#zemo x you
NSFW Alphabet • Zemo
List made by @caitlinpotter || whooooo boy
*xFemale!Reader || SFW Alphabet
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Super, super sweet!—he’s lovey dovey the moment you hit your final orgasm, rough kisses turn to gentle, featherlike, kisses across your quivering skin as you work through the final wave of ecstasy. He strokes his fingertips down your tense abdomen, feeling the subtle shake traveling through your body in the final moments of your orgasm.
Afterwards—he hoarsely asks if you’re okay, caressing your cheek, as you lay next to him breathless. There’s a soft smile across his lips, as you close your eyes, swallowing, to gather yourself, before smiling. He presses a kiss to your forehead as you snuggle up against his side, resting your head on his bicep.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Loves your legs and back— you wear anything that significantly reveals either and it’s already on his mind. He loves how the curve of your back fits perfectly against his palm when you arch it, especially when you’re straddling his lap. During foreplay, he always kisses a trail along the inside of your thigh, with his hand either caressing your calf or stroking along the outside of your leg.
Lips— he loves your lips, sometimes when you’re talking or venting, on a roll about something, you’ll find him just staring at your lips. He is notorious for open mouth kisses, out of nowhere just kissing you, sometimes whilst you’re talking, but mostly when you just don’t expect it.
As for himself, he’s probably say his hands, so he can feel you and mouth, cause he could kiss you all day long.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Together— you don’t know how but somehow he knows how to get you both there at the same time. Your breath starts to hitch as you squeeze your legs against him. You hear him whisper a few curses and feel him grip your hips a little rougher, keeping you in place, as you both cum.
On other occasions or positions— seeing it drip down the arch of your back is insanely attractive, as he dips to breathlessly kiss between your shoulder blades.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Loves being cuffed— there’s something about the metal, feel and sound. Plus he loves the challenge of feeling you up whilst in handcuffs, a lot of times he’ll bring his hands to the back of your neck, pulling the cuff links tight against the nape of your neck, bringing you and holding you deep into a kiss.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Obviously, yes, he’s had experience— he absolutely knows what he’s doing, in fact he’s the only one who’s been able to get you on a new level of pleasure via him just knowing what he was doing. When you asked him how he knew where to hit, he lifts an eyebrows and simply replies “I have experience.”
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)
He’s really game for it all— whatever you’re comfortable with, he’s comfortable with. That means if halfway through you want to switch, he’s good with that.
Anything with you beneath him, chest to chest; he really does love absolutely making out while fucking you, so a lot of face to face works best for that— your knees pressing against his sides, your nails slowly scratching across his back, him giving fresh hickeys to your neck, and hands exploring your body while he slips his tongue in your mouth.
Tabletop— could literally be on a table, counter, or just the edge of the bed. Either way, you’re clinging to the surface’s edge, trying to keep yourself positioned at the very edge for him, (in bed, the bed posts can help), his fingertips are leaving bruises against your hips or his hand is wrapped around the ankle you have resting up against his shoulder, he presses kisses against the inside of your ankle as he fucks you.
Doggy style—he loves the beautiful curve of your back so what better than fully seeing it. He presses his thumbs against the small of your back, and typically has a hand stroking up and down your spine.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
It’s definitely more serious, but it’s also always fun and extremely satisfying— his charm allows him to swoon you, keeping it a heated and romantic setting, but he can’t help but chuckle in between kisses to your skin when your jaw drops and your take a breath staggering gasp, clinging onto him, feeling things you’ve never felt before.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Literally perfect— he’s surprisingly good at knowing how you want it based on your actions leading up to the moment. He knows if you want it more rough and kinky, or if you just want to feel adored like a princess, made to feel good.
Accent— you love hearing him say anything in that gorgeous accent and he knows it, thus he sweet talks you, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm.
He checks in on you— the occasional “doing okay, Darling?”, “use your words, tell me, princess,” and “I’ve got you, just ride it out,” make it very personal and sweet amidst it.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Not really a thing with him, if he wants it he’s going to wait, he loooves sexual tension/anticipation, it makes the sex 10x better.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Temperature play—ice. He loves watching your skin shiver as he trails a path across your body with an ice cube. Also, he’ll kiss you and have a sliver of ice in his mouth, sliding it against your bottom lip with his tongue.
Handcuffs— either way (see D), it’s the challenge for him, and the look of them and you that he loves so much. Also loves the feeling of them against him when you’re clinging on to him.
Has a bit of a kink for you being the only one undressed— this is where you just rolling your hips down on him hard, holding close with two fingers behind his belt buckle comes in. Also, thigh riding, he loves to see you get yourself there, only occasionally helping out, loving how desperate you are for his attention, physically.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Bedroom— it’s the atmosphere of the room that’s amazing, it’s intimate, silk sheets, candles, old wooden bed frame posts that have bruised your back from being pushed against. He likes to see your skin glow in the candlelight with a slight shimmer from the sweat you’re breaking together
Cars— those classic cars have had a Titanic moment or two. It’s extremely intimate, and the sound of your breaths, moans, and screams sound great in a tightly contained area.
Shower— warm water cascading down your body, keeping you nice and wet in every way. The shower’s obviously lavish and has plenty of room, plus glass walls.
↳ similarly, bathroom countertop sex— with the room still humid and hot, you’re set atop the cool counter’s surface, back pressing against the mirror as you hang on to the edge or the faucet head for some grounding.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you undress— watching you slip of out a dress, casually pull a sweatshirt over your head, shimmying out of your jeans, etc. he just loves seeing more and more of your skin slowly become exposed. Which makes changing in the morning a longer process than need be.
Kisses— making out with him enough will get him pretty turned on, French kisses, love bite kisses, soft and sweet, really enough of anything and you’ll find you finally have a little control when you pull back and he leans in, not wanting to break the kiss.
You in his clothes— dress shirts, sweatshirts, his jacket, you name it, he likes to see you wearing his things.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Nothing demeaning— he wants to make you feel worshiped, perfect, and on cloud nine, so it’s a no go to the exact opposite
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Giving— for starters he likes to have the leverage in situations and you at the mercy of his mouth counts. He’s phenomenal at completely and totally getting you all the way there with just his mouth. His hands are always either holding your hips down, or stroking along your legs, outside, inside, caressing your calf etc.
↳ when you try to close your legs, he easily pushes the inside of your knee back out again, with a chuckle you can feel vibrating against your clit.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Two types: slow, sensual, and deep & hard, dominant, and passionate
↳ slow, sensual, and deep: it’s extremely romantic and makes you feel adored, he takes time to get every sense awake in your body before giving you what, by that point, you desperately want. And when he does it’s almost instantly met by you softly sighing with a smile, “right there, baby,” as you flutter your eyes closed, lips parting.
↳ hard, dominant, and passionate— he’s fucking you like he hasn’t seen you in years. It’s a little rough, sometimes kinky, very dominant sex. You have some seriously intense, pupils blown with pleasure, screaming orgasms that leave you shaking, not to mention unable to walk straight. Typically includes multiple orgasms for you.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
He’s not opposed to them at all, the amount of time doesn’t determine the quality with him.
For example: you’ve definitely fucked in a club bathroom before (these are nice, fancy clubs)— already making out you pull him into the room and he kicks the door shut, locking it. Setting you on top of the counter roughly, you get at it. Desperately holding onto the edge of the countertop as he fucks you, kissing your neck and holding your hips in place.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Not particularly— if there’s any shake up you want to try or add, you definitely talk about it first, having a comfortable atmosphere during sex is always important to him so you can feel safe and boundaries are set.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
Not including teasing / oral, typically two— and those are two very intense rounds, it’s not a quickie. Proper sex with him lasts a good while, so brace yourself if you make it to a third round.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
A whole lot— it’s exactly that, unfair. With how much he teases you, you’ll be dripping wet before your clothes are even entirely off.
Playing hard to get— oh yes, he plays that game with you, if you’re trying to subtly come on to him, he’ll act like he has no idea what you’re trying to imply, making you more frustrated and him happier seeing you want it so bad but trying to counter his calmness.
Leaving you to think about it— he’ll start the foreplay, but then in the middle tell you that he’s needed elsewhere, leaving you to think about what he had started all day long, this usually results in you wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply the instant he walks back through the door
At events— typically well behaved, unless it’s completely boring. He’s had his hand under the table and up your skirt/dress more than once though, quickly pulling away when you were almost there. This is when sex when you’re barely through the front door happens.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He’s personally relatively quiet— usually it’s because his mouth his preoccupied with bruising and musing your skin, but in between there’s throaty breaths and sweet nothing whispered.
Prefers to hear you— seriously, he loves hearing every whine, moan, whimper, scream, breath, gasp, and giggle you make.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)
Plenty to be satisfied by— above average, but he’s not the guy to talk about it. If you have the pleasure of knowing, then you know full good and well.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
It’s pretty damn high— he just really really knows how to hide it until it’s the exact moment. He has a lot of sexual charisma without even trying, yet he typically remains totally calm about it until you’re the first one to take action, asking or physically.
HOWEVER— there are days where you’re headed out the door, and he catches a glimpse of your cute outfit. As you’re saying goodbye he catches you gently by the wrist and starts walking with you towards the bedroom “Baron,” you giggle, tossing your head back and following his lead, “I’m going to be late.” Catching up with him at the door, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, “you’re not going to be late,” he caressed your cheek, “you’re going to be altogether absent.”
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
You definitely fall asleep first— he likes watching you fall asleep afterwards, his fingertips still ghosting across your skin, as you make sure to keep yourself close to him.
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Helmut Zemo x F!Reader
Summary: you’re cold and Zemo offers you his coat
Word Count: 1k~
Warnings: minor tfatws spoilers ep3 (edit: now this is a series, I will add a warning for eventual smut)
A/N: look I’m confused too 😂 but I’ve found myself a tad obsessed with Zemo the last couple of weeks, and this just kinda happened. I don’t know if there’ll be a big audience for this, but if anyone has any Zemo requests, send them on in and I’d be excited to give them a go! Also, since Sokovian isn’t a real language, I went with a tiny bit of google translated Latvian as a substitute!
Edit: the response to this was pretty big (THANK YOU!), so I’ve turned this into a series! You can find the next part here!
Sam and Bucky had asked you to keep an eye on Zemo while they went back inside to grab some weapons before you guys left for the docks. You were missing the warmth of the party now you were outside. The night air was biting at your skin as you stood outside Sharon’s place. The skimpy dress she’d told you to wear to fit in with the crowd was fine while you were inside, but now you were out in the night, it wasn’t so great.
You tried to muscle through it, but the occasional shiver wracked through your body, prompting you to quietly hiss at the cold.
Evidently, Zemo noticed.
“Would you like my coat?” He offered, starting to shrug the coat off his shoulders
“No, thank you, Zemo.” You shook your head and held a hand up before crossing it over your chest in an attempt to conserve some warmth.
“Please, call me Helmut.” He drawled, and you looked at him in disbelief for a split second before composing yourself.
“I think I’ll stick with Zemo.” You pursed your lips and looked away.
You were having some conflicted feelings about Zemo recently. As far as you were concerned, he was a bit of an asshole. After all, this was the same man who tore your friends apart only a few years back.
But here he was, flying you guys around in a private jet, acting like you’re all best friends. He’d taken a particular liking to you, which concerned but intrigued you at the same time.
You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you were falling for him. Jesus, the awful things he put your friends through should be enough to turn you off him completely. And yet...
For starters, he was an attractive guy. You couldn’t deny that. You’d caught yourself staring at his hair several times. You wanted to run your fingers through it, tug on it... something. And the little bit of scruff he had been sporting too? You’d thought about that a bit too much.
And his accent... it had an effect on you, for sure. He could read a phone directory to you and you’d probably hang onto every number. You especially liked when he spoke Sokovian. You had no idea what he ever said, but you had noticed he’d use the occasional word when talking to you, or referring to you to someone else. You’d have to ask him about those at some point.
And for a dangerous criminal, he sure danced like a dork at Sharon’s place. You watched him from the bar as he was seemingly in a world of his own on the dance floor. At one point he caught your attention and beckoned you to join him, but you simply raised your glass at him and stayed put, smirking as he carried on.
While you were lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice Zemo shuck off his coat, and the next thing you knew, you felt the soft fur of the collar around your neck. You desperately wanted to protest but the coat was so warm, both in itself and because Zemo had been wearing it just moments before. The smell of his cologne lingered in it too, and you tried your best to ignore it.
“...thank you.” You murmur as you slip your arms into the sleeves and wrap the coat around you properly.
“It is my pleasure, mīļā.” He flashes a smile at you and you turn away, hoping he doesn’t catch your shy smile and the blush creeping up your face.
When Sam and Bucky finally return, they both narrow their eyes at Zemo when they see you’re wearing his coat.
“The lady was cold, I did what any gentleman would do.” He smirked as you all started walking down the street.
“Gentleman... sure.” Sam didn’t look convinced, and you chuckled at the look he gave Zemo.
You walked down the street and Sharon pulled up in a car, gesturing for you all to get in. Sam was closest to the passenger door so he just got in the front of the car, leaving you to squeeze in the back with Bucky and Zemo.
You rolled your eyes at the way Zemo’s face brightened up at the prospect of being so close to you in the car, but you found yourself hiding a small smile too. You edged yourself a little closer to Bucky though, and once he realised how close you and Zemo were, he shuffled himself as close to his door as he could, giving you some room to move.
The journey to the docks took a fair while, but it dragged on tortuously with Zemo sat so close to you. You started to get hot in his coat quite quickly, but there was no room to move in the car for you to take it off, so you just had to stay in it. You weren’t complaining too much though, because you were still quite enjoying the comfort of the coat.
When you arrived at the docks, Zemo hopped out of the car quickly, turning around to offer you his hand, and as much as you didn’t want to accept it, you didn’t want to trip over in your heels so you took his hand and let him help you out of the car.
“Thank you, Helmut.” Your eyes widened as his first name escaped your mouth, and he smirked in response. You felt your cheeks heat up, and you were just glad the others seemingly didn’t notice your slip up.
“You’re more than welcome, mana mīlestība.” He shut the car door with one hand, but kept a hold of you with his other hand, and it took you a second to realise and let go.
A deep chuckle rose from his throat and he winked before walking to catch up with the others. You took a deep breath and followed everyone, cursing yourself for letting Hel- Zemo get under your skin.
What was wrong with you? Where did these feelings come from? What were you going to do about them?
You’d have to worry about that later though, because shit hit the fan at the docks very quickly...
mīļā - sweetheart
mana mīlestība - my love
If anybody has any Zemo fic ideas, I’m all ears!
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Kiss Me More - Zemo/Reader
Masterlist | Part Two
Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song.
Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.
A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!
“I’m going for a walk.”
Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him.
Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.
“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up.
Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite.
“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.
“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.
Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch.
Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.
Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.
“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command.
“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly.
“I have to celebrate.”
Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.
“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.
Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.
He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”
They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good.
“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.
“What?” he asked, turning to face her.
“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said.
“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin.
A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years.
They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long.
“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”
She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”
“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest.
“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”
His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”
“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”
Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”
Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them.
“Would it be so bad if I was?”
Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted.
“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway.
“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.
Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.
The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.
“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”
Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.
Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control.
Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest.
Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far.
As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt.
Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away.
Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.
He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.
Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.
He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion.
She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”
As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always.
“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch.
Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?”
“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
“You just seem a little jumpy.”
“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”
Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked.
“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”
She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes.
“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.
The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks.
“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her.
“We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.
PART II out now!
If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!
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Call It A Night - Chapter Two
Choice: Baron Helmut Zemo (x F!Reader)
Summary: After a night of drinking and partying in Madripoor, your small group returns to Sharon’s apartment. Caught between the attentions of three vastly different men, a choice has to be made. Which one do you want?
In this choice chapter, the answer is the illusive Baron Helmut Zemo.
Alternate Endings. Smut. Alcohol. Jealousy. Explicit Language.
WARNINGS: Explicit Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Blowjobs. Vaginal Sex. Biting. Zemo’s Coat. Unprotected Sex. Use of the word ‘cunt.’
✨Previous Chapter (1)✨
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
READ ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
A/N: We’re all going to jail for thirsting after this criminal.
**If you are new to ‘Call It A Night,’ this is a fic with alternate storylines. This chapter is Baron Helmut Zemo’s smut chapter. The Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson smut chapters are also completed. To follow the layout of the story, you can visit the masterlist here, and see what else is upcoming in the series.
It also couldn’t have been written without Lana Del Rey’s ‘Lolita’ playing on repeat.
Without further ado...
Your knuckles rap neatly against the hard wood of the door. A nervous heat warms your palms, and it’s hard to ignore the unsettled flutter in your stomach. Remembering Sam’s face as you left, a small beat of guilt churns within. You’re not even sure why you’re here. Why - out of all the company that you could have chosen from tonight - you are seeking out Helmut Zemo.
And it’s not to check out if he’s making a damn escape rope. Sharon has the windows to this particular room barred against intruders. No way in or out.
Sam knows that, which was why his expression had fallen slightly at your words. No judgement was voiced aloud, but you can’t help but feel a little ashamed. This is Zemo, after all, and yet here you are, knocking at his bedroom door at three in the morning because you’re completely unable to get him out of your mind.
That voice - lilted in a smooth Sokovian accent - rings out from within and recalls your attention to the present. “Enter.”
After a short inhale for reassurance, you do. Cold air immediately prickles your skin. The large room is dim, only lit by a single small lamp on the nightstand. It resides on the nearest side of an enormous, four poster bed. Your eyes cast apprehensively around the rest of the space, squinting in the dim light of the weak bulb. The only other shimmer comes from the faint streetlamp outside of the large rectangular window. It’s at the opposite side of the room to where you stand awkwardly by the door. Against the frail illumination, shadows roam freely.
A single shape stands before that window, silhouetted against the weak glow shining in. Zemo’s head inclines ever so slightly to the side at the sound of your arrival, but he does not turn around. A silence lingers. Nervous on your part, and expectant on his. Your eyes flicker helplessly down his body as your mind flounders for what to say. It’s made harder by the sight of his straight posture. How perfectly rigid those broad shoulders are.
He doesn’t have the coat on. Just his maroon sweater, although it looks nearly black in the dim room. All the same, it fits his skin like the gloves still upon his hands. Not for the first time, you try to ignore the unfathomable, niggling attraction that you feel towards him.
He’s the bad guy. You shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome and articulate, and filled with the cold charm of old world manners. He’s a murderer. The man who tore the Avengers apart. One who used Bucky as a pawn, and left a rift between Steve and Tony Stark that never quite healed. The fact that you would find him attractive should have you asking Bucky for the number of his therapist, but despite it all, that attraction gnaws. Thick and firm, tugging you towards to him.
You think about making up an excuse to leave. That you got the wrong room or something. The words refuse to come. Whatever connection you feel has pulled taut at his proximity. Your body simply will not heed what your mind is urging.
Eventually, as if realising that a greeting is still not soon to make its way from your lips, he speaks. His voice is filled with a smug satisfaction that you cannot quite translate at this moment. “Your guardian is not with you.”
You bristle, indignation helping you to finally locate your voice. “I don’t need Bucky hovering over me.”
Zemo’s chuckle drifts into the air. The sound is accompanied by a soft shake of his head. It twists slightly, and those dark eyes finally fall playfully upon your face as he answers. “I am aware of that. Even if the Winter Soldier is not.”
“Don’t call him that,” you retort harshly, arms crossing over your chest. “His name is Bucky.”
The Baron inclines his head, almost apologetically. “I meant no offense. Please. Come in.”
You try to fight the lure of his smooth tone, instead drawing yourself up to your full height and declining as firmly as you can. “I’m alright here.”
His reply is patient, nearly kind. “I understand the apprehension, dragă. Truly, I do. But you have nothing to fear from me.”
A scoff escapes your lips. “I’m not so sure about that.”
He remains completely pleasant, that tone even and patient. “And it is perfectly logical that you aren’t. But come. I want to show you something.”
That piques your curiosity. Slowly, you put one foot before the other and warily cross the room. It’s hard not to be apprehensive as you approach. The Baron fixes you with a thin smile. Something about it is oddly reassuring. There’s a hint of encouragement in his eyes. He takes a step to the side, clearing your view as his hand sweeps to gesture out of the window.
Your reflection stares back at you from within the transluscent reflection of the pane. Her gaze is almost accusatory. As if wondering why you are just standing there, allowing Zemo come so near. Just watching as his hand slides across the small of your back, coming to rest upon your opposite hip. The sensation of the contact draws a shudder from within, one that you try to ignore. One that speaks of a longing and desire that you should not voice. Will not voice.
Within the window, the other Zemo watches you with the sly beginnings of a grin curving his lips. It’s a look that you’ve seen him wear often enough. One of confidence and satisfaction that he is the smartest person in the room, and knows what move you will next make. Or rather, what move you will not make.
You force the words to sound impatient, unwilling to melt so easily against his touch. “What did you want to show me?”
He takes another half-step closer, reflection looming as he comes to stand behind you. That firm chest lightly brushes your back. Your skin prickles in response, reacting to the heat of his body and that delicious scent of his cologne. It had almost made your mouth water in the hallway. A thick swallow echoes within the confines of your throat.
Zemo hears it, that slight laugh spilling from his lips. One gloved hand raises, skimming along your shoulder, pointing to something out the window. Your eyes follow, straining as you peer up into the sky. Inky darkness fills your vision, broken only by the soft twinkle of stars. A beat of expectant quiet passes, before you speak. “What am I meant to be looking at?”
There’s a hint of excitement to the smooth timbre of his voice as he answers. “Ophiuchus is out tonight.”
Confusion furrows your brow, reflected on the face of your double within the windowpane. “Am I meant to know what that is?”
Zemo’s responding smile is playful. His brown eyes flit down, coming to rest on the side of your face. That gaze sends another tinge down your spine. One that you try not to think about.
It’s as if everytime those dark irises fall to caress you, your mind just hurls itself into the gutter. His scent clouds your senses, deep and rich, with the barest hint of spice. Warmth simmers between your legs, stroked into life by the assured touch of his hand against your hip, and the way that firm torso brushes your back. His smooth Sokovian accent doesn’t help.
“It’s a constellation, dragă, and a rare one at that.”
Oh. You say the only thing that you can think of. “I never would have guessed that you were into stars.”
A wry chuckle rumbles his chest. “You learn to truly appreciate the beauty of things after years confined within the same blank walls of a prison cell.”
Of course. But you can’t quite bring yourself to feel sorry for him. Flawed as they may be, your morals have not gone completely out the window. A scrap of common sense still remains. However, you decide not to broach the subject. Your views on his actions will never change, and neither will his conflicting ideals to what you have to say. Besides, a debate on morality is not what you came to his room for.
With the practised tack that comes from often being the one to diffuse Bucky’s precarious temper, you casually divert the subject. “What does ‘dragă’ mean? Is it Sokovian?”
Amusement draws across the reflection of the Baron. You are all too aware of those elegant fingers lightly playing against the curve of your waist. They remain at their respectable height, but it’s impossible to ignore the connotation of the knowing touch. How casually he performs the action.
And his reply send another wave of longing through your already-heated body. “Indeed. ‘Dragă’ means darling.”
You try to scoff, ignoring the twist to your insides that those words bring. "I'm not your darling."
"Are you quite sure about that?" The response is teasing, nearly a little husky. Aware that you’re lying, and deeply smug about it.
All the same, you can’t cave quite that easily. "Why wouldn't I be?"
“Because I know why you came here.”
He shifts even closer behind, until his chest is pressed up against your back. You stiffen, but do not move away. It’s a mixture between not wanting to show weakness, and just not wanting to. Warmth radiates from his body, simmering through the fabric of his tight sweater like a furnace. Fuck. You swallow again, trying to keep your face composed into a semblance of calm. To project that you are not affected by his proximity. A lie.
Zemo knows it too. It’s clear in the smirk of his reflection. Tangible in the honeyed tension spreading across the room. Those dark eyes fix on yours in the window, before slowly dragging down to run across your body. The brush of his gaze is like a physical caress. It all but burns against you. As you watch, the fingers of the hand upon your hip flex experimentally, squeezing.
The gesture is relaxed. Dominant. A sign of a man utterly confident in his motions. You try to stop your mind from desperately fixing on the contact. His grip is light yet firm, and his fingers play teasingly against your curve. The touch only makes you want to feel that hand wrapping underneath your thigh to hoist your leg around his waist. And it’s growing harder to ignore the inviting shape of the hulking bed.
Eyes fluttering shut, a deep inhale inflates your chest. An attempt to centre yourself. It marginally works. That is, until a breeze from the tiny opened pane at the top of the huge window stirs the wispy curtain before you. The laced hem lifts, brushing teasingly over the bare skin of your thighs. Another reminder of how short this damn dress is. While it is undeniably pretty, it is not a piece that you are accustomed to wearing.
Not that this had exactly been your choice. Well… That’s not completely true. You did have a say in one thing.
Your designated disguise for the evening had been that of Zemo’s arm-candy, and so you had needed to look the part. He had almost taken a little too much pleasure in handing you your outfit, that sly grin curving his lips as he did. Both Sam and Bucky had seen the expression, and the latter had visibly bristled. Thankfully, neither had noticed the lingerie that the Baron had also had placed into the dress bag. A set that you - for some unfathomable reason - had put on after only a slight hesitation.
His voice whispers against your ear in a low murmur. “Are you wearing what I chose?”
“All of it?”
That seems to please him immensely. His eyes meet yours in the window’s reflection, that shrew smile drawing across his chiseled face once again. You can’t bring yourself to return it, but also can’t look away. His other hand - the one not resting on your hip - rises, tracing slowly along the curve of your arm. Goosebumps erupt in its wake. He leans in, so close that his lips brush teasingly against your earlobe. “Good.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
Zemo pauses, as if caught on a sudden thought. His eyes lift once again to meet yours in the window’s reflection. A vibration runs through the broad torso pressed against your back as his throat clears softly.
His familiar low murmur washes across you. “I want to be clear about something. You can leave this room at any time. If you are uncomfortable, you can stop me whenever. I will not protest or act against your wishes. But if you do decide to stay… I can promise that you will not regret it.”
Those eyes hold yours in a sheer deadlock. Weighing so heavy that you cannot divert your gaze. Your mind churns as you watch him. Do you maintain the high-ground and leave, or stay and relish in everything that comes next? You know the answer. Despite all of your turmoil, there was only one clear choice. It was made as soon as you decided to cross the room to stand at his side.
And while you can back out, you won’t.
The decision blazes in your eyes, mirrored in your reflection’s curt nod. A victorious smile curves Zemo’s smug mouth as that dark gaze smolders with heated satisfaction. His fingers tighten on your hip - that leather glove crinkling - and then he tugs you back even further into his muscular body. The delicious scent of his cologne coninues to haze your thoughts.
All the same, the tiniest shred of integrity still remains. Although, admittedly, you’re not quite sure if it will persist.
“I’m not kissing you,” you tell him in a voice that is hoarse yet purposefully firm.
Another amused laugh rumbles from within his frame. “Very well, my dear. However, I doubt that resolve will last.”
With another sly smile, his gloved hand lifts to your mouth in an unspoken command. The words don’t matter. Somehow, you know what he wants. Obediently leaning forward, your teeth close around the tip of the leather covering his index finger. He tugs backward, and the glove slips free, held in your mouth as his bare hand slides out unencumbered. The fabric leaves a sour taste in your mouth. It billows to the floor after you let it slide free.
He uses that freed hand to carefully sweep the strands of hair off your shoulder, guiding them to fall down the length of your back, and smoothly caressing the curve of your ear as he does. The other still remains on your hip, a constant reminder of his control. Your eyes flicker back up to the window. He is still watching you there, face glinting in an expression that is roguishly playful. A dangerous glint lights his eyes. It sends a chill of excitement down your spine. Making sure that you are witnessing every move, he leans in to gently press his lips against the side of your neck.
The contact is blissful. Your head falls to the side, allowing him greater access to the curve. His mouth whispers across your skin. Nipping. Sucking. Licking. All of the motions slow and teasing, and utterly confident in their effect. His bare hand travels slowly forward once again, running along your chest to grope and squeeze.
The fingers of the other gloved hand leaves your hip, sliding up to wrap around your wrist, restraining it against your side as his mouth whispers against that sweet spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Being touched right there always sets your nerves alight. A small moan escapes you as his teeth catch on the delicate skin in a playful bite, leaving a delicious sting in its wake.
The hand fondling your breast shifts, slipping inside the low neckline of your dress. It’s a cautious movement, allowing ample opportunity for you to stop him if you wish. You don’t, and can nearly feel his subsequent smile against your skin. That warm touch lightly skirts over the rise of your chest, making its way inside of your bra. Your heart has picked up speed, pounding throughout your body. Another small whine leaves you pathetically as his fingers circle your hardened nipple, before tweaking the raised bud experimentally. It draws another weak cry, one that Zemo seems to relish in creating.
His dark laugh washes over your skin. The sound only increases the growing heat between your legs. Your thighs press together, trying to generate some sort of friction to soothe your throbbing cunt as his fingers continue to tease your nipple and his mouth continues its tortuous journey against your neck. Everything in you is begging for him to lower his hands and touch you in the spot that you truly desire. And so, you wordlessly command him to.
Your hand closes over the back of his, clawing it away from your breast and dragging it down the length of your body. His palm is pressed against the soft fabric of your dress. The material flattens against you as it skirts down past your navel. That sly chuckle sounds in your ear again. The sound is nearly as heavenly as the scent of him. Both only serve to make you more dizzy as he lifts his head to nuzzle against your ear.
“Growing impatient, are we?”
