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#daniel bruhl fanfiction
f1yogurt · 2 years
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Smut Prompts for the Danny Bunch!
27 for Laszlo <3
thank you for this!! here's a short drabble for Laszlo x gn!Reader [AO3 link]
smut prompts - 27. “I’m too busy.” “I’ll be quick, I promise.”
minors DNI 18+
You were in a playful mood tonight, and as you walked into Doctor Kreizler’s spacious study, you grinned when you saw him seated behind his huge wooden desk. There were papers strewn about on its surface, and Laszlo looked like he was focused, reading something intently with his glasses on. Oh, you’d have to do something about that.
“Hello, darling,” you greeted, walking up to his desk. Laszlo glanced up briefly in acknowledgement, but then he immediately went back to reading. Hm. You walked around to where he was seated, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek, your fingers dancing along the collar of his shirt. Laszlo inhaled sharply at your touch, although he didn’t pull away.
“I’m too busy,” he protested, although a slight blush had risen to his cheeks. You grinned, knowing exactly how to fix this.
“I’ll be quick, I promise.” Before he could protest, you dropped to your knees and slid slightly underneath the desk, positioning yourself between his legs. You chuckled when you heard him gasp again.
“Shh, darling,” you shushed, unzipping the fly of his nice trousers. “I’ll take care of you. Meanwhile, you can continue to work…if you’re so busy.” Laszlo looked down at you then, and you just grinned up at him mischievously. The man was still holding a paper in his left hand, and his glasses were perched on his nose, as if he truly intended to continue working through this.
Without further adieu, you tugged down his briefs and gently grasped his arousal in your warm hand, causing Laszlo to let out a muffled moan. It pleased you that he would finally have a reaction to this, and you wanted to earn more of those strangled sounds of pleasure from him.
“Schatz, I, I need to keep working–” Laszlo cut himself off with another groan as you began stroking him. Oh, how wrong he was to refuse the two of you a nice, long, pleasant evening together.
“Hush, I promised I would be quick,” you said, intending to make good on your words. “And I never back out on a promise.” Doing your best to maintain eye contact, you took him in your mouth, not allowing him time to tell you differently. You bobbed your head, using your hands and tongue and everything you knew that would drive him wild, to the brink the quickest. Laszlo was making the most beautiful noises, whimpering and gasping. A gorgeous flush had risen to his cheeks and had climbed its way to the tips of his ears.
You hummed around him, enjoying the feeling of Laszlo shuddering beneath you. Somehow, he still was holding onto that oh so important paper of his. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, and a lock of hair now fell over his forehead. So much for working.
Before he knew what had hit him, and before he could warn you, Laszlo was coming. Stars flashed behind his eyelids as he rode out the waves of ecstacy, and you hummed your approval. When Laszlo finally recovered, he opened his eyes to find you buttoning up his trousers, almost as if nothing had happened.
“See? Quick,” you said, winking as you stood up. “Come see me when you finish your work, Doctor Kreizler. Maybe we can work out a longer session. If it fits into your busy schedule, of course.” You turned and walked away, up to your bedroom, leaving Laszlo to gaze longingly after you. With that promise, it looked like he didn’t have that much work to do after all.
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lost-in-sokovia · 2 years
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Niki would be the best Dad ever! He'll you and the kids rotten!
wenig niki
“no, niki, i cannot believe-“
“what? everybody should know who is father is, hm?”
you bounced your eight month old son on your hip on the sides of the racetrack as he reached out for niki, who stood on the other side of the sidelines from you. niki held up a little red racing uniform similar to his, patches with sponsorships and everything. in addition to spice it up, it had a little name tag with “levi lauda” written in red cursive like niki’s helmet.
“as if people can’t tell from the curls and aviators, niki,” you replied with a snort.
“just put it on him, come on,” niki instructed over the loud cheering of the crowd and revving of engines. levi smiled at his daddy as you scoffed in disbelief before briskly heading off to niki’s area. you hauled your son just inside the little enclosure, placing him on the small table to change him.
“as if your little aviators weren’t enough,” you mumbled to levi as he wiggled about, his flailing hands nearly knocking the headphones used to protect his little ears off the table. “daddy just spoils you rotten, hm?” you cooed as you exhaled, using more effort than expected to insert levi’s little arms and legs through the correct holes. you held the baby up, placed the sunglasses on his chubby face and headphones back atop his soft curls.
you sighed as you pushed the door open with your foot, hauling your geared-up baby back to the awaiting niki. as niki saw you approaching, he smiled and held out his arms.
“ah, look at mein kleiner junge,” niki cooed approvingly as he took the bouncy baby from you. “chip off the fucking block, hm?” niki said proudly as you gently slapped him for swearing in front of the baby. people walking by smiled and waved at levi, mumbling about the little niki lauda look alike. you smiled and rolled your eyes, poor little levi looking as though he was about to hop in the ferrari with his father.
“you spoil him too much,” you observed, trying to hold back your amusement with mock disappointment. niki kissed the side of levi’s head and ruffled the baby’s curls before handing him back to you.
“nothing is too much for my levi, only the best,” niki argued, absolutely infatuated by his son in his little red getup.
“niki it’s so hot in the sun, if he gets too hot or overstimulated i’m taking him out of it,” you cautioned. niki held up his hands in surrender, agreeing with your terms. “you better go babe, the race is about to start,” you suggested. niki nodded, gently tugging you over by the gold necklace that hung just above your chest. he enveloped you in a kiss before whispering suggestively in your ear, “how about after i win this race, i spoil you next and buy you a pretty diamond necklace, hm?”
your eyes widened and you pressed another kiss to niki’s smiling lips.
“kick hunt’s ass, babe. levi and i will be here.”
“don’t curse in front of the baby,” niki lowered his aviators to wink at you before walking away. you scoffed, glancing to the baby hoisted in your arms and adjusting his headphones.
“he can’t hear you anyway!”
jesus christ i’m so sorry it took me so long to do this, i hope you liked it!!
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mlmxreader · 1 year
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The Stars Shine For You | Ernst Schmidt x m!reader
anonymous asked: Could I request a very fluffy and cute Ernst Schmidt being with his boyfriend in a au where the Shepard is successful and everyone is returned home. Maybe a cute reunion where they are all emotional and reassure each other that they are still in love.
summary: you and Ernst have been apart for so long, worried about one another and what to expect when he comes back, but it seems that maybe not much is different.
tws: non-sexual nudity
support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy
After so much time being apart, wondering if he would ever actually come home, you watched on the news as they announced that, at last, the mission had been successful; Earth was saved, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach as you covered your mouth with one hand and sobbed quietly. Sliding onto your knees as you hit the carpet; he was coming home. Ernst was finally returning.
You broke completely. Relief, joy, pride. It hit you all at once, so hard that you ended up falling asleep on the floor after you were finished crying; so drained that you didn't even wake up when the door opened several hours later.
Schmidt folded his arms across his chest as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his face as he shed a few tears; he chucked his keys on the coffee table, grabbed the fluffy silver coloured blanket from the back of the sofa, and draped it over your shoulders.
He knelt down, kissed your temple, and put a cushion under your head; he would let you sleep for a while, it was the least that he could do. The news was behind a few hours, only just announcing that he and the rest of the crew were actually coming home.
While you slept, Schmidt grabbed a cup of coffee, unpacked everything and put it where it once lived, and showered; he was only just coming out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, when you woke.
"Hallo, mein Herz," he breathed out.
You stood there, staring at him for a while, before you swallowed thickly and barrelled into him; your arms were tight around his body as you kept him so close, crying quietly as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut and whimpered so softly. Schmidt let the initial shock wash over him before he returned the embrace; now that he had you in his arms, he was finally and truly home.
"Oh, mein geliebter," he murmured. "I missed you so much."
You didn't say anything, holding onto him with all the strength you had as you melted against him; it had been so long, so many days drenched in agony and worry that maybe he would never come back. Maybe the Shepherd would be unsuccessful and everything would go wrong, and now...
Now he was home.
"Ernst..."
"Ja, Ich bin hier," he said so sweetly. "I missed you... I love you."
You sniffled, pulling away and putting your hands on his face, studying his features; he hadn't changed much, except his stubble was a bit long, more scruff than anything else, but his big brown eyes were still the same. His hair was a bit longer than when he had left, and there was a faded bruise on his cheek, but he was still the same as when he had left.
"You need a haircut."
Schmidt grinned as he nodded, putting his hands on yours as he leaned into the touch. "Yeah, I do... you know, I thought maybe you would have moved on."
"Never," you breathed out, shaking your head. "Ernst, du bist meine Welt... I could never."
He brought your hand to his mouth, gently kissing your palm as he grumbled ever so quietly. "Du bist mein Stern. Mein geliebter. Mein Herz."
"Immer," you whispered, daring to steal a quick and gentle kiss.
You pulled him over to the bed, pulling back the duvet and getting in, waiting for him to drop the towel and finally join you; you snuggled into his side, pulling the blanket up to his chest as you slung one arm over his chest, your leg across his waist as he held on tightly to you. He was home.
He was home at last. Snuggled up with the man he loved more than anything in the world; all the video calls he had had with you never made up for the real thing. For hearing his voice again, for feeling his arms around you, the gentle caress of his scuff against your skin. Nothing could compare at all.
He tugged you closer, coaxing you to remove your shirt just so that he could feel your skin on his a bit more, tossing the offensive fabric aside and pulling you onto him; your hips on his as you rested your forearms on the pillow either side of his head, kissing him so softly.
You moved your arm so that you could tug at his hair, melting into how he kept his hands on your sides and eagerly dug his fingers into the flesh; the blanket over your back as you allowed him to take control and deepen the kiss. His tongue slipped between your lips, and you felt like you were going to cry.
It had been far too long since you had been able to kiss him again, you were starting to feel overwhelmed, and when he felt the first droplets on his skin, he gently pushed you away.
"Mein Stern... what's wrong?" He brought a hand up to wipe your tears away. "Talk to me."
"I just..." you sniffled, swallowing thickly. "I missed you so fucking much... kissing you again, it... it's all too much for me."
"I get it," Schmidt agreed softly. "Do you want me to stop?"
"Nein," you breathed out. "Bitte. Don't."
He grabbed the back of your neck, pushed you onto your back, and straddled your waist as he placed his arms either side of your head. "Is this alright?"
You nodded, hooking your arms around his neck as you pulled him down, but he grinned, and he licked his lips.
"Was?"
"Everything just keeps reminding me," he whispered. "I'm home... erinnern what I used to tell you?"
"That the stars shined only for me?" You asked, and when he nodded, you laughed softly. "Or that the stars never shined in space because I wasn't with you?"
"Both," Schmidt told you. "The stars do shine for you, mein Mann, and they never shined a day I was up there... they never shined until last night, when I was finally coming home, coming to you."
You grinned, sniffling as you shook your head. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"You're gonna make me cry, meine Welt," you told him softly. "So... shut up, and kiss me, maybe?"
"Now, that," he gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb. "I can do, mein Stern."
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lorna-d-m · 1 year
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Open House Masterlist
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Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!OC
Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a workaholic. Between teaching university courses, running the Kreizler Institute, and minding Stevie -his ward-, he does not have time for relationships. That is until he meets Ms. Greene, Stevie's English teacher, at open house. Can he open his heart to the possibility of love?
Rated: E for explicit language, sex, and more. Age gap warning.
Playlist (link here)
Taglist Form Fill out this form (link in green) if you would like to be tagged for this fic or any others! You can also leave me a comment, an ask, or a message!
Chapter One: Orientation
Chapter Two: First Day
Chapter Three: Emails
Chapter Four: Assigned Reading
Chapter Five: Parent Teacher Conferences
Chapter Six: Communication
Chapter Seven: Volunteers
Chapter Eight: Romeo & Juliet
Chapter Nine: Lunch
Chapter Ten: Rumors
Chapter Eleven: Group Project
Chapter Twelve: Finals
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scuttle-buttle · 2 years
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Chapter 15
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WC: 4228     
Rated: E
Chapter Tags: kidnapping, violence, gun and weapon use, language, period typical sexism/misogyny and language, descriptions of blood/injury/physical trauma, brief non-graphic descriptions of hospitalization
A/N: heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey 😬 this is the last chapter, but the epilogue will be out very shortly okay thanks for not hating me too much
Previously on The Heist: After the failure of the auction, you are kidnapped and tortured by Lombardi. Niki and James work tirelessly to rescue you.
🖼
Lights sting behind your eyelids. The puffiness around your eyes has abated enough that you can see. You keep them closed anyway. It’s easier. Harsh wheezing invades the stillness of the air with each breath you take through your parted lips; your nasal passages nearly swollen shut from a well aimed, bone-crunching hit by Lombardi’s goon. Everything hurts. You feel sticky and sweaty and freezing and you imagine that being hit by a train would hurt less.
By this point time has no meaning. You don’t know how many times they have slapped and punched and kicked you, how many times Lombardi’s screams pierced your eardrums and his spittle landed along your bruising skin. Your stomach gurgles. The thought of eating something repulses you, despite going without a meal in who knows how long. 
You were alone. You were scared. You were holding on to the barest hope that Niki was coming. That James was coming. That Lombardi and his men would be caught and punished for their crimes. 
Just when you feel the sting of unshed tears you didn’t even know you had left in you the basement door unlatches. The click echoes in the spacious room. This time you do finally force open your eyes. Entire body tensing, you now wait for the fresh waves of pain to find you once more as Lombardi descends the staircase. With each step it seems like it takes years for him to reach where you are tied up. He stops in front of you.
“Mia bella….” he tuts. Grabbing your jaw he tilts your head from side to side to study your beaten flesh. Lombardi gives a greasy smirk at your whimper, the pain blossoming through you at his harsh movements. “Perhaps you have had enough, yes? I take no pleasure from hurting your pretty face like this.” You blink slowly and focus on your breathing. Lombardi sighs. “You know we could have done so much together. You and I, bella," he frowns, "we could have been a team. Imagine how unstoppable we would have been.” 
“I don’t- I don’t want that, you prick.” You cough and choke around the tightness in your windpipe.
“A shame really.” Lombardi purses his lips under his thick moustache. You can feel the distaste he has towards you from the way he eyes you up and down where you sit covered in dried sweat and blood. You must be pathetic looking. He begins to pace the floor leisurely. “Instead, you choose to trail me like a bitch looking for scraps- or,” he pauses to throw a grin over his shoulder, “maybe I should say you follow your little Austrian like a bitch in heat? Hmm?” Despite the agony in your limbs you can’t help the wince you give at his insult. 
A series of bangs and a commotion of shouts from the upper levels causes you both to halt. “Ah. It seems your fiance has finally decided to join us, mia bella. I was beginning to wonder that he didn’t care for you at all.” Lombardi pulls a gun out of his waistband from beneath his sportcoat. A click sounds as he cocks the weapon. With ease he steps behind you and into your space; the cool metal of the barrel presses to your temple. Lombardi leans over the opposing shoulder, his foul cologne and the scent of cigar enough to invade what remains of your sense of smell; “now the show can really begin.” You swallow back the dryness in your throat. Eyes glued to the stairs, you wait.
______
"Go faster."
Hunt glances at the Austrian where he fidgets in the seat next to him. "I'm going as fast as is safe," he explains. He was already going nearly 20 over the speed limit trying to get to Lombardi’s villa as quickly as possible. Thankfully the country roads offered little traffic or obstacles to slow them.
Niki scoffs; "what? You choose now to be the one that thinks of risk?"
"You don't?" A beat passes in silence before the Austrian grumbles lightly under his breath. James doesn't ask.
Only a few more kilometers separated Niki from you and that Italian bastard. His gun was ready, his switchblade tucked safely into his waist. Hands wring in his lap. The map crinkles under their weight. He wipes the bead of sweat from his brow. Hunt remains calm and collected as he speeds down the road. Niki thinks about how cool and level headed his partner has been, how he’s taken charge when Niki can barely even think clearly enough to walk in a straight line. In the back of his mind he had noticed how James protected him, giving him an outlet away from prying eyes as he lost himself in Lombardi’s place. How he shielded his outburst from the other agents. Niki never anticipated it from everything he knew of the Brit and his reputation, that he would find himself almost tolerant of his playboy of a partner. "Thank you,” he blurts. Even Niki is surprised to hear his own voice as the words tumble from his lips.
James tilts his head a fraction, his eyes roving over Niki's face before facing the road. "What for?"
Niki clears his throat. "At the apartment. With Smith." He doesn't need to go into detail about what he means. He knows Hunt understands him. 
"Sure, yeah. It’s what partners do." Nothing more is said between the two. It doesn’t have to be.
Finally cresting a hill, a large mansion of cream-colored stucco and columns and red tiled roofs appears on the horizon. The closer they get the more details stand out - the neatly trimmed topiaries and bushes, flowers in pinks and yellows and blues, the marble sculptures of goddesses and heroes surrounding the large bubbling fountain out front. If the apartment was luxury then this was positively heaven. 
“How do you want to do this?”
Niki licks his lip. “Split up. Cover more distance this way, have a higher chance of finding her. There will be an increased percentage of risk for us. Lombardi doesn’t want her. He’s using her to get to me. Him hurting her can only get things so far when he needs her as a bargaining chip.” The explanation feels simple and cold, but it's the most he’s sounded like his old self since you were taken.
“You’re sure you want to do this alone?” Niki can almost hear a touch of concern in James' voice.
“Yes.” Neither say anything as the car bounces over the dip in the end of the driveway upon arrival. The team of agents is right behind. 
"Because you don't have to."
A beat passes. “I know," Niki admits, surprised at how much he believes it. "She’s priority. I trust you,” to keep her safe should you get to her first he adds, omitting the full extent of his thoughts. Niki glances at his partner. “But… after we get her back and she’s safe, then-” he sniffs “- maybe I could use some help to catch that bastard.”  
Hunt chuckles. “What? You think I’d let you have all the fun by yourself?”
Niki can’t help the smirk that breaks despite his serious demeanor. “Knowing you? Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The second the car is in park Niki and James, as well as the other 5 agents, are getting into position. Three head around back to find a second entrance. James and the remaining jog to get in position outside the main door. But Niki doesn’t follow.
