at the first opportunity.”
“The niceties are not fake,” he counters, using that mild tone that only serves to make him all the more frustrating. “Past alliances aside, there is no quarrel between us. You are helping me, and even though I am quite aware that it is not for my benefit, it is appreciated all the same.”
Quietly, you note that he never rebuffed the mention of an escape. It’s not like you’d have believed him even if he did. Before you can comment, the passenger continues, cuffed hands lifting in a smooth wave to accent the words as he speaks. “Besides, it will be pleasant to have such enchanting company in Madripoor.”
“Sam and Bucky don’t do it for you, then?”
Unexpectantly, your retort draws another huff of laughter. The sounds washes over you, prickling against your skin. As it does - and you realise why you’re reacting to the sound - the pit of your stomach plummets in disbelief. Luckily, Zemo continues before you can linger on why the sound of his amusement drew a slight throb from within. “And I am looking forward to seeing you in those clothes.” 
That devilish glint is back in his bronze eyes. 
Your mouth purses into a disapproving line, and your response comes through gritted teeth. “What clothes?”
His entertained chuckle rumbles within his chest. “As I mentioned earlier, there were some pieces that I arranged for. We all have a part to play for Selby. Roles to act in Madripoor.”
Something tells you that you don’t need to know exactly what he has in store. You’ll find out soon enough, as judging by the flow of traffic, no blockade has been established further down the road. It’s looking like your efforts to disrupt their channels paid off.
A thought occurs, and your eyes flicker to Zemo curiously. “You never even asked my size.”
That dangerous smile widens even further, head tilting suggestively as his gaze passes appreciatively down your body. “I know women’s bodies, dear. Very well indeed.”
Fuck.
Once again, he has rendered you speechless. Nervous. Uncertain of what to say next. It’s like his mind is always two steps ahead of everyone else’s, calculating every possible next move. Always having just the right retort ready. It’s enrapturing, in a way that you deeply despise.
He is both utterly terrifying, and yet inexplicably brilliant. You can’t ignore the draw as it wells within once more. It’s darker and more provocative in nature than anything you feel for either Sam or Bucky. 
You continue in silence down the autobahn. Zemo does not attempt to speak again. Maybe he can sense the shift within you. How you’re withdrawing into yourself and closing off, an action performed in a bid to keep his calculated charm at bay. Yet. it becomes hard to take him seriously when some German pop song begins to play through the speakers, and he starts to quietly sing along.
The others catch up behind. Bucky’s eyes threaten to burn holes in your forehead as he stares into your overhead mirror. Your cheeks cannot help but heat underneath the look, as a small surge of guilt begins to simmer down in the pit of your stomach. There’s accusation in his eyes. It’s like he somehow just knows. Or else you are far too paranoid. Either would make sense, given the situation.
Considering how many years he has been in prison, Zemo’s musical knowledge is quite surprising. He seems to know most of the songs that come across the radio, and alternates between that softly singing in German and lowly humming. You try to ignore him at first. Nosiness ends up getting the better of you.
“Were you allowed to listen to music in prison?”
“Yes,” he answers wryly. “Sometimes. But not like this. I’ve missed this.”
That inquisitivness flares even further as you try to decipher the note of longing in his voice, and what exactly it means. “You’ve missed what, exactly?”
“Music,” he responds with a slight shrug. “Air that has not been recycled through the vents of a cell. Pleasurable company.” That last part is accompanied by a sly wink that you do your best to brush off. He adjusts the collar of his coat before continuing. “I am confident that your friends will strive to oversee my return to confinement once this is all over. I plan to make the most of this freedom while I can.”
You can’t think of a response. Not one appropriate to broach within the calm currently inhabiting the car, anyhow. He deserves to be in prison. There is no denying that. However, that softly empathetic part of you cannot help but bleat out the tiniest bit of sympathy.
It’s soon eclipsed by a sharp surge of panic.
A few police cars whiz by one the other side of the road, screaming back towards Berlin with lights flashing and sirens whining. It doesn’t take a genius to guess the reason why. Rather than shrinking into the seat as they pass, Zemo leans forward to watch them go by with a malicious sort of pleasure. Part of you wants to snap at him to sit back, but the other knows that they cannot possibly see him through the tinted windows.
Once they grow far enough into the distance, a shaky sigh of relief leaves your lips. He looks back at you, taking in the suddenly grey pallour to your face, and his expression lifts in something akin to confusion.
“Are you alright?”
You can only nod, trying to keep your hands from shaking. Hoping that he doesn’t hear how hard your heart is pounding within your chest. Those brown eyes sweep over your face. Something in them is a little gentler than before.
“Breathe, dragă. Breathe. They’re gone now.”
His kind reassurance only confuses you further. 
The turn to the airfield follows shortly after. Thankfully. A quick glance shows no sign of the Alfa Romeo. Sam and Bucky must have fallen a little behind once more. At least, you hope that’s the case. It makes the most sense to get off the autobahn and wait for them, and so that is exactly what you do. Turning off of it feels like lifting a weight from your shoulders. All of your muscles are aching, and it’s only now that they have started to relax that you realise how just tense you were for the past hour. Zemo even shows a visible sign of relief too, letting out a small, slow exhale.
When at a safe distance down the off-shooting road, the Porsche slows, pulling carefully into the patch of grass that runs along the edge of the tarmac. You keep the engine on, but take a few moments to stretch out your fingers. Knuckles crack with the motions, and Zemo shudders once again in disapproval. You can’t help the small bark of laughter that builds in response. The amused sound seems to surprise him at first, but soon that grin grows even more smug. 
Noting it, you glance away, undeniably flustered once more. Something about him makes you nervous. Almost suspiciously so. As the thoughts trickle across your mind, the air in the car suddenly starts to grow a little too warm. Heat prickles under the collar of your shirt, flushing your chest. While you could just turn on the air conditioning, another thought occurs. His earlier request - filled with an odd, plaintive note - washes gently back through your mind. 
You hadn’t understood the underlying tone of yearning to it, but now you do. And in the light of his unexpected show of kindness, something within you responds. Swallowing thickly, you shift forward to prod a finger into one small button on the dash. 
A soft whir picks up from behind.
“What are you doing?” Zemo asks in his lilted Sokovian accent accent, leaning around to look.
“Putting the roof down.” Your tone is tight. Brisk. Warning him not to make a big deal about it. “Just for this last stretch.”
To your surprise, no smart comment falls from his lips. A swift glance shows that he is watching you with those softer eyes. Not ‘gentle’ per se, but less searing and intrusive than they were beforehand. As the roof lifts free itself from above, warm sunlight pours over him. It lights the smaller, more genuine smile that curves his lips.
“Thank you.” His words are almost lost over the whisper of wind that floods across you both, allowed to drift in now that the roof is retracting into the stretch of boot.
You twist away, knuckles paling as your fingers clamp tightly on the steering wheel once more. The rebuttal tumbles out before you can stop it. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
And yet, you both know that it does.
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A/N: Now, we won’t be returning to Zemo until the Sam and Bucky chapters of ‘Call It A Night’ are out. But like... Let me assure you: If you liked that first Zemo chapter in Call It A Night that I did, you’ll definitely enjoy what else I have planned. 
I won’t spoil anything, but it is spicy.
If you enjoyed the piece, I’d ask that you please consider reblogging. It is the best way to spread the story to others who may enjoy it, and your content creators will be forever grateful!
To read the sequel to this story, ‘Call It A Night,’ please click here.
You can also check out my masterlist to read my other works, including some shorter Zemo pieces.
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rax-writes · 3 months ago
Text
More 》 Part Two
Fandom:  MCU Pairing:  Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings:  Sexual intercourse, choking, hair pulling, oral sex (f!receiving) [reader is a female-identifying individual with a vagina] Notes:  Part two of More  》 I cannot thank you guys enough for how well More did, and I hope that you enjoy this addition to it!  》 I honestly didn’t edit this all that extensively, so if there are any errors, please let me know. ♥
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At the break of dawn the next morning, you found yourself on a loading dock for shipment containers with Sharon, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo – pretending all the while that nothing had happened between you and the latter individual. You wore a sweater with a high neckline, per Zemo’s suggestion, and interacted with him exactly the same way that you had before. He did a good job at selling the lie as well, although he seemed incapable of keeping his eyes to himself, frequently staring at you for far longer than he should have, that dark, hungry look in his eyes returning if his gaze lingered for too long.
“All right, he’s in there,” Sharon announced, stopping in the middle of the massive metal boxes. “Container four-two-six-one. I’ll keep an eye out while you guys talk to Nagel, but hurry. We’re on borrowed time.”
You accepted one of the earpieces she offered, getting it into place as she walked off. When the four of you entered the container, you found that it was empty, and appeared to have been that way for quite some time.
“Hey, Sharon, you sure this is the right one?” Sam inquired incredulously. “It’s completely empty.”
“Positive. It has to be.”
You entered the container, the other three right behind you, and closed your eyes as they looked around.
“He’s here. I can hear his thoughts,” you announced, then began to pick the doctor’s brain further. “Push against the back wall. There’s a secret passageway.”
Zemo did as you bade him, and sure enough, the wall moved backwards a bit, to allow him to open the hidden door. He shot you a curt nod of approval, then stepped back to allow Sam to enter first, and the rest of you followed suit.
Music filled the air, a swanky song you didn’t recognize, as you stalked through the laboratory, your gun aimed dead ahead and eyes peeled.
“Follow me,” you whispered, taking the lead as you easily navigated to the physical source of Dr. Nagel’s thoughts. When you saw him, his back was to you, slouched over whatever he was working on as he hummed along to the tune. Sam silently walked over and removed the needle from the record that played the music, and Nagel turned around slowly, fear written all over his face.
“Dr. Nagel?”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“We know you created the super soldier serum.”
“Get out of my lab,” Nagel commanded, as if he was in any position to give orders. He began to walk toward the exit, but you stepped in front of him and stopped him with a hand flat against his bony chest.
“I’m afraid we can’t do that. Not until you tell us what we need to know,” you informed him without speaking, your voice infiltrating his mind. Nagel let out a frightened gasp as he looked behind him, apparently thinking that may be the source of the voice, before his eyes landed on you.
“You,” he whispered, his voice a mix of confusion, fear, and awe as you met his gaze with harsh eyes. “You – you spoke to me, in my head. How did you do that?”
“She can read your mind, and she can also control it. So, I’d advise you to answer our questions, before she forces you to,” Sam threatened, then watched as Nagel took note of Bucky across the room. “And you know who he is, right?” He then grabbed Nagel by the arm and turned him to face Zemo. “This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him, too, right?” He dragged Nagel to the nearest wall, shoving him against it as his back collided with the metal grate. “You seem like a pretty smart guy, so you better become conversational real quick.”
“How ‘bout a counter proposal? Make me a better offer, and I’ll talk,” Nagel proposed.
“Guys, we have company,” Sharon’s voice stated through the earpiece. “Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go!”
Bucky grabbed Nagel by his shirt and dragged him over to a chair, forcing him down roughly before pointing his gun at Nagel’s head, finger on the trigger. He still didn’t look terribly interested in talking, so you lowered your weapon and narrowed your eyes at him, and used your abilities to insight sheer, unadulterated fear in his mind. His eyes widened and he visibly paled as his mind wreaked havoc on itself, instilling a very pure, very powerful terror within him.
“Okay, okay! I’ll talk! Just stop it!”
You ended the onslaught of panic, and raised your gun once again, as your three companions eyed you with curiosity, unsure of what exactly you’d just done to him. But there would be time for an explanation later.
Nagel explained how he formulated the super soldier serum, and you all listened intently to his little tale. That was when you heard it. Like the crack of a twig in an otherwise silent forest, yet making no audible sound at all, you heard it.
“I must kill him.”
You looked over at Zemo as nonchalantly as possible, and his eyes widened slightly when he realized you’d picked up on his decision. The two of you shared tense eye contact for several beats, and you knew that you must make a choice. Allow Zemo to end this man’s life, and end the possibility of additional serums being created, or warn Sam and Bucky of his intentions?
“You know the damage unchecked Super Soldiers can cause. He is dangerous; he must be stopped.”
Zemo spoke directly to you in his mind, and you took the opportunity to dig deeper, searching for any sign that he was going to betray you, Sam, and Bucky. When you found none, you sighed quietly as you made your choice, and returned your attention to Nagel. Out of your peripheral, you saw Zemo begin perusing the room, feeling underneath tables in the lab in search of a secluded weapon.
“Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky inquired, and when Nagel hesitated, he pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple, prompting an answer of no. “Now what?”
Sharon ran into the room then, announcing, “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.”
Zemo took her distraction as an opportunity to draw his gun and shoot Nagel in the chest, straight through his heart. Sam tackled Zemo, and Sharon took the gun from his hand, whispering, “What did you do?”
The very next moment, the entire place exploded, erupting into flames as you, Bucky, Sam, and Sharon hit the deck, although Zemo was nowhere to be found when you groaned in pain and looked around the room from your position on the floor. Bucky pulled you to your feet, then Sharon, then Sam, as the four of you exited the container before it could explode from all the chemicals and fire in Nagel’s lab. You didn’t quite make it, as a gas-fueled explosion went off just as you exited the container, but you were far enough away from it that it merely blew your hair forward. Once outside, the adrenaline wore off just enough that you felt a blinding pain in your torso, and looked down to see blood quickly soaking through your sweater.
“Bucky,” you called out, and he turned quickly, a frown forming on his face when he saw your injury. You lifted your shirt to reveal a thin, jagged, three-inch long sliver of metal embedded in the center of your abdomen. Sam turned to bark orders at the two of you, but his face fell as he saw the blood.
Sharon made quick work of removing the metal, which was thankfully only about an inch or less in width, so it wasn’t at all deadly. Truthfully, it wasn't that bad of an injury, but god was it bleeding like hell. Bucky yanked off his jacket and handed it to you, instructing you to apply pressure to the wound and stick close to him. Your three companions shot at the bounty hunters that were approaching, and you did your best to fire a few shots yourself, your other hand pressing the jacket firmly against your injury. Sam shot you a disapproving look and told you to focus on yourself, but you ignored him.
While Sam and Bucky began bickering about who should have followed whose orders, there was yet another deafening explosion nearby. You looked in that direction to see Zemo with some sort of mask on, jumping down from atop some storage containers, before leaping over some metal piping and dodging past a man to evade his bullets, then grabbing him by the collar to use him as a human shield. He fired multiple rounds at the nearby bounty hunters, before releasing his grip on the first man and kicking him away, then shot him too. He looked at you through the flames, and you didn’t have to read his mind to know how exhilarated he felt, being truly back in action after spending years in a cell.
If asked, you’d chalk it up to the blood loss, but… goddamn, he looked hot kicking ass like that.
“Go,” Bucky ordered, helping you up and wrapping an arm around your waist to steady and guide you as the four of you made a break for it. Eventually, you reached an open storage container, and Sam helped you into it as Bucky fended off the last few bounty hunters.
When Bucky burst through the back of the container with his vibranium arm, you heard tires screech and an engine rev, before Zemo pulled up in a sports car.
“Supercharged,” he stated with the faintest smile. Christ, he was just a little bit of a goofball, wasn’t he?
“You’re going back to jail,” Sam said angrily, then turned to you. “And you were supposed to tell us if he was going to screw us over.”
“Nagel shouldn’t have been kept alive. I know you don’t like it, but it is the truth,” you reasoned.
“He didn’t have to die though, dammit! He could have just gone to jail, locked up for the rest of his life!”
“Oh, yes, just like Zemo? The man standing five feet from us, very much not in jail?” you countered, and he frowned, knowing you had a point. “Once word got out that Nagel knew how to recreate the serum, every power hungry individual and group in the world would be trying to find a way to either break him out or ask him about it. And I’m sure he would have told anyone for the right price. Even if the serum didn’t fall into the hands of the wrong people, even if a seemingly good-natured country like America were to get ahold of it, it could still be used for evil. They clearly don’t have the best moral compass, considering the asshole they gave Captain America’s shield to.”
“Alright, yeah, you’ve made your point,” Sam grumbled. “But I still think we should take Zemo back to jail.”
“Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo interjected.
“He’s right, we need him. And there’s three of us, and at least 20 of them. Come on,” Bucky said, pulling open the door of the car before turning around to help you into the vehicle. Only then did Zemo notice the blood on your hands and sweater, and Bucky’s blazer pressed against your torso.
“What happened to her?” Zemo inquired, sitting up to help you sit behind him, and frowning when you grimaced as you maneuvered into your seat, careful not to get any blood on the lovely cream interior. The car didn’t belong to any of you, but it was so beautiful that you hated to harm it.
“Stray shard of metal during the explosion in Nagel’s container,” you explained, grimacing a little as you leaned your head against the headrest behind you, eyes closed as you willed the pain to subside.
“Are you alright?”
“I will be. Probably just needs a few stitches, then I’ll be good as new,” you assured him, shooting him a tight-lipped smile, which he didn’t seem to buy before he removed his trenchcoat and laid it on top of you.
“You look cold,” he muttered, then turned back around in his seat to face the steering wheel.
“Fine, but if you try that shit again…” Sam told Zemo as he climbed into the car.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Zemo responded, and you didn’t have to check his thoughts to know that that was a complete lie.
Sharon bid you all goodbye, and Sam thanked her for her help before sliding down into his seat.
“You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you?” Sam asked Bucky.
“No,” he deadpanned, causing you to chuckle under your breath, which earned you a glare from Sam.
The drive back to the airport was mostly silent, which you were thankful for, as you didn’t really have the energy for talking. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but you’d still lost enough and exerted yourself enough that you were feeling fatigued. Zemo parked the car on the landing strip, a short distance from his jet, and was quick to exit the vehicle to help you out. You thought you were doing quite well, until you actually stood up outside the car, and the exhaustion combined with some wooziness from the blood loss made your knees buckle. You would have fallen if Zemo hadn’t lunged forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, looking at you with concern in his eyes.
“Let us get you aboard the plane, and I will dress your wound,” he said, then stooped to scoop you up into his arms bridal-style, and began carrying you toward the jet. Sam and Bucky eyed him curiously, but said nothing. Admittedly, you were too flustered by the close proximity and his gentleness toward you to say anything yourself. You looked over his shoulder, admiring his stolen vehicle one last time.
In Sokovian, you stated with a smile, “I’d like one of those by the way, the Pontiac.”
“Whatever your heart desires,” he responded calmly, matching your Sokovian. As he approached Oeznik, who stood beside the steps of the jet, he continued in that language as he instructed the butler, “Have that car, or one exactly like it, delivered to Berlin as soon as possible, please.”
“Of course, sir.”
Zemo laid you down gently on the couch inside the plane, Sam and Bucky following close behind. Once inside, Oeznik brought Zemo the first aid kit, a needle, and some stitching. Both of the other men offered to do it themselves, but Zemo insisted that he could do a better job than both of them combined. In a manner much unlike the night before, Zemo lifted your shirt to have access to the wound, and set to work. Bucky let you hold his hand as Zemo cleaned the area and did the stitches, while you forced yourself to breathe evenly and ignore the pain of the antiseptic and the needle. A mere fifteen minutes later, you were all patched up, and Zemo was helping you up and sending you to the washroom with a change of clothes.
“You’re gettin’ real sweet on her, Zemo,” you heard Sam note, his tone suspicious. “You better watch yourself, man. Step out of line with her and we won’t hesitate to end you.”