That hand has stopped at the bottom of your stomach. You push, trying to urge it down more, but he will not budge. An irritated whine comes from your clenched jaw, narrowed eyes lifting to glare at him through the mirror. He takes in the expression with amusement. Those long fingers unfurl from your wrist, sliding to wrap across your waist as he tugs you even closer, head lowering to rest on your shoulder in feigned innocence. “Is something the matter, dragă?”
You remain stubbornly silent. Unwilling to give the satisfaction of saying the words that he is so clearly angling for. To have you beg for his fingers to continue that descent.
He maintains his entertained stare for a few more moments, before finally breaking to press another lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His tongue flickers against the skin. All you can think about is what it would feel like against your own. Or between your legs. Another thick swallow comes at that thought.
Zemo’s eyes quickly catch the motion. Something about the heat in your determined expression prompts him to move again. That hand slips further down your body. His other arm tightens further around your waist as he leans over slightly, adjusting himself so that his hand can slide between your legs with ease. Another little moan spills out as his fingers rub experimentally over your panties, feeling the wet lace covering your core. Your mind is lost in the sensation as he strokes the spot, and murmurs quietly. “Do you want me to touch you?”
Your answer comes in a pleading whine. “Yes.”
Those nimble fingers slip underneath those expensive lingerie before you even have the chance to catch a breath. A ragged gasp tears from your throat as they brush teasingly over your clit, passing it momentarily before turning to circle around the sensitive bud. Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he delves carefully between your wet cunt. Spreading the gathering slick. Teasing it around so that you can really feel just how wet you are growing. That delicious heat starts to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It only increases as his index finger experimentally dips between your folds, pumping gently in and out.
The angle however - how far he has to bend to reach around your body - proves to be a little too awkward for him to keep them playing inside of you, and so they slip out to focus on your clit again. Both of your hands have risen to grip the forearm circling your front, nails all but biting into his skin. He offers no sign of pain, and continues to caress and massage your clit knowingly. Your body responds by eliciting soft gasps and moans, as warmth rises upon your chest. Zemo’s lips brush against your ear again, murmuring soft reassurances in a mixture of Sokovian and English.
All the while, his erection digs into your side. You reach back clumsily, fingers sliding across the hard protrusion of his trouser. Trying to return at least a shred of the wonders that he is performing on you. Zemo only tuts, his hand leaving your underwear to reach back and push your grasping fingers aside. The admonishment that leaves his lips is gentle, but firm. “As pleasurable as it feels to have you pawing at me, not just yet. You will only distract me, and I have no desire to leave my work unfinished.”
Before you can reply, his hand returns to slip between through your underwear and brush once more against your clit. You moan. And it’s his name, which would be mortifying if you were in the right mind to care. It only seems to turn him on more. His touch becomes more insistent, stroking and rubbing against your aching clit, feeling how you grow even more soaked at the contact. That heat is spreading through your body, radiating from your core, signalling that it won’t be long. His filthy whispers fill your ear, but you can only half-focus on what he is saying, the words stuttered by the grating of his hips as his erection strains into your back.
Your image swims in the faint reflection before you, barely conceivably through half-lidded eyes. His strong arm around you, holding tightly against him as the other delves between your trembling legs. Strands of dark brown hair falling across his brow as his face hovers just above the crook of your shoulder. How his mouth is open in small, breathing increased as those murmurs of arousal continue to spill from his lips. Your hands are clawing into his arm for support, to anchor yourself against the wave of pleasure that each of his heavenly stroking against your clit is creating.
It’s as if he’s held you before, knows exactly how to touch you.
Tongues of bliss lick against your skin as you approach the peak. Your heated face turns. Panted gasps are bursting from your lips as the euphoric simmering in the pit of your stomach threatens to boil over. Zemo notices the reaction, and strains forward, that dark gaze falls on your bare face for the first time since you joined him before the window. A strand of hair hangs over his eye, and unabated lust gleams from it.
Something about it - how reverentially he is looking at you, how hard he is working to bring you pleasure - cracks that earlier resolve. The orgasm rises to a boiling climax, flooding through your body as you lean forward to press your lips desperately against his, breathing small cries into his mouth as the tremors of pleasure shake your frame, weakening your legs. His hold across your midriff tightens, keeping you both upright and in place as he harshly kisses you back, the bitter taste of whiskey still on his tongue. It is searing. His finger continues to massage your clit, drawing lingering jolts of ecstasy that leave you writhing uncontrollably, the remanents of your release still jerking your frame in small, elated spasms at the touch.
You have to break away from the kiss after a few moments, weakly lowering your head to catch your breath in the pit of his collarbone. It proves a struggle to regain total composure. Zemo doesn’t release you. Not right away. Instead, he holds on, allowing you to gather back your strength first, before obediently letting go as you slowly - and a little embarrassedly - disentangle yourself from his grip and distance yourself with a single step.
Your clothes are in disarray, your face is flustered, and you can feel the slick coating your thighs. In the aftermath of release, you should be feeling satisfied. Common sense should have returned. It hasn’t, and you can only find your throat drying at the realisation that it’s not enough. That it’s only made you want him even more.
Zemo adjusts his ruffled sweater. His gloved hand lifts to sweep his hair back into place. Content that he is somewhat adequately poised once more, that dark gaze lifts to your face again. Those eyes are hungry. Yearning. He’s not finished either, but will play the part of gentleman and politely wait until you are ready to proceed. All the same, impatience and agitation are visible in the tense line of his shoulders.
Despite his attempts to put his appearance back in order, that erection still visibly strains against his trousers, begging to be freed. Your eyes lift to his, and his smooth brows arches in a silent challenge.
Will you or won’t you?
How much further will you allow this to continue?
Swallowing thickly, your slightly breathless voice stirs the night. “Take off your shirt.”
His lips part in response, eyes widening as the command washes across him. Slowly, the Baron obeys. That sweater rides up his body, slipping free. Smooth porcelain skin lies underneath. He’s been inside that prison cell so long, deprived of the sun, that he is almost startlingly pale. It only helps define the lean muscle of his chest. Your eyes drink him in appreciatively, as his burning stare bores into your face.
His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, before he continues. “Now you. I want to see what I chose.”
The words send a cold prickle across your skin. Your swollen clit throbs once again in pure arousal. Hips swaying purposefully, you retake that step back, until you are brushing teasingly against his bared chest, before turning to once again present him with your back. “Then you need to help me out of this dress.”
His hand rises, skating up your back. You expect it to halt around the rise of the zipper. It does not, but instead seizes a harsh hold of your hair, yanking it back to breathe another filthy kiss against your mouth. The action sends an electrified surge of desire clean through you. It makes you want to drop your panties and let him take right there. Before you can propose such a thing, he lets go, pushing your head forward as his hands tear down the zipper. The dress starts to peel away from your skin.
The heated brush of Zemo’s hands sends a jolt through your entire body as he pushes the straps off your shoulders, allowing them to hang loosely against your forearms. With a soft thump, the dress slips from your body and onto the floor, leaving you in nothing but the lacey black lingerie that the Baron had selected. This moment - the heat of his gaze warring with the chill of the air - nearly sends you into a mindless spiral of arousal once again. Not that you are far from one at the moment.
Standing there underneath his worshipping eyes, armoured in matching set of sexy, expensive underwear, you can’t help but feel powerful. Invincible. That if you told him to drop to his knees, he would without question. Noticing how you posture straightens confidently, the Baron’s lips curve into a deep smile.
Had he known what was going to happen?
Dull footsteps creak across the floor as he circles you slowly, drinking in the attire as one hand traces across your stomach. You allow the thrill of the touch to surge across your skin, prickling with intensity as your cunt throbs again.
Coming to a stop before you, Zemo’s fingers rise until they curl underneath your chin, angling it gently upwards. Lusty satisfaction is evident in his shining eyes. He likes it. More than likes it. Another low growl rumbles from his chest, expressing more desire than words ever could. That carnal drive becomes even more apparent as his other hand settles firmly upon your buttock, kneading into the flesh harshly as he pulls you stumbling closer.
His hard mouth lowers, pressing against yours. You nearly melt at the contact, hands sliding up his chest as your core tingles with yearning once more. His tongue slips between your lips, cajoling yours assuredly, and you respond to him with unbridled enthusiasm.
Zemo was right. That earlier resolve - that promise that you would not kiss him - did not last. And deep down, you had known that it wouldn't. Even as the words had escaped your lips. Crossing that room was the first sign of a surrender that would consume you whole. And here, in the moment, you can’t bring yourself to regret a single second of it. No. You only solely and completely long for more. From him to take you in whatever manner he wanted.
Your head spins. Nothing resonates in your thoughts except for Helmut Zemo. The firm surface of his hard torso against your fingertips. The dizzying scent of his delicious cologne. The harsh brush of his recently shaved chin against yours as that kiss threatens to consume you whole. How his mouth moves against yours, tongue insistent as it plays in ways that make your knees tremble.
Those confident hands slid up down your legs, and in one smooth motion they are wrapping around your thighs and lifting you into the air. Your legs tighten around his waist, hands tangling wildly in his perfectly styled hair. His own slide down to cup your ass. You can feel the leather glove still coating one, cold compared to the heat of his other bared palm. Both grips are insistent, keeping your body pressed suspended, pressed firmly against his as he starts to move in the direction of the bed. The almost desperate exploration of his mouth against yours does not pause or end.
Jammed against his front, the damp lace of your underwear presses against you. The fabric is soaked through, an undeniable sign of the devastating effect that his attentions are having on your body. Viewing him as a tornado, as you had previously thought, seemed utterly accurate now. You had lost yourself in him almost effortlessly, pieces of rationality and logic snatched and torn away until you were lost in the blissful eye of the storm, feeling it consume you on all sides.
The Baron tears his lips from yours without warning. There’s no time to react or question, just the abrupt sensation of falling as his arms bunch, lifting as they fling you onto the bed. Hard. The mattress bounces underneath at the sudden collision. Some of the breath knocks from your lungs, in a mixture of both the impact and the surprise. All the more aroused, you scramble to push yourself up on your elbows, rising up in time to watch him take the final few strides to the bed.
Zemo's confident step is smooth, nearly a swagger. Your eyes flit down his form, drinking in the magnificent sight of him. Dark eyes, chiseled features, and that roguish smile that makes your chest seize. His pale, flat chest and the hardened protrusion of his cock bulging at the front of his trousers. Halting, one of his arms raises to teasingly brace upon one of the bed’s shining wood posters, leaning against it as he looms over you assuredly, and speaks once again in that lucious rasp.
"I hope that you're ready, dragă. It has been a... long time since I've felt such an urge. I will do my best to hold back. To make this pleasurable for both of us."
Your voice holds nothing but roughened lust. “Get down here.”
He laughs, and then those firm hands are skating up your thighs, seizing the rim of your panties and ripping them from your legs in one harsh motion. They are tossed aside, discarded carelessly to the darkness. You surge upright before he can climb atop your body, legs dangling off the side of the bed as your fingers fumble determindely against the buckle of his belt. He lets out a low sound of approval, hands drifting aside to allow you easier access.
The mound of his erection radiates heat. It’s hard to think of anything else but what it will feel like pressing up inside you. All that you have to do first is get his damn fly open.
His cock spills free when you finally do, bouncing out as you tug down the waistband of his boxers. The purplish tip is gorgeously swollen. Precum already slightly leaks from the glistening peak. It’s sticky against yours fingers as your hand wraps around his dick, giving it a swift pump, running your gaze down the perfect form of his member. Zemo’s hiss comes through gritted teeth, hand reaching out to seize the solid poster again. Even in the dim light, you can see his knuckles turn white from the strength of his grip.
He is certainly above average length, but the thing that makes your heart pound with unabated desire is how thick he is. You can already imagine that sensation of him stretching you out. How deliciously this cock can fill you. The urge to lie down and let him take you rises once again, but you push against it. He has certainly treated you well tonight, so it is only fair that you return the favour. After so long unattended, the ache must be near unbearable.
You lean forward, wrapping your lips around him. A grunt bursts from Zemo’s lips. The wooden pillar creaks under his tightening hands. His hips begin to gently thrust, gently working himself into your mouth. You can tell that he is holding back, even as one of his hands falls to slip around the back of your head, holding it in place as you take him further into the back of your throat.
The lingering precum is salty and bitter, but you do not stop. Zemo’s muted gasps softly fill the air. The sound is music to your ears, singing to your aching cunt and filling you with the desire to have him fold beneath you. Your pace increases, feeling how his legs are tembling as your hand rises to join your mouth, carefully pumping in unison as your tongue swirls over his tip.
And then it happens. Completely unexpected. The Baron breathes your name, and seems unaware that he does. Your eyes flicker up to land on his face, but your mouth continues to bob obediently against his cock without faltering. A faint shimmer of sweat has started to grow on his brow, and air whistles from his clenched teeth. The struggle is plain on his face.
A particular flicker of your devilish tongue against his top has a strangled cry spilling from his lips. One of his hands shoots to your shoulder, quickly easing you back.
“Not all the way, dragă. I want to feel you.”
The words sent another tortuous ache down your body. You can only nod, hand reaching up to swiftly brush away the remnants of saliva that coat your chin. It’s only then that you notice something underneath that feels a little different from regular soft bedsheets. His long coat lies atop the end of the bed, and you are sitting towards the hem of it. Fabric rustles as you go to to shift, planning to tug it free and move it aside.
The Baron’s words stop you. “Don’t.”
One look at his heated gaze sets the meaning clear. He wants to fuck you on that coat. And you will gladly oblige. His hand - the one still covered by the smooth leather glove - lands on the centre of your chest, pushing you firmly down atop the mattress. The coat crinkles underneath you, furred collar almost perfectly level with your neck. Zemo’s fingers recall your attention as he clambers atop the bed, having ridded himself of his trousers and boxers. The other glove is gone from his hand too, so now the contact is just sheer bare skin.
His hands slip behind you, and you arch your back as he unbuckles your bra. It slides free of your chest, leaving your breasts exposed. The Baron is immediately hovering on all fours over you, mouthing against your chest. Teasing your nipple with his tongue, as one hand slowly trails up the inside of your leg, until those teasing fingers slide inside of your soaked folds again. Payback for the delicious torture that you just put him through. They pump inside of your cunt, leaving you writhing on the bed. One hand grips the sheets for an anchor as the other rises to tangle in his hair, only mussing it further.
That heat looms inside of you again. There’s no way it couldn’t. Not with his two fingers working so dexterously. But Zemo pulls out just before that point is reached, when you halfway there and locked in the throes of helpless lust, and settles back upon his heels. Instead, his hands tighten around your calves, pulling them upward to each rest against a shoulder. A needy keen tears from your lips as he brushes your clit again with an evil smile. The coat underneath you stirs as his throaty chuckle caresses the air, that knowing gaze lifting to meet yours. His hair is completely mussed, formed in messy peaks at the behest of your earlier hands.
His fingers leave your clit, and instead travel down, gripping his cock. He shifts closer, the heat of his body washes across yours. You can feel the strain in the back of your legs as he looms overheard, moving to position the tip of himself at your entrance. You can feel it pressing against the lips of your folds, slowly teasing them apart. The contact is absolute torture, as it the burning need to have him just slam inside of you and finally take you whole.
Pausing for just a moment, his head tilts in contemplation as another thought overtakes him. Your chest rises and falls as you wait for him to speak. It's hard to think of anything than the throbbing heat of his erection, of how close it is to giving you exactly what you want. But you manage. Just barely.
Helmut speaks, and those soft words hesitantly broach the night air. “If I may make one more thing clear… Our encounter tonight is separate from everything that goes on during the day. This moment is you and I alone. It is born of desire, and no greater scheme than that. Regardless of anything that happens in the future, never doubt that this moment was sincere.”
His words make you nervous. The stutter of your heart only picks up when he leans down, hands sliding along the crumpled duvet, forcing your legs higher as he presses his mouth hungrily against yours again. The kiss is deep. Searching. As if he is trying to convey some unspoken meaning, one that you do not grasp quite yet. His teeth tug harshly against your lower lip, drawing a small sting of pain. The weight of his heated body presses you down, further nestling against the soft interior of that coat.
One hand slides up to seize a firm hold of your throat, fingers wrapping around either side of your neck to hold your head in place as he ruthlessly demands all of your lip’s attention. You can feel his tongue dominating the inside of your mouth, tasting the lingering salt of his precum from your tongue. The grip of his fingers tighten ever so slightly, elicting a heated moan from your lips. Zemo drinks it in, laughing knowingly against your mouth. Electrified vibrations running through his body to where he touches yours, an almost unbearable reaction to his agonizing proximity.
His throbbing cock inches further into the entrance of your cunt, skating further between the folds. The sensation is almost too much to bear. Those elegant fingers release their hold on your throat, moving back to brace against the sheets at the side of your body, trapping you underneath him.
But escape is not even on your mind. To be taken away from this now... It wouldn’t be escape. It would be torture.
Every inch of you is screaming with need for him, one fire with the sensation of his cock being so close to drilling inside of you. Your hands skate down to dig into his thighs, urging him closer.
“Are you sure?” Zemo whispers, face dipping to bury in the point where your neck meets your shoulder.
Your response comes as a hoarse murmur. “Yes.”
That raw desire filling your tone is all the encouragement that he needs. Zemo’s hips snap forward, pushing inside in one, delicious motion. A gasp bursts from your lips as he buries himself fully, a growl tearing from between his teeth. This was what you needed.
His thick ridges stretching the walls of your cunt in a way that makes your toes curl. A way that you knew it would. It had only taken one look at his gorgeous cock to know that it would be the death of you. The sensation of him within you - claiming you with that one single thrust - leaves your mind spinning with nothing but the thought of him, and the heavenly ripples that run through your body as he starts to rut in smooth, confident strokes.
Your hands fist into the bedsheets, tangling amidst them for some kind of hold as he starts by fucking you passionately. Slowly. Letting you feel every inch of his cock, and savouring the feeling of you trembling underneath him. Your cunt is throbbing with relentless need as he drives smoothly into you, taking it slow at first to get you used to the feeling of being impaled on his thick member. Eyes nearly rolling in pleasure, your lidded gaze falls on him. Those broad shoulders framed between your legs as his hands slip down to tightly grip your hips, pumping his need into your core. The harsh pressure of his hands is strong enough to bruise, but the pain brings pleasure, and you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.
At your whispered encouragements, his pace begins to pick up. The coat crinkles underneath you, bunching as the jolt of his hips becomes stronger, those sharp snaps slamming you higher up into the mattress. Underneath the harsh drive, the bed begins to shake. Thudding against the wall with each of his rhythmic thrusts in an unmistakable manner. Too lost in the all consuming bliss, you can’t even bring yourself to care.
A filthy moan spills from your lips as the head of his cock brushes that spot. Realising the significance of the sound, the Baron repeats the motion, burying himself inside of you as he does. Those white teeth are bared as he hovers above you, face twisted into a snarl of concentration. Now, lost in a moment of carnal savagery, he suddenly looks a bit more like the villain you know him to be. Have been. You’re not quite sure. Regardless, he is not one that you are afraid of in any way. Not as his hands slide down the space between your bodies to start playing with your clit again.
The sensation is almost too much. The combination of his tip stroking that pulsating spot within your core, and the touch of his fingers against that small bud of nerves outside, guides you back toward the edge of release. One that he had taken you from earlier, to ensure that he could be inside of you when it came again. Little cries begin to spill from your lips, body writhing as he hits that mark again and again with dizzing accuracy. That delicious swell begins to simmer in your stomach once more, filling your veins with a familiar prickling heat. Helpless, your hands scrabble for a hold, fisting wildly in the sheets as you climax with a loud cry, feeling your release wash through your body, clamping your walls around his member.
Zemo groans loudly, his arousal at your orgasm plain on his face. Leaning down, his mouth presses desperately against yours once more, shifting your legs to slide down his shoulders so that it allows him closer, and the snap of his hips continues to fill you achingly. Straining upward, though still somewhat trapped by the position, you return his kiss heatedly, no longer caring in any way possible at what it means... That you are as helpless under his touch as he is under yours. Utterly unable to resist.
The heated pleasure begins to build again, coaxed by the skilled strokes of his cock between your folds. He breaks away, drawing back to refocus his attention on how his body drives yours. A grunt spills from his lips, the breathless huff billowing against your cheek. Those fingers tighten around your thighs as his motions become insistent, demanding that you climax again before his own need to orgasm seizes him in a relentless hold. The way that his eyes remain fixed on your face - swallowing the sight of your passionate throes like a man possessed - pushes you closer towards yet another release, aided by the glorious pace of his cock.
It’s growing harder as he approaches his own orgasm. The fight to control it is visible on his furrowed brow as his teeth grit in concentration. His dick strokes against that throbbing spot inside of your cunt, building to an unbearable warmth. You can feel his dick hardening even further, swelling as his body prepares to release an urge that has been contained for so long. It’s throbbing inside you, and something about that heavenly tremor hits that spot inside exactly right.
A jagged, wordless cry rips from your lips as the climax erupts through your body a final time. The force is utterly intense. Zemo’s face twists in ecstasy, a low gasp tearing from him as he follows immediately, hips faltering in a violent stutter. Pulsating with one final surge, his cock spurts inside of you, spilling his cum into your hot cunt. A moan escapes his lips as his head ducks down to your neck, and then you feel his teeth clamp against your skin as he bites hard. Locked in the endorphin high, the harsh sensation is nearly blissful.
Your legs slip free of his frame, sliding down to rest against his hips. They are weak and trembling, muscles aching after being held aloft for so long.
A quiet spreads over the room as you both softly collect yourselves. Your eyes are on the ceiling, but one arm hoists up to exhaustedly sling around Zemo’s shoulders. The spent Baron rests atop your chest, nearly slumped after the force of his ejaculation. His mouth nuzzles upwards to press his lips gently against the side of your temple in a gesture that appears almost apologetic. Probably in response to the unexpected nip.
Zemo’s head rests against the swell of your breasts. Strands of mussed, wet hair prickle your bare skin. Sweat is apparent upon him, but you do not mind. Yours is equally damp, a distinctive result of the three hard orgasms. However, it was all more than worth it.
That place between your legs is singing with satisfaction, the lust finally quenched. For now, at least.
His weight against you starts to grow a little much to bear. Hands rising, you gently push at his shoulders, Shifting off you, Helmut obediently rolls away, coming to a swift halt on his back, just against your side. The night air is cool against your still-tingling skin. Goosebumps prickle as the chill sets in, prompted by the absence of his heated form hovering above.
Neither of you speaks at first. The silence is not uncomfortable, however. It is warm. Maybe a little unsure, but soft and reassuring.
Your whole body feels delicious light. Perfectly satisfied. However, through the residual elation of the climax, a slight stinging is finally starting to register. A frown tugs down your face, one hand lifting to press against your neck. The spot throbs at the contact, and no longer in a good way. Your fingers slid along the skin, feeling the small grooves in the flesh.
Mouth twisting in indignation, you turn your head to arch a brow at Zemo. “Did you really have to bite so hard?”
A hint of embarrassment flickers across his face. “Apologies. I got… carried away.”
“I can tell,” you murmur in response.
Your whole neck is sore. A combination of all of the sucking and nipping earlier when his fingers were inside you by the window, mixed with that one harsh clamp of his teeth on the side of your throat at the end. The skin is not broken, but if you can feel the bitemark with your fingers, it is probably all too visible.
With an uncharacteristic hesitance, the Baron offers a husky further explanation. “I became lost in the desire. The urge was too strong. I… I needed to leave a mark. A reminder that this truly happened. One that I can look at in the light of day, as a sign that this moment truly came to pass. That it is not just an illusion conjured by my own longing, or a fevered dream.”
You’re not quite sure to reply to that. Silence spreads as your mind churns, trying to cultivate a response. Zemo waits for your answer rigidly. His body is stiff as he lies beside you, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Finally, you shift, tongue nervously brushing across your lips as you do. His head falls towards you, and those dark eyes lack their usual sly glint as they come to rest on your face.
Quiet words spill from your lips, the only ones that come to mind. “You are oddly poetic at times, you know that?”
It appears to be the right thing to say. The compliment has some comfort wash over his handsome face. Those lips purse back into their roguish smile. He twists, rolling atop of you once again, but bracing his weight on the flats of his forearms. One of his hands reaches down, tugging your leg around his waist. Not to begin again, but to keep you close to him.
Hovering just above you, that grin is directed gently down onto your face. “I had an expensive education.”
Your laugh rings in the darkness. “I’d bet.”
The smile adorning your lips fades quickly after the words fade from the air. Noting the sudden melancholy that replaces it, Helmut’s head tilts in wordless curiosity. Frowning, your fingers play against his chest as your eyes fasten sadly on his face, running over his features. Drinking in the sight of him like this, and your happiness in the moment. It takes a few seconds for him to understand, but he figures out the meaning of your morose expression himself.
“You can’t stay.” It’s not a question.
Head shaking, you mutedly agree. “No. I can’t. They shouldn’t find me here. Us here. In this position.”
“Ah yes. I think the Win-Bucky would happily kill me for taking such a liberty with his beloved companion.” A wry chuckle accompanies his words, but you can hear the slight strain in his tone.
It’s comforting, being able to tell that he does not want you to leave. However, it does little to change the fact that tomorrow will bring a new day, a new danger, and likely only make things harder between the two of you. After all, you’re not stupid, and know sooner rather than later the illusive Baron will make a ploy for escape. And you’re not quite certain exactly what you will do when he does.
His index finger trails slowly down the side of your face, touch filled with a gentle affection that is uncharacteristic in his daily demeanour. Now, with just yourself and him and those boundaries considerably lowered, he is softer.
“Will you remain just a little longer?”
You can’t quite bring yourself to say anything else. “Yes. Just a little while.”
A/N: Disclaimer: I’m not actually a fan of the word ‘cunt’ but writing ‘pussy’ made me feel like a pimp, and writing ‘vagina’ made me think of a gynocologist. Sometimes we have to compromise!
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✨Next Chapter (5)✨
✨ALTERNATE CHAPTER: BUCKY BARNES
✨ALTERNATE CHAPTER: SAM WILSON
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Sex with Baron Zemo · NSFW HCs
*xFemale!Reader || I’m a simple girl, I see a sugar daddy, I write about them
Sleeping in Silk Sheets Naked— it’s literally the absolute best. You feel like royalty when you wake up to the feeling of his fingertips ghosting along your bare skin in a stroking pattern, featherlike kisses being trailed up the side of your neck, and silk slipping across every other inch of you. The slight chill of the sheets sends a shiver throughout you, awakening you with erotic sensations, only to be met with “Goodmorning, princess,” in that gorgeous accent.
↳ hence, morning sex is one hundred percent a frequent occurrence. Beginning with your lips, he’ll trail soft kisses down your entire body, until he reaches your hips, kissing a line across your waist, you feel him hook his arms under your thighs and pull you just a little further down the bed, slipping easily along the silk, you giggle, before gasping at the sensation of his mouth against your inner thigh, moving closer and closer to your already wet heat.
Nicknames—he always calls you princess, you’ve come to call him by his title or his last name in bed, but as most people know him by his last name, you lean towards his title more often than not. When you’re teasing him you’ll call him your Sugar Daddy, which only makes him respond by hooking a finger under your jaw, tilting your head up and stating: “whatever you want, I make sure you get.”
Foreplay— he is fantastic at it and it’s frustratingly attractive. He will tease you through and through, all the while remaining completely collected himself. You can literally straddle his lap and he’ll just look at you with a “yes? Can I help you?” expression, but yet the moment he touches you, you’re ready to take it all right then and there. You’ve found you get turned on almost embarrassingly fast around him and it’s worse when he knows it. He loves seeing you sexually frustrated (more on that later).
Kinks— he has had experience after all, but honestly whatever you’re into he’s into. You were a little bit shy about bringing up some things, but shocked with how easily he said okay. Such as when you asked how he felt about being the one blindfolded or cuffed, he quirked an eyebrow, smiled, and said, “I don’t mind a challenge.” To name a few of his: helping/seeing you undress, thigh riding, temperature play (ice), and hickeys.
Slow, Sensual, and Deep— there’s certainly no rush when it comes to sex with him; he will have you aware of every sensation and have you feeling every second of pleasure that spreads across every part of your body. You’re either clinging on to the nearest object, typically him, or taking fistfuls of the sheets underneath you when your orgasm finally hits, because it’s not just there and gone. Oh no, it comes in heavy hard waves as he continues to fuck you through it.
↳ he always kisses the base of your neck when you reach your orgasm, occasionally pressing his tongue against your quivering throat. He also has a habit of lacing his fingers with yours, softly pinning you underneath him, he smiles against your skin feeling your nails dig into his knuckles as you scream his name.
Romantic Flare— sex by candlelight happens a lot more often than you ever imagined. With silk sheets, wine, and candles lighting the room you feel like you’re in a regency romance novel, and he makes sure you know you’re the leading lady. Caressing every inch of your body as he takes off your lingerie with compliments in between kisses the entire time.
Bruises— by the end of the night you’ll have bruises from where he dug his fingertips against you roughly, typically along your hips and thighs. Likewise, he’ll have crescent shaped bruises from your nails, as well as a few deep scratches down his back and bicep thanks to you.
Catching Him Off Guard— it’s a hard thing to do, he has a lot of patience and can keep his cool surprisingly well. Something that worked is when you got back from some big art auction, you finally made it to your hotel room. He went to pour a drink, and you immediately slipped your dress off leaving you naked with only a string of pearls or diamonds on you, which is one of his favourites. When you said his name he hardly expected you to have undressed so quickly, making him nearly choke on his vodka when he turned around and saw you.