Instead, he ducks down next to one of Lombardi’s sports cars. Quickly he whips out his knife and flips it open. With ease he slams the tip down and into the black rubber of the tire; the puncture hisses as the tube deflates. Just as fast he moves to a second of Lombardi’s vehicles. “Niki! Come on!” James’ whispered voice almost gets lost over the thump of the Austrian yanking the blade out. Niki doesn’t answer and proceeds to puncture a tire on the last car that belongs to the mobster. Finished, he joins the others and draws his gun. 
“The bloody hell was that for?”
“He can’t drive with only 3 tires,” is all Niki says before bursting the heavy wooden door open with his shoulder. 
_________
Shots ring out above you as Lombardi’s gun remains glued to your temple. Despite the terror rushing through your veins you know in your gut that it’s Niki - it has to be. The knowledge gives you a sense of renewed confidence. A huff that’s as close to a laugh as your beaten body can manage breaks from you; the split in your lip reopens as you smile. “I told you he’d come.”
Another crash, this time much closer, rings through the basement, then footsteps. Through blurred vision you see him -
Hunt.
Gun raised and ready, he treads down the stairs. Blood is splattered along his face and shirt, rumpled not unlike his usual carefree style. His movements slow upon seeing your compromised position.
James calculates his next move. On instinct he wants to unload what’s left of his weapon into Lombardi’s greasy skull; the decision is halted by the cocking of a gun directly behind him. He curses himself for not noticing the goon earlier. 
“Put your gun down.”
James hesitates, not wanting to let go of his weapon. When the barrel is pressed harder into your scalp he knows he has to comply, if only for your safety. The henchmen from behind reaches forward to yank the glock from his grip. “Let her go Lombardi. Settle this like men.”
“I must say - it is very nice to finally meet your other companion here, bella.” Foul breath permeates your senses. The mobster lifts his head to address Hunt. “Where is your partner?” 
Hunt ignores his question. “Your fight isn’t with her, you bastard.”
The Italian hums. “No, you are right. I only needed her to get to your little friend upstairs. I know everything is a lie, I know he is not her wealthy lover from the museum in Austria.” Condescending smirk dropping, he adds “whatever agency you are with needs to stay out of my way. I have more power, more connections than you know. Leave him to me; perhaps I give you something to keep quiet while I continue my business. I can give you much more than whoever pays you now.” Lombardi brushes his finger down the side of your swollen cheek. “But I think I will keep her for myself, as recompense for my troubles. She is almost as valuable as the art, yes?” 
James scoffs at his arrogance. “You’re a right bastard if you think we’re going to let you get away with this.” 
“Haven’t I already?”
“Tell that to all your men lying dead upstairs.”
Lombardi shrugs; “they are replaceable. When you have money, finding help is no obstacle. Everyone has a price. Even you. Even mia bella.”
“Niki?”
The weak sound draws James to finally meet your eyes. Bruising and blood covers almost every visible inch of you from where you strain against the ropes. He nods imperceptibly. Even so, your lips twitch upwards in understanding that Niki is safe, that he is here. 
Fighting can still be heard from the ground floor of the villa. Shouts and pops and the sounds of fists punctuate the tense stillness between James, Lombardi, and yourself. Suddenly the gun is removed from your temple. Lombardi makes quick work of your binds, yet you know this is no sign of freedom. It is too easy. Your captor must sense something in the wind. 
Hunt remains stock still with his own captor holding him hostage at gunpoint, watching you like a hawk. Waiting to see what Lombardi does. A hand beneath your arm yanks you from your seated position. Legs wobbling dangerously, you somehow keep on your aching feet. The thought crosses your mind to fight back now that you are free - your body rejects it before you could even hope any attempt at fighting him off. On burning muscles and likely splintered bones you are dragged backwards. This time you are unable to hold back any cries of agony, the hoarse wails bouncing off the walls and piercing your own eardrums like a banshee. 
James is helpless to the sight.
“Take care of him,” Lombardi orders, before he slips out a side door with your limping form in tow. 
________
Niki rushes through a hidden door left ajar, following a heavy English-sounding grunt. He nearly trips in his haste to get down the steep staircase. Reaching the bottom, he catches his breath, lungs burning, just as Hunt lays a final blow to one of Lombardi’s men and leaving him unconscious. A chair in the center garners his attention. Pools of blood and a trail of fresh, bright red foot imprints lead to the far end of the room. “She was here?” Niki’s tone is frantic.
James pulls in a deep breath. “I couldn’t; he had me in a corner, Niki, there was nothing- shit!” Hunt pounds his first into the tiled floor.
“Okay….it’s okay James-” a pause “-a car.”
James’ head flies up to face the other agent. “What?” 
“Listen-” a brief pause lends just enough silence to hear the rumble of an engine “-he has another car. Come!” Niki tosses his hand out to his partner, gripping the Brit’s palm and helping him to his feet. The two sprint along the pathway of bloodied footprints you left behind.
Niki and James arrive in a garage just as a black sedan accelerates out of the enclosure. The Austrian can see the top of your slumped figure in the passenger seat. Without a second of hesitation the agents give chase around the mansion; they know they cannot compete on foot so they head to the car they arrived in. Engine groaning to life, James goes ripping out of the driveway in a cloud of smoke. 
Their car roars after Lombardi’s like a demon possessed. 
James has the accelerator to the floorboard, the engine’s revving louder than the thoughts raging inside Niki’s head. He was so close, he had you mere inches from his grasp. The crimson covered tiles in the villa sent a deadly chill through his spine. Lombardi had hurt you. And because of him. Niki would never forgive himself.
The black sedan was just up ahead. “Get as close as you can!” Niki yelled. True to his English roots James swerved to the opposing lane, bringing up the rear of Lombardi’s vehicle. 
“What's the plan?” Hunt sat up straighter in his seat.
“I don’t know!”
“You- you don’t know? You always have a plan!”
“Then you tell me what you think?” Niki rolls the window down and begins to lift himself out of the speeding contraption, just as he had seen you do after the auction.
“Are you fucking daft? Don’t try to jump!” 
Niki pops his head back just enough to scoff, amused at the suggestion; “what- do you think I’m you?”
“Well you sure as hell are acting like me!”
Turning back, Niki takes aim with his gun. Wind stinging his eyes, he focuses on the target. He fires once, twice. Bullets make contact with the back tire of Lombardi’s sedan. The car swerves violently, crashing into a shallow ditch.
Hunt slams on the brakes; the car has yet to fully stop before Niki has jumped from his perch on the doorframe and is rushing to get you from the wreck. the door creaks open without grace. You sit unconscious. Carefully, the agent lifts you from the vehicle and deposits you on the grassy knoll. Finally he gets a look at you.
Niki swears he feels his heart fail to beat.
Black and blue coats your beautifully delicate skin. Dried blood paints your face, hands, and clothes in shades of brown and scarlet. Stuttering breaths leave you. He drags his palm ever so gently across your cheek; Niki swears that you lean into his warmth. Wildflowers in blues and white grow with abandon around your limp form. It seems ironic to Niki that you are surrounded by a sight so lovely, so like the artwork you adore, especially with how mangled and bloodied you are. 
The rage that consumes him could rival the fires of hell. 
Niki feels too hot, as though he is seeing the world through water, when he shoves past James to get to the Italian. Lombardi’s movements are sluggish. Niki all but rips the door from the car’s hinges as he heaves it open. Fingers clawing at the rumpled man Niki throws him onto the road. Fists fly, the crunch of bone and teeth under his thrashing enough to mute James calling out his name. Rocks dig into the agent’s knees. 
Unsatisfied with the pain blossoming in his knuckles Niki drops Lombardi’s collar, instead reaching for his gun. The mafia boss looks pathetic as he stares down the barrel of Niki’s pistol. Blood is smeared along his cheeks and jaw. Little beads of sweat give way to his nerves - a swallow thick behind his tanned throat. “Please, don’t- I will give her to you, please!” 
Hunt’s cries of “don’t” and “Niki stop” and “we need him alive” fall on deaf ears.
“Niki….don’t.” 
Your words, barely more than a whisper, are enough to part the storm behind his eyes. His eye twitches before darting to meet yours. James holds your weakened body to his, his own pupils full of concern, and dare Niki say fear. The Austrian catches your gaze again.
All it takes is one look. 
Niki knows he could never pull the trigger in the end. Maybe for a split second he could after what this man did to you. But he knows that it’s not who he is. He’s Niki Lauda - the one that has faith in the system, has faith in justice, the one who follows the rules. And in looking at you it isn’t just the rules of his organization or the law itself that triumphs here. It’s the rules of humanity, of doing what is right. 
He lowers the gun. Lombardi, in his pitiful state, dusty and clothes torn, smirks. It doesn’t last long when Niki brings the butt of the weapon down, knocking him out cold. 
_________
Niki paces the floor of the emergency room. His hair is full of knots and tangles from how hard he’s pulled at it, the roots tender. It had been hours and there was no word on you. All his worst fears were realized in those few moments he held you in his arms before the ambulance arrived. You were cold, practically lifeless, near unrecognizable except for the sliver of those unforgettable irises he loved so much. 
“Lauda, Hunt.” It was Garnier. “We need to debrief.”
A flash of anger penetrates him; in the exhaustion of the last two days he has no energy to entertain the emotion. Niki shakes his head, “I’m not leaving until I know if she’s okay.” James simply stands from his seat.
Garnier sighs. “I spoke with the physician before coming to find you. It is a miracle the damage was not worse given what they suspect she endured. She is stable but still unconscious. It may be days before she wakes up, they do expect a full recovery.”
Finally, Niki stops pacing, a modicum of relief flooding his veins. 
His superior leads them down and into an unused exam room. The door closes with a sofft click. Sighing heavily, the Frenchman pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Well.” Another sigh. “The two of you should be given a serious reprimand for this.” He eyes each of the agents. 
Niki steps ahead of James. “I accept full responsibility for the events of our mission, sir.”
“Niki…” James whispers, yet not entirely shocked.
The Austrian and the Frenchman stare at each other for a moment. “That… won’t be necessary, Agent. After some thorough…consideration of the last time we spoke I have realized that you were right. The agency should have supplied you better during the night of the auction - I underestimated exactly how large an operation we were up against. This could have happened to any one of us.”
“It didn’t. It happened because of me. I am the reason she was kidnapped, beaten.” Niki can feel the strain in his throat as he becomes more frustrated at his mistakes.
“You are the reason she is still alive, Lauda. For which I must thank you, she is an old friend of mine and I am glad to see her safe. We have Lombardi, too. The good news is he is singing like a canary. Soon Interpol will know all of his associates and shut down the underground market for good. It was not without its faults but the mission was a success.”
“Respectfully, sir-”
“No. I will not discuss it further, nor will you be facing any repercussions regarding the matter or will I accept any sort of resignation. That being said, I must commend you both.”
Niki and James share a look of confusion. How had they gone from standing in their own graves, to being a technical success, to suddenly being worthy of praise? 
“Sir?” Hunt questions. “I’m not sure we understand.”
Garnier leans on the hospital bed leisurely. “The entirety of this assignment was to shut down the heist, of course. But it was also a test of your skills and character; a lesson. Hunt - you were an impulsive playboy that used your balls more than your brain. Lauda - you could not work well with others. From what I have seen of the debriefs with the team you both stepped up. Glancing at James he explains “thinking logically, using evidence to strategize,” he looks to Niki, “and trusting each other to work as partners. From here on you two will be partners. May god help us….” James snickers while Niki can feel his lips quirk up at the prospect. “Now go, rest. Let us take care of all the paperwork.”
James gives a mock salute as their superior retreats into the hall. 
“Huh.”
“What?”
Niki chuckles and gestures between them. “Now look at us, we were both a pair of hot headed jerks, no agents wanted to work with us. Each thinking the other an asshole. And now we're both partners.”
“And?”  
The Austrian shrugs. “It’s not bad.”
James grins. “No, it’s not bad.”
The fist that isn’t bruised hits lightly at the Brit’s shoulder; “so don’t let me down now. I need you busting my balls.”
“I will Niki, I will. But I intend to enjoy myself away from work first.” James turns to leave the room with a wink. Before he goes he looks at Niki over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in a few days, partner.”
He nods; “you will, partner.”
________
While James was out doing whatever James does for fun, Niki stayed behind. The entire week of his mission recovery he never left the hospital except to shower and find a change of clothes. He was beginning to like the feel of the stiff waiting room chairs, the taste of stale coffee and cafeteria food. But the nurses would not let him go into your room. He could peek inside the window to see your battered body bandaged up, but that was the extent of it. Niki wasn’t sure what to do. He knew he had to find some way to let you know he was there and waiting for you to be okay. So he sends flowers. Everyday a new bouquet. Daisies, peonies, lilies, carnations, tulips. Anything to brighten the room, to make it feel less clinical and sterile.
On the 6th evening you finally woke up. Upon hearing the doctors and staff talk about your condition Niki tried to get in. He needed to see you and not through a window, he needed to feel the touch of your warm skin to know you were alive and safe. Still they refused him. Said they needed to get more information about how you were feeling before they allowed visitors so as to not overwhelm you.
Niki considered playing the fiance card. He knew it was a lie - he knew that you hadn’t met in a museum, that he hadn’t asked you for coffee that day, that he hadn’t asked you to stay. 
So he waited. 
The morning of the 7th day he was roused by a nurse. “Sir?”
Niki wiped the sleep from his eyes, stretching his back from the uncomfortable waiting room chair. “Yes, what is it? Can I see her?”
She looked at him with a pitying smile. “I’m so sorry sir…she won't see you, she is refusing all visitors… but she wants you to know that what happened was not your fault.”
His gut clenches at her words, at your refusal to see him. A stunted breath leaves his chest. As much as he wants to fight your decree, to shake some sense into you, he knows he can’t. He knew that in the end you would part ways. He just hoped, prayed even, that he would get a chance to say goodbye before he left. Wetness clouds his vision. 
“Sir? I think it’s time to go home.”
Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze
@loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore @lorna-d-m @zemosimp05 @hungrhay 
@everythingbeginsineternity-blog @danielbruhlswife @i-am-dead-inside-666 @libsybum @linkpk88 @hardlyinteresting @xourownsidee  
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Chapters: 14/14 Fandom: Daniel Bruhl- Fandom Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dirk Bruhlee/reader, Dirk Bruhlee/you Characters: Dirk Bruhlee Additional Tags: MyPoisonedVine "Talk Show Host" Sequel Summary:
Happy Holidays friends!! A present for you: the last 3 chapters! Ta dah! Love you guys, thanks for reading!
This is a continuation of Talk Show Host posted on Tumblr by MyPoisonedVine based off of a music video. I was obsessed with this story, I called it my comfort smut. The original is *chef's kiss* and there's something about it that made me think "Idiots in love." I will try to post a link in the notes to the original. Read that first, you won't regret it. But a quick summary, Dirk is an over the top talk show host and reader is the director. Dirk is a Diva with a capital D (ooo pun intended) and you are just trying to do your job. The show is nominated and wins a Daytime Emmy, unexpected smut ensues. This story begins directly after. Was this just a hook up, or was there something more there? Surely this is just a hook up, but why can't you wait for him to bend you over something again? There is no way this is going to end well. Where is this going, and are you too caught up to care?
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therenlover · 7 months
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Always For A Second (Usually At The Start) - A Helmut Zemo x Reader fic
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"And when I imagine life when it's mine / I can try to picture faceless folk to love a thousand times / But always for a second, and usually at the start / You're in the image posing with a cradled beating heart" - Katie Gregson MacLeod, i'm worried it will always be you
Synopsis: Leaving Helmut for good had been the biggest, most final choice you'd ever had to make. Two years later, he's in your living room again. This time, though, things are different.
Tags: Explicit Smut (+18), Exes, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers to Exes to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Switch!Zemo, Oral (Fem Receiving), Service Top!Zemo, Aftercare, Bucky is Mentioned Too Much
Rating: E (+18) Minors DNI
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 8,600~
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“I didn’t expect you to come crawling back so soon, schatz,”
The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody heard Helmut’s words, curt and cloying and so fucking familiar. Still, my face heated. It always would for him, no matter how much my common sense protested by body’s reactions. How dare he be so damn effective at getting under my skin? 
Some over-expensive brown liquor sloshed against the rim of the glass in my hand as I lifted it less than gracefully from the table, dribbling down the edge of my mouth as I guided it to my lips and drank deeply. “For one, two years isn’t soon,” I started, swallowing. “Two, you’re the asshole who showed up in my apartment like a robber, which makes you the one who came crawling back. I was just nice enough to let you take me for a free meal to get you the hell out. Three,” I set the glass down sharply, “don’t call me that. We’re not friends. We’re not anything. I still haven’t forgiven you,” 
“Apologies,” 
He didn’t mean it. 
“Still, it’s too soon to expect any sort of kindness from you,” he continued, “If I recall correctly, you said you’d rather die than suffer through another night with me for the rest of eternity. I believe an eternity has yet to pass… and yet, here we are,”
His matter of fact tone left little up for debate, unless I wanted to reach for my fork and maim his smug face. Instead, I bit my tongue and swallowed another mouthful of whatever I was drinking.
For once I was glad to be surrounded by the kind of noisy, faceless jumble of humanity that usually made my skin crawl. F. Scott Fitzgerald was on to something with his theories on large crowds and intimacy; there was no better place for two war criminals to meet than the corner booth of a hazy restaurant, lounging and drinking, covered by the blanket of sweet anonymity. Anyone who glanced our way would see two normal human beings sharing a meal in peaceable silence, sharing sparse conversation between bites of this and that. 
They would see lovers.
The thought left a lump in my throat. 
Maybe I looked uncomfortable enough that they would presume, correctly, that we were ex-lovers. I wasn’t hopeful about it, though. 
Helmut noticed, of course, but I knew he would. He had always had an almost supernatural sense for these things, like he could tune into my emotional radio on a frequency I didn’t even fully know myself. Enemy or ally or… otherwise, it was a constant to be seen through and picked apart like carrion. An appetizer for the fights to come. Thankfully, though, he chose to have mercy on me this time in a rare show of respect. Instead of wrapping his lips around another snide comment- even though I could tell it was burning a bitter hole into the tip of his tongue behind his clenched teeth- he chose to pick up a ring of calamari from the plate between us. He held it up to examine the crust in the dim lamplight before placing it delicately against his lips, pulling it from the fork in one bite. Still, he couldn’t be too gracious. Helmut held eye contact as he went.