“Understood,” Zemo replied nonchalantly, then you could hear him open a book and take a sip of his champagne. For your own amusement, you took a peek into his mind, and found that he was thinking, “Too late.”
You smiled to yourself as you undressed, carefully removing the blood-soaked sweater and placing it in a trash bag. When you saw yourself in the mirror, you first noticed the hickeys from last night, then the miscellaneous cuts scattered across your skin from the various explosions, and the gauze taped over your wound. The hickeys caused your smile to widen further, and you donned the plain black t-shirt of Zemo’s and his loose gray sweatpants before rejoining them in the lounge. His eyes darkened in that way as his gaze raked up and down your body, clearly enjoying the sight of you in his clothing, but he quickly returned his attention to Sam.
“She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea.”
“I have a place we can go,” Zemo suggested, then leaned back in his seat. “I, for one, am looking forward to coming face-to-face with Karli. Oeznik, we’re changing the course.”
A few hours later, Bucky and Sam had fallen asleep after reclining their chairs and dimming the lights, as you laid on the couch, halfway asleep yourself despite the book in your hands. Once their near-identical snores had filled the cabin for several minutes, Zemo stood from his seat and came to crouch down beside your head. His expression was unreadable as he stared at you, before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips.
“I must admit, I was very concerned when I saw all the blood on your shirt. I have only just found you, my Sokovian beauty. I would prefer to draw out having the privilege of being acquainted with you for as long as possible, but I cannot do that if you get killed.”
“I’ll do my best to avoid it,” you teased, and he smiled softly. “Thank you for taking such good care of my injury earlier.” He said nothing in response, simply smiled a bit wider and kissed you again, longer this time, but still far shorter and far less intimately than you’d have preferred. You both had to take the others into consideration, even despite their snores, because you were quite certain they’d put a bullet between Zemo’s eyes and send you home immediately if they learned just how “sweet on you” the man truly was. He stood and fetched a blanket from an overhead cabinet before laying it over you, then pressed his lips to your forehead, and returned to his seat.
“Goodnight, Liebling,” Zemo said softly, flicking off the last light in the cabin as he settled back into his seat.
“Goodnight, Baron.”
—————
Riga was somehow comparably chaotic to Madripoor, in terms of the events that transpired there.
Shortly after you arrived at Zemo’s estate, Bucky returned from his "walk" to declare that the Wakandans were there to take Zemo, although he bought some time. In all honesty, you were only half-ass listening to him, because Zemo had exited the bathroom with wet hair and a purple robe that revealed half his chest. He caught you staring and shot you a subtle wink while Sam and Bucky were talking, and you rolled your eyes in return.
Next stop was a refugee camp, where you, Bucky, and Sam searched in vain to get any information on Danya Madani. Zemo somehow managed to accomplish the task, albeit in the creepiest way possible, which you teased him relentlessly for on the walk back to his flat. When he revealed that the girl he'd spoken to told him the time and location of the funeral, but refused to tell any of you, Bucky was quick to anger, snatching the teacup from Zemo’s hand and throwing it against the wall. Sam talked him down before you grabbed Bucky’s arm, pulling him gently toward the door.
"Come on, let's take a walk. I saw a little farmer's market down the road; let's go have a snack and explore a little, yeah?" you asked, your tone calm and soothing to contrast the rage that swarmed in his mind, and Bucky nodded gravely to you as he let you lead him. When you glanced back into the flat as you closed the door behind you, you saw that Zemo was wearing a frown, and a quick peek at his thoughts informed you that he was pouting a bit, wishing you'd have just sent Bucky off and stayed with him. You rolled your eyes internally, then accompanied Bucky to the market, where the two of you ate some plums and took a little walk. When the two of you returned to the flat, Zemo announced that it was time to head to the funeral.
"Did you enjoy your little excursion with James?" Zemo inquired in Sokovian, a tinge of spite in his voice. "Did you relieve his tension?"
"It wouldn't be any of your business if I did," you shot back, also in Sokovian. The disdain on his face disappeared quickly, and you added, "But no, we just took a walk and had some food, as I said we would. Jealousy does not suit you, Baron."
Zemo's voice took on a gentler tone, the Sokovian dripping from his tongue like honey as he said, "My apologies, darling. You are just so magnificent that I want you all to myself; the thought of you with another man is enviable."
"Don’t apologize. Just end it."
He nodded, and before either of you could say anything else, that asshole John Walker showed up, along with his partner. They demanded that Sam and Bucky no longer keep them in the dark, but ultimately, Walker conceded to follow Zemo, and allow Sam the opportunity to talk to Karli alone. As Sam walked off, Walker grabbed Zemo forcefully and handcuffed him to some kind of metal contraption on the wall.
"Aggressive. But I get it," Zemo quipped. He turned to you, and in Sokovian, said, "Once I get out of these, perhaps we could use them to our advantage later this evening."
"Zip it, Zemo."
Unsurprisingly, Walker betrayed his agreement with Sam, barging in on the memorial before Sam's allotted time was up.
"Uh-uh. No, no, no, no. This is a bad idea."
"It hasn't been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight," Bucky responded calmly.
"Don’t do that. Don't patronize me."
"Then do not behave so childishly," you retorted, and Bucky elbowed you while Walker shot you an icy glare. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky cut him off, aiming to divert the subject before Walker pushed you any further.
"He knows what he's doing."
Walker was silent for a moment more, before he grabbed the shield – which shouldn't be in his possession in the first place – and marched toward the door. "I'm goin' in."
Bucky stopped him, but after Walker guilt-tripped him, Bucky stepped to the side to allow him to pass. You groaned in exasperation the second Walker walked off.
"Why the hell did you do that?"
"It was either that, or you and me fight Walker and Battlescar – or whatever his stupid code name is. I'm already on probation, and I helped the guy that split up the Avengers break out of prison. I really don't need ‘beat the shit out of the new Cap’ added to my list of wrongdoings," Bucky said, running a hand through his hair before clapping a hand on your shoulder. "Come on, let's go find Sam."
As Bucky jogged off in the direction Walker had gone, you followed while grumbling, "My preference would have been the latter, but no, why would anyone ask for my opinion? I'm just the pet mind reader."
When the two of you caught up to Walker and Hoskins, the former was thrown into a table by Karli, and she ran off. Bucky chased after her, and you took another route to try to intercept her, to no avail. You caught up with Sam and Bucky a few minutes later, out of breath as Sam commented that the building was like a maze, and you wholeheartedly agreed. By the time the three of you found the others, Karli was gone, Walker was just standing there, and Zemo was out cold on the floor.
Walker and Hoskins stated that they were going to search for Karli, and ran off. Bucky threw Zemo over his shoulder like a damn ragdoll, and the three of you trudged back to Zemo’s flat, a little worn out and a little defeated. Once there, Bucky threw him down on the couch, and Zemo bounced limply atop the cushions, still unconscious. Sam began working on his laptop, and Bucky went on yet another walk, while you searched for the first aid kit.
Zemo looked surprisingly peaceful and non-threatening as he laid there, appearing to be asleep. You kneeled beside his head and lightly applied some antiseptic on the cut left by Cap's shield, right at the top of his hairline, and you found yourself admiring him. He had soft features for a man so dark inside; soft chestnut brown hair, adorable nose, slight bit of stubble across his gentle jawline and neck. You began dabbing the antiseptic again, still lost in your own thoughts when he awoke very suddenly, grabbing your wrist in a fierce grip out of reflex. Zemo's eyes were wide when he first opened them, but upon seeing you, he visibly relaxed and released his grip on you.
"Apologies," he whispered, then groaned softly when he felt the pain in his head. You stood silently and retrieved a rag from the drawer beside the sink, wetting it with cold water, then filled a glass with some ice and brandy and returned, handing both items to Zemo. He thanked you very sincerely, then laid the rag over his forehead and eyes, and held the glass atop his chest.
You were grateful that Sam hadn't noticed you doting on him, too focused on his laptop, because he'd have definitely asked you about it, and you didn't even have an answer for yourself. It wasn't like there was any need or obligation for you to tend to him like that, and yet you did without even thinking. As you took a seat opposite Zemo on the couch, you told yourself that it was merely payback for how he assisted you with your own injury the day before, and left it at that.
It wasn't long before Walker and his partner showed up again, demanding to place Zemo under arrest. You, Sam, and Zemo all stood when he burst through the doors, all silently conglomerating to one side of the room. Walker had the gall to threaten Sam, and it had your fingers twitching on the gun in your thigh holster in rage. Before anything could come of that, the Wakandans Bucky had mentioned showed up, and when Walker tried talking down to them before placing a hand on one's shoulder, melee ensued.
You leaned on the bar with one arm, watching in amusement as Walker got his ass handed to him. Zemo seemed to be in the same boat, observing without expression as he passed you his drink, and you took a couple of sips before returning it.
"We should do something," Sam said to you and Bucky.
"Looking strong, John!"
"Yes, excellent form! Top notch," you added. "Really showing them the prowess of the new Captain America!"
"Bucky…" Sam chided, prompting Bucky to finally intervene. Sam looked to you, and you held your hands up in defense.
"I am not fighting the goddamn Dora Milaje. I don't feel like dying today – especially not for the sake of helping John Walker."
Sam sighed before joining the fight himself, and that was when Zemo’s hand enveloped yours, silently tugging you towards the bathroom. You opened your mouth to say "Is this really the time for a quickie?" but he held a finger to his lips, effectively silencing you. Once he had successfully guided you into the bathroom, he closed the door quietly behind him, and shoved the tub to the side, revealing a secret passageway.
"Come with me," Zemo said simply, and you scoffed.
"I'm not abandoning Sam and Bucky. My place is here."
"Actually, if I remember correctly, your assignment is to keep an eye on me. Although I'd rather not have to, I will overpower you if I must, because I will be leaving now. So, it is technically your job to follow me, and it would behoove you to simply follow your comrades’ orders without an unnecessary scuffle."
The man really didn't miss a beat, did he? Sam and Bucky had, in fact, assigned you to watch Zemo. Although it was implied that that was everyone's task, they had specifically delegated the role to you. So, it was a matter of whether or not you could take Zemo in a fight, and although you secretly hoped he'd go easy on you, you knew that his own self-preservation was his chief concern.
"Fine," you grumbled, not missing the smile on his face as you shoved past him and jumped down into the tunnel.
Your joints ached in protest of your actions, but you ignored it. He was right behind you, not even bothering to cover the passageway back up before taking off in one of the three directions that the tunnel led to. You were right behind him, and it wasn't long before the sounds of the scuffle faded away. Roughly five minutes later, you reached the end, and he pushed aside the manhole above you and climbed out. Zemo took your hands and helped you out as well, before replacing the manhole while you surveyed the area. It was a city street, but they all looked the same in Riga, so you had no idea where you were.
"Come on," Zemo said, lacing his fingers with yours as you ran down the street. He took a few turns and ended up in the town square, where he led you into a hotel. As you entered the lobby, he explained, "We'll stay here for a few hours, essentially hiding in plain sight, to allow the Dora Milaje and Walker time to leave and search for me elsewhere."
You nodded, and as you approached the front desk, Zemo wrapped his arm snugly around your waist, pulling you close to him.
"Do you have any availability for the night?" Zemo inquired, then smiled lovingly at you. "It is our wedding day, and my beautiful bride simply cannot wait until we reach our honeymoon destination to get her hands on me."
You sent Zemo a quick glare, but the man at the desk didn't notice. He chuckled and nodded, saying something about "What a happy couple" as he booked the room for you. Zemo ignored your pointed look and kissed your temple, thanking the man and paying for the room before leading you in the direction of the room. As soon as you were out of earshot of the desk clerk, you glowered at Zemo once again, although his arm remained around your waist until you reached the room. Not that you minded, really.
"'Beautiful bride'? 'Honeymoon'? Really?"
"Yes," Zemo replied calmly, unlocking the door and opening it for you. As you walked past him, he elaborated, "If Walker comes looking for me, he'll be asking for a former SHIELD agent and a criminal. If the gentleman at the desk is convinced we're a happy newlywed couple, he won't even think to mention us to Walker."
It didn't take more than half a second to find his genuine answer in his mind. "How smoothly and effortlessly you lie, Zemo. You simply wanted to touch me again, so you came up with a convenient excuse."
Zemo licked his lips subtly, before shrugging with a small smile, wordlessly saying 'you got me there.'
"We need to get back to Sam and Bucky once Walker and the Dora Milaje are gone, but there's no foolproof way to go about it," you began pacing the room, as Zemo remained fixed beside the wall. "If I text Sam or Bucky, Walker will know they got a message, and they're both the worst liars I've ever met. God knows we don't need the Dora having any idea about where you are, you wouldn't last a full minute before they drove a spear through your chest. We also can't wait around too long, because then Sam and Bucky might leave Riga, and —"
You were still pacing and mid-sentence when Zemo suddenly grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you into a searing kiss, effectively silencing you. His other hand rested on the curve of your waist, pulling you against his chest. The surprise of the act and subsequent warm feeling in your stomach absolutely obliterated all other thoughts from your mind, and all you could focus on was him.
At some point, you regained your senses, albeit still in a haze. You pressed your palms to his shoulders and shoved him a few inches back, and he stared down at you with half-lidded eyes and lust-blown pupils.
“We – we need to focus on Sam and Bucky,” you managed to stammer out, but Zemo simply cupped your cheek and stroked the side of your face with his thumb.
“Is that truly what you want to be focusing on, Schatz?” Zemo inquired, his voice low, taking on even more of a gravely tone than usual. It flooded your veins with heat and desire, and you found your eyes fluttering closed as he bent down to pepper your neck with kisses. “Or would you rather simply wait out Walker and the Dora Milaje here, with me? Allowing me to touch you, taste you, in all the ways I know you crave?”
The final shred of your sanity left the building when he gently bit down on your neck, at the point where it met your shoulder, and you found yourself releasing a breathy moan and melting into his touch. Zemo wasted no time in kissing you once again, lips fast and insistent on yours, one hand on the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other on the nape of your neck once again. His body leaned into yours as he kissed you with fervor, and your hands longingly grasped the front of his sweater. Eventually, Zemo abruptly spun you around to press your back against the wall that had previously been behind him, and he hiked one of your legs up onto his hip, gripping it under your thigh. His other hand slowly moved from the back of your neck to the front, fingers curling deliciously around your throat as he applied a little pressure, earning another airy moan from you.
As if on reflex, his hips bucked up into you, and the friction left you mewling. Just like last time, it seemed to be your noises that set Zemo off, as he released a low growl from the back of his throat and dropped your leg to tear your shirt off while you took the hint and kicked off your shoes. He undid the fasten on your jeans with lightning speed, and yanked them – along with your panties – down past your hips so you could kick them both off. Next went your bra, which was flung god knows where in the room, and Zemo took a small step back to admire you.
It only lasted for a split second, because you then grabbed the straps he wore around his shoulders and used them to pull him in and kiss him again. Zemo’s hands glided slowly, sensually down your shoulders, your back, then came to rest upon your ass, grabbing it fiercely with both hands. His hands trailed further down, to the undersides of your thighs, before he lifted you with surprising ease and carried you over to the bed at the center of the room. Zemo threw you down onto the mattress unceremoniously, gaze locked on your chest as he watched your breasts bounce from the force, but you were quick to sit upright and pull him back in by the shoulder straps. You removed them then, as well as his turtleneck and belt buckle, and he was cooperative in removing his own boots and slacks, leaving him in his black briefs, his cock tenting the fabric there.
When you reached out to remove his briefs, Zemo pushed you to lay down by your shoulder, and knelt down at the edge of the bed, opening your legs at the knee with a harsh grip. You didn’t even have time to blink before he dove in, licking a long stripe up your slit before moving to your clit as your head fell back onto the mattress and your eyes fluttered closed. He focused primarily on your clit, occasionally lapping at your folds, but always returning his attention to that bundle of nerves. Gasps and moans were already falling for your lips, but when his middle finger and ring finger entered the fray, you found yourself crying out his name and tangling your fingers in his hair.
That delectable little growl of his escaped him once more, and you felt the vibrations of it against you, which warranted another moan, and Zemo’s fingers began delving in and out of your core at a steadfast pace. When he began curling them upwards, rubbing them against that sweet spot deep inside you, you were a goner. He wanted more of your beautiful sounds of pleasure, wanted to see you become more and more undone for him. You only lasted a couple minutes longer, growing progressively louder and more unhinged with each passing second. You were then launched over the edge, one hand tugging on his chestnut tresses and the other gripping the comforter of the bed, crying out his name amongst various explicatives.
When your eyes opened again, Zemo was standing, kicking off his boxers as he made eye contact with you while he sucked his fingers clean of you. He had set his wallet on the bedside table in the midst of your pacing, so he retrieved it and pulled a condom from one of the compartments. You sat up and snatched it from him, quickly tearing it open and rolling it down over his length. The sensation caused a sigh to leave his lips, before murmuring, "Eager, are we, Kätzchen?"
Electing to ignore him, you grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the bed with you, wordlessly instructing him to lay down by pressing your hands on his chest. Zemo got the message with ease, happily complying as you straddled him. The sight of you sinking down on his clock, your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself, caused him to groan in pleasure. Far too eager to spend an abundant amount of time adjusting to him, you began moving, rocking your hips back and forth at a resolute pace, savoring the feeling of him sliding in and out of you. Zemo's hands rested on your waist, fingertips digging into your skin as he helped you keep your rhythm, while he gazed up at you as if you were a goddess in the flesh, his jaw hanging open slightly and hair disheveled.
By the time you were approaching your second orgasm, Zemo could tell, from the faltering of your hips as they strove to increase their speed, and from the way your nails raked down his chest each time you used his length inside you to hit that special spot there. He began thrusting up into you, eager to feel you come on his cock. You unintentionally caught a passing glance at his thoughts, and learned that it seemed that he always wanted more of you, needed more of you, to the point that he questioned if you had toyed with his mind somehow. You were about to inform him that no, you had not done anything to his mind, when he trusted particularly hard and deep up into you and his fingertips dug deliciously hard into your hips at the same time, and all sensual thoughts left your mind as you met your release a second time.
Still shaking slightly and moaning breathlessly, Zemo flipped you over onto your back, lifted your calf up onto his hip and held it there, and began pistoning in and out of you at a desperate, unforgiving pace. When your eyes fluttered open, you found that he was practically snarling above you, teeth bared in concentration and an intense fire in his eyes. It reminded you that his softness toward you did not change the fact that he was a criminal mastermind and former kill squad leader, who had done a great many terrible things. Yet the thought only made you want him even more, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him into a heated, haphazard kiss.
Zemo thrust in and out of you like a man on a mission, the sound of his pelvis colliding with yours filling the room, before he pulled out of you long enough to flip you onto your chest, face in the pillows and ass in the air, then resumed his pace. The new angle felt incredible, and it didn't take long before you were moaning into the pillows, fists clenched around the duvet. In the blink of an eye, Zemo grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you upright, your back flush against his chest.
"Do not hide your beautiful noises from me, Liebling. I want to hear you," Zemo commanded, and you moaned in response, both as a confirmation of his words and as a natural reaction to the low, gravely tone his voice took on. His hand moved to encase your neck, tilting your head back even further so he could trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, before biting down on your shoulder, earning a shuddering gasp from you. "Now tell me, Kätzchen: who makes you feel this good?"