Makeup sex— you two don’t fight often, but when you have had some time apart, makeup sex is a big part of the apology. You’ll come back ready to give your full apology, but before you can get the first few sentences out he’s kissing you on your open mouth, hot and heavily, leaving you breathless. Caressing your cheek, he rests his forehead against yours softly saying “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be at odds with you. Please, forgive me?” It’s some of the hottest sex you’ve ever had.
Dress On— there have been times when you’ve come back home and barely made it through the front door. For starters your back was already being pressed against the door and your arms were around his neck, keeping him locked in a deep kiss as he found the key to the door, from there it only escalated once you were inside. It’s happened right there in the foyer hallway, he set you on top of the entry table, you gathered up your dress, and had at it
Location—with a car collection like his you had to try it at least once, or twice… turns out those vintage cars have plenty of space! You’ve also joined the mile high club, it’s a private jet after all. Also, whilst he’s driving, he typically has a hand on your thigh, occasionally inching it up higher and higher, you get the picture
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you are a dancing queen
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Of Riches and Rings
pairing: Helmut Zemo x female reader
warnings: smut, fluffy smut, voyeurism, masturbation (m/f), oral (m/f receiving), blowjob, 69, choking, squirting, unprotected sex, porn without plot
A/n: As a celebration for reaching 500 followers, please enjoy this filthy Zemo smut :) Let’s hope the next episode still makes him likeable! Dividers by @firefly-graphics
The clock is ticking with every passing second. Tik tok. Tik tok. His fingers tap on the crystal glass of expensive bourbon. The plushy armchair gives into his weight, forming nicely around his back. He checks his jeweled watch. It’s been 10 minutes. You’re taking too long. Tik tok. Tik tok.
He turns his head to gaze around the room, searching for a distraction, but he can’t get you off his mind. Inevitably, his gaze falls to his hand where an elegant ring dresses his finger. A soft smile plays on his lips, but it makes him yearn for your presence even more. Taking a deep breath, his eyes drift back to the clock on the wall. Tik tok. The seconds are passing. Tik tok. His patience is wearing thin, this is not what he had planned. An annoyed growl escapes his lips which surprises him. His self control is definitely slipping. Tik tok. Another minute gone by. Tik tok, tik tok.
“Alright, enough”, he grumbles, getting out of his chair. His tight black slacks cling to his legs, the dress shoes rounding out the look. He places his glass on the nearest shelf, the sound of his heels swallowed by the carpet. The dimly lit hallway carries him from door to door until he closes in on the bathroom. It has a kitschy postcard attached to it.
He can’t help but scoff, “Wash away your troubles? Really?” Reaching up, he is about to rip it off when he hears a sound. A low moan, to be particular. He stills completely, doubtful of what he heard just seconds ago. Just when he’s about to write it off as some weird hallucination, it happens again. His eyebrows raise, a smirk working its way on his lips.
This is going to be fun. Carefully, he reaches out to turn the door knob until he can safely open it, just a gap, of course. He chuckles to himself, of course you didn’t lock it, little minx. Turning to peek in, he has to bite his lip to stop a groan. There you were, propped on the bathroom counter, panties discarded by your feet, fingers plunging into your pussy.
The squelching sounds mixed with your soft moans and frustrated whimpers makes his trousers tighten. He feels himself twitch, the sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes shut tightly. The amount of want that floods through his body makes him undo his fly, the tight material only falling down a little.
One of his hands wanders down his dark turtleneck and he reaches into his grey briefs to take out his half hard cock. He licks the thumb of his free hand, working his tongue around it to get it nice and wet. Once he is content with his work, he pulls down his foreskin and presses the shiny digit against the head, circling his slit. His hips thrust forwards and he has to grab onto the door frame. Shit.
He feels his cock fatten up, twitching in his hand while he slowly fists himself. His eyes are trained on your fingers, the way your core grabs onto them. He builds up a steady rhythm of squeezing his length and playing with his crown, teasing his sensitive head. It’s hard to quiet his sounds, but he’s used to controlling himself, reducing his urges to achieve his goals.
You, however, feel no need to be quiet. Your fingers don’t reach far enough and frustration, greedy want overcomes your senses. You groan, hips rutting against your palm. The pressure against your clit feels good, but it’s just not enough. Your free hand frees your boobs from the bra cups and you begin to squeeze your nipple, whining at the pleasurable pain.
He speeds up his motions, tightens his grip and lets his body take over. Your breasts are beautiful, the tight nipples hard against the cooler air. He feels his desire overcoming him, carnal want filling his veins. His balls tighten, abdomen contracting irretically. He feels himself twitch in his hand. The silky skin of his hard cock feels nice against his hand and he lets out a growl, little droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. The fabric begins to cling to his back.
“I hope you’re not planning on coming anywhere else but inside me”, your voice sounds strained, eyes trained on his thick length. The delicious view makes you lick your lip. He just grins, not surprised by your actions at all, “Wasn’t planning on it, sweet girl”, he replies, a soft smile on his lips. He collects all of his self control to tuck himself back, before he fully opens the door, moving closer to you.
He closes in on you, arms placed on the counter on either side of you. You pull out your drenched fingers to pull him closer, but he is faster, catching your wrist before you could touch him. Smirking, he draws your hand closer and envelops your coated digits with his mouth. He moans at your taste, tongue licking of every bit of your wetness.
You whimper, the sensation around your fingers with the knowledge of what exactly he is licking off makes your belly tighten. His gaze is still trained on you as he slowly pops your fingers out. His chest is heaving with his deep breath. He looks amazing, delicious even. You can't stop yourself for any longer and dash forward to press your lips against his.
The kiss is hungry, greedy. Your desire mixes with his while your tongues dance together. He licks into you, one hand coming up to clutch the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. A deep growl vibrates in his chest, everything about you is just so good. Your taste, the way your scent seeps into his nose, the feel of your tongue against his.
A feeling of desperation seeps into your body and you let your hands wander to the hem of his shirt. You let yourself explore his upper body, feeling his soft skin against your hands, all while he dominates your mouth. When the oxygen runs low, you part, immediately pulling the dark turtleneck over his head. He helps you remove it and chucks the expensive article behind him.
Instantly, his swollen lips are back against yours, more sensitive this time. He bites into your lower lip, dragging it a little before he lets it snap back. Aroused, he allows his hands to grip your waist with one hand while the other strokes over you, caressing your skin until he finds your breasts. He manages to rid you of your bra, your boobs falling free of the constricting material.
“You are so beautiful, mein Engel”, he whispers. You’re completely exposed in front of him while he is still half covered, what you desire most remaining hidden. Warmth rises to your cheeks, yet you don’t feel embarrassed. He’s shown you time and time again how much he desires you.
“What took you so long?”, the question falls from your lip and you can’t help but smirk mischievously at him. He pulls back a little, eyebrows raised, yet he can’t hide the smile on his lips. Not in front of you, “Well, Mrs. Zemo, I wasn’t expecting your toilet break to turn into this”, he gestures to your lower body, “Not that I’m complaining”
You giggle, grabbing his neck to pull him in for another kiss. He feels so good against you, his tight chest against your own breasts. His warmth seeps into you, blanketing you into a calming sense of comfort. He lets his arms surround you, pulling your body closer to his, directly onto his huge bulge. You gasp into his mouth, a strong tingling sensation running through your core. He groans at the pressure, pushing you right on him again.
“Fuck, Helmut”, you whimper, burying your head into his neck, “Please, I need you” He tightens his grip n you, growling at your words, “Then hold tight. Can’t just fuck my most precious on a sink now can I Engel”
He picks you up, holding you close. His arms strain a little, but you know he would never drop you. Navigating through the hallway he quickly moves towards your bedroom, opening the door with ease. His display of strength makes you clench and your want for him surges even higher. He lays you down on the king sized better, leaving you with a kiss to your nose.
“Beautiful”, he mumbles after taking a step back to observe you. With quick and precise motions, he strips himself of the rest of his clothing. His fully erect cock jumps up to stand tall and proud. You lick your lips with desire, the sight of your husband just always so arousing. Before you can mention how attractive he is, he drops down to his knees, hands parting your thighs.
“Look at you, so wet for me”, he drawls, eyes switching from focusing on your pussy to searching your face. Slowly, he lowers himself, his hot breath fanning against your exposed core. “You look so delicious”, he groans before he buries himself in your folds. His tongue teases your entrance, pressing against it, but never quite preaching. His nose bumps against your clit, sending a shock of arousal up your spine. You let out a moan when his tongue trails up higher, circling the most sensitive part of yourself.
Suddenly, he begins to suck the bud into his mouth and you gasp, back arching. You bury your hands into his soft hair, tugging slightly with need. He continues teasing your hooded bundle of nerves, but adds his fingers back inside you. With delicate fingers, he strokes your velvety walls, reaching for your sensitive g-spot. A sudden cool sensation pushes at you and you realise it's his wedding ring. Clenching, you moan his name, needy; greedy. Your pleasure is ascending, the feeling of his flexible tongue with his talented fingers, you begin to shake, thighs trying to clench around his head.
“Fuck, please, I want to suck you off. Need it, please”, you whimper, tears blurring your vision. At your distress, he immediately perks up to check your face for any sign of discomfort. When he can’t find any, he coos, moving up to cradle your face, “Hey, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay”, he whispers, gently petting your hair, “You just want to have your mouth filled, ain’t that right?” You nod, leaning into the warmth of his palm.
He pushes himself further up the bed, laying on his back. His cock looks delicious, pre cum coating the crown. It has a lovely red colour, a beautiful contrast to his pale tummy. Helmut gestures towards his length, smiling at your sweaty face, “Take it then, mein Engel, but let me make you feel good too” His voice sounds strained, his need for friction obvious.
You crawl up to him, eyes trained on his heavy cock. Sniffling, you position your pussy above his face and lean down to take his hard length into your palm. Squeezing and turning your wrist, you tease him, enjoying the soft, veiny feeling of him. He moans and dives back into your pussy, licking and nibbling you so well. His fingers breach your stretched opening once more, his other hand grabbing onto your bum.
He kneads the soft flesh as you feel the ring that makes him yours again. A sudden flame of desire fills you and you envelope his cock with your mouth. Immediately, you press your tongue against the silky underside, your free hand, clad with your own wedding ring, massaging his full balls. He moans against your pussy, twitching inside of your mouth.
Both of you get lost in the pleasure, tongues licking and sucking greedily, fingers playing over your most sensitive parts. He begins to thrust up, his beautiful head hitting against the back of your throat, making you gag around him. He pulls off of you, breathing heavily, “You good?”, he forces out. You nod, pushing your hips back against his mouth. He chuckles, but goes back to work you over, sucking and tickling your hard clit.
You take a deep breath before you lower your mouth back onto him. You focus on inhaling through our nose as you go deeper and deeper until your nose scratches his trimmed pubic hair. He whimpers, moaning as you swallow around him. The vibrations feel so good against your core and you groan, egging him on even further.
His balls tighten, but he pulls you back swiftly, clamping his base tightly, panting heavily.
“Don’t want to cum just yet”, he groans. You whimper, so drawn to him, an overwhelming sexual tension tingling through your body. Electrified, you turn around, getting on your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him. Hearing him moan, you push your ass out even further wiggling slightly. His hands run up to your shoulders, starting at your cheeks, slowly roaming over your skin. His chest presses against you, cock jutting itself between your cheeks, balls against your wet entrance.
His hands run down your arms and he kisses at your neck, working his way to your pulse point where he begins to suck and nibble. You draw in a shaky breath, goosebumps rising all over your skin. You whimper, once more becoming teary eyes. He lets up bruising your skin, a lovely hickey already starting to form. “I love you, Mrs Zemo”, he whispers against your ear. Smiling softly, you turn your head, “I love you too, Mr Zemo” Your husband grins, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
Drawing back, he teases your slick hole with his wet head, slapping his length over your clit until you’re moaning for him to take you. Finally, he pushes into you, carefully at first, yet surely bottoming out. Once he’s balls deep inside you, he lets out a loud groan as you feel him twitch. Involuntarily, you clench down on him, the feeling of being filled up just so perfectly satisfying.
He begins to pull out, only to push back in, gradually creating a fulfilling rhythm. His thrusts push against your walls so well, a delicious sensation that makes your eyes roll back into your head. Helmut’s firm hands run down to your breasts, squeezing and toying with them. It feels incredible, being touched and claimed all over.
His hips become faster, thrusts stronger. The sounds of skin slapping together, deep groans and growls as well as your own moans and whimpers fill your room, a beautiful song of pleasure and affection, a sonnet of lovers living out their desire.
He pushes himself up, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. With his weight supported solely by his knees, he pulls you up against his chest, slick bodies pressed against each other. His hand sneaks around your throat, tightening slowly. A shockwave of arousal consumes you when you feel the platinum of his wedding band against your sensitive hickey. “You feel so good around me, taking me so well, such a good wife for me”, he blabbers, thrusts becoming more irregular, but harder more determined.
“I want you to cum on my cock, can you do that, Engel?” You nod once he lets up his hold on your jugular, taking deep breaths. “Need you to say it, need to hear my good little wife” Panting, you gasp, “I will, please please please. I want it so, so bad” Suddenly tears jump into your eyes with desire and love for the man behind you.
Growling, he pushes you down into the mattress, your cheek pressed to the satin sheets. His hips grow even faster, pushing further, filling you up harder. The new angle makes him hit your velvety spot head on every time pushing you into even higher layers of pleasure, but once he drops his fingers down to your clit, you crumble, desperately sobbing into the bed.
The coil and desire in your lower belly tightens. You begin to clamp around him uncontrollably, your entire body beginning to twitch with the anticipation of your upcoming high. “Shit, I’m gonna cum, ‘m so close, please let me cum”, you beg, convulsing around him. “Let go for me, Engel. Cum on my cock”, he rasps and with a particular hrd thrust, you break, cumming all over his thick length.
Thighs shaking and back arched you let the pleasure take over all while your husband still fucks into you furiously, his tight circles on your clit. With a few last pushes into your tight heat, strong and hard, he spills into you, filling your body up with his white, hot seed. The feeling of being stuffed with his cock, overflowing with the seed of the love of your life and the delicious pressure against your sensitive nub, you feel a new, yet so familiar sensation overflow you.
Screaming his name, your pussy flutters while you gush around his pulsing length, drenching him with a mixture of your and his orgamsm. Convulsing one last the, the final gush of cum squirts out of you. Helmut carefully pulls out of you and watches as your core clenches, trying to keep his seed inside you.
Drained and exhausted, you collapse on your side, eyes shut. Your legs twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you’re too fucked out to notice. Warmth and safety consume you when you feel your husband’s arms wrapped around you, his face against your neck, “I’m so proud of you, Engel. You did so well”, his breathing isn’t quite back to normal, the intensity of his orgasm left him a little drained and floaty as well. “Hmm, thank you”, you mumble, cuddling back into him, “I love you” Your heart flutters when you feel him smile against your skin, “I love you too. So much”
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A Freudian slip
Synopsis: While at Madripoor you have to pretend to be Zemo’s latest date for the undercover mission which leads to you having to play your part out well, if it is really you just acting or perhaps it’s a bit more than that
Warnings/Tags: Sexual innuendos, make out scenes, refrences to sex, use of the word daddy, spicy moments but nothing 18+
Word Count: 2.3k
Author note: I wrote and edited this all in a day to avoid revising for my exams so hopefully the quality is good. I have more Zemo one shots planned but if you have any requests please suggest :)
This fic is also being published to my ao3 account under the same username
You rolled your eyes looking over yourself as you stood within the bathroom in Zemo’s private jet. Because of the mission, Zemo had told you that you needed to dress up to the part and had supplied you with a tight-fitting black dress which only came down to mid-thigh length and had a slit on either side of it showing even more of your legs. You didn’t even know why he had a dress on hand in the first place but you weren’t going to question it. You already felt uncomfortable enough having to carry out this mission however it wasn’t like you had much of a choice either. Quickly checking to make sure your hair was good once again in the mirror you finally pulled yourself together and left the bathroom and headed outside the jet where Zemo, Sam, and Bucky were waiting.
As you left the jet all their eyes turned on you. Both Sam and Bucky had the decency to look embarrassed and glance away from you whereas Zemo didn’t hide the fact that his eyes were running up and down your body.
“The dress fits you well y/n, you look ravishing,” Zemo tells you holding his hand out for you to take as you reach the end of the stairs.
“Do I have to” You question looking from his hand to him annoyed
“You have to play the part y/n” he replies but Sam cuts forward placing his hand on your shoulder and leading you down and away from Zemo, “She doesn’t have to yet”
After leading you a few steps away from Zemo he places his other hand on your other shoulder and looks you in the eyes, “Are you sure you are okay with this y/n?”
“I’ve done missions similar before, this is no different. Plus I don’t have it as bad as Bucky” You say glancing over at Bucky sympathetically
“We’re both having to do things we don’t want because of him” Bucky states glaring at Zemo then looking back to you, “We’ll both pull through it”
“Hey, you better be including me in that as well. I would much rather be anywhere than here right now” Sam says letting go of your shoulders and pointing at Bucky
“You should be more thankful that I agreed to help you and kindly let you ride in my plane, but no matter now our ride is here. You might not want to play your part now but when we get out of this car your acting needs to be very realistic” Zemo says motioning to the car beside him.
He opens the door to let you in and places his arm on your lower back as you climb into the car. His gentle touch on your back makes you feel just that bit more intimate with him but as quickly as his hand was placed it was removed with Sam pushing past Zemo to get into the car beside you.
The car ride there was awkward, to say the least. You all sat in silence as the car slowly approached the city. Though Zemo sat in the front you felt his gaze on you when he glanced into the inside mirror. Your eyes meet at one point through the mirror and you quickly glance away not wanting him to delve into your eyes. Eye contact had always felt like something so intimate to you.
Eventually, the car pulled up and you arrived at your destination. The car door opened and Zemo’s hand was once again offered to you to help you get out. This time you accepted. He helped you out of the car but once you were out he didn’t let go of your hand, instead holding it more firmly as he started to guide you along with Sam and Bucky trailing behind you.
You two didn’t speak much as you arrived at the bar. Instead of taking a seat next to Zemo, you waited for him to sit down and then placed yourself in his lap, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and resting your head on the fur part of his coat. Zemo chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist so you didn’t fall off, and rubbed his hand slightly up and down your hip.
You closed your eyes for a moment, letting your mind wander as you rest your head against his shoulder. The smell of rich cologne and what you think were fir needles. You wouldn’t lie and say that you didn’t like the smell. The truth was you liked it a lot. It made you feel comfortable which was saying a lot as you were currently in the lap of a murderer but it was like you could fall asleep now and you knew you would be safe.
“Two glasses please, one for me and my lady here”
You open your eyes again, reminding yourself you are currently on a mission. You glanced as Zemo and though he wasn’t looking at you the side of his mouth curved up into a smile like he could read your thoughts.
The man places the drinks down and you reach forward to grab yours and hand Zemo his which he smiles in thanks to you.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” the man says to you, narrowing his eyes.
“I found her on my travels, showing her the world” Zemo quickly replies, and to make your relationship seem more realistic he places a kiss on your temple briefly. Even though it wasn’t anything that intimate it still made your cheeks blush.
The man chuckles observing you, “She seems quite innocent”
This time it was you narrowing your eyes at him angrily, “What did you say” you spat. You felt Zemo’s grasp on your hip tighten in warning as he chuckles, “Oh I can assure you she isn’t”
You breathed in trying to control your anger. You’d like nothing more to slap Zemo but instead, you force a smile at him then downed the drink in your hand. You needed it.
When a man came up to Zemo he quickly lifted you off his lap and stood putting himself in front of you and the man as he dealt with him. You watched in anger as he made Bucky fight while all you could do was stand beside Zemo and bite your tongue. You felt Zemo’s hand brush up beside yours again, not quite grasping it yet reminding you he was there. You take his hand in yours, wrapping your fingers against his gloved ones. The interaction makes Zemo glance down for a moment but quickly focuses back on Bucky.
When they finally let you go in to visit Selby, Zemo leads you once again not letting go of your hand. When you entered the room you just wanted to stand by the side with Sam but Zemo dragged you over to his seat making sure you sat on his lap, your arm going back around his shoulders, and this time his hand rested on your exposed thigh.
Zemo started talking to Selby about Bucky, acting like he was trying to sell off an animal. You weren’t sure exactly what Zemo’s plan was but you felt uneasy being in Selby’s presence. And dread-filled you more when she finally acknowledged your existence.
“So who’s this bird you have resting on your knee?”
“This is y/n, quite the treasure isn’t she?” Zemo replied looking at you smirking
“That’s for certain.” She turned to Bucky, “What do you think soldier”
There were a few moments of silence till Zemo said “answer” and Bucky replied, “She’s very beautiful” while still keeping a straight face and looking forward. Selby chuckles seeming satisfied and her eyes turn back to you, her eyes trailing up and down yours.
“She doesn’t talk much”
“I can talk plenty when I want to” You quickly reply, moving to adjust yourself in Zemo’s lap to appear more comfortable. In moving in his lap you can hear Zemo’s breath hitch briefly.
“Is she only yours Zemo?” Selby asks
Before Zemo got a chance to answer you were determined to make it clear she wasn’t going to get anywhere near you. You moved your hands up, running them through his soft hair and turning to stare at him.
“Oh yes I only belong to daddy”
You feel your stomach drop as soon as the words leave your mouth. You hadn’t meant to refer to Zemo like that it had just suddenly slipped out. Sam’s eyes instantly widened as he looked at you and Zemo however if Bucky had heard he made no indication, keeping the same stoic expression and staring forward.
Zemo instantly responded after you said that patting your thigh and looking you in the eyes and saying, “Yes I’m afraid this good little girl is mine and mine only”
You could tell from the way his lips curled up into a smile and his eye sparkling that he enjoyed what you had just said and now how embarrassed you were like he was teasing you for admitting something.
Yet his eyes also seemed kind, soft in a way. You were so close you could feel his breath on your lips and it made you want to explore his lips. It was just a mission after all. It was an act. You had to do this to prove to Selby that you were his ‘bird’
Raising your other hand you cup the side of his face, resting it on his jaw. His eyebrow quirks up in surprise at you initiating this contact but you don’t give him time to consider much else.
You press forward pushing your lips onto his. His arm leaves your thigh instead wrapping them around your body somehow pulling you even more physically closer. His hand grip on you tightens, surely leaving a bruise. You could feel his lips open slightly trying to press further into you like he had forgotten where you were but you hadn’t. After a moment you place a hand on his chest and push yourself away from him, breathing heavily.
You two stare at each other for a moment, speaking words of desire through your lustful eyes till the sound of a slow clapping breaks you both from your trance.
“My my wasn’t that a show,” Selby says smirking at them, “I didn’t know you still had that in you Zemo”
“Well…” Zemo trails off, finally looking away from you and shrugging his shoulders as he smirks at Selby.
They get back to business while you try to recover from everything that has happened. You could feel Sam’s eyes burning into you but you were avoiding him. How could you face Bucky and Sam after that!
Everything was going well till a phone ringtone interrupted them. Your eyes widen in shock, finally glancing over to Sam whose eyes are filled with worry.
The colour drained from Zemo’s face as they all watched Sam answer the call.
The rest of it felt like a blur. Sam’s cover got blown and that means so was the rest of theirs but before they could even do anything Selby got shot in front of them. Zemo wrapped his arm around your waist and guided you out of the building quickly. However, it wasn’t long outside before you were being shot at. Sam and Bucky ran forward whereas Zemo pulled you right and led you down an alley till the gunfire stopped.
“We need to catch up with Sam and Buc-” you started to say but Zemo pushed you into a wall, his body caging you in.
“What-What the hell?” You asked looking up at him, feeling once again a blush creep up on your face at how close you two were.
“Daddy huh?” he asked, smirking down at you.
“Are you seriously going to do this here!? Right now”
“I don’t believe we will get another chance of a private conversation without Sam and James” he mutters, still staring down at you, his eyes refusing to move away from yours.
You can feel your cheeks burning bright red and look to the side avoiding his gaze, “There’s nothing about it, I was just playing my role”
Zemo takes his hand, placing it under your chin and turning your face towards his. He leans in, his lips almost touching his, “You were very convincing”
You don’t reply, instead, your eyes are focusing on his lips, he slowly grazes them against yours then pulls back looking you in the eyes as if asking millions of questions. His hand reaches up to push part of your hair that was covering your eyes behind your ear, as you feel his hand by the side of your face you feel the desire to lean into it.
“I…” You start but trial off, “Perhaps…” you try again, “Perhaps it wasn’t all acting” you mutter
A cocky smile creeps onto Zemo’s mouth as he looks at you, “I thought not”
“Oh shut up and kiss me” you angrily reply and Zemo doesn’t hesitate to give you what you ask. His lips crash onto yours as his hands wrap around your legs, lifting them making you wrap your legs around his waist pulling him closer to you. You grab the fur parts of his coat but he grasps your wrists in one hand and raises them above you. His lips move all over you hungrily before leaving and trailing down your jawline and onto your neck. He tugs on a bit of your skin and sucks on it causing you to mewl in pleasure.
“Y/N!? ZEMO!?” you hear Sam shouting in the distance
Zemo sighs pulling away from your neck, “It seems our private time together is over little one”
Gently he places you back on the ground, taking your hand rubbing his thumb over the back of it, and guides you over to where Sam and Bucky were trying to find you two.
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Dating Baron Zemo HCs
The Falcon and Winter Soldier spoilers!
I just have no self control, that’s what this is — Pt. 2
Waiting— you’ve been waiting a good while to finally see him again, and you had no doubt that someday he’d find his way out. So, you waited. Upon the prison break, you continued patiently waiting for him at one of his nearby estates. Sure enough, he eventually found his way back. There you stood, with a bottle and two glasses of his favourite champagne. “I didn’t expect you to wait,” he smirks, walking to you. “I told you I would,” you tilt your head. Without a hesitation, he pulls you closer by your waist and gives you the exact kiss you’ve been waiting for.
↳ however, he did bring some unexpected company, upon Sam clearing his throat loudly, Zemo turns, putting a little space between you and him, “Gentlemen,” he gestures to you, hand still against the small of your back, as he introduces you. / “Dude’s got everything,” Sam mutters to Bucky as they follow the two of you through the corridor.
Forehead kisses— it’s always been a habit of his, even if he’s just walking past you, he’ll stop and press a quick kiss to your forehead. Other times when you’re snuggled up against him, he’ll give your temple a lingering kiss. As a goodbye, even after a kiss, he places one to your forehead. He also strokes back your hair, keeping his thumb against your temple, while you lift your head a little closing your eyes with a smile as he rests his forehead against yours.
Staying in Bed— mornings are when you take 100% advantage of the fact that he doesn’t have to be anywhere, hence he can stay with you all morning. You actually spend a lot of time just talking, holding hands, and seeing the sun brighten the room gradually. He traces his fingertips along every inch and curve of your body as he listens to you talk, trying his best not to just kiss you mid-sentence, which has happened.
Living like a princess— literally, you want it you get it, anything. Even if it’s just in mention, you’re probably going to wind up getting it as a little surprise. Travel wherever you want to, whenever you want to, he’s got a private jet so there’s no need to plan ahead. Jewelry, lots and lots of jewelry! You never quite get used to living so lavishly, but he thinks that’s one of the best things about you. Everyone he’s known has been accustomed to living so fancifully, but the way it takes your breath away never gets old.
Event “Dates”— obviously you’re his date to any event he’s attending, but often you feel you are easily out of place around the kind of crows at such fancy and intimidating events. You tend to just stay out of the way and in the corner, holding the one drink you’ve had all night, and subtly, but anxiously tapping your free hand against the side of your thigh. “why are you so nervous?” he takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the knuckles, continuing to stroke his thumb across your skin. “Because I’m nothing like these people,” you quietly say, “I don’t really think I belong here.” / Zemo smirks, “well, a Queen seldom fits in among common people.”
He’s Not Very Handsy in Public— while you’ve learned to go along with the whole professional side of events, you also know that when it’s just the two of you, he typically likes you near. With a hand always in yours, or somewhere touching your body, thigh, shoulder, nape of the neck, etc., you’ve come to love the intimate TLC, that doesn’t mean you haven’t tried to coax it out of him whilst at an event, but he’s superior at keeping his cool compared to you.
↳ he’s also superior at teasing, wherever and whenever. It can be a simple touch that you never expected to turn you on, or it can be a glance across the room from you, making it very clear what’s on his mind, causing you to blush, look away, and take a deep breath, composing yourself while he just smiles, taking a sip of whatever drink is in his hand.
Attempting to Learn Sokovian— since his entire family was Sokovian you wanted to learn it so he could more freely speak it on a regular basis, much like he used to. You tried keeping it a secret for a while, but when he found out you were trying to learn his language he immediately wanted to help somehow. You’ve found you typically get a little distracted when listening to him speak, but you’ve definitely learned! Plus a “very good” follows by a kiss is much more of a reward than any textbook could offer.
Surprise Trips— you’ve been woken up at three a.m. just to be told your going somewhere. Naturally, you asked why you couldn’t just go later in the day, “it’s very special,” he rubbed your shoulder, “c’mon, you can sleep on the plane, I promise.” And you certainly do, tucking your knees up onto the seat, you nuzzled as close to him as possible, trying to sleep the whole plane ride. Turns out he woke you up so early just so you could see the sunrise coming up over the Pyramids in Egypt.
Breakfast in Bed— despite having had a family cook, Zemo actually knows how to cook, and pretty darn good. There have been several occasions where you’ve woken up alone, a little disappointed only to find the smell of cinnamon and sugar spreading throughout the room as he brings you breakfast in bed, obviously joining you.