I could only managed a disgusted sigh but found myself mirrored as his teeth sunk into the squid and his brow furrowed. 
“Bad?” I asked.
He chewed for a good while before managing to swallow the offending clump down, gagging all the way. “Despite my recent diet, that might be the worst thing I’ve eaten in a long while,”
A laugh escaped me before I even knew it was there. “You managed to pick a restaurant where our appetizer is worse than prison food? Serves you right for ordering seafood in the midwest,” 
“I suppose it does.” He nudged the plate towards me with a growing smirk, “See for yourself. I’d hate to see it wasted, and as you said, it is ours. I can’t be expected to finish it alone,” 
As if under the spell of his charisma all over again, I followed his instructions without a second thought. It was just as bad as I anticipated. 
Things were off to a bad start from the moment the tines of my fork hit the batter. The breading seemed to squelch under the pressure, sagging and giving way into meat that was somehow both rubbery and gelatinous, if that was even possible, and if the texture seemed bad outside of my mouth it was even worse inside. Somewhere between its fishy tang and the overly salted batter, there was a bitter, almost sour note that seemed to permeate further with every chew. I spit the macerated glob into my napkin before even attempting to swallow down the remaining spit. 
Across the table, Zemo grinned at my misfortune. “Let’s hope our entrees are less offensive to our palettes,” 
“Fuck off,” I muttered, lips turning up at the edges. 
“You can curse all you want at my poor choice of venue, but I can tell you’re glad you’re the one who ordered the pasta instead of the steak,” 
I went for my glass again, letting the liquor with a name I couldn’t pronounce burn all the way down my throat and into my chest. “I hate that you’re always right, Helmut. Can’t you be wrong, just once? Leave some correctness for the rest of us,” 
Maybe it was the lighting, soft and amber against the dark wood of the table to mask the bloody steaks that would sit below, or maybe it was the music, something old and swinging that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but knew from the radio in my grandmother’s car as a child, or maybe, just maybe, it was the crows feet that popped up around Helmut’s eyes when he smiled that hadn’t been quite so prominent the last time I’d seen him, but no matter the cause, the solid iron wall I had put up around my heart when I walked out of the Baron’s life those two year sago seemed to soften. Weakened, somehow. It was like someone took a blowtorch right to the center of my defenses. Something in me screamed that they had never been all that strong to begin with. 
I only noticed I’d been staring when he looked away, clearing his throat and wiping his thin mouth with the napkin from his lap. 
There went my hand. Helmut, 1. Me, 0… Well, 1, if leaving him those years ago counted for anything, and I refused to believe that it hadn’t. That the blow to his ego hadn’t given me at least a slight upper hand compared to the naive girl I had been in comparison when I first met him. There had been so much good in the world then. 
The silence dragged on as if the structural flaws of my guarded heart could patch themselves up with the defenses created from just a few silent moments between us. That’s all it would take for me to remember all the reasons this would never work: all the pain, the sleepless nights, the snide comments that turned into biting replies that grew into massive, earth-shattering fights that exploded into days or weeks or months living alone in a house with him. One by one, the memories flooded back, reminding me exactly why it had taken me almost two years to find enough peace within myself that I wouldn’t decide to shoot the man in front of me on sight. My heart hardened by the second.
“I saw your concert,” 
I was simultaneously thawed and frozen all over again. “How did you-“ 
“James mentioned it,” 
“You still talk to Bucky?” 
“Here and there,” 
The conversation lapsed into silence. 
He had… been there? I didn’t even bother to think about the talk I’d have to have with Bucky about my privacy, too focused on the more important matter at hand. 
The venue was grungy, a basement bar with a small stage serving the communities aspiring comedians and desperate punk-rock garage dwellers just waiting for their big break. I had barely had the guts to pay the booking fee, though. It was just me, a piano, and my guitar for an hour and a half set of mostly cover songs that had gone better than I’d expected, but hadn’t been anything crazy. The crowd was appreciative and respectful. Several people had left tips, even more giving me a congratulatory clap on the back as I left the building that night, promising to “stream my EP” whenever I released it, despite the fact that I had no plans to do any such thing. Still, I couldn’t imagine that I hadn’t seen his face in the crowd. I couldn’t name what I was feeling as I imagined it; visualized his face on the other side of the smoky room, leaned against the bar with his dark eyes catching hold of mine…
“You came and you didn’t say anything? Not even a hello?” 
Helmut laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “And risk my life over a free concert? No.” He paused, “Despite my tendency to sometimes be… less than kind, I knew it would rattle you to see me. I didn’t want to throw you off before your performance.” 
I didn’t have much of anything to say in response. Instead, I picked at the paper straw wrapper in my lap and tried to look anywhere but in his direction, shoving down whatever was welling up in my chest. He wouldn’t let things go, though. He never could. That was half of why we’d never work. Every time I tried to drop an uncomfortable subject he’d be there to pick it up with a snide comment or two. It was an easy rhythm. Too easy. I had never wanted to fall back into it and yet, here I was, almost excited to snipe his next words down. 
“Cain misses you,” He continued. 
I folded the straw wrapper in my hands, pulling at the crease as I thought about the doberman puppy I had left behind. He would be so big now, as big as the one I’d taken with me was now. My heart ached at the thought. 
“I doubt he remembers me after all this time,” 
“Of course he does,” Helmut’s voice was low. It was almost hypnotic, the way he carried himself. He could fool anyone. I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that couldn’t have been the calamari, he could still fool me. “He’s quite the troublemaker. More times than I can count he’s evaded me in the house, only to be found asleep in your old closet. I think he remembers your scent,” 
“Thats…” I sat quiet for a moment, pursing through choices of words in my mind, mulling over the sharp accented way he pronounced the t in scent, “Sad. Really sad. Makes me wish I could’ve taken them both,” 
“And what of Brutus?”
“He’s good,” A smile crossed my face. “Big, as you saw tonight. I remember when we got them, they told us they’d be 60 pounds at most, but I swear Brutus must’ve snuck in with the rest of those puppies, because he’s massive. Headbutts me every time I walk through the door wondering where I was. He’s a good boy, though. Keeps watch while I sleep, just in case.”
“Just in case I decided to let myself in through the window one night?”
I let myself laugh without judgement this time, reaching for my water. “Looks like it was all for nothing, then. Who knew he’d just let intruders come waltzing in off of the fire escape?” 
“Am I truly considered an intruder in your home?” He asked it as if the answer wasn’t obvious. As if there were any other answer I could possibly give. As if I could’ve wanted him there. His earnestness almost hurt as much as his taunting did, maybe more, because even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, there was a soft ring of truth to his words. 
I took the cowards way out. “I don’t know, what do you think?” 
It was a vulnerability to not give a straight answer, the kind of weak spot that Helmut would catch wind of in an instant before using it to unravel someone piece by piece. Not a no, but certainly not a yes, and the fact that it hadn’t been a resounding yes was enough to glean that maybe, deep down, I wasn’t hating this dinner. He would see through me. Rip me to shreds for the subtle admittance that I hadn’t hated seeing him waiting for me on the couch when I walked through my door, even if I hadn’t expected or wanted him there in the first place. 
I found it was better to lie by omission than to fully lie and let him see through me to the more important truth; For as much as I despised everything about him, I had missed Helmut Zemo. I had missed his stupid expensive taste and the tilt of his stupid head and his stupid shiny white smile. I had missed seeing his coat hung up beside the door and knowing what waited for me inside. It was sick how I had loved him. How I had loved every minute of him picking me apart by the seams and putting me back together. Who could possibly crave their own destruction? Who could live knowing that to be loved was to be deconstructed down to the bone and laid bare as something lesser, something so small compared to the great destroyer I devoted myself to. 
How could he let me live like that if he truly saw through me? 
And that was why I had to leave. 
Loving Helmut Zemo was no way to live. I knew that. I had known that the day I picked up my dog and walked out of our home with nothing but my wallet, car keys, phone, and a polaroid picture of his silhouette. Somehow, I knew that he knew that too. Why else would I move on so suddenly, so sharply, removing every piece of the life we’d built to start myself fresh? A new me, I had said. A new chapter. Yet here I was across from him, shredded bits of paper littering my lap as he puppeteered my heart right back into his arms. 
No. I couldn’t let it happen. 
Not again. 
“Listen, baron,” I didn’t let him answer my rhetorical question. It wouldn’t be wise to let him gain the upper hand again. It wouldn’t be smart to let myself stay weak. “I appreciate dinner. It’s been surprisingly lovely to catch up with you. I’m glad to know you’re not dead, and its great to know Cain is doing well, but I know you weren’t here to tell me that over a plate of mediocre pasta,” 
Helmut smiled, his head in its signature tilt, and swished his own glass a bit. The ice was all but melted giving the liquor an almost clear quality as it diluted. Not a sip had been taken. “Ask the question, schatz,” 
“Why are you here? Why did you stalk me here and break into my apartment when I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my life?” My words came out so matter of fact even I almost recoiled at them. Not unemotional but detached. 
“Um, who had the chicken alfredo?”
I could feel the blood drain from my face as I looked up at the poor waiter, hot plates in hand, as he took in our table at just the wrong time. Five minutes earlier he would have walked in on polite conversation about the dogs or the shitty appetizers. Now, though, he stood between a man who was known to kill for the things he wanted and me, the one thing he could never have again. 
Surprisingly, though, Helmut waved a hand towards me as I froze. There were none of the usual dramatics, just polite chatter with the waiter as he set my plate in front of me and left Helmut with his, taking the offending calamari plate away with him as he scurried away, surely to tell his coworkers about the crazy exes at the corner table. Helmut didn't even carry on with his answer. He just started tucking in to his steak and potatoes, not sparing me a single glance. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t memorized the way his eyes looked in the low light of a restaurant across from me, I would think he’d been replaced by a skrull.
Where was the tearing? The shredding? The utter evisceration of my waiting throat as he drank deeply of my darkest, most shameful thoughts only to spit them out for the world to see. Where was that shame? In the before times, in the times that the two of us had been a we, he never would have paused to mind a waiter. The world would have revolved around him as he laid me bare, no matter who watched or waited in the wings. What changed? 
How had I not noticed his docility until now?
The pasta was decent. It was better than anything I would’ve made at home, at least. I barely thought about it, though, letting my body go through the motions of eating mechanically while my mind went over a million things I could say. What could I say? There was nothing left to. We had gone over every possibility before I had left, at least I thought we had. Whatever we were was dead. That was certain. But what we could be…
I swallowed hard before I could choke on a relatively large piece of broccoli I neglected to chew in my trance. 
Helmut seemed to be in a painfully similar situation. One look at his plate showed a steak cut into tiny pieces. Almost none of it looked eaten, just diced into a pile and shuffled around a bit on the plate to mix with the potatoes, smashed down from their neat ice cream scoop globe and spread with the back of a fork. 
With a sigh, I set down my fork, pasta already forgotten. 
“Lost your appetite?” 
He paused his fiddling with his fork and knife, mirroring me and letting the utensils rest on the table beside his plate. It was odd to see him rattled. Strange to watch his eyes roll up to the ceiling and pause there, as if he was searching for the right words to say. He always knew just what to say to cut the deepest. Maybe it was foreign for him to not want to cut; To find a soft word, instead of a sharpened one. His mouth opened one… two…three times. Open and shut, open and shut. I couldn’t help but hurt for him. The man of many words was finally struck dumb. 
Finally, it came. 
“I’m sorry,” 
I had anticipated a selfish reply, a demand for me to come back and put the past two years behind us, but time had changed him. It had changed us both. He was no longer the man he had been when he was first freed from behind bars, vengeful and biting and so deeply afraid of being alone again, but I was no longer the lost girl I had been either. I did not need to be destroyed to breathe. I could feel tears pricking up in my eyes as he reached a hand across the table to search for my own. It was such a familiar sight in a time of uncertainty. I kept my hands firmly in my lap, though. I would not give him the satisfaction. 
More, I would not give him hope.
“Come home, schatz,”  
There it was. 
I couldn’t hold in the bitter, wet laugh that bubbled up through me, more at my own foolishness than at anything else. He had changed, yes, but some things never would. 
“Helmut,” The word hurt to say. It was altogether both familiar and unfamiliar, covered in a thick layer of dust from time, but nothing could erase the fact that it had once been used over and over, like a prayer, as easy as breathing or saying my own name. “You know I can’t,” 
He let his hand slink back to his side. “I had to try, you know,”
“I know,” The words were a whisper. 
So this was closure? 
The table was quiet. There was no desperation from Helmut’s side, no attempts to sway me or sudden outbursts of resentment. It was almost peaceful. His voice was sad but there was no manipulation in it. We laid our cards of the table as the game we’d played for years finally came to an end. 
“You were right about us, when you left,” he laughed, “I was, as you so aptly put it, a massive ass. I was still so deeply disillusioned about this world and the horrors of it. It was as if everyone around me was just another cog in it all, even you. I thought if I could puppet it all, make things go my way, everything could just be quiet. The horrors would finally stop. The memories would finally stop. I took it too far, though. I took it out on you. For that, I will never be sorry enough,” 
I put up a hand. “Helmut, you don’t have to do this-“
“I want to,”
His voice was delicate but didn’t waver. For the first time I wondered if this was more about what he needed to say than about what I needed to hear. I nodded him on. Without me even thinking about what I was doing, my hand caught his across the table.
“I wanted to run after you the same day you left. I nearly did, too, before I thought better of it. Then I really thought of what you said. What I did. It was then that I decided I had to change for the better, not for you but for myself. Only then would I allow myself to try again. So I did. I spent my time deconstructing the things I had seen and done and finally facing my own demons. I’m not perfect- believe me -but there are many things I have… worked on, for lack of a better word. James was surprisingly helpful throughout it all,” 
“Is that why you’ve been talking?” My thumb stroked over his knuckles, pausing on a scar. 
“More or less. I needed advice on how to overcome my atrocities, and I owed him an apology either way. He told me about your concert because he thought I would be ready to make amends, and yet I found myself unable to speak to you because I knew that if I did, I would have to beg you for forgiveness, and that is not something I will allow myself to do from anyone. Not now, nor ever,”
I let myself pull away. This was not a movie. There was no happy ending for the two of us at the end of this conversation. It was a chance to clear the air and let go of our grievances before going our separate ways. Treating it any other way would only hurt us both. “Why break in, then, and drag this all out over dinner? Why not just knock on my door, apologize, and leave?”
“I couldn’t have you slamming the door in my face and leaving me to apologize to the wall, now could I?” 
We shared a sad smile, a knowing one. “I guess that’s true.” 
“I needed to know you would hear what I had to say until the end,” he paused, “And one last confession. I must admit, I could not walk away without sharing dinner with you one last time. It’s selfish, as I am selfish, but I could not see you again without truly seeing you, more than just as you shouted at me and threw me to the curb,” 
“You think so little of me?” I asked. There was no bite in it. 
“No, I think so little of myself,” he finally took a sip from his glass, “Any anger on your part is warranted,” 
We did not speak again for a long while. Helmut methodically went through the bite-sized pieces of steak on his plate as I finished the alfredo, which had grown cold in the time it took to sort things out. There was no quiet conversation, no jokes or shared stories in the glow of the lamps overhead. Instead we sat in peaceable silence and breathed in the finality of it all. I was almost grateful for it. I never would have imagined sharing a meal like this with him in all of the years I had known him and loved him. If it was to be the last, and it was, we would savor every moment of each others company. Every moment not spent on my meal was devoted to memorizing the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes as he did the same for me. 
By the time the waiter came to ask about dessert, I could have written sonnets about his face alone, and by the time he returned with the check, paid discreetly with a 40% tip for his troubles on Helmut’s card, I had committed the sound of his breathing to my mind. I could only hope the memory would last this time.
Realistically, I knew it wouldn’t. 
I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as we approached the front of the restaurant together, pausing awkwardly outside the door as we exited out onto the street. 
“So, this is it,” My hands found the pockets of my coat as I rocked onto the balls of my feet. 
Helmut smiled softly in the lamplight. “Let me walk you home,” 
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” 
“Says who? I have to follow you either way, my car is parked down the block,” He offered me his arm. 
I took it far quicker than I should have, relishing in the scent of his cologne. Even after all these years he had never switched to another brand, and I refused to admit to anyone else but myself that I was grateful for it. Instead I leaned into his warmth. “Well, it’s only a few blocks anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt,” and with that, we were off. 
The night was cool. Summer had given in to the pull of a lush fall, the temperatures dropping to a comfortable but windy chill when the sun fell below the horizon. The leaves were not yet falling but they’d begun their slow transformation from green into a mosaic of reds and yellows and greens, forming a rustling canopy above the sidewalk that allowed a flash of stars and moon through the foliage every few steps. 
We were not the only pair walking through the streets that night, but if you had asked me about it later I would have said we were the only two people in the whole city, matching each other step for step under the flickering streetlights. Helmut’s crows feet were in full force as he laughed at my terrible jokes, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth rush through my neck and cheeks as he recounted the moment we first met. 
It had been fall then, too. A brief, chance encounter in the streets of Paris was all it was, a night spend with a stranger, until I had seen him again in Sibera, and again in Germany, and again on the Raft, and again, and again, and again, and again…
He had been younger then, much younger, and still raw with grief, but I had loved him even then.
I was so lost in my own memories that I almost missed the stairs up to my apartment, but Helmut paused there, keeping me rooted with him even though the look in his eyes told me he almost kept walking past, hoping to gain one more turn around the block before he had to let me go. He didn't, though. This was the end of the line. 
My arm slipped easily from its place against his own, hand catching briefly on the crook of his elbow. “Walk me to my door?”
His laugh felt almost nervous, a paid mockery of my own earlier reticence. “I don’t think that’s wise,” 
“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, baron?” 
“I have never claimed that,” For a moment, when he paused, I thought that would be that. I would turn my back, ascend the stairs, and turn around to find he’d shifted back into the shadows from whence he came, but then the moonlight caught on his soft, wet eyes. “But for you, schatz, I try to be,” 
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say as we walked up the front steps and into the building. 