"You," you choked out, groaning in pleasure when his fingers tightened their grip on your throat.
"Me, what?"
"You, Baron," you corrected, and Zemo hummed in approval, kissing you quickly in praise. He gave your neck another squeeze before throwing you back down onto the mattress, his hands on your hips as he returned his focus to fucking the very soul out of you.
As his hips began to stutter into yours and soft moans began falling from his lips, signaling he was approaching his end, Zemo reached around your body to begin expertly rubbing your clit, desperate for you to finish in unison. The way your walls fluttered around him let him know that he was on the right track, so he quickened the pace of his fingers on your clit, careful to maintain the angle he was thrusting at. As you fell apart beneath him a third and final time, your scream of "Baron!" and your core clenching around him like the most luxurious vice, Zemo found himself crying out your name in accompaniment with a low, guttural moan, spilling himself into the condom.
Zemo didn't move for a moment, hands still clutching your hips, albeit with a looser grip now, as he fought to catch his breath. Still panting, he slowly removed himself from you, falling into a sweaty heap beside you. Breathing heavily yourself, you leaned over to kiss him – far slower this time, both of you reveling in post-coitus bliss. He affectionately brushed your hair away from your face, as it had been stuck to your forehead from perspiration, before stroking your cheek with his thumb.
A brief eternity later, Zemo stood and headed to the restroom, no doubt disposing of the condom, before returning in one of the hotel’s white bathrobes and holding a cold rag. He flopped down onto the mattress, placing the towel over his forehead and eyes as he had earlier in his flat.
“Apologies, Schatz. As enjoyable as that was, it certainly did not help my migraine,” Zemo explained, blindly reaching out to grab your hand and bring it to his lips, placing a kiss on your knuckles.
You murmured a dismissive ‘you’re fine’ before heading to the washroom yourself, hopping into the shower and allowing the burning temperature of the water to ease the ache in practically all your muscles – some of it from fighting, some of it from fucking – although you suspected that the ache in your thighs, from being so tense throughout the multiple orgasms, wasn’t going away anytime soon. Thankfully, Zemo truly had done a marvelous job on your stitches, and the wound was already healing up nicely. By the time you finished your shower, the steam had clouded the room and coated the mirrors with condensation, but you felt more relaxed than you had in days. Donning a bathrobe yourself, you exited the bathroom, and situated yourself in the chair beside the floor-to-ceiling window on the wall of the room. Zemo was snoring softly, and the quiet tranquility of the room and the comfort of your seat sent you into a cat nap of your own, your head falling back against the chair as you slipped into unconsciousness.
You were entirely unsure how long you had slept, but when you awoke, Zemo was sitting with his back resting against the headboard, reading a random book he’d found in the room’s nightstand. He looked up at you long enough to flash you a small smile, before returning to the book. You yawned and rubbed your eyes, then sat up straighter in the chair and gazed out the window beside you. You hadn’t noticed, but the room had a lovely view of the town square.
A few minutes after you began observing the city below, your eyebrows practically shot up into your hairline as you saw none other than the bastard himself, John Walker, chasing one of the Flag Smashers before hitting him with the shield, sending the man flying into the statue at the center of the square. Each member of the bustling crowd stopped dead in their tracks, watching the scene unfold before them, as this new Captain America placed his foot on the man’s chest, pinning him against the stairs of the statue, as the man screamed, “It wasn’t me!”
The chair you were sitting in clattered to the floor as you stood bolt upright, a shuddering gasp escaping you and your hand flying to your mouth as you watched Walker raise the shield high above his head, a completely unhinged look upon his face. Zemo was at your side in an instant, his hands on your upper arms as he stood behind you, a worried expression on his face, wondering what could have caused you such distress. Before he had the chance to ask, Zemo’s eye caught the scene below, and you both watched in shock and horror as John Walker drove the shield into the Flag Smasher’s chest, again and again and again, until the man just laid there – bloodied, bludgeoned, and unmoving. Dead, at the hands of the new Captain America.
—————
@henrysmorgan​ @clints-lucky-arrow​ @therenlover
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cazzyimagines · 25 days ago
Hey I love your posts 🥰 and if your requests are open can there be a fuck or die situation for Zemo/ f!reader? THANK YOU 😅
What happens in the room, stays in the room
Synopsis: You thought this would be an amusing evening, pretending to be Zemo's partner for the night as the mission required it. But after Selby demannds you and Zemo 'prove' to her you truly were partners, things took a drastic turn
Word count: 7.6k
Author’s note: After seeing this I knew I had to turn this into a fully-fledged one-shot and now just some headcanons. I'd like to thank @rumblelibrary who helped me come up with the idea's for this one-shot and hyped me up while writing it. And I would also like to mention how my friend @handmaiden-of-mischief also has a really good Zemo fuck or die one-shot called Cupid's arrow, I've reread it so many times now, it's AMAZING. Also, some words will have to be censored so this can appear on tags.
Warnings: Dub-con (They both have an attraction towards each other but are forced into it), fingering, vaginal sex
Masterlist
(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)
Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username
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You stepped in line with Bucky, walking down the dull, grey covered corridor, while you fixed your eyes upon the figures in front of you, making sure they didn’t falter, not even for a minute.
“Do you think it was a wise idea to break him out of prison?” you mutter to Bucky who sighs, shaking his head as his eyes fixed upon the very man you were referring to. He was one of the figures ahead, walking beside Sam who really wished he could be somewhere else currently. Zemo. Helmut Zemo. A man you really wished you didn’t have to see again and not because of all the terrible things he had done.
When you had first seen him you couldn’t help but note in your mind how handsome he appeared. It was a shame that at the time he was trying to knock you unconscious. He was apologising about it while he was doing it, ever the gentleman it seems, but you had ended up in the way of his plan. Now he was a free man, without any plan and that meant he got to enjoy himself a lot more.
When he first laid his eyes upon you he instantly recognised you, and nodded his head to you, once again apologising for the circumstances you met the previous time. You couldn’t help but smirk at him, at how polite he was, much to Bucky’s dismay.
“We need him, he knows where we need to go. But once his usefulness has run out, well…” Bucky finally replies, trailing off at the end of his sentence, not needing to finish it as you knew the position Zemo was in. A man wanted by a lot of angry people who would do a lot to make him receive true punishment for his crimes.
“I doubt he’ll willingly go back, he’ll betray us” you confide to Bucky but it seemed in this deserted corridor your voices bounced and Zemo could hear the two of you loud and clear.
“Betrayal is such a harsh word, is it not?” He replies for Bucky in his honeyed voice, “I prefer the notion of simply our goals no longer aligning and we go our own ways”
Zemo speaks with his hands, turning around to face you and Bucky as Sam side-eyes him. His eyes latch onto yours, that sly smile appearing on his face again. You didn’t particularly have a thing for men in uniform, you knew too many police officers who were dicks, but Zemo in the police uniform. Well, that was something you could get used to looking at. The slight stubble he has grown out, due to being in prison gave him that rugged look that sent a shiver down your spine.
“And when you say, go your own way, that means your own way back to prison,” Bucky voice rises as he states that, his face pulling back to glare at Zemo, making Zemo tilt his head in amusement.
“Prison is tremendously boring, you wouldn’t be able to imagine it” Zemo proceeds to pause for dramatic effect, his eyes sparkling in mischief as he raises his finger pretending to have a eureka moment, “Ah my mistake, you can”
After choosing to stick by Steve’s side, both you and Sam were put into prison, even if it was only for a few hours, and Bucky had to face his own personal prison for the last few years. All of which Zemo knew, and chose to tease the lot of you with.
“At least we were in a prison for an admirable reason” you jib at him, causing his lips to twitch.
“Wouldn’t you save revenge, love, is an admirable reason?”
“People lose loved ones all the time, they don’t set off a bomb because of it”
Zemo chuckles, finally breaking eye contact with you to look at the ground. “Well, I suppose I’ve always had an inkling towards dramatic flare”
“Dramatic flare which kills people. How charming” Bucky says bitterly, placing his hand upon your shoulder to force you to look at him, “Don’t engage him doll, it’s what he wants”
“I believe y/n here, can speak for herself”
All eyes snap upon him from using your name, one which hadn’t been mentioned so far in the conversation, and which wasn’t public knowledge.
“How the hell do you know her name?” Sam asks for the lot of you, to which Zemo tilts his head. “I do my research, Sam”
“Oh, and how much did you research about me?” you quickly reply, feeling the playfulness within you spark again. Zemo’s eyes bore into yours deeply, catching onto you and the intensity in which he looked upon you made warmth start to flood you. “Not enough”
“If you don’t shut up, Zemo, I will force you to shut up,” Bucky says darkly, not enjoying the flirty tones Zemo was hitting you with one bit. Placing his hand upon the dip in your back, Bucky guides you away from the prying look of Zemo, now making the two of you walk ahead with Sam and Zemo coming up the rear.
The rest of the walk was in painful silence, till eventually, the corridor leads to a giant garage, full of old and expensive cars.
“So our first move is grand theft auto?” Sam says sarcastically as your eyes widen at the sight of all the cars before you.
“These are mine” Zemo plainly states, walking over to one of the cars to open the boot. “Collected by my family for over generations”
“So you and your family are those car-obsessed people” you joke, walking over to see exactly what Zemo was grabbing but as quickly as he opened the boot of the car, he closed it again. “I believe everyone can appreciate a good car, even you y/n.”
“Well, there are one of two that do take my fancy” you murmur, walking over to stroke the side of one car in question.
“I have spent years hunting people HYDRA recruited to recreate the Serum because once it’s out there, someone can create an army of people, like the avengers”
Out of another car, Zemo pulls out this long coat, with fluffy collars which made you wonder if now was really the time for a wardrobe break. Zemo seemed to think differently as he did indeed disappear to change. He took his time as well, but when he emerged you felt your own heart skip a beat seeing how he was dressed, tight black trousers, leather gloves, the coat fitting nicely around his purple turtleneck. You had to give it to the man, he had style. He’d even shaven his face, favouring the clean-cut appearance, instead of the rough look. Now he had an air of elegance to him as his coat blew out in the breeze, he had money and he was going to make sure everyone knew it. You certainly knew it when your road trip landed you at a private airport where Zemo had a jet already waiting for the three of you.
“Perhaps if the cars do not attract you, the jet might” Zemo murmurs, chuckling as he sees the way your mouth hangs open in surprise, the childish delight.
You were surprised to find out that Zemo was in fact a Baron of what was once Sokovia. Information that you hadn’t been told before but looking over to him, you could see it in the way he strode that he held class, that he was used to power. He had his own personal butler to greet him at the jet, but before entering he waited for you to catch up, and with a sweep of his arm, gestured for you to enter the jet first. Entering, you quickly took your seat and with Zemo following swiftly behind you, he took the seat opposite you to Bucky’s annoyance. Bucky had to sit beside you on the other side with Sam opposite him and for a while, nothing was discussed till Zemo’s butler brought him a glass of champagne, and he ordered one for you as well.
Talk eventually turned to the mission at hand, where Zemo informed them of exactly who this person, Selby, was. In order to be able to find out information about where this serum has come from, you, Sam and Bucky would need to go undercover. For Bucky that was easy, she would be interested in the Winter Soldier, he could play his part well, though you saw from the way his jaw tensed, how he clenched his hands he hated the thought of having to become that person again. Sam had to become someone known as ‘the smiling tiger’. A typical criminal, and although Sam wasn’t particularly happy to be, he could play the role well. And then that left you.
Zemo could barely hold back the sly smile upon his lips as he informed you that the best disguise for you would be to pretend you were his partner. Outrage swiftly came from Bucky and Sam at such a suggestion, Bucky moreso to the point where it looked like he was about to leap out of his seat to punch Zemo in the face but you quickly tried to salvage the situation.
“Zemo knows these people better than us, he’ll know what they will believe and what they won’t believe”
“This is just his way of messing with us, messing with you!” Bucky stressed, his pleading eyes looking upon you, “There’s no reason you can’t become the same role as Sam is”
“Well actually-” Zemo begins but both Bucky and Sam cut him off by shouting ‘shut up’
“Bucky, I’ll be okay. It’s a role, simply that, and it will all be over after a few hours. You should be more worried about yourself having to pretend to be the Winter Soldier”
They still weren’t happy, but what other choice did they have but to accept the situation at hand. Surprisingly Zemo had spare changes of clothes for you and Sam already, as if he had been planning this from the get-go. There was a brief moment where you and Zemo were left alone as Sam had already gone into the bathroom to change while you waited outside it and Bucky was still at the end of the plane. Zemo was handing you the dress he had brought for this special occasion, when his hand grasped your wrist, pulling you closer to him so he could whisper lowly in your ear “Perhaps it’s just a role for now but I intend to make this a more permanent arrangement”
Your eyebrow rises in curiosity and at his own boldness to try and claim that.
“Quite the statement for someone whose known me for less than a day”
“What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic”
“I wouldn’t call it that, perhaps more lust-driven”
Zemo chuckles at being caught up, his eyes lighting up with playfulness as he positions his hands on his belt. “Well, would it be so wrong to admit that? I’ve been locked up for seven years now, and you, darling are delectable”
You tilt your head to look at him, trying to figure out what thoughts were running through those cocoa brown eyes. Zemo follows in suit, tilting his head to mimic you.
“I’m not looking for a relationship, with the position I’m in that couldn’t work, and from the position, you are in, you wouldn’t be able to have one either”
“Well, I’m sure James will be broken-hearted to hear that” Zemo murmurs, sparing a glance over to Bucky.
You sigh, casting your gaze over to Bucky as well who was pretending to look around the jet but his eyes kept twitching to the two of you, curious as to what you were discussing.
“Bucky’s a sweet guy, but he’s not my type”
“Then was is your type darling?” he asks, his eyes now intensely fixing onto you. Catching his drift you cross your arms, giving him a playfully annoyed look.
“Not criminal masterminds”
“You have no idea of how good I can make you feel” he whispers, his accented voice making the hairs on your skin prick up from arousal.
“Ah but I have standards”
Zemo opens his mouth to resort but then the bathroom door opens and Sam looks down at the two of you, confused as to why you were both waiting outside. You hold up the dress in your hand letting him know you had to change, and Zemo, knowing the conversation you two were having was cut short, nodded at you, his eyes holding the intensity still, then he made his way back down the jet to mess with Bucky some more.
The dress Zemo supplied you with, was enough indication for you to know certain desires Zemo held for you. It fitted your form tightly, hardly leaving anything to the imagination. It had a swooping v neck, coming right down to the parting of your breasts, showing off your cleavage to the full effect. The material also clung tightly to the top half of your thighs, so high up that if you moved around too much you felt you would be exposing a lot more of yourself than you meant to. The material itself felt expensive however, it wasn’t like a cheap dress that was scratchy or felt plastic. No this was proper silk, giving the black dress a graceful gleam in the light. The dress made you feel sexy, excited, ready to take on this mission and pretend to be the Baron’s partner for the night.
After a few minutes of preparing your hair and makeup to elude to a femme fetal look, you emerged from the bathroom to find that the jet had landed safely and the rest of the men were waiting outside for you. You couldn’t help the smirk from appearing on your lips as you arrived at the door and started to descend down the stairs. All of the men’s eyes locked onto you and you could feel how their gazes wandered up and down you, undressing you with their eyes.
“Beauty becomes you, my Baroness” Zemo claims as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He steps towards you, holding out his leather-gloved hand for you to take but Bucky quickly steps up to the other side of you.
“Baroness?” he growled, making Zemo chuckle.
“She’s my partner, for this evening James, therefore my Baroness. Do you have a problem with that?”
Bucky opens his mouth to retort angrily but you hold your hand up to him, growing tired of these men’s petty arguments. “Bucky we’ve already been over this, we need to play the parts''
“Not yet” Bucky grumbles, grabbing your hand to pull you away from the Baron for a private chat. Sam stood awkwardly to the side as Zemo paced in boredom, his eyes constantly looking over to where Bucky was hurriedly talking to you about how he didn’t want you to play this role, that he didn’t trust Zemo and he was worried for you. The soldier thought he was subtle about his feelings but in a matter of hours, it was clear to the Baron how he cared for you. It spiked his curiosity and he wanted to play with it, play with Bucky. The little things like this, calling you Baroness, got on Bucky’s nerves, and so Zemo kept wanting to push it. Plus as he had spoken to you earlier, you certainly were attractive, a turn on for him. He considered it a pleasure to have the opportunity to flirt with you, and you weren’t exactly stopping him.
It wasn’t too long till Zemo’s butler appeared with one of his numerous cars, waiting to be driven to Madripoor. Zemo opened up the front seat and waiting for you to get near to him, for him to gesture you to get into it besides the driver seat where he would sit. Inside the car the energy was intense as no one spoke, everyone preparing for tonight events, unsure how it would play out.
Finally, you arrived at your destination and Zemo, playing his role of your partner to perfection, opened the door for you and wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you near as you walked into Madripoor. Bucky was able to put himself into a passive expression, instead, glaring ahead to calm the raging water within him.
Zemo had already explained to you how this mission had to go, and from the way people glared at Zemo, obviously knowing him and not approving of him being there, the plan was going well. As predicted a man came up to Zemo, ordering him to leave, and so Zemo ordered Bucky to attack him.
It was a shock to see Bucky switch back into the role of the Winter Soldier so quickly, something Zemo remarked about to you. It made you feel uneasy seeing Bucky beat that man senseless but it was all a part of the mission, that’s what you had to keep reminding yourself, the mission.
Afterwards, you were invited back to Selby’s area, where instantly Zemo leapt into bargaining with her about Bucky. He walked around Bucky, played with his chin as he sold him to her and eventually they sat down, Selby on one side of the table, and Zemo grabbing you and pulling you along, sat on the other side of the table, pulling you onto his lap.
“Your bird is very pretty Zemo,” Shelby remarks as she stares down at you sitting upon his lap, her lips curling into a cruel smile as her gaze raked all over you. Zemo’s hand which rested upon your thigh patted your leg chuckling at her remark.
“I wouldn’t settle for any less”
“Yet, I can’t help but think she seems familiar like I’ve seen her face before”
You stiffened within Zemo’s lap at her words, fear starting to edge its way into you. It was a risk of this mission, that people would recognise who you were from your affiliation with the Avengers. But the lot of you had hoped with Zemo presenting you as his partner, people wouldn’t spare you a second glance. However, it seems Selby did.
“My bird’s a model, you’ve likely seen her in adverts” Zemo is quick to explain, his mind racing with potential lies he can tell to recover the mission. Selby’s eyes flicker all over your face as if analysing every detail, you tried not to show how nervous you felt, instead, fluttering your eyes seductively, tightening your grip around Zemo’s shoulder.
“Perhaps I have” Selby finally answers, her fingers drumming against her seat and internally both you, Zemo, Bucky and Sam let out a sigh of relief.
“Yet, you don’t seem like much of a couple”
Zemo’s eyebrows cast down in confusion at Selby. You were sitting in his lap, your arms locked around each other. How much more of a couple could you be?