At Home Library— you weren’t exactly sure what he meant when he said he had a library, but you found out soon enough. Feeling like Belle, you were in absolute awe that he literally had a library in one of his estates. A lot of the time you’ll spend house just sitting by the beautiful window, reading. After a while, he’ll bring you some tea and join you, either reading with you or watching you read (which make you blush).
Art Exhibits— in his house. . . yep, he’s got a whole gallery. Sometimes you just walk through it by yourself to calm your nerves and relax a little. The first time you were amazed that they were all real pieces. “There’s been a recent addition, that just so happens to be here in time for your birthday,” he explained, walking you through the gallery, “and how’d you come across it, may I ask?” you smile knowingly, twisting your hips side to side. He responds with a soft chuckle, “let’s just admire it now that it’s here, yes?”
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Call It A Night
Helmut Zemo x Reader | Sam Wilson x Reader | Bucky Barnes x Reader
GIF made by @rattlethe-stars
Summary: After a night of drinking and partying in Madripoor, your small group returns to Sharon’s apartment. Caught between the attentions of three vastly different men, a choice has to be made. Which one do you want?
Alternate Endings. Smut. Alcohol. Jealousy. Explicit Language. Female Reader.
Specific warnings to be added in each subsequent chapter.
READ THE PREQUEL TO THIS STORY, ‘CALL IT A HUNCH’ (ZEMO-CENTRIC)
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
CLINTS-LUCKY-ARROW MAIN MASTERLIST
READ ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
A/N: This initial chapter is the introductory piece which does not focus on one man in particular, but sets up each alternate chapter following. All of the alternate pathways for this story can be seen on the ‘Call It A Night’ Masterlist.
With a laugh, Sam watches as you all but stumble into the nearby wall. “Stop dropping your damn shoes.”
The pair of black heels - on loan from Sharon - clatter loudly to the wooden floor again. It’s been the fourth time that they’ve slipped from your grasp since leaving the pulsating gallery downstairs and heading back up to her apartment. Even now, the vibrations of music make their way through the air, signifying that the party below is not quite over. But you’ve had enough, and everyone knows it, so it’s time to call it a night.
Amusement lighting his eyes, Sam chuckles as you grumble in slightly tipsy exasperation, and push yourself back upright. As you sway a little unsteadily, his head shakes fondly as another laugh rumbles from his chest.
“I told you that all those shots would catch up on you. You were Blipped for five years. It’s going to take time for that old tolerance to regrow.”
Not trusting yourself with an appropriate retort, you decide to just flip him the middle finger instead. He mock-winces, one hand rising to press against his heart as if deeply wounded, before whirling away with his signature mischievous smile. Your eyes follow him for a moment, a warm fondness building in your chest. Catching yourself before you can stare for too long, you visibly shake it off before bending to retrieve your shoes.
Before you can, another arm swoops down to snatch them up in one fluid action. The grace of the movement leaves no doubt to who the chivalrous volunteer is. If you can even call him ‘chivalrous’ after everything he had done in the past. The reminder of his presence filling you with an abrupt nervousness, your gaze flickers upwards to meet Zemo’s.
Your apprehensive words come out as a mere murmur. “Thanks.”
The Baron’s cologne washes across your face. It’s strong enough to make your head spin, but not in a bad way. The scent is deep, smooth and rich, filling your lungs and urging your alcohol-hazed mind to step closer and take another delicious inhale. Your persistent hesitancy - one that has lingered ever since first making his company two days ago - has still not been completely overshadowed by drunken bravado, and so you manage to restrain yourself.
Zemo says nothing, just maintains that intense gaze and silently offers you the shoes. Straightening your back automatically under the keen scrutiny, you reach out to take them. There’s a slight tremor to your hand. The Baron’s quick eyes immediately zoom in upon it. A wave of shame wells in your chest, only strengthened by the obvious glint of amusement that flickers on his face. The edges of his lips are curling into the makings of a sly grin, and his mouth opens as if to say something in that effortlessly caressing tone.
Before he can utter whatever roguish taunt graces his thoughts, there is an arm around your back, prompting you forward. Guiding you away from the Baron. Even through the back of your dress, the metal limb is cold. Bucky says nothing, but the taut set of his jaw communicates his inner emotions all too well. He’s not great at lying, and he’s not great at repressing his feelings either.
Right now it is easy to tell that he is agitated, that he’s on edge, and that he’s pissed at Zemo for looking at you like that. Mouth twisted into the makings of a snarl, his other hand shoots out to pluck the shoes from the Baron’s grip, pausing only to rest his scathing eyes upon the other man.
One of your hands rises, sliding along the small of Bucky’s back to rub reassuring circles into his skin. Your eyes remain locked on his face, silently calling his attention back. Even in the dim light of the corridor, it’s hard to pull yourself from getting lost in the dark blue of those irises. There’s no denying that he’s one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.
The fact that he is so tortured only furthers your desire to be close to him, to provide as much comfort as you can. And so you do, allowing your body to slightly sag into his chest. All the while ignoring Zemo’s gaze still lingering on your back.
Bucky is still all too aware of it, however, and a low growl vibrates from his chest. The sound is worrying, a possible sign of a regression. You knew that whole ‘Winter Soldier’ ploy earlier hadn’t been good for him. And you didn’t even have to be a Zemo-level genius to know it.
“It’s alright,” you whisper, leaning in to rest your head on Bucky’s shoulder, fingers tightening around the opposite curve of his waist. “I’m fine.”
He likes the proximity. Getting to feel like he is your protector. It gives him a form of purpose. A positive reason to exist. In all reality, if Zemo tried anything you would certainly be more than capable of putting up a good fight, but you deign to mention that to Bucky. This action - the excuse of being able to keep you close at his side - gives this lost, somewhat conflicted man a form of comfort. Makes him feel more secure. Less alone. And you would never begrudge the harmless opportunity of having your arms around him.
Although, at times it feels like anything but harmless. But your weird medley of feelings for all three of the men escorting you down this hallway is something that you are trying not to dwell on too much as the alcohol moulds your thoughts into something more pliable.
Sharon leads the procession, having pulled far enough ahead of everyone else. Her apartment key is sliding into the door as you approach, one arm still slung around Bucky’s back in the same manner that his wraps around yours. Sam walks before you both, occasionally throwing an inscrutable glance back over his shoulder at the two of you. Zemo’s soft footfalls bring up the rear. You try your hardest not to think about him.
Sam and Bucky are understandable. They are your friends. You have affectionate associations with both of these men. Any little crush that you had would be alright. Appropriate, given the circumstances. However, the Baron is a whole different kettle of fish. It is absolute insanity that you find him as attractive as you do. But yet… Everytime that smooth tone washes over you in a snarky one-liner, something within can’t help but respond.
Unable to help yourself, your head turns slightly, eyes flickering back to him. Just as suspected, those dark eyes are still fixed on you. His cunning smile grows wider as he notes the attention. Your head snaps away. Too late. Bucky’s gaze is already narrowed upon your face. His chiseled jaw set in annoyance as it examines your guilty expression, before his head snaps angrily back to Zemo.
He halts, spinning on his heel to throw a firm hand into the other man’s chest. “I’m checking you first.”
The Baron arches a brow. “For what, may I enquire?”
“For weapons,” your friend replies staunchly.
Zemo's dark eyes fall on you again, and that sly grin manifests in earnest once more. Leather crinkles as Bucky's hands tighten into fists. Tension is brewing between the two. It had started from the moment that your friend had noticed how the Baron watched you on the plane. Using any excuse to shift closer to you, to call your attention to him, to flash another thin, roguish smile in your direction.
"Easy." Sharon's admonishment rings out, interrupting the precarious display of testosterone. Arms folded across her chest, she leans against the frame with a firm expression. "I'm not having you brawling in the corridor."
A floorboard creaks as Sam peers back around the opened apartmentdoor, brow furrowed. "Everything okay out here?"
Your head dips in a swift, yet slightly agitated nod as you push past the other two men and slip over the threshold. "Yeah."
Outside, you can hear Zemo's snark-filled quips as Bucky begins to pat him down. However, they are somewhat half-hearted. As if he knows that protesting is futile. Common sense would have dictated that it came to this anyhow. For all of his help today, he is still an untrustworthy ally at best. At the very worst, he is just waiting to stab you all in your sleep. To take him blindly at his word would be idiotic.
A hand wraps around your wrist as you go to head towards Sharon’s well stocked home bar, bringing you to a half-stumbling halt. The grip is gentle, yet firm. Your eyes lift to meet Sam's. He watches you, trying to appear disapproving despite his faint smile. "And where do you think you're going?"
"To get another drink."
He chuckles, shaking his head before gesturing to the small row of barstools in-front of the shining mahogany counter.
“Sit. I’ll make it. Don’t need you falling into the shelves and breaking everything.”
You would argue that what he saying was simply not true. Except, that would be a total lie, and you’re not that bothered to argue about this one. It’s a drink that you don’t have to make. You get to sit and relax. Or try your best to, at least.
Bucky and Zemo have now entered the apartment, with Sharon locking the door behind them. Her thick blonde hair tumbles down her shoulders and the sway to her hips as she strides further in is near effortless. At least one of the men should be looking at her. But no. All of their attention solely rests upon you.
Bucky is the most intense. That whole staring thing can get a bit much at times. This is one of those occasions.
It is flattering, of course, to have him so protective of you. It would be a lie to say that his watchful presence, the way he always adjusts himself to cover your position, does not stir something within despite his almost cold demeanour at times. However… There’s torture in the things left unsaid. Things that you can’t speak given his somewhat precarious mental state, and things that he will not utter recognising your apprehension.
Liquid glugs into a container over in the bar. Your eyes return to Sam as he lifts a cocktail shaker up by his head, rattling it profusely. It's hard to ignore the relentless comfort that wells at his presence. Steve and Natasha are gone. Only yourself and him remain.
Sam is your haven in this group. Your safe harbour. It can be hard to tell at times how deep those feelings delve. Whether your reliance on him is because he is your last shred of anything close to a family, or if it is something more. Sometimes, you wonder if it’s both.
If Bucky is sometimes cold, like ice unthawed, Sam is the warm embers of a fire. Calm and inviting. As if catching your train of thought, his usually playful grin grows a little softer.
From behind, Bucky’s voice comes in a low grumble. “I’m going to bed.”
“Oh,” Sam's gaze readjusts, eyes lifting to scan over the other man in concern. “Are you sure that you don’t want to hang out? You don’t even have to drink. Just stay and have a chat. Could be good for you, man.”
Bucky’s rebuttal is firm. Even a little chilled. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
You twist on the barstool, uncertain eyes tracking his movements as he all but storms away. His shadow flickers as it retreats down the hallway. The sound of his heavy boots grow fainter. You debate going after him. Just for a moment. Usually, you would strive to comfort him, to provide that reassurance and friendship that he likes to pretend that he does not need. But tonight you are just a little too drunk and a little too confused to make such a decision right now.
Another unexpectant participant pipes up.
“Maybe I will join you,” Zemo intones politely. Although his words should be directed at both yourself and Sam, his politely questioning gaze lingers solely on your face. “If that is alright?”
That fur coat perfectly defines his broad shoulders. Which is certainly a fact that you should not be thinking about. If Bucky is like solid ice and Sam is like a calming fire, Zemo is a hurricane. One that you are not quite sure when will swell to a crescendo, or what carnage it will leave in its wake. If that wreckage includes you. Only time will tell.
Your head drags aside to communicate silently with Sam. A few moments pass as Zemo waits patiently. Finally, your friend breaks away from your eyes to give the Baron a quick, curt nod of permission. With a mannerly incline of his head, Zemo approaches where you sit.
He doesn’t not lower himself onto the stool right next to yours, but rather leaves one in between. The gesture - the fact that he does not crowd you - has you feeling somewhat relieved, and a little more appreciative of the man. That sensation is rather terrifying, all things considered. However, it can be hard to equate this rather cordial persona that he currently presents with such ease to the same ruthless criminal who had blown up a United Nations meeting.
“Oh, am I playing bartender to you too?” Sam questions, sounding a little perturbed.
A wry chuckle escapes from Zemo’s mouth, his face etched in that signature faint grin. Reaching across the bar counter, his elegant fingers snag up a bottle of whiskey. He brandishes it aloft with another nod at Sam. “No need. This will do very well.”
Sharon’s loud scoff rings out from the rear. “Right. Everyone just make themselves at home, I guess.” The words are followed by some disgruntled murmuring.
Apology already forming upon your lips, you twist to say it aloud. It’s a surprise when the Baron beats you to it. His tone is smooth and oddly conciliary. “Apologies. You have been a gracious host, all things considered. Please know that I will make sure you are comfortably compensated for any expense upon our departure.”
That is… surprising. Or not?
He’s been oddly generous with his money today. And as you now know - he has a lot of it. It’s not like he’d feel the burn in his pocket for a one night stay in an apartment and some drinks. Not that you are downplaying Sharon’s help today at all. While you may not have gotten along with her too well in your SHIELD days, there was no denying that your little group would not have made it out alive earlier without her help. She’s growing on you.
Your eyes catch the slight shock that flits across her face at Zemo’s unexpected proposal. She blinks slightly, before giving an uncomfortable nod in response. “All right then. I’ll be sure to send an itemised bill.” The final words are tinged with her usual brand of sarcasm. Hand lifting in a dismissive wave, her heels click against the ground as she departs the room.
The Baron settles back, eyes sweeping over yourself and Sam, and grins widely again, lifting the bottle once more in a form of salute. “And then there were three.”
A light clink sounds from the counter. Sam carefully places a glass down before you. The drink inside is a dark gold - almost orange - and two cherries hang in the neatly twisted stick above the rim. Icecubes float translucently within, and a neon green cocktail stick peeks out of the top. The presentation, and his obvious effort, is much appreciated.
Your disbelief grows when you take a sip. It’s fruity. A mixture of orange and peach and something else. Tropical flavours that dance across your tongue. Familiar ones, at that. Eyes flaring wide open, you all but slam it excitedly back down to the countertop. “This is just like the one we used to get in that seaside bar in Havana!”
He chuckles, obviously pleased that you remember. “Yeah. Hard to forget that. You’d never order anything else.”
It’s difficult not to feel flattered. Something warm stirs in your stomach as your eyes meet his over the bar. Until another smooth voice interrupts.
“I’m curious. May I try a sip?” Zemo.
Your friend’s brows quirk upwards. He doesn’t look exactly pleased, but unlike Bucky will not strive to speak on your behalf. Sam is aware that you are more than capable. His hand wordlessly gestures towards you, implying that the decision is yours alone.
A brief hesitation passes, before you quietly slid the glass over to the Baron. Taking it with a murmur of thanks, he lifts it to his lips. You try not to watch as he does, but curiosity makes it hard to look away. Upon finishing a small sip, his smooth fingers brush against yours as he hands it back, mouth pursed thoughtfully. “I could not taste much alcohol. You do not need to be so cheap, Sam. I have already offered to reimburse Sharon of the cost.”
“Good to know,” your friend replies sarcastically. “Thanks Zemo. I really value your opinion.”
The Baron holds up his hands. “I meant no offense.”
The exchange - and the disgruntled expression on Zemo’s face - causes you to laugh. It comes out as more of a snort. Sam snickers, which is expected of him, even if his mood has been a little darker these past few weeks. What surprises you is that Zemo’s soft chuckle joins him. You exchange an embarrassed look with both, before preoccupying yourself with taking another sip of your cocktail. Given the uncoordinated movements, the umbrella tumbles free to nearly stab you in the eye.
Some small conversation resumes. Mostly between yourself and Sam, although the Baron will chime in every so often. For the most part, however, Zemo just sits and watches the easy rapport between you and your best friend. His head turns back and forth as each of you speaks, almost as if he is watching a tennis match. You try not to let his attentiveness distract you too much. Sam’s eyes somewhat make that easier.
He makes you a second drink, and then a third. In those moments, the Baron will shift forward to speak. Attention diverted from Sam, it’s harder to ignore his tight sweater and the damn coat. An embarrassing, slightly hazy memory wells in your mind at the sight. You’d drunkenly stroked the soft fur lining the collar when in the nightclub, and all but run your hands down his chest at the same time. Zemo - apparently having caught your suddenly flustered expression - lets out another low huff of laughter as you grow visibly flustered and turn back to Sam.
With his usual eloquent flourish, the Baron pushes himself away from the bar. A third of the whiskey bottle is gone. A few amber dregs linger in the squat, square glass that he had been using to drink from. Those dark eyes land on you, lingering heatedly for a moment. The contact is almost like a physical caress. Your body can’t help but react to it, automatically straightening.
Zemo’s keen gaze immediately notes the tiny motions, and his lips curl into another knowing smile. The expression quickly vanishes as his eyes lift to Sam. “I shall retire for the night. If anyone requires me, I shall be in my room.”
You can almost hear Sam’s eyeroll, and the sarcasm that laces the following words is utterly immaculate. “No shit.”
No sign of annoyance registers on the Baron’s face. Your eyes drag at his heels as he departs in his usual smooth stride. An urge stirs in the pit of your stomach. Similar to the one with Bucky earlier, but with not as many pure intentions.
Sam’s throat clears, drawing your guilty eyes back to his face. He only smiles, the action visibly a little awkward. He would never be one to judge you, but the tinge of displeasure all but radiates tangibly. It hits you harder than before, stroking your guilt. What the fuck is wrong with you?
Your mind feels less addled now. More aware of the reality of the world. Soberness has crept back in with its usual grounding tendencies.
Your head shakes ruefully. “I think my buzz has worn off,”
A slightly embarrassed chuckle comes in response. “It should have. I’ve been making you virgin cocktails ever since we got in. That’s why Zemo said that I didn’t use enough alcohol. There was just none in it.”
Amused disbelief tickles laughter from your chest. “That is…”
“Hilarious?” Sam intones.
Contemplating for a moment, you finally nod in agreement. “Know what? Yeah. I’ll give you that one.”
Head tilting back, those white teeth flash in another wide grin. You join him in the amusement, exchanging tender looks before lapsing into a comfortable silence. Sam is leaning across the bar towards you, one arm wrapped around his waist to block the hard contact of the edge of the counter. His other hand lays flat on the surface, fingertips inches from your own. One twitches, almost as if it will move, but then remains cautiously still.
You are aware of the quality that the room is taking on now. The slightly electrified, expectant aura. Something is about to happen.
Almost hesitantly, Sam slowly broaches the thick quiet. “So… It’s getting late. Do you wanna call it a night?”
The way he says it is almost hopeful. But not that you will agree and depart for your separate beds. No. His hand remains, fingers mere centimetres from your own, so close that they could brush together with ease if you truly wanted. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he does.
It is apparent that he himself wishes to remain here. With you. Alone.
You understand the potential connotations of what will happen if you do. The trickling tension threatens to grow with each passing second, and the weight of decision coats the room like syrup, as do the silent traces of his own desire that he tries his best to smother.
An unspoken question hangs around you both. Do you want this? Or… do you want someone else? The decision makes your palms grow warm and your throat tighten. Sam’s gentle gaze rests upon your face, waiting for you to speak. You don’t want to have to choose. But you do.
The words spill from your lips before your mind even consciously recognises them. It’s the only answer that you could ever truly give.
“Someone should cast an eye in on Zemo. Make sure he isn’t knotting bedsheets together to make an escape rope or something.” (Completed)
“I’d like to go check on Bucky. He was in a pretty foul mood earlier, and one of us should probably make sure that he’s alright.” (Completed)
“Sure, Sam. I’ll stay for another drink. But only if you’re making me a real one this time.” (Completed)
A/N: All responses are now uploaded. You can see the planned outline for the series in its masterlist linked below.
CALL IT A NIGHT - TUMBLR MASTERLIST
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
To be notified of the endings that need to be completed and to explore the options of other fics that I may write for these characters, please fill out my Taglist Form!
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summary: On a mission to collect more information about hydra, Zemo books the honeymoon suite for him and (Y/n). There is a small problem.
request: THERES ONLY ONE BED reader x Zemo ~ anon
pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader
warnings: no spice because fluff is my comfort zone, ONE BED!?
a/n: can someone please tell me to stop overthinking everything and above all being insecure about whatever the hell I do? pleeeaseee
MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES
“Baron and Baroness Zemo. Welcome! Here is your key card for the honeymoon suite. Your luggage awaits you upstairs“, the hotelier greets the couple with a friendly smile and hands Zemo the key card. (Y/n) tenses at the mention of her fake name but Zemo only presses her tighter against his side.
“Have a nice time!“, the hotelier winks at (Y/n) and watches the couple walk towards the private elevator. Before the doors close he sees the Baron pressing a loving kiss to the Baroness‘ temple.
The second the doors close and the two of them are finally alone, (Y/n) pushes Zemo against the wall with a hand around his neck. Without a word she glares angrily at him and Zemo immediately understands.
“Only playing my part as your husband, darling“, Zemo states and looks down at (Y/n). There is a cocky smile on his lips when the woman takes a step back and sighs annoyed.
“Did you really have to book the honeymoon suite?“, (Y/n) asks as she crosses her arms before her chest and stares at the red numbers, hoping for this elevator run to end.
“Yes“, Zemo answers without a real explanation. He is a Baron. He is rich. Of course he booked the honeymoon suite.
Finally the doors open and Zemo takes (Y/n)s hand to drag her inside their apartment for the next week. That is if they can convince the hydra supporter that they are actually married and he tells them everything they need to know.
The two enter the honeymoon suite and while Zemo is used to such an environment, (Y/n)s eyes widen in overstimulation. Everything is so pretty and expensive.
The first room is a living room with the softest couch (Y/n) ever laid eyes on as well as a huge television. (Y/n) walks through the other rooms and stops in the bedroom. Her heart stops beating for a second. There is only one bed.
“Why is there only one bed?“, (Y/n) asks breathless and turns around the moment Zemo enters the bedroom. He has two glasses of champagne in his hands.
“It‘s the honeymoon suite, darling“, Zemo returns and gives (Y/n) one of the glasses. He raises his own glass but (Y/n) already drinks her champagne in one go.
“Then you will be the one to sleep on the couch“, (Y/n) says and leaves the room without even waiting for Zemos comment. She knows arguing with him will lead to nothing. He will only call her darling again and make her feel uncomfortable as well as comfortable at the same time.
After (Y/n) rediscovered her luggage, she takes some fresh clothes and enters the bathroom to shower. She does her best to ignore Zemo watching her every move.
Because of the long flight and hot shower (Y/n) is quite tired when she exits the bathroom again. She can‘t find Zemo in the living room. Maybe he is doing something useful for their mission. But actually he is sitting in the huge bed reading a book.
“What the hell?“, (Y/n) exclaims shocked as she lays eyes on the shirtless Zemo sitting on the bed. He lowers his book and smiles innocently at the woman.
“This bed is big enough for the two of us“, Zemo states and pats the free space beside him, even pulling back the blanket for (Y/n) to get comfortable. She is too tired to argue with the arrogant man so (Y/n) sits down with a sigh. But she also places a few pillows between herself and Zemo.
“If you touch me, I will throw you out of the window“, (Y/n) warns her companion and switches off the lights. Zemo is forced to place his book aside and lays down next to (Y/n).
The first seconds are quite awkward. No one dares to move but eventually the two of them fall asleep.
Because of their tossing and turning Zemo and (Y/n) destroy the pillow wall. And when (Y/n) turns to place her head on one of these pillows, she actually lays her head on Zemos chest. In his sleeping and dreaming state Zemo wraps an arm around the woman.
In the morning (Y/n) is the first one to wake up. She hides her face in the pillow under her until a very familiar and expensive scent fills her nostrils. At first (Y/n) believes it‘s the bedroom but then she feels the warmth and moving of Zemo breathing under her body.
Quickly (Y/n) sits up and brings as much distance as possible between her and the Baron. Heat reaches her cheeks and she stares at Zemo with wide eyes. Her breathing is unsteady, almost erratic.
“I would have never thought you were touch starved“, Zemo says with a rough voice and opens his eyes. He smiles amused at (Y/n) who frowns at him.
“I‘m not ... touch starved“, (Y/n) growls and grabs the next people she can reach and throws it straight at Zemos pretty grinning face. With a laugh he sits up and turns to leave the bed.
“Would you like your breakfast in bed?“
“Breakfast in the ... bed?“
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Synopsis: You really disliked Zemo, but one person you disliked more? John Walker. After bonding over how you disliked him with Zemo, you have the unfortunate situation of running into John. He flirts, insults, and hurts you and Zemo is ready to put him in his place.
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings/Tags: Use of swear words, John Walker being a dick, soft Zemo, protective Zemo
Author’s note: I was not intending this fic to come out as long as it did. This was one of the ones I had been putting off to write other stuff till I finally pulled myself around to writing it and ended up getting really into it. Funny how that happens.
“Would you care for a Turkish delight?”
You bite the inside of your mouth in annoyance, refusing to even look at him. Instead of forcing your eyes to focus on a spot in front of you, not moving them in the slightest. Zemo waited for a few moments before sighing and turning away from you.
“You’ll eventually have to talk to me, y/n” he exclaims as he walks over to the kitchen side of the room. You were sitting in the safe house Zemo had provided. There wasn’t much to do, just sit and wait till the funeral started. Zemo sought to communicate to you to keep you two occupied, but you didn’t want to talk with him, so you didn’t. You just sat on the settee, staring at the sofa opposite you while Zemo walked around looking through the cupboards for food.
You were pissed when Bucky revealed he broke Zemo out of prison.
The avengers had been your family. Whenever you needed them Steve would be there to offer you advice, Tony there to make you laugh. Nat there to beat up whoever required it. Everything was wonderful in your life. For once. And he had ruined it.
He caused the family you loved to split, hate each other, and that left you alone. So alone. Losing both Tony and Steve made you more mad at Zemo. He robbed the last years you could have spent with them, so yeah, no wonder you refused to talk to him.
He loved to annoy you, though. Any moment he got he was beside you, creating sarcastic remarks about what was happening, trying to joke around with you. Trying anything to communicate with you. The worst of it was when he insisted you had to be his date on the mission in Mandripoor. Feeling his arm wrap around you, a kiss to your temple, the smell of his cologne flooding you, drawing you in. It pissed you off knowing how easily you fit into the role of his date. Yet you knew deep down why. Every time he made a snide remark, you had to bite your tongue to stop making one back. Every time he tried to joke with you, it took all your effort not to snort. You hated him and everything he does, yet you could sense a fondness growing for him, just a slight one, in the deepest corner of your heart. Left there to be locked away. Never acknowledged.
“So, the new Captain America, huh? What’s he like?” you hear Zemo ask, leaning on the counter of the kitchen table, his eyes burning into the side of your head.
You feel bile rise to your mouth as he spoke.
John fucking Walker.
If you hated Zemo, you despised John Walker. Just thinking of him brought a scowl to your lips. Steve meant everything to you. He was a father figure to you. He stood for all you believed in. He was your hope, your light in the darkness. And John Walker seemed to tarnish it. You wouldn’t have minded him if he was a different mascot for America. If he became America’s new hope. It was the fact that they called him Captain America. That he had the shield. The title belonged only to Steve. He claimed he wasn’t trying to replace Steve, but that is what he was doing. Him being called Captain America felt like a spit on Steve’s memory. People would forget him, everything he did for the country he loved. They would only focus on John Walker, and you detested that.
You didn’t blame Sam for giving away the shield, unlike Bucky. You could understand why he did it. That shield held such a responsibility, such a legacy it seemed impossible to ever live up to. No, you blamed the people who took the shield away from the museum. Without Sam’s permission. They should have asked Sam. But of course they didn’t care. They didn’t care at all.
“I see by your reaction that your impression of him isn’t a pleasant one,” Zemo says, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to reality.
“Have you met him?” he asks
You try to hold back your opinion, but John Walker made you so frustrated, you knew if you didn’t rant about him you would burst.
“Yes. He’s a dick,” you spit out
Zemo quickly straightens up, surprised you actually answered one of his questions.
“Oh? Are you finally speaking to me.” he inquires, walking around the kitchen counter towards you.
“Don’t push your luck” you mutter, side eyeing him as he sits down opposite you. Sam and Bucky were out leaving you alone with Zemo. At the moment you were all waiting till the funeral. Zemo claimed there were a few hours to kill before everyone had to gather. Sam and Bucky decided to check out the town, make sure they knew it well in case a situation occurred where we had to dash. They had forced you to babysit Zemo.
“No, no, I like to hear you talk. Please, if talking about how this new Captain America is a dick is how I get you to speak to me, then let’s continue.” Zemo says, pouring out a glass of whisky for you and him. He holds the glass out to you, an eyebrow raised. You sigh, grabbing the glass out of his hand and drank, feeling the warmth creep up your throat. Zemo chuckles as he watches you, leaning back on the sofa, his arms resting on top of it.
“My, my. The man must be terrible if just the thought of him is making you talk and accept drinks from me,”
“He’s so infuriating! He thinks because he is Captain America he can stick his nose in other people’s business!”
“Ah, so he is one of those people. Doesn’t understand boundaries. How rude,”
“And get this, he got annoyed at us! Telling us we should stay out of his way when he is the one getting in our bloody way!”
“No” Zemo fake gasps
“Yes!” you exclaim, going into a rant, “I can’t even bear to call him Captain America. He doesn’t deserve to be called that. His actual name is John Walker. He claimed he wasn’t trying to replace Steve, but that is exactly what he is doing! And how he talks to me as well. He’s so condescending, treating me as if I am a kid while trying to compliment me and act like he’s all that in front of me,”
Zemo’s eyes narrow and he places the glass down on the table between you two, “You mean he flirts with you?”