It had been so angry last time. I had vomited up every hateful, raging, repressed thought that I had shoved down into my chest over the course of our turbulent time together all at once and left without a second glance. This time, though, it felt wrong to end things without giving him credit for all of the other things, the things I had forgotten in the midst of all the chaos that surrounded us. How could I thank him? How could I tell him every wonderful thing about himself only to close the door in his face a moment later? I spent the whole trip up to my apartment trying to find a way to express even an ounce of what I felt, and then it was far too late. 
We stood there on my novelty doormat, boots settled over the dirty cartoon chickens, hands in our pockets, and breathed in the stale hallway air. 
“Thank you for dinner,” I said. If I shut off my heart and my mind and every other little betraying ache in my bones it was like it had been all those years ago. We were just meeting. This was the end of our very first date. There was a future instead of a past in the time that lay beyond us. 
Helmut averted his eyes from mine. I could tell he was pretending too. “Of course,” 
“I’ll see you again,” I lied, “I mean, it’s inevitable. We’ll end up at Bucky’s place at the same time,” 
“Or run into each other at a busy cafe,” he offered. 
“Exactly! Or our cells will end up next to each other in maximum security prison,” I laughed, but it caught, pathetic, in the back of my throat.  
He took a step back, boots leaving my doorstep. “I look forward to it, whenever it may be,” 
My shaking hands found my keys, an autopilot motion I had done a million times, and the door to my apartment swung open. I could hear Brutus in his kennel, beginning to whine the moment he heard me come home, but I paused there for a moment, one foot in and one foot out. 
“Goodbye, Helmut,” 
“Sleep well, schatz,” 
I stepped inside and locked the door without turning around for a last look. 
My tears came quicker than expected as I took in the room around me. It was the antithesis of my home with Helmut, all whites and beiges and grays from the sparse walls to the lonely couch against the wall. There was one great shock of black, though; a solid footprint on the windowsill. One last souvenir to remember him by. 
I had done the right thing. 
I had to have done the right thing. 
Life with Helmut was hell. It was exciting and lush and romantic and alluring but it was destructive and painful too. It would mean being seen and unseen for the rest of my life, living with the ghosts of those lost in Novi Grad. He would never stop being the man his grief had created. He was just too broken… wasn’t he? 
All at once I knew I had to see him again. This wasn’t going to be the end. There were still so many chances to make it right. 
Before I knew my own feelings, I was undoing the latch and throwing my door open, only to find him there, feet planted solidly on that stupid welcome mat and fist raised to lift the knocker. Our eyes locked. 
We didn’t need words then. 
No, all I needed was his lips on mine and my hands in his hair. It was a need easily rectified. 
He didn’t pull away as I grabbed the edges of his ridiculous fur coat and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the remains of that day’s lipstick smear against his chapped lips as the parted and made way for me. It was like a piece of my puzzle fell back into place, like the thing that had been lying dormant in my empty chest for the past two years had jumped to life and jumped into my throat. The tears weren’t coming anymore, though Helmut’s cheeks felt wet when I guided one of my hands to rest against it, dragging him closer. I needed him urgently. I needed all of it. Every moment I had missed. 
At least one time in my entire tiny, useless life I needed to know him as he had always known me. I had to see him through eyes that would know every atom of him by heart. 
It could have lasted second or hours. I was lost in it; lost in every heartbeat and the messy clack of teeth on teeth as we remembered exactly how our mouths locked into each other. There was no need to breathe. I would happily drown in him if he would let me. Through the passion I distinctly remembered this fervor, the endless need for him. It wasn’t frightening anymore, though. I knew how to walk away. We both did. 
This time I didn’t want to. 
Helmut was the first to pull away. His mouth was wet and red as he panted there, just a breath away from diving in for more, but he pulled away when I advanced again, instead choosing to speak between placing kisses on my cheeks and down my jaw. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me. Not again,” his voice shook as he kissed me, “Does that make me a bad man? Does that mean you can’t love me?” 
I could only breathe a laugh as I pressed my chest to him. No measure of closeness was enough. I needed him to cover every inch of me. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried, and I’ve tried,” 
“Please, stop trying,”
With that, he caught me in another kiss. 
“We should probably go inside,” I panted, gesturing towards the apartment with my head and Helmut nodded, maneuvering us over the threshold and into the barren entryway of the home  I’d made without him. It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what I was focused on. Instead, my hands were more focused on pulling his coat from his shoulders and discarding it loosely in the direction of the coat rack between fevered kisses. 
The old Helmut would’ve pulled away and make some snarky remark about keeping the place clean. This Helmut, though- my Helmut, as I had selfishly started to refer to him mentally in the past few moments -just dragged me in closer after his arms were freed, letting his hand drift to the small of my back but not even an inch lower.
Suddenly, though, things seemed to cool. The kisses grew shorter, softer. His arms still held me but seemed to loosen their grip. 
“Tell me you want this,” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear, “That you want me,” 
Ah. So that’s what this is. 
“Helmut, of course I do-“ 
“That’s not enough,” his voice was laced with a rare seriousness as he pulled away to look at me properly. His brown eyes glowed a million honeyed colors under the shitty, flickering overhead lighting I should have replaced months ago. They flitted from my swollen mouth to my cheeks to my watery eyes as his hand came up to cup my cheeks again. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake or a bad decision you’ll regret the second we finish,” 
The rest went unsaid. 
(Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me this means something to you, even if it doesn’t mean as much as it does to me. Tell me I won’t wake up alone tomorrow morning. Tell me anything and everything except the cruel reality that neither of us really knows what the future looks like once this is over)
I simply nodded my head, coming in for one closed mouth kiss. “I want this. I want you. Whatever I choose to do next, you’ll be a part of the decision. No more running away,” 
Like a shot, we were off to the races again. 
It was hard to detach our bodies long enough to give Brutus a treat to quiet him down, harder still to lead him to the bedroom and drop his hand long enough to turn on a nearby lamp, but somehow I managed. For all of the small things I’d forgotten about Helmut in the two years we’d spent apart, his bitten nails and the silhouette of his nose and the sound of his labored breathing as he took in my body with something akin to animalistic hunger, it was easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d always found ourselves in intimately. 
His shirt came off first, exposing the soft curve of his stomach. I kissed down from his neck to his chest, letting myself pause on each and every pinkish scar that graced his flesh. I made a mental note to ask him about a few new ones, including a wicked one across his collarbone that still puckered into an inch long divot in his flesh. My fingers followed my mouth, mapping every inch of his flesh. They caught on every soft yielding place he offered, a worship on the altar of his body, dragging his flesh ever so slightly but never enough to leave a scratch or bruise. 
I would not mark him any more than the world already had. It was not my purpose to remold him into my image. Instead I would venerate what he was, what he had become. 
Helmut had put so much effort into changing himself, rebreaking the things that had never healed correctly and setting them right again. I refused to let him break down to splinters again. Not on my watch. 
He shuddered at my attentions. 
“Let me see you?” It was a question, not a demand, and how could I deny him when he asked so nicely? 
I stood up again, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against the hem of my t-shirt, the gentle scratch of nails on skin as he lifted it over my head. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. Usually he was so hungry for it that there was never a pause once my shirt was discarded. My bra would be thrown off with it, then my pants, then my underwear, all in such quick succession that I barely distinguished one article from the next in the order of things. This time, though, he paused, hands just inches from my bare flesh. 
“My sweet girl,” he whispered to me like a prayer, a confession, “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,” 
Slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward and pressed my body into his awaiting hands. He squeezed my hips once, gentle, and twice. Then they were roaming up to the clasp on my bra with that usual hunger again, freeing my breasts for his attentions. I don’t exactly recall how he manhandled me on to the bed, I was too busy feeling the hard press of his bulge through his crisp dress slacks. The first thing I was fully cognizant of was his hot breath on my sternum as he hovered over me, still standing but bent at the waist, boxing me in with his knees. 
“So fucking sweet,” he whispered before taking one of my nipples between his lips and laving his tongue over the hardening tip. 
I felt like a live wire. Heat was building everywhere. Dazzling electricity shot through my head and fingers and toes and cunt and gods especially my breasts. They were always my weak spot, and how he knew it, how he knew me. I wanted to thrash against him, to buck and gain his attention where I really needed it, but his body above mine held me fast, keeping me right where he wanted me, vulnerable to him and his specific brand of torture. With a particularly sharp pinch and a well timed suck he had me keening against him, curling into his every move. 
How had I lived without him? It was hard to imagine a night not spend here with Helmut, wherever here was, not that that mattered. I was embarrassingly wet. The slickness had gathered enough that I could feel it on my thighs despite my jeans. When I tried to relieve myself, though, the baron caught my hand, tutting softly. 
I expected to have to ask permission. Soft begs escaped my mouth. I needed him. I had no patience for games. Instead, though, he lifted up off of my chest and smiled, pulling my hand to his lips. “Let me help you, love,” 
There are no words in the human language that could adequately represent the sound that escaped my mouth. I could not even begin to try. It continued even as I lifted my hips to shimmy free from my jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, only ceasing when Helmut was on his knees with his face buried in my cunt. I was making different noises then. Loud. Guttural. If I had any mind left at all I would worry what my neighbors thought, to see me out on my doorstep desperately pawing at a man only to hear the noises we were making in tandem now. Thankfully, any sensible thought I had left seemed to fly out the window with Helmut’s first lick to my cunt. 
It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten me, and if he had, the muscle memory was coming back quick. His tongue was deft as it worked its way over my aching nub in a pseudo-figure eight; circling once, twice, and three times before dipping back through my folds. I held him in place this time, though, rocking into his mouth. At some point my hands found their way into his hair. It was so soft between my fingers, so pliable as I pulled against him, desperate for more of him, anything he would good. 
Every time he relented to me. Each sharp jolt was rewarded with a kiss against my thigh or a muttered curse in Sokovian, hot breath teasing my glistening mound. 
He was so giving, so attentive to my every need. He had always been a generous lover, never leaving me wanting for anything, but this felt… different. The way he sucked bruises into my thighs, relenting to each and every sobbing please that escaped my soft lips, was a new and devastating experience. There were no power games left to play, no lording his sexual prowess over me as he brought me slowly closer and closer to the ever distant goalpost, just his mouth on me over and over and over again as he wrung the first orgasm of the night out of me, then the second in short measure, barely ceasing from one to the next.
By the time he decided I’d had my fill, my legs were a trembling mess against his shoulders and my cunt was a sopping mess. 
He grinned a crooked grin at his masterpiece.
“How was that, my love,” 
I could barely catch my breath enough to speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, thrumming a frantic drumbeat even as the room quieted. “So good- really really good, Helmut,” 
Slowly, he rose up from his knees, undoing his belt. “Please say my name again, schatz,” 
“Helmut,” My voice was hushed. Reverent. 
He undid the button at his fly, pulling at the band of his boxers. “Again,” 
It fell from my lips like a prayer. “Helmut,”
His cock bounced free, bobbing as he took a sharp, steadying breath. He placed his hand at the base and squeezed slightly. 
“Again,” 
“Helmut,” 
“Fuck, that’s good,” The trance broke momentarily as I gazed up at him, watching the sweat roll down his forehead in shining rivulets despite the chill in the air. He wiped at them with the back of his free hand and smiled sheepishly. “Scoot back and get comfortable, please. I don’t think I’ll last long,” 
I did as he asked, settling against my pillows on the still-made sheets. “Neither will I,” 
“Where are your condoms?” 
“Bedside drawer, way in the back. I’m on the pill too, so no worries,” 
He moved quickly, grabbing a foil package from the small pile I’d accrued, just in case. 
It felt odd to have him be the one using them. 
There had been a few other men who had been invited here, fewer still that made it to the point that Helmut and I were at now. Every time, though, I hadn’t been able to go through with it, because every time they had finally settled themselves above me, I would close my eyes and, just for a moment, see Helmut in their place. It was unsettling the first time, enough so that I sent the guy home right away. The next time, though, it was more thought provoking than anything. I chalked it up to him being my longest lasting sexual partner and left it at that, but now, watching him roll the condom onto his length and crawl into his position over me, I knew. 
I would never get over him, even if I tried for years. My heart had a space carved out in the shape of his own. No matter how long I stayed away, I would never find something quite like what we had. He was it. This was what people dreamed about. And to think, I had almost let it slip away…
He slid one hand into mine, lacing our fingers together in the gentle lamplight. “Are you ready for me?” 
“More than ready,” My thighs spread as I canted my hips up.
Physically and mentally and every other possible way I needed him. I was prepared. 
So Helmut pumped himself once with his free hand before guiding himself into my wet heat. 
It was impossible to last long once we were finally complete. 
Feeling him inside me was like knowing the truth of the universe. It was comfortable, and thrilling, and so deliciously enough. He filled me well, finding his rhythm as he swore and released my hand to prop himself up more comfortably. We were linked together like the final pieces of a puzzle. I closed my eyes at let myself relish in it. 
There was nothing left to worry over while Helmut was inside of me. All thoughts that weren’t of him were banished. It was something to be cherished, every thrust paired with a whispered confession of love from one of us, a fleeting kiss, a curse, a plea… We laid ourselves bare. I let my legs wrap around his warm, soft hips as he rutted into me, bringing a hand between us to circle my clit once more. Even after everything he refused to leave me behind while he chased his own pleasure. It didn’t take much to send me tumbling over the edge into oblivion. 
As always, Helmut followed me down. 
His thrusts quickened, then stilled as he came to rest upon me, panting and heaving and begging for breath. I didn’t care much. He smelled of cologne and sweat as I buried my face in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could feel him soften inside of me but I was far too spent to urge him to move.
We only shifted apart when he slipped free of me.
Helmut quickly kissed my forehead and gathered himself up, shuffling to the trash can to discard the used condom and grab a tissue to wipe himself up. I didn’t let myself move an inch. If I moved, would the bliss run away? Would I realize what I’d done? I let myself lay instead, eyes closed, panting in the autumn chill as my lover approached and wiped up our beautiful mess as gently as he could manage. With one last kiss to my thigh, he discarded the rag, opened the window, and crawled back into bed with me. 
The process was indelicate, a lot of awkward shuffling of sticky limbs, but we were settled beneath the blankets soon enough. Helmut stroked his fingers down my arm languidly while kissing the back of my neck. 
I broke the peace between us. 
“I don’t… I don’t know what this means for us,” 
He sighed gently. His breath was soothing and familiar against my shoulder. “That’s not something we have to decide at this very moment,” 
“But I just don’t want you to think this means something… or at least something more than it does? If that makes sense? I don’t know,”
“Schatz, please,” 
“I want to keep my own place, at least for now. I don’t know what that means for when I’ll see you or if we’ll keep doing this,” I gestured vaguely to my nude body beneath the sheets, “or if we’re even a thing anymore, bu-“ 
Helmut reached his arm around us, placing a quieting finger over my lips and another soft kiss against my shoulder. 
“I swear, your mind sounds even louder than mine,” 
“Sorry,” 
“No reason to be,” His hand left my lips, running down to my stomach and pulling me back towards the softness of his chest. “As for your questions, I shall respect your wishes about distance and housing and labels, whatever they may be. That being said, as long as you’re still up for… this, as you put it, I will never deny you, no matter the distance. I would cross oceans for you,” 
A cum-drunk, half-asleep giggle escaped me as he nuzzled in, kissing my ear. 
“Thank you,” 
“No, thank you,” he matched my laughter with his own, “I believe this is what James would call post nut clarity,” 
“Now you ruined it!” I huffed. The faux anger only lasted a moment, though, before I was rolling to face him, cheek pressed to the soft, downy hair of his chest. “I love you, Helmut.” 
“I love you too, sweet girl. Now sleep. I’ll get up and deal with the dog once you’re resting,” 
For the first time in two years, I breathed in the scent of Helmut’s cologne before lapsing into a peaceful sleep.
---------
A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into smut in literal years, and it was literally all written within a 12 hour period, so I hope any mistakes weren't enough to take away from your enjoyment. Comments are always appreciated, but never expected. See you on the next authors note!
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Baron Helmut Zemo x Original Female Character
Summary: Zemo is interested in how his new partner would look after certain *activities* while Sam and Bucky are out running errands.
Warnings: NSFW! 18+, Explicit Smut, Hand Kink, Eye Contact, Hand/wrist Kissing, Soft Dom Zemo, Zemo Being In Love With Gustav Klimt’s Artwork, Intellect Kink?, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Zemo Describing Klimt’s Paintings in Great Detail, Colors
Notes: I had a sex dream about Daniel Bruhl as Zemo last week, and I haven’t known peace since. I had to change a few things for logic reasons, but here it is. Also, this is just as much a love letter to Gustav Klimt as it is to Daniel Bruhl. Enjoy!
WC: 2.1k+
Read more MARVEL stories!
Tags: @bullet-prooflove @skittle479 @genevievedarcygranger​
The setting sun of the unfamiliar country shines through the windows and into the living room, casting a rainbow of light through the glass teapot that separates him from her. It expands across the table and onto the floor, stretching beyond where they sit in reds, greens and blues until disappearing just short of the door in a purple haze. He stares at her from behind the plume of steam that rises from the pot, two identical cups filling nearly to the brim as he studies her every move.
“Darjeeling?” He raises his eyebrows with the question, the chestnut hues of his eyes glinting amber in the warm evening light.
“Please,” she nods, scooting forward in her seat to finally enjoy his company without the judgment of her two partners. She hopes she can figure out what it is about him that makes her pulse quicken and her stomach flip every time he gets close to her. Was it his accent? His title? His intellect? Maybe it was a combination of all three. “Thank you,” she nods again.
“Of course. You know, unlike our mutual friends, you strike me as a woman who appreciates the finer things in life.” He starts, setting the pot down before sliding one of the saucers across the coffee table toward her.
“Is that so?” She leans forward to touch the handle of the mug he pushes in front of her, deciding to brush her fingers over his knuckles in the process.
He pauses as she touches him, lips parting and breath stilling as he tilts his head to the side as if to think through his next move. She knows that everything within his grasp holds the potential of turning into a movable piece on the giant chessboard of his life, a game he aims to win at nearly any cost. But she also knows that he was willing to dominate the kings and queens of the board to avenge a lost love, a result of passion and attachment, a sign of weakness. She hopes to use those long, deep stares he’s been giving her these past few days to bind him to her, to distract him long enough to spill some of his secrets and place a crown on her own head.