“I beg your pardon?” Zemo asks
“Well these days couples are all over each other, aren’t they? No sense of public decency, you can walk around a corridor to find people with their tongues shoved down each other’s throats, people fucking each other senseless against a wall. Sex is so liberal these days”
Zemo ah’s in realization, nodding his head with Selby’s words. “Well,” he said shrugging his arms, “I’m more of a traditional guy, leaving such intimacy in more, private, areas''
Selby starts to chuckle and Zemo laughs along awkwardly with her making you follow in pursuit until she suddenly says, “Well, I’m not”
Silence broke out in the awkwardness of her words, unsure as to what she was hinting by talking about this. Selby reaches forward to the table in front of her, separating the space between her and you. She picks up her glass of wine and then leaned back in her seat smiling.
“Touch her”
It was Zemo’s turn to stiffen in his seat, his eyes blown wide in shock and his skin pailing as his grasp upon you tightens ever so slightly.
“What” he hissed out, all matter of politeness towards Selby fading. She raised an eyebrow at his tone, swirling the wine within her glass and clicked her tongue.
“Touch her. She’s your partner, after all, I’m sure you’ve felt her up, fingering her all the time. What’s so different now?”
You were blushing at the boldness of her words but feeling the anger picking up within you. You didn’t want to ruin the mission but you weren’t about to let her talk about you as if you had no brain.
“The fact that we are in front of you, of them, of lots of people '' you suddenly argue, pointing towards her, then Bucky and Sam who were standing very still, trying to remain as passive as possible.
“What, never put on a show before?”
“No!”
“There’s a first for everything”
“We are here to delegate about the Winter Soldier, not for your pleasure” Zemo argues, trying to drive the conversation back to where they originally were but Selby just shakes her head.
“Guards!” She commands and before you knew it, numerous men stood around you holding guns. You couldn’t count how many suddenly appeared, but the fear in you shot up, realising at any moment the lot of you could be killed. One man stood directly behind Zemo and pushed the barrel of the gun into the side of his head making Zemo wines slightly, the cruel coldness of the gun causing him to shudder.
“You seem to believe you have a choice in this matter, Baron, I’m merely trying to ensure that you are not lying to us and that she truly is your partner. If that is the case you two would have no problem touching each other”
Zemo glared harshly at the guards that stood around the two of you. Sam and Bucky stood at the side, knowing if they made one slight movement to help, you and Zemo would be dead in a second. Selby had forced you into a stalemate. Zemo still tried to argue it, pushing back claiming he wouldn’t do such things in front of people even when the guards started pushing the barrel of the gun further into the side of his head.
You, however, couldn’t pull your eyes away from Zemo. It was as if time was almost frozen at that moment as you knew what you would have to do. Suddenly this wasn’t about the mission anymore, it wasn’t just about finding out where the super-soldier serum came from. This was about surviving, living. Zemo was facing death in the face, risking being shot in the head just in an attempt to save your dignity. You watched as he tried to defend you, the panic causing his jaw to clench, his hand shaking slightly but still, he refused.
Taking in one last deep breath, you pull your hand up to the side of his face, making him look at you. His coco eyes cloud in confusion but before he had time to register it you pushed your lips upon him, forcing your top lip over his and your bottom lip between his lips. You sucked slightly at them, trying to encourage Zemo to follow your lead, which he quickly did. His hands quickly grasped at your waist, pulling your body closer to his as you felt his eyelashes flutter against your cheek showing he has closed his eyes. For at least a minute to two held that position, lips pressing against each other, pulling and sucking as you made out. You finally pull back for breath but holding his head still close to yours, you were able to whisper to him without anyone else hearing.
“Touch me, please, or you’ll die and I’m not allowing that to happen”
His head pulled back as Selby clapped her hands, smirking at the two of you. “Now that’s more like it, finally we are starting to see some action here. Now let’s see some more”
Zemo shook his head slightly at you, pleading in his eyes wanting you to reconsider. He didn’t want to defile you like this, use you in front of these people. It was too degrading for you. But you shook your head back, still holding his face in your hand you rub your thumb across his cheekbone, a subtle telling that it was alright.
Slowly Zemo’s hand trailed up from your waist, resting against the side of your chest, his thumb grazing over one of your clothed covered breasts. You positioned yourself till your back was pushed up against his chest, your head leaning on his shoulder, letting him have access to your jawline and neck.
His hand moved further, over till he covered your breast and gave a little squeeze. His mouth moved along your jawline, planting gentle kisses upon it and very quietly, to where even you could hardly hear it, Zemo was whispering ‘sorry’ apologising for what he was doing. He raised his hand to your other breast and started to squeeze them together, pumping them in his hand making you gasp. Hearing you, he pulled his lips away from you, stopping, but you quickly pushed your neck into his lips, urging him to continue. It was only when the gun harshly hit him on the side of the face, causing him to growl, did he go back to kissing your neck, his lips pressing a bit harder on your skin now.
With two fingers, he was able to locate where your n*pples were under the dress, and gently he pulled at them causing you to whine. His breath hitched and you felt in his lap a tent starting to form in his own trouser. However much he hated the circumstances, arousal didn’t seem to care.
“The dress is such a bore, why don’t you slip your hand under it” Selby commanded, taking a sip of her wine as she watched the way Zemo’s hands started to slowly tease you. Gulping Zemo brushed his face into the crook of your neck, pressing an apologetic kiss to your shoulder as his warm hands slipped under the v neckline, finding your breasts, which you weren’t wearing a bra to cover, he grasped them.
You groaned at the feeling of his warm, coarse feeling hands grasping you, the sensation making your n*pples harden under him. Doing as Selby ordered his fingers pinched your nipples, making you whine and squirm in his lap from the slight pain mixed in with pleasure which shot straight to your core.
Zemo continued to play with your breasts and n*pples, pinching them, squeezing them, moving them. But Selby soon grew bored of it.
“Touch her more, lower” she barked and Zemo had to bite down on his lip to not argue back. One hand still resting upon your breast the other pulled back out of your dress and placed itself upon your thigh. Without having to be instructed to, you instantly opened up your legs.
The men surrounding you snickered, making you blush in shame but Zemo moved his lips up to your ear, whispering about how good you were being, how beautiful you were. His hand on your thigh began to stroke your leg, his fingers etching up them. Though you hated the situation, part of you craved to feel his fingers on you, in you, stretching you out. But his hand remain on your leg till Sebly ordered,
“We don’t have all day Zemo. Get on with it”
He shuddered, glancing you in the eyes one more time to check how you were doing. You could see the pity and sadness within his eyes as he looked down at you and it made your heart sink in your chest.
Then his finger pressed into the fabric of your underwear.
You jolted at the contact as his finger twisted on your underwear, pressing over your clit. The fabric rubbed against it stimulated it. The coarseness of it caused you to push your head back into Zemo’s shoulder moaning. Your eyes fluttered closed as arousal creeps in. Upon hearing the way you moaned under him, Zemo pushed his finger even harder into your underwear, rubbing fiercely desperate to hear you moan for his touch again. He could almost forget about the situation, just focusing on trying to make you feel good, trying to make you moan for him again, cum from his fingers. It’s only when Selby talks again Zemo is brought back to reality, to the gun pushing into the back of his neck, to the way Selby watched how his fingers rubbed against your underwear with greed.
“I think the fabric is getting in the way, don’t you?”
With one more apologetic kiss placed on your shoulder, you feel Zemo’s other hand leaving your breast to pull the underwear to the side, exposing you to everyone in the room. All their eyes fixed upon you apart from Bucky and Sam who just stared ahead. Sam desperately tries to shut this out of his mind, pretending he wasn’t there while Bucky was trying to control every ounce of him to not leap over and punch Zemo in the face.
You hardly had time to consider much else though when the feeling of Zemo’s fingers pushing into you overwhelmed your senses, making your back arch and your head push back against him. You had already become wet from when Zemo was stimulating your clit earlier, so he had no resistance as his fingers pushed into your cunt, slowly stretching you out. You moulded around his two fingers, and it felt as if they might never end as they pushed further into you. Zemo himself was trying to suppress a groan as he felt his fingers being enraptured by your welcoming warmth. He wanted desperately to feel his own cock within the tight warmth of you, but he hoped more that after this Selby would accept that you two were who you said you were and he wouldn’t be forced to do any more.
Wanting to make the best of the situation for you, Zemo moved his thumb up to your clit, twisting on the knub, making your own hips rock into his fingers from the waves of pleasure surging through you. He started to pump his fingers in and out of you. Going gently, but all of that faded away at what you did next.
“Helmut”
It had been too long since Zemo had engaged in any type of sexual activity, yet he was able to restrain himself so far. But hearing you moan his name like that, lust-driven, blissful, it flipped a switch in him. He needed to push you off the edge, to hear you call out to him again and again, not Bucky, but his name. At that moment everyone in that goddamn room would know you truly belonged to him.
He started pumping his fingers into you at an alarming rate, making sure to hit that spongy spot within you just right. His thumb sped as fast as it could on your clit. You yelped in surprise but thrust and ground your hips upon his fingers more, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure. His thumb on your clit felt like he was ignighting a fire within your, burning brightly as he continued to rub circles around it, elicitating moans out from you. Your whole skin felt warm and burning as you pressed up against Zemo, willing your ass in his lap making him groan. You cried out as you felt the coil within you tightening all down to the way Zemo’s fingers thrust inside you, prizing open your channel repeatedly. Zemo’s lips attached to your neck, but no longer did he place gentle kisses but instead he nipped at your skin, biting and sucking marks upon you, claiming you. He started to rant to you about how you were his, how you belonged to him, how your cunt belonged to him and all you could do was sob from the pleasure and agree with him.
You couldn’t hold it in much longer, even if you tried, and you certainly weren’t. With a strangled cry you felt the coil snap, and the sensation of your walls bearing down on his fingers, clutching them tightly. You moaned loudly, your mouth stretched open wide as you lost it, pushing back against Zemo who let out his own grunt feeling how tightly you clasped him, how your juices washed all over him. He continued to thrust his fingers into you, letting you ride this out till eventually, you came down from your high and so he slowly pulled his fingers out of you making you whimper. He kissed the side of your head, and quietly whispered to you.
“You were wonderous darling, I apologise for forcing that upon you, but it’s over now”
You opened your eyes again after hearing a slow clapping emerge and you came face to face with Selby who was grinning at you.
“My my, now that was exquisite” she commented, unaware or not caring of the way both you and Zemo glared daggers into her head, wishing you could hit her repeatedly.
“You have no reason to believe she is not who she says she is now” Zemo growls through gritted teeth, his hands which now clutched your legs digging harshly into your skin, evidence of his anger towards her.
Selby’s eyes sparkle with mischief. She bit down on her lip as if contemplating a decision, and then she decided to go ahead with it.
“Well anyone can accept a fingering, partners or not, I’d need a more… intimate, display of affection before I could truly believe you”
Rage swept Zemo up. No longer did he care about this stupid mission. Already he had to degrade himself, degrade you for the sake of it, but that? He wouldn’t do it, he couldn’t. Zemo pushed you off his lap, not harshly but urgently and with the weakness from your knees, still recovering from your orgasm, you collapsed on the floor. Zemo surged forward towards Selby, about to jump over the table to grab her, shouting ‘how dare she suggest that’ but the men moved quickly and grabbed him. They pulled his arms back behind his back, tugging at an uncomfortable position making him groan in pain. They forced him onto his knees before Selby and his head hung down looking at the floor as they pushed the barrel of their guns into his face.
Pain struck you seeing Zemo being forced into this position, tears almost swelling in your eyes. One of the men moved the barrel of the gun under Zemo’s chin, pushing it into his neck and forcing him to look up at Selby before him.
She stood up and glared down at Zemo in disgust. For a second they both stared at each other before she raised her hand and punched Zemo in the face. His face shot to the side from the impact and it made him groan in pain. Selby’s lips curled as she looked down upon him, then turned away from him as if not bothered anymore.
“Shoot him”
One of the men grasped Zemo’s hair, harshly pulling on it to make him look up again. The side of his face was red and quickly bruised from Selby’s impact. One of the men placed their guns to Zemo’s forehead, his hand on the trigger as Zemo whimpered, mentally preparing himself for death.
“No!” you lept forward to where Selby stood and knelt before her, begging.
“We’ll do it! We’ll do it!”
Selby tilted her head at you, grabbing your chin to force you to look up at her. Zemo grunted as he tried to pull his arms out of the tight grip on his back, his wide eyes looking desperately over at you in panic.
“You’re, partner, doesn’t seem so willing” she states, glaring back over to Zemo.
“He will, he will, won’t you darling” you quickly reply, then fixing your gaze upon Zemo. Slowly his eyes move from Selby to yours, and you can see how the anger in them slowly fades into bitter acceptance as he looks upon you. He doesn't speak until the gun under his chin thrusts into his neck more, getting the message across. “If that is what you so wish” he hisses through gritted teeth.
Selby smiles, and with a nod of her head, the men let go of Zemo and pull their guns back. Zemo grimaces, going to hold his wrists winching at the pain of them being held so tightly. He gets up off his knees and steps closer to you, offering his hand out for you to take and stand up but before you could Selby places her hand up.
“I would like to see this, from a good angle” Selby states, making Zemo cringe, “Perhaps you could order the soldier to hold her up”
Selby frames it as a choice, but all of you knew there was no choice in the matter. All your eyes flickered upon Bucky who stood frozen, staring ahead, but deep down you knew the turmoil going on within him.
“Soldier” Zemo commanded in Russian. “Hold her open for me”
Bucky takes a moment to consider all his options. Every part of him was screaming, no, to not do this, he couldn’t do this. But he had no choice, it was that or your death and he couldn’t be the reason you were killed.
Slowly he moves over and gently grasps you. Holding your arms he lifts you to your feet and then, letting go of your arms, his hands trail down your back to your legs, and with a swift motion, his hands grasp the inside of your thighs, lifting you up and spreading your legs obscenely open for Zemo.
Zemo’s eyes fixed on the soaked underwear covering your core, his erection pushing tightly against his trousers. He hated the situation, the way Selby watched but he wanted nothing more than to bury himself within you, you lose himself in you.
You winched at how Bucky’s metal arm dug into your leg, sure to leave bruises, but you felt worse knowing how tormented Bucky must have been feeling. Your eyes however stayed on Zemo and he moved closer and closer to you. His eyes finally left your underwear to latch onto your eyes one last time. Roughly he grabs onto the side of your face and presses his lips to you, craving the feeling of them. He pushed his mouth onto you, moving it against your lips and you could only moan at the feeling, pushing your head back into Bucky.
While his lips remained on yours, his hand quickly moved onto your underwear, grasping it, and with one harsh tug, he ripped it to pieces, exposing your dripping cunt to the fresh air. You whimpered against his lips, feeling the urge to close your legs in embarrassment but Bucky’s hands held tight.
Zemo finally pulled away from your lips to look down at himself. His hands quickly undid his belt and pulled his zipper down till in no time at all he had pulled his cock out and was stroking himself making him shudder.
Your eyes widened at the girth of him, and for a moment you worried about not being able to cope with him inside, but you craved it as well, wanting him to impale you upon it. The way your cunt dripped, sleek falling onto Bucky’s legs, gave you away easily.
Zemo pushed his tip over your folds, coating himself in your juices, feeling the way it started to dribble down his shaft. He pressed his forehead against yours, and with a whisper, you heard him say, ‘I’m sorry’ before thrusting into you.
Your mouth collapsed as an obscene moan ripped from your throat as he breached you. He was gentle, not shoving himself in too fast but the feeling of your walls stretching out for him made him want to push in as fast as possible, and abuse that hole till it became his. As he pushed into you the men around you cheered, some of them palming their own trousers with no shame. Selby clinked her drink with another and watched eagerly as she saw how Zemo slipped into you. You could feel every inch of him press up against your walls, the way his cock slightly curved at the end, the veins which throbbed against your walls, stimulating them, the way he felt thicker and thicker the further he pushed into you.
Finally, he shuddered as he bottomed out, completely wrapped up in your warmth, your wet walls grasping him and urging him for more. He desperately wanted to thrust further into you, but he opened his eyes to look at you, checking how you were coping.
“Helmut, please” you gasped, moving your hand to grasp the back of his head, tugging his hair in your fingers. Zemo’s own eyes closed, pleasure shooting over him as you tugged his hair, used his name. Grasping onto your hips for stability, his fingers digging into your delicate skin. He pulled out till just his tip was still in, then he pushed his way all the way back into you causing you to gasp and squirm from the stimulation.
He set a steady pace, thrusting open your channel again and again repeatedly. His cock thrust directly into that delicate spongy spot within you, making you moan his name.
“Helmut, oh Helmut, there, just there, please”
The more you called his name, the faster Zemo thrust into you, desperate to hear you moan for him more. His lips attached to your neck, sucking hickeys into your skin, pleasure ripping through him as he marked you.
“Sing for me, my darling” he’d groan into your skin, “lose yourself to me, I want to feel you wrap tightly around me, so you know how good I make you feel”
One of his hands left your hip to start rubbing at your clit, further stimulating you till you were practically screaming from the pleasure. Tears leaked out of your eyes from it and Zemo greedily ran his tongue up your cheek, licking them up.
Bucky tensed up seeing how the tears fell from your eyes, believing them to be from another reason. His fingers itched, desperately wanting to grasp Zemo by the throat, to choke him to death. He hated how warm your skin felt in his hands, wanting to be the one thrusting into you, making you moan for him, instead of just allowing this good for nothing criminal to have his way with you instead.
You and Zemo both became so enraptured with each other, with how you two felt that you lost all thought about the men watching you with greed, how Selby snickered as she watched the way Zemo pistoned into you, how Bucky cringed as he heard both of your lewd moans which made his own tent appear in his trousers.
You were dripping with arousal, making Zemo’s thrusts into you easier, quicker. The sound of squelching juices felt so loud to you, and the way Zemo’s hips thrust into yours, clapping sounds adding to the abundance of noises. You started to reach your climax again, your walls grasping onto Zemo’s cock tightly, attempting to pull him in. Your cunt felt like fire as the pleasure swarmmed you, the way Zemo made you feel was like nothing he had experinced before and you craved so much more, even though he was already buried deeply into you, his balls slapping against you. He groaned at the sensation and thrust his hips quicker and twisted his thumb on your clit harsher till you lost it.
You let out a loud, erotic moan, snapping your eyes shut as you came all over him. Your cum went all over him and you jerked and withered in Bucky’s arms. Zemo himself groaned at how tightly you grasped him, how amazing your cum felt shooting all over him, but still, he continued to thrust deep inside of you, erratic as ever making you whimper from the overstimulation.
He whispered into your neck, claiming you were his, that he would never let another person feel you the way he currently is, and his thrusts grew more rapid, and you could feel the way his cock twitched inside of you, pushing in further than you thought was possible. His groans rang out into your ears as you cried from the feeling of him still pushing inside of you even after your release but finally he shoved himself as deeply as he could inside of you one last time, biting down on your neck as he finally released, shooting his load into you.
You panted heavily as you felt his cum coat your insides, filling you up with his seed. Cheers erupted from everyone else as you and Zemo stayed still, sweating and panting against each other.
Selby got up from her seat and walked around the three of you, clapping as her eyes watched how Zemo was still settled within you.