“If you could call that pathetic excuse flirting. I suppose. It pisses me off though,”
“I can imagine. He sounds nothing like what Steve was. Nothing like his legacy,”
It was your turn to narrow your eyes, watching Zemo curiously. “I assumed you hated Steve”
“I never hated him. No. I can admire what he stood for, I just find unrealistic. All superheroes are flawed. Innocents will consistently be collateral damage while superheroes are allowed to exist.”
You stare at Zemo, amazed. Not realising the silence you were making. You had always thought he hated Steve. It always seemed that way. Yet he didn’t? Knowing he didn’t hate the guy you always viewed as a father figure mattered to you. And you don’t know why.
Zemo stared back at you. He was studying your eyes, trying to figure out what you were thinking. He didn’t realise what he thought about Steve would have affected you, but it appears he was wrong.
“Don’t worry y/n we’re back and guess what! We found your fav-” Sam shouts, opening the doors of the room and strutting in but he pauses, noticing you and Zemo staring at each other from the sofa’s. “What’s going on here?”
Zemo is the one to pull out of the eye contact trance, smirking as he looks over at Sam, “We were just discussing John Walker.”
Bucky who had followed Sam in grounded at hearing Zemo utter that name. “Perhaps you two would like a drink and join us in considering how much of a dick he is?” Zemo asks, raising his glass to them.
A few hours later you walked down the street following Zemo to find his associate. You didn’t appreciate how secretive he was being, but you understood it. He had many people who wanted to get him, and the second he wasn’t useful to us. He would be doomed.
“It’s too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit” you hear a whiny voice shout. Peering up, you notice John Walker and his sidekick ‘Battlestar’ or whatever jogging down the steps towards you.
“Ah! How did you find us now” Bucky shouts with his arms raised, striding towards them.
“Come on. You really think three Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention,” his friend responds.
“No more keeping us in the dark,” John mutters angrily
Zemo, who you were walking besides, turns his head to you, “I understand what you mean by infuriating”
You chuckle as John looks angrily between you two, “You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison,”
“He did that himself technically” Bucky replies, and Zemo grins at you, as if bragging about it.
“Aw, this better be an unbelievable explanation-” John Walker exclaims, reaching up to you.
“Hey take it easy before it gets weird,” Sam suggests, interrupting John.
“I know where Karli is,” Zemo reveals to John Walker, his seductive accent sticking out from the rest of them. He tries to walk past John. You, Bucky and Sam follow, but John stops him, placing a hand on his chest.
Zemo glares ahead, disgusted at John for even daring to touch him.
“Well, where” he says, getting into Zemo’s face
“All we know is, it’s a memorial so we are going to intercept her there,” Sam adds, trying to defuse the tension.
Zemo grabs John Walker’s hand and pushes it off him, striding forward again, and you jog to catch up with him.
“See why I call him a dick now,” you whisper
Zemo smirks, looking back at you, “Yes. He’s perfectly exasperating”
“What? No. Wait. No! No! Stop. Hold on. Stop. Okay?” John exclaims running forward and stopping you all in your tracks again after something Sam had said. “I think we are way past reasoning with her”
Zemo just stares ahead, fed up with John while you groan in annoyance. Not being able to even bring yourself to look at the man in front of you.
They argue for a few moments while you and Zemo stand idly to the side, Zemo glances at you rolling his eyes making you giggle. You smack his arm slightly trying to get him to stop making you laugh, but that only makes Zemo chuckle along with you. Eventually they calm John down but he glares over at Zemo, “We will deal with you later.”
“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion” Zemo says, gesturing with his hands. He walks ahead, searching for his associate while John Walker moves beside you. You try to pick up your pace, but he keeps up.
“So working with a criminal now. Not very avengery like. I thought Zemo hated Steve. I wonder what Steve would think of you working with him,” he mutters peering at you.
“Need I remind you-you are also working with him now,”
“Come on, darling, don’t be like that,” John responds grinning, placing his palm on your back.
“Get your hand off me” you growl scowling at him
“Most women would fawn over me” John cockily resorts, still not removing his hand
“She asked you to remove your hand” you hear Zemo state, glancing over you see he had stopped walking forward, turned around and was now glaring at John. “Do I need to remove it for you?” he says angrily.
John frowns at Zemo. Finally, taking his hand off you and striding up to Zemo. Zemo tilts his head, his jaw clenching in fury as he stares at John.
“You are nothing but a dirty criminal. Don’t think for a second you can talk to me like that,”
“I will when you are being rude and disrespectful towards a lady,”
John scoffs, peeking over to you, then back to Zemo. Everyone else was standing to the side, not sure if they should intervene or not.
“What did she suck you off or something?”
Bucky and Sam had to leap forward to stop Zemo from launching onto John while Battlestar had to hold John back. “Too far man, too far” he muttered to John
Zemo was snarling at John, his teeth bared in rage. His hair had fallen loose from their usual position and was hanging down over his forehead, giving him a more wild look. The vein in his neck stood out, twitching. His eyes were raging with fire as he looked at John. He kept trying to push past Bucky and Sam to get to John, but eventually gave up knowing it was futile.
You were standing at the side, shocked that John would have the ego to say something like that and at Zemo’s rage towards John for saying it. John adjusts his head. Not looking you in the eyes, but looking in your direction. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t of said that”
Pulling your senses together, you walk up to John, glaring at him. “Yeah, you damn well shouldn’t have. You’re a dick. Nothing like Steve. You never will be,”
John wrinkles his nose in anger, frowning at your remark. You walk over to Zemo now that Bucky and Sam had let go of him. You give him a nod, showing your appreciation, and he nods back, though still glaring at John.
“Who I choose to associate myself with is none of your business. Who I choose to suck off is none of your business. Perhaps you can go fuck yourself and learn a bit of decency,” you spit at him.
A brilliant thought crosses your brain for another way to twist the dagger of your dislike into John. You reach out and grab onto Zemo’s hand, clasping it.
The action causes everyone to turn wide eyed to you. Including Zemo. He glances down at your hand in his then back to yours, surprise in his gaze but he immediately covers it up turning back to John smirking. He turns to behind himself, then back to the group.
“My associate is up ahead,”
You all turn to look forwards and see a little girl staring at you. Walking forward again, gripping his hand, Zemo nods to the girl as you all approach.
“Hello my friend,”
He holds out some money, a lot by the looking of it, and says to her, “This is for your family”
The girl hastily snatches it, obviously in need of it, and you can’t help but feel your heart warm a bit, seeing how kind Zemo was being to her.
“Can you show us the way?”
She beckons with her hands and walks forward. Zemo looks back at you, nodding to make sure you were okay, then follows her.
“What the hell” John murmurs from behind.
Following the girl, she leads you to a building. She turns, pointing inside a doorway, and runs inside not to be seen again.
“Karli’s in there,” Zemo tells the rest of the group. Sam replies and heads inside to talk to her while John suddenly grabs Zemo’s arm and yanks him against the machine on the wall.
Zemo moans as he is shoved into it, the hard outer piece hitting into his chest roughly.
“Hey. You’ve got ten minutes” John shouts to Sam as he takes out a pair of handcuffs and attaches them to Zemo.
“Really” Zemo mutters as John cuffs him to the machine.
“Then we are doing things my way,” John declares ignoring him
“Aggressive” Zemo jokes, though from his eyes you could still see the anger he harbors towards John.
He twists his head to watch John stride forward, staring at Sam, then back to him. “But I get it”
You wander over to stand by Zemo as you wait for Sam to talk to Karli.
“This day has brought a lot of changes. This morning you refused to say a single thing to me and now just moments ago you were holding my hand,” Zemo speaks quietly to you.
You shoot him a glare, “I did that to agitate John,”
“Sure, that was the only reason” but you knew from his eyes he didn’t believe you. They sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you.
“That cuff must bother you” you mention glancing over at them.
“I don’t mind. I quite enjoy cuffs, in the right setting of course,” he quips.
You turn on your side, looking at him, your lips curling into a smile. If we are going to play that game, you thought.
“Oh, what setting would that be?”
Zemo’s smile deepened, enjoying seeing you play along, “I’m sure you would like to know”
“Do you have to do this here!” John exclaims, glaring at the two of you. You quickly step back from Zemo, forgetting that you two had company. Your eyes snap to Bucky’s with worry, but he wasn’t looking at you. He glared at the ground, not seeming to care what was happening between you and Zemo.
After that Zemo tried to engage you in conversation again but you effectively ignored him, going back to how you were treating him earlier, which you knew was frustrating him.
John was looking down at the shield, then squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, panting. Both you and Zemo glanced up, watching him cautiously. You glanced at Zemo and he stared back, confirming you were both thinking the same thing about Walker.
He got up and started shuffling towards the doorway. Both you and Bucky eyed at each other for the first time with the same recognition in your eyes. You leave Zemo’s side to walk over to where John was.
“No, no, no. This is a bad idea,” John mutters as he paces around. Zemo watches him like a hawk while you and Bucky stand side by side, arms crossed.
“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Sit tight,” Bucky replies.
“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me,” he spits back, pacing around.
“He knows what he is doing,” you reply
There’s silence for just a moment. You watch as John turns towards you and walks fast, hitting his fist against the shield, “I’m going in”
Bucky walks forward and places his hand on John, stopping him from moving further.
He tries to antagonise Bucky, trying to make him guilty for what could happen to Sam. And you could tell his words were influencing him.
“You will not be going in till ten minutes are up,” you state sauntering over to them
“Oh, so the whore has something to say,” John spits out
In the back, Zemo growls, tugging on the cuffs that connected him to the wall. You feel the outrage prick up on you as John’s remark.
“Don’t call her that” Bucky says, glaring at John
“She’s been openly flirting with the terrorist over there, so yeah, I think it’s appropriate to call her that,” John bites back
You rush forward, attempting to punch John in rage, but he was able to sidestep you and brings the shield up, connecting it harshly to the side of your head. Pain soars across your face as you fall down onto the ground. You groan, your eyesight going dark around the sides and black patches covering parts of what you could see.
“BASTARD” you hear someone shout with a beautiful accent. From the floor, you can’t make out much of what is going on. Someone with a metal arm attacking another guy. A man with a shield being attacked by a man in a trench coat. It was all too confusing for you. You just wanted to sleep.
You could feel yourself fading in and out. Your eyes begging to close. You could hear shouting. Someone talking.
Your head was raised. Someone was holding it in their hands. Your vision is blurry but as they get nearer your eyes could focus on them. Beautiful brown eyes, messy brown hair, cute thin lips. It was him.
“Y/n!?” Zemo shouted at you, “Y/n stay with me”
“My head hurts” you mutter to Zemo as he lifts you up, placing you against the wall. Slowly your eyesight came back, and you could see your surroundings. Only you and Zemo were left.
“Zemo, where is everyone?” you ask turning your head, but in doing so it makes you feel incredibly dizzy. You groan as Zemo places a hand on the side of your face to stop you moving.
“They went after the Sam,”
“I need to help them!”
“No, you need to stay here and recover,”
You look over at the wall then back to Zemo, “How did you get out of the cuffs?” you ask
“Ah well…” Zemo says and glances down at his hand, your eyes follow and widen seeing his hand, bruising covering it, his thumb sticking out at an odd angle.
“You broke your hand to get out!?”
“Well, I couldn’t let him get away with saying those things and hurting you,” Zemo mutters, smiling slightly but you could see the pain flickering in his eyes, “I gave him a well-deserved punch in the face”
You chuckle at the thought. Leaning forward, you kiss him lightly on his forehead, a gesture of you wanting to ease his pain. You move back just in time to see him looking at you, surprised, before your vision faded.
Taglist: @multiyfandomgirl40 @ineffablebean @freyjasamael @avgravy @huntheimpossible @checkurwindow @there-goes-thefighter @bunniwritesx @montypythonsholysnail @yallgotkik @wonderwoman292
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boss bitch (Helmut Zemo x Reader) NSFW
Warnings: Smut, alcohol, AFAB Reader, orgasm denial, daddy kink, unprotected sex, choking, thigh-riding.
“Are you sure you want to be drinking all of the good stuff?”
You glanced up at the voice, seeing Zemo leaning across the doorway, watching you with an accusatory glance towards the bottle of whiskey you were holding in one hand, having poured half a glassful already.
He moves from where he’s standing, coming closer, using the countertop to rest on this time, instead of the doorframe.
At this moment in time it’s quiet, Sam and Bucky are already asleep on the floor above, and you’re almost wondering why Zemo’s awake, but then again, he did seem to appear in rooms when you least expected him to, he was almost impressively quiet.
“May I?” He asks, gesturing towards the bottle you’re holding, and you nod, sliding it across the counter towards him.
“It’s hardly like you have to ask, it’s your stuff” You muttered. He gave a chuckle at this, which you would of missed if the room wasn’t so quiet.
You took a sip of your drink, the burning liquid going down the back of your throat as you felt Zemo’s eyes on you. You placed it back down on the countertop and sighed.
Zemo moves again, changing from leaning on the counter to actually sitting down, on the opposite side you’re on, his eyes not leaving you once, before he speaks again.
“So what makes you feel like drinking at such an hour?” He questions.
“I could ask you the same question” You say, nodding towards his own glass, and he tilts his head in thought for a moment.
“I couldn’t sleep” You answer before he has a chance to speak, and then you gesture towards the shelf filled with various other bottles.
“So I decided why not” You laugh to yourself. Zemo nods, and cradles his glass in his hands.
“Seems like we are both in the same predicament” He responds, lifting his glass in mock cheers, before bringing it to his lips, again, watching you as he did so. Your eyes watching the way his lips wrapped around the edge of the glass, and you turned away, clearing your throat slightly.
When you turn back, he’s smirking almost, an amused expression on his face.
It’s almost painfully difficult to ignore the way your stomach churns when he looks at you, especially when he watches you so closely.
Sam and Bucky would be disappointed if not upset with you if they found out that you had feelings for the man who technically broke up the avengers.
But there was something different in the way he watched you, a softer gaze to the one he gives Sam, or Bucky, he’s almost sizing them up, wondering what their next move will be, always thinking ahead.
You don’t realise Zemo has even moved until he’s sliding into the seat next to you. Your head turning sharply as his elbow brushes against yours gently.
You inhaled softly, before breathing out again. Zemo turns his head towards you
“Is something wrong?” He asks, and you shake your head, before you down the rest of your drink.
“I’m fine” You assure him, and he’s still watching you, constantly. You wished he wouldn’t, almost squirming under his gaze.
He knows your nervous, he’d be an idiot if he couldn’t tell that much, but it was satisfying for him, watching the way you tried to pretend nothing was wrong when he was sat ever so close to you, arms brushing for a slight moment, and the way you tensed up.
You’re scolding yourself mentally, he’s practically a terrorist you tell yourself. A few glances and gentle touches won’t change that.
You feel a hand on your arm and when you turn to look at Zemo his face is close to yours. You look down at your arm, and see his hand resting on top of your wrist.
“What are you thinking liebling?” He asks.
“Nothing I-” You can’t stop looking at his mouth, and you force yourself to turn away, until the hand on your wrist moves to your chin, tilting your head back towards Zemo.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me” Zemo whispers, and you shake your head
“I’m not scared of you” He watches you for a moment, his thumb running across the underside of your lip, your eyes almost close at the contact, as you move closer towards him in your seat unconsciously.
He chuckles at that, low and soft, tilting his head to examine you further. He moves closer to you, so that his lips are level with yours, and you’re waiting for him to to move, do anything other than just watch you.
And then he kisses you. His hands moving to rest on your waist as he pulls you closer towards him, so that you’re actually on his lap, it’s an almost awkward manoeuvre from your chair to his knee, without breaking the kiss once.
All you can think about is the way his lips are moving against yours, the soft grip of his fingers digging into the flesh of your waist.
His leg moves upwards, and you almost stiffen at the sudden contact of his thigh against you, and he pulls away once again, eyes on you, waiting for you to push him away or give any sign that this isn’t what you want.
But it is, and you respond by kissing him again, your hands pressed against his chest as he kisses you back, harder this time, more desperate, pressing open mouthed kisses against you.
Zemo moves away, his mouth now moving across your neck, as he switches between nipping and sucking on the skin. It almost draws a moan from you, yet you bite your lip before any sound can escape.
The hands on your waist shift your body forward, and he moves his leg upwards again, creating friction between the two of you, and you suck in a gasp of air.
“Shit-” You mumble into his shoulder, as he continues to move you against his thigh, and his leg almost bounced up against you, unrelenting with his pace. Continuing to grind his leg into your cunt. He watched you, pleased with the way your eyes fluttered shut, and your mouth opened and closed slightly in breathy pants for air.
You moved to bury your head in his shoulder, but his hand stopped you.
“I want you to look at me” Zemo instructs, as his hands move from your waists, allowing you to continue your actions at your own pace, as his fingers worked quickly on removing your shirt, glancing at you for approval before he swiftly unbuttoned it, pulling it off you, and then making quick work of your bra, throwing it onto the ground below the two of you.
His hands moved to cup your breasts, a finger and thumb flicking one of your nipples to get a grasp of your reaction, to which you respond by pushing your breast further into his hand, desperate for him to keep going. His head lowered and he pressed a kiss to the top of your breast, before moving his hands again, around your waist and he quickly picked you up, and you made a noise at the sudden movement, as he placed you onto the top of the counter, pushing your legs aside to stand between them.
A hand wrapped around your throat gently as he kissed you, and you could taste the whiskey on his lips still, and his hand got tighter, as yours gripped onto the fabric of his shirt, making pleading noises into his mouth.
“God take it off” You gasped, breathless from the kiss, tugging at his shirt. Zemo raises a brow at you before complying, shrugging the fabric over his head and discarding it onto the floor along with your clothes.
His hands were quick to move down to your pants, pushing a hand under the waistband and pulling them down in a swift motion, removing your underwear at the same time, leaving you completely exposed to him.
Zemo’s fingers moved quickly, pressing up against your clit almost immediately, and circling it against it watching as you shuddered at the contact. He moved closer, so that he could kiss you while he continued to touch you, and you moaned against his mouth as he continued to circle his finger against your clit.
His other hand moved back up to your neck at the exact time he pushed a digit into you, and your body jolted further, in an anguished attempt to make more contact with Zemo.
“You’re so good for me” He breathed out, pressing kisses into your neck, starting to nip at the flesh again, making sure he left marks for the morning to come, while adding another finger, and increasing his pace.
Your legs shuddered and your hand moved to grip around the one around your neck, pleas and moans leaving your mouth as you felt your orgasm building up, you felt hot and exhausted already, Zemo’s hand tightening around your throat, helping build up to the climax even more
“Fuck Zemo I-” And before you can reach the top of your climax he pulls his fingers out completely, and you whine at him almost childishly, begging for the contact to come back again.
“You don’t get to come until I’m inside you” He murmurs, pressing a kiss against your mouth as your hands reach for his fly, deprived of the skin on skin contact that you crave from him so much.
There was a moment of silence, where you pulled off his belt, and he pushed his own trousers down to speed up the process.
He was at his limit at this point, allowing you a moment to run a hand over the tip of his cock as he let out a soft groan at the contact.
He moves closer to you to position the tip of his cock at your entrance, and you arch your back as you feel him push into you slowly. He brings a hand to pull your leg behind his back as he pushes further into you, and your wraps around his arm again, digging into the flesh, and you think to yourself that it’s definitely going to leave marks in the morning.
His hips snap forward, meeting yours and he stretches you out so well, and you can feel him filling you entirely, but god it feels so good.
And he’s fucking you hard, yet with a delicacy that you’ve never seen before, your head is lulling back slightly as a string of curses leave your mouth, you can feel him fully as he shifts back and then thrusts into you harshly again, and the hand on your thigh is squeezing hard enough to bruise you.
“Fuck daddy-” You whimper, and you don’t know where it came from, neither does Zemo, but it definitely spurs him on
“You such a good girl” He murmurs, picking up his speed, and you whimper from the pleasure coursing through your body, a hand goes to the side of the countertop and grips the edge, the glass that was near you has fallen off the side now, and shattered on the floor, but neither of you care, you’re both lost in the feeling of each other, as he continues to bury himself inside you, your toes curl at the sensation of him thrusting in all the way, and you continue to let out a stream of cries and whimpers, moaning from the way he’s fucking you.
You feel your climax building again and you know it won’t be long before you come undone. Zemo leans down to kiss you again, as a grunt of pleasure leaves his mouth, his fingers grip tighter around your thigh, and the hand on your neck loosens slightly. He thrusts harder than before and you watch his face contort as he removes the hand from your neck and begins to circle your clit, it’s too much for you and with a whimper and a cry of his name you’re climaxing over his cock, he feels your walls tighten and he with a grunt he’s reaching his peak quickly after you, spilling his seed into your cunt.
He’s breathing against your neck as you lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He doesn’t move, not yet, until you slide your leg down from around his waist..
He pulls back, sliding out of you with ease, and watches with some sort of satisfaction and his cum drips out of you slowly. Your arms fall down to your side slowly, and he glances towards your slumped figure.
“Come, let’s get you cleaned up”
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Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)
TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!
Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)
CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts
No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!
If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.
Hope you enjoy!
Returning a Favor
Meet me in Riga. -S
That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.
“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”
“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.
You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.
“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.
You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.
“And I you,” you respond.
Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.
The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.
“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.
The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.
“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.
Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.
“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”
“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.
“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”
Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.
“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”
You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.
The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.
“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.
“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”
Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.
“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.
“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.
“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.
You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.
You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.
“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.
His voice is calm, accent thick.
“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”
You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.
Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.
When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.
“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”
“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”
“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”
Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.
“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”
“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.
He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.
“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”
Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.
When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.
“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.
You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.
“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”
“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.
Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.
“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.
There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.
“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”
You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.
“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.
“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.
You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.
“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.
He was sitting next to Sam now.
“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.
You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.
Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.
You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.
“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.
“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”
You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.
“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.
You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.
“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.
You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.
“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.
When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.
Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.
“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”
“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.
He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.
“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”
“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.
He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.
Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.
“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”
“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”
Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.
“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.
“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.
Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.
“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.
“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.
Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.
“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”
He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.
He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.
“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”
Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.
“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”
“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”
You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.
His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.
“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”
Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.
“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”
Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.
“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”
He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.
“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.
For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.
“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”
Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.
Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.
“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.
You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.
Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.
“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.
“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.
“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”
You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.
“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.
He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.
Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.
It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.
“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.
Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.
“One of you better start talking.”
1K notes · View notes
music to watch you to.
summary. | He likes you a lot, so he’s putting on his music to watch his little girl to.
warnings. | smut, stepdad trope, penetration, masturbation (f/m), choking, voyeurism, perversion, watching porn, come marking, breeding kink, Daddy kink, dirty talk, praise, degradation, humiliation, spitting, fishnet kink, begging, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
word count. | 5.4k
pairings. | Step Father!Helmut Zemo x Reader.
a/n. | happy early birthday @bvckyswildflower!! i love you so much, thank you so much for everything and for being such an amazing friend! you’re so strong, you deserve the world. ilysm, happy early birthday! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know.
A specific buzz runs through your veins. Your head throbs immensely, and you walk with tiredness taking over your body. Your high heels swing in your hands, and your phone dies at the same time too. The ache in your back feels as though with one good stretch, it’ll go away, but that’s far from the truth. Your makeup is messed up, and what’s left of it stains your face. You’re lucky you made it out without a horrible stomach ache. You take your alcohol well but not well enough to leave you unscathed.
You almost feel bad for leaving so early, but you just couldn’t spend a second there any longer. As soon as you stepped foot into your old friend’s house, you knew you’d regret it. And you do. You’re still not sure whether the slight sickness inside you is from the alcohol or the shame. Why you ever agreed to go out just a few days after the breakup is beyond you. Familiar faces of people you haven’t seen in years filled the room, and you dread the questions they’ve asked you.
How was university? Did you and your boyfriend get engaged? What happened to you? Are you staying here? Did you graduate?
Your answers disappoint them, and you could see the faux pity written all over them. They turn away, make a mocking face to their friends, and then turn back to you as if they don’t see you as lower than them. Someone who’ll never get anywhere in life, who’ll be stuck in this city while everyone else moves away. It’s what they’ve been whispering about you. They don’t take your return lightly, and you don’t take their words with a grain of salt.
So that’s why you are strolling throughout your home, dragging your feet behind you. There are small noises in the kitchen, but you’re too out of it to genuinely care. You wish for someone who cares. Someone who could hold you tight throughout the dark times, just like he-who-shall-no-longer-be-named would for a split second. You want reassurance; you want love. But you don’t know who to turn to for it except for yourself.
You’d kill for some comfort from your mother, but she’s already taken her sleeping pills, and you don’t have the energy to walk across the house just for a hug and a ‘toughen up, kiddo’ from her. Your stepfather, on the other hand… He’s much better at comfort. Though he isn’t as in touch with his emotions (ignorance is bliss), he knows how weak minds tend to be. Best with his words, you can’t stand to sit down and have a conversation about how the only thing in life that brings you happiness is something you can’t possibly make a career out of. So you’d instead take his awkward pat on the back and half-hug over his overly-detailed psychoanalysis.
But you don’t want to bother him either, so you suck it up and lock yourself in your room. Your heels are strewn onto the floor, and your phone is slammed onto the bedside table. You’ll charge it later. You throw yourself onto your bed, not caring that you’ve just given yourself an unwanted headache that won’t go away until you take some medicine. The dizziness soon parts ways from your head, and you sigh.
You tend to enjoy a good party every now and then, but you’d much rather have a party all by your lonesome.
You fiddle with your fingers mindlessly. A small habit you’ve developed since you were a kid, and your mother would soon learn that it’s your form of bouncing your leg up and down. You always have your own twist on familiar things, such as coping mechanisms and Pinterest baking recipes. Your nail stops at a piece of broken skin, and you’re not sure why it’s there. Perhaps you cut yourself while cooking, or maybe while trying to look for an appropriate outfit. You’re such a clutz, always getting hurt yet never knowing how your injuries have formed.
You want to pick at it so badly, but you remember that you always regret it when you’d look at your finger just to find some blood. So you leave it alone, and in the same manner; you want all the horrible people who aren’t you to leave you alone—everyone except for him. You stare up at the ceiling and let your hands fall to your sides, and your eyes flutter shut. You have no intent to sleep as your tiredness has left you the moment you stepped foot into your small room.
Your bed sheets feel lovely against your skin. You want to lay there forever and ever and never let go of the feeling. It’s rare to have this feeling when in bed, especially during the summer. It’s like finding money on the ground or getting a good grade on an assignment you were worried about. You turn on your stomach with a heavy sigh, worried that you’ll stain the fabric beneath you with your makeup. So you simply just rest your head against your arms. You gaze off to the side, and you think about him. It’s so wrong, and you really shouldn’t.
But you do it anyway.
The first time you met him was a year ago. You weren’t overly ecstatic about having a stepfather, but you warmed up to the idea just for the sake of your mother. She was never that happy since before your father passed away. Your house was so dull, except for the times when your relatives would visit, or your friends would come over. But even they would grow distant from you, and you’d eventually have to stick to seeing your them only at school and birthday parties.
It took you a while to get used to him. Your interactions were always either because of your mother or by accident. Like the one time, your mother forced you to hug him, and you felt his hard cock pressed against your body. Or the other time, when he bumped into you and accidentally spilled water all over both of your white shirts. He got a nice view of your tits, and you got a pleasant sight of his body.
A softly toned stomach along with a bit of chest hair that you’d love to tangle your fingers between, with numerous freckles that remind you of stars in the night sky. An Adonis line runs down to his groin, and God, you really shouldn’t be thinking of your stepfather this way. You can’t help it, though, especially not when he looks like a real-life reincarnation of a Greek God.
You don’t realize the hands that trail along your body until you feel goosebumps beginning to rise. Your red painted nails dance along your skin, and a lovely chill runs down your spine. You let out a shaky breath as your core pools with wetness, soaking your leggings. Now, the cloth doesn’t have anything special to it. It’s cheap and old, from when you just turned eighteen. And it’s the pair that you’ve always managed to soak while thinking about him.
You still wear that cheap dress of yours. You’ve stitched it up, God knows how many times, and yet it never is perfect. It’s silk, cheap silk. You easily could buy another one, heck, even a much better one. But you choose not to because there’s just something about it that makes you want to keep it. ...Oh, right. It’s Helmut’s favourite.
It’s like the conversation happened a few minutes ago when really it was three years ago, a year after they had gotten married.
You're waiting for your mother to finish getting ready for a family dinner, so you lounge around the living room. He comes sauntering in, his tie loose and his hair a mess. You try to avoid jumping to conclusions, but you know exactly what happened. Small talk is never your thing, and it isn’t for him either, but you go with it just to ease the awkwardness.
“Nice dress, you look amazing in it,” he tells you as he ties the black cloth around his neck. “T- Thank you,” you smile at him before looking back down to your phone. Your photos app and settings app aren’t as excellent as he is, but they’ll make do just to keep you occupied. “You should wear it more often.”
Your finger trails along your top lip gently, a feather-light touch that you’ve learned to master years ago. You’re like a light breeze in the hot summer rain against your skin. More wetness drools out of you, and you just wonder how he manages to have this effect on you even though you’ve both barely ever spoken to one another. From your lips, you trail your fingers down to your neck.
Your other hand grips the cloth of the dress right below your decolletage and right above your breasts. Your toes curl, and you spread your legs apart slightly. Your fingers trail to your shoulders, and you push down the thin straps of your dress. You sit up on your knees and slowly pull the dress over your head, letting the rose gold fabric softly brush over your skin and fall next to you.
You push it off the bed and let it find a temporary home on the ground beside the bed. You’re left in a strapless bra and your fishnet leggings. They’re your absolute favourite, and you always get excited whenever the occasion to pull them out comes up. Once again, there’s nothing too special about it. It’s just that the hole-filled accessory never fails to make you feel beautiful.