“I can’t imagine James or Sam would be able to appreciate a good cup of tea or glass of wine the way you and I would.” He keeps his hand beneath hers as he straightens his posture, now looking her in the eye through thick and heavy lashes. “Or a work of art.”
“Art?” She holds his stare in return, continuing to trace the hills and valleys between his fingers as the tiny hairs on the back of his hand stand on end. “I wouldn’t think that you, of all people, would support the arts.”
“On the contrary.” He releases his grip on the mug’s handle and weaves his fingers between hers, deftly stroking her palm with his thumb. “Anything can be a work of art if you choose to see it that way: the fall of an empire, the structure of a building, the curves of your face.”
Her mouth falls open as he continues to caress her skin, a thousand tiny tingling sensations spreading out from their point of origin as he presses into the heel of her hand. He scoffs as a knowing smirk tugs at the corners of his lips and brings her hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Are you familiar with the works of Gustav Klimt?”
“The Austrian impressionist?” She whispers, wondering where he could be going with this. “The painter?”
“A symbolist, actually.” He encircles her wrist with his opposite hand, his fingertips soft and gentle as they trace the veins that snake their way up the back of her arm. “A common mistake.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” She mutters with the little air she has left in her lungs as he strokes her arm like a trained masseur.
She watches in amazement as he opens his mouth to kiss her palm once more, this time a little deeper, a little longer as his tongue briefly parts his hungry lips. She leans forward as the tingling sensation shoots up her arm and into her chest, extending far beyond the trail his mouth leads as he kisses his way down her wrist. She can almost feel those eyes of his travel up her shoulder, noting the goose flesh racing up her axilla into the pounding pulse of her neck. His glare is nothing short of magnetic, drawing her in like a sailor to a siren as they quickly darken with desire. She isn’t entirely sure now if this seduction plot was a plan of her own, or if he’d merely tricked her into thinking it was her idea to begin with.
Either way, she sees no reason to pull back now.
“Klimt was a genius,” he stands up from his seat on the couch, keeping his fingers clasped in hers as he makes his way around the coffee table, pushing it aside. “He found beauty in nearly everything he saw.” The baron kneels in front of her, pushing the table back even further with his body as he finally settles at her feet.
“The symbolist parts of him were found mainly in his landscapes.” He pulls his hand away from hers, releasing it only to touch the intricate pattern of the dress that barely covers her thighs at this angle. He takes his time tracing the dozens of beaded triangles on the expensive cloth he picked out just for her to wear, hoping she appreciated it. “The concentric circles of trees in the forests, blades of grass in the meadows, the tessellation of leaves,” he elaborates as he smooths his hands down her legs, resting them both gingerly on her knees. “And the flowers in bloom are all different representations of the masculine and feminine.”
His chest expands as he pauses for a moment to take her in, the object of his desire, before exhaling and proceeding with his lesson. He slides his thumbs between her knees and pushes them apart, forcing her skirt to ride even farther up her hips as his lips curl into a smile. “But Klimt’s most famous paintings featured gold leaf and the women in his life.”
She swallows hard as she looks down at him for the very first time, his tall stature always drawing her chin upward to get a better look at him until now. This angle seems to suit him, the fading sunlight catching in his hair as it falls from behind his ear in front of his forehead. She can practically feel her bones shaking in anticipation as he holds her knees in his palms, that confident smirk painted permanently on his lips.
“Klimt knew that a work of art shouldn’t be rushed.” He glances up at her, sliding his hands over the tops of her thighs at an agonizing pace. “That something so beautiful should be studied at length before he would dare put it on canvas.”
She holds her breath as he ignites a fire beneath her skin, spreading her legs as the warmth of his hands ventures up toward her center. She can feel that fire rise up into her belly as his fingers tease the fine hair on her thighs, reaching the hem of her underwear as she finds herself rocking into them, silently urging him to pull that final barrier between them apart.
“He had many lovers, most of whom he painted,” He pulls back the cotton between her legs, sliding his fingers between her moistened lips before gliding them up and down. “Only after bringing them to a state of elation.”
“Yes,” she breathes out as he fondles her, his fingers the most skilled she’s ever felt in her entire life. “I remember that.” She moans as he stokes that heat, spreading her moisture over the length of her sex as he keeps his eyes on her.
“Good.” He increases his pressure on his way up to stimulate her clit as her hips begin to move in tandem with his hand. He grins like the Cheshire Cat, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he persists in his carnal efforts. “They say his painting of Judith captures her at her most vulnerable state.” He slides his fingers inside of her walls, standing up as he pushes on her bud, rubbing a deep tantric rhythm into her core.
“Oh!” She utters, grabbing onto his shoulder as he continues his ministrations. “Baron!”
His smile widens at the mention of his title, but he only continues his lecture. “Lips flush, cheeks rosy, eyes heavily lidded,” he turns to sit down next to her on the couch, keeping his fingers warm inside as he whispers into her ear. “When I first laid eyes on you, I knew I had to see you like that.”
“Yeah?” She gasps as he lifts her leg over his lap, stretching her muscles as he delves his fingers even deeper inside of her. “Oh!”
“Yes, and you’re almost there, my love.” He curls his fingers upward, grabbing onto the base of her neck with his opposite hand as he sends messages of bliss all the way up her spine and into her brain. “Tell me when you see gold.”
She nods as he speeds up his handiwork, the sound of her slick the only thing she can hear besides her own shallow breaths and the beating of her heart. She can feel him push that final signal up through her, each of them building on top of the last like a line of dominoes bringing her closer to the edge. She looks down as he nearly breaks his wrist trying to please her, knocking down every one of them in succession as if they were laid out in an intricate shape painted by Klimt himself. Dozens of branches split off from her center, spiraling as they fall into her arms, legs and feet before curling in on themselves as her body shakes from the euphoria.
Her orgasm continues to spread through the tips of her fingers and the roots of her hair as she finally turns to look at him. She can feel those golden stems of ecstasy grow and brighten within her, splitting in half, breaking free until they reach every inch of her body through his magic fingers. She cries out as he doubles her pleasure, wrapping her foot around his leg to keep herself steady as her entire body begins to seize in his lap.
He moves his hand from the back of her neck to her jawline, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him as the sun shines one last time through the stained glass windows. Its yellow rays hit his eyes at just the right angle, illuminating the amber of his irises into a vibrant gold as he unravels her completely.
“I see it,” she confesses, now putty in his hands. “I see the gold.”
“Good girl,” he purrs, slowing his rhythm between her legs before planting a kiss onto her cheek. He pulls his thumb off her bud, careful not to get anything on her dress as he slowly drags his fingers up and out of her silky spent sex before bringing them up to his lips. “I knew you would.” He takes his time tasting her, those golden eyes of his rolling back into his head as his lips reach his knuckles.
She shivers as she watches him savor her, this deadly powerful man literally brought to his knees for nothing more than a chance to experience her beauty in person, to sample the fruits of his labor. Part of her now wishes that he could be someone else, someone who isn’t so devious, so wild and unpredictable, but she knows that’s part of what drew her to him in the first place.
He opens his eyes and draws his fingers from his mouth, letting go of her chin and stroking her hair with a newfound sense of adoration. “You look just like her now, a true work of art.”
She lets the echo of her climax shake its way through her, consciously calming her breathing as he combs through her hair, watching his chest rise and fall as a guide for her desired rate. She unhooks her foot from his calf before letting her hand drift down his neck and chest, reaching down between his legs to return the favor.
“Ah!” He stops her, clicking his tongue as he grabs her wrist. “You should rest before they get back. Drink your tea. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
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thedarthpancakes · 16 days
Text
Im going to need some space. A bag to breath into and eight double A batteries.
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orions-quiver · 2 years
Note
do you write smut fics too cause i'd really enjoy a fic with jealous zemo🥺
Only Mine (Baron Zemo x Female!Reader)
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Summary: After the meeting with Selby in Madripoor Zemo needs to remind you of who you belong to.
Word Count: 2.3k
18+ ONLY MINORS DNI
General Tags: Smut, Explicit, PWP, Daddy Kink, D/s Undertones, Oral (male receiving, female giving), Face Fucking, Thigh Riding, Degradation (name calling and demeaning language), Light Choking, Dirty Talk, Use of Force/Restraints, Rough Fucking
Note: This thing took up 18 pages in my notes app good lord. I had fun writing this from the usual jealousy in Madripoor trope with Zemo though. I got carried away and made him go somewhat feral lmao. This is not a soft possessive fuck, this is an angry "you are MINE" kind of possessive fuck. Hope y'all enjoy. ;)
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
"The breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery will cost you, Baron. And before you can get all cute, you can't find Nagel without me."
Zemo had already agreed to pass ownership of the Winter Soldier to the woman across from him. He began to think of what else she could be after. "I have given you HYDRA's greatest asset, Selby. What more could you want?"
(Y/n) had agreed to go along with Zemo's plan of putting her in the role as his arm candy. She sat in his lap snuggled up to him as his hand absentmindedly traced patterns against the exposed skin of her thighs. The (hair color) squirmed slightly when his hand roamed higher to slide under the already short fabric of the dress.
Zemo had bought a rather expensive but skimpy outfit for her to wear. It was a short, tight red dress that hugged the form and left nothing to the imagination paired with black velvet heels. The dress had a corset decorating the front, keeping her waist cinched and her figure more hourglass. The demand that came next didn't surprise him when Selby had spoken again.
"I want your other toy, Zemo."
Selby looked over (Y/n) with a gaze that screamed nothing but hungry predator. Zemo hummed, his gloved hand reached and grasped her chin before pushing the now utterly helpless bait to stand in front of him. "Go on, Draga. Show our friend a good time." The Baron looked back up at her as he spoke with an indifferent look crossing his features.
(Y/n) stood for a moment in front of Selby, silent and unsure. "Strip. Make it interesting." She barked. The woman felt uneasy with the situation already. "That was an order. Did your handler here not teach you to obey?"
A darkness began to consume Zemo's eyes as he watched this little charade of a mission. A violent, horrible feeling made his grip on the arms of the chair tighten and the gloves to give a soft squeaking noise.
"Forgive me, ma'am." (Y/n) reached up to the bow that held the corset lacing of the dress drawn together and pulled it free. She took small steps towards Selby as the lacing was removed. By the time she was straddling the older woman's lap the dress's front was completely open, a beautiful lace bralette was the only thing that protected her from being truly topless. (Y/n) had to commit if this was going to work.
She wanted to throw up.
Zemo had reduced her to nothing but another pawn to be handed to Selby like a cheap whore.
She giggled with fake shyness as Selby pushed the dress to pool at (Y/n)'s middle. (Y/n) finally removed the dress completely to reveal matching lace panties. The set was white, much like Zemo's knuckles were under the protection of his gloves. She sat more up on her knees and dipped her head to rest in the crook of the other's neck. Zemo's breathing was deep and deliberate as he watched on.
(Y/n) needed to be praised for her dedication to the part to make this work - but at what cost? Helmut Zemo's self-control, it seemed.
(Y/n) sighed softly, the end of the noise made her sound needy and pliant as the Baron watched the other woman grip her waist with a possessive edge.
When Sam's phone rang, the room fell silent as Selby stopped her movements. "A moment, beautiful."
Bucky caught her eye and flashed a curt nod of feeling equally as awful in their respective positions. Zemo ran through numbers in his head to keep himself from rising and ripping her from Selby's grip and covering her with his coat.
"Answer it." Selby's voice was cold. "On speaker phone." Leave it to Sam 'I-Don't-Put-My-Phone-On-Silent-During-An-Undercover-Op' Wilson to blow their cover, truly a stellar display for an experienced Avenger.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
"Are you joining us for the party?" Sharon asked as she ran a hand through her hair. "I'll pass. I want to be alone. I need a while." (Y/n) didn't hesitate in taking her retreat to the room Sharon had given her. She was angry at Zemo for giving her over like that, forcing her to play a more extreme character than what was already being pushed at her.
Zemo returned from the party soon after she had left for her room. "Where is (Y/n)?" He asked Sharon while taking a sip of the whiskey still in his hand. All she did was point to her room.
The Sokovian knocked once. Then twice. Now a third time. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing dangerously thin as his mind was still reeling from the incident with Selby. When no answer was given Zemo opened the door and walked into the bedroom, having shut the door behind him. "(Y/n)-"
"Fuck off, Zemo. You're the last person I want to see."
"That's no way to greet your handler, is it Draga?" Zemo was a stubborn, manipulative bastard. His aura alone drew the girl to him like a magnet. "You're not my fucking handler. Fuck. Off."
Zemo stalked closer. In seemingly one quick movement he had one hand holding (Y/n)'s wrists behind her back while the other hand gripped the back of her neck. She drew in a ragged breath as he pushed the girl back down and ripped the robe off of her body to discard it on the floor.
"What was that Draga?"
(Y/n) whimpered into the mattress in reply. She was again only covered by her undergarments. The sudden shift made her go soft. The possession in his grip was obvious, and it spoke to a need rising within her.
Zemo hummed in approval as he took the hand off of her neck to undo his belt and slide it out of the belt loops. "I must say Dušica, you committed to your role beautifully." (Y/n)'s brain clouded with the sound of his praise. "With doing this I hope to remind you of who you were supposed to belong to. You seemed to be having so much fun with Selby."
(Y/n) gasped quietly at the feeling of the leather gathering her wrists and holding her still. Zemo admired his work for a moment before he leaned forward, his body covering her back. The Baron nosed at her shoulder as he kissed every bit of skin that was offered to him.
"You're going to be making it up to me." He whispered as he nipped at her skin. "On your knees in front of me. You are going to let me use that pretty little mouth until you're choking on my cock."
When he stepped away (Y/n) seemed to scramble. The anger had burned away underneath the calm authority Zemo always embodied. She sought the steadiness of his control. It was sure. It was comforting. He was always comforting in that way.
Her attention was drawn back to the task at hand when Zemo unbuttoned his trousers with deft fingers. (Y/n) could already see how his cock was straining against the fabric keeping it out of sight. She shifted on her knees when Zemo forced a foot between her thighs.
"Stay just like this. If you want to act like a whore in front of me then you'll keep your legs spread like one." (Y/n)'s eyes peered up at the brunette through long lashes.
"Yes Daddy."
Zemo felt the air leave his lungs in a low groan. Lightening fast his cock was freed and rested against the woman's lips. "Open up Draga, Daddy wants to see how much of his cock you can swallow." Her lips opened and Zemo was hit with the sinful warmth of her tongue flattening to taste as much of him as possible as he fed her every inch. "Good girl." He praised softly. (Y/n) moaned around his cock, her jaw went slack and her breathing became forced as she settled just an inch away from the base of it. Her pretty white panties were going to be wrecked by the end of the night, and Zemo wanted to see it.
Zemo carded his fingers through (Y/n)'s (hair color) locks to soothe her as he eased himself back out. "Don't move. Keep your jaw relaxed. Daddy's going to make sure you can't talk tomorrow my darling."
With a handful of her hair Zemo thrusted back into the soft wet heat of (Y/n)'s mouth with brutal force. (Y/n) sputtered and gagged from the violent nature of his movement as her core throbbed at the sound of Zemo biting down a groan. "Beautiful. A perfect cocksleeve, aren't you baby?" He repeated his motion with the same violent possession burning through his system.
(Y/n) choked with every push and pull of her head meeting Zemo's punishing thrusts. Tears stained her face as the Baron groaned and moaned out soft praises at the feeling of her throat spasming and swallowing around his length. It made his head fog with a manic pleasure as (Y/n) began to feel the effects of her lack of oxygen between Zemo's rough rutting into her pliant mouth.
It's just as violent of a movement as the rest when Zemo is suddenly pulling his cock out of (Y/n)'s throat with a louder moan.
"You feel so good Draga. Took my cock so well in that sinful mouth of yours." His pupils were blown and eyes dark, a single band of his brown honeyed eyes threatening to snap with even one wrong move. He watched with quiet amusement as (Y/n) coughed violently as her lungs gulped down all of the air they could get. Spit had dripped from her mouth down her chin and onto the floor where her legs were still apart. He pushed her shoulder down until the fabric covering her throbbing pussy rested against his shoe where he had stuck his leg out. "Fuck yourself while I finish. If I'm satisfied I may even let you come soon."
(Y/n) sobbed when Zemo forcefully yanked her head back to look straight up at him. "What are you supposed to say when I give you an order?"
"Yes Daddy!" She cried with a soft, hoarse voice as her hips rutted against his Oxford. The laces against her swollen clit was good, but it wasn't enough with the sticky fabric of her panties in the way.
"You may be a pathetic slut but I would think you'd still have your proper manners for your Daddy." The hand holding her head back let go and returned to its place jerking his cock with quick movements. "Open your mouth."
When (Y/n)'s mouth opened she was met with the warmth of Zemo's come as it hit her face, her lips, and on her outstretched tongue. He tasted salty, but somehow sugary sweet in her mouth and she wanted more.
The woman rutted even harder against his shoe before she was grabbed by her abused throat and hauled up onto her shaking legs. Her knees buckled, and would've slammed against the floor if not for Zemo's (thankfully) firm grip on her. "Look at the mess you made of my shoe." The laces down to the toe of the Baron's shoe glistened under the dim light of the room. (Y/n) could feel how her underwear stuck uncomfortably against her and whined at the feeling.
"Shh little one," Zemo hushed as he adjusted himself and walked them to one of the plush chairs in the room. "You've been so good, taking me so well. There we go, back on your knees. Turn around sweetheart." His voice softened significantly as he unfastened the belt and let her hands free. "Up on three Draga. One...two...three." (Y/n) was lifted again and adjusted to straddle one on of the Baron's thighs. She rocked against him with short movements.
"You can touch me, Dušica. Would you like your underwear off honey?" She nodded shyly while her hands wandered to grip Zemo's broad shoulders and find purchase in the knitted fabric of his turtleneck. She didn't expect Zemo to pull out a pocket knife and cut the ruined fabric right off of her hips.
"Daddy!" She whined and buried her face in his chest out of embarrassment when he held the now scrap of fabric up to inspect it.
"Absolutely ruined." He leaned down to place a soft kiss to (Y/n)'s hair. "You can move Ljubav. You may come when you want my sweet." (Y/n) braced herself once more. Zemo lifted his leg upwards as she ground her hips against it. The fabric of Zemo's pants were a bit scratchy against her inner thighs and added to the friction on her clit.