“Well, I can say that was entertaining to watch. Who would have known after so long in prison you’d still have that in you Zemo. But you two have proven you are partners alright. And now let’s discuss the soldier”
Zemo pulled his head back from your neck, moving to place one gentle kiss upon your lips, his hand reaching up to cradle your face. “You were magnificent darling”
You nodded in return, looking into his worn-out eyes. “Thank you” is all you could whisper, even though you didn’t know what you were thanking him for. Slowly he pulled out of you, making you whimper at the emptiness. He pushed himself back into his trousers then helped you get out of Bucky’s grasp.
Realising what he had done to your underwear, he gave you an apologetic look as his load slowly started to slide out of you but you waved him off, still feeling the satisfaction of your two orgasms.
Finally, the mission could resume, this could be completed at last and both you and Zemo could get out of this alive.
Till the sound of a ring tone echoes out from where Sam stood.
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clints-lucky-arrow · 3 months ago
Text
The Serum
(Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader)
(Slight!Bucky Barnes x Reader)
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Summary: It all can go wrong in the blink of an eye.
Oneshot. Angst. Gunshot Wound. Mortal Injury. Descriptions of Dying. Undisclosed Ending. F!Reader
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
Word Count: 1.3k
A/N: Y’all are going to hate me.
I just needed to write a super short angst piece to help my mojo back. This is in no way connected to the Call-It-A-Night-verse (as someone hilariously referenced it the other day). I’d say enjoy, but I have a feeling that you won’t. Hopefully you can appreciate the work all the same!
READ THE DESCRIPTION ACROSS THE TOP FOR WARNINGS.
Huge shoutout to @rax-writes​ for giving me such amazing support over the past week. Rax is also a great writer (and writes for Zemo), so you should definitely go to check out her page. 
Another huge thank you to @221b-skywalker​ for being a phenomenal person and going out of her way to boost fanfics. It’s always amazing to see someone supporting writers in this way, and you are such a kind person.
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“Zemo.”
He doesn’t turn. Just continues to bear down upon Karli, stride filled with vicious determination. The gun is his hands fires again. Repeatedly. Bullets slam into the walls. The girl throws herself over a table, overturning it as she does. You are dimly aware of the pack that slips from her grasp, clattering onto the ground. Blue vials spill across the rough concrete floor, only metres away. 
It’s the serum. The thing that you’ve all been searching for. Right there. Right within your grasp. And yet, not even the faintest thought of retrieving it flickers in your mind. All that you can do is stare at your side, ice lacing through your veins as cold shock spreads through your body.
“Zemo.”
It’s not clear if he can hear you over the gunfire, as his pistol jars violently again. His back is turned, the furred collar of his coat rising up to his neck. That leather coat covers his heaving shoulders. The malicious excitement radiating from him is all but tangible as he approaches where the Flag Smasher hides, cowering away from him. Dimly, her own panicked breaths register in your hazed mind.
“Is this what I think it is?” the Baron hisses.
His head is tilted, dark eyes fixed on the ground. Right on those luminescent vials. Morgenthau doesn’t answer. Her high-pitched cries of distress still radiate within the echoing room. Zemo doesn’t seem to care about her lack of coherent response. Stooping, he plucks one from the floor, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefingers as he examines it under the faint light filtering in those dirty windows. You can’t see his face, but a faint satisfaction radiates outward from his form, tangible in the air. Just momentarily, before it is quickly eclipsed by a sensation that is more dark and nefarious. 
The vial is hurled from his hands. Abruptly. Shattering across the ground. Blue serum sprays, coating the heel of your boot. Mixing with the red slowly staining the toe. As you stare at it, aware of the faintest initial prickles of agony starting to radiate from your waist, you can hear the continued smashing of glass. The thud of his boots. How he shatters those vials underneath them, ridding the world of a serum that he considers to be responsible for the deaths of his family.
And somehow, you find the strength to try again. “Helmut.”
Maybe it’s the jagged tone. Maybe it’s how you use his first name, one that had never left your lips before. Whatever it is, his attention is immediately drawn, head lifting with that faint snarl still etched across his face. It vanishes almost immediately, replaced with cold, horrified shock as he takes in the sight of you.
Swaying unsteadily. Face slowly leaching into a pasty grey sheen. Hand pressed against your side as hot blood spills over your fingers, dripping down the legs of your trousers. Your vision is bluring, filling with tears of pain as the shock slowly starts to wear off, and the agony filters in.
“You shot me.” Even though you know that it was an accident - that the bullet he had aimed at Karli had rebounded by some awful chance - it’s impossible for your addled mind not to feel somewhat betrayed. 
“I...” For the time ever, he stammers. Mouth open, eyes widened. Panic and terror written on every inch of his features. “I-”
You don’t hear him. Not before your legs give out. Someone behind seizes hold before you can hit the ground. An unexpected figure at that. Walker. Not exactly your desired hero, but it’s growing impossible to focus on anything other than the flaring, building agony as the gunshot wound pulsates, and another surge of blood spatters onto the ground.
Walker is shouting something at the frozen Baron, face twisted in anger. The sounds are far away. As if from the other end of a tunnel. Ragged breaths heave your chest as you try to centre yourself, but each motion burns through your skin. Something dreadful is creeping through your veins, chasing out the blood that is leaking onto the ground around you. It feels cold. It feels terrifying.
Another cry rings out from behind. One that manages to shear through the cloud of weakening consciousness and ring through your thoughts. Jolting you back into a semblance of reality, and forcing you to hold on. Bucky. Harsh steps jar against the ground, and then he is there, sliding you from Walker’s arms and into his own. 
You compel your eyes to remain on his face. Drinking in the sight of him. Ignoring the desperate panic building within by keeping your attention on his eyes, in the faint hopes that those deep blue irises will scare away the encroachinig darkness. They are wide as they stare down at you, his mouth agape in wordless dread. One hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his palm is deeply stained with crimson.
Sam’s shout echoes behind. He slides into view, stumbling up beside Walker, brown eyes swimming with concern. You want to attempt to smile, to reassure him that you will be alright. But you can’t. Not as another flare of agony jolts through you, clenching your teeth as your fingers bite into Bucky’s arm. A whimper of anguish escapes your lips, face contorting.
Above, Helmut hovers. Pale. Gun hanging precariously by his fingers. His knuckles are white, straining against the hardened metal. In the other hand, he tightly grips a vial of shimmering blue. Bucky’s eyes lift, following yours to focus on what the Baron holds.
Your friend’s voice is a low, desperate growl. “Give it to me.”
“What?” Zemo rasps, dragging his gaze up from yours.
“That’s super-soldier serum,” Bucky repeats. There’s an edge to his tone. A snarl. A desperation. “She’s bleeding out, Zemo. It could save her.”
Another wave of pain wracks your body. You can feel yourself growing weaker, gasping for breath even as Bucky’s hand presses uselessly into your side, trying to keep the life from pouring atop the dusty concrete. Everything is damp, and sticky, but the blood should be hot and yet it feels so cold. 
The world itself feels cold. Growing more so by the second, as the darkness that flickers at the edge of your vision starts to bind together. Patches connecting, pulling inwards, eclipsing across your eyes. Walker says something, making a move for Zemo, but Sam yanks him roughly back. The harsh jerk, sending the other man staggering away, is so unlike him that your mind swims to comprehend it. 
Bucky’s chest vibrates as he growls again. “Give me the serum, Zemo.”
The Baron takes a step back. Off to the side, the distant sounds of a scuffle ring out as Sam and Walker square off, pushing one another. Arguing. Their voices are distorted. Only the two men nearest to you are clear. 
There are tears on your cheek. Were they there before? It’s growing harder to remember.
Your gaze drags painfully up to Zemo. His lips are parted. Chest shuddering, as if he is searching for air. The gun drops from his fingers, clattering onto the floor. Such a little thing, that can do so much damage. 
His gloved hands raise, raking through his hair, messing those perfectly styled brown strands. A low sound wells in the back of your throat. The faintest hitch of breath as your body begins to draw on the final reserves of its strength. The light is fading from the world, and only the Baron remains illuminated, as does that small vial in his clenched fist. You can see the war on his face. The indecision. 
“Give it to her!” Bucky repeats, the words a hoarse shout.
Helmut only shakes his head. Sorrow is written across every inch of his features, pain swimming in his deep, sorrowful brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”
And then, the vial drops from his hand and smashes across the floor.
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A/N: Told you. Angst. I do think that it’s my speciality. 
Just to be clear, I’m not a fan of Walker. He was just the first one there at that point in the episode. At that stage, I don’t think he would have just allowed Sam and Bucky’s friend to drop to the ground injured, especially since he was still slightly trying to get them on his side. And his argument at the end wasn't to get the serum for her, he wanted it for himself.
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the-hidden-pages · 3 months ago
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Let Me Worship You: Part 1 - Zemo x Fem!Reader
The fact that this man is the one who dragged me out of my refusing-to-write-fanfiction grave and let me post old work while working on new stuff is...Impressive. Damn you Daniel Bruhl.
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Synopsis: With all the horrible things you had heard of Baron Helmut Zemo, you hadn't anticipated just how badly he wished to win you over. To a further extent, you certainly hadn't anticipated how tempting it would be to give in.
No bad NSFW this chapter - this is the lead up to the main course.
You were not an Avenger.
Unsurprising, really, given what you perceived to be your lack of talent and marketable super-heroine prowess, and so when Bucky called you up asking for a favour, you were pleasantly surprised.
You had only met Bucky on the rare occasion he let you help him, often expressing that he viewed you as a worrywart, a particularly bad day of his leading to him accusing you of trying to be his mother. He later apologized, hearing your explanation that you wanted to help in any way you could, and since you didn't have a superhero serum or fancy suit or arm, you relied on what you could - your mind and your giving nature.
He must have remembered this conversation, because he brought you with him and Sam to what appeared to be an underground parking garage.
"What're you talking about, you wanna break Zemo out of jail? Where the hell are we Buck? Have you lost your mind?!" Sam was raving as you followed behind the two men, silent as you stew over what Bucky had told you.
Babysitting duty.
You were effectively on glorified babysitting duty of an incredibly dangerous criminal.
"James..." you hesitated when he discussed this with you, how could you not? "I don't know how useful I'll be here."
"Very," he countered, his voice dull while his eyes were pleading. "Sam’s an Avenger, I have the serum. But you, you're just a person. Zemo will be less likely to hurt and immediately betray you because of that fact alone."
"He's killed people who've been in his way before. Normal people."
"He won't kill you. I'll make sure of that."
A heavy sigh escapes you as Sam and Bucky continue to bicker about the logistics of breaking Zemo out.
"I don't like how casual you're being about this, it's unnatural - and - where are we man?"
"I wouldn't mind an answer to that too," you supply, but any answer is interrupted by the sound of a door unlocking.
The three of you turn to approaching footsteps, and find no one other than Helmut Zemo striding towards you, dressed in a prison guard's uniform.
Sam responds immediately, arguing to throw him back in jail, while Bucky tries to calm him down. But you can't help but stare at the man before you as he removes the cap on his head, arms raised in an attempt to calm the men down.
"If I may" his voice rasped, but he was stopped short by Sam and Bucky in unison.
"NO!"
Zemo nodded, looking away almost sheepishly. "Apologies," came the quiet response.
If it were any other situation, you would have laughed - those two had the dynamics of a married couple and they couldn't stand each other. And for them to completely shut down the killer in front of them was...incredibly funny.
But you had a job to do.
As the boys continued to bicker, you took slow steps forward towards the man now looking you up and down, trying to place your part in all of this.
"Don't mind them," you spoke quietly, not wanting to distract Sam and Bucky, but still intending to speak with the criminal. "They're having some troubles in paradise. You must be Zemo."
His eyes take you in, a small smirk beginning to form. "So I must. May I have the pleasure of your name, Liebling?"
You offer your name hesitantly, and he repeats it back to you, as though he were sampling what it might taste like.
"Beautiful name, thank you." He turns to face the two men still arguing, not noticing your introductions. "I really think I'm invaluable..."
"Shut up..." Sam warned, before turning back to Bucky, looking between him and you.
You nod reassuringly to him - this is necessary, if the super soldiers are to be dealt with.
A sharp sigh leaves Sam. "Okay. If we do this, you don't make a move without our permission. And she is watching you every step of the way."
Bucky interjects. "And if anything happens to her, you're going to wish we left you in that cell."
Zemo nods, looking to you once again. "Fair."
You tilt your head slightly, unable to read his eyes as they examine you. You brush it off, chalking it up to him appreciating not being thrown back into a cell immediately. "Okay Zemo. Where do we start?"
*************************************
Zemo wasn't sure of what to make of you, he realized as you were on the jet to Riga.
You weren't an Avenger, you weren't a soldier, super or otherwise. You seemed to just be a person, one constantly offering her help where she could, even when it was to her own detriment.
He also took note of how rarely your help was appreciated or reciprocated.
You would offer help any moment you could, carrying supplies, offering to fetch food, simply offering and ear to listen. You were quick to attempt to smooth over Sam and Bucky's disputes, and you would play along with the role Zemo would assign you without much question - anything to help, you would say.
You were kind, he noticed as well. Smart, and shrewd, and clearly with trust issues, but you were kind and polite. You spoke with him as much as you might Sam or Bucky, you offered him your trust under the promise he would aide you find the super soldier serum. With your kindness, he thought it might be easy to manipulate you, to slip away from the group, maybe even to ask you to join him.
But there was an issue with his theory, he quickly noticed - any attempt to woo you, attract you, win you...didn't seem to work.
He hadn't been at the task long, mind you, but he had hoped you would be impressed with the jacket, the Baron title, the jet, the offer of wine. Instead, you simply seemed uncomfortable. Come Madripoor, you were happy to play the part of eye candy to escape much attention, yet when he offered you to keep the stunning dress, shoes, and jewelry ensemble you simply waved it off, claiming that you'd reimburse him if he insisted on you keeping it. You were happy to dance near him, unable to hide your laughter at his moves, yet he offered you a drink and you promptly declined, claiming it unnecessary.
Zemo's brow furrows as he observes you, awake and quietly reading as Sam and Bucky both sleep on the flight.
"What's your motive, Liebling?" he questions, and you glance up from your page.
"Don't tell me the criminal doesn't trust me," you respond wryly, turning your gaze back.
"No, I don't mean like that," he shifts, leaning forward to continue to observe the woman that was his guard. "I wonder what keeps you going. Some are motivated by riches, and dreams. Others from spite and anger. What do you want from life, my dear? What causes you to wake up in the morning?"
You pause, looking up to search his eyes to see where this question was coming from. You weren't sure what game he was playing, and you weren't sure how to answer him either. You eventually look back down to your book, a small smile playing on your lips.
"Nothing wakes me up in the morning, given I rarely get to sleep most nights."
His brows furrowed as she goes back to her pages, eager for the conversation to end. Her difficulty doesn't seem to be that he's a criminal - she's spoken plenty freely to him, she agrees to his plans...
The difficulty, he begins to realize with a smile. Maybe he's beginning to see what the difficulty is after all.
*************************************
You weren't sure what to make of Zemo, you think as you lie awake at night in the Riga safe house.
This criminal coming out of nowhere, apparently being rich as hell, so far doing nothing to cause you to believe he would betray you (yes, Sam and Bucky were shocked by his killing of Nagel, but really? You weren't shocked) ...but what shocked you the most was how badly he seemed to want to win you over.
You could justify it, sure. You're supposed to be his guard, he's likely trying to get you to let your guard down so he can escape. Yet when he's so charismatic, the way he holds himself, that voice...
Your eyes snap open sharply.
You were attracted to Zemo.
The man you're meant to be watching.
No, you told yourself. You're just lonely, and he's the first man offering you attention in a long time. It doesn't matter that his eyes examining you makes you blush, that you want to run your fingers through his hair, that a quiet voice your head wished that he would kiss you when he pulled you aside with one arm, other hand aiming at a pipe in Madripoor to blow up some poor saps...
It's the heat of the situation, you told yourself. Your options are Sam, Bucky, and Zemo...
Trust you to pick the worst option.
But how could you not, your mind whispers. When he danced like a goofball in a club your heart warmed. When he sat, filled with confidence and righteousness in the jet, legs splayed enough that you could perch on your knees in front of him, worship him, pleasure him. When he left the bathroom this morning in that damned robe, the deep V drawing your eyes down his chest before you could help himself.
You groaned. Of all the thoughts to keep you awake, why did it have to be your assignment on your mind?
It was too hot, your mind was swimming, you knew sleep wouldn't come soon.
And so, you stood, wrapping your arms around your book and padding downstairs in a loose t-shirt and shorts. Zemo had said that you were welcome to whatever resided within the safe house, and you were ready to take up his offer and steal a cup of tea.
You weren't expecting to find anyone else still awake. And yet, you weren't fully surprised to find Zemo sitting in the kitchen, bottle of whiskey at his side, a glass in his hand. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps, a soft smile on his face.
"Good evening, Liebling."
"Zemo. Can't sleep?"
"Unfortunately, not." He leans backwards slightly, examining you. "Another sleepless night for you as well."
"So it would seem."
You take a seat across the counter from him, not wanting to sit too closely to the man you were just fantasizing about. You were good at keeping a straight face, but you wondered if you got too close if he'd somehow be able to smell it on you.
He pushed his bottle forward, cocking an eyebrow at you.
"Drink?"
Your finger caresses the binding of your book as you hesitate to find the words.
"Actually, I had come down to make myself a cup of tea, if you don't mind."
Zemo's eyes lit up slightly, and he stood, motioning for you to stay where you were. "Allow me."
"You don't have to-" you begin to protest, but he's quick to cut you off.
"Please, Liebling, let me spoil you."
The heat that washes over you is clearly visible, if his chuckle is any indicator.
Silence falls and you quietly open your book as Zemo busies himself over the tea. In mere minutes a steeping mug is delicately placed in front of you. You smile graciously and nod, though you falter slightly as he doesn't return to the other end of the counter - rather, sitting on a stool right beside you, inquisitive eyes not leaving your face.
"Can I help you with something, Baron?" you question, taking the tea and blowing on it to cool it down somewhat. His eyes follow your movements, before travelling to meet yours again.
You could drown in those eyes -
"Day after day you offer your help, sarcastically or not," he begins, leaning forward slightly as he rests his chin on his hand, examining you. "Who offers help to the helper?"
You take a sip of your tea, tilting you head. "I don't know what you mean."
"Your refusal of my gifts, your reluctance to let me even make you a cup of tea - at first I wondered if it was in distrust of me, Liebling -"
"Well, you have killed people."
He quirks an eyebrow, and you motion for him to finish.
"I realize now it's because you're uncomfortable being cared for. You spend so much time looking after everyone else, you give no one the opportunity to worship you as you deserve."
You choked a bit on your tea at that.
"I don't know that I deserve to be worshiped, I just...exist. And do what I can to help others."
Zemo leaned forward further, slowly, so as to not push you away in result. "We haven't been acquainted for long, my dear, but from all I've seen from you with Sam, with James, and with an undeserving man such as myself...the strength in your soul and the empathy in your heart...It alone rises you so far above the men and women placed on pedestals because of their supernatural abilities."
You lean forward to match, but your eyes have steeled over. "Your sweet words won't make me let you go, Zemo. I won't betray Sam and Bucky."
He didn't miss a beat. "I should be so lucky to be held captive by you for eternity, Liebling. I don't ask you to betray your friends on my behalf."
"Then what do you want from me, exactly?"