You unclasp your bra slowly and drag your nails along your back as you do so. Your head involuntarily rolls backwards at the feeling. “Fuck,” you whisper under your breath. The bra lands on your dress, and your hands slowly crawl down to the waist of the leggings. They move over your soft thighs, and your breathing hitches. You get closer and closer to your sticky inner thighs, right to where your sopping pussy is.
Your eyes flutter shut once again, but you quickly open them up when you remember that your laptop is fully charged. Though the gadget was bought explicitly for essential uses, you just can’t help loading up a specific site that never fails to make you drop your panties. The little devil on your shoulder outshines the angel, and you find yourself grabbing the device and placing it in front of you. It powers up quicker than ever, and you’re smiling with glee and mischief.
You type the first letter of the website into your search bar, and it immediately pops up, making you giggle. You drag your bottom lips between your teeth, biting down on it lightly, and you search for your favourite video. The one that you always watch whenever you think about him. The one that never fails to turn you on beyond belief.
Stepdad fucks his stepdaughter after catching her masturbating.
The title itself makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. A few frames from the video tease you with what’s coming, and excitement runs through your veins. Your drunken haze from the few shots of vodka you took down the hatch no longer exists, and now you’re drunk on arousal. You press play and sit back against the numerous mismatched pillows you own.
It’s your makeshift throne, and you’ll do anything you desire in it. You place your hands on the back of your thighs gently, splaying them against the skin and muscle as you always do. Your wetness makes your pussy glisten like the shiny clandestine jewel it is. The juxtaposing classical music in the introduction reminds you that you aren’t home alone and that someone can hear you.
And by someone, you immediately think of Helmut.
Your heart clamours at the thought of him learning as to what you’re watching. Would he yell? Would he leave? Would he kick you out? ...Would he help you out? Each scenario has you shivering, and yet you decide to open up another tab. The grey, white and red screen of YouTube pops up, and you click the first song shown in your recommendation.
The soft, melodious voice of Lana Del Rey echoes from your computer, and you double-click the music video, putting it on loop. The song blares throughout your room, and you switch back to your intended tab. The video has already gotten to the best part. The woman is wearing nothing except for a sly smirk as the older man––her ‘stepfather’––slowly undresses.
Now, he looks nothing like Helmut, and you know that nobody can compare. But you can’t help but close your eyes and picture him. The stubble beard of his that you’d love to feel between your thighs. Those big, veiny hands that would look so lovely gripping your hips. A lightly sculpted body that would perfectly hover over yours as he plows into you. God, you have it bad for him.
The video’s dialogue doesn’t matter to you because you’ve already got your own script written. You trail your dominant hand to your pussy, while your other hand remains at your thigh. Your inner thighs are sticky with your wetness, and you can just imagine what Helmut would think. “Such a desperate little girl, you’re so wet. Is it all because of me?”
It’s almost as if you can hear him.
Coffee is like a drug, which is why Helmut has stopped drinking it. Tea, on the other hand, is much more soothing. The way the hot liquid tastes on Helmut’s tongue reminds him of the days in college where he would catch a slight fever. He’d call his father for overnight remedies, and he’d always have to instruct him how to make the tea over the phone.
Through his obliviousness, he never knew that black tea has as much caffeine as your average cup of coffee. So that’s why he’s mindlessly exploring his home at half-past-ten. Helmut has wandered around in the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms and even the bathrooms. He’d take one or two of his wife’s sleeping pills, but they’re prescribed, and she’ll get mad. He doesn’t like it when anyone gets mad at him.
Boredom is always a good cure for restlessness. And nothing bores Helmut more than a textbook. Long hours of studying flash into his mind, and he would hate to be a student in this day and age. Gosh, he sounds so old. He knows you have some textbooks still lying in your room, ones that you promised to donate but have kept on your desk since. He’s tried to be understanding in your dropping out, but you’re hard to read.
So he walks up the carpeted stairs that he has nearly fallen down on one too many times. With a sharp exhale, he slowly approaches your room. He recognizes that music all too well. When you’re in the shower, you tend to belt out Lana’s songs while scrubbing that beautiful body of yours. He wants to deny it, and he knows that if he were to be put on the stand, he wouldn’t be able to lie about it.
He’s watched you do so many intimate things in your room. The memories can never leave his mind, and he feels so guilty about it, but he just can’t help but fantasize about you. Sitting on that bed, your hands between your thighs, begging him to come fuck you. Blood rushes down his cock, and he shakes his head in disappointment. “I’m such a fucking pervert, God,” he mumbles under his breath, rounding the corner.
The music gets louder, and though he usually isn’t into the songs you play, he can’t stop the slight skip in his steps. He hums along to the words, and Helmut notices the way your door is a bit ajar. He wonders if you’ve passed out and forgotten to turn off your lights and the computer, only because he knows how much you hate having your door open even by the slightest crease.
He peaks in, and you shock him.
Your back arches off the pillows a bit. The hand against your thigh now grips one of your tits, and your legs are spread out wide. Your heart clamours in your chest as you slowly rub your swollen clit, watching the video attentively. The petite pornstar is plowed into by her co-star, and you can just imagine how nice it would be to have Helmut throw you around like you’re nothing.
“Oh, Helmut…” you moan, pressing down a bit harder on your nub. Helmut’s eyes nearly fall out of his skull, and he just can’t believe his ears. He watches your hips buck against your fingers, and a bead of sweat runs down the side of your neck. You pant like a bitch in heat, and blood rushes both to his face as well as his cock. You touch yourself over your leggings, and Helmut wants nothing more than to fuck you silly while you wear them.
He slowly and gently opens up your door a bit farther, peeping his head inside just to get a better view of you. There is not one voice in his mind calling out to him, saying that he shouldn’t be doing this and should just go to his room. So he just has to assume that everything is okay. “Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.
You speed up the ministrations on your clit, and you watch the screen as the stepdaughter matches your expression of euphoria. Her eyes roll back into her skull, and yours do the same. As her jaw falls slack, your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape that resembles hers. The man fucks her even harder, urging her to come all over his cock, and you want Helmut to do the same to you. Pressure shoots through your abdomen, and you’re so tempted to let out a loud moan.
But the hand that clamps down on your mouth stops you. You let out a squeal out of shock, only to look up and find Helmut staring at you with a dark look in his eyes. A pure, almost childlike terror claims your face, but you soon relax into him. The blue of his orbs are blown out with lust, and you want death right here, right now. “Shh, don’t stop, little girl, let me see you come undone,” he husks, and you nod your head.
“Go on, show Daddy how much of a whore you can be,” he urges, and your eyes fall to his crotch. You can see the outline of his thick cock through his thin shorts. You imagine it stretching you out, dragging against your sensitive walls while his pelvis grinds against your clit. Soaking him in your juices while telling you how much of a slut you are as if you don’t already know.
You rub your little nub even faster now, and you watch Helmut as he pushes his hand inside his drawers. He wraps his hand around his cock, desperate for some sort of release. His other hand moves from your mouth, and he uses it to push down his shorts and boxers. You don’t even have the energy to look at him and his pretty cock, because you’re too focused on coming for him.
He stands right next to your laptop, and you can feel his eyes on you as he switches between watching your pretty face and staring at your dripping pussy. Your legs twitch, and your chest rises and falls as you begin to feel that fire in your core ignite. Precum drips from Helmut’s slit, beads of it rolling down the side of his cock and staining his hand. His fist pumps furiously over his cock––from base to tip––over and over again.
He lets out low, deep grunts and moans as he feels himself nearing the edge already. “God, you’re such a fucking slut; wanting to get fucked by your Stepfather. I bet those young boys don’t know how to fuck you good, right? Yeah, I bet while they were fucking you, you were thinking of me filling up that pussy with my cum,” he growls, and you nod your head.
Every single word of his is absolutely true, and you wonder if it’s been written all over your face for those years you’ve known him.
“Oh, are you gonna come, baby? So quickly? You really are desperate, aren’t you? Већ постајеш глуп? Боже, само сачекај док те не натакнем на пенис,” he growls, quickening his movements on his cock. You have no idea what he’s saying, but his tone of voice is enough to push you over the edge. The dam breaks, and in comes the flood. With a loud moan, you come undone as the girl in the video hits her climax as well. You moan loudly, but the music covers your loud sounds up.
Your back arches off the bed, and wetness drools out of you. Your chest rises and falls as tingles fill your entire body from pleasure. You continue to rub your clit––softly, though. Your legs twitch, and you just can’t handle anything more, even though you’re still needy and desperate to get off again and again. Your digits move downwards, and they pick up some of your slick. You stare him dead in the eyes as you bring said fingers all the way up to your lips.
You push them past your oh-so kissable lips, and the slightly bitter yet sweet taste of yourself fills your mouth. Your tongue swirls around your fingers, lapping and licking up every bit of yourself. And you do it all while Helmut watches you. You smile around them, trying your best to hide the brattiness beneath your exterior. But he sees straight through it. Blood rushing down to his cock again, and he can’t believe how much of a whore you are.
“Fuck, you taste good, don’t you, baby? Вероватно слатко попут слаткиша,” he moans, fucking his hand even faster now. He usually has better stamina, but there’s just something about you that’s changing it all. “I’m gonna come all over you, coat you with my seed so that you’ll remember that you belong to me. Nobody else’s slut, only mine,” Helmut snarls.
“Please, Daddy? Please give me your cum; I want it all over me. Please? I need it so badly, please give me your cum,” you beg him sweetly, and that just does it for him. He’s a goner. His balls tighten up, and he aims his cock towards your pussy. Groaning, he hits his climax. White streaks of hot cum spurt out from his raging tip, landing onto your cunt, and you gasp loudly. You let out soft whimpers, and Helmut lets out soft groans.
His cum mixes with the mess that is your pussy, and you open your legs even wider for him. Ropes of his seed hit your clit, your inner thigh, right near your hole––practically everywhere. “Fuck,” he moans, admiring the painted masterpiece between your legs. It’s so debauched, so wrong to do, but you both love it so much. “Your pussy is even prettier now, baby,” he smirks, dropping his hand that was on his cock to his sides. You stare up at him with a mischievous smirk on your face.
“You still aren’t satisfied, are you? You’re such a whore. I bet if it were possible, you’d get fucked every second of the day. You just can’t get enough of being treated like a slut, I know you can’t, мала беба,” Helmut growls, and you whimper. The idea is simply wonderful, and you realize that he’s not wrong at all. He swiftly pulls his shirt over his head, and you ogle his body. You never really did fancy those overly ripped men growing up.
Maybe it was just the content you consumed when you were younger. His stomach is soft, and you’d love to have your nose against it while his cock is in your throat. His chest is just perfect for you to dig your nails in when you ride his cock. He’s perfect. Helmut smirks down at you––all morals out the window––and he climbs on top of your body. He rests his hands on your waist, right where the band of your leggings is.
At first, you think he’s truly the gentleman he is. You think he’s going to pull your fishnets down, and you think he’s going to be gentle with you. But you’re wrong. His broad hands move to the centre of your core, and he slots his fingers between the spaces of the tights. Suddenly, he rips them apart loudly, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. The sound is quite loud, but your music is louder. You’re sure the video has finished playing, but you don’t care about that.
You only care about him.
He continues to tear the cheap fabric away from your skin, leaving you with nothing on. You admire the tiny bit of strength he puts into the action, almost as if stripping you bare doesn’t matter much to him. Helmut throws the two pieces of what was once your favourite pair of leggings behind him, somewhere near the laptop. He grips your thighs and drags you closer to him until his cock is touching your messy pussy.
You watch him through his every movement. “Such a pretty pussy. I can’t wait to ruin it, baby,” he smiles at you, bringing his index finger to your sensitive folds. You’re so wet, soaking the bed sheets beneath you, and there’s no doubt you’ll do the same to his cock. “I want you to fuck me, Daddy. Please fuck me, I’ll be so good for you!” you plead to him, hooking your arms under your knees.
“Боже мој…” Helmut breathlessly mutters, looking at the way your eyes have been glazed over. He pulls his hand away from your pussy, unsure as to whether or not he wants to fuck you into oblivion right here, right now, or to tease you until you’re sobbing and writhing. “Please, please, please, Daddy! Please fuck me, I need your cock so badly, please-” you continue to beg until a hand around your throat shuts you up.
Helmut leans over your body even more now, squeezing the sides of your neck until dark stars taint your vision. “That’s all you know how to do; beg for cock and be desperate. Right? Пошто сте тако лепо питали, ваљда ћу се појебати ти. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. I’ll only stop when I think I should stop,” he smirks, and you moan softly. Nodding your head excitedly, you go to beg once more just for added measure.
As soon as you open your mouth, you’re taken aback. Helmut’s face hovers over yours, and his lips are puckered up. Suddenly, he spits into your slack jaw, and it lands directly on your tongue. “Swallow it, now,” he orders, and you do exactly that. His blown-out eyes stare into yours for a few seconds, and your heart is beating out of your chest. More wetness drools out of your hole, and Helmut’s cock is still hard.
You then feel the blunt tip of his big cock poking at your tight entrance. Your breathing hitches as he slowly pushes his, sheathing his entire length inside of you. The stretch is so painful as he splits you into two. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good for Daddy,” he tells you, his accent becoming more prominent than you’ve ever noticed. He eventually bottoms out, and you’re fighting so hard to not let out a loud moan that even Lana Del Rey can’t save you from.
“Проклетство, твоја маца је тако уска, just gripping me so tight I can barely move,” Helmut groans. His balls sit against your ass, and you slowly get used to the painful stretch. It turns pleasurable, and you find yourself wanting him to move already. You clench down on him, urging him to start fucking you. But he just shakes his head, not giving in to your Bambi eyes and pathetic pleas. “Feel how deep I’m inside of you, baby? Yeah, isn’t that what you wanted?” he questions, and you nod your head.
The song starts up again for the nth time that night. “Тако добро ћу те јебати, душо. Gonna let your stepdad fuck you, baby?” he questions once more, waiting for your answer. “Mhm, fuck me, Daddy. Please fuck me,” you tell him, and he lets out a soft chuckle. Slowly, he drags his cock out of your wet pussy. He watches where you’re both connected, staring at the way you have him shining and glistening. You moan softly as he leaves just the tip of his cock inside you before thrusting back into you harshly.
Helmut fucks you roughly and quickly, desperate to bring you both to your climaxes. His hand grips your throat roughly, and his other hand grabs your waist tightly. “Fuck, Daddy,” you choke out, not expecting him to be so aggressive. “Принцезо, you look so pretty with my cock inside you. I love how stupid you look,” he groans. “Harder, daddy, please, I wanna come for you,” you plead to him. “Such a brat, am I not fucking you hard enough? God, you’re such a whore. You’re gonna be sorry you asked me that,” Helmut warns.
He slows down his pace, but he fucks you even harder. Each thrust sends butterflies throughout your body, and every now and then, he hits your sweet spot. You sing sweet sounds like a hummingbird, all for him. His balls slap against your ass, and his groin rubs against your swollen clit a few times. “Daddy, you feel so good inside me. I love your cock so much…” you whisper to him, gripping the sheets next to you. They’re not soaked, but they may rip by the time he’s done with you.
“I know you do, slut; I know you love my cock. That’s why you’re taking it so well, just like the good girl you are,” Helmut tells you after one particularly harsh thrust. You begin to feel that coil inside you tighten up, ready to snap any moment now. But this time, it’s stronger, and you need to come so badly. “Daddy… I’m gonna come,” you warm him, squeezing your eyes shut as pressure starts to build. “Јебати, yeah, I can feel it, baby. I’m gonna come to, I’m gonna fill you up with my cum,” he moans softly.
You whimper at his words, wanting him to come inside you so badly. “Make you all swollen with my kid, never gonna let you go empty- Fuck.” You both begin to moan louder and louder, and you’re the first to let go. Dizziness sways you as your back arches off your bed. Your eyes roll back, and you moan to him. “Daddy!” you cry out, your heart clamouring in your chest. Your pussy clamps down on Helmut’s cock tightly as you come around him. Wetness coats his cock, and you can barely catch your breath.
“Daddy…” you moan once more, and he just can’t hold back anymore. His thrusts become sloppy, and his balls tighten up as he comes. Ribbons of cum painting your inner walls, and he fills you up to the brim, just like he promised. The hands that are on you loosen up a bit, and you moan at the feeling of his cum inside of you. “Јебени пакао,” he groans above you. You look at him carefully. He’s slick with sweat and slightly red, and you giggle. “What?” he asks, more confused than ever. “Nothing, Daddy,” you whisper.
“Nice music, by the way,” Helmut compliments, leaning over you. In perfect timing, your computer falls asleep. Lana Del Rey’s voice no longer fills the room; and instead, it’s your shallow pants. He slowly pulls out of you, and you both whimper. Your poor pussy has been abused beyond belief. Cum leaks out of you and mixes with the other fluids that cover you. He leans backwards and presses the space bar, and the song starts up again. “How about you put on a show for me now, моја мала девојчица?” he proposes.
He likes you a lot, so he’s putting on his music to watch his little girl to.
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Summary: You’ve always been the unseen and the unmovable. All that is tested when Zemo finds you as intriguing as you find him. When an opportunity arises, he takes the chance to show you just how much he has enjoyed your presence.
Warnings: 18+ / Daddy!Zemo / Unprotected Sex / Spanking / Praise Kink / Punishment
Word Count: 2022 K
Requested by Anon: “Mcu request if you’re interested: something where upset or flustered fem!reader accidentally calls zemo daddy and it leads to smut”
Please comment and reblog if you enjoy. It really helps when you do. Thank you!
Covertly collecting intel has always been your forte. At a young age, you had come to understand that your talents lay in that of observation and critical thinking. No special powers needed. You are adaptable to any situation, able to blend in, see beyond the mundaneness of one’s actions, and piece it all together. This is what makes you an invaluable asset.
With more work, came the opportunity to analyze situations from various angles, sometimes as the double agent, the quiet arm candy of a high-level gangster, or the even-tempered agent. Each time, you’ve found that there is a strange similarity between your globe-trotting missions and the game of chess. There are the pieces: world governments, presidents and prime ministers, renegades and rebels, diplomats and citizens. The strategic actions taken: the blockade of supply channels, the bombing of government facilities, the uprising of the disenchanted.
The push and pull as two sides war; all moving until that final checkmate.
The current operation is no different. More than ready to lend your services when called upon by Sam, you joined his ragtag group wishing to make real change and restore peace. The Flag Smashers are chaotically organized in achieving their goals. Understandably, it would be difficult for the untrained eye to see, but that is why you were brought in. There’s a pattern, a meaning to the madness and you’ll find it.
The table had been set with all the pieces in their rightful places. On the opposing side, the Flag Smashers, the Power Broker, world calamity, anarchy, and fear. Countering them is Sam, Bucky, the GRC, world governments, the new Captain America, and his battle-hardened partner Lemar Hoskins.
Each piece has been set, standing tall, and ready to fall.
But unlike the checkered board, the reality is that those lines are blurred. Enemies become one-time allies, friends bicker, and individuals find themselves delving into immorality for the sake of righteousness. With every turn taken, you watch and analyze, picking up on the subtleties and anticipating the next move.
And then, there is Baron Zemo. He is a much harder piece to place. Your eyes wander along his form, scrutinizing every detail as he paces the kitchen before settling for a drink of dark liquor. He’s quite the character. Former foe now offering you all shelter under his roof. A rook? The stronghold, well-kept walls blockading the enemy’s path. No, that's not him.
Perhaps a knight? Protective and standing in defense. He had insisted that you stay close and keep up appearances as your group entered Madripoor. The warmth of his palm on your hip as he drew you close to him is still etched on your skin. Each time you think back on it, your core pulses with need. Even when he ordered Bucky to take down bar patrons, he had tucked your face into the soft fur-lined lapels of his jacket. They smelled so strong of his cologne and gunpowder, calming you until the chaos ended. You recall the strength of his grip and how securely his fingers laced with yours as he tugged you away from the hail of bullets ricocheting off metal beams and fluorescent signs after the bounty had been set. In fleeting moments, he may raise a shield.
The bishop? Educated in both the ways of high class and the streets, Zemo proves that influence comes in many forms. With each new individual, he finds what they want, what they need, and provides it. You often find yourself seemingly intoxicated by the way he works a room. The web of lies he spins to have people do his bidding is intricate. There is a beauty to it. And all the while, at the very center, there is a single thread of truth laced between the falsehoods. Influence is his power, but not only one.
A king, then? Maybe, but never a pawn. That is for certain.
“Are you okay?”
“W—What?” Blinking rapidly, you try to hide the surprise that has washed over you. With your head downcast, you mumble out an apology.
The corners of his mouth pull into a frown before quickly inching upward into his signature smirk, “You have been burning a hole into my skull for the past ten minutes. Is there any particular reason?” Zemo rests his elbows on the countertop, propping his chin upon his hands. He leans across the island, “I know I am dashingly handsome. If you’d like a closer look, all you had to do was ask. I know you have a fascination with watching.”
You sputter at his assertion, nearly toppling yourself over as you slip off the barstool and slink across the room. The man puts you on edge. Though you are meant to be the observer, you feel very much like a specimen under the microscope. Your attempts to quell your rapid heartbeat are in vain. Every quick-witted quip and shift of his body propel you deeper into a pool of desire. And you’re quite convinced you may drown at some point.
But still, you have this gnawing sense that you have missed a very important moment. A pass has been made but you can not figure out where. Working through every encounter, every glance, every touch, you search for the missing link. His actions after his Bucky-assisted escape had been suspicious. It was unlikely that they would be seen as anything else, being that he was an enemy to so many. You picked up on his mannerisms: the way his head tilted to the right when the unsuspecting were providing him with leverage, how his fingers caressed the lines of his well-worn mask and the hidden meaning behind his soul-bearing conversations of morality.
There’s more than that one game at work here. He has been moving key players across the board but for what purpose, you do not know. With newfound curiosity, you decide to gather more intel. There must be more hidden within the safe house that will provide insight into his agenda.
There are two rooms at the end of the hall. Tall oak doors stand with secrets hidden behind them. The bedroom yielded no clues but the small office, secure and secluded, was a treasure trove of information. Though not related to the current mission, you discovered neatly written notes, codes, passwords, and bank account numbers amongst the stacks of organized papers.
Hunched over the desk, you hastily record to memory numbers and names. You can do more research later, but time is a precious commodity that you fear you may be running short on.
“846. 72. 84672. 21...” Your low mumbles drift through the room on a continuous repeat.
“What do we have here?”
You jerk away from the desk, sending papers cascading to the floor. All your muscles feel like loaded springs, ready for action but your only escape route is cut off by a rather intimidating figure. Zemo stands in the doorway, head slanted and hands clasped behind his back,” This is a rather surprising turn of events.”
“I’m sorry. I was just—“
“You were just...” His hand waves through the air, silently informing you to fill in the blanks. He tuts when you don’t continue. Obviously, you have no excuse at the ready. You hadn’t expected to get caught.
“I’ve noticed your stares. An inquisitive little one, aren’t you?” He circles once, twice, and then halts behind you. No longer on the prowl, he’s found his next meal. Closing the distance, his chest barely brushes against your back but the rumble of his words still travels along your spine and sets light to the embers smoldering in your belly, “What shall I do with you now?”
“It’s okay. I understand. I’ve become captivated by you as well.”
You want to ask him what he means. You want to ask what is so intriguing about yourself that has caught his attention. But his lips land just below your ear, leaving a kiss before he speaks again, “And what shall we do for your punishment?”
“Punish...” Your eyes slip shut as his kisses dance along the length of your neck, “ment?”
His lips stop suckling at your pulse point, “Yes. You want to apologize for snooping in my things, do you not?”
You have barely responded with a breathless ‘yes’ before his hand is between your shoulder blades and pressing you forward to bend over the desk. Dizzy with lust, you can just recognize that your sweatpants are being pulled further down your legs. It isn’t until his gentle touch smooths over the slope of your ass that you squirm and whimper.
“Do you wish to continue?”
“Good. Very good.”
His touch isn’t light. There’s no rest between smacks. It’s one after the next, after the next. Your ass is seared with pain, but your pussy betrays you, leaking the juices of your excitement. You lost count of how many he has given you. It's just one stream of aching pleasure.
“You’ve been such a good girl taking your punishment, haven’t you?”
“Yes, daddy.” Your entire body tenses and shame washes over you. Try as you might, Zemo does not let you up and so tears begin to puddle in your lower lids. There is silence. And then his body is smothering you, lips press against your ear, and a gruff command implores you to say it again. When you don’t comply, he urges you again, “Say it. I want to hear you call me that again.”
As if to make you believe him, he grinds his solid erection against you. The front of his slacks become stained with your essence, but he doesn’t stop, “Say it again, little one.”
“Please, d-daddy. I need more.”
“Anything you want, you’ll get.”
You whine when his weight lifts from you but he shushes you, “Patience. Have patience. I’ll give you what you want.”
The sound of his belt buckle clanging is music to your ears. Your skin prickles with anticipation and your core clenches around nothing. Zemo’s fingers slip through your folds, swirling around your entrance, and collecting your juices. Glancing back, you watch as he smears it over his cock, mixing it the precum weeping from his tip.
His eyes meet your as he presses himself against your entrance. Even as he begins to sink into you, he never breaks eye contact. Intense and intimate, the moment is suffocating. Your pussy clenches as he spears into you. Never have you felt so full, so complete. When he finally bottoms out, his cock lifts and twitches inside you, appreciating the way your core envelops him with warmth.
Out. The slow drag of his cock along your walls is excruciating. And in. Zemo’s hip rock forward and you move instinctively to meet him. The intentional pause as he meets the spongy spot that makes your toes curl. Skillful fingers slip between your legs, seeking out the small bundle of nerves that adds to your collective pleasure. In return for the attention, he lavishes on your pearl, your pussy flutters around his cock.
“You feel amazing, little one. Tight little pussy, just for me.”
“Only for you, daddy.”
Your proclamation spurs him on. His thrusts become more pointed, rougher. Items are sent scattering across the desk by sheer force. His once methodical pace is lost and now he ruts into you with reckless ferocity. Again and again, he hits upon that deep spot of pleasure. Once. Twice. On the third stroke, cries of ecstasy come from you both. He continues pushing you past your limit and prolonging your orgasm as you continue to milk his cock.
It’s only when he finally stills that you feel you can breathe again. The air, once pushed from your lungs by his pounding, rushes back into your tired lungs, “Zemo…”
“Shhh,” Zemo plants a kiss on your temple before taking in your wrecked and wanton form. His fingers, still sticky with your juices, dip into your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes, “We’ll protect each other from now on. You and me.”
And for the first time, you are no longer invisible.
Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!
A/N: I did waaay too much chess research for this fic. A castling is a special strategic early move where the king and rook move creating a safer position for the king and a more active position at the center of the board for the rook. Basically it’s to protect the king. Can you guess who is who is this fic??? Apologies if anything is incorrect. I knew almost nothing about chess before starting my research journey.
Tagging the Lovelies: @your-pixels-are-showing @boop-le-snoot @newmidnightmayor @mssbridgerton
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Kiss Me More (Part II) - Zemo/Reader
Masterlist || Part One
Summary: Part two, read part one if you haven’t already! Sam & Bucky put reader in charge of looking after Zemo....again. Series loosely inspired by this song.
Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, mentions of sex, minor TFATWS spoilers.
A/N: Wow! I was so shocked on the feedback I got on the first part of this story. It has nearly 800 notes. I’m not used to my writing getting that kind of attention so I really appreciate the love. I decided to make this into at least a 3-4 part series and there will be eventual smut, but I feel like there’s something sweet between these two that goes beyond an obvious physical attraction, so I do want to build that a bit before we get there. This weekend I rewatched TFATWS & Civil War because I’m officially obsessed with Zemo lol. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :)
“Keep an eye on him.”
Y/N watched Bucky and Sam split off again. That was now at least the third time she’d heard that phrase since she arrived in Riga. Little did they know, she was probably the worst person to be put in charge of Zemo. Truthfully, it was starting to be a little insulting.
It was unclear why she’d been brought along on this mission, when half the time Sam and Bucky were talking in hushed tones just out of her earshot. There was always more to the story than they told her, but this time, it felt like she was more out of the loop than ever.
She adjusted the neckline of the sweater she wore out of an abundance of caution, checking subconsciously to make sure it hadn’t exposed the mark Zemo had left on her from the day before. It was a discovery she’d made that morning, and persisted despite her efforts to cover it up with makeup.
“According to those two, I must be the best at babysitting you,” she muttered under her breath. It was petty, so she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to hear. But he did.
“Babysitting?” Zemo lifted an eyebrow.
“You know, a nanny, a governess….whatever a Baron’s equivalent is,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time that day, which was a mistake. He looked so handsome in that long, fur-lined coat, tall and refined, hair styled perfectly. There had to be warrants out for his arrest since escaping prison, and in his current getup, he was hard to miss.
It wasn’t easy to ignore the stifling tension between them. The Baron hadn’t left her thoughts since she’d closed the door on him the evening before. Now they were alone again. She couldn’t decide if that was thrilling or terrifying, so she decided on both.
“It’s nice of them to give us some alone time,” Zemo stepped close to her, one gloved hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Despite the cool temperature outside, it was the first thing today that had her shivering.
“Walk with me,” he commanded sternly. She saw no opportunity to refuse as they started in the direction opposite of where Bucky and Sam had disappeared.
“Helmut,” he corrected her. “But go on…”
“We have to focus on figuring out where Donya’s funeral will be,” she said, feeling his hand slide down to settle on the small of her back, trying to inch away, but he just pulled her closer. “We can’t waste time.”