Soft "Ah- Ah- Ah-"'s filled the room while (Y/n) fucked herself against the Baron in ernest. Zemo pressed feverish kisses against his lover's neck when her pace picked up and her cries grew in volume. He lowered a hand from her hips to seek out the sensitive bud. "Let go Kleiner. Come for Daddy. Tell them all who you belong to."
(Y/n) arched her back as she ground her hips again as hard as she could when Zemo's thumb drew tight circles around her clit and the other moved to grasp her throat. He squeezed it. It wasn't enough to hurt (Y/n), but just enough to cut off her air. With a sharp cry (Y/n) came, her voice high and airy as she moaned. "Helmut-" Her pussy clenched around nothing while Zemo didn't let up with his stimulation to help her ride out the high. "Helmut- Daddyyy-" The girl babbled softly while trying to move away as the oversensitivity set in like a vice.
"I hear you Draga. My beautiful girl, Selby would have only dreamed of seeing you fall apart like that." Zemo felt powerful having gotten more than she had ever bargained for in the first place. He grounded (Y/n) with a soft kiss to her lips.
Zemo carried (Y/n) back over to the large bed before he stepped into the bathroom to retrieve a warm washcloth and lotion. "Let's get you cleaned up, meine Liebe."
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cazimagines · 1 year
Text
Born to be wild - Chapter 21
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Synopsis: Joining F1 as one of the first female drivers you knew was going to be a challenge but you weren’t prepared to deal with one particular asshole on the tracks. With the urge to win so strong within each racer, will romance pave the way? Or will it destroy everything?
Word count: 1.5k
Previous chapter: You and Niki had a trip out, though you still had doubts in your mind about what James had told you. Niki took it on himself to try and convince you to let them go.
A/N: Sorry
Warnings: Sexism
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Born to be wild masterlist
Previous Chapter
You kicked your legs, looked down at your nails and sighed. You glanced at your wristwatch and sighed again. Your fingers fidgeted with your engagement ring as you looked briefly around the kitchen in Niki’s apartment. The Weiner schnitzel dish you had prepared half an hour ago lay on the table. The smell of it now lingered all over the apartment. Some flowers you had placed on the middle of the table drooped. It was a depressing sight to you. 
He said he would be back half an hour ago. 
Another sigh left your lips as you glanced back down at the watch. Shaking your head, you stood up from the counter stool. You grabbed your leather jacket, which hung over your chair's back, and collected your keys. Leaving the apartment, you jumped onto the back of your motorbike, already mapping out in your mind the quickest way to the Ferrari garage.
As you drove, you noticed dark clouds covering the sky. You groaned as the first few spits of rain landed on your face and ran down your skin. You could have turned back now and avoided the larger storm likely to follow, but you were more determined to drag Niki’s ass back home.
As you pulled into the Ferrari’s car pack, the rain picked up and limited your vision field. The garage was covered in mist, and you had to squint to see if you could see anyone.
You pulled your jacket over your head and tried to shield yourself from the downpour of rain as you ran to the garage. Usually, where Niki stayed was empty, so you pulled open the door to the backrooms. You were hit with a wall of warmth. You shrugged your jacket off your shoulders and shook your head to dispel the droplets in your hair. Your steps echoed around the abandoned hallway as you looked into every room to find where Niki had hidden from the rain.
Walking deeper into the garage, you heard men chatting and laughing. It grew louder and louder. The corner of your lips curled as you detected the Austrian accent amongst the Italian ones. You reach the room where you can see the light through the window. When you looked in, you could see the mechanics standing and sitting around sofas, many mugs piled around them. As you peered through the window, you could see Niki standing with one mechanic to the side of the room. 
You grabbed the door handle, ready to open it and pull Niki away when you froze. The door was thin, and the words came through clearly. You could hear what they were all joking about, but the window was small enough that none of them had noticed you. And for a good reason, for what they were talking about made your body freeze like stone. 
“So what’s she like, eh?” the mechanic next to Niki asked as he nudged Niki in his side.
“A good fuck?”
Niki looked to the ground, the faint traces of a blush on his cheeks, and he let out a few chuckles. 
“Well, you know what they say about women like her,” he replied, looking around at the mechanics as they all laughed and nudged each other, gesturing with their arms. 
“You will not keep her around, though? When you’ve learnt all you need from her, you’ll leave the bitch behind. She won’t stay in f1 long after that.”
Niki looked around at the mechanics before speaking, his awkward smile still plastered on his face.
“Maybe,” he paused, “once I win the championship… I won’t need her….”
“Yeah, show her where she belongs!” one guy you couldn’t see added in, and the other men around Niki agreed. 
You shook your head, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. You brought your shaky hand up to your cheek and tried to swipe it away. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, rushing at one hundred miles an hour.
“She’s probably fucking that, Hunt. He can’t keep it in his pants to save his life. It’s what everyone says, even this Mclaren mechanic I was talking to the other day. He said he saw them together, and she was on her knees, if you know what I mean.”
The awkward smile on Niki’s face slipped; a grimace replaced it as his tongue poked against his cheek. He exhaled, looking at the floor. 
You took one step back, then another. Your eyes were still fixed on the window and not where you walked. As you took another step back, a sharp pain shot through your back. You walked into a cabinet, and the screwdriver that had been placed on it clattered onto the ground, the sound making you wince.  
You saw through the window as Niki looked up, and his eyes locked onto yours. 
You turned and ran. 
You could hear him shout after you. You continued to run. As he continued to call, you could hear the door slam open. You continued to run. 
You run out of the building and felt the heavy rain drench you. It was pouring. Your shirt clung to your body, soaked, your jacket remaining in your hand. Your legs carried you forward, eyes latched on your motorbike, which you had parked far away from the building. 
As you charged towards it, you felt a stiff hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you to a halt. 
“Y/n, wait.”
“Let go of me, Niki,” you snapped, refusing to look behind. 
“Not until you listen to me.”
You could feel the moment it fractured. It had been slowly crumbling the moment the first words left Niki’s lips, but at that moment, you felt your heart separated in two. In a messy, bloody explosion in your chest.
“No! You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to listen to you again,” you hissed, turning around and looking at Niki. His curled hair was drenched and stuck to his head. His skin was wet, glimmering in the garage lights. As the rain fell, his suit got darker. He frowned, eyes piercing into you. His hand was still on your wrist, and you felt your arm become numb from the contact. Hating the feeling of his skin touching yours, you wretched your wrist out of his grasp. 
“You don’t understand I-”
“Oh, I understand plenty, Niki. You were using me. God, I should have seen it. Why was I so fucking dumb?” You paused, your chest heaving as all the memories flooded your mind. “Even James saw it! And you lied to me!”
“I didn’t lie,” Niki spat out. His lips curled, and his eyes narrowed as he stepped towards you. 
“Stop fucking lying!!” 
You could feel wetness drip down your cheek, but you were too far gone to tell if it was from the rain or your eyes. 
“Our entire relationship was a lie. Every moment,” you sobbed, your chest heaving as you tried to rub away the tears from your eyes.
“Everything was a lie,” 
Niki’s stare hardened, and a scowl appeared on his face.
“So that’s what you think, then? That I’m a liar?”
“Of course you are! Saying those horrible things about me in there, I can’t- I never thought.”
You looked away and then back to Niki, shaking your head.
“I never thought someone like you could swoop so low. You really are an asshole.”
Niki’s eyebrows raised, and he scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked at you in disdain. 
“You’re so quick to fucking judge me, huh? But that’s not it, is it? You’ve been looking for a way out for a while, ever since James fucking spoke to you. Fucked you as well. You needed a reason to dump me so you could fuck him without guilt.”
You stepped forward towards Niki, feeling the anger surge through you. It burned, scorching through your veins and your heart that lay at the bottom of your chest. Your hand is raised without you thinking about it. Niki stepped forward, looking down at you, only inches apart.
“Slap me.”
You hesitated.
“Go on, do it. If that will make you feel good about everything you’ve done.”
You dropped your hand and shook your head. Taking a step back, your hand tugged at your finger, pulling at your engagement ring. When it slipped off, you threw the ring onto the muddy ground by Niki’s foot. 
“Fuck you, Niki.”
You turned and stormed off towards your bike. Niki doesn’t stop you. You jumped onto the bike, grimacing at the wetness of the seat. You rev the engine and pull out of the parking lot, thinking about what hotel you could stay at for the night. As you got to the entrance, you paused. Your mind is screaming not to do it, but the last piece of your heart is begging. You look behind. 
Niki stood still for a moment, his head looking to the ground. Then Niki kicked the ring laid by his feet; it flew into the air and then scattered into the mud below, sinking into the ground. He shoved his hands into his suit pockets and turned around, walking back into the garage. He doesn’t look back. 
You let out one more sob as you look away and accelerate out of the garage. 
-
TAGLIST: @lieutenantn @lorna-d-m @cable-kenobi @zemosimp05 @edencherries @hofficoffi @somethingthatsaysbubbles @vverliebte @shadowycollectiveduck @scuttle-buttle @rumblelibrary @nyx2021 @fictionlandslanddreams @darksxder @liadamerondjarin  @daniel-bruhhl  @aedeluca  @trashbin246  @livvyshmiv  @black-mistress-of-evil  @laura-naruto-fan1998  @stilltoomuchafangirl  @hannahbal-the-fannibal  @hungrhay  @hexedeslichts @transias  @jesslove23  @saltysilv  @janine-007  @cat-r @libsybum  @linkpk88  @realmoftheelemental @brxghtlelune @kp9983 @f1yogurt  @antheina  @bear-bone-berries  @i-am-dead-inside-666  @panickinanakin1  @mybisexualheartbeatsforzemo @ultraintrovertedgryffindor @xourownsidee @thatakwerdperson
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Edit: my tags didn't work you guys 😭 now I've fixed them
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f1yogurt · 2 years
Note
back again with a fic prompt <3
this one is a little out there.. Zemo grows up in a royal atmosphere, so being a young Baron in a strict regal household or castle would suck. I can't help but wonder if he would eye up a servent who works in their home similar to his own age..
Imagine.. Young Zemo flirting with/pursuing/crushing on servant!reader
I'm sure this has been done- I mean- he is royalty, he get what he want
Flirting with Royalty
Summary: A young Baron Zemo can't help but find himself attracted to one of the servants in his household, and his interest hasn't gone unnoticed by you. You have only been employed for a few weeks, and yet you already feel inclined to engage in a forbidden romance with the handsome baron.
AO3 Link - FLIRTING WITH ROYALTY – Link to my Fic Request Guide
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Helmut Zemo x Reader
Tags: Baron Zemo, servant!Reader, Flirting, Sparring, Banter, Mutual Pining
Word Count: 1.6k
Baron Helmut Zemo was bored. Growing up in a spacious castle had its perks, although often enough, he found himself longing for something new to do. Or at least, someone to share his adventures with. He roamed the vast, empty halls of the castle, brushing his hand along the wall that had pictures of every Baron Zemo before him. Helmut looked up at all of the old men who seemed to be glaring down at him, judging him as he lived out the Zemo legacy.
He sighed and looked away, strolling aimlessly through the corridor. Ah, well. In his spare time, whenever he had nothing else to do, he would go to the training room and practice sparring or new sword fighting techniques. Zemo smiled, and he decided that letting off a little steam in the gym would do him some good.
His feet led him down another corridor and to his room. Helmut paused at the door, which was open, and he watched as a few servants walked out carrying fresh linens. They must have changed his bedsheets this morning.
“Hello, ladies,” he greeted as he stepped into the room. You had been dusting a desk in the corner of the room, but at the sound of his voice, you turned around to glance at him. The other servants gave a cordial, “Good morning, Baron” and continued with their work, but Zemo gave you a cheeky smirk while the other women weren’t looking. You felt your heart flutter at his flirtatiousness. The baron then turned his back to you, and he walked over to his closet to begin sifting through his clothes.
“I think I will spend a few hours in the training room,” he announced as he pulled his sparring outfit from the closet. “Tell my father that I will be late to lunch, and not to wait on me.” A few of the servants nodded, and they slowly began to file out of his room to give Helmut some privacy.
“Of course, my lord, we will inform him,” one of them said, curtseying politely. You were about to leave along with the group, but then you paused. The young baron’s romantic interest in you hadn’t gone unnoticed for the past few weeks, and even though you were hesitant to reciprocate, his attentions thrilled you. The baron was a handsome young man, and yet…he was a baron. You were just a servant, and you couldn’t imagine what it was about you that had caught his eye.
After all of the other servants had left the room, Zemo closed the door and looked back at you. He was pleased that you hadn’t left, that you would stay to spend time with him. Alone. He decided that now wasn’t the time to be coy.
“Excuse me while I dress,” Helmut said, his words laced with cockiness. His gorgeous brown eyes were fixed on yours, and when you didn’t respond to his request, he slowly drew his shirt over his head. You wanted to avert your gaze, to be respectful, but you couldn’t help but steal a long glance at his toned torso. Despite being a baron, Helmut Zemo wasn’t an idle man, and his frequent training sessions meant that he wasn’t lacking for an impressive physique.
Helmut finally finished tugging his shirt over his head, and he chuckled to himself as he caught you staring before you quickly looked away. He grinned. Maybe this flirtation wasn’t one sided, after all.
“I thought that I would find you already in the training room,” he remarked curiously, quickly changing into his sparring trousers while you were turned away.
“I have duties there this afternoon, but I was filling in for one of the girls who usually cleans,” you said, sitting down on the bed, facing away from him. “I know your father hired me for my combat skills, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dust a desk or two.” Helmut nodded in understanding.
“Oh, that is very kind of you,” he said, tugging a shirt over his head. Helmut felt a sort of giddiness that he was unaccustomed to, simply at the thought of spending more time with you today. The training room had become his favorite place in the castle, mainly because he knew that you would be there.
Now fully dressed, Helmut walked around in front of you, heading into his connecting bathroom to stand in front of the mirror. Well, strutted was more of an accurate description, and you suppressed an amused grin at the way he practically preened at his reflection. You let your gaze roam his figure again, and you noticed how his outfit hugged his frame better than usual. It was as if he’d chosen the tightest shirt and pants imaginable just because he knew you were there, watching him.
“Baron, I will meet you in the sparring room in ten minutes,” you said, rising from your perch on his bed. If you stayed there one second longer, you would combust with the desire to splay your hands along his broad shoulders, or run your fingers through his soft, brown hair. Not that you thought Zemo would oppose, but you weren’t going to allow him the satisfaction of you giving into his charms that easily.
“Of course, I look forward to it,” Helmut said, his words sounding more distant as you walked to the door of his room. You smiled. The baron may have had the flirtatious upper hand this morning, in his own bedroom, but the sparring arena was your homeground. If Helmut wanted to flirt with you, then you were going to give as good as you got.
He met you in the gym ten minutes later, just as he had promised. When he arrived, you were busy polishing a few of the weapons that were available for use. After all, you were a servant in this household, although your main duty was to tend to this room and train the baron in his spare time. Not that Helmut needed much training, but there was always room for improvement.
Zemo grinned as he saw you, now decked out in your own sparring outfit as you picked out a sword. He swallowed as he gazed at your form fitting attire. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so bold to put on his tightest gear. He had wanted to flirt with you, but now he realized that he would need to work extra hard to not let any of his…physical attraction to you be revealed. “Alright, my lord,” you said, brandishing your sword of choice and glancing over at Helmut. “Are you ready?” Zemo smiled.
“As always, my lady,” he said, a flirtatious smirk on his face. The both of you donned protective gear, and then you stepped onto the mats. You and Zemo went through a few warm up exercises and stretches, and every once in a while, you would correct his form. Helmut had been training for a while now, and he was nearly perfect, but there were still a few things he could improve on.
“When you swing, let the movement flow,” you told him, demonstrating a move that he had just attempted. “Use the momentum to your advantage.” Helmut nodded and copied you, performing the steps a bit differently this time. Today, he seemed…distracted. You grinned, noticing how his eyes would unwillingly linger on you a moment too long. Good, maybe you’d be able to get back at him for teasing you this morning.
“Let’s go a few rounds,” you offered after you finished your warm ups. “Best three out of five?” Helmut grinned.
“If you last that long,” he teased. In response, you swung your sword in a side attack, which he defended easily. Helmut had a natural talent for this, which made it even more fun to spar with him. It wasn’t long until the two of you were breathing hard, and your muscles had the pleasant ache of exertion. Zemo had managed to win the first two rounds, but you made a comeback for the last two. Now, the score was even.
“Two to two,” Helmut said, somehow managing to sound cocky even while he was panting and drenched in sweat. “Winner takes all.” This time, instead of attacking first, you waited for him to make the first move. When Helmut lunged forward, you spun away to dodge his sword, and you managed to get behind him and swipe his legs out from under him. Zemo dropped his sword in surprise as he fell, and before he could think, you rolled over and had him pinned under you, your sword pressed lightly to his throat.
“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” you teased, a cocky smirk on your face. Helmut took a few moments to realize what had happened, but he didn’t try to push you off. Instead, his expression changed, and you watched as his gaze darted down to your lips for a brief moment before returning to your eyes.
“I admit, I was…distracted,” he said. You almost scoffed, but he sounded so sincere, so longing. Before you could think twice, you dropped your sword to the floor and leaned down to kiss him. Helmut made a noise of surprise, but after a moment, he relaxed and closed his eyes, savoring this moment that he had been waiting for so long.
After a few moments that felt like an eternity, you sat up again, breathless from the kiss as well as the sparring exertion.
“Schatz, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that,” Zemo admitted softly, gazing up at you as you pulled away. You smiled and brushed a rogue curl of hair off of his forehead, gazing into his chocolate eyes. This man was going to get you in so much trouble, but it thrilled you.
“This is going to be complicated,” you said, chuckling. Helmut just smiled.
“Perfect. My favorite kind of romance.”
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italianraviolos · 2 years
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¡HELP!
Hi Daniel brühl fandom, especially those who are simping for Laszlo Kreizler.
Ages ago, I read a ff about Laszlo falling in love with one of is patients.
I remember the plot, it was the story of a women who's Sara's friend and she suggests her to go to Laszlo due to her problems.