You should be very afraid. The man who singlehandedly tore apart the Avengers is staring at you as if you were a last meal, his knees touching yours, his hand finding its way to lightly perch on your arm.
You should be afraid.
Yet despite your better judgement, you aren't.
"I want you to tell me every one of your desires, so I might fulfill them. I want to see you stand tall in the finest clothes money can buy, to whisk you away to Paris, Vienna, Rome, every beautiful local this world has to offer, local that pale in comparison to the beauty in front of me. I want you to let me bring you tea, wine, food, chocolates, and anything else that might please you. I want you to relax against me, to feel the tension you've had all mission to wash away in the most luxurious bath of your life, while I wash your beautiful hair, while I taste every inch of you."
His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, and you couldn't stop yourself from leaning forward more to hang off his every word. "I'm not a stupid man. I know it's only a matter of time before I'm back in a prison cell of some kind. And even if I weren't, you may not believe the sincerity of my words. But tonight, little bird, I want you to let me worship you."
Your eyes fluttered as his hand reached forward to cup your cheek, thumb caressing over your bottom lip. You had the strength to look him dead in the eye with one final warning.
"If this is a trick of any kind, Zemo, I won't hesitate to let Bucky rip you to shreds."
The laughter that leaves him fans over your face, drawing your eyes to his lips.
"I'd expect nothing less, Liebling."
His eyes still search your face. A gentleman, you realize. He's waiting for permission.
You lean forward to close the gap, slowly letting your mouth brush over his, tasting him for the first time, as your hand raises to card through the locks of hair in his face. Your body thrums with anticipation of what's to come, with the anxiety that this may be a dangerous move, with pure, undiluted arousal from his words.
Yet you break away gently, both hands cupping his face now as he looks at you, curious as to why you stopped, pleased that his initial seduction worked.
Your hands slowly travel down to his own, and you stand, backing towards the way you came when you first gave up on sleep for the night.
"Come on then. You want to show me what being spoiled is like?"
A grin curls its way onto his face as he spins you in his arms, twirling you so that your back is against his front, his arms around you, his breath hot in your ear.
"Little bird, I'll give you everything you crave and more."
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fqjth · 3 months ago
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slow hands
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pairing: zemo x reader
summary: y/n finds herself fantasising about zemo’s gloves, so zemo decided to fulfil those wishes of hers. 
author’s note: this is just a pure short smut pic, no plot but like soft!daddy zemo anyone?
this was another submission, y’all are too horny for this man (same though). this one was requested by yes-sir-hotchner who’s idea has no been etched into my brain everytime i think of zemo in those damn gloves of his! hopefully you enjoy :)
warnings: smut (18+), fingering, dirty talk (daddy kink), soft!daddy zemo
words: 1193 
submission box here :)
◯ ◯ ◯
Y/N watched as Zemo brought the cup to his lips, entranced by his movements. She’d been staring at him for the past ten minutes, unaware that she had been doing so. Maybe it was how he spoke to her that made her fall for him, the gentle way he said her name when calling for her. Perhaps it was the way he moved about, each stride holding an untamed bravado. Or maybe, it was the way his hands looked in those damn black gloves.
She was ashamed to admit that the thought of him tracing his fingers down her body as she wore them aroused her. Just the idea of him slowly removing them before plunging his thick fingers inside her was enough for her to pool herself. She clenched her thighs, holding the pain that had now formed underneath.
“Are you alright, little one?” Zemo spoke, his accent more prominent on the last words. He had called her that before, exaggerating the age difference between the two. He knew what it did to her, and he loved to watch her squirm. His words brought Y/N back to reality, now noticing that he, too, had been looking at her.
Y/N smiled, adjusting her seating on the couch. She hummed a yes, nodding as she did so. She believed if she didn’t speak, he wouldn’t know what was going on in her mind, all the dirty things she was thinking about, unaware her body language was speaking for her.
Zemo took a few steps towards her, now leaning against the back of the couch. He leant down at the girl who was seated comfortably on the cushions, pushing a stray piece of her hair behind her ear. His gloved fingers grazed her forehead, sending shivers down her spine as she let out a small sigh. Zemo smirked at the sight. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again, his hand now placed on the side of her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently across her skin. Y/N loved these intermit moments they shared. Something about the way he was so soft with her made her weak at the knee. She nodded again at his question.
Zemo hummed, an almost low growl escaping his lips. He trailed his fingers from her cheek down her neck, running lines across her collar bone and back up before resting his thumb under her chin. He slowly tilted her head upwards to face him, leaning down before placing a small and soft kiss upon them. “You’ve never been good at lying”, he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her face. He leant back down, placing another kiss on her lips, stepping away. Y/N let out a soft sigh at his absence, wanting him to continue kissing her.
She sat up and watched as Zemo walked around the couch, so he was now standing in front of her. He positioned himself in between her legs before leaning down, grabbing her face and kissing her again. This time, however, with slightly more passion than the last. Y/N couldn’t help but kiss back with force, worked up at the thoughts that had been spirally about her mind. Zemo pulled away with a chuckle. He looked her up and down. “Someone’s needy,” he leant down and hovered over her lips, “what does the little one need so badly she can’t use her words?”. His tone made her moan, he was speaking so soft but his words filled with the intention of more.
Zemo leant down to her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along her jawline and down to her collarbone. His hand that he had rested on her thigh was now moving up her skirt, slowly finding its way under the fabric until it reached her pantie line. Y/N tightened her legs at the feeling, another small moan escaping from her soft lips. Zemo placed his free hand on her other thigh, forcing her legs open with ease. He traced his gloved fingers over the wet spot that had formed on her underwear, slowly rubbing in-between her fold through the fabric. “So wet for me but won’t say why?” he breathed against her neck, “use your words, little one. Daddy won’t mind”.
“n-need you to touch me”, Y/N stuttered, throwing her head back slightly at the feeling of Zemo continuing to rub her through her panties. She looked up at him, his eyes gazing into hers with both love and hunger.
“Good girl,” he whispered, removing both his hands from her body as he went to take off his gloves. Y/N reached up and grabbed his arms, stopping him from doing so.
“Leave them on”, she spoke softly, looking up the man doe-eyed as she bit her lip. Her words were enough for him to reach back down, one hand now resting around her neck with a soft grip as the other found its way before in-between her legs. He slipped one finger under the cloth, now rubbing her core. She moaned at the touch.
“I didn’t realise you loved the gloves so much, little one”, he laughed, slipping one finger inside her. The rubber feeling of his glove beginning to pump in and out her entrance was a strange sensation, one she had never felt before. “I guess I’ll have to wear them more often”.
Y/N let out a loud sigh as Zemo slipped another finger inside her, stretching her as he did. His started slow, pumping in a way that made her crave more. He could tell this, watching as Y/N bucked her hips against his hand. The sight of his gloved fingers fucking her was somehow the hottest thing he had seen, every so often seeing her wetness glistening on the fabric, causing his pants to get tighter. He picked up his pace, now pumping faster than before. His thumb found her clit as he rubbed circles on the sensitive spot, his grip around her neck tightening.
“D-daddy”, Y/N moaned out, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt pressure build inside her. “I’m going to-“ she wasn’t able to finish her sentence before Zemo leant down and placed a rough kiss upon her lips, shutting her up instantly.
“Cum for me, princess”, he hummed against her lips, “cum around daddy’s glove”. His words were enough to throw her over the edge, a muffled moan escaping her lips as she rode her high. Her walls clenching around Zemo’s fingers as he continued to pump them in and out of her throbbing hole. He slowly removed them as Y/N collapsed into his chest, placing a small kiss on her forehead. “Good girl”.
Y/N smiled up at his, her hands reaching for the bulge that had formed in Zemo’s jeans. He wrapped his arms around her wrist, stopping her from touching him. “no touching, little one,” he smirked, looking down at the now confused girl. “I have work to do,” he said before placing another small kiss on her lips, walking away from the couch afterwards. His fingers rubbed against his pants, wiping off the mess Y/N had made as he left her in soaking wet panties craving more of his touch.
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clints-lucky-arrow · 2 months ago
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Cursed - Chapter One
(Helmut Zemo x F!Reader)
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Summary: Deep in the forests of Romania lies a castle known to very few. Hidden and far from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, it is the type of place that none can find and even less can leave. 
A derelict haven in which the escaped Helmut Zemo can reside and live in secret. Or so he thinks, until a bloodied and terrified young woman stumbles into his refuge one night, completely unaware of who she is about to encounter.
Herein lies the dilemma, for he cannot let her go. Not after she’s seen both him and this place. But for some reason, he cannot quite bring himself to kill her either.
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Enemies to Lovers. Darker Themes. Angst. Falling in Love. Eventual Smut.
🌹Hades & Persephone Themes // Beauty & the Beast Themes🌹
Warnings: Kidnap. Graphic Violence and Descrption of Injury. Blood. Graphic Tertiary Character Death. Cursing. Violent Animal Death. Alcohol.
‘CURSED’ - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
Word Count: 7k
A/N: Please note that this is dark fairytale-inspired, and to ensure that you read the warnings each chapter.
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Those howls lift into the air outside of the rumbling carriage. Long and mournful, and rising above the treetops into the frigid, rumbling night. You know that they’re wolves - just wolves - and yet, something about them feels almost unnatural. Their cries sound dark and almost unholy, as if they are more than mere creatures of flesh and blood. It’s foolish, you know that, but rational reminders do little to stop the prickling of fear within your chest.
An aura exists in the tangled depths of these woods, as thick as the fog that lines the rough dirt path that the carriage clatters along, and as clouded as the weight of the sky above, one heavy and burdened with storm. It leaches into the air around, whispering warnings of darkness and death.
You draw back from the window, allowing the lacey curtain to fall gently back into place. The interior of the jolting vehicle is dimly lit by a flickering bulb overhead, and it shivers with each pronounced bounce of the wheels. Trying to ignore the unsteady pace, you adjust yourself, pulling the thick fur of your winter jacket tighter around your shoulders. It does little to block out the chill - that type of cold that seeps through mere clot and burrows deep underneath your skin - and so it lingers, misting your breath and throbbing within your bones. Not even the added combination of the heavy blanket across your knees will keep it away. 
Lifting your cupped hands to your lips, you blow carefully onto the exposed skin. The puff of air warms them just slightly, and your fingers rub together in an earnest attempt at continuation. It’s better than nothing, but still not enough. Searching for a distraction, your gaze lifts again to search beyond yourself.
Thin flashes of light dance outside of the carriage, casting jumping shadows along the crowded trees that line either side of the unkempt road. They come from the lanterns positioned atop the carriage, lining either side of the two men atop the vehicle. One is the driver, the person guiding the horses down this desolate stretch of forest. The other is a guard. A broad and burly man gripping a cumbersome brown rifle. His attention remains beyond the path ahead, focused on the trees surrounding. Searching for threatening shapes in the darkness. 
You can see their feet through the little sliver of window high on the opposite wall of the carriage’s inside. How their polished black boots are planted firmly on the floor in a reassuring show of solidarity. Their presence is reassuring. Neither have spoken to you much, but they have been kind in the moments that they have, albeit a little gruff. You take no offense. They are hardened men, and it is their way. A demeanour that you - the daughter of a Manhattan-based oil magnate - would not have been raised to replicate. It does not take any great stretch of the mind for you to realise that they must also find you strange. Maybe a bit too prim and proper underneath your poised smiles.
Not that it matters. They have a job to do, and they are doing it well. Getting you out of Hungary, and down to Greece. To where a boat lies ready and waiting to whisk you away from Europe. You’re not quite sure where Jay has planned for you both to flee. The arrangements were flurried and too quick for information to be properly relayed, but anywhere is better than what you left behind.
Or so you think.
Now that you are deep in the whispering Romanian woods, the rational, anxious part of you can’t help but slightly regret your decision. The place is just eerie. Between the groaning trees and the thick, creeping mist, everything about it stirs an almost primal dread deep within. It’s just stifling. You can’t even see the stars overhead. The mass of darkened branches and leaves are just too thick. Hovering above and staring down. Crowding and nearly claustrophobia-inducing.
Shifting, your hand creeps up to tug at the stiff collar of your dress. Just as you do, a noise echoes from outside. The sharp crack of twigs within the copse lining the side. 
Bench creaking underneath, you jerk forward, one hand lifting the curtain again just in time for your eyes to fix upon a shape - huge and hulking - slinking through the shadows. Your gaze catches on a pair of eyes, yellow and nearly glowing, hovering high above the ground. They bore into you through the thin stretch of pane, and something about the look has a scream start to rise in the back of your throat.
It tears free as one of the wooden tires underneath bursts without warning, and the entire carriage pitches into a wild jerk. Your hands splay, fingers scrabbling for a hold as the entire interior of the vehicle tilts, throwing you off the bench and onto the wooden ground. The few loose belongings that you had out of their trunk skid wildly, peppering down onto the floor around you. The carriage shifts once more, lurching unsteadily. Unbridled fear pulses through your veins as for a moment you are absolutely certain that the carriage is going to tip.
By some divine luck, it doesn't. The grating vehicle remains upright, although brutally slanted on one side towards the rough dirt of the path. The underside scrapes loudly against the earth, emitting an ear-splitting shriek. Up front, the spooked screams of the horses rise in unison. Through the sliver of the window opposite, their flickering shapes rear in the orange glow of the carriage lights, and shouts ring out as the driver attempts to rein them to a halt. 
The carriage shudders as he brings them to a struggling heel. Shouts ring out from above. Footfalls thud across the ground outside as the guardsman spills off the top of the carriage, rushing to calm the panicking mounts while the driver struggles to control them from his seat atop the vehicle. The sounds of their panic are distant and far-away, lost to the almost asthmatic raps of your lungs as they fight to even themselves.
Wild, uneven breaths draw your chest. The claustrophobic fear of being trapped in the carriage is all but overwhelming. Heart hammering, you all but hurl the door open and stumble out of the carriage, nearly falling in your haste. One hand grasps the door, while the other remains pressed against your hyperventilating torso. The forest air is nearly freezing, air glittering with swirling molecules of frost, but the cold does not even register, even as it spears down your gulping throat like rods of ice.
Rough hands seize your shoulder, jolting you out of your panicked haze. Your terrified eyes fix on the paled face of the guard. He looms above you, handlebar mustache twitching with agitation. Strung over his shoulder, the top of his rifle glints against the night.
"Are you alright, miss?" he demands, voice laden in a thick Hungarian accent. 
Your head jerks in a nod as you fight to formulate the words. They come out as a stammer, barely more than a whisper. "Yes."
He returns the nod with a strict dip of his own head. Twisting on his heel, he calls back to the driver. The other man is now off the carriage, standing between both of the horses, a rein tightly clasped in either hand. They pull taut as the beasts still struggle against his hold, scared by the earlier unexpected noise. Fear clamours within their enormous flanks, rolling so that the whites of their eyes are revealed, and their nostrils splay in harsh snorts. The driver’s reply rises about the braying of the agitated animals, and that unsettled part of you wants to hiss at them to be quiet as you cast uneasy eyes into the woods around. 
Maybe it’s paranoia, or residual fear from the tire splintering, but your skin is prickling. Hairs raise at the back of your neck. Inside of your head, a little voice is whispering that something is watching you. Then, as if summoned by your rising apprehension, a familiar sound rings through the distant night. One that makes your blood run cold. Those resonating, dreadful cries. Wolves. 
Much more than one. 
The frigid air suddenly stirs against your prickling skin. Fabric rustles as the guardsman pulls the rifle off his back, levelling it to his shoulder. His elbow presses into your sternum, guiding you back against the tilted side of the carriage as the barrel of the gun sweeps across the treeline. You allow the movement, damp palms flattened against the sturdy wooden side. 
The lupine baying only drives the horses into more of a frenzy. Up front, the driver yells again as he tries to calm them, struggling to restrain the mounts in place. The carriage lurches, grating across the ground as they buck and pull, almost knocking you to the ground. A splinter from the broken wheel spoke shears through the fabric of your dress to pierce through the skin of your ankle. Your teeth clench, holding back a whimper of pain. The barest trace of the noise makes it through anyhow as you snatch your foot away.
The guardsman looks back, concern on his face, before swiftly bending down to peer at your injured ankle. His fingers settle on the bottom of your leg, lifting the hem of the dress ever so slightly to inspect the wound. It’s a little inappropriate, but you are not about to tell the practised woodsman to stop. He probably knows cuts and injuries far better than you do. 
Distracted momentarily, neither of you register that something is afoot - that the world around is beyond silent - that it has taken on a tense, unnatural stillness - until it is far too late.
That mistake costs everything.
A scream rips through the night - torn from the spot near the front of the carriage - before coming to an abrupt end, cut off mid terrified cry. Something about the sheer horror in the noise has your blood run cold. You spin, the guardsman readying his gun once again, and you both are just in time to see the reins of both terrified horses drop to swing freely below their dancing heads. Something wet drips off the ends, splattering to the earth as they rear and lurch. 
In the jostling headlights of the carriage, you recognised the faint crimson sheen of blood.
The guardsman’s hand shoves you further back against the roiling carriage. The rifle sets even further against the point of his shoulder, and the utter tension running through his entire frame is more than palpable. HIs body almost radiates with concentrated strain, and you cower behind him, allowing him to position his body as a shield to your own.
Your attention is drawn to a rustle, soft and ominous, as something moves within the treeline. You’re not alone out here. Not anymore.
A horrified croak warps in the back of your throat as another sound - some low, grating growl - rumbles through the air. The guardsman before you stiffens even further, eyes desperately searching the darkness for whatever lies within. Lines of tension draw his shoulders into a rigid set, squared protectively. In that moment, you are immeasurably glad that Jay hired this particular man. One who did not just run and leave you to whatever waits in the darkness.
An explosion of jagged, garbled noise draws your attention back down the path you came. As you both look, that thing bursts from the trees down the opposite direction. You hear the piercing shriek of the horses as they recoil away from the shape barreling towards them. There is a sickening crunch, and then one less terrified baying as whatever it is snaps the neck of the closest animal in one brutal blow of its thick arm. The felled horse thuds to the ground almost instantly, knocking against its horrified companion as it collapses brokenly to the earth.
The rifle recoils as the guardsman fires after the shape. A flare of light illuminates the misty woods, accompanied by the harsh rumble of thunder overhead. For a moment, your eyes catch a glimpse of matted brown fur through the dense haze. That is it, and then it’s gone, vanishing into the forest once more. You’re barely aware that you are panting wildly, clawed hands digging into the back of the guardsman as you all but cling to him. 
Silence resumes, but you can feel the weight of something watching. The monster is not gone. No. It skulks within the trees and the coiling fog, waiting for the opportunity to catch you unawares. That idea is a nightmare borne into reality, and it has terror spread in a cold sweat over your skin. 
“It’s here. Somewhere,” the guardsman murmurs, echoing your unspoken sentiment. He murmurs another word, one that you don’t understand. It sounds almost like a curse. “Medve.”
Together, you continue to scan through the crowded woods, searching for any flicker of movement. Any sign that it is about to lunge from the depths of the shadows. As you peer out fearfully, the faintest glimmer catches your attention amidst one particular cluster of trees. That set of seething yellow eyes stare back at you. The very ones you had spied earlier, the pair raised too far off the ground to be a wolf. They are boring straight into your own, feral and filled with an intense hunger. 