“I know Riga inside and out, that won’t be as difficult as you and your friends think,” he murmured. His proximity was already suffocating. Or maybe comforting. It was hard to tell. “Tell me, what is your business with them? You aren’t an Avenger. This was my first time hearing your name.”
She snorted, finally finding the strength to pull away, and he dropped his hand. That was one thing that had confounded her. He was confident, took liberties with what others would allow, but knew when to stop pushing. There was something alluring to his nature.
“I’m not,” she responded, wondering how much she was willing to share. When she stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes, his head was lowered, leaning in, listening intently for her response. She wondered if he really cared, or if he was good at pretending. It was easy to believe that he did.
“Bucky and I aren’t that different,” she continued. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m not a super soldier, but I was taught how to fight, how to kill. I followed orders for too long without questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. And at least now, I think I am.”
“You think,” he repeated, and corrected her again like he had the day before. As much as she wanted some kind of clever or quick quip back, she wore her heart on her sleeve for the moment and shrugged. There was nothing to defend when she still wasn’t sure what responsibilities she had in this world.
Zemo halted, and she paused too, turning back to look at him. “So you were an assassin,” he murmured, reaching out. Nodding slightly, she lowered her eyes when his gloved thumb brushed across her face. The buttery, overpowering smell of leather took her over as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would’ve never guessed. Du bist so süß.”
Her knowledge of German was limited, but she could see a flash of what looked like affection in his eyes. He couldn’t be lying, could he? She wondered. She wanted to trust that he wasn’t, wanted to identify every good part of him she could, so she could justify the overwhelming attraction she felt towards him. Something in her just kept pulling forward against her will, like a magnet.
“You’d be surprised,” she answered, but didn’t pull away. The intensity of his gaze made her feel weak, but there was something strangely reassuring in his eyes. It was just the two of them, standing on a crowded sidewalk.
She rose her hand to clasp around his, frowning when she felt the hard loop of a ring on one of his gloved fingers. It had gone unnoticed by her, until now. He still wore a wedding band.
It would have been easy to vocalize the observation, gauge his reaction, try to regain some upper hand and remind him who exactly he was dealing with. But, it would’ve been pointlessly cruel, as she knew what that felt like to answer that question. Those days were behind her, now.
As if the universe was scolding her, a loud car horn broke through the perceived silence. His hand dropped from her face, and they began to walk again.
“I had lots of time to think in prison,” he said after a heady pause in conversation. “About the things I’d done. Whatever intentions you have, to someone, you’re always the enemy. What I thought was important, trying to serve the greater good, it isn’t always worth the trouble. I was trying to protect what I had already lost, the places and people I’d taken for granted.”
Deciphering his words, she took a moment before responding. “That’s actually...very insightful,” she said, partly surprised by what he’d shared, appreciating that he felt her vulnerability, and matched it in his response.
“I know you’re stunned I’m not a brute,” he answered, increasing his pace to a determined strut rather than a lazy stroll. She was forced to keep up with him. “You’ve been told what to think about me by Sam and Bucky.”
She scoffed. “Not just them. The entire world. All the people you’ve hur-”
He halted and turned to face her so quickly, she collided with his chest and her breath caught in her throat.
“I’m not that man anymore,” his voice was nearly a growl, disgust laced in his features as he looked down at her.
But as soon as she recognized it, he became expressionless again, backing away. Falling back into step beside him, they continued to walk, a bit faster than they had been before. She followed him, at this point convinced that she might get lost without his guidance, but a little startled by his sudden change in behavior.
“What do you think of Riga?” he asked her as they cut through an alleyway. His voice held none of the venom that it had a few moments ago, so she wondered if she’d just hit a sore nerve.
“It’s beautiful,” she answered, admiring the old brick buildings and fine architecture. “But I think I haven’t had much of a chance to appreciate it.”
“Have you been thinking about me?”
They ducked under an alcove, and she realized he’d carefully led her off the crowded streets. It was much quieter here. She suddenly didn’t feel as protected as she had been with him in the open. The temperature in the shaded space was much lower than expected. And he was standing over her, waiting for some response she didn’t know if she could give.
“I haven’t forgotten about last night, liebling,” he continued.
Of course she had been thinking of him. Nearly nonstop. What they’d shared, what it meant. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she relieved herself, fingers rubbing her clit and delving into her warmth, whimpering his name when she finally came. Still, it had done little to quell the ache inside her.
It was a horrible thing, she’d decided. Objectively horrible, and unprofessional. There was the consideration of accessibility. What did he see in her beyond a means to an end? Was she really going to throw everything she’d worked for away to a man who was going to use her to scratch an itch?
Too much was at stake, Sam and Bucky’s trust, her reputation, her job, and she couldn’t allow it to go on.
But oh, how much she wanted it to.
“Yesterday was nice,” she straightened up, holding her own. “I won’t lie to you.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly in a self-satisfied smirk.
“But I’m not foolish,” she continued. “Coming on to the first woman you see after you get out of jail? Seems pretty convenient.”
At first, the Baron tilted his head to the side, his brows pulled together at her words. But after a moment, the smile returned, and he chuckled. “Is that what you think this is about?”
“Don’t insult me, Helmut,” she said sternly, trying her best not to feel embarrassed. She was only being honest.
“Are you always so severe to yourself?” he asked, tutting lightly.
It would have been better to say nothing. Why give him anything at all?
She didn’t answer his question, just backed away from him and began walking in no particular direction, wanting only to increase the space between them and regain her common sense. That was impossible however, as she was jolted backwards before she even knew what was happening, a firm hand on her upper arm, and she was chest to chest with Zemo once more.
“We were in Madripoor together. I could’ve had my way with many women there if I wanted. But I didn’t.”
“Please-” she rolled her eyes.
“If all I wanted to do was fuck someone, I could have done it by now,” he stalked forward, the air pressure around them dropping, weighed by the tension hanging thick between them. “But that’s not what I want. I want you.”
His words, spoken in a soft, low purr rattled away every bit of resolve she had left in her. Some last ditch effort found her stepping backwards, but her body met the brick wall behind them and she realized he had her cornered.
In more ways than one, she thought.
Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up at his eyes, clouded with lust. “I know you want me,” he said, not a shred of doubt in his voice. But why should there have been? He was right.
Her eyes darted around, like someone or something around them was going to jump out and save her from herself. It didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s no need to be scared, liebling. I feel it, too.”
With that, he closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet, like the candies he’d been eating back at his flat. Turkish delight. She was drowning in him again, his scent, his touch, everything about him enveloped and beguiled her. Her shirt had bunched up slightly somewhere along their walk and his gloved hands explored the exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
She surrendered, letting him tease open her mouth and claim her wholly. It was still bad, she knew. But there wasn’t any last bit of self-control left in her.
The layers of clothing between them didn’t allow for the same proximity she’d had to him the evening before. Groaning in delight and frustration, she reached up to tangle and rake her fingers through his hair, as his fingers curled around the top of her sweater, revealing the sensitive skin of her neck.
“Don’t hide this,” his lips left hers as his eyes focused on the stamp of affection he’d left behind the day before. “Let them see.”
“You know I can’t,” she responded, sheepishly pulling it back into place. Studying her with amiable consideration, his hand rose to brush tenderly across her cheekbone.
“I thought you’d come to me last night,” she confessed, drawing away slightly, shocked by her own admission. But right now, she didn’t feel the need to put up as much of a facade. He looked positively virile; panting, his cheeks flushed and hair mussed, pupils blown out as he focused on her. To know she was the cause of his current state of disarray gave her an immense amount of satisfaction. A buried, salacious part of her wondered what else she could do to make him look even more unkempt.
“I considered it,” he said, sounding almost timid. “But I want to do this right.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “In private, so no one can disturb us,” he continued, lips moving down her neck. “We can take our time, you can be as loud as you’d like.”
The mental image he was currently painting for her was doing very little to strengthen her convictions, whatever those had been. The thought of her legs wrapped around his torso, naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of electricity through the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards. She wanted his lips on every inch of her skin. Aching at the possibility, the present tease of his teeth nibbling on her collarbone wasn’t helping.
“You know we can’t,” she didn’t try to stop the thought as it came out of her mouth.
“What is there to lose?”
Everything, she thought, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t really, as his gloved hand was trailing slowly under her jacket and sweater, against her bare skin, and cupping her breast through her bra. Whimpering, she couldn’t control the way her body arched against his.
Hooking her knee on his hip, she let him press forward, feeling the warmth of his excitement through his trousers and her jeans. He ground against her once, teasingly, and she moaned softly into his mouth.
He was the one to pull away, and she was thankful he did. “Think about it, liebling,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “Du hast die Kontrolle.”
“We can’t,” she answered again, but even she didn’t believe herself. Raking her hands through her hair and adjusting her rumpled sweater, she straightened up. “We have a job to do.”
Brushing past him out of the alcove, each step she took away from him gave her the self control she desperately needed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reluctantly trudging behind. At this point, she wasn’t foolish. There were only two ways this could end.
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just for show
summary: In Madripoor (Y/n) has to pretend to be the arm candy of Baron Zemo. Although he is the bad guy, she quickly develops feelings for him.
request: Hi! I had an idea for a Zemo thing😊 Reader was an ex-shield agent or something like that, maybe even was used by hydra and knew Bucky and so Bucky and Sam asked reader for help and they go to Madripoor and reader slowly warms to Zemo while they are there, and eventually falls for him😊 thank you! ~ @xxidontwikeitxx
pairings: Helmut Zemo x Reader, Bucky, Sam
warnings: blood, violence, SPOILERS, awkward fluff
a/n: I am afraid you guys wont like it so please be nice
MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES
“This dress is stupid!“, (Y/n) exclaims while picking at the black dress covering her form. The three men watch her walk out of the private jet and downstairs, revealing her thighs in the process. Zemo frowns at the sight of a thigh holster.
“You look ravishing, my dear“, the Baron tells (Y/n) and holds a hand out to help her from the last step. Although (Y/n) takes his hand, she also presses her knife to his neck. Their faces are so close that their noses almost touch.
“Call me that again and you are a dead man“, (Y/n) threatens Zemo who nods anxiously. Then she takes a step back and replaces her knife to her holster.
“Stay in character, darling“, Zemo whispers in (Y/n)s ear as he wraps an arm around her waist and presses her to his side. She has to take a deep breath to stay calm and not to ram a knife in his guts.
On their way the four of them clear up their plan once again. Bucky is supposed to act like the Winter Soldier under control of Zemo, while Sam is some criminal called Smiling Tiger. (Y/n)s only purpose is to look cute and be Zemos arm candy.
“Did I mention that I hate this plan?“, (Y/n) breathes as a car stops in front of them. Zemo opens the door for her and she takes the seat between Bucky and Sam. The car gets escorted by a few motorbikes. The last meters they walk through High Town of Madripoor until they enter a nightclub.
As time goes by (Y/n) gets used to the arm around her waist and the closeness to the Baron. The second they are at the bar he even tightens his grip around her.
Everything looks okay until a man threatens Zemo and the Winter Soldier attacks. Zemo pushes (Y/n) behind him even though he knows that she can handle herself. At least she once was an agent of shield.
The fighting stops when a man announces that Selby is ready to meet up with the group. With one last worried glance at Bucky, (Y/n) lets herself get dragged through some dirty corridors by Zemo. He is holding her hand now.
Then they meet Selby. She raises her eyebrow at (Y/n)s revealing dress but says nothing. Zemo takes a seat on the chair in front of the woman, pulling (Y/n) on his lap. She bites her tongue to suppress a comment but soon finds it quite comfortable.
(Y/n) places an arm over Zemos shoulders and leans against his chest, even playing with his hair - just for show. If Zemo is disturbed, he doesn‘t show it.
Selby and Zemo talk for some time. To (Y/n)s surprise the Sokovian caresses her exposed thigh absently. Then the two make a deal. Zemo offers the Winter Soldier in exchange to information about the super soldier serum.
“And what about her? I would kill to get something as pretty as her“, Selby adds and grins at (Y/n) who would really like to throw a knife at the woman for talking about her like she is a object. Zemo laughs and wraps his arm tighter around (Y/n).
“Not for sale“, Zemo says and leans in to kiss (Y/n)s neck. To Sams and Buckys surprise (Y/n) moves her face so that their lips meet in a messy kiss - just for show. First it feels wrong but then (Y/n) actually enjoys the kiss. They part breathless and stare at each other for a second.
Selby grins at the two of them before she tells them that the super soldier serum is in Madripoor and Dr. Wilfred Nagel is producing it. Suddenly Sams phone vibrates and Selby forces him to answer his call on speaker. Their act gets revealed when Sams sister uses his real name.
Everything happens real fast after that. Someone shoots Selby. Bucky and Sam start fighting her bodyguards while Zemo stands up and drags (Y/n) with him to the next door.
“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow me“, Zemo states and everyone complies. They leave the bar through the back door and try to look as innocent as possible back on the streets. Unfortunately they get shoot at by some bounty hunters.
While Bucky and Sam continue to run on the main street, Zemo pulls (Y/n) into an alleyway. The faster they run the more (Y/n) stumbles because of her heels.
Zemo stops to disarm a man and kills him with his own weapon. At the same moment another bounty hunter shoots at (Y/n) and a bullet meets her left side. She kills the hunter with her knife but also groans in pain. This causes Zemo to pick her up and places (Y/n) over his shoulder.
Eventually they meet Sam and Bucky getting saved by Sharon. The second (Y/n)s feet touch the floor, she presses a bloody hand to her side and ignores the worried glare of Zemo.
Bucky and Sam can convince Sharon to help them. The next time (Y/n) can think clear again, she is inside one of Sharons fancy bathrooms. She even took a shower and is now dressed in black jeans as well as a bra.
With a moan (Y/n) removes the makeshift patch from her injury. Then she searches through the first aid kit with shaking hands. Her eyes widen when someone enters the bathroom without knocking - Zemo.
“What- Fuck off!“, (Y/n) whisper-yells at the Baron but he closes the door and steps forward. He is still wearing his stupid fur coat whose shoulder is now covered in blood. But Zemo doesn‘t seem to mind it.
“Let me, darling“, Zemo says softly and takes the first aid kit from (Y/n)s shaking hands. He takes a needle as well as string to stitch her up. After he finished it, Zemo places a patch over the wound.
“Thank you“, (Y/n) whispers and puts on her sweater. She avoids eye contact until Zemo places a hand under her chin and forces her to look at him. He smiles sweetly at her. Slowly his hand wanders to her cheek and his thumb caresses her lower lip.
“Darling“, Zemo breathes seconds before his lips meet (Y/n)s. The kiss gets heated quite quickly. Their hands wander over the body of the other, though Zemo avoids touching (Y/n)s injury. Soon he presses her against the sink and lifts her on it.
(Y/n) enjoys the kiss even though she shouldn‘t. Zemo is the bad guy. She should push him away. But at the same time it feels so good.
Their lips move in sync until a knock interrupts their shared kiss. Both Zemo and (Y/n) widen their eyes and part.
“Are you okay in there, (Y/n)?“, Sam asks through the door, minding her privacy like a gentleman. (Y/n) tells him that everything is alright. Her last words get swallowed by Zemos lips.
permanent taglist: @lightning-wolffe
zemo taglist: @writingletterstothefire
marvel taglist: @luvzoria
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Burden of Power (18+)
[Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot]
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4(?)
Synopsis: After Sam and Bucky find out about what happened after Madripoor, relationships are strained. However, there’s always solace to be found in your new companion.
Warnings: smut/sexual content (18+), semi-risky sex, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), oral (female receiving), choking, very slight fem!dom, riding, tiddy succ (I have no other way of describing this), cockwarming, pet names. No use of (Y/N).
A/N: PART 2! The ending was a bit awkward because I didn’t want to make it longer than I needed to be, but this also means that I have a good start for Part 3. PLEASE ENJOY MY FILTH.
“Something I want to tell you? What do you mean?” Groggy and sluggish from just waking up, your eyes properly adjusted to both Sam and Bucky. You remembered last night, and then you realized the very familiar coat that had been draped over you. To make things more tense, you’d forgotten about the shirt he’d given you — his shirt. You were screwed.
“I can’t believe you. Are you really serious right now?”
The genuine disappointment and shock of Sam’s tone had displayed all that you needed to know. Once you’d woken up, disheveled and enjoying your slumber underneath the Baron’s coat, you were met with a very incredulous stare from Sam and Bucky, all huddled next to you. Granted, they were both intelligent enough to connect the dots — you’d nearly forgotten about the colorful spectacle of hickeys that Zemo had left on your neck and collarbone.
“I didn’t know that it was so obvious.” You murmured, and Sam gave you a stern, almost stingy look, almost as if he were in disbelief. He jabbed one finger toward your neck with raised brows, and of course, you used the coat’s flared fur collar to cover it up.
“That isn’t obvious? Come on!” Sam’s rebuttal was swift to be sure, and he continued to make pointing gestures toward your neck. “That is so obvious!” He protested, shaking his head afterwards.
Swatting his finger away with a quick snap of your hand, your lips curled into a frown. “You’ve proved your point.” You sighed, shuffling within the seat. Zemo must’ve been up in the cockpit, because he certainly wasn’t around to be present for this ‘intervention’ of sorts. Part of you wished that he was, but the other half knew better. Sam might try and strangle him if that were the case.
“Why Zemo?” Bucky intervened with a pointed question, leaning forward a bit within his seat. “I thought he scared you.” That part was true initially, but after last night and Madripoor, your perspective had shifted entirely. There wasn’t a reason for you to be afraid — Bucky and Sam had filled your mind, convincing you that Zemo was the boogeyman or something similar. Even then, Zemo hadn’t given you a reason to be afraid, either.
Of course, your protest had begun immediately. It was a string of, ‘he isn’t bad’, ‘I needed help’, ‘it was the heat of the moment’, and what had shocked Sam and Bucky the most, ‘he’s growing on me’. Your hasty, half-hearted attempt at explaining why exactly you’d decided to sleep with the man who broke up the Avengers did not impress either of them. Bucky was more fascinated than Sam, who was downright flabbergasted.
“What, you two gonna hold hands and run off into the sunset together? What happens when we put him back in that cell where he belongs?” Sam had gone from shell-shocked to on your case — he was grilling you now, and Bucky seemed content to sit back and watch it happen.
“I don’t think he’s as horrible as you make him out to be, Sam. He saved my life — twice. He’s done things, but we’ve all done wrong, haven’t we?” You really weren’t in the mood for trying to justify your decision to Sam. You found it a bit pretentious that he was mad about you having sex, of all things. Your tone was cool and collected, and you didn’t become angry or throw jabs. That wouldn’t get either of you anywhere.
“Just because he saved your life doesn’t wipe away the shit he’s done.” Sam retorted, gaze narrowed in your direction. He could tell that you were over the conversation judging from your closed-off body language. Not to mention, you were steadily sinking and hiding behind Zemo’s coat as if it were some protective barrier. “You finished?” He sounded more agitated than flat-out angry.
You poked your head out just a bit. “Yes.” Promptly, you disappeared, vanishing within the trenchcoat. Underneath, your cheeks were ruddy and hot, and you felt like jumping out of the jet. Sam was furious with you, and Bucky was angry, but not as frustrated as the latter. You did feel a little guilty, but mostly because of Sam’s reaction. You didn’t regret a thing with Zemo — not in the slightest.
There was an awkward, uncomfortable silence. A tension was present, a tension that could be cut with a knife from how heavily it permeated the air. As embarrassed as you were initially, it was steadily wearing off. You kept to yourself within your seat, brows furrowed together. Your gaze lifted toward the cockpit — maybe it would be better if you hid in the back.
“You know, if Steve were here, he’d be pissed.” Sam called out into the open air.
The callousness of it all had caused your blood to boil. You became furious, whipping up out of the seat within the blink of an eye. You took one step in front of Sam’s seat, expression contorted into anger. “But he isn’t here, Sam. Steve isn’t here.” You snapped, hands clenching into defiant fists. “In fact, how dare you bring him into this? Using him as a mechanism to guilt me? Are you kidding?”
“You’re upset because you know that I’m right.” Sam stood, steadily looking you in the eye. He didn’t seem frustrated or haughty when he spoke in the first place — more of just the general disappointment of what you’d done. The two of you were toe-to-toe now, and you weren’t planning to back down. “Are you gonna hit me?” He questioned. You certainly looked like you were planning on laying him out — and he knew that you were more than capable.
You were afraid of yourself, more often than not. Gifted with unnatural powers at such a young age, you had always bottled it all up, restrained yourself from embracing your abilities. Sometimes, you even pretended that they didn’t exist. Sam’s inquiry came as a surprise — why was he asking that? He knew you wouldn’t, and that you would hate yourself if you did hurt him.
Astounded, you slowly receded from your coiled, defensive posture. You looked like a lion prepared to strike, but the last thing you would ever do was hurt Sam — even if what he said was a bit harsh. “No,” You began, head tilting toward the ground. “I’m not going to hit you.” Your brows furrowed together. “I want to, but I won’t.” You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “You know that I won’t.” Your voice became hushed.
Sam scoffed, and like you, he seemed to physically back off. Both of you were more ashamed and exhausted than anything else, especially Sam. He wasn’t in the mood to try and fight you — he was supposed to be looking out for you, that was what Steve wanted him to do when he passed him the shield. It was a passing of responsibility for so many things. “I’m just trying to watch out for you.” His tone became a touch softer, more sincere this time around. “That’s what he wanted.”
That was why Sam was so frustrated and upset. It wasn’t necessarily the fact that you slept with Zemo, it was the fact that he wasn’t present to advise you against it or ‘protect you from the danger’. He viewed it as going against Steve’s wishes, more or less. The argument had simmered down very quickly from there, once you realized that this had more to do with Sam’s conscience than anything else.
As if on queue, Zemo stepped out from the cockpit, intrigued as to what was happening between you and Sam. “Is something the matter?” He’d inquire innocuously, shooting a glance in Bucky’s direction. You had an inkling that he knew what all of this was about, but he was playing dumb.
Sam exhaled, his stare not very kind in the slightest. He looked between you and Zemo with a narrowed gaze, and promptly fell back into his seat with an unceremonious thud. The confrontation seemed to end then and there for the two of you, and you’d waved a hand at Zemo in an attempt to dismiss his concerns.
“Everything’s fine.” Bucky answered for Sam, and you moved to sink back into your chair, draping yourself in that coat once more. It’d become a bit of a safety blanket during all of this.
Zemo’s inquisitive, hawkish stare would then flutter to you, as if you would provide him with answers. You mouthed the word ‘later’, visage expressing your discontent and frustration with this whole situation. Thankfully, he seemed to understand your little gesture and switched the subject. The tension was starting to become unbearable.
“We are landing in Riga in five minutes. Prepare yourselves.” Once more, he’d offered you a lengthy stare before disappearing back into the cockpit. It was likely that he knew how bad of a time it would be to talk to you, and you were beyond grateful for his instincts. You watched him leave, leaning toward the windows instead.
Below, Riga was a sprawling little city along the river Daugava — that’s what Zemo had mentioned, at least. From the architecture and layout, you were excited to see some of the city. It was beautiful from above, and you could see the Baltic Sea. Tucking one hand underneath your chin, you decided to wait this out. You could feel Sam’s frustration even from where you sat.
Momentarily, you caught Bucky’s eye, and thankfully, he didn’t seem nearly as frustrated with you as Sam was. At least you had that much going for you. Your own expression was a bit melancholy, and you’d looked away toward the window again. You didn’t want Sam to be upset with you — you didn’t want it to tarnish the rest of the mission. Hopefully you could talk it out with him later.
The jet would rattle and quiver as it made its final plunge into Riga, cutting through the wind as the jet landed upon a smaller runway miles out from the city. Once you’d landed, you sat back, tensed and poised within your seat. Running a hand across your visage, brows furrowed, you peered out the window. Sam had his arms crossed over his chest, and Bucky seemed to be surveying his surroundings — the usual.
Zemo’s pleasant, husky lull broke you from your trance. He stepped in front of you, leaning against the cockpit’s door frame. He seemed expectant, patient even, as if he intended on allowing you as much time as you needed to sit and stew within your own thoughts. The Baron noticed the way you’d hunkered within his coat — it made his lips twitch into a faint smile.
“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Your teeth began to nibble and chew at one of your nails. “Sam’s furious with me. Actually … Not furious, I can handle the anger, but not the disappointment.” You murmured, sheepishly lifting your gaze to meet Zemo’s. “This whole thing was about proving myself to the both of them, showing Sam that I could be a hero too.” It was difficult, trying to live up to Sam, trying to show what you could do. None of this was simple.
Canting his head to one side, Zemo would come to hover in front of you, hand lowering to caress your cheek. “Perhaps, you aren’t trying to prove anything to them,” He began, an attempt to soothe your aching nerves. “But to yourself.” His words sparked something inside of you, and then you realized — maybe he was right. It wasn’t about anyone else, it was about you and how you needed to prove to yourself that you could do this. “Besides, there are enough heroes in this world.” Zemo flashed a coy smirk. “Who you are goes far beyond heroism.”
Sitting forward now, you realized the weight and merit of the Baron’s words. The fact that he was willing to offer you the advice you were after meant more to you than anything else. You hastily stood up — time was ticking by, and the longer you sat in self-pity, the more damage Karli Morgenthau was doing. “Thank you.” Your voice lowered to a whisper, offering up that coat of his. Your face had leaned into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.
The shock was prevalent when the Baron kissed you, sparking a fire inside of your chest. Without the hesitation or sheepishness you held before, your arms lifted, hands twining around to rest against the nape of his neck. You reciprocated the kiss with a passion that surprised Zemo, lips twitching into a smirk. He pulled away, but only slightly, pressing another kiss against your jaw.
“You know,” Zemo began, lips gracing across your neck, skimming against whatever flesh he could find. “You do look rather fetching in my coat.” There was a glint of amusement within his eyes as he stepped away fully, relinquishing the coat from your arms in order to put it on. He’d quickly fix himself, placing a gloved palm along your lower back to usher you toward the door.
A smile broke the melancholy countenance you’d had all this time, your backpack slung across your shoulders as the two of you exited the jet. Sam wasn’t really trying — he looked pissed, but Bucky was definitely ogling and taking in the environment and scenery, thankfully. One out of the two were angry with you. You could handle that.
The stroll into Riga was filled with relative silence, but you decided to talk to Zemo anyway. Whether or not it pissed Sam off, you had no idea. Complete silence was bothering you, and besides, there was plenty to talk about on the way into the city. Zemo mentioned that he had a safehouse, a temporary base of operations while searching for Morgenthau, which is where the four of you were heading to.
Riga was beautiful — there was something unique and enriching about it, whether it was the architecture or the serenity of it all, you had no idea. There were people bustling to different places, wandering the sprawling cobblestone streets. The weather wasn’t bad by any means, either — sunny and mild, your sort of thing. It was charming, and you were happy to soak everything in as you strolled alongside Zemo.
He started to speak to Sam and Bucky, and likely you, but truthfully, you were too busy ogling every little detail to fully pay attention.
“I heard what had happened to Sokovia, cannibalized by its neighbors before the land was reduced to rubble, erased from the map. I don’t suppose any of you bothered to visit the memorial.” There was an awkward silence, and you’d felt pity, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Of course not. Why would you?” The Baron trailed off as the four of you rounded a corner toward a more secluded building.
Bucky seemed distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. You didn’t ask, focusing on the task at-hand. You knew that Zemo had lost his family in Sokovia, which sparked his hatred and discontent with the Avengers. It wasn’t necessarily the happiest thing — you might’ve been the only one who was sympathetic towards him.
“We’re here.” Zemo announced.
“I’m gonna go for a walk,” Bucky interjected. The three of you turned to face him, though it was Sam who seemed the most skeptical. You were too, but part of you figured that Bucky had a lot on his mind after Madripoor. He had to relive a very traumatic part of his past — that wasn’t an easy thing to do.
“You good?” Sam asked, briefly glancing at you. You met his gaze for just a moment, offering him a brief shrug.
“Yeah, I’ll see you guys in a bit.” Bucky kept his hands within his pockets, lingering toward the corner with a neutral expression.
Zemo nodded, motioning for you and Sam to follow. It was either going to be incredibly awkward, or Sam was planning on excusing himself elsewhere. Nonetheless, you followed closely behind the Baron, occasionally peeking over your shoulder to see what Sam was up to. It was the same stoic, mildly agitated expression he’d had ever since you broke the news to him this morning. Maybe he’d come around after he relaxed.
Pushing past a very heavy set of ornate wooden doors, the Baron would lead the two of you into a lavish suite. Well-furnished, with elegant decor and certainly more of a homely feeling than what you expected it to be. The large windows were stained glass, several colors intermingled to provide a myriad of vibrant beams glistening into the open room.
“How’d you even get this place?” Sam asked, and as much as he despised Zemo, he was genuinely curious as to how the Baron even kept a place like this. “Use all of your rich-man money?” He prodded, circling around the massive leather couch. A low whistle escaped him before he took a seat. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
You were busy inspecting everything yourself, every minuscule detail promptly absorbed. You wandered toward another set of doors, gently turning the handle. There was a bathroom — massive, ivory tub. Despite the more antique aesthetic of the interior design, many of the furnishings seemed a little more modern, the bathtub included. A cerulean mosaic served as a backsplash along the bathroom wall — racks of towels, robes, soaps included.
That made you happy, at least. You were in desperate need of a bath — part of you still felt sticky from being shot. Your bandages likely needed changing, too. Swiveling around, you began to wander once more, peering up above. There must’ve been an upstairs — there was the poke of a balcony, but it seemed slight. There were columns that lined the open room, decorated in that azure mosaic that you’d spotted in the bathroom.