She suffers from panic and anxiety attacks and Laszlo tries to cure her, and one night tries to cure her in a different way (coff* smut *coff) and after that he invites her to the opera but a few misunderstandings happen about a letter (I don't remember what happens) and so she goes but Sara gives her a knife as a defence.
They come back at Laszlo's house after the opera and she feels threatened during a particular situation of sexual tension, so she takes out the knife and then ✨smut✨ again.
IF ANYONE KNOWS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT PLEASE TELL MEEEEE
Thank you✨
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mlmxreader · 1 year
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My Anchor | Tony Balerdi x m!reader
anonymous asked: Hey babes, Could I request; “I was more than you thought I could be”, “I only wish you weren’t my friend”, “So if you love me, let me go”, “But you asked me to love you and I did”, “Keep runnin’ your mouth, but don’t call me brother” With Tony Balerdi x m!reader (if you still write for him, if not, then please disregard) where he, still not over his love of Adam, turns to the readers comfort in the form of love and friendship and he fall hard for him. When he realises and try to leave, Tony tries to get him to stay.
summary: Tony's going through a rough patch, and although he wants to get out of it, one thing comes after another.
tws: swearing, angst
Snuff - Slipknot
support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy
Adam was straight, Tony knew that and he knew it well, but that didn't stop him from holding onto some of his previous feelings; he saw him virtually every day, it wasn't like it was easy to move on from him. But then, at least Tony did have someone he could turn to; his rock and his island amongst a stormy sea, he at least had an anchor to keep him steady during the worst of waves; he had you.
How many years ago, neither of you could remember, but you had moved in with Tony; you had been friends for years, and it came quite naturally to live together. You helped him get dressed in the mornings so he was ready for work, he helped you relax in the evenings when you got home from twelve hour shifts; it worked out well, and if he was honest, he appreciated the company.
But the problem of Adam was still there, you could see it in his eyes, yet you never approached the subject for fear it would put him in an awkward position; for fear that he didn't want to talk about it and he wasn't quite ready to, either. But you could see how heavily it weighed on him when you came home in the evenings; you could see how much of a toll the Adam issue was taking on him, and you needed to change it. You just had to let Tony make the first move.
Sure, you loved him differently than what you could bring yourself to say, but that never mattered; Tony needed a friend, not a lover, he needed someone to be there and to hold him close. He needed his anchor, he didn't need a first mate; you knew that all too well, and you knew that he wouldn't want to know if you did feel differently about him than what you were saying to his face. You just needed to be there, even if it meant lying to his face when you told him you loved him as a friend.
Tony wasn't about to say it, that the more time he spent at home avoiding Adam, when he caught you on your days off, he was starting to pull himself back together; he was starting to fix himself thanks to you, and maybe, maybe he was starting to change his mind on how he really felt about you. He needed a friend, he needed his anchor. He didn't need to bounce back from Adam, but then... but then you weren't Adam.
You were smart, funny, caring. You were always there, rain or shine. You picked up his broken pieces when no one else would.
You made him feel safe, relaxed, at ease; sure, he might have gotten a little hot under the collar here and there when you walked out of the bathroom with a towel around your waist low and loose, and maybe he did swallow thickly when you took your shirt off and grinned at him. Maybe his hands did shake when you slept in his bed with him and he found himself cuddling into you, maybe his heart did pound when you helped him fix his tie or his cufflinks. Fuck. Why did the air always feel so much like a cage when you were around?
It was a harsh night when you got back, finding Tony crying on the sofa with his head in his hands; you didn't even think twice, coming to his aid as you crashed down on your knees before him, pulling his hands from his face and looking up into those big brown eyes with a frown.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
Tony shook his head. "I don't know what to do."
"Talk to me," you pleased quietly. "Please?"
He tried to clear his throat to make his voice less shaky, but it failed when he choked out another sob. "Would you leave me with my sins if I told you them?"
"No," you shook your head. "Never."
"I read letters between Adam and I," he choked out. "I wanted to cherish them, but... but now there's nothing, like, like my heart's gone dark."
You nodded. "Carry on, I'm listening."
Tony sniffled. "My love was punished when it came to Adam... and I... Mierda... I suppose that him killing off any hope of being together... it finally made me let go."
"But why are you crying?" You asked softly. "C'mon, baby, speak to me."
"I only wish you weren't my friend, (y/n)," he breathed out. "Then maybe I could tell you... but I don't want you to spit pity."
"I'm not gonna do that," you reassured with a shake of your head.
Swallowing thickly, Tony was aware of the weight of your hands, the feeling of your cold skin against his; you had walked home, even though he had told you a dozen times that you could have easily told him to come and pick you up. He would have done so in a heartbeat.
He sighed heavily, pulling away. "Not even if I told you I love you?"
You shuffled back a little, painfully aware that he was not quite entirely over Adam; you didn't want to take advantage of him, you didn't want to change things between you when you were aware that maybe he wasn't thinking properly. He was still upset about Adam. It wasn't the right time, you were sure of it.
"Oh, Tony..."
"Just hear me out," he said, so broken and pitifully that you almost stayed still for a second. "Don't leave... please."
"I can't listen to you," you said quietly, knowing that you had to run off. "I'm so sorry."
You started to make your way to the bedroom, but Tony followed, a lost puppy dog clinging onto the one thing that made him feel at ease and at home; you could hardly bear it. You knew it wouldn't be right, you knew he would never love you the way that he did Adam and that his sudden feelings for you were little more than him wanting to finally cleanse himself of any romance between him and his head chef. It wasn't right for you to take advantage of his vulnerability.
Tony leaned against the doorframe as he watched you pack an overnight bag. "Please."
"Tony," you shook your head as you met his gaze. "I can't."
"Why?"
"You're vulnerable right now," you stated. "And I don't wanna take advantage - just because you're hurting, it doesn't mean I have to make things worse... so... so if you love me, let me go, let me run away when you have your back turned."
"A long time ago," he started, "a really long time ago, we agreed we'd always be together - but you asked me to love you, and I did."
"Baby-"
"Tell me you don't feel the same," he begged. "Por favor, hermano. Tell me you don't feel the same."
You couldn't do it, shaking your head. "Keep runnin' your mouth, but don't call me brother. It sounds... it sounds gross."
A hint of a smile came to his face. "You'll stay?"
"I don't..." you shrugged. "Tony, I don't wanna hurt you more than you're already."
"You won't," Tony insisted, carefully and slowly making his way over, backing you up against the wall but leaving enough room for you to break away if you wanted to. "I promise."
You looked at him, then held your hand out. "Pinky swear?"
"Done," he agreed, hooking his finger around yours as he nodded. But he took the chance, leaning in and kissing you softly.
You didn't push him away, you started to kiss him back within seconds, grabbing the front of his shirt as you kept him so close, smiling when he planted his hands against the wall to keep himself steady; his love had been punished before, you knew that you couldn't allow it to happen again. You couldn't break his heart the way that Adam did. Never.
Breaking away, Tony smiled as he met your gaze. "See?"
"Shut it," you grumbled.
"I was more than you thought I could be," he whispered. "Much more."
"That wasn't the issue," you whimpered when he ghosted his lips over yours, wanting to kiss him again but knowing that you shouldn't. "You know that."
"Just... stay," he said quietly, words fanning across your features. "Please, mi ancla?"
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lorna-d-m · 1 year
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Chapter Eleven: Vengeance
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Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Fem!OC
Summary: Captain Zemo roams the high seas thirsting for revenge, and instead, he stumbles upon the shipwrecked and left for dead Mary Spencer. As the sole survivor, Captain Zemo takes her aboard his ship, the Bloody Baron. Engaged to an English Admiral, Mary Spencer wants nothing more than to return home and live the life she was born for. That is, of course, until she realizes what life can be aboard the Bloody Baron with the Captain himself.
Word Count: 5,440
W: language, violence, drinking. With the title being vengeance I think y'all can expect some pirate revenge. Some sexual content.
A/N: I want to thank y'all for going on this journey with me! It's been a long ride, but I've thoroughly enjoyed it. There is, of course, the companion one shot collection, and you can hold me accountable to writing for it by sending in requests! I'll be making a special announcement soon for my next fic, so stay tuned!
previous chapter
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Some days, Helmut and Mary never saw each other on the ship until evening. Helmut would wake at dawn, dress and eat breakfast quietly, write a brief note to leave on his pillow for Mary when she woke, and tackle his ever-changing to-do list. He might see her across the deck, exchanging a wave and a smile, but that was all until nightfall. 
They established a routine for days such as that. Helmut would clean away the dirt and grime from his day while Mary found him something to eat. He had a penchant for skipping meals while he worked, and she did not want him to go to bed without eating. While Helmut ate, Mary would dress and tend to her hair for bed. He enjoyed watching her perch on the edge of their bed and work the fine comb through her hair. However, she had no intention of sleeping yet.
Mary might read during the day, but she and Helmut had a book set aside for them. It was theirs to read on nights when they missed each other’s company. Sometimes Mary would read aloud, others Helmut, and some nights they would alternate between pages or chapters. They could not resist the sound of each other's voices and complimented each other often.
On one particular evening, Helmut sat in the plush armchair in the loft while Mary lay across the window seat bench. Before reading, Helmut put a pillow under her head and draped a blanket over her. Helmut read slowly so she could savor every word. With closed eyes, Mary imagined every little detail and feeling. He loved to see her waiting with bated breath whenever he paused.
Helmut halted mid-sentence when someone knocked on the door. He permitted them to enter and slid the fabric bookmark in place. Oeznik entered the room, immediately apologizing for the intrusion, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He glanced at Mary and spoke in English.
“Might I have a word with you?” 
“Of course,” he peered at Mary whose eyes were now open as she watched them, “let’s talk outside in a moment.” Oeznik dipped his head and bowed before leaving. 
Mary did not look concerned, but he knew she was. She wondered what Oeznik would discuss with him at such a late hour, and Helmut knew because he wondered the same. Mary stretched her feet and toes, and she looked at Helmut, albeit upside down. “Should I wait here or the bed?” 
He set the book aside in its usual resting place and stood. Moonlight reflected on the water and through the window, so he closed the curtains. “In the bed. After all, it is getting late.” 
Mary reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll wait for you there.” He would find her half asleep, but no doubt eager to hear what happened. She would never pressure him, of course, but she would offer a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on.
Helmut met Oeznik on the quarter deck. He leaned against the railing, his slippers ill-prepared for the deck, and the wind blowing his dressing robe behind him. Being near the waves calmed him. Whether it was the salty air, the endless water, or the soothing sound of the waves against the ship, he did not know, but when Helmut could not sleep he went there. 
“Are you afraid to confront Walker? You have the materials, you know his routes, and yet we are sailing in circles, sir.” Helmut wondered if these were Oeznik’s words or Sam and James’.
Helmut tipped his head back and cast his gaze upon the stars. It was a clear and bright night, so he saw their patterns and intricacies. He swore his little star had the same constellations on her skin in clusters of freckles and her vast blue eyes. Instinctively, his eyes flicked from Ursa major to Ursa minor: Polaris, the north star. Helmut breathed in and filled his lungs with the briny air. 
He spoke slowly and carefully in his native tongue. His fingers curled around the old railing, and his nails dug into the wood. “When I first swore revenge, I had nothing to lose. Walker took everything but my life, and I was prepared to give it if it meant I would have justice.” His fingers relaxed, but he did not remove them from the railing. He softened with concern. “Now, with Mary, I worry I will not be strong enough. I fear making a mistake. I cannot sleep at night for fear of losing her.” Helmut turned to face his old friend.
“It is a heavy burden you bear, but it is not yours alone.”
“It is mine.” Helmut’s voice cut like a knife. “If she should somehow die, by a stray cannon or gunshot, the answer is clear. I cannot live without her.” He discussed his suicide as simply as he would say the sky is blue and the grass is green. “But Mary? If I die fighting Walker, what will she do?”
He ran his fingers through his hair and cursed. Helmut doubted Walker would spare her. He was not known for mercy. Walker was liable to beat her, rape her, kill her. It was the thought of Mary enduring such abuse that kept him awake at night. 
“That is no way to live, sir. How do you expect to defeat Walker when you cannot sleep and your worries are insurmountable? You cannot!” Oeznik protested. “You must be strong when you face him.”
Helmut nodded subtly and slowly. Oeznik was right; weakening himself before entering a battle was foolish. He strengthened his ship, his crew, and even Mary, but he paid little attention to himself. Helmut needed to rethink his approach: rest, reconsider, regroup. However, he was not yet in the mindset to do so.  
As promised, Mary waited in their bed. She left their bedside candle and extinguished all others. Bathed in the warm glow, Helmut could not help but admire her beauty. He wanted to trace his hands over the plush, indulgent lines of her body. Helmut knew the warmth he would feel, the delighted giggles and praise he would hear, and even the perfumed smell of her: jasmine and rose.  
She looked at him expectantly, so Helmut slipped under the sheets and joined her. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and she rested her hand against his chest. Her fingers dug into his chest hair and grasped his necklace. Intrigued, Helmut moved to kiss her lips and slipped his tongue against hers. In a flash of passion, Mary pulled on his chain, drawing him impossibly closer. Helmut repositioned himself on top of her and let his lips wander.
As Helmut pleased his wife, he could not stop himself from wondering if it would be their last time. What if he never felt her fingers tugging on his hair, heard her moaning and whining his name, felt her reach her peak around him again? Helmut wanted to savor every moment and give them both a night to remember. 
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Helmut could not postpone his date with destiny any longer. His plan relied on following Walker’s routes and schedules, so he navigated cautiously. He would kick himself if he was too soon or too early and forced to delay longer. 
Every few weeks, Walker stopped at a small, unmarked island to offload any stolen goods before checking in with his official duties. He would then return to the island to load everything back up. Helmut intended to ambush him at the island. With his boat anchored further offshore, and groups loading or unloading cargo, Walker would be at a disadvantage.
As they drew near, Helmut relayed instructions to Sam and James. The cannons needed to be prepared and loaded, their rifles and pistols should be filled with black gunpowder, and everyone aboard must be ready to fight. However, Helmut raised the flag himself. It was not the crossed swords or skull and bones common for a pirate; it was the golden crown and eagle of Sokovia on a purple backing. Walker may not remember that flag, but Helmut did.
Helmut drummed his fingers against the wheel. It was difficult to find particular, small islands amongst the sea, so he referred to his notes and maps. At one point he enlisted Mary to read what he wrote and hold up the map beside him. He warned her in the morning this could be it, and she moved nervously around him. Helmut considered himself finely tuned to his wife’s feelings, so when she pushed aside her unwanted plate, clenched her jaw, and crossed her arms in front of her chest, he knew she was anxious.
Through his wooden telescope, Helmut could see an island with a shoreline sweeping into a cove. If he was correct, Walker’s ship would be hiding on the other side. He collapsed his telescope and tucked it into his coat pocket. “Mary,” his voice was level but strained, “may we speak in my cabin?”
Wordlessly, with her lips pressed into a thin line, Mary followed him. She sat on the edge of their bed and picked at the red quilt. 
“I believe when we sail around the cove of that island, we will find Walker’s ship.” Helmut paused to let her absorb what that meant. “I need you to stay here in our cabin. I cannot be at my best if I am worrying for your safety, and although it could never be completely assured, I would rather have you hidden out of sight than in the midst of our fight.”
Helmut could see her thinking, the furrow in her brow deepened, and he waited for her response. The suspense of the moment, the day, and the years weighed on him. His shoulders hunched, and the sleepless nights showed under his eyes. Mary reached for his hand, and he calmed under her touch. 
“I understand. If my being there puts you at risk, then I will stay here. Hopefully someone does not break in here,” they both grimaced at the memory, “but I have the skills and the tools to defend myself should I need to.”
“Barricade the door, if you must, or break the ladder to the loft. Whatever keeps you safe, sternchen, you must promise me you will do it.” Helmut pressed a light kiss to her knuckles and slowly moved up her arm. If he could devour her in these last moments, he would. 
He nuzzled in her neck as Mary spoke, and she ran her fingers through his hair. “You must promise me that as well, Helmut. I know how long you have waited for this moment, and I know what it means to you, but I need you to return to me.”
“On my honor, I swear to you I will.” Helmut meant it. Pirates do not have a happy ending, they are killed, imprisoned, or mutinied, but Helmut aspired to be different. He wanted to settle the score between Walker and himself, and then he wanted to sail into the sunset with Mary like in the stories.
Helmut dressed himself for a fight. He tucked his loose linen shirt into his pants, and he gathered his pant legs into his tall boots. Helmut fastened his sword belt as tight as he could, and he reloaded his pistol with gunpowder. He reached for his knife, and he made sure Mary had hers. Not wanting her to be unprepared, he found a spare pistol for her as well. Should she be found, she would not need to wait for her attacker to draw near. 
They embraced again before parting ways. Helmut wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head. He did not pretend to be naive; he knew this could be his last chance to hold his wife. For this reason, he treasured every second of her touch. 
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 The sky was clear and sunny with the promise of purpose. Everyone could feel it in the air, tension and heaviness, which signified an important day. The crew was a powder keg ready to ignite, and Captain Zemo held the match in his leather-gloved hand. The Bloody Baron crept closer to the admiral, and the admiral did not suspect a thing.
Helmut hoped by the time Walker became aware, it would be too late. He paced across the deck as his ship rounded the edge of the islands and would soon be visible. Helmut hoped Walker would not immediately fire on him, being caught off guard, and Helmut could draw near. What was the point of the revenge if Helmut could not see Walker’s life flash before his eyes?
Eagle-eyed, Helmut spotted Walker’s men panicking when they saw his ship. Men, rowboats, and cargo all lay upon the shore, but Walker's ship, anchored offshore, began to sail away. Helmut was not worried as he knew he could catch him. His left hand strayed to his sword belt and fiddled with the handle of his sword.
Oeznik hid below deck in his cabin, Mary sheltered in theirs, Sam signaled from the crow’s nest, and James waited with some of the company to board. Helmut was truly alone as he awaited the perfect moment, yet he did not feel alone. He felt like a puppet master pulling the strings for the performance.
At his command, they fired the swivel guns. Unlike cannons, these were lighter and meant to target people on deck. They were useful before boarding as the less angry men with rifles and swords to greet them, the better. The Admiral’s men were ill-prepared for the ambush, so they made easy pickings for Helmut’s gunmen. They aimed for officers and anyone who gave commands, but they knew to leave Walker for their Captain. 