Shaking, one of your hands lifts, index finger tracing up the guardsman’s back to wordlessly point over his shoulder.
He follows the gesture, rifle moving with him. The moment that he registers the monster is palpable. He stiffens even more than before - an action that you could not have thought to be possible - and the barrel of his gun fixes right in the centre of that incensed gaze. It does not move. Just maintains its cold, calculating stare as it takes in his purposeful actions. For just a moment, relief begins to rise. 
He just might be able to shoot it.
Coming to the same realisation, the guardsman grunts in satisfaction. His arm bunches. The faintest click of his finger curling around the trigger echoes through the still night, and in that single shred of sound, the world explodes. Lurching from tense silence to wild bloodshed in such a flash that it leaves you reeling, unable to comprehend the actions as they take place.
The monster crashes from the trees with an ear-splitting roar. Light glints on enormous black claws as it rushes forward through brush and fog. The rifle sparks, recoiling into the guard’s shoulder as he fires once. You can feel the harsh jerk of his elbow into your side at the motion. A spurt of something wet mists the air, and you know with a beat of hope that his bullet hit its mark. 
It should be over.
But it’s not.
The garbled howl of the guardsman rings out as the beast rips him away from you. The gun fires once more, but it’s of no use. All that your eyes see through the spark of light is red. His blood. His stained entails as dark claws rip him apart. His face - flecked in his own gore - wide in horror and agony as the matted creature tears through his once solid form The images imprint themselves on your brain in a second, leaving you with a sight that you will never be able to forget for as long as you live.
A scream tears from your lips, straining your throat with the sheer force of your terror. The monster - remembering your presence - throws itself away from your fallen guard. You see those claws coming straight for your face, and the gaping, fanged maw that lies behind. It’s as if a nightmare were made flesh. Air rushes violently overhead as you duck, avoiding the blow of its massive arm. 
It slams into the harsh surface of the carriage instead. The vehicle tips, finally falling onto the forest floor with a resounding crash. Glass splinters onto the ground as both the windows and headlights shatter. All light dies instantly, and you are plunged into absolute darkness. Sharp pieces of glass tear into your palms as you scrabble backward, away from the hulking shape looming overhead. It’s inkier than the shadows of the trees - of the night itself - and something about that only makes it more ghastly.
It’s not a wolf. You know that with pure certainty now, even if you had reasoned so before. It’s far too big for any wolf. And that mouth... That’s not a wolf’s mouth. 
You can’t move. Can’t bring yourself to run. Only huddle weakly on the ground and stare up in unfiltered, all-consuming dread.
A thundering roar bursts from its chest as it stands above you, towering on two legs. The reverberation pulses through the air around you, pounding violently against your eardrums. The sound is horrifying. Monstrous. That cold terror holding you in place finally snaps as another wave of hot fear bursts through your veins. Finally, you manage to move. Chest heaving, agony flares within your hands as you scramble upright. And then you are off, racing into the forest as if the very hounds of hell bay at your heels.
Branches snap into your face. Twigs draw stinging lines in your skin. Still, you do not stop as you barrel through the undergrowth. The distant screams of the final horse rings out - high and agonised - before breaking off into a sudden halt as an almighty snap echoes through the woods. A split second of silence follows, before that thunderous roar shakes the world again.
The sound brings a fresh stream of tears down your face. It blurs your vision, but that doesn't matter. You continue to flee deeper into the tangled embrace of the hazy trees, tripping and stumbling but knowing that you cannot stop. To halt or pause would surely mean death at the hands of that creature. That beast.
Adrenaline pounds through you as you stumble blindly onwards. It holds back the worst of the pain, but a slight ache is radiating from your hands. Even in the darkness, you can feel something wet coating your palms, and the distant sting of dozens of cuts carved into that sensitive flesh. The damn glass. Dimly, your panicked mind knows enough to realise that you’re leaving a trail. A direct pathway of blood smeared against trunks and branches as you stagger past them, fumbling arms landing for support as you fight to get away. Markers for this creature to follow. The thought is beyond horrifying, bringing a dreadful realisation that you are not truly getting away. 
No. You’re just prolonging the inevitable.
It almost has you falter. Defeat nearly stops you in place, until the clouds rumble overhead. That thick omnipotence of the sky finally caves with a sharp growl, and rain begins to fall. Each drop is like another claw of ice spreading through your skin, but it aches in the lacerated palms of your hands like unholy fire. The pain is enough to  push you onwards, because you know that no matter how unbearable it is now - enough to draw anguished sobs and strangled whimpers from your chest - it will be nothing compared to what that creature would do to you if it were to catch up.
You limp onwards, feet catching in twisted roots and pockets of earth. One of your shoes comes off in the process, and the leather boot is immediately swallowed by the forest’s all consuming darkness. A curse unbecoming of your status bursts from your lips. The type of swear that would have had your mother clutching her bejeweled necklace in overly dramatic horror, and your father’s disapproving words cut through the air before you even had time to form an apology. It would have made Jay laugh, though. On the few occasions that some profanity had slipped from your lips, it had always made him chuckle.
Mind fixing on the memory of his deep eyes, a sliver of resolve beats forward, pushing against your fear. Giving you the strength to keep going, one foot bare except for a now-bloodied white sock. At the same time as you fix yourself to hobble determinedly on, lightning illuminates the sky overhead. A warped shriek tears from your lips in surprise, widened eyes immediately drawn up to the brilliant glow above. It’s just the briefest flash, but the effervescent bolt catches on something tall, reaching high into the night sky. You skid to a halt, confusion rising in your mind. It couldn’t be.
Another flare illuminates the sky again - just for a second - and you’re nearly sure that you’re correct. There’s no other option but to check. If there is something there, it could just mean your salvation. A renewed hope rises as a lump in the back of your throat.
Adjusting your course, you turn right instead of continuing to blindly stagger straight. The undergrowth almost grows more crowded as you hurry along, ignoring the pain that radiates through nearly every inch of your body. The tangle of hedges and weeds continues to thicken until you are fighting your way through a wall of thorns that scratch at your arms and a swell of brambles that wrap around your heels. Their hold grows tighter, more pinching and narrow, until you can barely move. 
For a moment, you can’t help but feel as if you’re going to suffocate there, lost amidst the grip of this seething forest. 
But then you think of him again. Him. Jay. The man that you love. You haven’t risked so much - fled so far and abandoned your entire family - just to die alone in this miserable place. Somehow, you make it out of the thicket. The hem of your dress tears loudly behind you as the barbs refuse to let you go with a further scathe, but then you are gone. Released from their blistering hold. And without even realising, that final tug had freed you of the forest itself.
You all but collapse onto the damp grass of the flat field. Freezing rain still pelts the ground around you, and thunder echoes above. It’s hard to care about either, or the potential threat of lightning. Just for a moment, you allow yourself this small reprieve, seated in the low rising swell of cold fog. A gasp escapes your lips as you lift your face to the sky and allow the water to wash away some of the muck coating your features. The action itself is almost freeing, and gives you enough strength to open your eyes, searching the darkness before you. 
Though the world is lost without light, a sudden flash of forked electricity answers your prayers. It illuminates the sky in a single brilliant beam, and you see it. Straight ahead, across this expanse of grassy, sloped field, and just as you had thought.
It's a castle. 
A huge building that rises into the inked night sky. One enormous mass of tall, spiked towers built of imposing dark stone. They reach so high that the peaks are nearly lost in the haze of storm clouds gathered above. As another bolt of lightning flashes to echo the first, your eyes catch on creeping ivy and slivers of cracked stained glass panes inside of arched windows. A gate wraps snugly around the front, keeping inside the squat, hulking shape of what appears to be a maze lying just off to the side of the winding path to a set of massive double doors. Other silhouettes lay within the embrace of wrought iron fencing, barely discernible as a collection of twisted statues and fountains. 
Just off to your left lays the remnants of a faded path, leading out of the depths of those hideous woods and straight to the unbelievable building before you. That bewilderment rises in your chest as you slowly push yourself off the ground to stare up at it. There shouldn't be one here. A home of any kind. 
You've caught a glimpse of the map of this sprawling forest - the briefest flash at the parchment passed between the driver and the guardsman - and there shouldn't be anything within. Yet, there's no denying that it is indeed here, piercing the sky before you.
It's like something from a fairytale, but not a sweet, soft story that would be told to children by loving parents before bed. No. This only reminds you of a creepy tale that would have been told by malicious older siblings clutching a weathered leather-bound book. One designed to frighten small children, and leave them with nothing but twisted nightmares after the lights went out.
All the same, you are soaked, bruised, and bleeding. Shivering and sore. There's no other option. You need shelter, and maybe that monster will not follow you inside. Placing one throbbing foot before the other, you stagger on. Up the path, and through the misshapen hole in the wall beside those rusted gates. They are closed with a heavy chain, but luckily the derelict state has left enough of a gap for you to squeeze through just off to the side. 
The dead eyes of hundreds of flaked statues watch your journey up the enormous drive. Bolts of lightning bursting above illuminate their pale, soulless gazes, and you push on quickly, trying to focus on the building door. It’s hard to see in the swell of storm overhead, but part of you can’t help but swear that a thin line of smoke traces upwards from one chimney, and that the faintest trace of light glows in one of the upper windows. 
But that’s madness, for who would live in a place like this?
Your legs feel unsteady mounting the steps to the castle door. The weight of your skirt is a drag, but it's not just that. Every inch of your body is trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and cold. It's a sheer relief when you finally make it, almost stumbling into the firm wood of the entrance. The arch above is crumbling with age, and some broken pieces of stone scatter the ground below. Your feet scuff over them as you lean in, trying to press the heavy entrance open with just your feeble weight. It groans against your sudden collapse, but does not yield. 
Fingers shaking, you reach for the handle. It's achingly cold under your grip. The fact that you can still feel new depths of temperature is almost a surprise. Your body is growing numb, responding to the chill that violently wracks your entire form. The knob, crested in the faint outline of some bird, turns, but does not allow you in. Another low plea bursts from your lips as you stagger back, staring hopelessly on the building.
You need to get inside, and quickly. 
That’s when you nearly trip over one of the broken fragments of stone on the floor underfoot. Stooping, you heave it into your hand, ignoring the sting of your palms as the jagged edges of rock bite into the already tender lines of wounds. Eyes sweeping the side of the building before you, eventually your gaze can make out the faint lines of a waist-high window against the dim night. Summoning all of your remaining strength - and before courage can desert you completely - you hurl the rock right at the beautifully coloured pane. Your grunt of strain is overshadowed by another crackle of thunder. It doesn’t block out the sound of the glass shattering, however. 
Climbing through is painful, but at this point you are numb enough not to mind a few more bites of glass against your skin. 
A frigid gust of air howls through the desolate halls as you straighten from off the ground, feeling more glass crack underfoot. Your eyes scan the interior, noting the extremely faint glow emitted by the flickering chandelier overhead. You hadn’t seen it from the outside, and could have sworn that no such light was on when you had rolled in the shattered pane. The thought makes you nervous, but as your eyes scour the grand entrance, they cannot find a single soul. Maybe it was just your imagination?
The inside of the castle is hauntingly beautiful, though just as decrepit and desolate as outside. Dusty portraits hang on the walls, and underneath the layer of grime it is hard to see what lies within the frames. Furniture dots the space around you, but all save a few moth-eaten chairs are covered by protective white sheets, stained with disuse. In the corner, a leak of water trickles down from the ceiling to pool on the ground. 
Your eyes fix on one portrait above the stairs. It hosts the hazy outline of a man, his face pale and stern. In the desolate light, it’s hard to make any more of his features, save those a pair of expertly painted dark eyes and side-swept hair, almost the same colour. He appears to be in a uniform of some kind, but you cannot see the exact design. The expression in his cold gaze burns even from across the wide expanse between you and the canvas.
Your hair drops wetly down your back, dropping onto the marble floor below in loud ticks. Shivering, you adjust the soaked fabric of your coat on your shoulders, trying to save any glean of warmth as you spin slowly upon your heel, raking your gaze over the shadowed expanse of this sheer palace. 
One would have thought it must be abandoned, if not for the faint light and that lingering aroma.
A particular scent hovers in the air, rising over the damp and must and remaining despite the breeze gusting in from outside. It's familiar, and should not be natural to this strange, empty place. Something is cooking nearby. Maybe a stew, or a broth, but you can nearly taste it broiling in the air. Almost unbidden, you draw a little further into the room. Blood lines the solid tiles in your wake, streaming from your sliced foot. Now out of immediate danger, the pain is beginning to stir in increasing fruition. Stinging unforgivingly across your skin as cold wracks your form in a violent shiver. 
Over the anguish, another knowledge rises above it all, as you wander to the foot of an enormous curving staircase, whispering against the back of your mind. It is the voice of intuition, low and certain. Someone is watching you.
Hidden eyes weigh heavily against your skin. It's the same sensation as the forest, but not as utterly malicious. No. This unseen attention - albeit cold and wary - is tinged with curiosity. Something about it prompts you to speak.
"Hello?" 
Your voice rings out, echoing through the cavernous space. 
There is a rustle of movement in the darkness shadowing the floor above. The sound resonates, ringing through the marbled halls that rise on each side of you. A thick lump of fear begins to form in the back of your throat. Whirling, your eyes scan the levels above, scouring futilely for the faintest glimpse of anything. They lift higher and higher, until you are nearly dizzy, wondering just how high this palace rises. Just when you think that you are about to collapse from so much spinning and searching, whatever silent being staring down upon you relents, and makes itself known.
Footsteps echo from above, solid against the cracked marble floors. Each slow thud resounds, heavy and beating, like the unhurried pounding of a heart. Your own quickens within your chest, eyes lifting to fearfully cast between the shadows on the darkened floor above, peering through the intricate stone banisters. A prickle runs down your skin, iced apprehension leaking through your veins. It’s coming.
A voice rings out from above, lost amidst the alcoves and cobwebs. “You shouldn’t be here.”
The tone is the smooth rasp of a man, both curious and commanding. Edged in an accented growl. That dusty chandelier overheard flickers again, as if in slight greeting. Your heavy gulp echoes through the quiet space, loud enough for the newcomer to hear. There’s a terror about being in this dim, desolate place, watched by someone that you cannot see. You turn, trying to locate the source of the sounds as they bounce through the cavernous space.
Movement flickers in the corner of your vision, and you spin back towards the stairs. A figure steps out of the cover of shade, coming to a graceful halt at the top of the stairs. The faintest sheen of light casts across him, highlighting broad shoulders wrapped in a long black coat, and a thin, calculating smile. He wears a waistcoat underneath, delicately embroidered into a pattern that you cannot make out. However, the material all but screams wealth.
That’s not what catches your attention.
As he stands underneath that looming portrait, the resemblance is clear. He is the man from the painting. Undeniably polished and handsome, but there is something deeply intimidating about him. About those burning eyes as they lock on yours.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, a little quieter, menace starting to seep into his tone.
Something about him is… familiar, and this is despite the portrait that he stands before. There’s something else. You know him. Somehow. It’s more than a hunch. A certainty swells in your chest that you have definitely seen this man’s face before. However, there is no time to dwell further on it. Another soft movement whispers from over your shoulder. The barest hint of swaying fabric. 
Heart hammering, you twist. A second man has melted from the shadows behind you, and is silently encroaching. He is older, wrinkled and wizened with age, but his keen gaze is as alert as that of the first man. You step to the side, attempting to dodge, but he shadows the motion immediately, herding you back towards the stairs. Those slow footsteps resume as the man on the landing begins his smooth descent, coat crackling eloquently at his heels.
Panic is writhing in your chest, curdling in dreadful tendrils. A sense of danger has begun to simmer through the air, evident in the gaze of the first man as his head airily turns to the shattered window. Brown eyes - nearly black in the dim light - take in the smashed pane, and the frigid air gusting through. His lip curls in the barest show of annoyance, and that disdainful, disapproving gaze prickles your face once more as he comes to a halt on the floor you stand trembling upon. 
His voice is beyond cold as he speaks again. “You broke my window.”
“I’m sorry,” you manage to gulp, trying not to let the words shake too much. “I-”
His hand raises, cutting you off abruptly. “That glass was installed in the fifteenth century.” There’s an edge to the tone, and you can’t quite make out if it is just agitation or actual threat. “A near priceless piece of history.”
That other figure steps closer, and you limp further away. Shivers are starting to run down your body in uncontrollable waves. You’re not quite sure the root cause. They are a brutal mixture of fear, cold, and pain. More blood stains the tile in your wake, nearly causing you to slip. On instinct, the first man reaches to steady you. The movement seems instinctual, and not born of gentle kindness, so you jerk away. Your shaking hands raise to ward him back.
“Stop!”
And surprisingly, he does. 
Those shimmering eyes fix on your palms, widening slightly in muted surprise. As you watch him across their length, red-stained droplets roll off the ends of the heels of your hands and drip to the ground. His gaze tracks their fall, sweeping down to fully take in the ripped and muddied fabric of your dress, and the torn gashes that line nearly every visible inch of your skin. 
"What happened to you?" he asks, tone low and wondering. 
You start to answer. To stammer out about the monster and the carriage, but then it finally registers. The penny drops at last. There, with his face illuminated in the direct light of the chandelier, you suddenly realise how you know him. And exactly why you do. 
Those pictures flash across your mind, accompanied by the harsh print of glaring headlines at the front of a newspaper. A jagged gasp draws your chest. Instantly, his face darkens. Without words, he knows. It is apparent even as the uncontrollable words fall from your lips. “You’re him.”
You recognize him from the news. His face has been plastered across the front page for the past three weeks. Ever since the Raft - that stone fortress of a prison in the middle of a roughened lake in Siberia - was breached, and a number of high security convicts escaped and vanished. 
And yet… One stands before you now, face twisted into the barest hint of a glower. He covers it quickly, shoulders hulking as he pulls himself up to his full height. A gloved hand lifts to hover in the air before you as his words ring out, rising to echo through the vaulted ceiling overhead. 
"I am Baron Helmut Zemo. Welcome to my home." 
You can’t bring yourself to reach out and press your fingers to his. The uncontrollable trembling has spread through your entire body, chasing pain and fear through your veins. 
“This is an accident,” you stammer, head shaking fearfully. “I didn’t mean to come here. My carriage… It overturned in the woods. There was something-It was chasing me. I never… I. I…” Breaking off, your chest heaves wildly as you try to ground yourself. “Please. I won’t tell anyone that you’re here. Just let me go. I’ll leave right now.”
Zemo and the other man share a long, wordless look. Something in the silent exchange has your heart sink within your chest. Head jerking in another violent shake, you go to retreat once more, but immediately freeze as that gloved hand pinches the side of your cheek. Although the touch is gentle as it cups the side of your face, the meaning is clear.
They will not let you go.
“Apologies, my dear,” Zemo says, a chilling smile twisting his lips. “But that cannot be allowed to happen.”
Mustering the final remnants of your courage, your fingers wrap around his to rip that domineering hand from your face. The action appears to amuse him, instead of infuriate. His low, raspy chuckle lifts into the air, prickling against your skin. You almost try to take a step back again, but his companion has shifted so close during your distraction that there is nowhere left to run. Things are just going from bad to worse, and you are frozen in place. 
A rabbit in the sights of a wolf. Utterly helpless, and completely terrified. Totally at the mercy of the calculating predator before you. 