“I acquired this not long after the destruction of Sokovia,” Zemo replied, moving toward the many cabinets above a well-lit kitchen. There were spouts and taps for alcohol socketed into the walls, along with plenty of snacks, more or less. He kept this place clean and stocked. “It’s not far from home, but enough to give me peace of mind. Riga used to be very beautiful.”
Sam made a face, reclining back onto the couch with his hands folded across his torso. You dropped your backpack off beside him. “My laptop is inside, if you need it. Figured there might be news,” You offered, and thankfully, he didn’t seem as volatile or frustrated as before. “Or you can play Minesweeper.” You teased, flashing a quick smile.
“Thanks.” Sam took your laptop and the cord, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Might crash, actually. Wake me up when Bucky’s back.” He directed his gaze towards Zemo, eyebrows furrowing together. “You’re not gonna pull something if I sleep, right?”
Zemo’s lips twitched into a smirk as he poured himself a drink, head canting to one side. “Your pretty friend will watch over me, Sam. She’ll keep me in line,” He couldn’t help himself. “You have nothing to worry about.” His gaze fluttered towards you, and it made your heart leap into your throat. He was flirting openly now, and it did absolutely everything to you.
“Gross.” Sam grumbled, glancing between the two of you with a stingy glare. He moved toward the other side of the couch, laying down with your laptop sitting on top of his chest. “Just don’t do anything stupid.” He looked at you for that comment, and you responded with a wrinkle of your nose.
You watched as his eyes closed. He definitely wasn’t fully asleep just yet, but you decided to pretend that he was anyway. Moving one of the woven blankets off of the back of the leather sofa, you draped it over Sam, laptop included. Once he was situated, you joined Zemo at the counter, sliding into one of the taller chairs.
“Hungry?” He’d ask, motioning toward the cabinets. “I can find you something to eat.” The Baron removed his coat, draping it over your shoulders this time, appraising you inside of his garment. He lingered this time, lips pressing against your neck, fingers gently pushing your hair aside. He’d kissed over the marks he’d given you last night — it made you blush with the sensuality of it all. Goosebumps broke out, tingles shooting up your spine.
You really hadn’t expected him to carry on — you almost thought that the first time would be the last. Nonetheless, you weren’t about to protest. “Not too hungry,” You mumbled, gaze half-lidded. With a sharp inhale, you sank backwards, feeling his hand wander until it slipped up your shirt. You winced, though — he’d accidentally landed right against your wound. “Sorry,” You blurted.
“I’d nearly forgotten,” Zemo’s tone became a touch softer, a pleasant, husky lull. “Nothing to apologize for, liebling.” He maneuvered your seat to the right, allowing for you to face him fully. Nimble digits slipped underneath your chin, gingerly caressing around your chin, against your lower lip. Subtly, he’d motion toward the bathroom. “Come, I will change the bandages.” He offered.
In a daze, you slipped from the chair, following alongside the Baron with a wistful smile. You’d be lying if you said your mind wasn’t hyper-focused on lewd, inappropriate thoughts. However, it wasn’t exactly the time, was it? He’d gingerly ease the door open to the bathroom, ushering you inside with one hand pressed to your back. The doors would close behind you with an audible click — you were quick to notice such a noise.
“This place is beautiful,” You sighed, peering toward the high ceilings. Light spilled forth from ornate windows, their panes a bit thicker and lacked the stained glass. Everything was so light and open here, spacious and wondrous, in a way. Of course, you hadn’t seen many places like Riga, or like Zemo’s safehouse, for that matter. “Why would you want to leave?”
Zemo was quiet, pulling up a comfortable chair for you to sit in, along with a lower stool that seemed to come with it. “Riga is not what it used to be, not how I remember it.” He uttered, motioning for you to sit. Clamoring through drawers, he unveiled a similar first aid kit, like the one he had on the jet. Never unprepared — there was always something he had, as if none of this surprised him anymore. “You see it with new eyes, and with a new perspective. I envy that.”
Intrigued, you sat upright within the chair, watching as Zemo came to sit in front of you. Your gaze fluttered over him, and part of you wanted to ask about his past — about everything. However, you were terrified of ruining whatever it was between the two of you. Here he was, helping you again without needing to be told. “There’s nothing about me that you should envy.” You spoke quietly, feeling his hand close around the hem of your shirt in order to lift it up.
“There are a few things.” The Baron would softly protest, his voice an octave lower, as if he were sharing something intimate. He would pry at the bandages, peeling them away in one smooth motion. His concentration shifted to the state of your wound, his eyes carefully giving it an inspection. “It’s healing rather nicely.” Relieved, Zemo settled, tossing the old bandages into a bin.
“You wouldn’t want to live with what I live with,” Your voice lowered into a whisper, head shaking back and forth. “You don’t understand how difficult it is to smother what you were given, something you can’t control.” Zemo was aware that you had superpowers, but because of the restraint you showed, they rarely manifested unless it was a futile fight.
Zemo appraised you in silence, and for a moment, his visage had actually softened. “You are too afraid of what you are, because others tell you that it is wrong.” He sighed, teeth gritting together for a moment. “Your abilities, as detested as they might be, will always intimidate those without power.” He hesitated. “That is the difference between you and between any other hero. You show restraint, you know what harm you can do. You are aware.”
For a moment, you considered protesting. Steve and Sam were aware — but they were your friends. You weren’t there for Sokovia or New York, weren’t present for any of the collateral. A silence filled the gap between the two of you, an eerily comfortable silence, thankfully. You took a moment to fully absorb the meaning of his words, and then you spoke up.
“Do you think I should keep smothering my powers?”
The Baron’s jaw tightened just a bit as he contemplated his answer. He’d sit in front of you, head tilted downward just a bit. “Not unless you wish to self-destruct.” He answered simply, folding his hands together. He’d look you in the eye this time, reaching forward to move a bit of hair away from your eyes. “It would be better if we avoided that, yes?” Zemo’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk.
Your breath hitched within your throat. For everything that Zemo stood against, for everything he’d done, he was one of the first people to offer you insight, proper advice. Oddly enough, you felt very comfortable with him, enough to where you were steadily forgetting about the mission at-hand. A sudden spur of confidence welled up within you, and you’d suddenly leaned forward to kiss him.
A sharp inhale escaped Zemo, who wasted no time in kissing you back. Injury or not, you wanted him so terribly. Your hands moved against his chest, desperate and flighty. Maybe you did have time, and you weren’t the only one wanting to take advantage of this. What started out as a more tender kiss quickly escalated into raw passion, lips tangled together, hands flying and scurrying to new places.
Zemo stood, momentarily breaking the kiss in order to step in between your legs. His hands would come to rest on either side of your throat, thumbs pressed against your jaw, caressing against your soft skin. Open-mouthed, you brazenly kissed him back, hands flying to the hem of his turtleneck this time around. You gave it a brusque tug, loosening it enough to where your fingers graced his waist.
“Would you be opposed to a bath, mein kleiner minze?” The Baron murmured into your ear, teeth grazing against the sensitive shell. As innocuous as the question sounded, his sultry tone sent tingles up your spine, excitement spiking within your gut. Heat began to pool between your thighs, a familiar sensation that indicated your arousal.
“No opposition,” You breathed, countering by roughly tugging on the waistband of his trousers, belt and all. The breathy, husky groan that sounded into your ear made you absolutely delighted, and you immediately stood up, pressed flush against him. It thrilled you to know that, whenever you took some control, it excited him as much as it did you.
With another engaging kiss, you felt his tongue threaten to slip into your parted lips, a breathy moan eliciting from you. Zemo was a vigorous lover, passionate as ever — he gave you everything you wanted and more. A dance and clash of both tongues and mouths resulted in a stalemate, with him biting upon your lower lip, that hand squeezing a bit upon your throat.
“Undress me.” Your voice cut through, as sharp a knife. You wanted it to be slower this time, your gaze lascivious as could be. The sultry edge to your voice certainly gave Zemo pause, but he began to obey without an objection. His hands curled into your shirt, mindful of the location of your wound as he removed it, tugging it over your head. His lips pressed themselves to your neck, aiming to leave a hickey in an unoccupied space.
One of your hands tugged on his turtleneck again, insistent this time. You wanted to see some sliver of him before you got into the bath, at the very least. Zemo would reach over, allowing the water to start running before he nudged you up against the tub. The garment came off in a sluggish manner, but you weren’t disappointed in the slightest when it was on the floor. The Baron was a broader man, neck glinting with a silvery chain.
Your excitement and elation were barely contained, and you showed this by pressing a kiss against his neck, and then his shoulder. Zemo’s throaty, husky groan of approval sounded again, and you decided to repay the favor — you left a mark this time. Sheepishly, you recoiled to inspect your work. It was rather sloppy, but it did get the point across.
“Look at you, minze,” Zemo purred, kissing your jugular with a devilish smirk. “Gaining your confidence, I see.” The Baron knew exactly what he was doing now, one hand slipping from your throat to your pants. “How long will it last?” He hummed, fingers curling into the waistband. Not a moment was wasted as he tugged the garment down, working them along the length of your legs. You assisted, kicking them off and discarding them elsewhere.
Zemo would never forget the look upon your face when he sank down to his knees before you, lifting your legs up onto his shoulders. It was a complete and utter surprise, coupled with adoration. The flush of scarlet that rose to your skin, spreading from visage to collarbone was a most delightful sight to him. Warm lips met your inner thighs, showering them in tender kisses to begin with.
You kept a tight, vice-like grip upon the edge of the bathtub, which was taking its time to fill completely. Your heart was hammering within your chest — your confidence lasted all but a handful of minutes before the Baron had stolen it from you with one gesture alone. Fingers curled into the hem of your panties, easing the garment down until it was off completely. Those strong, calloused hands kept themselves wrapped around your thighs, as if holding you aloft.
Spreading your legs just a bit further, the Baron comfortably accommodated himself between them, face nestled at the cleft between your thighs. Your fingers immediately maneuvered themselves into his hair, back arching as his tongue made contact with your slit. One hand would creep up along your thigh, dipping down a bit to rub slow, steady circles against your clit. A breathy moan tore past your mouth — and then you remembered Sam sleeping outside of these doors.
Faced with yet another challenge of how quiet you could be, Zemo’s tongue would split past your folds, greedily lapping up whatever nectar you’d given him. It would flick against your clit, thumb stopping the circling of your bud in order to tease you, shifting your legs upon his shoulders. Your breath hitched within your throat, and what would’ve been a myriad of flustered, pleasured noises were lowered to mere needy, desperate whimpers. You shifted, bringing your hips down onto his mouth.
You could almost feel that smirk, hand clamping tightly around one of your thighs as he nudged it apart once more. Without pause and with vigor, Zemo devoured you, tongue moving from flicks and long stripes to thrusting against you, breath hot as it fanned out upon your inner thighs. His thumb promptly returned to provide you with that sensation against your clit even still, his pace having climbed from slow and steady to something more intense.
Struggling to steady yourself against the rim of the tub, you nearly squealed when one digit slipped inside of you. His tongue lashed against your clit, exchanging places, one pleasure to the next. You were red in the face, eyes closed, teeth biting down upon your lower lip as you struggled to contain your noises. There was an excitement and relentlessness as he dragged his tongue up the length of your cunt for yet another taste, enough to make you see stars.
The feeling was explosive, a blazing fire set within the pit of your stomach. Your legs were trembling, quivering like leaves as Zemo pushed one more time, lips pursing around your clit. It sent you over the edge, writhing and squirming as he attempted to hold you steady. You reached your pinnacle, orgasm hitting you hard. The mess you made was likely something embarrassing, but Zemo’s tongue would correct some of the damage, more or less.
When his face emerged from between your legs, his hawkish stare had returned. He’d wipe off his mouth with the back of his hand, a twinkle within his eye as he eased you back down onto the floor. Your poor legs were shaking.
“Irresistible,” Zemo purred, hands moving to your chest in order to remove your brassiere. The garment proved to be nothing more than a small obstacle, being flung with carelessness toward the floor. “You taste delightful.” He was teasing and toying with you now, smirking impishly as he felt your hands move to his belt. You were desperate to see him, practically craving the skin upon skin contact.
“You’re slow,” You mumbled, unable to withhold your playful grin as you tugged his belt off. As the final pieces of clothing were being removed, you stepped into the bathtub, practically flopping down into the water. There was an immediate relief, and you dunked your head underneath, coming up with a hand smoothing along the nape of your neck.
When Zemo finally joined you, he tugged you into his lap, allowing you that sensation you’d been yearning for all this time. Breathless and speechless, you draped your arms across his shoulders, fingers idly combing through his hair. The closeness was addictive, and you jumped a bit when his hand brazenly grabbed at your backside, lips twitching into a smirk. The pad of his thumb traced across your lower lip again, a familiar gesture that always filled you with butterflies.
However, you opened your mouth, lips parting slightly as you leaned forward, his thumb between your teeth. You’d never seen his demeanor change so quickly, from smug and playful to exhilaration, shock all within an instant. Carefully, without breaking eye contact, your lips collected his thumb into your mouth, suckling upon it for just a moment. The Baron visibly became a bit excited, breath hitching within his throat.
You could feel his length pressed snugly against your thigh, and as you deliberately released his thumb from your mouth, lips were clashing again. His hands grabbed at your hips, lifting you up slightly, water sloshing around a bit as the two of you clamored for friction, gliding against one another. Zemo swallowed your wanton moan with a heated kiss, continuing to maneuver you until his cock pressed against your slit.
The heat of the water only provided more of a friction between the two of you, a mutual lust beginning to take hold. He was attempting to move, thrust himself inside of you and relinquish his hold, but you weren’t budging. Your lips curled into a small, devious grin as you withheld from him, staring down toward his bemused expression.
“Beg for it,” You whispered, though your tone did not take some seductive edge as others might have. You wanted to see how desperate he was for you, offer him some sort of test. You continued to hover, grinding your hips against him. His amusement melded and contorted into surprise, a throaty, husky groan escaping him. You drove him wild, and you could see it within his eyes — the smoldering desire. He was often in control, but you wanted a sliver this time.
“Please,” Zemo breathed, gulping thickly as an attempt to regain composure. You instead responded by grinding against his cock again, one hand lifting to lightly curl against his throat. You were having trouble with holding back a silly grin, and it might’ve slipped here and there, but only for a few seconds. “Ich brauche dich,” It was almost a moan, but close enough. “Please.” The Baron asked again, enthralled by your moment of control.
Biting upon your lower lip, you finally lowered yourself with a sudden force, causing the both of you to groan, faces pressed together. Zemo was smirking, though — he absolutely loved whatever it was you just did. Holding some measure of leverage over him, dangling it like a treat for a dog. Rolling your hips downwards, you felt his fingers direct your face towards his, lips clashing again with a fury. He immediately resumed prior dominance, biting at your lower lip, guiding you down onto his cock.
With one hand splayed against your hips, the other came to trace along your spine, caresses that made you shiver in delight. The rhythm was slow at first, initially awkward for you, but Zemo was confident in leading you into a more comfortable pace. Another crash of your hips drove him deeper inside of you, the action setting your nerves ablaze. Of course, your lips didn’t stay tangled together for too long, either.
Tracing from mouth to collarbone, the Baron traveled lower, face nestled close to your chest. The more moments that ticked by, the more vigorous you became, riding on his length as best as you could. A startled gasp escaped your mouth as Zemo’s lips pressed against one of your breasts, hot and heavy. Warm, whiskey-tinged breath fanned across your chest, sending another myriad of goosebumps along your spine.
Tangled against your hips, that wandering hand slipped to grab a handful of your ass this time, rough and unyielding as he began to bring you down with each lift of your hips. A strangled whimper escaped you, and the fullness you’d felt made you dizzy with desire. It turned from something intense to something rough and fervent, water becoming a bit turbulent. Bodies were snug together, and Zemo’s mouth hadn’t left your chest just yet, lips capturing one of your nipples.
If Sam weren’t in the next room over, you knew how loud you’d be — and so did the Baron. To make matters more of a thrill, he sharply bucked up into you, causing you to choke on a wanton, needy moan. It never took him much to bring you to his mercy, and for a moment, the two of you made eye contact. A scarlet pallor flourished upon your cheeks, turning red with being so flustered.
As you slammed down upon him again, your body trembled, quivering as you crashed into another orgasm. It wasn’t as intense as the previous one, but this time, Zemo was right there with you. Softer groans, pants, and the lewd clashing sounded out before it became quiet, save for the idle noises of bath water. Even then, his mouth still hadn’t recoiled from you just yet.
Zemo’s impish smirk from around your breast made you tense up, lips falling apart just slightly. You brought one hand to the back of his head, fingers threading throughout damp hair as your head lolled backwards, eyes fluttering shut. Your riding had eventually calmed down, to the point where him merely being inside of you was enough to drive you up the walls. As you tried to move again to get off, the Baron firmly held you in place, cock buried deep inside of you.
“Perfect,” You could hear Zemo mumble from below, nipping at your collarbone before he’d finally sit upright again. He appraised you with another long stare, peering toward the set of doors. It wouldn't be long before Barnes returned, and he wanted to avoid another strenuous confrontation. Sweeping his fingers underneath your chin, he coaxed you down for another kiss, and then gently set you aside. “Clean up. Your friend will be back soon.”
As much as you didn’t want it to end so quickly, you were more than pleased to make do with the time given to you. Quickly washing your hair and wound, you hopped out of the bathtub, snatching one of the towels from the rack to dry off. The two of you had already been in that bathroom for a suspicious amount of time, and if Sam had already woken up, well …
You wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Slipping on fresh undergarments and bandaging your own wound this time, you spotted Zemo’s coat. You’d almost forgotten that you wore it in here. Playfully, you slipped it on, swiveling around to face him. Lingerie and the coat — a good look, wasn’t it?
“Sam might have a heart attack if I go out there like this,” You teased, lips curling into a bemused grin. The Baron’s gaze settled upon you, fluttering across your form with a sultry smirk. “I think it looks nice.” You mused.
“You are giving me vulgar thoughts, and we just finished.” Zemo murmured, slinking toward you. He was mostly dressed, save for a shirt, clad in some plush, dark blue bathrobe. It was definitely a nice appearance for him, not that the violet turtleneck wasn’t attractive, either. His arms slipped around your hips as he tugged you against him for another kiss.
Reciprocating the kiss with a flurry of passion, you pulled away for just a moment, a finger slipping underneath the silvery necklace he wore. “Where did you get this from?” You asked, canting your head to one side. “It’s pretty.” There was a little charm that dangled from the end of it, a tiny, diamond-shape.
“A memoir of the past,” He replied, allowing you to inspect the necklace for as long as you desired. Zemo did not want to go into the specifics of what the charm had meant, but he had an inkling that you could figure it out for yourself. One hand would come to rest along the side of your face, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “Put some clothes on,” Zemo smirked, playfully smacking your backside.
A girlish, sheepish little giggle escaped from you as you relinquished the coat for the time being, tugging on a sweater (it was definitely Zemo’s, judging from the style and size), and the pants you’d been wearing around before. You kept your head free from a towel, deciding to let it all dry with the air instead. You tugged the coat back on for now, following after Zemo as the two of you emerged from the bathroom.
Bucky was making his way across the room, his stride seemingly urgent. “The Wakandans want you now, but I was able to buy us some more time.” He sighed, slumping down onto the couch.
“Were you followed?” Zemo inquired, wandering toward the stained glass window. You saw him put something on from a bottle — likely cologne, it explained why he smelled so good when he embraced you before.
“I know when I’m being followed.” Bucky quipped, moving toward the bar to grab a drink.
“It was kind of you to defend me from the Wakandans, at least.” Zemo’s tone sounded sincere, which prompted Sam into retort mode.
“Hey, shut it. Nobody’s defending you from anything.” His gaze whipped toward you, who happened to be lingering at the edge of the countertop. “What the hell are you wearing?” He asked, pointing toward the oversized sweater and Zemo’s coat.
“ … Clothes. I didn’t have anything else.” You protested, cheeks turning a bit pink. It was slightly embarrassing, but it really was the truth. The last of your shirts had been destroyed and razed to pieces.
“Thought you had that other shirt.” Sam countered, lifting a brow.
“It was ruined in Madripoor, when …” You hesitated, lips forming into a thin line. You still hadn’t told them that you’d gotten shot. They only assumed that Zemo had helped you out with an ailment — unspecified, of course.
“When she was shot, during our hasty escape.” Zemo finished for you, circling around to stand beside you.
“What?” Bucky and Sam were quick to jump on this revelation all at one time. The air went from bearable and comfortable to tense within the blink of an eye. You shot Zemo a pointed stare.
You had some explaining left to do.
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Error of Your Ways
Summary: Zemo is bewildered at your unusual act of selfishness when you ask Sharon to help with a “mistake”. It’s no mistake though, not to Zemo and he plans to correct your error.
Warnings: 18+ / dub-con / emotional manipulation / implicit verbal manipulation / breeding kink / obsessive thoughts / oral sex (female receiving) / fingering / creampie / hyperspermia / slight inflation / (dark!Zemo)
Requested by Anon: “This is a very specific prompt but maybe something where zemo is upset over reader asking Sharon for plan b and manipulates her into more unprotected sex featuring breeding kink?”
Avengers Masterlist | Zemo Masterlist
Word Count: 1,847k
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING
A cauldron of molten lava, stirred and stoked by the conversation he had overheard, had boiled and bubbled in the pit of Zemo’s stomach. The embers of his passion are never truly extinguished. Constantly wavering in strength, they are usually only fanned by the need to rectify the world’s injustices. But now for the first time, those glowing cinders have been fanned by the sting of your betrayal.
“Sharon, I need your help. Had an accident. Can you get me the pill?”
One unceremonious question was put forth and upended his even-tempered mind, spinning a dark web of his thoughts. Had you not thought of what could have been? Of the future? He has only ever known you to be like the vibrant lotus blossom growing amongst the muck and mud of the world’s bleak obsidian waters. You possess the righteousness others lack and a moral compass that keeps you pointed north and truth to the better ways of humanity. He has since come to realize though, that just like all the others you have your vices too, your moments of selfishness.
He doesn’t fault you for it. If anyone has witnessed how easily humans fall, it is him. If anyone knows of the foolish beliefs individuals take on in the name of false virtue, he does. It’s all a farce. And though some repent, turn a new leaf, most are beyond saving. But not you, not his one true love. You can be forgiven. He will show you the error of your ways and offer you reconciliation.
Zemo has waited all week, biding his time to approach the situation with calculated caution rather than the heated fury he first felt. That frustration had raged in his chest for days. The animal within him had roared and rampaged, beating against his ribcage to be let out. It paced and salivated at the idea of pounding into the deepest reaches of your pussy, planting his seed there, and correcting the mistake you had made. But then he had remembered who he was to you, the cunning and calculated baron. The man of refined taste with a wicked quick intellect and skillful physicality.
On this night of penance, he finds you padding across the bedroom, preparing for bed. Clothes slip from your body to the floor creating trailing pools behind you. Head to toe, you are a portrait meant only for him to peruse at his own leisure. His eyes linger on the shape of your bare body, viewing your form through the lens of what could have been. Your face rounded, glowing with an ethereal aura, the outline of your breasts fuller, weighted by the nourishment of their supply, and the curve of your hips widening in acceptance of your new role. That is how he sees you, the goddess, the mother, the soon-to-be.
“Helmut, what’s wrong?” Your words lure him back from the lust-induced mirage that has distorted his mind. Eyebrows furrowed and mouth sinking into a frown, you search for any outward signs of the subject under his inner contemplation but as always, his heart and thoughts are safely tucked away. He has always been so guarded. Though he has no problem with expression, he holds most information under secret and waits for the opportune time to use it to his advantage.
Zemo stalks towards you, steps swift and straight, “My dove, do I satisfy you?”
“Of course. You shouldn’t have to ask that.”
His hands grip your hips, tugging you close to him. The fabric of his robe brushes against your exposed chest, causing your nipples to harden beneath the silky friction. You stifle a moan when he presses himself against you. The throb of his cock can not be contained by the thin material of his covering. He is certain you can feel the heat of his desire just as he can feel the way you lay your trembling fingers on his biceps in hopes of hiding your excited anticipation.
“Do I love you?”
“I would hope so.” Your chuckle dies off quickly at the fierceness shrouded in his eyes, “Yes. You love me, just as I love you.”
“And I would do anything for you, correct?” His voice is low and accent thick with desire. Honey dipped words coax you into state acquiescence. You nod, head tilting when his line of questioning abruptly ends. A sharp exhale is pulled from your lungs as his fingers press into the back of your neck and draw your face closer to his own. Noses touching and lips temptingly close, Zemo stares into your eyes.
“I would...” His kiss tastes of sweet wine, intoxicating and numbing your brain. His lips work along your jaw but it’s only when he nibbles on your ear that you release a sigh of contentment. His next words come out as a whisper, breathed against your ear, “...get on my knees for you. Bend and bow to your every whim, yes?”
His body slips away from yours, sinking to the floor before you in a physical declaration of sinful reverence. Never had he been a man of worship but since basking in your garden of Eden, he finds a reason to pray, if only to get one more taste of the forbidden fruit before he leaves this earth.
Zemo guides your left leg over his shoulder. His breath fans against the inside of your thigh as he waits for you to steady yourself. Your right knee nearly buckles at the first swipe of his tongue through your glistening folds but he bears the weight of your pleasure. Your hips buck forward, grinding your cunt against his face with urgent need but his ministrations take on no urgency. He takes his time feasting upon your offering, lapping at your pussy with a languid pace. Zemo’s tongue swirls around your entrance before his index and middle fingers slip into you. They pet along your walls, curling into the spongy center that makes your spine curl with sharp electricity. Your juices flow steadily, moistening his pink lips and dribbling over his chin.
“Yeeesss.” Neither of you is sure whether your cry is made out of ecstasy or regarding his previous question. Perhaps it’s both. He can certainly feel the way your core quivers around his fingers. His cock stiffens further, almost to the point of pain as your walls unsuccessfully milk at his fingers. Your body knows, even if you consciously don’t, that you crave what only he can supply. Shakily, your fingers tangle in his tousled hair, “Helmut! I’m going to— Oh!” The words are swallowed back down and instead, a lewd and elongated howl floats through the air.
He’s slow to remove his digits, still pumping them into you as you recover from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Though he’s the one kneeling before you, adoration flickers in your orbs. It’s twisted along your ecstasy-blown pupils and it looks perfect. With a soft smile gracing your face, giggling with lust-drunk happiness, and mewling for him to fill you, you are perfection personified. He can already envision how immaculate you’ll look stuffed with cum and how well you’ll grow into your new role as the next few months go by.
Like a newborn fawn, you stumble backward as he walks you to the bed. You both fall amongst the plush blankets and become a tangled mess of limbs. His mouth attaches to your nipple, suckling and flicking his tongue over the perky bud.
“You’re too good to me, my love.” Your words send his heart fluttering but also make his gut twist in knots. It’s just like you not to know, not to understand that you deserve the world and more. He’ll give that to you: a better world. Tonight would be the first step in that process. The beginning of new life; the perfect life to help usher in a better more just society.
His hands go in opposite directions. One palms your unattended breast, giving it the attention it deserves while his right-hand strokes his thick member. Your back arches off the bed as the tip of his cock slips through your folds, circling your clit, and then down again to prod at your hole. Though you had taken his fingers earlier and cum on his tongue, you are still so tight. Your velvet walls still squeeze him in a vice grip, eagerly welcoming the intrusion of his cock and unwilling to relinquish your hold on him.
Zemo’s lips release your nipple with a satisfying pop, “Would you do anything for me?”
His thrusts are still slow and measured. The push and pull of his hips still smash into your own as he bottoms out each time. His cock leaves your moist cavern fully and you whine pitifully as you provide him an answer.
The reentry of his cock is sharp and stinging, spearing into the depths of your core.
Out again. “Would you kill for me?”
In. And Out. “Would you die for me?”
In and then out.
“Would you give a life for me?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes! I would do it all for you. Anything and everything.”
That’s all he needs. His thrusts, once sluggish, now torpedo into you. His hands anchor on the back of your thighs, resting in the crook of your bent knees. He presses forward, pinning your legs against your chest, nearly folding you in half as he chases after the sensation of his cockhead hitting your cervix.
You cry out as tears pool along your lower lids and spill over. Your nails bite into the skin of his shoulders. No doubt there will be crescent-shaped reminders of this blissful night left on him. While the marks on him will fade in the days to come, the one he plans to pump into you will last for the remainder of your lives. The perfect union that will be his legacy.
Balls lifting and cock twitching, he gives you everything. Thick hot ribbons of his essence spurt into your defiled hole. It seems endless and a satisfying pressure expands along your abdomen. Even as he is finishing, the last strings of him coating your walls white, he continues his rutting, pushing and nudging the milky mix against the doorway of your womb.
The combined releases leave you shuddering and gasping. Your pussy pulsates around his rod, wanting more of him, needing more of him.
The joints of your knees and hips ache fully as he moves you into a new position to not only ensure your comfort but to achieve his goal as well. His cock stays firmly planted within your canal even as some of his cum leaks past your plugged hole. Zemo swallows thickly, burrowing his face in your neck as his hand comes to caress the slight bulge of your tummy. Words of love and endearment are murmured in his native tongue, lulling you into slumber.
Now that he has sunk his seed into the source of life, his dream, his vision, and hope for the future are closer than ever.
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Avengers Masterlist | Zemo Masterlist
A/N: I won’t be tagging anyone since this is a dark fic and I don’t want to assume anyone would want to be tagged on it.
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