Delicately and painstakingly, Helmut came alongside Walker. Several feet separated the two great ships and created a chasm no man wished to fall into. The Bloody Baron’s crew mobilized quicker and used ropes, grapples, and boards to bridge the narrow gap. Lithe and quick, Helmut crossed using a wobbly board. 
Swords and gunshots filled the air and drowned out the thud of his boots against Walker’s deck. Zemo cut through the crowd, his heavy coat billowing behind him, fighting any red-coated navy man in his way. He dispatched them with ease as he sought the Admiral. His form was impeccable, his handiwork and his steps light, and he never stopped moving. 
“Baron Zemo.”
Helmut froze in his step, and everyone around him stilled. Walker’s harsh voice was unmistakable, yet he could not see the man. His eyes flicked around. He spotted Walker on the quarter-deck, his red coat gleaming in the sun, and his tricorn hat casting a shadow over his face. 
Walker barked an ugly laugh. “I did not recognize you, but of late your name has been all anyone hears in pubs and taverns.” He descended the curving staircase, one hand on the sliding along the railing, and paused. His mob cleared a direct path for him to Helmut. “You kidnapped my fiancée, killed Selby and Nagel, all to find me?”
Helmut bristled, then he smiled and scoffed. It was not worth arguing his first point when he intended to kill the man. “I’ve thought about nothing else for years.” His voice was quiet, meant for Walker’s ears alone. “I studied you. I followed you. But now that you’re standing here, I just realized,” he hesitated and tilted his head, “there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.” Helmut chuckled. “It was too dark that night for me to see, but I could never forget you.” He held Walker’s eyes. “I am here because I made a promise, and I intend to fulfill it.”
“Should I draw my sword to make it even?” The crew already cleared a space around them, but at this, they all stepped back again. 
“Please, Admiral,” Helmut entreated. He shrugged off his heavy embroidered coat and rolled his shoulders. His gold and silver jewelry glinted in the sunlight, and the wind ruffled his hair. Helmut unsheathed his cutlass and took his stance. 
Walker boasted strength, and it was reflected in his choice of weapon. His sword was heavy, deadly with one blow, but difficult to wield in a fight. Helmut was quicker on his feet, and he used a sharp sword meant to slice rather than hack. He dodged Walker’s opening move and turned to the side. 
Zemo’s left-handed attacks confused Walker and allowed him to land several maneuvers. Blood stained Walker’s shirt and trickled down his chest, but he pressed on in anger. Helmut nearly missed two of Walker’s strikes, yet he could not sigh in relief. He must exhaust Walker to gain the advantage or disarm him.
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The echo of guns and clanging of swords permeated even their cabin at the back of the ship. Mary heard yelling and screaming, curses and cries of victory. It was when the fighting grew quiet that Mary increased her worries. It was too quiet for her to discern anything from her hiding spot, and her stomach tightened in knots. 
She crept out of their cabin with one hand on her dagger at all times. Mary hoped she would not need it, but she felt prepared from Helmut’s lessons. She stepped lightly around the creaking floorboards and listened. Two swords rang against each other, and men shouted, but it was not the cacophony of a battle between two groups.
Standing on the main deck, clinging to the hall door, Mary could not see much. The crew circled around something or someone, their backs to her, and their heads jerked side to side following action. With her heart threatening to beat out of her chest, Mary ascended part of the spiral staircase to the quarter deck. Even if what she saw terrified her, she needed to see it. 
Her husband and her former fiancé dueled. It was an odd phrase, but their conflict was far deeper than her. Even if Helmut never met her, he would have searched across the seven seas for John Walker. She wished vengeance would bring him peace. 
Bright red blood seeped through Walker’s white shirt, but it was not enough to stop him. Mary breathed shallowly as she witnessed their battle. Helmut fought with speed and agility while Walker moved in a cumbersome manner. Her breath caught when Walker swung at him, and she could not breathe again until Helmut dodged. Mary’s nails dug into the railing to steady herself. 
She watched them fight for several minutes, but it may as well have been hours to her. Each passing second filled her with immense dread. However, she could not pull her eyes away from him. She did not even want to blink for fear something would happen in the millisecond she closed her eyes.
Helmut stopped suddenly. He must have spotted something, possibly even her. Rather than avoiding Walker’s sword, he caught the heavy blade in his right side. Mary screamed out in shock and fear. Crimson blood poured from him, he dropped his sword and sank to his knees. Both clusters and their Captains looked at her as she cried. Her shriek alerted them to her presence, but the damage was already done.  
At any other time, she would hesitate to cross the unsteady beams between ships. Mary ran across them now, hiking up her skirts with her fists. She paid no mind to the treacherous waves below her or the people watching her. She needed to reach Helmut.
Mary knelt on the ground beside him, and her long skirts trailed behind her. Blood and sweat made his shirt cling to his chest. Helmut smiled weakly at her, perspiration at his brow, and he took her hand in his. Tears streamed down Mary’s face, and she struggled to find her words. 
His voice was barely a whisper as he assured her. “It will be okay, Sternchen.” He squeezed her hand and brought it to his side. Helmut pressed against his wound, and her hand laid over his. If only her touch could heal… Warm, sticky blood soon coated her palm. Mary stroked Helmut’s cheek with her other hand.
“I thought you must have been kidnapped. Why else would you be seen with a disgraced pirate?” Walker’s voice cut harsher than his sword as he loomed over them. “But I see you’ve spread your legs for him like a common whore.” 
Walker’s soldiers chuckled at her expense, but Helmut’s prepared to defend their Captain and his wife’s honor. They watched their Captain with great attention. One man smiled menacingly with his ax while another wrapped his fingers around his sword. The rules of the fight prohibited them from acting, but if he gave them the smallest of signals they would come to arms. Helmut’s eyes burned with hate and disgust, but Mary straightened her back. She would not shy away from him. 
“Even a disgraced pirate has more honor than you, Admiral.” Mary spat on his polished boot. 
Walker raised his fist to hit his former fiancée, but he did not. Helmut shot him before he could harm Mary. He aimed true at such a short distance, and Walker collapsed before them. His bloody gloved hand held his pistol and remained in the air. All eyes were on Helmut, but he looked deep into his wife’s eyes. It was not part of his plan, but he would not allow Walker to hurt her too. 
Walker’s second in command made a move toward Helmut, but Sam fended off the attack. That sparked another fight between the two crews. They ignored Helmut and Mary in the center of the deck with the deceased Admiral Walker on the edge of her skirt. 
“Are you alright?” he rasped. His brow pinched in pain, and sweat trickled down his chest.
A nervous laugh bubbled out of Mary’s throat. “You’re the one bleeding on the ground, and you’re asking me?” 
“He was going to strike you, like a cowardly man.” He shifted uncomfortably and clasped his hand to his side again. Helmut heaved a heavy sigh. “But I fear you may be right.”
“Here,” Mary tugged at her skirt and removed the knife from her belt. She cut a stretch of fabric from the bottom, folded it, and pressed it against his wound. Then she cut another strip and wrapped it around him. Mary tied it tight to add pressure and compression. “Can you stand? Can you walk?”
“I shall manage.” He glanced around at the ensuing fight. It could be the distraction he needed. Once he returned to his ship he would order his men to return as well. Helmut achieved his goal, and he did not want more of his loyal people to be injured or killed. 
Helmut stood, and Mary gathered his coat off the deck. He appeared steady enough on his feet, one of his hands still clutched on his wound and gestured for Mary to cross first. “Please,” he insisted. Helmut would not risk leaving Mary behind and being accosted by an angered soldier. 
Mary was anxious to cross. The rush of the moment guided her before, but now her fears set in. She tested the creaking board and turned over her shoulder to glance at Helmut. He ceased grimacing to smile reassuringly. Furrowing her brow and biting her lip, Mary took her first steps. 
Although they were not out of danger yet, it comforted Mary to be on the Bloody Baron. She watched Helmut pause before joining her and whistle with two fingers. Once he heard the reciprocating whistle, Helmut trudged across the board. When Helmut returned to his ship, he placed a light kiss on Mary’s forehead and sent her back to their cabin. 
Mary prepared to treat Helmut’s injuries. She knew he would not return until he settled matters with the deceased Admiral’s ship. Then, Helmut would insist his crew see their barber-surgeon first. Mary did not want him to go so long without treatment, so she gathered the bowl of water, a stack of cloth, and strong rum. 
As Helmut’s brigade rejoined him, he issued new orders. Some stayed on deck to man the swivel guns, while others ran below deck to load the cannons. Helmut wanted to see the ship burn, just saw his ship eight years ago. Some of the men would flee, of course, and they would spread the story of this day. 
Helmut Zemo achieved justice for his family. He fulfilled a promise he made not just to himself, but to Heike, Carl, and his father. He even defended Mary from being struck and further disrespected. 
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The cannons blew holes in the hull of the ship until eventually, something caught. Gunpowder stores ignited easily, and soon enough flames engulfed the ship. Mary watched it from their cabin as her nails pressed marks into her palms. As Walker’s ship sank into the sea, the Bloody Baron sailed away. 
Helmut entered after, wearing his dark coat again. He shut the door behind him and shrugged off his coat. Mary winced at the blood staining his white shirt, and she urged him to sit in a chair. 
“I saw Stephen,” he huffed as he sat, “and he treated my wound. He said it was not so deep, but I must remember to keep it clean while it heals.” Helmut looked up at her sheepishly through his eyelashes. “I must confess I knew it was not deadly when it happened, but I pretended it was to make Walker think he had the upper hand.”
She thought for a moment. This admission did not console her. Could she have startled him? What if the cut had been worse? What if Walker hastened his movements and killed him whilst he lay on the ground? Mary’s stomach twisted in knots as she set her materials on the table. 
Helmut gently grabbed her wrist and kissed it. He fluttered his dark eyes at her and pulled her from her train of thought. “I am not upset with you for leaving our cabin. I wish it had not spooked me as it did, but there is nothing we can do to change the past. I am glad you and I are safe.”
Tears spilled down Mary’s cheeks, and Helmut wiped them away. He smeared some of the blood coating his gloved fingers onto her face, but she did not care. Mary needed Helmut’s touch and reassurance after such a harrowing day.  
Helmut pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it to the side. No matter how Mary treated it, the shirt was ruined. She studied his back and chest for any new marks, and she cleaned them with the cloth. Stephan stuck a bandage and wrapping around Helmut’s waist. Mary did not dare touch it, but she would inquire later on how to dress it.
Helmut took a swig from the bottle of rum and chuckled. “The good rum again?” 
“It was all you had,” she smiled. Mary remembered the first time she tended to their wounds. They both came a long way since then. She stopped shying away from his touch and began craving it. Mary was no longer afraid of her feelings, and she acted upon them. 
Helmut handed her the bottle so she could disinfect the cuts and scrapes. Mary surprised him by taking a gulp. She wrinkled her nose at the taste, but she could not say she hated it. “How are the crew?” she inquired, dabbing at a light cut on his shoulder. 
“I should think they’re doing the same as you,” he quipped. “Drinking and tending to their lesser wounds.” Helmut heaved a heavy sigh before continuing. “Peter and Rake did not see the end of the fight, and I am afraid Anna may not survive her wounds.” 
“Is she in such dire straits?” Mary remembered seeing Anna around the ship, climbing up ropes and nets with such grace. 
“She suffered many cuts and lost a great amount of blood. Anna will require careful monitoring before we may know for certain.” 
“Poor girl.” Mary manipulated Helmut’s chin with two of her fingers. She scrubbed the blood and dirt off his face and neck. Her finger grazed his lips, and his molten brown eyes met hers. Mary rubbed her thumb along his jaw and watched him soften under her touch. “And how are you, Hel?”
“Exhausted, but content.” He readjusted in his seat to better face her. “I have achieved something I vowed to do, and I have returned safely to you. What more could I ask for, other than a good night’s sleep?” 
A knock sounded on the door, so Helmut told them to enter. Billy anxiously stepped into the room carrying a tray laden with food. The kitchen must be celebrating and making good use of Walker’s stores. Before Helmut sank the ship, he allowed his crew to loot and scavenge. 
“The galley crew thought you might appreciate a bite to eat.” Mary moved the bowls and cloths out of the way so Billy could set the tray on the table. 
“Ah! That’s what I was missing. A good, warm meal to end my day.” Mary laughed and realized her hunger, too. She hoped they did not hear her stomach growl, and she thought of a wine to pair with the meal. Helmut removed his leather gloves and picked up a crust of bread glistening with butter.  
Billy stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “Captain, sir?” Helmut, who did not realize Billy waited there as he chewed his bread, cleared his throat. Billy rocked on the balls of his feet, but he stopped when Helmut’s gaze fell on him. “I’ve been thinking, sir, I should learn how to fight so I can defend myself and be of use during attacks.” 
Helmut nodded slowly. He had his suspicions, but he wanted to hear it from the boy’s lips. “Why not ask someone else? Sam and James are both excellent fighters and capable teachers.” Mary poured two glasses of red wine and placed one by Helmut.
Billy looked through his shaggy hair to meet Helmut’s eye. He took a deep breath in, ceasing his wide-eyed stare, and spoke. “Sir, you are the best fighter I have ever seen, and I would like to learn from you.”
“It will not be easy,” Helmut warned, “and it will not be quick.” He eyed Billy, thirteen years old now, and knew it was time for him to learn. “Are you certain?”
“Aye, Cap’n. I am sure.” Billy nodded, and his hair fell back into his eyes. 
He left shortly after, and Helmut assured him he did not need to return for the tray of food. They happily tucked into their meal, speaking little as they ate. Helmut and Mary could sit comfortably in silence without feeling the need to fill it. There was much they could say about the day, breaking it down minute by minute, but they did not wish to do so yet.
After their meal, they prepared for bed. It was early, the sun had not set, but it was what they wanted. Helmut changed into loose linen sleep clothes and was careful not to disturb his bandage. Mary unbraided her hair and combed through the knots and tangles with care. 
Helmut propped himself up against the wooden headboard and admired his wife in the soft candlelight. There were times when he thought he would never see her again, so he cherished every part of her. His dark eyes lingered on her lacey nightgown, more modest than others she owned, but enticing nevertheless. Mary caught his watchful stare in her gilded handheld mirror, and she smirked at him. Helmut winked to assure her that on any other night he would trail his hand up her nightgown, nipping at her lace-trimmed skin. 
They craved a different form of intimacy. Mary slipped under the sheets with him, and she rested her head on his chest. She heard the steady beat of his heart and traced her fingers through the hair trailing down his abdomen. Helmut pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and twisted his fingers into her hair. They lay intertwined until the moon and stars shone through the window and they drifted off to sleep, rocked by the constant motion of the ship. 
For the first time in eight years, Helmut could sleep in complete peace with his little star beside him.
tag list: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @f1yogurt
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loveofafangirl · 2 years
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A New Dawn
[Baron Zemo Masterlist] [Marvel Masterlist]
Pairing: Baron Zemo x Reader (no gender, race, body type given)
Synopsis: You wake up to a new day in the arms of Zemo (what could be better). *Domestic Fluff*
Word Count: ~500
A/N: I know it's been ages since I wrote Zemo. I've been struggling with mental health and writer's block. This was supposed to be for a different character I write, but I wasn't loving it for them and somehow I ended up here. Not my best, but hoping that maybe it'll spark some inspiration for more Zemo.
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Strands of golden sunlight peek through the crack in the long dark curtains, shielding you from the start of a new dawn. The honey-colored beams caress a soft line across your cheek. Your mouth is parted slightly, your breathing still shallow with sleep.
The back of his fingers brush gingerly across your cheek, no longer able to stay away. There was a time when this—this simple moment—didn't seem possible. He didn't think he could ever allow this for himself again, to be vulnerable, to be at the mercy of another, knowing any day could threaten such a moment as this, that this moment itself could be the last of its kind. It was a bittersweet knowledge, one born from the devastation of loss but, renewed with light each day by the love you shared.
You'd overcome so much to get here. It wasn't easy, but the two of you found your way, one day at a time, learning to trust and let go of the pains of the past. Each new dawn was another gift for you to treasure, knowing the frailty of each moment.
He listened to the soft sounds of your breathing, watching your chest rise and fall in a delicate rhythm that brought him peace. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, breathing in your familiar scent. If time could stand still, he would keep you there forever.
This was his favorite time of day. A new sunrise, a new dawn, a new start, a promise of hope (something he hadn't expected to believe in, and he never would have if it were not for you)—just a quiet moment where the world was still calm, many like you, still asleep. There wasn't so much noise. There was room to think and breathe. The pain of the past was left in yesterday, and the trials of the day had yet to begin.
You hum quietly, stifling a yawn. Your body shifts, searching in earnest.
He exhales a breath through his nose. The corner of his mouth turns up as his lips press together in a Cheshire grin. He wraps you in the warmth of his embrace.
Your body relaxes in the comforting safety of his arms. You nuzzle into him, letting the soft hair on his chest tickle your nose as you stir awake.
His thumb caresses soft circles on your back. "Morning, y/n," his velvet voice greets you.
You shake your head in protest, nestling further into him, not wanting to greet the new dawn yet, for this was your favorite time of day too. Waking up in his arms, knowing no matter the trials or troubles that you would face, you'd never be alone; he would always be there. His loyalty and devotion blanketed you in security. You smile to yourself, uncertain how you ended up here, in the arms of a (reformed) terrorist, knowing nowhere on earth was safer and more loving than this.
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If you made it here, thank you so much for giving this drabble a chance! I truly appreciate it! Likes, reblogs, and comments are so truly appreciated.
I'm including the tag list I had last time I posted, which was months ago. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed, or if i need to update your blog name since I'm not sure all of these are still active.
Perma(til the end of the line): @the-soot-sprite​​; @fandomxreaders ; @itdobe-foggy ; @angiekurosaki
Zemo tags: @montypythonsholysnail​​ ; @killsandthrills​​ ; @noavengers​​ ; ​@nalabarnes1031/ @treasureswordsgirl55 ; @trelaney ; @willowtheewisp ; @marchingicenotes7 ; @valquiria3000 ; @swooning-for-spider-man​​​; @coffeewithoutcaffeine ; @mischievousvillainy ; ; @alindeluce ;
@book-fic-reader (incase your interested, sorry if you're not!)
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