There is no escape. Not with Helmut Zemo in-front, his dark gaze swallowing you whole, and the other man watching the exchange with cold silence from behind.
All of a sudden, this large hallway feels too stifling. Too crowded. Your lungs fight to drag in a panicked breath. Pounding has picked up at the back of your skull. Tinges of woozy darkness simmer the edges of your vision, beckoning and ominous. There’s a dull, bitter taste at the back of your throat, as if you are swallowing metal. It’s hard to think past that damned pain in your head. It’s a relentless sharp throb, one that blocks out the broken ache of the rest of your body. 
These symptoms are not alien. Dimly, you know what’s about to happen, for it has before. You’re going to faint when alone with two strange men, and nothing that you attempt will stop it.
The adrenaline rush is fading away, and now all of the trauma of the attack - physical and mental - is rushing in. That tiny, aware part of yourself is begging your body, pleading for it to hold back and hang on to consciousness, but there’s nothing that your exhausted frame can do. Those spots gather, blurring together and rising to cover your vision as your body gives out. 
You expect to thud to those hard marble floors. Instead, a pair of warm arms seize hold of you from behind, catching your trembling frame before it can crash painfully onto the ground. Through your disorientated gaze, Zemo and the older man’s eyes swim before your eyes, peering down. There is no real concern in either of their faces. Just vague interest, and an irritated reluctance. 
You are a burden to them. A problem to be solved. That much is more than clear, even as your coherent thoughts grow fainter. 
However… There is softness present. Borne in the gentle grip of whoever adjusts you in their arms, lifting your trembling frame to press against a warm, broad chest.  
 Maybe you should be worried. Yes. You should be. But it’s growing hard to think and to recall things like that. Everything is hazy, like the fog that swirls outside of the castle. As distant as the clouded sky above.
“Is she alright?” Another voice, young and unfamiliar - the newcomer who had snuck up so quietly - asks worriedly. 
You are drifting. Caught in the darkness and reeled into its embrace. The only sensation that fills your body is the leaching drain of the blood slowly dripping from your hands, from your feet, and from the gashes that run throughout your whole exhausted frame.
As if from the other end of a tunnel, the Baron’s voice echoes. “That remains to be seen.”
More silence lingers after his words, unnaturally stretched. The pain is starting to recede as the numb, worryless bliss of unconsciousness reaches with beckoning arms. You can still feel your blood inching out, pooling with rainwater on the ground below. Dripping in spaced echoes, like the tick of a far-away clock.
Just as you are about to be swallowed whole, that same concerned tone comes again. “What do we do with her?” 
The kindness gives you just enough strength to focus. To pull yourself momentarily away from the brink and hear just one more thing. Part of you can only wish that it didn’t, as Helmut Zemo’s curt reply wraps around you, and the words pull you under like an anchor. 
“Take her to the East Wing.”
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Support your content creators!  Likes, reblogs and comments are much appreciated. 
Well, first chapter completed! It’s indeed quite dark and they did not get to meet for long, but now that they’re together there will be more Zemo. Enemies to lovers, so we’ve got to have a little bit of angst first. 
(And no, he’s not the monster that attacked the carriage, because I know that this question is going to come. Everyone in this is just a normal human!)
My existing Zemo stories can be found on my main masterlist!
If you did enjoy the piece, I would ask that you consider reblogging. It is the best way to spread this story to others who may enjoy it, and I would be extremely grateful. :)
LINK TO CHAPTER TWO
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cazzyimagines · 2 months ago
Text
First time
Synopsis: Request from anon: Could you write a Zemo story where he and the reader have been jokingly teasing each other but as things get a bit hotter he finds out she has never been with someone before? I have no idea about the ending though. Kinda wanted to see a perfect time but also Zemo being comprehensive and stuff
Word count: 3.6k
Author’s note: This is pure smut so don't read if you don't want to read that stuff! FOR MATURE READERS. Also sorry for how long it's taken me to get to this request!
Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Oral sex (M and F), Fingering, vaginal sex, praise kink, first time
Masterlist
(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)
Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username
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You gasped as you felt a hand brush up against your ass, patting it. As quickly as you felt the contact, it disappeared again as Zemo squeezed past you, smirking into his glass of whiskey.
“Zemo!” you whine, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment
“Just a bit of fun y/n” Zemo purrs winking at you as he plots himself down on one of Sharon’s chairs, purposely manspreading.
“Only a bit?”
He tilts his head at you, a cheeky smile plastering his lips. “Are you offering more?”
“If you two don’t shut up, I will be sick,” Bucky moans from the corner where he was sitting, holding his head in his hands
Zemo chuckles and downs the rest of his whiskey, smacking his lips together, “Perhaps you should learn to appreciate the luxurious of this world, James”
You choked on your breath but tried to play it off as you felt their eyes rest on you. Already you could feel yourself warming up and not just on your cheeks. Ever since you had first seen him appear from the shadows in the stolen guard uniform, you had felt a pull to him. There was something about him. You couldn’t quite place what it was, but it made you want to know him more intimately than you had known anyone else before and that scared you. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, that self-confidence but not too domineering, Or perhaps it was his appearance with his hair always well-groomed, his piercing stare, the way his thin lips twitch up in amusement every time he makes you flustered. It might just be everything about him that made you insanely attracted.
Currently, you were staying at Sharon’s in Mandripoor while you waited for her to find out information. In the meantime, it meant you got to enjoy the party she was hosting. Free alcohol and a floor to dance to? What more could you want.
Well, there was one thing, and he was quick to make an appearance.
While you were moving your body in time to the music, you felt another body press up against yours, his hands coming to rest on your stomach as he presses you into his hips. The smell of expensive cologne and whiskey swarms you, letting you know who exactly was now forcing your hips to grind up into his.
“Zemo,” you moan slightly, already feeling the arousal pool inside of you.
As he moves with your body in time to the music, one of his hands moves up slightly to grasp your breast, fondling it as he kisses your jawline and follows down to the neck where he sucks a hickey upon you. All of these leaves you attempting to hide your gasps and moans from the people dancing around you. If Bucky and Sam saw you currently, they would be so mad, but it was something you needed so desperately.
“I was looking around earlier and found some spare bedrooms. Do you want to take this upstairs?” Zemo asks, his lips grazing the soft skin of your neck as you feel a bludge form in his trousers which were pressed against your ass.
Nervous energy shot through your skin at his words. It’s what you wanted, what you craved. But you did not know how it would go. If you agreed, Zemo, he would be your first time. You wanted everything to be perfect, and it made you worry you would mess something up. Nonetheless, you whispered yes to Zemo, who grasped your hand and pulled you from the dance floor.
You had to step quickly to keep up with Zemo’s pace as he charged to the bedroom, not wanting to waste any time. His grip on your hand was harsh but not threatening as he leads you up the stairs and down a few corridors.
He leads you to the door and opened it, finally letting go of your hand to let you into the room. You took a few steps in to observe the room, your eyes instantly being drawn to the king-size bed in the middle of the room. You got little a chance to observe the rest of the room though as Zemo grabs your body and pushes you up against the wall, leaning his whole body into you and his hands hold your back, playing with the strap on your bra and his lips attach to your collarbone.
You moan, feeling the knot inside of you tightening and your cunt aching for more. His fingers finally unhook your bra and pull it down along with the no sleeves t-shirt, letting your breast burst out for his view.
His hands move up to caress them, rolling the nipples in his fingers as he places slow kisses from your collarbone down to them. He goes to your left nipple first, placing a delicate kiss on it then taking it in his mouth and sucking, causing you to let out a loud moan and grasp his hair in your hand as you hold him close to it.
You could feel his chuckles vibrate your nipple as your fingers pull at his hair. He continues to suck for a few moments before pulling back and attaching to the other nipple. As he continues to fondle your breasts, you feel his hand trail down your leg and brushes against your core through the fabric sending shocks through your spine.
“Z-Zemo, wai-wait,” you gasp
Zemo instantly stops what he is doing to look up at you. “Is everything okay y/n?” he asks gently as he straightens up to look at you at eye level.
“It’s just, well, it’s…” you say, feeling your face heat up as you become more embarrassed at how flustered you are. Swearing under your breath, you look down to the ground, but Zemo brings his hand up to your face, gently guiding it back to look at you. “It’s okay, take your time”
“This is...well, it’s my first time Zemo,” you finally say, knowing your face was as red as a tomato.
If Zemo was surprised at your confession, he made no facial expression to show it. Instead, he smirked, brushing his thumb over your skin.
“Really? I would have never known by the way you were acting. I suppose I will have to make this time extra special for you then”
The breath leaves your lungs as you hear his statement, your mouth slightly ajar. He leans back towards your jaw, whispering into your ear, “I promise to go slow, at the start at least”
You felt as if your core would explode by how much his words affected you. Your legs were already feeling wobbly as you pulled him into a kiss. His tongue gently prodded on your lips and you let it slide in. He ran it along your tongue, coaxing it along to move with his as if dancing together.
You moan into the kiss, wanting to always be attached to his mouth, but he pulls back, wiping away the drool that had fallen onto your chin with the back of his hand.
Gently he takes ahold of your hand again and pulls you away from the wall. He leads you over to the bed. You anxiously look over to him, but he smiles at you kindly.
“Lay down on the bed y/n”
Doing as you told, you clamber onto the bed and then lie down, staring up at the ceiling, curious what he would do next. He takes ahold of your hips and pulls you towards the end of the bed so your legs dangling off the side.
“I’m going to show you one of the best ways a man can pleasure a woman,” he purrs as his hands reach up to undo your trouser buttons. He drags them down and takes them off your ankles, leaving you just in your underwear. He places a kiss on your core. Then with his teeth pulls down your underwear, leaving you completely naked.
You inhale slightly as you feel the cold air on your exposed parts and your eyes widen as you feel Zemo place a kiss on your clit.
“What I’m about to do is what is commonly known as eating out. Are you okay with this?” he asks, his eyes flickering to yours as he looks at you questionably.
You nod your head in anticipation and let out a loud gasp as you felt his tongue jut out and twist on your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your spin. He twists his tongue against your clit for a minute, stimulating you, then draws back to lick up all the wetness that had seeped out of you. His tongue danced along your entrance, teasing you, but he couldn’t hold back and dived it inside you, flicking it against your walls.
Out of your mouth spewed a mixture of moans, groans, and swear words, to where you couldn’t differentiate between them. Without even thinking about it, your hips moved on their own, pushing your cunt further into Zemo’s face, making him chuckle. His hands reach up and grasp your hips, pinning them onto the bed to prevent you from moving as he delves his tongue deeper into you.
You gasp out his name as his tongue hits a certain spot inside of you, making your insides tighten around him. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening incredibly as he pushed you to the edge.
One of his hands slowly trailed down your stomach, his nail digging into your skin, sightly leaving a red line. His thumb grazes against your clit and then presses into it, twisting just as his tongue pushes into that sensitive spot inside of you.
Your back arched wonderfully as stars few to your eyes and your ears buzzed as you let out a loud moan of pleasure. You could feel your cum flow out of you and Zemo’s tongue drinking all of it in. The sensation of his lips moving against your sensitive entrance was exquisite. You could understand why it was called eating out.
Zemo finally pulled back, and you felt your blush returning to see your wetness plastered down his chin.
He climbs on top of you, his elbows resting against the side of your head as his head rests above yours.
“Was that as good as you imagined your first climax with a man?” he asks huskily, his lips barely apart from yours.
“Better than I ever could have imagined,” you whisper back, brushing your lips against his.
Hearing that Zemo attacks your lips again with his, his ego being increasingly infatuated. As his body leaned into yours, you could feel his member press against your thigh. Straining against his trousers, aching to be released and buried into you. His hand reaches down to his zipper, intending to do just that, but you stop him.
Pulling away you say, “I want to return the favor”
His eyebrows raise in surprise as he looks at you. “Are you sure? I want this evening to be centered on your pleasure, darling. That’s what gives me the most satisfaction”
You place your hand on his chest, nodding your head as your lips curl up, “This is what I want, but, I’ll need help”
He nods in understanding, a cheeky smirk appearing on his face. “I’ll guide you”
He helps you up off the bed, putting his hands on your shoulders to steady you as your legs still felt weak from your climax. He applied a heavier pressure to your shoulders till you sink to your knees in front of him. Shakerlily you reach up to pull down his trousers, letting them fall to his ankles.
Now you could see the outline of his member against the thin material of his pants. Pulling those down as well, it sprung out and rested against him.
Zemo, who had been watching you all this time, finally moves, taking your hand in his and placing it on his member. His member was warm to touch and you could feel it throb in your hand as it hardens. Gently Zemo moves his hand, making your hand move along his member, rubbing it back and forth. Giving you a moment to get used to it, he takes his hand away to let you have control.
You continue at that for a few minutes, occasionally picking up speed and squeezing it as you heard Zemo’s gasps and slight groans. The tip leaked with pre-cum when he commands, “Lick it”
Taking in a breath to steady your beating heart, you bend forward towards his member. You flick your tongue over the top of the tip at first tasting the pre-cum. It was a bitter flavor, but not one you completely hated. Gaining more confidence, you pumped your hand up and down it again as you flicked your tongue around the tip, licking up all the pre-cum. As you run your tongue down the side of his member along the throbbing vein, you could hear a hitch in his breath.
Zemo’s hand came back to you but he buries it in your hair to steady himself and to make sure you don’t pull away from him. He tugs slightly at your hair, making you moan, already feeling new wetness come from your cunt.
“Place it in your mouth,” Zemo says, moving your head slightly further into his member. Opening your mouth, he lets you take your time to wrap your lips around his member. You bob your head up and down on the top of his member while using your hand to rub up and down at the base you were too afraid to take in fully yet.
Hearing the groans that slip out of Zemo’s mouth compels you to take more of him in, inch by inch. “Be a good girl and suck it,” Zemo gasps, his hand clenching your hair more tightly. You let out a moan as you felt your core light up after hearing his words. Hollowing your cheeks, you move your head faster as you felt him throb in your mouth. Your eyes briefly flicked up to look at his face and you could see how his cheeks were tinted pink, how lips his were open as he let out a soft moan and how his eyes were half-closed as he let the pleasure from you get to him.
His hand moved your head, guiding you to pick up your speed and to take in more of him. You didn’t mind letting him take over control. It made you feel excited as you let him use you, anything to hear him call you good girl again.
Moving your hand away, Zemo buckled his hips so that the whole of his member finally slipped into your mouth. You tried your best to not choke as you felt it hit the back of your throat, but Zemo enjoyed the feeling of your throat gagging on his member. He held your head in that position for a moment, huffing as he enjoyed the warmth of your mouth on him. He moved your head back and started to quickly push your head back and forth on his member.
“Oh, that’s it, right there. Yes. What a good girl you are, y/n” Zemo groaned as he felt himself getting closer and closer. You moaned into his dick as you let your fingers trail down to your clit to rub yourself upon hearing his words.
“Fuck,” he gasped, “I’m-I’m going to cum”
A second later you felt warmness coat the inside of your mouth, hitting the back of your throat as he twitched inside of you. He holds your head in place to take all of it till he had finished pumping, which made sure you swallowed all the bitterness.
His grasp on your hair finally loosened, which let you pull away from his member. He stood there for a moment as you both breathed heavily, trying to get your breath back. Your fingers still hovered over your clit from where you had been rubbing it. You moved your fingers again, letting out a slight moan, which makes Zemo’s eyes focus back onto you.
A certain possessive and hungry look flickers in his eyes as he wraps his hands around your waist, lifting you and shoving you back onto the bed. You call out his name in surprise as he quickly pulls off his last remaining clothing, his shirt, and climbs back on top of you. His face rests by your breasts as his hand trails down to your cunt and his other hand holds onto your back, arching it.
“Don’t touch yourself when I can do it for you,” he mutters as he suddenly slips his finger into you. He only puts up to the first knuckle in first for you to get used to it, but as you wiggle your hips, he pushes further into you, curling it against your walls as you let out a series of gasps.
“Do you understand” he grows, his lips hovering over your breasts. “Yes Zemo, I promise I won’t” you gasp making him smirk, “Good girl”
He inserts another finger into you and pumps them in and out quickly as his lips attach to one of your nipples, gently sucking. His thumb positions itself on your clit and twists into it, switching its circular motions every once in a while. Zemo’s lips leave one nipple to flick his tongue against the other one as he feels how hard they have gotten, showing your arousal and pleasure coursing through you.
As his fingers pumped steadily inside of you and his thumb on your clit, you felt yourself quickly reaching your climax again. When his fingers brush against your sensitive spot, you felt your walls flutter around him as your arousal socked his fingers.
His lips leave your nipple and hovering above you, he holds your eye contact as he brings his soaked fingers to his lips and lets his tongue run over them, licking your wetness up. His lips twitched into a smirk as he saw how red you had become.
Though you felt exhausted from all that had happened, there was still one more thing both you and Zemo craved, and he was ready for it. Reaching over to a draw by the side of the bed, he sifted through what was in it. Finding what he was looking for, he pulls out a condom packet and rips it open with his teeth. He quickly slips it over his member and gets back into the position of hovering over you.
His eyes glance back to yours as he positions himself by your entrance. “Are you ready?”
You nod in excited anticipation and with no more hesitation, Zemo slowly pushes into you, letting you get used to his size as he enters you.
At first, it hurt as you had never had a member in you before but as he bottomed out, the feeling of being full made your core light up. You could feel every inch of him inside you warming you up. Slowly Zemo drew back and then pushed back into you again. The pain eased, and the pleasure took over you as his member was angled at the perfect shot, hitting it over and over, making you moan into his ear.
You reached your hand up to tangle it in his hair, but he grabs it and your other hand with his hands. Holding onto your wrists, he pushes them back into the bed so you could not move them. He places his face into the crock of your neck, inhaling your scent as he bites into the skin as his thrusts into you get faster.
With his hips bucking into yours, his skin would graze your clit in the contact which had become extremely sensitive. Each time he pressed up against it you felt the knot inside of you tighten till you were chanting his name in anticipation. He groans against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses over the hickeys and bite marks he has made.
“Fuck, you are so tight around me, my darling. Shit. I don’t think I will last long”
“I won’t either,” you whimpered against him.
Your legs shook as you felt yourself getting nearer and you pushed your head back into the pillows to let out an increase of loud moans.
“You’re so beautiful. God so beautiful. And you are all mine. Understand? All mine”
That was the final straw for you. You felt the knot snap, and it was like you had floated onto Cloud 9 by how good you felt. You could register your legs shaking, a series of moans escaping you, Zemo grunting into your ear.
“Yes, come for me darling, you’re squeezing me so tightly. So perfect”
As you came down from your high, you felt Zemo’s thrusts grow more ecstatic as he picked up the pace till he twitched inside you and released into the condom as he let out a loud moan.
He continued to thrust till every last drop came out of him and then he laid there as you both recovered from your climaxes, his member still in your heat.
He finally pulled out and collapsed beside you, his arm going to wrap around your shoulders.
“You’re lucky you got to spend your first time with someone as skilled as me”
“Zemo!” you gasped, hitting him slightly because of his arrogance. He chuckled, looking over at you. He raised his finger and traced your jawline before moving forward and placing a soft kiss on your lips.
He pulls back and his lips twitch into a smirk. “We better go back downstairs as James and Sam are certainly trying to find us”
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